The word for world…

I started this blog many years ago with the intention of exploring the question of what is “natural” for humans. The topic is one that has been widely discussed in various academic disciplines, from child psychology to environmental sociology. Through fiction and academic study, I continue to ponder the complexity of this question, and one of the ways I do this is by participating in a book club that discusses utopian and dystopian literature.

The Utopian Book Collective meets once a month to discuss literature that explores human society and what is good about it. Inevitably we have also read a lot of dystopian work, as this often serves as a great exposition on some of the aspects of society and culture that are frightening and a warning about what it could be like if such things were to become more dominant or extreme.

Recently, we read an Ursula Le Guin novella, The Word for World is Forest. I found this book fascinating because it speaks to a question that I often contemplate: that of whether humans are violent by nature, or by culture. There are many dimensions to this question and I feel Le Guin opens up the possibility to contemplate this through the creation of fictional future humans who have evolved in different ways, having split off on different planets. The Terrans or Earthlings have followed a path of colonialism, extractivism, exploitation of nature and other humans, whilst the Athsheans have evolved into a peaceful, harmonious and stable society in which there is apparently no violence, conflict, war, rape or exploitation.

Is violence a natural tendency that is tempered by culture, or is it our culture that promotes violence through systems of dominance and exploitation, such as patriarchy, colonialism, racism, and sexism? In The Word for World is Forest, these questions are explored through the characters of Captain Davidson and the Athsheans. Captain Davidson embodies racist, sexist, extractivist, and colonialist culture, while the Athsheans live in harmony with each other and the forest.

Le Guin wrote the book in 1968, in the midst of a sense of fury at the incredibly destructive American involvement in Vietnam. However, taking advantage of the freedom of fiction, it is also a commentary on the atrocities committed throughout human history. Captain Davidson, who is almost a caricature as a character, embodies all the toxic attitudes involved in dominance and exploitation of multiple kinds. He is sexually violent towards the female Athsheans, treating them as objects to fulfil his desires. Likewise he dehumanises, exploits and abuses the male Athsheans, upholding an idea of them as intellectually inferior as well as inferior in other ways, and treating them essentially like animals that are there for his service. This attitude is eerily familiar of colonialism and exploitation of the native peoples of Africa, the Americas and Asia by white Western colonial powers.

There is a gender dimension to the violence and exploitation as well. The Terrans have begun as a seemingly entirely male society, with women being sent later to enable them to colonise through breeding. There is a suggestion that the lack of women and the imbalance of the society are part of the reason that the men are able to perpetuate their violent and exploitative ways. There are no women to hold them to account. This is an interesting idea in general. Although it relies on a kind of essentialist idea of gender, there is certainly a suggestion that gender diversity, even on the most basic level, would have tempered the situation. This is something explicitly talked about among the Athsheans, who laugh at the notion that a society would send only men to make a place ready for the women to come, rather than the other way round.

In our group we discussed this aspect in relation to looking to animal societies to understand our own behaviour as humans, and what is natural about it. I watched a fascinating documentary some years ago about a study of bonobos, and how the study of these other primates (who we are as related to as we are to chimpanzees) was questioned and doubted and denied. Bonobos, unlike chimpanzees operate in matriarchal groups and are non-violent, but instead have sex and groom each other. The documentary suggested that this was how they maintained harmony, and channelled the energy of the males. The female leaders of the group actively discouraged the aggression of the young males, and maintained order and peace. Although this comparison does not map onto the societies that Le Guin depicts, it does give a sense of how matriarchal rather than patriarchal society might operate, and questions the notion that human society is inevitably patriarchal and violent.

The introduction to The Word for World is interesting too, particularly in noting that although when writing the book Le Guin did not have any particular society in mind, she later discovered via an anthropologist that there had been such a society in Malaysia. When I read the book, I thought the Athsheans had echoes of aboriginal culture, particularly in their use of and reverence for dreaming which sounds a lot like aboriginal dreamtime. There are now few, if any, cultures on earth untouched by colonialism and capitalist extractivism, so it is difficult to find existing examples, although it also felt like there was reference to indigenous cultures of Papua New Guinea, particularly in the mention of the clusters of food forests around settlements, which Davidson recognises from the air when he’s trying to kill everyone off by firebombing them (reference to Vietnam tactics).

