Reflection

Walking slowly, meditatively, I follow the rain washed gravel track leading up the valley through the conifers. I listen to the song of the evening landscape with senses alert and quietest footfall. My cathedral of trees waits, only I can see it - standing in the cold conclusion of winter. 

‘Entertain my prayer,’ I syummon my energy to shout - towering pines hold the words captive within their boughs.

I am there to give thanks. Thanks for the beauty of life and the fragility of creation. For the blessing of healing and the gift of creativity. Arms held up to give and to receive. Fresh air, the breath of life, drawn deep into my lungs.

Here I am. The gift of this moment is to be treasured. I reach out with joy and peace, weary after the challenge of previous months. Yet my mind is full of movement. Movement to create. Like nature: never stopping, always growing, changing, moving, living, breathing. As I have reached out to stand by an other, so I have drawn deep into a soulful journey from which much has emerged. Yet, giving, and being driven by a wild mind that seeks constant occupation against physical barriers is tiring, I can’t do it all yet I am drawn to so much.

I am not in my cathedral. Today I can only be there in my imagination: to dance, talk, give thanks for the day and seek blessings for my nearest ones and I.

Engagement

I feel as though I ought to write more. I miss doing so and more often than not the reason I don't write is because I don't know what to write about. My father didn't seem to pass on his genes of political discussion, debate and opinion to me. If he did, they are very rarely stimulated into action. This does frustrate me as most people around me seem to have the ability to discuss something in depth that leaves my brain struggling to cope with with sentence construction. I depends though. I don't think I am being particularly selfish in not wanting to engage with people. The opposite is true. I want to, but I don't NEED to. I am now wondering if I am reaching a point where this is no longer true. It is not easy and I usually have to make a conscious effort to engage.

This does, to my surprise, link up with what I had originally thought about writing today. Prejudice, descrimination, preconceived ideas and perceptions about other people that I might have. I'm not stupid enough to see the world through rose-tinted spectacles and know that I can't live in a utopia of love and peace. Not at the moment anyway. Part of my faith system suggests that I am tolerant and respectful of all living things. I should not separate out the conifered hills of Herefordshire, the walled garden at Croft Castle, the honeysuckle next to me in the garden or the Muslim/Asian/Eastern European communities around where I live. They are all part of the wholeness that makes up this earth. Everyone suffers emotional or physical pain inflicted intentionally or unintentionally upon them, that is part of life. I wonder if I have held onto things for too long. I wonder if my more people-centred/urban sketching artwork can help me....?

Journey

A few days ago...

Clouds grey and heavy with sleet. It seems as though there has been no sunshine for days. As I leave work I see the clouds thinning and a deep peach ball of light breaks through the heavy greyness. No rays of bright light touch the landscape, just the dull glow on the horizon. As I drive further ball of light brightens into an intense orange but the light seemingly barely touches the clouds around it. Just a glowing sunset on the horizon.

The dull cold weather of the past few days has felt bitter and uninviting. A planned weekend to Shropshire begins to be questioned amidst a forecast of cold, rain and sleet. Do I really want to go?

The sun is a reminder that sometimes the unexpected can happen. A few seconds of awe can change an emotional state. A conversation with nature or a meeting with people can lead to a change in one's journey. Welcome the unexpected.

I look forward to going away.

Light

After a day spent at work under artificial light I enjoyed drivng home in the lengthening daylight. The sky was overcast and grey giving a very white light as darkness encroached. A very wintery white light. A contrast with the dark hues of the trees and hedgerows alongside the motorway. Warmish too, and a wind picking up. I like this weather.

Hopton Castle

It is 7am on a Saturday morning in early September and I am parked at Hopton Castle in South Shropshire. According to the information board this is thought to have once been a high status tower house rather than an actual castle due to rather undefendable position in the bottom of a valley. It is cloudy wth a slight drizzle with mist on the hills. Pigeons coo around me. I hear the occasional tit, crow, wren, chiffchaff and cow. A stream gently murmers nearby.

I didn't enjoy the drive up yesterday afternoon as motorway congestion held me up for an hour but once I was near Tenbury Wells I was happier. The hop harvest seems well underway with tell-tale tractor tracks of the rich red soil mark roads leading from the roadside hop yards to the picking machines.

