Life and Afterlife?
I have made this letter longer, because I have not had the time to make it shorter. Blaise Pascal
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Life and Afterlife
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World Music at Oakham School Chapel
If you could hear this image, what would it sound like?
Well… “Global Harmony” from Melton and “Woven Chords” from Stamford are two world music a cappella choirs – they will be singing together! on March 31st Oakham School Chapel.
The choir is always more than the sum of it’s parts, and this time there’s TWO!
You can hear and see a glimpse of past GH performances here:
https://julesprichards.wordpress.com/tag/global-harmony/
For more info contact: http://www.globalharmony.org.uk/contact.shtml
Life was somewhat different 12 months ago. 27th Feb 2011. The I had not been on my bike for more than 6 years. Generally I encountered minimal exercise. The prospect of cycling 7 miles each way to work once a week was not an option, it was not gonna happen.
But then one Sunday I just got my old bike out from under the kids trampoline, play pool and nursery boxes and went round the block, about 9 miles.
{GOOGLE MAP}
After a few more weekend jaunts, and then some test rides to work! (what was I thinking?) It’s now been a year since that key decision to get back on my bike.
Now that I cycle, I see good aerobic activity twice a day. The daily endorphin hits are invaluable. The daily experience is arguably also more constructive than a similar trip in a car/bus and cerebrally, thoughts and feelings get a more intense workout. The experience is arguably exhilarating and elevating, depending on your psychological position/attitude in the road-space, social-class struggle – this does need to be kept in check.
At rough tally, I guess I’ve saved 14 miles of fuel a day, that’s ~£1.35×2 for a 7mpl car. That’s ~£54 a month… a nice monthly fuel saving, and extra exercise costs (time & money) not are required.
A nice few hours out on a Sun Mon:
{GOOGLE MAP}
And so, just for the record, since last Feb 27th 2011 through Feb 27th 2012:
Cardio Trainer, recorded: 27 Feb – 4 July = 851.71miles
Endomondo, clocked: 5 July – 22 Dec = 1636.93 miles
3 Jan through 27 Feb 2012 = 563 miles
So that’s = 3051 miles recorded over 12 months… and relax!
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“Chocolate in the Rain”
But thankfully, I’m reminded of more…
There was nowhere to sit, but I sat anyway. I’d been told of the beauty that surrounded me and indeed it was full of wonder (wonderful), all be it xxing wet and cold and raw as rope.
My feet inside my boots were sodden, I could feel my toes squelching as I stood in a stream, the whole hillside was in effect a stream, the weather seemed to be coming from the ground as well as the sky, I had to just let it happen.
The clouds had come in and the only reason l had any hope was I knew where I was heading – North East, and my compass told me that NE was towards the pile of rocks just in view through the foggy rain 50 yards ahead. I ate chocolate in the rain. Salty rain.
That’s how I remember it. A wonderful saturating experience. Saturating in that the cold, the purple, grey and green, the rock, wind and stream, and me and my thoughts were all that there was.
‘‘Railway Station”
The man on the table next to me reminded me of this, he was alone, as far as I could see, he was cherishing his slice of ginger-cake and his mug of coffee (‘Caribbean Extra Smooth’ £1.05 to take away) was coming to a satisfying end. The commuters sat between a day’s work and home. At work today we learnt how Ian had passed away. He was a good chap, down to earth, always had a word to say in passing. His lad is about to start college and his wife has just started a new job at the hospital. We’ll never see him again. His aura was somehow in the ginger-cake man and it made me smile. The rain outside melting down the steamy window was making my chocolate seem extravagantly tasty.
“Chocolate in the rain”
Lofty hills and misty mountains, frosty veins of rains sooth the mighty old mountains as they sit like old dogs front the hearth, old books sleeping on the shelf as they proudly circus their spines, like God with arms folded and eyes deep with lore. The mountains let me pass through, wind and rain do their best to keep me back and get me down, I’m not turning back. If may be miles ahead but that’s where I’m going. The old guardians let me through and so will you. Not stopping for tyrants, not stopping for lies, not stopping for thieves with money, not stopping for an ugly view, not stopping for badly brewed pleasures, not stopping for insignificant treasures… a cup o’ tea waits for me and a pint of Black Sheep to send me to sleep. Through lofts of mist, past mighty excess, through mists of envy and doubt, past lofty statues to a glorious myth, illuminating the pathway where people sleep through mighty mountains, just a break for chocolate in the rain.
