It’s funny about the brain. Some people spend their lives studying it, like a neuroscientist I interviewed recently, who says the brain is incapable of understanding whether or not God exists. Our brains seem to get so easily befuddled. One minute we’re sure of something, the next we’re struggling with doubt. Kind of like the changes of the seasons. One minute we’re snowed under, burrowed in our respective homes in hiding-out mode and then suddenly the world beckons us to come out, come out . . . as spring arrives. We’re walking over soggy winter-drenched grass, or rustling through dried-out meadows, arms outstretched to the warm breezes, sure that spring is bringing something to us.

Orange Tulips poster

How can we know that? How can we really know? My neuroscientist interviewee says the brain has limitations about what we can and cannot know. It always relates to its environment and we cannot disrupt that relationship. So what happens when that first hint of spring hits? How is it that we suddenly know change is coming? Because the environment tells us? Pale wheat colours are turning deeper and deeper green, grey empty branches are filling up with new buds, the silence of the short days of the year are giving way to a new cacophony of sounds from birds and insects, red-breasted robins are fluttering about in search of something.

And we seem to take a kind of cue from all of this.  We no longer want to cocoon ourselves. We want to be out and about, on the street, in a cafe, talking with friends, drinking wine on a patio, listening to live music. Oh we want to be alive again just like the world outside our windows. Oh Spring, our brains begin repeating. Bring it on! Who cares if God exists or not. My brain doesn’t need to struggle with this concept. I believe in the Truth of Nature. I believe in the Truth of the Earth.

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