I do not know whether the food forests were or are also part of Vietnamese forest cultures as well but I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m only aware of the Papua New Guinea example through really interesting work that was done by anthropologists Fairhead and Leach, in which they discovered that earlier assumptions of Western researchers upon finding little clusters of forest around human settlements were incorrect. They had assumed that the cultures living there had cut down all the rest of the forest, leaving only these clusters around settlements. However, they later discovered that in fact it was the other way round, and the forests had been deliberately planted where none existed, adding food sources and habitats for many species. This could be read as proof that in fact humans are not inherently destructive in their activities but can go about meeting their own needs whilst also not destroying their surrounding environment, even enhancing it.

One of our party critiqued the book for the simplistic depiction of the Athsheans and the idea of the ‘noble savage’ so there is this counter-argument as well. However, I feel that Le Guin suggests that there is the propensity or possibility for a culture to be touched by another such that it is changed fundamentally. If the culture is exploitative and extractivist, and as a result of this certain proportions of that culture become very dominant, it is understandable that there will be elements in the native society that will adopt that culture in order to personally thrive. This too is a common story of colonialism, where a subset of the native population becomes complicit in the exploitation of their brethren. Le Guin does not go quite this far, however leaves us with the notion that once they have participated in war, the Athsheans are unable to return to being the peaceable society they once were.

What to take away from this all in terms of understanding human nature? As many books of this kind, it serves as a warning to pay attention to the behaviours that overlap and result in death and destruction, exploitation and domination. These are attitudes of racism and sexism, dehumanisation, othering, subtle or not-so-subtle senses of superiority and entitlement. In our contemporary society these attitudes still pervade politics, legal structures, social norms, in ways that can be very hidden. Violence, carried out in war zones, often by powerful countries who have no business being there, particularly America, but others as well, is sanctioned and justified through narratives of defence, or the same narratives that were used to justify colonialism, e.g. ‘bringing democracy/civilisation’. Military action is rarely open to critique, and the violence that is learned and sanctioned pervades our cultures in the form of homicides, police violence, school shootings (thinking of America, but other places are no immune to this). Toxic masculinity, ideas of the ‘alpha male’, and movements like the ‘Incel’ (involuntarily celibate men) who argue that they are entitled to women’s bodies or that there is a need for ‘alpha males’ in society, speak to just how pervasive and toxic these cultures remain.

Is there reason to be hopeful though in spite of this? I think there is. For all those actions and narratives, there are also those who question them and who provide alternative narratives. Could we find our way to a harmonious, non-exploitative, non-violent way of living as a society? It seems wildly far off and like a futuristic science fiction, but perhaps it’s through telling different stories that we start to open up the possibility for movement in that direction.

Meditation on Water I: Mountain Rivers

Little by little, drop by drop, I am coming to terms with my desire to write about my deeper, personal journey on here. It’s probably what has held this blog back for so long as I’ve struggled with where to place this – as thoughts somehow removed and objective, or much more personal reflections. Ultimately, and of course, I don’t see things from some objective or neutral third-party point of view. I see them from my point of view. And my point of view changes with my feelings. And my feelings are deep, and are inside my body. After all, how can a ‘human be natural’ as per the title of this blog, without feeling into their own nature? And so here I am, on a journey into myself, and out into the world, simultaneously, with each journey dependent on and interwoven with the other, like the symbol of the serpent consuming itself by the tail, or an infinity loop.

Last summer, my journey took me to a dance meditation workshop in the French Alps. For five days, with ten other women, I danced and delved and explored my body, my heart, my mind, my soul. Five rhythms with its mixture of dance, meditation, shamanism, and delving into what could be called the Jungian shadow-side is one of the most powerful tools of self-exploration and self-acceptance that I have so far come across. Something about the combination of expressive movement, embodied-ness, and guided motion through feelings moved me in profound ways that have continued and built over the last twelve months.

This post is not about five rhythms however, but about water, another aspect of our embodied experience. The two things are related however in that five rhythms has helped me to lean into my own embodied as well as expressive, imaginative nature. At least two important thinkers on water – Astrida Neimanis and Gaston Bachelard – who I’ll talk about a little more below, regard water as both a tool of the imagination and requiring the imagination to comprehend in terms of our own wateriness.