All the discomfort: The lights, the voices, the people and places, children and push chairs and phones and clones all to easily lost in the blur of the day, blinded by the fog. Easy to lose sight of the colours that can be bright and the view that’s clear. Even when the sun seems to shine, it’s easy going, still wonderful yet there’s not much to say about it except thankfully I’m reminded of more or less. I think…
That’s how I remember it anyway.
© Jules Richards – 1999
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A method in the madness?
Methodism and the Cornish Miner: a worthwhile read of you have 30mins.
I was given this pamphlet recently by a friend of a friend. It was produced in 1960. It’s the type of thing that could easily Have been lost! I found it a worthwhile short read -but then again I can identify with being brought up in the 70s in the pews of Cornish Methodism.
This account details how at a certain point in history, the church and its activities had a great effect… (?)
Even if you have no spiritual life/faith, Christian ideas have always given practical advice about how to handle failure, dejection and loss… etc.
It may be no accident that the huge increase in the incidence of common mental health issues seems to coincide with the decline of religion in the West and the loss of a whole tradition experienced in dealing with, if not answering, life’s unanswerable questions. There might be extreme misdirection but there might be also valuable insights offered by Christian teaching if you can fend off the theological language and hoopla in which it’s dressed.
Download a scanned copy here – GDRIVE link: Methodism and the Cornish Miner
Download a scanned copy here – DROPBOX link: Methodism and the Cornish Miner
Gotta make it positive! (says the little sprite on my right shoulder). Awwh *!£#@!##%! !*#&*! (says the little !*#&* on t’other)…
It must have been 15 years or so ago that I wrote “We’re going outside, I may be sometime…”
Twenty-five years I grew, nurtured on Cornwall and the Cornish manner, the Cornishness that is now part of me. I still day-dream, of a ‘T’ shirt that announces “I’m Cornish and proud of it…” …is that all I have to cling to? (I haven’t even got this day-dream of mine).
I spent a childhood full of Cornwall’s riches: pebbles a sand, fIzzypop in cans, wind and rain, tunnels, holes, alleys & bunkers, vast sun-scorched gorse torched views, I could see both coasts from our bathroom window.
Spirits of the sea always whisper to me, the loudest whispers I’ve ever heard. I’ve heard in Leicestershire, Crewe and Nice, I saw a little red boat barely afloat.
I cried at the beauty surrounding me as the holidayers screamed and sizzled and I laughed. I sat alone at the end of the phone, I ran with the gang, at low tide, across St Ives Bay, on new years day. We drank and we sang and played in the band. Gran bought saffron buns at Sunday-school treat, and pasties and pasties and pasties. Slept in the snow on the rocks on Carn Brea, laughed at what nan a grandad would say (that’s not the grandad that died in the fishing boat accident). Ate winkles with pins and vinegar picked from Porthleven harbour, got filthy. Held on tight as the storm wind rips so hard it bites. Sat in a haystack in the sun and got covered in mites. I’ve lay for hours and been soaked up by the whole of Mounts Bay, on the clearest ever, hottest ever, hottest ever day. Walked home at midnight from to Camborne from Hayle, met a girl in Redruth and another in St Just, got drunk in Crantock, earnt a wage in St Ives ‘ saw a dream in St Austell, learnt some verbs in Fowey… grew towards man from boy in Cornwall…
…only, they’re all memories.
I return and see the most rugged of faces smile and share the day like children returning to play, waves so worn from years of scorn, skies so blue they seem brand new. A scarred town refuses to frown, yet sings and raises its glasses, everywhere I look I see me and I see pasty smiles, rugby miles, unique Cornwall style saying this is us but we do say we.
