This small portion of Wales, a lace of crags, boulders and scree
Of myriad sheep treadways across grass covered slopes.
A place of leisurely walks or lung bursting runs,
Or skin scraping bouldering and climbs with my son.
A place of true quiet to silence the soul,
To bring calm and restoration a repairing of mind
That brings grounding, a quiet a peace.
But when inner darkness descends with all its confusion
And vicious head swimming voices hate, harass and harangue,
Each vying for attention, shouting and howling,
Causing the darkest of dark thoughts to gather and crowd,
And mania to rise and drive me and push,
So that life seems too difficult too painful to bear.
It is then that the hills give me perspective and space
To rest my mind and commune with their space
To push back with a vengeance the demons and dark
That subvert my thoughts with confusion and noise,
Distorting my feelings and twisting my mind
The tussocks and heather, the boulders and crags
Allow me to stop and take in the real world
To liberate my mind from manic distress
And push back, push back bringing me back to the now.
Dafydd Davis, MBE