I downloaded this from Richard Shusterman's 1994 paper on "Interpretation, Mind, and Embodiment: a Psychological Inquiry"; It's referred to in my 2009 post on Body Consciousness , but hasn't been published here before now. I find it's having particular reference to my experience as a person in old age who's partially disabled and dependent on an… Continue reading Embodiment
Category: wayfaring
a Shot at Redemption
originally published on February 1st, 2007 I went to the doctor about two unrelated issues. The upshot was, no action or prescription. But I came out of there a new man, with a spring in my step etc, which lasted at least two hours. All week I'd been dreading it: the inevitable physical examination and… Continue reading a Shot at Redemption
On a Bus Ride
Written on Mar 29th , 2008 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… Continue reading On a Bus Ride
Yes Dear
retrieved from a post published elsewhere on October 20th, 2016 In my last I mentioned “a post in preparation, called ‘Just Words’, but it may take several days, or forever.” All very well but there is real life to be lived, can’t leave this hanging & festering like a debt with mounting interest due. “Just… Continue reading Yes Dear
Take Nothing for Granted
Here's a post from November 29th, 2008, worth sharing again. I hope you'll like it as I do. So I planned to republish today. Then things got overtaken by more immediate concerns (now fixed) * What are you thankful for? asks a blogger friend, seasonably. What shall I do with the days that remain, if… Continue reading Take Nothing for Granted
I am an animal
This was written on September 1st, 2006. My beloved was working in Amersham Old Town. Being unemployed, I would to drive her there and take advantage of any suitable weather to tramp around the countryside. To be so entwined with Nature was an uplifting experience. I felt at one with the creatures I encountered and… Continue reading I am an animal
Inner and Outer Landscape
A rambling essay written on October 19th, 2014, not published here before I decided to go for my usual loaf of bread by a circuitous route, over the Pastures; or rather, my feet took me that way while I readied myself to share what I had to say to Olympus, my companion of the road,… Continue reading Inner and Outer Landscape
A Magical Place
previously published on ian.mulder.clara.net on 5th October 2002 Magic is always available, to everyone. It is made manifest through repetition. First you have to be able to perceive something, a glimmer of something special, in something—whether an object, a place, an event or a person. Then you have to come back and find it again.… Continue reading A Magical Place
Spell of the Sensuous
I last wrote about this book exactly 14 years ago. I started reading it again recently, leaving a bookmark on page 38, where it speaks of the felt contrast between "subjective" and "objective". Objective reality, the realm of orthodox science "was, according to Husserl, a theoretical construction, an unwarranted idealization of intersubjective experience." The "real… Continue reading Spell of the Sensuous
It just so happened…
...'Twas but a trick o' the light... Shakespeare? That ever-present Artificially Intelligent AI had nothing useful to say about the origins of this saying so I hereby claim it as my own. It was the brilliant sunshine that blinded the driver, as he admitted. The accident happened where Bassetsbury Lane meets London Road. Remember we… Continue reading It just so happened…
No Man is an Island…
...keep 2 metres apart! This piece was written on March 29th 2020, but never till now published here. Spookily, I discovered it when the world's largest island becomes world news* No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee… Continue reading No Man is an Island…
Unblocking
Rescued from oblivion today I’ve been glad of the chance to edit some of Ghetufool’s work lately. Writing is something I’m driven to by an impulse that won’t be denied. So what to do when writer’s block strikes? Turn to religion, I suppose, as people do when they feel vulnerable and melancholy. A fellow-blogger* distinguishes… Continue reading Unblocking
Modest Ambitions
Originally published on Thursday, September 28, 2006 on perpetual-lab.blogspot.com via the Wayback Machine I mentioned the other day wanting to blog less and write a book instead. Books are real enduring literature, I told myself. I’d have more readers than now. In a book the reader’s attention is engaged for longer so the impact will… Continue reading Modest Ambitions
Pilgrimage to St Cuthbert’s . . .
. . . Spiritual Homes, December 2024 I had been quite apprehensive about this trip as I was worried about my own personal excitability and spontaneous way of being — a concern/question as to how I could both be myself as well as act in an appropriate way in respect of my fellow pilgrim travellers,… Continue reading Pilgrimage to St Cuthbert’s . . .
The Charabanc of Trippers
previously published 13th May 2014 on Perpetual-Lab, somehow lost in transit I didn’t explain what happened to the book Wayfaring, which was briefly published under Creative Commons in pdf, before being withdrawn from free distribution. I feel no compulsion to give a reason, but here are two. (a) Uncertainty (b) a decision to postpone publication… Continue reading The Charabanc of Trippers
Living in High Wycombe
Wycombe is a great place to live if you don't drive. No traffic jams or parking problems. If you live in Abercromby Road, for example, it's a short walk along Desborough Road to the town centre, with its Eden shopping Mall, library, Hospital. If you are disabled, there are many facilities, including https://www.shopmobilityhighwycombe.co.uk/ You'll pass… Continue reading Living in High Wycombe
Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
Waking up at 3 am, I find a song playing endlessly in my head. Not just the tune, but some of the words too. It's one of the most extraordinary popular songs, more potent than anything by Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen. Peter Gabriel has his own explanation for how it hatched in his mind… Continue reading Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
The Book of Margery Kempe
Margery Kempe was a bloody-minded woman, living in a time when England was still Catholic. Bishops, priests and friars held worldly and spiritual power. bloody-minded: Chiefly Brit. Perverse, contrary; cantankerous; stubbornly intransigent or obstructive. Cf. bloody adj. OED She came from the provinces, had no education and bore 14 children to a husband socially beneath… Continue reading The Book of Margery Kempe
Hilltop reverie
I went up the hill, the one at left with the rainbow. That’s how I view it from my study window, which I’ve outlined in black in the righthand picture; which in turn was photographed from the grassy slope outlined in black on the left. It’s certainly a town for lifting up one’s eyes unto… Continue reading Hilltop reverie
Friendly White Sheep
Karleen & I were crossing this meadow on Christmas day, it being a mild winter and the grass still growing enough to be cropped by a flock of sheep. They mostly minded their own business and kept at a distance, except for this one. We thought at first she wanted something from us, perhaps some… Continue reading Friendly White Sheep
Travelling on Foot
A Wayfarer’s Notes has changed its motto again. Farewell “not-doing”; back to Werner Herzog and his dictum: “The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.” To be sure what he means, I check context. Patrick House: You once walked from Munich to Paris to visit your dying friend, and in your film “Wheel… Continue reading Travelling on Foot
Clouds and simple things . . .