I’ve moved away now, don’t know why, but I know I can’t go back. Jane’s not there, Craig’s gone, David’s moved off, So has Jon. Matthew’s in Manchester, Lisa’s in Suffolk, Richard’s in Cardiff, Kay’s in Bath, Lee is in Luton and Mark is in Crewe, and I’m in Leicester for something to do. Cornwall, in essence, has everything, God and the Devil are surely within. but it hasn’t got what I’m looking for. . . . what am I looking for?
I’m going outside and I may be some time…
I caught a podcast recently where Ernie Rea and his guests discussed “Pilgrimage”.
‘Beyond Belief’ BBC Radio 4 : “Every year more than 100 million people around the world go ‘on pilgrimage’, the biggest mass migration of people on the planet. Two and a half million Muslims visited Mecca for last year’s Hajj and over 600,000 visited Graceland to worship at the shrine of Elvis Presley. Is there something in the human psyche which seeks fulfillment from… [pilgrimage]?”
I understand pilgrimage to be: a journey outside the norm or an escape to something significant – typically aiming for a place of importance central to or ‘at the heart of’ a person’s world view. A seeking to discover, understand or be healed? The ‘quest’ is sometimes linked with oracles and finding a source of counsel or understanding. It would seem this is a common human experience that has been specifically studied and written on widely.
To venture outside of the norm…
I read books to discover? escape? understand?
I watch films to discover? escape? understand?
I listen to music to discover? escape? understand?
I sing and play music to discover? escape? understand?
I cycle to discover? escape? understand?
I surf the web to discover? escape? understand?
I imbibe festival and celebrations to discover? escape? understand?
I wander the countryside to discover? escape? understand?
I feed the birds and talk to my pets to discover? escape? understand?
I live to discover? escape? understand?
Most weekends we have a holiday “Holy Day” where we make an effort to do something to discover, escape, understand or experience something out of the ordinary.
Are we ourselves on an ongoing macro-(micro?)-pilgrimage to the outside?
I wonder as I wander… outside for sometime…
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Ignorance is bliss
In the handmade gaps within everyday-life, I’ve recently been in Africa, both ancient and modern. I’ve been escaping into another world created by Wilbur Smith. I’ve read most of his books, OK they may be a tad shallow but hey they’re entertaining and exciting. (I s’pose his reads are rather like a dream, detailed and gripping, but without sub-conscious / substance… I had a corker last night, but that’s another story). I am still away with the pharies but hope to finish this current dalliance soon.
While commuting recently, passions were again stirred (*trying to not get agitated again*) by other road-users’ *@%”$* ignorance. As you’re probably aware it was recently very foggy – the number of vehicles without lights on at 8am on fog-bound country roads was ridiculous! Combine that with people driving while speaking on handheld phones, again on fog-bound country bends – ignorant! I’m not going to get into the 5% of vehicles that don’t allow due-room for cyclists while passing them – inconsiderate and dangerous. Unless I’m mistaken, ignorance is a key trait here.
I have recently been pricked by the proverb “ignorance is bliss” and (again) the idea of “opiates” (in the sense of anything that causes dullness or inaction or that soothes the feelings).
Indeed, we all too readily ignore that which is beyond our perception or conception. We all enjoy a moment of bliss?
I believe the phrase “ignorance is bliss” originates from eighteenth-century poet Thomas Gray’s “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College” where he plays with ideas of innocence and adulthood… “Where ignorance is bliss, / ‘Tis folly to be wise.’”
Other learned quotations:
“The happiest life consists in ignorance, Before you learn to grieve and to rejoice.”
“From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise.”
“Since knowledge is but sorrow’s spy, ‘Twere better not to know.”
“From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise.”
“Since knowledge is but sorrow’s spy, ‘Twere better not to know.”
I find that music, food, art, knowledge and other opiates (as well as coffee and cheese) can all be stimulating and creative, however they can also act as a distracting eclipse and induce ignorance.
The ignorant might excuse themselves with the notion of innocence?
Ignorant? innocent? bliss? contentment? enchantment? joy? beatitude? well-being…
Heaven help us all!?
Love, life and the futility of trying to own your love, your life…
‘Birdsong’, ‘The Tree of Life’, and ‘April Fool’s Day’…
Well what can you say? That’s why art exists to hint at what it’s hard to say or hard to truly conceive of.