Back to the Alps and Heart of the Huntress. On a hot July day we arrive at the mountain retreat. People have traveled long distances, and even on the relatively short journey into the mountain, packed into the jeep that takes us from the small town of Praz-sur-Arly we can feel the sweat running down our backs and legs. We arrive at the retreat space, a beautifully restored stone and wood house nestled in the trees, with an expansive view over the valley to more mountains beyond. The house is off-grid, getting its electricity from solar panels, and a diesel-powered generator when necessary. Water is pumped at a slow trickle from an underground stream, and a large tank stores rainwater for all things other than drinking. The water levels in the tank are low when we arrive, due to a long dry spell.

Like much of Europe it had been extraordinarily dry here for some time. In the knowledge of this, we are advised to only take very short showers, and several people do. However, the next morning, we are informed that we have gone through four days worth of water in one day, and that if we continue at this rate we’ll have to cut the retreat short and go down into the town! Certainly none of us want that, and so we agree to ‘meditate into water’, using only the bare minimum for our needs.

For five days we dance, interspersing this with some walks in the woods/hills, archery, cooking and sharing meals, and some drawing, painting and creating. We dance our hearts out on each day, sweat glistening on our skin. In the evenings, if desired, we wash ourselves using about a quarter of a bucket of water. For me, these ablutions become sacred, religious almost. I wash my body reverently, using water from a bucket and a cloth. There is something ritualistic about this – a recognition of my own embodied nature and an acceptance of all the parts of me. In this recognition is that of accepting my embodied watery nature, my interconnectedness with that which sustains and holds my body literally and figuratively, and nourishes my soul. Both a separate, individual body, and one continuously in flow and only in existence as a kind of nodal point in an interconnectedness of things, a flow. I am reminded now of some words of Alan Watts, that we are not ‘made into’ something, but that we ‘grow out of the world’. We only are because all that we depend on is.

Astrida Neimanis suggests that we need to train ourselves out of ‘ontological hierarchy’, an understanding of reality that places us higher than any other form of existence. There is humility in recognizing ourselves as bodies of water – the continual flows of water through the body without which we cannot live, we do not exist.

At night, I hear the rushing of a river, very far down in a ravine. Apparently our intrepid leader Gina had attempted to access the river the year before, abseiling down some sheer cliff, until the risk level and difficulty of the task ruled it out (not before a minor injury that could have been much worse). And so we would sleep with the sound of distant rushing water, and meditate into the distance of it. A river, rushing, but just out of reach.

In the mornings we are awoken by Gina’s rich voice, her songs weaving in and out amongst the tepees and tents as she walks barefoot up the trails, a siren of the mountains rather than the sea. Among the songs one stays with me, and that we later sang in a round in the jeep on the way down the mountain, and much later I find myself walking alone along a shore, along a river, singing this song:

Listen

Lay yourself down on the rocks now
Let your body down in the river
Listen for the drumming on the other side
Lose yourself in the meantime

Listen
Let your body be your guide
Let the water decide
Lose yourself in the meantime

(Song: Listen (Eel River Song) by Meredith Buck, lyrics and audio to be found here: http://thebirdsings.com/listen/)

The song seemed to capture so many things about this experience. Listening, letting our bodies be the guide, letting the water decide. Apparently written by Meredith Buck on a women’s wilderness retreat after the experience of wading through a river blindfolded guided by the sound of drumming on the other side. The song of the river carries me into sleep and dream and out of it again. The veil between waking life and dream thins with each revolution of our planet, of our bodies, of our bodies that are planets, planets that are bodies.

In dreams, water is often said to represent emotion. The analogy extends to the different ways that water manifests in dreams, for instance a flood in which you are carried away could symbolize feeling overwhelmed by and out of control in the face of strong emotions. Of course, dream interpretation is a highly personal thing, as we discovered through practicing long-form dream interpretation on the retreat. At five rhythms retreats before and since I have found that my dreams are vivid, detailed, narratives imbued with emotion. Something about freeing up space in the body through movement perhaps enables this deeper delving into the subconscious. If water in dreams represents emotions, do emotions in waking life represent water? Are they water? Or ripples and vibrations felt in our own liquid selves?

