The tree talk took a tangent and Harry The Spare ended uppermost of mind, me wondering about the why and the cascade of consciousness that resulted in questioning his genealogy. 

The royals have featured rather strongly in the mental musings of the past year. There’s something  going on which is once again hard to understand, let alone explain. 

What is the regal connection with nature that puts us in the same realm. The Queen had a love of trees, Charles was certainly ahead of his time in environmental awareness. The Royals have had the good fortune to be able to seek to be surrounded by forever forests, no intrusions, the silence of the stand, the history of the plantings , the ancient trees, that connection, such a unique gift.

The night the Queen died I woke up at the time her death was proclaimed. The afternoon of her demise a song was sung in her honour and it really felt like she joined in for a verse or two, singing through me. My voice was different, a mental image of a quilted skirted matriarch with a hiking cane, along side her hubby, happy and intrigued that her presence could be, even though her physicality had passed. 

Put your hand in the hand of the ma’am who stilled the water
Put your hand in the hand of the ma’am who crossed the seas
And take a look at the world and all you’ve got and then you will just see
Put your hand in the hand of your majesty

I didn’t think I was a monarchist but I heeded the mourning period out of a deep sense of respect. I did wear black, I did watch all there was to watch on Aunty and followed Operation London Bridge with admiration and awe for a life lived in service wondering how such service would be completed. 

Was there to be a final act in uniting the commonwealth, in a common wealth of thoughts? A process so under-utilised and discredited that its acknowledgement and recognition would be considered disruption, a final hoorah. The media masses that would attend the funeral, united in a rare point in time, offering a unique opportunity to join in and connect everyone in a common consciousness.

Another song started brewing, a memorable mantra that could be shared, repeated and recalled by the global audience. A meaningful interjection to make it known that thoughts are free, not everything can be controlled. The words were massaged and approved over a period of days, many conversations of curiosity.

At her funeral, in the two minutes of silence, the opportunity to share with the world had all the powers-that-be on edge.  Eleven days of mourning to rehearse my role, reluctantly given, the verse was deemed respectful and adequate, based on the chorus of Candy by Iggy Pop

Elizabeth your majesty we mourn you so
For all your life of service we now let you go
Elizabeth your majesty when life was crazy
You were our steadfast lady.

When the silence session arrived, trepidation on my part and the verse was sung, slowly nervously one time through. The power brokers, ‘only once’? After the prolonged pause it didn’t seem right to start up again. It wasn’t about what I could do and who was controlling it. 

The original plan was to sing it repeatedly so that all those present would hear it in the silence, remember it and then it would be a conversation starter afterwards. It seemed that only a couple of people heard it, well I only heard a couple of people ask ‘did you hear that’? Alas the rendition was not long enough for many to confirm the song they thought they heard.