A Journal from St Michael’s Green, Beaconsfield As in the previous post, this was written in the 1990s Structure is a male word, relating to that part of the brain which does engineering. It’s related to discipline, in the sense that I might structure my day, or my life (which doesn’t sound a good idea—to… Continue reading Engineering and Angels
Category: intimations
Eternity in the City
[This was written in the early Nineties and published on a website, before the dawn of blogs.] Cloistered all day, I had forgotten once again that an outside world existed. In a windowless office I saw no seasons, no day, no night. There was only harsh lighting, never switched off. The shock of emerging into… Continue reading Eternity in the City
How I See the World
My comment to a post called Thresholds of Artificiality Thanks for airing these excellent interlinked topics, much food for thought. Here’s another take, inspired by your words, possibly challenging them too: I define reality as continuously unfolding in three-dimensional space, where its contents can be known to all the relevant senses. Thus, I walk into… Continue reading How I See the World
Joy without a cause
I tell you naught for your comfort, Yea, naught for your desire, Save that the sky grows darker yet And the sea rises higher. Night shall be thrice night over you, And heaven an iron cope. Do you have joy without a cause, Yea, faith without a hopeInspired by G.K. Chesterton's Ballad of the White… Continue reading Joy without a cause
Invisibles
My guardian angel got her name by accident. It can be traced back to a difference between men and women, in which She (archetypal woman) does chores without remark or fuss. When she dares to interrupt His (archetypal man's) scholarly scribbling, and to ask him to lend a hand, he does so with a little… Continue reading Invisibles
While Unsleeping
A kind of liberation ensues when you accept the situation, displeasing as it may be, that you find yourself in at this moment. For example insomnia & remembrance of past mistakes—to name but one. For me, they are synonymous. Liberation is an art, the act of turning something round the other way.To embrace the negative… Continue reading While Unsleeping
The Bitter Taste
From Bryan White Occasionally, I like to revisit ideas that I disagree with, to see if I can find a reason to reconsider my position. It's a wonderful thing when something compels you to change your mind. It's like a whole new area of the game board opens up. Suddenly there are all these fresh… Continue reading The Bitter Taste
The Steps
From Bryan White So how did I get here? And what do I do now? There's a point when your kids are still little. They're little, but they're not babies anymore. They're starting to need their space. You're not just a young couple with a baby; you've officially reached that turning point where you're a… Continue reading The Steps
Angels, Chaos, Truth
The last two pieces posted here have left important questions unanswered: What can we really know? What kind of consequences may follow inaccurate assumptions? Do we have any chance of explaining the unexplained, and should we even bother? Is there a wisdom we can call upon, or allow to reach us, which we can use… Continue reading Angels, Chaos, Truth
What looks after us
Posted on Jan 4th , ’21 by Vincent I’ve been wanting to write about the role of angels in my life. Like most words in any language, it’s loaded with baggage going back millennia. Let’s strip off that heavy weight of meanings, leave it in a heap and walk lightly away. I want to go… Continue reading What looks after us
A Way with Words
From Bryan White My daughter writes poetry sometimes, and a few weeks ago, as I was drifting off to sleep, I was thinking about some advice that I gave her years back regarding poetry writing, and I was expanding on it in my head. I find that my thoughts are often addressed to someone I… Continue reading A Way with Words
Jotted psalm
We cannot own love, only glimpse, feel it touch us, pass through, dwell in us. We are more or less feeble receivers, picking up signals from an unnown transmitter. Science is a petty thing before love, for it wants to know, grasp, possess, dismantle to fragments harness, claim, proclaim. Yet science is a thing: wonderful,… Continue reading Jotted psalm
“outnumbered by blessings”
It was one of those "whisperings" that I get occasionally when the conscious mind is quiescent. The brain can do funny things. Shostakovich had a fragment of shrapnel lodged in his, left over from WWII. When he held his head at a certain angle he heard music. All he had to do was write it… Continue reading “outnumbered by blessings”
There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
Is there a grand scheme of things? Yes, this is something I do believe. As to what it is, I cannot directly say: only circumstantially, in reference to what we can see with our own eyes. As I said in my last, politics and public discourse are toxic these days. After hearing what passes as… Continue reading There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