In the mornings, awoken by the song, we drift towards the house, towards the music, and often the mists are also rising, up above the tall trees flowing up through the valley, like rivers in the sky. As we dance, the mists rise and dissipate, the sun shining through in shafts of light. The trees too are part of the flow, their every capillary alive with the movement of water, from the earth to the sky.

Bachelard writes of the four elements, fire, air, water and earth and suggests that all imagination is linked to one or more of these elements, that imagination is therefore linked to matter – is material imagination. In Bachelard’s thinking at least, water is ‘an element more feminine and more uniform than fire, a more constant one which symbolizes human powers that are more hidden, simple, and simplifying.’ I wonder about these powers that are more hidden, hidden depths of water, or tides and currents, subtle and potentially deadly… I recall walking on tidal flats in the Severn Estuary at very low tide. The ground shifting and unsteady, ready to pull a foot under if it lingered too long in one spot. Inviting only the swiftest of movements, along a path known by my guide. Knowing water, feeling into water, is to accept its mystery, its sometimes quiet power. Our absolute need of it, its vitality, our vitality, and its many qualities, solid, liquid, gas, its mutability. I wonder at engineering approaches: dams, culverts, concrete channels, tidal barrages, flood barriers, all the many ways that water is tamed, controlled, disallowed free movement, restricted. And I wonder at our own fluidity and how that is also tamed.

At Heart of the Huntress I released a lot of tears. A journey of sadness, river of sorrow, that I had first unleashed at my first Five Rhythms workshop, Call of the Heart, on the West coast of Wales. I was surprised by the depths of my own sorrow and for a while wondered at how I would be able to surface again. I did, and slowly, over time, I have come to a place of acceptance about these flows as well. Allowing this river to flow where it wants to means that in fact it is less likely to flood and overwhelm, but instead flows gently on, sunlight glittering on its surface.

Ordinary humans, energy, and the missing void

I walk away from the evening entitled ‘The Extraordinary Story of Human Beings, Energy and Happiness’ feeling gloomy and alienated. I’m not quite sure why this is. The speaker was Paul Allen of the Centre for Alternative Technologies, a place I’ve been multiple times, whose history I’m inspired by, and where I’ve had some great and inspiring interactions. I have had the distinct feeling in more recent visits though that the neoliberal is creeping in even here. Paul presented a story, sometimes accompanied by music, and containing great imagery, voices, rhythm, drama. It was compelling, if not new, and importantly it ended on a hopeful note. Many members of the audience said afterwards that they felt hopeful and positive. I wanted to as well, I really did. I almost felt like it was being required, even demanded that we feel hopeful, that we imagine positive futures in which the problem of climate change has been solved. I really wanted to believe, to come along on the journey.

But, I just couldn’t. And that left me feeling even more dejected and alienated than I had been before. Something just didn’t feel right, and I don’t know what it was. Maybe I’m just a gloomy person. Maybe as people have sometimes said to me, I’m attached to my gloominess. Maybe somehow I’m Marvin the robot from the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, but in human form. Or maybe I’m just suffering from the alienation that was talked about in the presentation, and before that by Karl Marx. Maybe it was the fact that it actually seemed such an elite bunch of people. Maybe it was the fact that it didn’t seem radical enough and so it didn’t seem to really challenge the insidious and powerful problems that we face. Maybe it was the fact that I’ve been to lots of events like this, populated with an elite class of people, middle class, educated, well-meaning bourgeoisie? People in the room are doing lots of good things, working with youth, mindfulness and mental health, renewable energy community groups, etc. There’s an awareness that individual changes is not enough, that change needs to happen structurally. People say useful things about involvement with boring policy as well as group organising. There’s lots of talk of arts and culture and the possible change that can happen. People say glowing things about Bristol and the positive green stance, Bristol Green Capital and so on…

