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The slow-time traveller

June 13, 2019

Words & photography: Sophie McKeand

I no longer experience time. Perhaps it is time that experiences me. Travelling is changing me at an almost atomic level. Slowly, I metamorphose into the water cycle, learning to precipitate, to tumble along as a river then gush out into the sea. There is a place in which time no longer exists, just the vast expanse of the ocean – a flat blue line in all directions. I dive down through dimensions. It is all in the breathing of course. In. Then. Dive. It is all in the dreaming. Patience. Awareness. Intent. Exhale.

The outwards signs of this are more prominent. I want to only write in the present tense. I am here. This is now. It is why OUTSIDER is being created in real-time. In slow time. The only moment that matters. I cannot envy a future moment or squander my time in gluttonous reminiscing – what a waste of a most precious gift. The price of this serenity is everything of course – I can hold onto nothing that once was, not possessions or grudges; can no longer chase accolades or the grand idea. To do this would be to shift, perhaps imperceptibly at first, but nevertheless to change gear, to drop out of this organic slow-time & back into the world of people & stuff, of deadlines & demands; of futures & pasts. 

In waking dreams, I am a river stone, the galloping waters of time slough away all the rough edges leaving my smooth heart exposed. This fragile state is not something I’d have embraced in the past and yet… these days I feel stronger, more able to cope with life. In the past, when dealing with other people, I’ve felt as sensitive as sunburnt skin; a shift in air pressure encouraged goose bumps, sharp words were sandblasts, I might as well have been walking naked down a high street. Slowly these feelings are retreating. I’m learning to speak my truth in a gentle-yet-insistent way, like sea waves or blackbird song, and as this happens, arguments, anxiety & paranoid thinking melt away, leaving only this beating heart. I am learning to listen to these negative emotions – they are signposts telling me I’m spinning off course. I hold them close to me, work to understand every angle, speak their names out loud so as to call them out of the shadows & into the light. 

Healing from the wounds of capitalism is a lifelong process. I cannot tell you how it is for anybody else, only how it is for me, here, now. For some there is the desire to root deeply in one place, others need to grow fin & feather, to soar the heights of the sky, plumb the depths of the oceans. Perhaps we all need to do both at different times in our lives. To learn through experience is everything. There is no right or wrong way to live life. There is only you & I and the lessons we choose to learn. 

We have been staying outside Fanjeux in the south of France for a week and it is a glorious place. The bilingual signs here remind of my home-country of Cymru (Wales) and offer a reminder that the political hegemony we often subscribe to (or are fed) is in no way as uniform as we are led to believe. All across Europe the tendrils of older cultures & languages weave across the landscape. Their ancient, vertiginous trees may have been felled but still, the people of these lands keep the old roots alive through food & stories, through languages & traditions. I had no idea a language called Occitan has existed in this historic region of Occitania (that encompassed parts of southern France, northern Spain and some of Italy) for centuries. It is a reminder that the dominant narrative can smother a history or language but that the people and the land remember, and their truth grows like beautiful weeds in the manicured monoculture lawn of capitalism. 

These days I am firmly wedded to the idea that these more localised cultures are the future; that we can both support an existing root system and welcome newcomers with open arms. The way to encourage new people to learn your own culture is to learn theirs of course in a constant, equal exchange of words & ideas. Perhaps vanlife offers some of that. Perhaps I am learning to embody the proverb: like a dragonfly skimming the surface of the water, touch on something without going into it deeply. Perhaps there will be a time when this changes but for now, this way of evolving feels exactly right. This willingness to evolve & adapt, to not be stuck with one thought or way of existing and remaining open to change, is what I would call Slow Living Activism. We are all different though. We all have different needs and lessons; whatever path you’ve chosen, I hope you find your way to joy & enlightenment, to self-knowledge & love. This is how we change the world. Slowly, with intent & kindness; listening to our hearts & stomachs, to our dreams, & to the land. 

Thank you for joining us on this OUTSIDER journey. More in two weeks! 

Much love, Sophie x 

Ps – the slow-time travelleris the title of the new hand-stitched poetry pamphlet out this summer.

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