“There is No Other Doer but He”
As journals, blogs are like life: open-ended. You finish one piece, you've no idea what the next will say, or whether there'll be a next one. After ending my last with a quote from Julian of Norwich, to round the thing off as I thought, I never expected to encounter her again so soon. A… Continue reading “There is No Other Doer but He”
The Exchange of Gifts
As Dr Johnson put it:Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. Even a personal health scare, when you don’t really know what’s going on, does concentrate the mind to an extent, till you decide that it’s going to be all right… Continue reading The Exchange of Gifts
Via Ledborough Road
After the questionnaire, and further Skype-messaging with the lad (a good way to preserve the minutes of our meetings), it was time to meet Karleen for lunch in the pub. As usual on a Friday, I took along the 2-wheel trolley (“cart” in American). Karleen had already paid for our breadfruit, mangoes, yams & plantains… Continue reading Via Ledborough Road
England’s green and pleasant land
I’ve been agitated lately, it started a day or so before Polling Day. I was astonished to find how much this Referendum mattered to me. In the end I went to the favourite spot I’ve written about before (England Have My Bones) with camera & voice recorder; recalling as I went Ellie’s comment on a… Continue reading England’s green and pleasant land
When love conquers fear
While writing in my last about “Secret Strength” I had a strong desire to talk about wartime Holland and its sufferings under Nazi occupation. In particular I wanted to share an aria on YouTube, beautiful on its own account but even more moving for this little piece of history: When the Netherlands were liberated in… Continue reading When love conquers fear
Secret Strength
When we are alert to its promptings, the unconscious mind can reach us through various means. Blake had his waking visions; many of us have dreams. They may clothe themselves in a jumble of recent experiences, yet contain latent messages ready for decoding, which may open our eyes to things our well-controlled consciousness has kept… Continue reading Secret Strength
That which is unchosen
On Monday morning I passed through the little footpath that leads to the children’s playground at the back of our house. It’s my shortcut to everywhere. Litter-pickers don’t work at the weekend, nor do those with fresh paypackets and the urge to celebrate with their friends on beer and fast food, who gather where they… Continue reading That which is unchosen
Many Are the Ways
It’s been a busy few weeks, and a kind of milestone. K’s retirement after 42 years’ continuous employment has been finalized; and we’ve had a new kitchen installed. These two events seem to have balanced the scales of Destiny. For on the one hand, we’re no longer tethered to this unique spot on the globe’s… Continue reading Many Are the Ways
My Life as Art
At the end of my last I promised to be a guinea-pig for the proposal that “we each and everyone be conscious artists, painting our existence on to the canvas of each new day”. What could it mean? Could it be played out practically? Natalie had a suggestion that “to be an artist in one’s… Continue reading My Life as Art
What was and might yet be
In my last I tried to convey something of the fascination of Cowes in a few shots all taken within a hundred yards of each other. But I’m hardly interested in picturesqueness for its own sake; only in what touches the soul. Moving to Cowes in 1954 was the beginning of a new life. Till… Continue reading What was and might yet be
Full Circle
My previous post started with a trip to buy milk from a supermarket, and the sense of a “tangible perfection”. I don’t know what triggers these things, but the next time I went to buy milk something else worth the telling occurred. This time it was more of a thought, a realization, an inner voice… Continue reading Full Circle
On Human Behaviour
Jean-Paul Sartre, about 1950 Click for source Among the comments on my last, Ellie referred to some words by Jean-Paul Sartre. I have expanded her quotation a little, for its context: “We are left alone, without excuse. That is what I mean when I say man is condemned to be free. Condemned, because he did not… Continue reading On Human Behaviour
The Human Condition
To be alive is such a blessing that we rarely find ourselves able to grasp it. To feel this blessing in the moment is the most precious thing I know. Briefly I wondered if it makes grammatical sense to say “It’s a blessing to be alive,” for we are not in a position to compare… Continue reading The Human Condition
At the Blue Note Café
It was dusk, on a winding country road hemmed in by darkening hedgerows on either side. Round a bend, I suddenly saw two mediaeval peasants trudging along at the roadside, bearing staffs and bundles and what looked like bamboo hats on their backs. I was led back in memory to the Blue Note Café by… Continue reading At the Blue Note Café
