Poem of A Mental Map inspired by Anne Emond

Thankyou Anne Emond for your revealing illustration. This is my interpretation.

I see the ‘I- Spend- Too- Much -Time- Online- Falls’ leads to utopia in a reasonably direct route, watering down the waves of depression on the horizon. An unreliable narrator observing the passing scenery feels immune, unaware that the banks of the river touch every part of the geography. The traveler is absorbing the information available, affected by the clay that clings to the raft. To avoid ‘Shame Lake’ takes serious navigational skill. The energy this saps is overwhelming. From here the ‘Canyon of Narcissism’ is ever present. The currents passing through mountains have cut deep crevices hurtling the traveler past ‘Crippling Insecurity Ville.’  The impression it leaves is strong. The relief is present. The perfume wafting from the strong upright circle of evergreen trees called ‘The Glade of Hopeful Aspirations’ leaves the narrator feeling secure savoring the lingering sense of protection they offer. The soil and sand the ‘River Of Pleasure in the Small Things’ carries to the sea, lands on the Coast of Retail Therapy behind me, building a beach, luring the sun lover out of the waves out at sea. Ahead, The ‘Forest of Delusions of Grandeur’ is in clear focus self seeding in the fertile ground. I ask myself, given the opportunity to throw myself over the falls, take the plunge, would I do it all again? This is what I am asking myself. Is it happening anyway? Do we really have so much control? The ‘Mountain range of impotent rage’ still affects the landscape. Crumbling, rearranging itself, exposing new evidence of its history. It lives as the earth does, dependent on its environment to evolve.

I am the raft

The water behind me gathers momentum against my resistance. It tears at the ropes binding me together.I release my grip and as I point towards the ‘Dormant Volcano of Blind Ambition’ I am plunged downward into the erupting spray of the glacial waters trapped in the cavern only time can talk about.I am released, still together but scarred from the experience.The ‘Mountain Range of Impotent Rage’ begins to tear at my underbelly. The rocks it has thrown into the canyon have shattered randomly filling, compiling its messy suitcase with all it has to offer. I am barely holding together.’Shame Lake’ offers a peaceful quiet place. I think of this as I am swept along the meandering stretch of still moving water.I am rarely stopped to pick up passengers from ‘CRIPPLING INSECURITY-VILLE’ even though the river tributaries lead to it.The ‘Glade of Hopeful Aspirations’ is popular. The weight of population streaming from it tests my strength on my journey to the mouth.’The Forest of Delusions of Grandeur’ invites a population who enjoy a quick ride to the ‘COAST OF RETAIL THERAPY’. They don’t feel responsible for the raft or the passengers on board. They still wear the scars from their fall in the Canyon of Narcissism. Their journey now circles the short distance between the Coast of Retail Therapy and the Forests of Delusions of Grandeur’ I am bursting at the seams. The water is lapping over my sides. The passengers remain motionless sensing the danger, not wanting to fall into the  ‘Waves of Depression’ they know are there,I deliver them dry to their destination.

I am The Mountain Range of Impotent Rage

The Dormant Volcano of Blind Ambition is responsible for my condition. I am squashed between the next country the Dormant Volcano of Blind Ambition and the sea where Waves of Depression live.  There is nowhere for me to go. If anyone hears my moaning and groaning they don’t say anything. I feel like I am talking to the sky!!!. I get angry every time Blind Ambition builds. Why it has to do that I have no idea. It goes no where, lets off a bit of steam, grows, lets off steam, on and on and goes no where. I just want to throw my gear into my suitcase and leave. I act out. Energy cracks my sides. The gully at the bottom laughs at me and holds the suitcase open. I throw rocks at it but the water it attracts softens the blow and I am impotent.

I am Shame Lake

There are no clouds on the horizon. The sun beats me with its endless needs. I am drying up.My shores interact daily with the rubble and runoff the ‘Mountain Range of Impotent Rage’ has slowly filled my belly with. It affects the surrounding landscape. The minerals leaching from it have blended with the ground around me. There are seedlings from the ‘Forest of Delusions of Grandeur’, scattering its needles and seed. They will soon engulf me if the rains don’t come and wash to the mouth where the waves of Depression lap, the compost for the noxious plants that threaten me. I am dependent on the ‘River of Pleasure in the Small Things’ to dilute the stagnant water I am prone to collect, where oxygen weed is required to sustain life.This lifeblood becomes thin at times as it is now. I have memories, they are written in the archaeology of my depths. The seasons have changed. I have been here a long time. It is hard to give credit to ‘The Mountain Range of Impotent Rage’ for giving me life.I have accepted that it is responsible for the clouds which build on its peaks, darkening, throwing bolts of lightening as if they were Zeus himself. The tears follow and I am replenished.

