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Up to the village today for a tough personal train session, but more importantly a vigorous stone clear. A hare darted across the Stocean, luckily unseen by Wolfie who would have fucked it up (if she could have caught it). Hares are the best, so much cooler than their useless cousins the rabbits. Would a child keep a hare as a caged pet? I don't think so.
As you know, apart from believing in Stone Gods and also Number Plate Gods and believing that I might be the new Jesus, I am a very level-headed and rational person who won't give any time to mysticism or flummery. Except when it comes to hares, which I am sure are messengers connecting our modern world of lies to a spiritual realm where truth and love reign.
Perhaps my love of hares comes from the TV show Pipkins, where moth-eaten horror show Hartley Hare was the star of the show. It's not from this - I fucking hated him. I loved Topov the monkey and still remember being overwhelmed with laughter when he revealed he was called that because he was always on top of the cupboard (I've just remembered the terrible trauma of Pipkins changing all the puppets to look cuddly and puppet like, rather than looking like they were stuffed dead animals).
More likely it comes from the book Masquerade where you had to find the hare in every picture, in the hope of finding a golden amulet buried somewhere in the UK by artist Kit Williams.
The real seeds of believing that hares are the door-keepers to another realm though comes from the weeks after I had had chemotherapy, where I was listening to a book about Quantum Physics whilst walking the dog and watching hares fighting and mysterious objects in the field seem to morph from bird to hare. In this entry I see mysterious shape-shifting and in this one hares are fighting for my delight.
The Quantum Physics book was making me look at the world as if it was made of pixels and questioning our interpretation of reality and my mind couldn't properly grasp the concepts of multiple dimensions and our lives possibly being the shadows of something happening in one of the other realities.
It had been a stressful few weeks in which I also felt like I'd come up with a genius idea of writing an autobiography based on stories of eating jacket potatoes and also getting freaked out by the Willowbrook jingle on the advert buffers of Tenable.
I may not have been in the rightest state of mind. Or maybe this was the only time I was. I really remember thinking I was on to something with the jacket potato thing. I'll give it a go, though I think I may have forgotten why it was such a revolutionary idea.
You might argue that my brain was addled from the poison that had been injected into my blood stream, or that with all the fears coming from cancer and chemo were forcing me to create alternate realities where magical hares could transform into birds. But my brain isn't addled any more (well no more than usual) and seeing a hare punching its way through a field still fills me with excitement and joy. Most importantly it just gives me a little lift. Once again the hare is a reminder that I am still here, when I thought I might not be. They pop up every now and again to remind you how miraculous it is that we're alive. Apart from the original Hartley Hare who reminds us that we will one day be dead and taxidermied and used as a puppet.
The Golden Hare was found not far from you in Ampthill park.
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