I like clouds, trees and grass. They help reconnect with my primitive self, which has no care for fashion, technology or politics. So we went to Saunderton Lee, where I photographed flat-bottomed clouds, the sort you get on a day of sunshine and rain, and which first struck me as worthy of note one August… Continue reading Clouds and simple things . . .
Like a letter . . . (2)
following on from previous post Stephen Mitchell, adventurous translator of classic texts, attempts to explain wei wu wei, or “not-doing”, using words like these: It’s when the game plays the game; the poem writes the poem; we can’t tell the dancer from the dance. Bryan voices an objection: But with the dancer or the athlete, there have… Continue reading Like a letter . . . (2)
Talking the Walk
Transcribed from an ad-hoc recording made on December 14th between 12:30 and 13:50, while walking the above route. To hear the audio please click here. It will be played in a new window. There are problems with politics [referring to words rather than deeds]: when it’s diminished to binary options, with clichés replacing awareness when… Continue reading Talking the Walk
Just pix
impromptu pose
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
That which is unchosen
On Monday morning I passed through the alleyway that leads to the children’s playground at the back of our house. It’s my shortcut to everywhere. There are “No Dogs” signs but dogs can’t read and their owners don’t care. Emerging from the shortcut into the playground I heard the single word “Unchosen”, as if whispered… Continue reading That which is unchosen
Chance Encounters
(Of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven . . . (Matthew 24:36) We cannot know how much time we have left. I met Jack the other day, an old man struggling at his garden gate to bring in a freshly emptied rubbish bin, while holding on to his… Continue reading Chance Encounters
Many Are the Ways
It’s been a busy few weeks, and a kind of milestone. Karleen’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
The Unnamed Road
I walked around The Pastures, a hillside north of our house, musing as follows. "The earth is poised and serene, showing through its balanced complexities how intelligently creative it is. Human beings are restless. Prejudice is inborn and entirely natural, though aspects of it are ugly. It is beneficial for us to live in accordance… Continue reading The Unnamed Road
England Have My Bones
I suppose we all have an idea of what constitutes real living. It’s not all those compromises we endure while we bridge the gap between yesterday and tomorrow. Real living is when we can say “this is it!” asking nothing from tomorrow at all. By this criterion, my real life has lately begun. The evening… Continue reading England Have My Bones
The Trip
Trip, n(1): 3. A short voyage or journey; a ‘run’. Apparently originally a sailor’s term, but very soon extended to a journey on land. 5. slang (orig. U.S.) a. A hallucinatory experience induced by a drug, esp. LSD. In my last I recalled three authors who pursued the Zen form of enlightenment and tried to… Continue reading The Trip
Buddha and Corpse
"What’s that book you’re reading?" asks my neighbour, curiously. There’s a score of us arranged along the cobblestones, leaning against the retaining wall of the public gardens—le Square du Vert Galant. We are proud to be Les Beatniks of Paris, or Les Clochards - the hobos. We’re blocking the public path that borders the dark… Continue reading Buddha and Corpse
The bench on St. Michael’s Green
the bench where I sat Introduction The piece below dates from about 2000, and remains displayed on a website I first created when the cybersphere was young and the web-log had yet to be invented. It belongs to a time when I would drive my daughter to Beaconsfield on a Saturday morning, and sit on… Continue reading The bench on St. Michael’s Green
The Creative Mind
The other morning I turned on Radio 4 whilst washing the breakfast dishes and it sounded interesting, a kind of reminiscence. I’d missed the beginning and took a little while to catch on. I liked the sound of the lady though, full of fun, approachable and without false modesty. When she mentioned a former post… Continue reading The Creative Mind
At the Moot spot
moot, adj.:Originally in Law, of a case, issue, etc.: proposed for discussion at a moot. Later also gen.: open to argument, debatable; uncertain, doubtful; unable to be firmly resolved. (OED) It’s a long time since I went wayfaring, so long that I became a malade imaginaire and my soul went into hibernation. The vicious circle… Continue reading At the Moot spot
Inner & Outer Landscape
I decided to go for my usual loaf of bread by a circuitous route, over the Pastures; or rather, my feet took me that way while I readied myself to share what I had to say to Olympus, my companion of the road, expert at listening because he’s a state-of-the-art voice recorder. You’ll see from… Continue reading Inner & Outer Landscape
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
Not for Bread Alone
What goes on within us, in the complex immediacy of Now? I suggest this string of moments is all we have: the movie of our life, played live, in which we have no choice but to act; beyond which there is Nothing, though it’s our constant illusion to think otherwise. Joyce had a fictional shot… Continue reading Not for Bread Alone
Stepping aside
I had no thought of doing an audio diary, nor for that matter of producing a music video, let alone combining the two into a hybrid. Some things evolve by accident: you and I for example, if you can believe it, have evolved in exactly that way. Certainly the best things in my life have… Continue reading Stepping aside
Cover Story
Brian Spaeth’s been helping me design a front cover for Wayfaring. His style tends to be low-res—or even ultra low-res. I respect that, but I wanted a picture you could enter, so as to walk the paths it depicts, and see every detail. Up till June 2005, I could only gaze at enticing landscapes, and… Continue reading Cover Story
32 Answers
A correspondent thought that the final paragraphs of Wayfaring (a planned book) ought to have more impact. I could see how they might be viewed that way, and tried to do something about it. Perhaps by appending an Afterword? It didn’t feel right to write anything new. I thought of asking the question “What is wayfaring?”… Continue reading 32 Answers
On Further Consideration
Stepping out the door into sunshine or cloud, nothing on my mind, I marvel at what it is to be human. It’s like being in a strange land with no map. Here am I, familiar to myself. Slowly I change, but not as fast as the world around me. I'm more comfortable with things as… Continue reading On Further Consideration
Walking, Thinking, Thanking
I have the odd idea, when I’m tramping streets or country paths, or riding on a bus, that this is when I feel most truly at home. What on earth can that mean?* I’m threading my way through this housing estate on the hillside, the one I see from my study window. It has become… Continue reading Walking, Thinking, Thanking
Ellie Clayton on William Blake
In 2021, Ellie Clayton wrote a series of pithy paradoxical observations, on the lines of Blake's Proverbs of Heaven and Hell. She published them on a blog Divine Economy. I was inspired to format them into a printable document: you can download it here.