I think, but don’t say, that everyone is just trying to make themselves feel good in different ways, it’s a different sort of consumerism, the green or do-gooder brand. I know it, I’ve done it, I do it, but I’m aware that I’m just trying to fill a slightly different void, a different emptiness to the hunger for fulfilment that drives people to overeat or drink or shop or buy sports cars. I feel people are still speaking and acting from a place of ego. Halfway through questions in particular, Paul suggests people identify themselves when they make a comment. There’s a shift. Now everyone is their profession, and what a lot of do-gooding (or spin) there is. I don’t want to denigrate anyone or anything, but just prior to this happening someone said something wise: that we all need to try to get away from this individualistic sense of meaning that is to do with our professions and working (and also making money and consuming). I think it’s true, but I see little sign of it happening any time soon. Someone else (an older man) harks back fondly to the years after WWII when food was rationed and there were barely any cars around and he rode his bike on the main road to London, picked up rationed amounts of cheese and milk, and there was no meat and everyone was healthy and felt good. Paul says it was that people had a common sense of purpose. But I think it’s more than that. People were more equal by default. There were limited resources to be distributed. There wasn’t a restaurant selling £100 bottles of wine and tiny morsels of delicacies imported from around the world, outside of which stand desperately alienated homeless people.

Before the talk I had walked down through Stokes Croft, then the Bear Pit, and past the entrance to the mass consumerism shopping district. Along the way I’d been thinking about cities and the mash of people (and animals and plants and water and trees, as well as concrete, and cars – I wouldn’t mind if there were none of the latter though). Walking a route like that is devastating. There’s something terribly emotional about it. I used to find it in Vancouver as well, only it was worse there. I used to find it more devastating as well when I was younger. The wealth and opulence and vapidness of affluent spending and conversations. And right up next to it, destitution, desperation, dejection. And in the midst of both, sometimes, deeply beautiful and moving soulful connections between people. I find my heart being pulled and pushed and the experience of walking the city fills me with… something… a kind of aliveness, a kind of energy, but also something else, this feeling that something is terribly wrong and disconnected, that collectively we need a major shift, maybe the shift of consciousness that Eckart Tolle talks about in the book I randomly picked up in a charity shop: A New Earth.

At the event, in which there were maybe a hundred or so people, and maybe two who were younger than 35, there was a lot of talk about the younger generations and how important it was to engage them and to get them to imagine positive futures. Well, I agree, and I was thinking about how I took the Fulbright students to CAT and also to Lammas, and at least one of them was inspired. And now I have my students at UWE (and next week at UoB), and though I don’t feel this is really the future of my engagement with young people (as I’m increasingly feeling that universities are not the place to be for real positive action and creating…) it’s something for the moment, and a place where I can convey some sense of something… can tell them about social inequality, and injustice, and environmental damage. And some of them care. And some of them will be inspired.

And yet I find myself thinking, feeling, that all of this is just idle entertainment that will not change anything and that we are on a trajectory now that can’t be stopped and won’t be stopped. Yes, it’s apocalyptic in some ways, but it also seems inevitable. And from the ashes I feel, maybe, perhaps, there will be a chance for something else to grow and emerge, humans might factor into it, but they might not. It doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s thinking of the future in general that is getting me down. Bless Paul Allen and the well-meaning do-gooders, but my fragmented soul is going to look for a bit of solace in the present.

Violence and toxic masculinity

I wrote this post for facebook, in response to the bombing at Manchester Arena, but never posted it up. It’s raw and needs editing, but I’ll just put it here for now as a holder until I get around to that.

I don’t want to add to the platitudes or simplifications being presented about the Manchester shooting. But I do feel compelled to add a narrative that seems to be missing here, particularly in the context of an attack seemingly quite deliberately targeting women and girls, and as usual, perpetrated by a man, who committed suicide in the process.

The narratives that are missing: male suicide trends (http://www.esquire.co.uk/culture/longform/a9202/britain-male-suicide-crisis/) AND toxic masculinity (http://www.salon.com/2016/06/13/overcompensation_nation_its_time_to_admit_that_toxic_masculinity_drives_gun_violence/ – not the most tempered article but still) AND violence (in all its forms) against femininity (I’m not talking about makeup here but about behaviours – gentleness, compassion, vulnerability, sensitivity, ability to see multiple points of view, listening, etc.)

Now, I should clarify that I’m talking about masculinity and femininity as traits, not as things necessarily aligned with biological sex. People all along the gender spectrum have traits of both masculinity and femininity.

I’m also not saying there isn’t potentially an overlap with religion, because religion can also exacerbate problems around masculinity and femininity, as can other cultural things (think closeted gay homophobe in American Beauty, and the Orlando shooter – different reasons for repression of their sexual orientation). These things are also not disconnected from the many other attacks on women and children, from the Ecole Polytechnique mass shooting in 1989 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89cole_Polytechnique_massacre), motivated by the perceived threat of women studying, to the mass shooting in 2014 compellingly linked to appalling misogyny (https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/may/24/elliot-rodgers-california-shooting-mental-health-misogyny), as well as domestic violence which is still overwhelmingly directed at women (and children) in the clearest expression of toxic masculinity.