Up on black hill near Clun I stop at one of my favourite views for tea. After a glorious summer of warmth and sunshine I seem to have travelled up here to see the arrival of autumn. Here, the hills of the Welsh border stretch out westwards into mix of rain bearing cloud and mist. It is surprisingly windy up here and the car is buffeted by the gusts and my gas stove struggles to heat my beef casserole. On my way up here I didn't notice any uncombined fields. Here though, on a nearby hill about a mile away, a green combine slowly completes one final field under the threat of the looming dark clouds. Nearby the road is lined rowan trees laden with deep red berries and there is a beautiful mix of dead grasses, docks and other foliage along the roadside.

I spent the evening just listening to the wind around me in the trees where I had parked up for the night. Just for a few hours I can create a space where I can forget about time and the pressure it places on my daily life and work.

The rain arrived sometime in the middle of the night and once the dawn arrived I moved on to Hopton Castle from where I could begin my day.

A Place and a Song

Walking over the downs and through the woods. A warm, but overcast summers day. A rare chance to be outside in the countryside this year - it is very welcome. Many walkers are on the hills keeping to well worn paths and following the tread of others. Off the beaten track I scramble up into the wood to join the deer and silence. I sit and sketch an old beech tree then wander on through through various old mixed woodland and newer conifers. I follow the paths made by deer until I find myself at a lower corner with fields and my destination beyond.

It is just a corner of the wood, nothing visually special. Just trees and elder around me, dog's mercury on the floor and a couple of badger setts. Forgot to look at exactly what trees were there.

Even after nearly a week I am still thinking about this place. It was like walking into... well, I don't know what. I was just captivated by a sense of place. It caught me unexpectedly, as though I had entered a room that held something of great beauty, awe or wonder. Or was it just peace? I can't really explain it. But I left with something that I have not been able to let go.

********

Late evening on the campsite. The evening light is giving way to darkness. Noise all around: Friends beside me talking, children shouting and running around, people having fun, the hum of cars on the main road. My attention is caught by what was probably a song thrush singing in a tree. It's melody piercing the space around it. Bold and clear it sang - too loud and strong to be a blackbird or a robin that far away. I wonder if anybody else noticed it. I thought about interrupting the conversations around me to point it out but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

Points of View

As the world of social media and the internet takes over more and more of the way I gather information, I begin to observe more and more that I find myself struggling to have an opinion on things. My father was quite an opinionated person in that he always had a view on the government, politics and things that were happening in the world. Even as a teenager I remember listening to him and having a sinking feeling in my stomach that I really couldn't engage in a meaningful conversation with him. Perhaps some of it was due to him being a farmer and being surrounded by other very strong minded people. I just never seemed to develop an ability to talk about the sort of things that keep conversation lively, interesting, contemporary and challenging. My mind just wants to go blank and seems just unable to know what to say next.

I was catching up with something on Facebook the other day that had been circulating last year - as often happens I feel part of my being ambles on at a rather leisurely pace. I'm not going to expand on it here because it is all covered elsewhere on the web but it revolved around some Christians trying to break down some stereotypical assumptions of how they thought they were viewed by others. For example: "I'm a Christian but I am not homophobic". Great I thought. Then, as I delved deeper, I again realised how easy it is for people nowadays to come down on simple statements like a ton of bricks and either wholeheartedly support something or completely shred it to bits.

For my father, whatever opinions he had he could really think what he liked because there was freedom to do so without everyone else feeling they had a duty to chip in and say what they think too. Today it seems as though even simple comments can suddenly turn the media spotlight on someone and out comes a deluge of support or hate.

Perhaps I am getting old, but sometimes I don't even quite follow what it is that people are on about on the web or in the news. I wonder if the increasing speed of being able to present information is meaning it's clarity is being lost. I can't quite give an example but often it is related to the above - about what people say. I find myself thinking 'what was wrong with that...?'.

As I have an interest in art, perhaps that has become my coping mechanism. I am free to explore and express myself in ways that don't require a spoken explanation. My art frames the way I feel comfortable communicating. Perhaps I should recognise that more. I do though, get very frustrated at not doing deep and meaningful conversations... but then perhaps I haven't got the appropriate people around me with whom I would naturally build a rapport with or share like-minded interests with - like my father had.

Where to go?