rambling in a landscape
Some use rural footpaths to walk their dogs. I prefer to go alone or accompanied by an equally faithful companion, the Muse. From a radio programme broadcast yesterday, part of a series called “Ramblings”: Robert McFarlane: Paths run through people as they run through places. I’m fascinated by the idea that we understand ourselves and… Continue reading rambling in a landscape
Park benches
I often pass this public garden, fifteen minutes’ walk from home going west along the valley. It has three benches, normally unoccupied, and I’m always tempted to sit on one, and be part of the scenery. It’s as if I have a romantic notion of park benches. There’s a nice film about shenanigans on Hampstead… Continue reading Park benches
Lucid Waking
At 06:07 I see things as imbued with meaning, like fragments written in a foreign language. Sometimes I can decipher them; sometimes even put them in English. For instance, from my bedroom window I can see the Victorian factory opposite. I wake as the early sun catches its gable ends. As on a sundial, it… Continue reading Lucid Waking
Blessedness
Days pass quickly, like the view from a speeding train. From another angle, I stand on a bridge above the line, hear the roar and clatter of the train below, watch it round the curve and disappear into the tunnel, leaving emptiness and the memory of its presence. Externally, each day resembles the one before;… Continue reading Blessedness
On Happiness
I always enjoy Arash’s essays.* They help bring the chaos of my own branching thoughts into a momentary focus; or in some cases provide a topic to brood on for days. His latest is on Happiness, a word I don’t spontaneously use, only in reference to other people’s usage. I feel that it needs to be… Continue reading On Happiness
Presence: the numinous in everyday life
Numen n. the spirit or divine power presiding over a thing or place. Numinous, adj. having a strong religious or spiritual quality, indicating or suggesting the presence of a divinity. (Oxford Dictionary of English, 2010) I suggested in my last that one might find a starting point for the meaning of “God” in the everyday… Continue reading Presence: the numinous in everyday life
The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
This site has been called A Wayfarer's notes for a good while; Before that, it was ian.mulder.clara.net, and didn't have a name, though "The Wayward Isles" was an invention, implying travel between ideas. Another post, Pedestrian Ideas, has more to say. But this post expresses why wandering about among local roads and footpaths has been… Continue reading The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
In memoriam for a lost friend
Earlier this month I published a piece entitled In Memoriam: ..., followed by the name of my late friend from fifty years ago. Part of my intention was to bring him back to life in my own mind, and if possible my reader’s too. But what most inspired the effort was the wish expressed in… Continue reading In memoriam for a lost friend
Elemental
I scribble ideas aimlessly, nothing wrong with that. But then I fall under the spell of supposing this will generate “creative writing”, whatever that may be; something from which value can be directly harvested. It’s better to think of it as rotten fruit, to be cast out and forgotten. Some time later we may discover… Continue reading Elemental
The magic fence
It’s been raining every day for weeks. Catching a cold gave me an additional reason to stay indoors, but the other morning, in the bright lull after a heavy downpour, I ventured out for a couple of errands, taking the usual shortcut to the shops on Ledborough Road, through the derelict school yard and the… Continue reading The magic fence
Amsterdam
I have a special relationship to Holland because Mulder is my surname and I spent four months near Arnhem in 1947 staying with my supposed father's sister, Auntie Non. I've described that sojourn here In 2012 we took a break to Holland to celebrate our anniversary and her birthday. The other day I looked for… Continue reading Amsterdam
Whithersoever
I went on a small journey in preparation for a bigger one. On Monday I fly out to Amsterdam, so this little trip to Loudwater was to change some pounds to euros at a bureau de change. I set off in walking boots, they’re best for my swollen toe-joint. I might have gone on foot… Continue reading Whithersoever
Film Noir
One of the most stylish and effective films I’ve recently seen is The Man Who Wasn’t There, starring Billy Bob Thornton. Set in 1949, it tells the story of Ed Crane, a small-town barber, who faces life with an eerie impassivity, whilst not enjoying his job, becoming a cuckold... He cuts the hair of a… Continue reading Film Noir
Binding a joy
He who binds to himself a joy Doth the wingèd life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise. This verse of William Blake is never far from me, internalised, imprinted upon my unconscious, and a work in progress. There is joy in being alive; breathing fresh air; having… Continue reading Binding a joy
Evolution
It’s been a long time since I just wrote a post straight off, but when you have guests sometimes you have little time to yourself. I’m wondering if I am like other people. They often seem to plan their lives, both long-term and for a day at a time. I’m not the planning type. The… Continue reading Evolution
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
An exercise in Unknowing
But it is looking like something new in philosophy, and we hope entertaining too, as well as deep. When I say deep, I mean that the reader will be inspired to go deep, without the intellectual exercise being at all painful. The aim (that is, my aim—Bryan can do what he likes) is to understand… Continue reading An exercise in Unknowing
Capturing the Moment
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 a recent camping trip. You can click on them… Continue reading Capturing the Moment
Life-illusion
My last ended with these words: We make ourselves blind to the fact that our lives are not actually ruled by reason. They are ruled by pursuing whatever makes us feel all right. We then apply reason to tell ourselves that what makes us feel all right is “the truth”. This thought needs full explanation.… Continue reading Life-illusion
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
By Bus and Canal
When I take a bus ride, I journey to the past. Subconsciously, this is my intended destination, for I could have taken the car instead, and “saved time”. I have no reason to save time any more. Now is my invitation to spend it freely; to use if I wish to sift my past, like… Continue reading By Bus and Canal
Perspectives and Remembrance
The emblem of this blog is a weathervane with a gilded Centaur, standing above a cupola on top of the 18th century Guildhall, in the market square of High Wycombe, built where two main valleys cross. There are smaller valleys too. Wherever thou goest, thou canst lift up thine eyes unto the hills, like the… Continue reading Perspectives and Remembrance
Groping Blindly
I’ve been in a ferment, witness to a cascade of interconnectedness, from which it is surely possible to construct an overarching meaning—but I won’t try, and that is an instance of laziness (or what-you-may-call-it) which was a theme in my last: something which seems to me like a great creative principle. In Nature, or perhaps… Continue reading Groping Blindly
Not trying too hard
I left the car at The Fox and Hounds in Christmas Common, and made my way down Hollandridge Lane, which has never been more than a cart-track, but offers glorious vistas on a perfect spring day. Not a farmhouse in sight, not a fellow-wayfarer or dog-walker, not even a sheep till I reached Pishill, and… Continue reading Not trying too hard
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
Southward
I live in a valley, in one of the Victorian workers’ cottages that fill up the space between the small factories in which they worked. It’s a fold in the Chiltern Hills and unless you follow one of the rivers, upstream or down, you have to go up a hill to get anywhere. So at… Continue reading Southward
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
Reason to Celebrate
Today I celebrate a milestone. It is exactly fifty years since I reached the age of 19, a special number for many reasons, and the last year of one’s teens. This morning I was given a mug bearing the words, “Today is all about YOU ... and there couldn’t be a better reason to celebrate!”… Continue reading Reason to Celebrate
Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