The realm of infinite possibility
I dreamt I was dead. There was no afterlife. This “I” became a past-tense “he”, a past-tense entity, no longer part of the scene, soon to be forgotten. The dream was about that which remained: the world continuing as before, other people still there, gladness still existing. All was well, better than before, even, because… Continue reading The realm of infinite possibility
From Handwriting to Eternity
As an art form, the blog has extraordinary possibilities. It’s a “magic theatre: entrance not for everybody”. Anybody may come and peek, but those for whom it’s not intended will swiftly move on. This theatre’s producer—I mean the blog author—may put on a new show every day, or hardly ever. In the public imagination the… Continue reading From Handwriting to Eternity
Whithersoever
Stepping outside myself, I caught infinity in a moment; came face to face with a Super Star of Invincibility. How little we know: whence we came, whither we’re going. We're on our way. Whithersoever I went on a small journey in preparation for a bigger one. On Monday I fly out to Amsterdam, so this… Continue reading Whithersoever
Sacred places
Books I’ve recently read convey snatches of the lore whereby sacred places may be recognized and visited. I find myself wanting to quote from them. But I must refer only to what I know, sketchy or part-submerged in the subconscious as that may be. David Abram for example speaks of certain peoples, on the fringes… Continue reading Sacred places
Infinite are the depths
Some days are special gifts but it takes something else, some extra gift to be able to share them. When I say days, I mean moments within days. And when I say special, I refer to some magic visible only to the inner eye. A day is a torrent of moments which pass us by,… Continue reading Infinite are the depths
Project
Poor blog! Your master has neglected you: deliberately. And taken a vow also to write briefly and more or less spontaneously, as opposed to elaborate literary essays: the better to do other things elsewhere—to be elaborate in a more spacious (i.e. book) format, conducted with an excellent collaborator: sometimes sparring partner, sometimes antagonist. It’s going… Continue reading Project
A Moment in Portmeirion
Me scraping toast outside the awning of our tent I was going to write about Wales. And then I was going to write about child looters rampaging the evening streets of English cities. I probably won’t finish either of these essays though they exist in partial drafts. So here instead are a few photos of… Continue reading A Moment in Portmeirion
Mission
The photos alongside were taken on a walk in Flackwell Heath I confess to a constant need: to have a sense of mission. I don’t suppose this makes me any different from any other man—I specifically mean man as opposed to woman, child or any other specimen from the imaginative catalogue of God’s creatures. I… Continue reading Mission
Affinity
Why do I write, if I can’t write any better? But what would become of me if I didn’t write what I can, however inferior it may be to what I am? In my ambitions, I am a plebeian, because I try to achieve; like someone in a dark room, I’m afraid to be silent.… Continue reading Affinity
Dreaming spires
Oxford is everything that my own town is not, and it’s only 30 miles away. I decided Park and Ride was the best way to enter in triumph, using my new electronic bus pass, on a superb day in June, discovering that the students are in exams and the streets are a motley of tourists.… Continue reading Dreaming spires
Blessed by the sun
I step out of the house for the daily ritual of meeting Karleen from work. My route involves shortcuts through alleys. A perfect ritual has no practical purpose, no sense of obligation. It’s done for joy alone. Its sacredness within the rhythm of daily life increases on every repetition. Its tendency to sameness draws attention… Continue reading Blessed by the sun
The moment
I went out to the backyard on Sunday morning. Purpose: to hang washing out on the line. The sky above was blue. There are trees beyond the fence, growing in the children’s playground, and on one of them I saw a little bird, insistently repeating the same note: “Tweet; tweet; tweet” as its ancestors had… Continue reading The moment
Keeper of Souls
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul. I saw this on a tombstone at Hambleden, a tiny village that doesn’t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. For all I know it may be still enmeshed in the feudal system, though its origins… Continue reading Keeper of Souls
Unfettered
When you have a computer with Web access, you can find photos of almost anything, taken by better photographers with better cameras than you and yours. But it doesn’t stop us from indulging in the global festival of digital photography, that celebrates “I woz here!”—though mainly in the sunshine. In my outdoor shots, it’s usually… Continue reading Unfettered