I was chatting to my wife the other evening about the thought of perhaps giving up this blog. I enjoy posting things to it every now and then but in many ways I feel as though I might just be talking to a brick wall. She replied with the comment "Are you doing it for yourself or for other people?". Initially I did it just for myself and now, as the years have passed and social media has grown to dominate much of the way society works, I feel it hasn't really moved into that way of interaction with others. This is probably my fault for not promoting it amongst those to whom it may be of significant interest. I don't feel that I have people around me for whom it has a deeper connection, but then I am not really into building relationships with people over the internet.

My decision is to continue with it because I am doing it for myself. It is about my journey though art and spirituality. These two things don't quite merge neatly and thus the blog does have two rather distinct stands of though that switch between each other from time to time. I will aim to be more proactive in posting on both these things. That is what interests me and I need to have a place to explore a few of the things I think about.

I wonder what will happen?

Provision

Reflection on the sermon at Stopsley Baptist Church (2 Aug 2015) and the YouTube video by Matthew Fox: 'Recovering the sacredness of the earth'.

"If God gives me all that I need, what am I striving for?"

Having pondered this question for the past day or so, two words keeps popping into my mind: understanding and survival. I think it is a slight misjudgement for me to feel that if I am loved by God and he/she gives me all I need then I need not strive for anything. What is important is the intention behind the actions that govern what I say or do. I could just sit back and dwell in the 'love of God' and not really utilise the fact that I am a unique person with gifts and abilities and the conscious ability to change my interaction with the environment around me. I have a responsibility to be the human being that I am and I think that to be aware of who, what and where I am is key to my spiritual life. I need to be thankful for what I have and it is all to easy to let the days go by without really appreciating all that I have around me: family, food, house, work, garden, fresh air, some degree of freedom to be who I want to be etc. But life is about getting out and about and doing something. I am not one for petitioning God for everything either, I believe I am expected to try and sort out lots of things myself and not to try and hide behind a glib "God will sort it all out" that invalidates any reason for my existence.

My attempt to be a spiritual person means that I am striving for understanding, not to do so would be an insult to God, and my understanding is often based on the awe I have for Nature.

"Radical amazement is the beginning of authentic religious feeling."

"The world in all its grandeur is full of spiritual radiance."

"Awareness of the Divine begins with Awe."

"Many people think of God as they would a cow: what can they get out of it?"

I happily admit that I strive for things and that is because I have to in order to stay alive and have some sort of pleasant existence on this earth. I am not going to go into details about this here as this is just a general comment. Intention is important though and I will happily admit that perhaps I push too hard for somethings and should let more things just "be". Deciding on where to strike the right balance is a key issue. There are many positive times in life when you have to find the energy and motivation to succeed. I recently had to take on a bigger piece of responsibility at work which I thoroughly enjoyed. Then there are times when all the hard work I put into growing vegetables in the garden seems in vain until the summer rains come and then everything suddenly flourishes. I would love to have the luxury of a more relaxed lifestyle. Yes, perhaps God would provide, but I am not at the moment willing to put that to the test I am not always sure it is a matter of faith making decisions like that.

To summarise, I do believe that I have all the resources around me that I need for being who I am and perhaps I need need to be more aware of how to utilise what motivates and inspires me.

Conversation

"Hello, I thought you were just about to go." 

"I was, but I was enjoying sketching here and wanted to stay for a few moments longer." 

"I haven't seen you for a long time. When were you last up here?" 

"I can't remember, it must have been back in the spring when I walked up here with my family." 

"What has kept you away?" 

"Oh, you know, the busyness of life. Lots of things to do and I know that isn't really a very good excuse. Also, to be honest, I have been struggling to be inspired by things. It is hard when you feel you are a lonely walker and it isn't easy to find others who can share similar interests. I was out walking the other day with some friends and the most memorable thing I experienced was walking past a isolated tree and just stopping for a moment to listen to the sound of the wind in its branches. It was awesome, and yet in that moment of deep awe I was quite alone." 

"Do you feel alone now?" 

"I never feel alone outside in places like this. How can you feel alone when surrounded by trees, all the plants on the woodland floor, a wren, a chiffchaff, and so many other  natural things around me. Yes, I am alone in a human sense and no-one has walked past me on this path for the past hour or so. I am a brief visitor to this place today." 

"Why did you stop here?" 