It was the most spring-like day this year and the urge to be out in it without delay overcame lengthy consideration of where to go. I considered the Phoenix trail to be unfinished business (see post before last) because I hadn’t walked its full length. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact. But there are… Continue reading Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
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
The Phoenix Trail
The trail largely follows the route of a disused railway line, the Wycombe Railway, which connected Princes Risborough and Thame with the city of Oxford. The line through Thame remained open until 1991 to serve an oil depot based in the town. (Wikipedia) It's open to pedestrians, horses, dogs and pedal cyclists. This is from a site… Continue reading The Phoenix Trail
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
The worm in the apple
I’ve finally answered the God-question. Whether I’ve solved it for the world, or just for myself, is for the world to decide. When a discovery is made, it’s important to know how and in what circumstances; for they are not plucked from some realm where all the answers sit waiting to be claimed, in some… Continue reading The worm in the apple
The soul just feels
The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It initiates nothing, does nothing but feel. It seems helpless to assert itself against will and intellect; like a slug on the sidewalk after rain, defenceless against accidental or deliberate squashing by human feet; or like a majestic brooding silence, the silence of a wilderness, defeated by the… Continue reading The soul just feels
Will and Intellect
Intended as preface to a book I was planning in December, 2010 The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It does nothing but feel. Will and intellect are the masculine elements, delighting in action and creativity for their own sakes. In young men is a naturally warlike instinct: to fight, regardless of the cause espoused,… Continue reading Will and Intellect
The secret life of strangers
How is it possible to remember a moment when nothing actually happened? I don’t know, but such moments are the ones I remember most vividly. There were some major works being done on the railway line which affected the bridge above, in the middle of the village’s main street. In consequence, traffic on the bridge… Continue reading The secret life of strangers
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
The Chilterns
This is specially for Ashok, for comparison of the Chilterns with his real hills at Nainital. Here, the height above sea-level is never more than 200 metres. These vistas are all within walking distance of my house, which is near the middle of town, in the factory district. St Lawrence’s Church & Dashwood Mausoleum, photographed… Continue reading The Chilterns
Angst and Angels
Abstract ideas are all very well but unless you can feel them in your body or soul, you have no way of knowing if they are real. They might be the bastard children of human intellect mating with heaven-knows-what. So when Raymond proposed that existential angst is a universal experience, it left me unmoved. I… Continue reading Angst and Angels
The Grand Scheme of Things
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 a digital recorder. 'Suppose everything is just as it should be, already? Suppose everything goes on being just right, no matter… Continue reading The Grand Scheme of Things
Not understanding much
A BBC magazine programme about science, Material World on Radio 4, reports an ongoing study into the possible homing instincts of snails. I was interested, as a regular reader of this blog would not be surprised to learn. They are marking the snail shells with white correction fluid for identification; moving the snails somewhere else;… Continue reading Not understanding much
Graffiti
Further to my last, Rebb and Ashok doubtless speak for a majority in their negative attitude towards urban graffiti. I’ve evolved a different view, as expressed in several posts—see excerpts below. The illustrations are taken from this post on 27th April ’07. But where do the people walk? Yesterday in the drizzle I stepped carefully… Continue reading Graffiti
Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
I spent the morning engaged intensely in ‘writing’, if you can call it that. Needing a break, I revisited Gerrards Cross, keen to see if the Odeon cinema has changed since the photo (from the Sixties) that I published the other day. Never mind that. Does Gerrards Cross welcome the wayfarer? Consider the evidence. A… Continue reading Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
Gerrards Cross
My wanderings usually take me through wild footpaths and unpretentious housing estates. I’ve had no occasion to visit the village of Gerrards Cross, which “has a reputation for being very upmarket and exclusive, with house prices being considerably higher than average. Located in the commuter belt of London, the village is the most expensive postcode… Continue reading Gerrards Cross
The visionary eye
Reality and imagination are forever intertwined, and it’s from their potent combination that magic is concocted. Modern scientists are often against this. Richard Dawkins has felt a vocation to keep reality and imagination apart, for the mischief they can cause when entangled. It’s rather like saying, “We know what boys and girls can get up… Continue reading The visionary eye
Cornfields near Amersham Old Town
Dedicated to Joanne (Serenity) because she is an artist and may appreciate the colours and textures. I'm in the process of writing and editing something else, so not many words today. From Chalfont St Giles, looking towards Amersham The colours are at their most seductive before the barley is ripe This is even truer of… Continue reading Cornfields near Amersham Old Town
Glimpsing 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 Glimpsing Eternity
Four-leaf clover
I wrote a piece called Lucky in July 2008. I had wanted to illustrate it with a four-leaved clover, the symbol of luck. I had never found one, though in my dreamy childhood, I must have spent hours searching for them, especially when deployed as a fielder near the boundary of a cricket field. Perhaps… Continue reading Four-leaf clover
Back home in Blighty
Whenever I leave the country for a few weeks, something crazy happens to it. I still feel guilty about the Falklands War, which broke out during my sojourn in Kuala Lumpur as a consultant to the Malaysian Ministry of Health, which itself happened for a crazy reason. In such circumstances, we happy band of expatriates… Continue reading Back home in Blighty
in a Mapless Dimension
This is the day I become clear about the purpose of my purposeless journey. Now the task is to express clearly what I see clearly. My path leads more to the past than the future, for “the past is my treasure” as an archaeologist might say. I heard the scraping shovel from behind a hoarding… Continue reading in a Mapless Dimension
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
Theatre of Life
This evening a thin fog puts a halo around the streetlamps, and I see that they are different colours, in shades from lemon to orange. A car with bluish headlamps swishes past, leaving a tangible quietness in its wake, whilst I stand under a streetlamp, letting my own footsteps relapse into a special kind of… Continue reading Theatre of Life
Folly of a Clown
a long-lost post How much of human life is folly? Dare one even ask? If I’m an employee, I have only to utter some magic words: “It doesn’t matter, so long as they are paying me.” Or, if I’m an entrepreneur: “It doesn’t matter, so long as it makes money”. Thus we and the mess… Continue reading Folly of a Clown
Life’s Predicament
Woke up this morning to recall that it’s my first ordinary day for weeks. I've emerged from a season of interruptedness, in which celebration took the form of reuniting with family; not all at once in a single gathering but serially; noting my kinship and resemblance with this one or that; seeing the big or… Continue reading Life’s Predicament
Winter Visit to Cowes
waiting at East Cowes to cross the Medina by chain ferry Window shopping* View from the end of the High Street The Solent—sea and sky Seagull and yacht Crew, sail and clouds *PS April 7th, 2026 She saw a lovely necklace in the window, but there was a sign to say the shop was closed… Continue reading Winter Visit to Cowes
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
Blessings for All