Pilgrimage
I’m on this path. I don’t know how far I’ve been, I don’t know where I am on the map. I hear planes criss-crossing distantly above the fog. I’m on the crest of a slope, looking out on rows of stubble, which bristle in parallel stripes over the curved surface of the fields. The landscape… Continue reading Pilgrimage
One moment
One thing that language can do, and I think it only possible in written language, is to unwrap the content of a moment of consciousness, to examine and share it. Perhaps such moments are rare, and the stuff of poetry. Such a one occurred today as I crossed a car park to enter the supermarket.… Continue reading One moment
The Walk to Marlow
I’ve never taken this trail before, this walk to Marlow on the first day of February, on a cloudless frosty day. How often it happens, on my wayfaring, that something triggers a memory, perhaps of a single second in my life, usually in childhood, for it was then that I most frequently encountered something for… Continue reading The Walk to Marlow
Angels
A propos my newly-confirmed belief in the existence of angels, Ashok says in his new post: “He will not believe in anything easily unless he has very sound proof of it.” Au contraire, my dear Ashok. (I seem to be starting each sentence in French.) There is no need for proof when the experience is… Continue reading Angels
God is silent: angels are here
It's clear to me that there is no almighty God. My prayers and faith are directed towards freelance angels. I don’t know what they are “really”, only that they are real. Each one of us is vulnerable, so long as we are somewhere between birth and death. Being alive entails having everything to lose, bit… Continue reading God is silent: angels are here
Improvisation
Said Hayden, in a comment on my last: “I continue to think about your comments, Vincent, on your “magical” experience and the whisper in your ear. I'd love to hear more about it directly. Not the abstract philosophy that flows from it, but what you remember of the experience itself.” I didn’t know which experience… Continue reading Improvisation
Death will win
This sky is my paper, asking me to write on its clear blue surface, perhaps in sepia ink with my new fountain-pen. But it doesn’t tell me what to write. I don’t care, for my pleasure is in the writing more than the content. Gazing at the blue sky, I welcome the little clouds. Uninterrupted… Continue reading Death will win
Aylesbury Walkabout
I’m on a section of the “Round Aylesbury Walk”. If you go clockwise, the town is on your right and level countryside is on your left. I talk to myself as I go, into this digital recorder (edited below). Suppose everything is just as it should be, already? Suppose everything goes on being just right,… Continue reading Aylesbury Walkabout
Eternity
When we speak of God or gods, it’s to express the otherwise inexpressible. This is something that atheists and materialists seem to wilfully misunderstand, when they say that it’s irrational to believe what you cannot see. As you’ll see from various entries in this blog, there are two kinds of immortal I can’t do without… Continue reading Eternity
Unto the Hills
“When I was someone else, that I am not now ...” continued. Let us assume that each one of us contains multiple personalities. Vincent exists in the written word, is not quite the same as his author, who inhabits other dimensions never written down. Vincent is several persons, separated by time-slices, spliced together into fragments… Continue reading Unto the Hills
The mysterious impulse
It would be idle to inquire why Mr Razumov has left this record behind him. It is inconceivable that he should have wished any human eye to see it. A mysterious impulse of human nature comes into play here. Putting aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in this way the door of immortality, [we observe… Continue reading The mysterious impulse
I am still me
“You don’t know what you think until you speak.” Which is why I blog. And then there are the extempore comments scattered across cyberspace, wanton and unremembered: pigeons loosed but never coming home to roost for they are not of the homing variety. Or they are seeds broadcast, which engender new life in many a… Continue reading I am still me
Retracing
This blog started out with the title An Ongoing Experiment. What the experiment was designed to investigate was never clear to me. It was ongoing: its discoveries would define its objectives. The spirit of the “perpetual laboratory” remains, though it later changed its name to As in Life, emulating a still pool reflecting the sky—art… Continue reading Retracing
First love
It was a Sunday morning in March and I was just 16. I’d been writing an essay on a stanza from a poem by William Wordsworth: “A violet by a mossy stone / Half hidden from the eye / Fair as a star when only one / is shining in the sky”. I’d been sitting… Continue reading First love
