The you and I we know are made up of many different parts. I have a theory that when we take a big journey our parts travel at different speeds. This would explain how out of alignment travel makes us, the ‘lag’ of jetlag being that we are incomplete until all those parts are back inside our body.
I have noticed through the years that I have parts which regularly travel independent of the rest of me. There are parts which travel to gather around campfire on distant island shore off the west coast of Scotland somewhere around 6,000 BCE. I have parts which run with great herds of reindeer and come back grateful to have been given that space to run. All these parts don’t behave to what we might call ‘normal’ time or reality, so it makes sense that things get a little scrambled when we’re awake for 32 hours and have traveled by car and bus, train, plane and boat.
It’s only after five days having left the mountains of Asheville that all my parts have reassembled back home on Scottish soil. Those in-between five days aren’t much fun. I’m unsettled, my ‘self’ doesn’t work properly, I can’t concentrate. The tell tale sign is boredom for am I someone who is very rarely bored. The mixed up sleeping pattern is the smallest part of jetlag, I can deal with that. In an episode of Star Trek TNG the character of Deanna Troi a half Betazoid whose psychic abilities allow her access to the ‘psionic field’, (the medium through all unspoken thoughts and feelings are communicated) . While human eyes can sense portions of the electromagnetic field telepaths can sense portions of the psionic field. In one episode she looses these abilities and this is exactly how I feel with jetlag – without all of my parts I can’t hear stories from the land – there is no inspiration flowing, no sense of ancient lives and the remnants of their thoughts and feelings. Everything is blank, there is no interaction. I’m suddenly deaf or blind and cut off from the flow of all that matters.
To run with with herd
I decided to go visit the Bean Feasa (the wise woman) and the old hag prescribed watching the crows and imagine life through their eyes. She advised I watched the rain clouds gather and count the falling raindrops. She advised me to visit old friends and so I went to greet the great oak and the walked down a country lane to visit my favourite hedgerow.
Mostly she recommended twilight and so I listened to the nightly song of the blackbirds. The old hag recommends twilight a lot for much magic happens in this magical half light – and before I knew it all my parts had settled home.