I feel at pains to reiterate that this isn’t about men and women as discrete categories, it’s about masculinity and femininity and how these are understood and acted, and about how we treat and respond to different expressions of masculinity and femininity. In the case of current British politics, it is actually a woman who is representing masculinist ideas – ‘strong and stable’ is the kind of narrative that men are told they need to be. If that means violence and control, so be it. The narrative doesn’t break down what strong and stable means, but it doesn’t talk about the strength in non-violence, in negotiation, in taking responsibility, and in caring. Conversely, the current leader of the Labour party is vilified for being sympathetic, empathetic, listening, and allowing for complexity and multiple sides and angles, all things associated with femininity. There is close to an abhorrence of his lack of willingness to say ‘yes I would drop a nuclear bomb on a country’. He represents a threat to an idea of masculinity that has to be aggressive, has to be violent, has to posture and make clear its willingness towards violence.

I suggest we really need to think about how ideas of masculinity and femininity and the privileging of particular ideas of the former have such an insidious hold on our collective psyche, and that we really need to focus on healing the deep wounds caused by an essentially misogynist society. Particularly the wounds inflicted by such a society on men, which I think are evidenced by the rates of suicide, as well as domestic and other types of violence (toxic masculinity) expressed by men in particular.

Relationships, conversations, sharings…

Well it’s been a long time since I last wrote on here. A product of lacking confidence in what I have to say, combined with the distractions of the social media world with its instant access to zillions of bite-sized bits of ideas, and links to an ever-changing sea of information, opinion and stories. Why blog in this world? Because it’s a form of expression. Because amidst all this noise we are on journeys of finding ourselves, of finding each other, of connecting, of sharing… And this is important. Maybe the most important thing there is, whether we’re thinking about the environment, the planet we live on, or peace, freedom (including from the fear that grips us when we hide away), justice, kindness, security… our relationships with other humans as well as the non-human world. In the end, it’s all about relationships. And about, as much as possible, and wherever and whenever possible, finding love in those relationships, and finding our sense of caring and empathy…

I’m reading The Empathic Civilization. This book found me after a long time. Time that isn’t linear. Time that is a cycle, a coming around, a dreaming, dream-time… I am reading it in the past, in the future, and now, none of which exists in any real sense, only in my mind, in a collective mind of a dominant sense of consciousness, upheld by a culture that draws a line and teaches from a young age the sense of linear time…

I am sitting in a cafe in my neighbourhood. Two people join me at my table; an older gentleman and his son, a man in his twenties perhaps, with long hair slightly disheveled. As the son goes to order food the older man, in a Scottish accent and extraordinarily politely opens up a conversation beginning with greetings of the season. I ask about his Christmas and thus ensues a conversation with both of them that sees meals consumed, and coffees, and the sun going down. My laptop gets closed and no work gets done, but a human connection is formed. We talk about geography and the environment, and the older of the two asks me about what the single thing might be that he could do that would help the environment. Give up his car? he queries. I mull on this for a while, and then say: I think the key is in relationships. It’s in fostering that sense of connection and mutual care that means we are less likely to fall into a cycle of consumption to fill some kind of void. Change, I say, will come from social movements, from people questioning the lifestyles that they are being told they need to have, lifestyles of high consumption and atomistic individuality. What will ‘save the planet’ as it were, is the breaking down of boundaries, and the opening up of relationships between people so that we develop an ever-increasing sense of being part of something bigger. Community, in all it’s many forms, community that extends further and further beyond our individualistic boundaries…