I read ‘Birdsong’ by Sebastian Faulks a good few years back now while quite ill and dosed up on strong pain killers – the experience was far more intense as I was just laid-up in bed and ‘living the read’, I recall that the drugs just made it all the more vibrant!
As you might expect, the book differed, was much more intense and the story was much more involved than the TV adaptation.
One of the whisps* that I took away was the constant juxtaposition of hell and heaven. In many ways it played with loss and ownership, freedom and control, heaven and hell etc… and of course passion. Personally I did not engage with historical detail however the resonance of the tragedy of war rang very loud. (When the film ended and minutes later the BBC news showed explicit reportage film of current war elsewhere in the world, life did momentarily seem ridiculous and hopeless!
For me, amongst other things, alas it was about love, life and the futility of trying to own your love, your life…
I watched ‘The Tree of Life’ the night before and I guess that’s coloured my wondering…
‘The Tree of Life’ starts and ends with a mysterious, wavering light/flame flickering in the darkness. It seems to be underpinned with a quote: “people must choose to either follow the path of grace or the path of nature”. Again I felt it was juggling freedom and control, choice, construction and creation…
It represents nature/creation against man’s efforts and constructions. It juggles gentleness with strictness, and wonder with discipline. It represents memory and relationships.
Again I come back to love, life and the futility of trying to own your love, your life… ? amongst other whisps*:
Merge the above with my recent reading of ‘April Fool’s Day‘ by Bryce Couretnay.
I can’t can’t comment much on this read – it’s seeped into my being – but was an amazing read.
I recall the quote ‘…more than the heart, the bowel, the knee joint… …more than flesh and blood…”
Courtenay has been a favourite author of mine since reading “The Power of One” in my 20s. Poor film, great singing, great Book.
“April Fool’s Day” is an altogether different read; a true and rich account that naturally still emits the character of BCs world. In the end, love is more important than everything and it will conquer and overcome anything. Bryce’s son Damon Courtenay died on the morning of April Fool’s Day. In this tribute to his son, Bryce Courtenay lays bare…
Quite unlike any book I’ve read before!
Again I hear whisp*ers of love, life and the futility of trying to own your love, your life… ?
*whisps – my intangible and imponderable but pervasive semi-thoughts… ish…
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Birdsong.
“There’s nothing more sir, than to love and be loved”
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In the shelter of each other…
It is in the shelter of each other that people find sanctuary.
My attention was recently drawn to the above adaption of the Irish saying, “It is in the shelter of each other that people live”
For me, it’s often an opportunity to relax that brings on a longing for sanctuary.
“Oh please no,” I hear you say, “not again.”
Yup, that’s what I say too!
Trying to describe feelings or thoughts really is counterproductive, it’s sometimes just to heavy to conceive. There’s no specific challenge to be accomplished, but just a frustrating void of failure and sense of unworthiness – I’m not going into that now.
“Oh stop mawdling in misery and count your blessings, you don’t know how lucky you are – you’ve never had a hard day in your life, get over it loser.” I hear some say.
I actually find that no logic, arse-kicking or backslapping makes much difference.
I hate the idea of labelling myself and really don’t want to live up to expectations… But in 2010 I was diagnosed with serious depression.
Although it is not fully understood what causes depression, an imbalance of chemicals in our brain is thought to be a factor. The SSRI drug that I have been taking for a year now, works by regulating the levels of a chemical called serotonin; this eases the symptoms of depression and feelings of panic.
Even after taking Citalopram for a few days, it significantly transformed my mood and attitude – this was after months of serious symptoms and concern. After a season, I stepped off the dose but after a fortnight symptoms reoccurred and GP suggested continuing with a reduced dose.
And so a year on and I wish I was not taking tabs but I am. I still sense the need for a wet fish and a coffee.(notes)
I do wish I could move away from the need to disconnect, but without the shelter of others disconnection is just a way of finding sanctuary.
No man is an island but without a means of shelter my island’s sanctuary is at least a pale vapid something.
I’ll try to keep an eye out for the passing Good Ship Sanctuary.
(Learn to swim boy!)
(Addition; just watched ‘bird song’, that throws a whole new spanner in the works.)
Jules P Richards 