Mother Nature, Father Concrete, Glass Children.

by Dr William Thomas Thornborrow ~ My Dad.

Glass is one of the most fragile substances manufactured by the human race. Odd word that, ‘race’. It infers that somehow humans are in a race, competing to cross the invisible self-generated line that says ‘Success’. Success is what exactly?

In corporate life, Father concrete’s neatly packaged race for the top is choking the ‘human’ out of race, more and more constrained, cajoled, slaves to the machine. The people who inhabit them as see-through and fragile as glass, glass children for father concrete’s hall of mirrors.

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Glass is fragile, easily broken so the designers of our glass cages are wary and don’t allow us to carry stones freely. No, we are told what size, shape, weight, colour we’re allowed and how, where, and why we are allowed to use them. The stones are rules and we carry out their commandments. Throwing them around will shatter the illusion and is forbidden, and yet it is entirely within your power, a choice with consequences…

Yet the strangest thing happens when you move from the concrete grip of Father’s arms to Mother’s soft yearning call. The glass children’s cage cracks and shatters, falls away into a new transparency and they see, feel their soul break out.

She has no offices, schedules, orders, screens, keyboards to suck the life out of us. In the forest, Mother nature has seen to it there is no glass, her stones come in all sizes and shapes, are abundant, scattered freely and have no instruction carved into them. She has no cage, the brittle exterior of corporate life has no place in her world. Instead, she offers a memory, sparks a latent light ready to flame again and tells her story in vibration and whispers in the wind – we are and always will be pure sunshine.

Return to Mother ‘nurture’ as often as you can, she waits with open arms to heal and nurture your soul.