My life is a series of blessings, like a string of pearls. If a blessing is possible, surely it is bestowed, distributed, not hoarded by a miserly God. And if blessings occur, why should they ever stop? For a blessing by its definition is a supernatural thing. No obstacle stands in its way. So I… Continue reading Blessings for All
A tumbling profusion
The great thing about growing plants—flowers, fruit or vegetables— is that when you grow them close together, or allow random seeds to grow, they arrange themselves. They make accommodation with one another to catch the sun, and achieve a tumbling profusion, such as we may find in wild or semi-wild places. As for my backyard,… Continue reading A tumbling profusion
Scraps for a Future History of Now
I had intended to take my well-trodden valley path, a fruitful place for broodings which I’ve several times captured and preserved in essays on this site. But a different plan revealed itself as I progressed. The first leg was walking with Karleen to her work at the hospital, about a mile away. After we said… Continue reading Scraps for a Future History of Now
Waiting
Written on May 4th 2009, rediscovered on a search for Apollinaire, French poet On a morning like this I feel a strong call to take the Valley Path (which I’ve written about a few times) on account of the clear sky, the expectant hush as in a theatre when the curtain is about to go… Continue reading Waiting
Parallel Paths
I’ve been meaning to write more about happiness, but the topic is elusive to say the least and it seems there has not been enough time. I wasn’t sure until yesterday what this meant (what interval of unbroken time would be enough?), but this morning, rising at 4.30 in the morning I know even more… Continue reading Parallel Paths
Intrepid Victorians
I've inherited a little volume, illustrated by the author, who was also my great-grandfather, entitled Dolomite Strongholds: the last untrodden peaks; published in 1894. Don’t you love that Victorian prose, its characteristic style at once lofty and light, beloved of those who would make parodies of the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, particularly those… Continue reading Intrepid Victorians
Evangelist
The last two days I’ve been stuck indoors with a heavy cold and a raised temperature. Not even tasting the fresh air outside, and my head thickly congested, I’m unable to activate that part of the brain that’s a spokesman for the soul, but I thought I might just start anyhow, and see if in… Continue reading Evangelist
In the footsteps of Basho
If a website can merit its own patron saint, then I choose Basho, that wayfarer and Zen monk whom I commemorate above with a quotation. In his travel writings—prose interspersed with haiku—he tours Japan on the pretext of pilgrimages. (See typical extract below, in my first comment.) I went a little further afield yesterday, drawn… Continue reading In the footsteps of Basho
Beginnings
My head says that the perfect wayfaring is to follow an ancient trail through the hills, where the eye can roam to horizons beyond where the feet can tread: a Himalaya or Grand Canyon of the soul. My feet know better. The other day, I set out on a banal errand, accompanying Karleen to town… Continue reading Beginnings
The persistence of selfhood
“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 The persistence of selfhood
Flight and Pursuit
The weather here in High Wycombe remains unusually mild for this time of year, a minor effect of global warming no doubt. I just stumbled on this old post. On my way to bed the other night I was brushing my teeth in the cold bathroom, when a thought occurred to me, which I’ll tell… Continue reading Flight and Pursuit
Not knowing feels like a good place to be
We have a lot of low walls round here, convenient for sitting on; for example in the playground, a favourite haunt of drinkers. A couple were there yesterday morning, spreading their belongings and litter, a man and a woman. They chatted, played cards, greeted me as I passed and were relieved at my friendly response.… Continue reading Not knowing feels like a good place to be
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
Greeting Strangers
Place does affect the way I write—maybe the tone—but it always has an influence. Does place matter in your work? Poet Scot Young asked this question in his blog and I said yes. When I go walking, thoughts come to me, and they seem to resonate with the sky, trees, roadside litter, sounds, everything. I… Continue reading Greeting Strangers
Brother Sun, Sister Moon
I’m sure everyone has blessings worth counting and those who do count them are blest indeed. One that I’m particularly grateful for is the blessing of space: physical space, time too; or a metaphysical combination of both. I wake at 3:30 and dress myself warmly against the autumnal chill in the house, quiet as the… Continue reading Brother Sun, Sister Moon
Running with Bulls
In hindsight, my last post sounds a little Quixotic: retired man goes on mysterious Quest, tries to attach importance to his ramblings — the ones on foot and the verbal ones, both. That’s a fair enough summary, especially the reference to “hindsight” — a theme I’ll develop further. On the walk I partly described in… Continue reading Running with Bulls
Walking Alone
What makes us the way we are? What sets us off on our own unique path? Heedless of a fine drizzle, I set out on foot to West Vale, pondering on these questions. There is nothing like walking to set imagination and memory alive. On this afternoon of purposeless wayfaring, I saw my whole life… Continue reading Walking Alone
A stroll round the neighbourhood
I shall take you on a guided tour of our part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This area of the Chilterns has plenty of beech… Continue reading A stroll round the neighbourhood
Seeing from a Height
What do you do with the rest of your life when in early adulthood you are admitted to a vision of universal oneness, in which what seems like God’s love is poured down and you can sensuously swim in it? Paul Maurice Martin wrote notes: diary entries to be expanded later. He went on to… Continue reading Seeing from a Height
Blazing a trail
In these pieces I have a consistent aim, like a would-be acrobat endlessly repeating the same manoeuvre, aiming at perfect execution, to demonstrate something to the audience, using his entire body and soul in the demonstration, so that the slightest distraction such as a thought or an itch somewhere on his skin would affect the… Continue reading Blazing a trail
Encounter in a landscape
Belatedly, I discover that manual work is better than being desk-bound, better for the soul—and the world too, probably. But first some words to continue from yesterday’s set of photos. One of them shows part of the track I walked: down the hill through the nature reserve where the wild roses grew, then through high… Continue reading Encounter in a landscape
Country walk
Back to Slough
I went for the fourth time in a week, on an errand to Slough. It’s a town occupying a special place in the British imagination: perhaps from The Pilgrim’s Progress, which describes the Slough of Despond. “Slough”: a strange English noun, meaning a muddy place: does it rhyme with “cough”, “through”, “though”, or “rough”? With… Continue reading Back to Slough
Fresh air
The barrenness of these pages lately means doesn’t mean I’ve not been thinking of offering something to my reader. On the contrary. Though afflicted by a species of writer’s block, I’m not bereft of thoughts and inspirations, and each day scribble them: in Word, on voice recorder, in the black notebook, and failing those, they… Continue reading Fresh air
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
The Snowdrop Garden
Today I walked near the house where I lived for 16 years. That’s twelve years longer than I have lived anywhere else in my life. Most of those years I was crippled by a chronic illness and longed to walk the earth freely, so that area has a special poignancy, like the view from a… Continue reading The Snowdrop Garden
New Pub
These photos are specially for Jim, who asked what the ancient farm illustrated in my last post looks like now that it's a pub. I wanted to take some photos of the inside too, but the camera's batteries died. The first photo was taken from the same position as the old one: on the footbridge… Continue reading New Pub
Call of Nature
Yesterday I mentioned a psychedelic tree, now strangled by ivy, on the corner of Rectory Avenue. I haven't finished telling about that road. One day at Christmastime when my younger children were little, I took them out of the warm house to breathe the crisp fresh air. We used to live nearby and went up… Continue reading Call of Nature