Memory’s Carillon
I don’t know if there is anyone, even myself, who can quite grasp what I’m getting at here. Whatever “here” means. I live over the street and sleep with the window wide open. The street is small and crowded, each house 12 foot wide and joined to the next. At night it’s utterly silent. No… Continue reading Memory’s Carillon
Bus ride
It is wonderful to be able to rejoice with the fortunate: to see someone beautiful and young who is making the most of what he or she has, in a simple way. When I was at university, I was preoccupied with my own loneliness and wasted my time. If only I could have appreciated what… Continue reading Bus ride
Belonging
The day after posting my last, I felt cleansed, as a Catholic might feel after a visit to the confessional. Burdens removed, joy restored. I had published only a small selection of what I’d drafted, but had never felt such catharsis from writing, if it is justifiable to link effect and cause in this way.… Continue reading Belonging
Ecstasy and unreason
The single-minded pursuit of ecstasy — that’s what my life is for. Perhaps this is not for everybody, but it’s the only thing that works for me and I’m glad I realised it whilst I still have time. I’ll be resuming my memoirs soon, when things (never mind what) are straightened out a little. The… Continue reading Ecstasy and unreason
Portmeirion
Why do people remember where they were when they heard of the death of President Kennedy? I have a mental snapshot of my precise surroundings when I heard of the deaths of King George VI, Marilyn Monroe, John Kennedy, John Lennon and Princess Diana. As to when Martin Luther King and Elvis Presley died,… Continue reading Portmeirion
Good and bad
Jim wrote a comment on my last piece, Human Animal. My response grew into this post. Thanks, Jim, for spotting what was missing! My piece for what it’s worth was partly a spontaneous outpouring though I admit a temptation to think of it as philosophy. I am glad you mention good and bad, Jim. These… Continue reading Good and bad
Human animal
It’s less than a week since I posted last but seems longer; and then it gets harder to try and distil the impressions and thoughts of several days into a short space. One thing: I wanted to lead you by the hand and show you “my” waterfall (100 yards from my door) but a photo… Continue reading Human animal
Stepping out
For several weeks I’ve had nothing new to say. Were this a movie, my wordlessness could be wordlessly conveyed. The scene opens to a man turning the platen of his typewriter to feed in a fresh white sheet of paper. Surrounding him are bookshelves on all sides. He stares at the blank sheet. After much… Continue reading Stepping out
Death before dishonour
I set out on my errands, hardly reached the street before ideas started to flow: something to ponder, something to write. I swiftly reviewed the range of human belief systems: from burnt offerings on rugged mountain-tops to mass church attendance (booking a place in Heaven) to New Age superstitions (“we create our own reality”). It… Continue reading Death before dishonour
Liberation
In the last year I have been reminded, time and again, by smells and various other stimuli, of a period I spent in Holland when I was five. It was a young age for roaming alone in streets and woods, but that's what I did. I’d been dumped with an unwilling bogus “aunt” in a… Continue reading Liberation
One thought fills immensity*
Every thought could fill a book. It’s the middle of the night now. My dream was so powerful and enigmatic that it woke me up marvelling. I was having a reunion with my first wife. We were laughing. Her face was radiant. We were very good friends. Why did we ever split up? Why did… Continue reading One thought fills immensity*
Aboriginal tirade
I defy every professor on the face of this spinning globe. Gentlemen, ladies, don’t feel threatened. You have chosen the gowns and the tenure, the books, the students, the research facilities and the world’s respect. What more do you want? You may think you define truth too, but this is what I don’t allow. No,… Continue reading Aboriginal tirade
The angelic gift
An English Spring can be two-faced, like life itself. The sun warms you and the chill wind finds its way through your clothes, both at the same time. For a whole week I haven’t written here, but the will was there and a need to understand what’s been happening to me. I’ve been feeling uneasy; … Continue reading The angelic gift
Prophecies
I went to last summer’s sunflower field. It’s been flattened and lightly manured, a pervasive smell of old cow-dung in the air. Three sunflowers were still standing, much as in my last visit: skeletal, downcast. I needed hat and gloves for the field is exposed; the wind bore the sharp sting of sleet. The neighbouring… Continue reading Prophecies
The art of the possible