I am the Canyon of Narcissism

I lie at the feet of ‘I Spend Too Much Time Online Falls’.The climb to my top is worth the view. The vegetation is sparse. Its easy to get around on my flat top. Easy to see the horizon where the sun meets the earth and all is glorious. From here you can see all the main points of interest without needing a fitness check to spend time here. From here you may feel that this earth belongs to you and you alone. The Canyon is hidden from the top. It is easy to fall into the trap which lies, camouflaged, dark and deadly, edgy. Not many come out unscathed when they fall. Only the hard core survive. It is important to maintain awareness, focus, always look down as well as up, out there and over your shoulder. This place can, once you are trained, give security, but it can be lonely if you’re that way inclined. No matter how you get down, its a long way. So be prepared, bring a ladder. The shoulders of others is insufficient. Some visitors like to shout messages, listening for the echo which inevitably comes on their way down.  Company for the creatures who are also listening, to their screams, as they drop and cascade from the canyon floor thrown out by the waterworks at the bottom of the bowl. Avalanches can be witnessed in the distance during winter.

I am CRIPPLING INSECURITY-VILLE

Don’t think of my name when you visit here. You will recognise who I am on the landscape.I am a small self contained well populated town on the edge of a beautiful meandering river called ‘The river of pleasure in the small things’. This water has serviced me for a thousand years. The river is sacred. It continues to leave me vulnerable. The water and sewerage systems depend on it.My buildings have been erected with the stone, hauled by my ancestors, from the ‘Mountain Range of Impotent Rage. One of the oldest buildings is four stories tall. It doesn’t meet earthquake standards. It casts a shadow over a residential area in the late afternoon. We settled this land and have made our claim to be here. We are on the map. Our population is declining. Doctors spend two years here before moving on. Teachers the same. Our youth seek education elsewhere.I support a courthouse, A church, 5 bars and a school, police force, health services, a fire engine, ambulance, a weakened business network, a community hall and a library. Getting supplies to an isolated small town like mine is expensive.Backpackers like to shower and launder their clothes here. The internet, batteries Packaged food, Maps, socks, underwear, toiletries, aftershave, makeup…the list goes on. We are seeking investment.The local business community go out of their way to stay in the competition knowing that retail therapy is just down the road and its only a short trip away. The locals refer to the travelers as loopies, resulting in fighting in the streets, common on Saturday nights. It has been happening for generations.My residents feel secure here. I give them everything they need.When the young ones try to leave here they are exposed, vulnerable with no establishment to conform to familiar to them.It is a frightening place both up and down stream. Those that leave often end in up before they know it in the ‘Waves of Depression’ down stream floundering for their lives, unaware they are lunch for the sharks swimming in their historical fishing grounds. Toe nibblers clean up the remains.Grief is part of our lives. We have well kept cemetery.The ‘Coast of Retail Therapy’ lures them, like a casino with trendy labels, tanned bodies and twenty four hour lighting. The food halls offer flavours they have only heard of. The most creative retailers tell them what they need and they buy it.Some drink heavily,  recycling themselves in the waves that wash over them before tossing them back to shore for more retail therapy.Where the money comes from we do not know. Where it goes we do not know. There is work for them pruning trees in the ‘Forest of Delusions of Grandeur’. The raft is a short trip across the bay.Those who choose not to work , intrigued by the sounds coming from the trees in the distance wander off into the ‘Glade of Hopeful Aspirations’.Here they believe in each other, themselves and reality. The ancient trees share their strength with those who stand in their center encircling and lovingly cradling their insecurities, soothing them. They see magic things feel the softness of moss while remaining invisible to the world around them.When they emerge they find that they are looking across the ‘River of Pleasure in the Small Things, to their old home, ‘Crippling Insecurity-Ville with mixed feelings.When the river is in flood, crossing is impossible. When the river is running low it is easy, there is choice.The name of my town doesn’t feel as crippling from a distance, and some return.Residents of Crippling Insecurity-Ville tend to follow the examples, the habits, faiths beliefs and customs of their parents. grandparents great grandparents who have lived their lives here.There is security in knowing yourself. For being accepted for who you are, knowing who your opponents are, speaking the same language. Indecision is popular.

I am the Dormant Volcano of Blind Ambition

I stand quietly in the background, the only sign of life, steam hissing from my crater, small, high in the clouds which deceptively hide my heat.I am patient.My time has not yet come.I am new here. I am responsible for the mountains opening revealing canyons. I couldn’t stop it happening.I am like a boil that is growing pointedly on the horizon.The mountains lead to me for those who are keen fit and adventurous.At my crater my magma can be seen boiling, liquid metal.My steam tells you I am safe.I am volatile.I can close down flight paths,Turn the scenery into a wasteland.Send heat waves that take the skin off your unprotected body. I can be ruthless. I am the ‘Dormant Volcano of Blind Ambition’