Problem Solved
from our backyard, facing west I’ve solved the problem that has baffled mankind through the ages. It’s taken me many years and I thought it might take as many years again to explain it to the world, to help others come to the same realization that I have reached single-handed about the true nature of… Continue reading Problem Solved
The Ventilator Cowl
I lay in a morning bath recalling Mid-December last year, when I used to go wayfaring in stout boots, regardless of the chilly weather and leaden skies: all senses alert like my ancestors the prehistoric hunters. From Gore Hill, I’d look down on Amersham as if I had stumbled on civilization for the first time,… Continue reading The Ventilator Cowl
On a Dark and Stormy Night
’Twas a dark and stormy night. We went as planned to The Royal Standard of England, a 900-year-old pub in Buckinghamshire. Above the festooned hops the visitor may descry a skeleton drinker sitting in the rafters, wearing a Roman soldier’s helmet and holding a pewter tankard in his left hand. The pub was hard to… Continue reading On a Dark and Stormy Night
Spreading the Word
A few miles from here, the Wycliffe Bible Translators nestle in a spot near the woods, in huts that might have once been an Army camp, but have now been landscaped into a cosy village from which the Good News is spread worldwide. Jesus in his time couldn’t speak loud enough to be heard by… Continue reading Spreading the Word
Angelic omens
At 8am I heard the refuse collection lorry. I dashed out, for I hadn’t wheeled out a bin to prepare for its arrival. One of the men saw my plight and kindly came back to empty it, so that was pleasing, till I discovered I had locked myself out: no mobile phone, no money, no… Continue reading Angelic omens
Hope
In a recent post, “Alchemy”, Rebb attributed a phrase to me: “a song I’ve felt since before time”. I’m sure I wouldn’t have used those exact words, but nevertheless I’ve been looking for its source. It sounds like her paraphrase for an odd experience that I’ve often tried to express in these pages: the sense… Continue reading Hope
August
I’ve been wondering what spirituality means. I don’t see how I can possibly know; which is odd considering how I spent the last thirty years. Religion has become opaque to me, for I feel myself to be an animal: maybe a puppy not properly trained. I have only to leave the confines of Indoors to… Continue reading August
How I learned the truth
(Continued from previous post) My mother’s beloved Singapore roadhouse was called The Gap: a prophetic name. After the war, it was nothing but a gap; one that she mourned forever and never really replaced. The gap in my life was a father. When I met him fifty years later, he admitted having been in the… Continue reading How I learned the truth
Litter
Litter used to enrage me. I passed some young men once just as one of them threw down a paper coffee-cup and they were getting into a car to drive away. I put the cup on the car roof and said politely, “This is yours, don’t forget it.” I wouldn’t have been as bold if… Continue reading Litter
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, I… Continue reading Portmeirion
The Holy Ghost
Image from The Blake Archive To Paul from Vincent continued. And also to Jim. I felt uneasy after my last post, as if something had been left out. I continued to add comments as afterthoughts, but that did not fix the unease. Have you noticed that barely an hour goes past in our waking life… Continue reading The Holy Ghost
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
Dishonour
I set out on my errands, hardly reached the street before ideas started to flow: something to ponder, something to write about. I swiftly reviewed the range of human belief systems: from burnt offerings on rugged mountain-tops to communal church attendance (booking a place in Heaven) to New Age superstitions, such as “we create our… Continue reading Dishonour
Ce Que Vouldras
I can see out of my office window to an interesting landscape, though it’s blurred by a film of reflective sunscreen which they’ve stuck on the glass. It’s a view of a new residential development: little houses, roads, flags advertising the Marketing Suite, bulldozers, workers, drainage, dried mud. In the foreground is Peacock Farm, very… Continue reading Ce Que Vouldras
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*
Love to all
It has been wonderful to share with you, reading your comments and being drawn to visit your own blogs too, over almost a year. You have encouraged me to start a book, and so these posts won’t be the same any more. I can’t keep posting excerpts as in my last post because the writing… Continue reading Love to all
Easter Reverie
On Easter Sunday morning, on a quest for ginger, garlic and matches, I walk up Oakridge Road, on its sunny side. The reality all around me is more than I can take in: so many details! Everything has a meaning, but how can I unravel it? When I say “meaning” I probably mean… Continue reading Easter Reverie
On Coombe Hill
My favourite and only sport is frisbee. No rules, no training, no special clothing. The only equipment required is a plastic disk available from any general store. It holds an hypnotic attraction for participants and spectators alike. Above all, it’s not competitive. It’s co-operative: you adjust your throw so that the other person can catch… Continue reading On Coombe Hill
Mill Pond
There have not been many pictures decorating this blog lately. I almost feel like renouncing photography as a means of trying to capture the world’s beauty, because it cannot reproduce the glowing mysterious surfaces that I see. I have recently renounced being a therapist * What a liberation! On one hand, it was a vehicle… Continue reading Mill Pond
Flowers of Grass
written after a lunchtime walk during my contract with Fujitsu at Bracknell (codename MaxiRam in Babylon Town) Perhaps there is no God to answer our prayers, listen to our anxious concerns, detect our hidden needs. Perhaps there’s a Creator who has shaped Nature through the interaction of physical laws, Chaos, improbability and long periods of… Continue reading Flowers of Grass
Holy Bible: a Sacred Space
It was by accident that I discovered afresh the magic of the Holy Bible. I’ve come back to it purged and scoured of religiosity and the baggage of Christian reverence. My Bible is a fetish object, and I love every detail of its physicality: the edges gilt on pink, the blue silk bookmark, the flexible… Continue reading Holy Bible: a Sacred Space
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
Springtime
I’ve been meaning to post something since 28th February, when I drove to work in a hailstorm and the rain beat distractingly against the office window all morning. My lunchtime walk encountered three separate showers, but in between, the sunshine used the road as a mirror to dazzle everyone; and set up one of God’s… Continue reading Springtime
Pedestrian
The idea came to me whilst walking, as most of them do. Not that they start as ideas: more like impulses or feelings. The conversion into words is a mysterious process, none more than yesterday. My daily sojourn in Babylon Town, code name for where I work, begins to be less of an exile, more… Continue reading Pedestrian
Covenant of Water
I walk out early on Sunday morning, the streets deserted, washed clean from the rain, the pavements shining wet. In this Victorian part of town, with its small factories, chapels and workers’ cottages, the uneven pavements catch puddles. The steeper streets have rivulets in their gutters, leaving little pools afterwards, next to the smooth-worn granite… Continue reading Covenant of Water
Stairway to Heaven
MaxiRam Castle, as its fictitious name implies stands as a grim fortress against the skyline, eleven storeys high. The backside building in my illustration belongs to the same corporation but prettier. It's actually the Fujutsu headquarters in Bracknell but while working there I wanted to write anything freely. I nicknamed Bracknell 'Babylon Town'. Today I… Continue reading Stairway to Heaven
Managing my time on earth
In the Eighties, the Filofax was the thing to have. In the Nineties, time management courses using Filofaxes or equivalent were the answer to everyone’s problem. I still keep a Lotus Organizer program for storing phone numbers, copied ten years ago from a cute little IBM ThinkPad laptop whose keyboard opened out like a butterfly’s… Continue reading Managing my time on earth
Witchcraft?