"It is just an interesting group of trees up on the hilltop here. It is a long time since I have been to this wood when the trees are in leaf and I had forgotten how enclosed it feels when compared to being here in the winter. It is very windy today and here there is shelter for me because I wanted to do some drawing and I am not keen on sitting in the wind.  When I got here the sunshine was pouring down through the leaves and, due to the wind, the sunlight was dancing about all over the place. It looked wonderful." 

"What are you thinking of?" 

"Stillness, even in the wind. Here I can sit and just enjoy this place. The sun keeps going behind the clouds but when it is out the place is transformed into a place of light, shadow, colour, movement and wonder. Nature does many things so well. What often intrigues me is that I hardly ever meet anyone on my walks or when I am sitting drawing who I instantly feel has a deep interest in their surroundings like I do. I very rarely meet anyone who is an artist, a creative or anyone who looks vaguely like I could have an interesting conversation with them." 

"I know what you are feeling. I think it is a gift, and a path that is hard to walk. Perhaps it is a yoke you are carrying. Keep walking. These trees have stood for many years. They take time to grow, adapt and evolve in their landscape. I know you stuggle, but just look at the beauty you find all around you. This is the wonder of creativity. Take hold of your creative spirit again. Do not be afraid. Dance like the sunlight dances in this wood today." 

"Thank you. I think I needed some encouragement." 

"That's fine. It has been good to see you again. Come and talk anytime, anywhere." 

"Can I share this?" 

"Yes do." 

"Thank you for this place. I think I will go now and continue on my bike ride." 

"My pleasure. Bye bye."

A World of Otherness

It is raining and all around me the deep green luxurious growth of nature surrounds me. Waves of cow parsley tumble over the grass verges, blossom cascades over the hawthorns and from within the damp earth there is an explosion of vegetation. Apple blossom still lingers and speedwell forms blankets of blue within the carpet of dandelion seed heads. Dustings of yellow and blue flowers intermingle with the greenery. Birdsong fills the air above the background hum of traffic. I often find that seemingly wet and dull weather can often bring a different awareness of a place to the senses and as I pass through this particular place I am glad I made the effort to go out in the rain.

I almost cannot cope with being thrown into this world of otherness. It is so distant from the hours I spend in front of a computer screen at work. In a place like this I feel very much at home. It also has a completely different feel to the organised design of vegetables and flowers in my garden. Here is nature running wild. This is nature's church. An ecological community of creative beauty full of diversity, life and productivity.

My spiritual writing has taken a backseat for a while because, to be honest, it is b****y hard work. I often feel I am getting nowhere and struggle to find relational inspiration in my immediate world. The is so much that seems to beckon me to take a look at and I do tend to find that my senses work better with the real and tangible rather than the mystical. I am happier with what I can make out of what I can observe. Perhaps that is why I am good at illustration work. It frustrates me though that emotions, ideas and thoughts change over time and I feel a rather lonely pilgrim who finds so much to look at along the way.

The web is, of course, full of the weird and wonderful and I could connect with like minded people there, but in many ways I don't like dealing with people in such a detached way. I am inspired by people - I love observing and drawing them. Part of me yearns to be in a place of community - of helping, doing, supporting. A computer screen has just becomes a tool for meeting deadlines. It does not help people physically. Pushing my mother in a wheelchair around St Albans recently highlighted to me many things about how difficult it is for some people to do basic tasks. It was not just the task of visiting shops and finding out where she could do this or that, but just the practical difficulties of dealing with uneven and sloping pavements, undropped kerbs, busy road crossings, people rushing about all around us and just the sheer physical effort required to get up steep hills. It was a good job the wheelchair came with a seat belt! As a result of a change of circumstances I am now developing a small questioning part that is being agitated to ask "what should I perhaps be doing?" 

Otherness is all around us but sometimes it takes someone or something to open our eyes to a different world.

Ramblin' Man

I had been looking forward to my week in Shropshire for many months. I was particularly eager try and solve a creative problem that has been with me for a while: in what direction should my art and illustration work go?