I am the Forest of Delusions of Grandeur

I am an introduced evergreen conifer forest.  My first tree was planted by the  mayor of Crippling Insecurity-ville.  I was encouraged to grow and prosper.  I was given everything I could ever need to make it.  I am special. I am prolific, untamed.  Together, we are like a Roman army,  with shields ready,  in formation.  Our purpose, to set seed,  manage the  environment.  Be victorious rogues,  supported in our numbers. I throw caution to the wind and scatter  seed wildly, as if without repercussion.  I am planted in the best land at the mouth of the river.  The views across the bay cant be bought. The natives who try to settle here don’t last long. They die from lack of light and our acid soils are too rich for them. Our carpet of needles smothers their saplings. They don’t have what it takes to live here. The Forest of delusions of grandeur is culled every 20 years, for timber and pulp. The natives across the river remain.

I am the River of Pleasure in the small things. 

I am the only river on the landscape. I flow, from the tops of the highest peaks into the depths of the ocean. I am water. Hydrogen and oxygen. I am life.  I touch every part of the landscape carrying its treasure or filtering its waste. I have been here for thousands of years. The landscape depends on me. In its time, when the pressure in the air becomes heated and intense, the mountains rumble and travelers go strange, dark clouds hang over the landscape and I know it is time for my body to swell and I relish in preparation before I prove my force where I burst my banks and flood the lake.  Again I touch everything.  When the storms recede, my body begins to run clear and I am trusted again. Those who ride my water become confident in my path, they can see my depth, enjoy their ride and take pleasure in the small things, the eels feeding off the worms now exposed in the newly formed banks. Dewdrops on the grasses bent over from the force of my flow. Fishermen return and children play. There is renewed interest in the pleasures I offer.  The land is washed. I see people emerging from shame lake looking scrubbed with glowing cheeks and eyes. I move steadily with stealth past Crippling insecurity-Ville my impact on them is always significant. When we haven’t seen rain for a long time, I share my elements, the tumbled coloured pebbles and glowing stones, lining my bed.  We have a good relationship. I have been called the buffer, I soften the edges. My passengers and playmates depend on my humour. They hear me roar when I go over the ‘I Spend Too Much Time Online Falls’. In the ‘Canyon of Narcissism’ I sing to drown out the screaming. I laugh when passing ‘The Mountain Range of Impotent Rage’. I whistle while passing Crippling Insecurity-Ville. The ‘Forest Of Delusions of Grandeur’ don’t hear my jokes and the ‘Coast of Retail Therapy’ depend on them. It is in my best interests and for the sake of the landscape that I keep my buffer status and treasure my sense of humour. I have freedom of speech. I am the ‘River of Pleasure in the Small Things’.

I am the Coast of Retail Therapy

I am between the devil and the deep blue sea. The ranges behind me carry rage shame, narcissism  and blind ambition. The forest to my right is called the ‘Forest of Delusions of Grandeur’. They believe they have the best spot guarding the river mouth. They believe they deserve their place that they are meant to be there but I have been here for 30 years now and they come and they go. I am grateful to the River of Pleasure in the small things for bringing me a regular clientele.  I am grateful to the town called ‘CRIPPLING INSECURITY-VILLE’  for sending them here. They don’t have the cash flow I do and tend to send me mixed messages. I am confident in our ability to keep up with the times. I offer a range of quality retail establishments. Shipping in and out is easy. The Mayor from up the river has tried to compete with us but they are out of date, old fashioned. They should stick to what they do best, protecting the community and educating the young. When we have have enough capital, we will expand and give back to the community but for now, there is money to be made, customers to feed and rent to pay.

I am The Waves of Depression

I am an ocean lapping the shores. Here I sit and wait. I rock, side to side, backwards and forwards. I repeat myself over and over. I carry flotsam and jetsam. I am shallow where I meet the land but I deceptively drop away trapping those unaware, believing that to play with me is safe. This causes a swell, attracting young mammals who have learnt to ride boards. They lie bravely on their bellys like seals sunbathing. Every seventh wave I send in is a big one. This is something out of my control. Something to do with the earth turning. These boardriding mammals ride these waves. They have been nurtured on the banks of the river of  ‘Pleasure in the Small Things’ They have learned skills to avoid my tactics to take them. Occasionally one gets a bit reckless, think they are a superstar when, whack !!! I turn into a rogue, rising from my depths and peel them from their tether dragging them down down down and further down. At the levels I am at my best. They cant see their way out. No one can hear them, see them, or miss them. They are mine. I roll them over and over driving their heads into the silent rocks off shore. The rocks that once lived in the ‘Mountain Range of Impotent Rage’. Some survive, some  fight me off, kick me in the teeth and spit in my bowels. I’m not interested enough in those ones. I really only like the ones who wallow. The easy ones. I am lazy at the end of the day. I depend on the moon and the earth to move me. I am fluid. I float and wait.

I am the map

I am a risk evaluater.