It’s been quite a week, the first I’ve worked full-time in an office for ten years. As it happens it’s the same company which took me on in 1965 (my first real job) and trained me in punched card equipment. These had been invented by Herman Hollerith and James Powers to speed up the US… Continue reading Witchcraft?
Battery Hen
Babylon town is not without footpaths, so I took my dictaphone for a walk and recorded some reflections in my lunch break. “My role is to provide computer support to an international company, let’s call it MaxiRam, to manage a logistical problem. I’m hoping that in return they will help manage my own logistical problem,… Continue reading Battery Hen
The Butterfly Phase
I love the idea of miracles and wish life to be filled with them: every day an Ebenezer Scrooge transformed into a kindly old man. So I won’t stop using the word, even though some people associate it with supernatural divine intervention. No wonder, if you put it that way, that rationalists protest, “There’s no… Continue reading The Butterfly Phase
Watercress & Angels
I went to the doctor about two unrelated issues. The upshot was, no action or prescription. But I came out of there a new man, with a spring in my step etc, which lasted at least two hours. All week I'd been dreading it: the inevitable physical examination and its possible verdict. The aftermath could… Continue reading Watercress & Angels
Ritual and Reason
Visits to the sunflower field in Downley, mentioned three times before, have become a private ritual. These unharvested crops survive like invincible peasant crones. In Italian, the sunflower is the girasole or “turn-sun”. Its sun-worship is enabled by fibrous sinews in its "neck", made of certain cellulose molecules, and these don’t decay as rapidly as… Continue reading Ritual and Reason
Healing
It’s not the done thing to bore the company with ongoing bulletins of one’s ailment, but when dramatic recovery is the punch-line, we can risk stretching a point. A week ago, I was troubled in mind, as I recorded in this post. I lit a candle in the church, said a prayer for the world… Continue reading Healing
Placebo
The doctor was reassuring: I could continue exercise but avoid further 4-mile walks for a bit. He scribbled a prescription for anti-inflammatory drugs, both pill and gel. In two or three days, he promised, I would be back to normal. The oracle’s verdict cheered me so much, I walked out of the surgery without limping.… Continue reading Placebo
Community
I walked into town on an errand, with a sense of loss in the back of my mind. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” said the poet. He might as well have said “Things end.” I had let go of something, not from necessity, but “for the best”. It was time to finish it for… Continue reading Community
Dawn today
Went walking in the park, whilst the sun started to light up the sky.
Wasp honey
We’d had family over Christmas, and as luck would have it, just as they were leaving after two days and we were seeing them off, a couple of Karleen's friends arrived with a bag-full of drinks to spend the evening with us. To a solitary like myself, the boredom of exchanging inanities for several hours… Continue reading Wasp honey
Time consumes; art distils
Time is like a forest fire, consuming everything in its path. Our most intense moments burn bright and hot, leaving nothing but fragile tatters of memory. Where would we be without art, snatching moments before they disintegrate into oblivion? What else but art, crucible for smelting the ore of our lives till we get a… Continue reading Time consumes; art distils
It hasn’t stopped raining …
It hasn’t stopped raining. Four inches were recorded yesterday in North Wales. Nobody would go out walking for fun in weather like this. I’m a nobody and I did. (thanks Kathy!) But more of that in my next. I’d bought a new bunch of flowers as instructed, despite my protestations to She Who Must be… Continue reading It hasn’t stopped raining …
Bleak Midwinter (Updated Version)
Christmas is the most renowned of all the world’s festivals. It’s full of drama and contrast and potent symbols. Like many, I dread the tawdry commercialisation, sentimentality and ubiquity of this season’s trappings. But I see it differently now, having spent an entire year celebrating the daily advance and decline of Nature's rhythms in the… Continue reading Bleak Midwinter (Updated Version)
Why do ladybirds have spots?
Why do ladybirds have spots? I don’t know, but I’ve just guessed the reason for their shape. It gives them a hemispherical hard-top, like a sports car, to conserve heat during hibernation. Unlike other insects which seek cosy cracks against the weather, they can choose quite exposed places. I found these little bugs clinging to… Continue reading Why do ladybirds have spots?
