"Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be silly at the right moment." - Horace, A Cloud a day helps you work-rest-and play, Bring me sunshine, I'm tickling and clicking a metronome, Tatterdemalion and the junketer There's a thief and a dragonfly trumpeter, The Empress sees and decrees it, The Idiot Song - Monty Python, We skipped the light fandango Turned cartwheels cross the floor
‘What time is it? Is it playing out time yet?’
Of course it is, for you are here, upon a cloud, and not just any cloud…The Cloud. And, if you are a serial attender/offender/contender in/of this place, you have something very important in common with every other guest who stops to rest upon the surface of cumulus for a while…you like to play.
You enjoy cutting free the manacles of mouldering maturity, shunning the shackles of serious seniority, and happily take a custard tart in the face whilst sidling to join esme on stage, for a barber shop quartet, dressed as a badger singing ‘Do you know the Muffin Man?’ with vim.
Because here be the thing – playing lightens your heart, and creates a place for contentedness to reside. It has you as care-free as a six-year-old busily building a den in which to hide all their treasure – mucky stuff, important tatt and tits, and bits and bobs, odds, bods and sods. People forget how to play as they age. They don’t wish to be seen as silly, and therefore shun glee for a slice of joyless boredom.
See esme over there? (The Cloud points at esme who is making a castle out of mud pies, has sticks and leaves in her hair and is singing a filthy song about pirates. As you catch her eye, she pegs it into the bushes, peers out suspiciously and puts two fingers up).
There’s so much to get done out there in the world. There are so very many, incredibly serious situations and tasks that adult humans have balanced upon their shoulders, weighing them down, resembling a heavy, iron mantle, albeit an enjoyable one at times. These necessary events should be balanced with light, well blown raspberries, cartwheels, wordplay, general dilly-dalliances and silly shenanigans – not only order to function better, but more importantly, in order to remember what it is like to have that care-free joy in your hearts, to feel light enough to fly with an imaginary cape made from a tea towel, and revisit that blithe and mirthful land where nothing exists but the ‘now’, the very moment you are in; one saturated with smiles. Your heart will rise as you giggle, snort snot, and generally join in/watch the mayhem**. For even if you never leave a comment, nor show any visible signs of your existence here beyond a click whilst visiting Esme’s Cloud, you are still playing, and you are still, highly tickled at times.
You are also, very, very welcome too.
- The Cloud
(Hariod has written a piece that sits side by side with this one, though it is of course rather more eloquently constructed, for that is H’s forte – have a gander my gooseys at the following link- The absurdity of adulthood.)
Esme pipes in to say her piece – “Another way to be content and light of heart is to place the underwear you intend to don in the morning upon a heated radiator for the duration of the night before, (or in reach of the warm early morning sun upon a window ledge, should the climate be pleasant). Putting on those toasty pants as you arise will produce a very singular smile indeed, and have you hugging yourself, like the secret, giddy, loon you are*.
** Addendum – The Cloud reserves the right to delve into all elements of human/sentient/alien emotions that may not be much fun at all too sometimes – so be warned – all light has a flip side that is as dark and deep as blackest pit in hell.
– esme runs past in a white sheet with eye holes cut in it going “WHOOOOOOO….OOOOOOOOO…OOOO” much to the Cloud’s annoyance.