Much of what people call angelic inspiration could also be called coincidence, and that is fine by me. The Heavenly Host have not hired me as one of their PR consultants, so far as I know; which does not rule out the possibility that I have taken on the job unwittingly. At least, if we… Continue reading The art of the possible
Nature holds everything
Simon Templar (“The Saint”) is the twentieth century Robin Hood. I have not encountered him on the screen and only read a few stories of his exploits, though I did recently thrill to the swashbuckling of Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood directed by Michael Curtiz in 1938. And now I’ve encountered a co-author of The Saint.… Continue reading Nature holds everything
Divine Anarchy
Twilight on Christmas Day: Dashwood Mausoleum (illumined) & St Lawrence’s Church with Golden Ball I want to speak theologically, to say what I think about God and angels. But then, it’s a bit hard putting abstractions into words. No, that’s completely wrong. It is all too easy to put abstractions into words, and give them… Continue reading Divine Anarchy
Angels and us
At some point in the Christmas season the pathos converts to joy; just as grape juice needs only yeast and a little time to turn into wine. This is the Christmas miracle, repeated every year: “Peace, goodwill to men”. I used to think it was a supernatural thing, as though some power, God I suppose,… Continue reading Angels and us
In the days of low sun
My town is centred on a narrow river valley running east and west and surrounded by hills whose ridges and valleys radiate like spokes of a wheel. This morning I drove down Hamilton Road, which offers the broadest vista of the town as you descend the hill. It was soon after dawn with a hard… Continue reading In the days of low sun
Christmas Past
Yes, time can be a spiral, as Cream pointed out in her comment on my last. But it can seem like a circle of recurrence too, as the season evokes emotions long past. I’ve been wanting to write of life’s pathos for weeks now, but today it caught up with me, with an inescapable twisting… Continue reading Christmas Past
Being a nobody
In the last post we were talking about ideas as wildfire: they burn and destroy, they have awesome power and are therefore dangerous. There is a school of thought very dominant in the world at present that power is intrinsically good. Needless to say this is an idea promoted exclusively by the powerful, just as… Continue reading Being a nobody
The Human Condition
In the spring and summer of this year 2006 I opened all my senses, not just the usual five, to Nature. I’m searching here for an adequate word, but Nature will have to do. I exposed myself to the sublime and intricate world of non-human life, its pathos and grandeur. I discovered that lambs and… Continue reading The Human Condition
Travelling light
(Continued from "one Piece of Baggage") After writing the previous piece, I was fired up to continue immediately, but life intervened, & the mood is a little different now. I wanted to get feedback from others before putting in a tentative answer of my own to the question I had raised. Thanks, Imemine, Serenity and… Continue reading Travelling light
Spirit
“Money, health and wisdom are the three pillars of our existence,” says Alistair, whose blog, like Jim’s, often provokes me. My disagreement is immediate and vehement. He invites me to ride my bicycle in the tramlines, but I’m not going there. Instead, I’ll obey the impulse to follow my impulse. I’ll ride my bicycle along… Continue reading Spirit
By their fruits
Photo: a durian, favourite fruit in South-East Asia I will tell you how it seems to me. That should go without saying, for what else can I truthfully tell? Up to a certain time in childhood I was true to myself, because “I didn’t know any better”. Then I tried to learn the ways of… Continue reading By their fruits
The Pope & the Koran
It being Sunday, I heard a Christian service on BBC Radio 4, broadcast from a Church of England cathedral, so that its congregation could endorse the standard prayer: “Good morning, God. It’s us again, you remember, the righteous ones. Others may fail you but not us!” The theme for the service was World Peace, the… Continue reading The Pope & the Koran
All we ever need to know
Reposted August 7th 2022, with the following addition: "Learning is not just about acquiring knowledge. More important than reading, writing and arithmetic is learning what (u)not(/u) to do." Written way back when everything seemed so simple and fresh, and messages came unbidden out of a clear sky: "All we ever need to know is what… Continue reading All we ever need to know
“Things I just know”
Jim says “Some things I just ‘know’ and believe in as fact without any proof.” He touches on a topic I wanted to speak about because it is vital to the understanding of all human culture: How we know what we know. I’ve written elsewhere that Western civilisation is a prism: it splits the whole.… Continue reading “Things I just know”
a wayfarer’s notes 