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
Bible-reading martyrs
In the Middle Ages (I used to study Medieval History, so I know) the religious and secular realms---Church and State---would either be at war with one another or in some kind of alliance, as in “The Holy Roman Empire”, which was neither holy nor Roman. In matters secular, foreign policy and internal laws were backed… Continue reading Bible-reading martyrs
New Morning
In the last few days something happened to me. It felt as though “I have found my power”. In 1972 I read some shortened English version of Valmiki’s Ramayana, which if my memory is not distorted began with some yogis competing for “powers” (called siddhis) through fierce meditation, zealous fasting and strenuous renunciation. Looking back,… Continue reading New Morning
Cause of insanity
Update on December 13th 2020: You don't hear the term "mental illness" these days. It's called "mental health issues", and embraces every kind of grief, depression and general unhappiness, especially including effects of loneliness arising from precautions against the corona-virus pandemic I’ve been wondering today what mental illness is. There’s a propaganda campaign going on… Continue reading Cause of insanity
Hornet’s nest
Walking in Bradenham Woods, I saw a huge wasp – a hornet. It was hovering about near the base of two tree-trunks, which had holes in. The one thing I know about hornets’ nests is not to stir them up. I’d come to look for Grim’s Ditch, but all I saw was footpaths just like… Continue reading Hornet’s nest
Spirit
I rediscovered this piece while writing my new post, “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… Continue reading Spirit
Hurried post
"The more personal, the more universal." I saw something like this on some comments to a blog, a while ago. This is what I have been struggling to formulate ever since I came across the works of John Cowper Powys, a great author who has yet to be discovered by most of the world’s discerning… Continue reading Hurried post
Digging in the Woods
I’ve never met policemen more relaxed and willing to chat than yesterday. A large area of the wood was cordoned off with blue incident tape, with a uniformed constable every few yards. They had taken off their helmets and ties, for it was evening and they’d been on duty since 4.30 am. Some were reading… Continue reading Digging in the Woods
From a nest of terrorists (2)
The trouble caused by these terrorist plots goes on and on. While hand-cream is still used in this household without triggering major incident, something nasty nearly happened to me this morning. I was returning from the petrol station with a copy of the local paper. I learned that suspects have been arrested in every street… Continue reading From a nest of terrorists (2)
Blackberry jam
Karleen succumbed to a flu-like virus yesterday and stayed off work. As her resident physician I prescribed aspirin, white rum, limes and honey. Later, as a booster to these medications, I went to get chocolate. Walking by the scenic route to the supermarket — over the hill instead of round it — I took a… Continue reading Blackberry jam
Outsider
I rejoice in the sense of my own sure-footedness, and the comfort of a buttoned cardigan†, on a chilly August day, walking through a stubble-field in a slow insistent drizzle. My path takes me behind a row of sturdy houses. Their backyards look untidy from the rear, with canvas chairs left outside to get wet,… Continue reading Outsider
What makes me uneasy
Today I am following on from my previous post and the comments made by Darius and Rama. They felt that it did not really matter what someone believes. Perhaps they take the view that there is some inner Truth ready to be found which will put an end to all divisive dogmas. Perhaps. But we… Continue reading What makes me uneasy
Death of a camera
Yesterday I managed to upset a seagull. This morning my digital camera committed suicide. I dare say an electrician would have told me not to replace the batteries whilst it was connected to a 3-volt adaptor, but this is merely a rational explanation, and electricians are notoriously cautious. They are to be trusted as much… Continue reading Death of a camera
Bledlow Ridge
I'm just learning how to use these chalks (oil pastels), but was quite pleased at the result. We sat on a rug with a hedge behind us, and I peered over the ripening wheat field—in case you can't recognise it— to view this scene.
Seagull territory
I posted this in July 2006 . Since then the seagulls have got still more arrogant, the red kites wheel and mew in every sky, the crows and pigeons and magpies make love and war our fence-tops. You need only look out the window. And what is it with the magpies—and rats? Has the coronavirus… Continue reading Seagull territory
Ripening
Hayden reports here on translations from the Aramaic, where “unripeness” was rendered, supposedly, as “evil”. On Sunday morning the radio (BBC Radio 4) told the story, with interviews, of a woman who runs a retirement home for chickens. They’ve worked at laying eggs in battery or free-range farms, and their residual value is too low… Continue reading Ripening
Caterpillar
On a warm but overcast day, we went up Lodge Hill. With my box of pastels and a sketch pad, I felt like Vincent van Gogh going out to do a day’s work. Before I knew its real name, we used to call it Butterfly Hill, because in August particularly it was full of lepidoptera.… Continue reading Caterpillar
A Grave Spot Unearthed
X marks the spot. PH: "public house" (Crown Inn) A few weeks ago, Karleen and I had taken a cross-country walk near the ancient Buckinghamshire village of Penn. The Penns of Penn were reputed to be closely connected to William Penn of Pennsylvania, but in any case many religious dissenters from these parts had emigrated… Continue reading A Grave Spot Unearthed
Seeing Immortal Beings
I’ve said a few things here about “spirit”, but the other day I felt its reality. I was walking up Desborough Avenue to the intersection with West Wycombe Road. People in their cars were waiting for the lights to change. Pedestrians were on their way to the doctor’s surgery or the clinic next door which… Continue reading Seeing Immortal Beings
Intimations of Immortality
(updated 23/8/17) I recall a single moment exactly ten years ago. I wrote about it then, while it was fresh in my mind. I said I’d learned something and would never be the same again. I couldn’t express it very well for others to read, but it’s helped to remind its author of the occasion.… Continue reading Intimations of Immortality
The word “spiritual”
Darius commented on my previous post, thus: That response to nature is fascinating to me too. It seems as though while a lot of us have it, some don’t. You almost never hear the spiritual importance of nature brought up in discussions about preserving the environment. “Nor should the spiritual importance of nature be brought… Continue reading The word “spiritual”
Ducks and Drakes
There’s a kind of spring weather in England we call “April showers”, when the weather laughs and cries alternately, sometimes offering bursts of snow or hail, skittish as a lamb with blue sky and bright cloud Some of this can happen in May too, as on a morning where I braved its occasional tears and… Continue reading Ducks and Drakes
Spring, or the talk that never was
26th April Spring is the most important thing happening here. I’ve been watching the progress of chestnut blossom at the back of our upstairs flat. There’s no garden, just a communal car park, then a fenced-off slope up to the railway. This young tree hangs over the fence, offering itself as a measure of the… Continue reading Spring, or the talk that never was
Wet day
It's wonderfully rainy today and I want to get out there in boots and raincoat, investigating this brilliant yellow field of oilseed rape that we saw yesterday evening from Hughenden Park, whilst wandering through budding buttercups. I love that blue-green crop adjacent to the yellow of the rape, too. But I have to stay in… Continue reading Wet day
England in Spring
26th AprilSpring is the most important thing happening here. This is how far a chestnut blossom at the back of the house has progressed. I'll give you an update soon. I love Spring, this year particularly, because it mirrors my own joy. Someone offered me this link on cheerfulness. I can't decide if it's wise… Continue reading England in Spring