I’ve spent a few evenings over the last few days volunteering at a homeless shelter, and this has been among the best Christmasses I have ever experienced. My sense of self has been expanded, my awareness of others, my feeling of closeness and connection. It has been an experience that is difficult to describe, difficult to analyse in terms of the seeming contradiction between being around people whose circumstances are difficult and sad, and the incredibly uplifting effect of the interactions, the strong sense of community, of humanity, of human connection. I have spent hours playing games and chatting with people, no one checking their phones or rushing off to be somewhere else, or being distracted. We have sat and looked into each others eyes and talked of the deep things in life, and this has been as therapeutic and amazing for me and the other volunteers as it hopefully has been for the guests at the shelter. I have spent days mulling on this, wondering what it is that is so special about these interactions. There are many layers to it I think. A sense of doing something nice for others, as comes with most voluntary work, but also this deep feeling of listening and connecting and being, a mutual exchange, a validation of each other’s beingness, humanity…

I have been off Facebook for some months, have avoided the deluge of empty interactions that occur at birthdays and Christmas etc. Instead, this year I received one hand-written letter/card from a dear friend not spoken to and this meant more than all the brief interactions that would have happened in this online space. I write back to her, my handwriting filling two sides of a card and the back, fluidly pouring out my recent experiences, sharing a bit of my humanity in this private space. It feels like a real conversation. I find myself in this writing. There is delight in it.

As the year comes to an end, I have only one resolution and it is to foster these things that are meaningful, the connections and conversations, in person and one-to-one. Sharing the good things and the hard things, and being there for people as much as I can be, while finding my self as well and allowing myself to shine out at the world and bring joy. Joy that comes from within, a fire fed by connection, conversations, relationships, sharings…

Footnote: I have to credit a former colleague Jo Orchard-Webb for highlighting these three terms: conversations, relationships and sharing. Whilst she did so in an academic context where they seemed to sit awkwardly with a stilted scholarly environment more concerned with words and spin than with focusing on what’s really important (something I feel true to a large extent of the academic world in many ways – a discord with soul that I’ll perhaps write about more some other time), I have found them to be the most descriptive words of what seems to really matter in both a social and an environmental sense.

 

A green and pleasant land

I wondered today, not knowing well my English history or literature well enough, where the phrase “Green and pleasant land” which seems so deeply embedded in the psyche of Britain and particularly its planning system, had originated from. A simple google search revealed that the origin lies with the poem of William Blake as follows:

And did those feet in ancient time.
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land

The poem, which every Briton probably knows was later adapted into the song (or hymn) Jerusalem by Sir Hubert Parry. The references to this, including both the song, and the imagery conjured by the poem were included in this summer’s Olympics opening ceremony, deemed by Danny Boyle and the other brains behind the ceremony to be something iconic of Britain, or perhaps more precisely England.

The sentiments behind this poem perhaps capture fears, emerging early on in the Industrial Revolution that the country would be spoiled by the ‘dark satanic mills’ of industry. Fears which were not ungrounded given the scale of industrial activity and the poor levels of environmental control at the time, leading to smog and polluted waters and barren lands. But while the idea may have originated in this context, it now seems to have a different effect. The ‘green and pleasant land’ must be protected from any and all evidence of human activity, however ecologically friendly and gentle, in favor of ‘protection of the countryside’ at all costs. A discourse that, as so many do, has been hijacked by a vested interest and an unthinking public that goes along with it. We’ve stopped thinking about what kind of development is harmful to the environment, whether development might not be so, could be made to be harmonious with the non-human world, to an extent at least. Instead, this totalitarian understanding lumps giant supermarket stores along with massive factories along with… individual dwellings for people trying to work the land organically and with care and loving attention. Is that right? Is that really the way to protect the green and pleasant land? Or does this debate need more nuance as do so many others.

The rambles and rants of a fledgling academic

There always has to be a beginning a middle and an end, and even so, the starting point is always, by necessity, arbitrary, since things don’t start and end neatly but flow along in a great big continuum of unfathomable complexity. Nevertheless, ‘you’ve got to start somewhere’.

So this is the start of a new blog in which I’ll allow myself the luxury of less structured thinking, a space to explore all those tangents that don’t fit into my phd, but that interest me nonetheless. A place to talk about the things that inspire me, fire me up, make me angry, make me worry for the future of humanity and the ones that restore my faith in humanity and leave me smiling. Most importantly, this is a space to explore, a space of possibility and of openness, a space of freedom. A space in which to lay bare my thoughts in all their rambling incompleteness, before they are whipped into shape, chiselled and whittled into a form palatable to the academic beast. A space of free thinking and free writing and inviting comment before I’m invested in a perspective. I hope it will also be a place for some fun.