Niko’s Eye

Chapter 71.

Belvia.

Belvia had been chatting away over texts with Isis all night and now she was slumped in her rocking chair, looking like a miserable daffodil.

She had layed awake in bed, watching as the night turned to dewy dawn.

The sunset is merely a prelude to the dawn, yet its majesty fills my mind with the most beautiful of dreams. As my eyes try to drift to rest I am one with the stars, my skin cooled by the breeze, and when I awake the sky will be radiant with the first kiss of the new day.

She was worried about all that would transpire where Isis has gone to. But she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Isis deserved to know everything. Although she would have liked to be the one who would tell her all of the things that she needed to know.

My mood is just that... mine. And while this brain of mine can construct a thousand plausible reasons that someone else is to blame, I need to own it and the path to get myself out of it. I need to exercise, to get outside in nature, to do the things that bring me joy until I feel my spark re-grow into a healthy flame

She tried to distract herself from her anxiety by reaching out for the newspaper that was close to her.

A flashing memory of emotional torture whizzed past her eyes.

On the days of fearful headlines, when there was doom and gloom right next to pictures of perfect cakes and elicit gossip, everyone in the supermarket looked as if they were under a grey cloud. There were few smiles, less emotional generosity to children, more casual fights between the couples as they walked the chilled aisles.

On the days of good news, of anything to celebrate, it was different and the whoever the folks were that wandered about, the effect was the same... more smiles, more casual caring and emotional attentiveness to others. It was as if a monster that had lurked had gone away and instead a fairy had come to grant them an inner rainbow.

I would wonder if those inch high words of fear or love, coming and going as some chaotic pendulum might, were giving a sort of pseudo-bipolar to us all. I saw those strongly emotive words hitting our brains, stimulating regions that cause hormones to be produced, changing our moods and altering our brains without the bother of a doctor’s prescription, consent or anything so mundane as all that.

She cut her own thoughts off and focused on what she had initially thought of doing.

The newspaper layed on the table, curled and with teeth marks from the dog. Belvia looked down at it like it was weeks old pasta, her mouth scrunched and eyebrows arched. Then with a "pock, pock" noise that she makes with her lips, she moved on to the kitchen to brew coffee. There was nothing right with chewed up news, just thinking about it made her old fingers curl. Now the spit was on the table too, she winced until the familiar aroma met her nostrils. Now that was more like it, perfect Arabica bean and cream. One oven heated danish and she was ready to start her day. But perhaps she should go out into the garden through the back way, as just seeing what was left of the paper would set her on edge again and that would never do. Not at all.

She sighed as she tended to the garden and felt the sea breeze in her salt and pepper locks.

Summer winds move the deepening foliage, creating an ever-changing mosaic of light and shade, and with it the music that is born of such gentle movement, the steady soothing lyrics of nature close by, is melody and chorus all in one.

When the sensory fog rolls in I can still navigate. When others cannot tell true north, I can. I feel it. I can pick the path when all they see is unmarked ground. My feet come to the path as if they are magnets to iron. I stick there. I call out. I try to become the guide. The trouble is, only I can see it and they don’t trust me enough to follow. Or perhaps the problem is me. Perhaps when I trust myself enough to lead they will come. I’m trying to teach them how to see it, how to sense it the same way I can. We need more leaders, more navigators of the fog. I’ll keep going, keep trying, what else can I do?

Isis.

If you ran a long way, your muscles would need a rest to recover... and the same is true of the brain. Low mood is a simple request for rest and shelter from your emotional "muscle," you just "ran" a real long way for the sake of others, my love. So take your time. Then, when ready, you can get right back into life, feeling joy once more. I just had to find what I came here for before returning back to a normal life.

"Why did you kill him?"

Aisha drew in a sharp and intense breath.

Aisha has a doctorate in psychology,she’s playing me. And I don’t know why I’m falling for it. So dismally.

She once taught me that our neuro-lingual chaos theory in order to be able to restore order to the world it is essential to stablise lore via the reemergence of love, truth, logic and self control via role modelling. Here the activation energies required to rebuild the prefrontal cortex are lowered and those required for negative acts that boost the primitive centres are raised. Thus the lore of society is similar to an enzyme in biological systems, it is a catalyst for change in either direction. Free will still exists as it did before, the change is that people are boosted in their ability to make good loving choices that enhance positive chaos - in this way we neutralise negative chaos to bring a robust kind of order that is flexible, lasting and enhances human creativity and intelligence. The study of chaos theory and lore offers an exciting future for humanity, one that will eventually lead to a reduced need for law and the kind of rigid approach that ignites negative chaos pathways. People evolved to prefer making choices with a sense of freedom and choosing chiefs they believe in as wise people and this must be respected otherwise the energies will again lead toward negative chaos.

For the restabilisation of society the ideas that are based in love and truth offer a real sense of safety. Be careful with amygdala jacking, use it as salt on a dish as needed. Those in the grip of negative chaos are as worried sheep and often times a careful bark at the right moment can get them "home" safe and sound. Keep in your thoughts the effects of role modelling on lowering activation energies for actions, word connections and the triggering of brain chemistry/subunits (including all their puns and subunit phonetic cousins). This is the unity of all subjects of human study, this area of social evolution requires them all. Practitioners must be well schooled in philosophy too, to be able to see concepts beneath words and endure that the supreme first principle at play is always love.

"You said that you could’ve bought me a collection of these shoes but you didn’t because you were too bitter right? You said you had the money right? Life insurance will put beans on the table and pay for a roof, but it won’t bring a sense of emotional safety and love. The money did take away the fears of poverty, but it didn’t sing your child to sleep on a cold winters night. In this world that must weigh and measure all, when the best things in life are priceless and not for sale in any shop anywhere... we become blind to what the bereaved really need. For if money is what joins us, then we are truly alone. You made your choices and honestly, I’ve made peace with that. Yeah, you can never be a mother and that’s not my fault. I needed to forgive myself, today. Is there any more profound comment on the crass invention of money than the concept of these cyberspace digits compensating for bereavement. Only emotional connection and human love can help at all. The rest is just the broken way we humans ration our resources and I don’t blame you for any of it."

Aisha was clearly taken aback by Isis’ confrontation because she let her tears break down the facade that she had put on.

She stared up at the window as she struggled to find her words.

On the edge of the cloud there was a brilliant white patch, like a turning page catching the sun. The rest was dove grey with a subtle hint of purple, just enough to announce the coming sunset.

Isis was ready to leave.