To me, my creative spirit is a disturbed spirit. It finds no home and is distracted by many things. It wanders over the landscape seeking the touch of inspiration. It reaches out into the natural world to touch, sense and explore everything. Mainly it is an observational spirit, it doesn’t ask many questions but just accepts what it finds and dwells in the presence of being present in places. There is a song by Lemon Jelly called Ramblin’ Man (on Youtube) that I recently came across. It speaks to me in many ways and it isn’t often songs do that to me. It carries with it a sense of wandering, going places and never resting. There is a sense of journey, but never ending, just a continuous walk from place to place. Recently, a long walk found me up on Bury Ditches just north east of Clun. I hadn’t quite planned to walk up there but I was out for a day’s walk and it was a bright, clear day with a hint of spring in the air. As I walked around the ramparts of the hill fort on  top of the hill and overlooked the surrounding valleys and hills, I thought of this song and noted how much I just love to walk. I could walk all day. With no time limitations I could go where I wanted to and just walk and walk. This was all I wanted to do. It was the end of my holiday and this was my last full day away from the busyness of work. Up here, on a hill in my homeland, I felt at peace and at home. But also a place to which I would have to say goodbye until my next visit.

The next day I walked into the greenhouse in the walled garden at Croft Castle and did a little bit of sketching whilst sheltering from a cool breeze. In front of me was a bench with a few small watering cans and some plants growing up and around the iron framework. As I scribbled on my sketchpad I suddenly felt as though a whole wealth of ideas and possibilities suddenly merged. In front of me I had the solution to how I could work on the iPad, do paintings and a develop a new way of working that could cross digital and traditional hand illustration. Things take time to evolve with me. It is like going on a long walk or a journey. Ideas may appear but it may take ages of thinking, trying out ideas or exploring techniques before something of value emerges.

Darkness

I find myself back on Hopton Titterhill in Shropshire on a late November night. It feels uncharacteristicly warm with a soft gentle breeze and there is no need for a coat. It is dry, but misty and overcast. I have been up here on moonlit nights and seen the landscape for miles around me but tonight it feels quite different. There is a heavy silence amongst the trees apart from a slight murmur of the conifers. I have to make a phone call and I almost feel ashamed to be speaking out loud. I am so conscious of every sound I make and so speak in a soft voice almost as if I don't want anyone to hear me and yet there are no people around to listen in. I go on a short walk and almost feel deafened by my munching on a chocolate digestive biscuit. It becomes all I can hear and I horridly finish my snack so that I can be aware of the subtleties of my surroundings. I venture along a track and out into a field. I had been planning to go for a longish night walk all week but, now I am here, the darkness forms an almost impenetrable blanket and I somehow don't feel confident to safely walk very far - and I haven't got a torch. Why? Well it feels wrong to use one when there is natural light at night; it pushes the night-time experience into the shadows and also immediately announces where I am to anyone for miles around.

I stand in the field and look around me. All the trees and hedgerow vegetation are just a solid, indefinable matt black. The sky, track and field are just a subtle shade lighter. It is almost impossible to make out and define any objects right in front of me and I have to feel my way over a gate and fence. We always seem to want to push darkness out of our lives and, when it is present, fill it with uncertainty, story, fantasy and fear. My mind is full of past images from films and tv and I have to try and reassign these thoughts to the back of my mind and readjust to being in a landscape that is exactly the same as it is during the light of day but just has the absence of light. We take night and day for granted but here I just want to experience and appreciate the difference that, out here, isn't defined by man-made time-keeping and calendars but is a natural phenomena that our planet experiences.

Owls hoot and screech in the woods. I always seem to hear them here. An occasional aeroplane rumbles far above me but otherwise it does feel awfully quiet.

"Look at Me".

The National Trust property, Croft Castle, is one of my favourite places to visit. Today found me sheltering in the cafe from a heavy rain shower and being inspired to draw the colourful drinks cabinet. The place was empty mid-morning, but at lunchtime it was packed out with visitors and I had to join a long queue to buy a BLT sandwich (which was worth the wait). I sat in the walled garden for a while and sketched the apple trees and then climbed up though Fishpool Valley up through the woods and onto the top of Croft Ambrey. The conifers have started to be felled here and a forestry machine was making short work of felling, cleaning and slicing the long tall trunks into shorter sections. The earlier mist of the morning had completely dissipated and there were magnificent views all over the Welsh borderland. As I walked back down to the castle the sunlight was spectacular. It was now late afternoon and the light was taking a golden turn beneath a clear sky. As the trees are well into turning colour, the scenery around me was spectacular. There was hardly any breeze and, with the sun low in the sky all colours, shapes and changes of light seemed to be accentuated to give a breathtaking beauty to everything.

If ever there could be a day in which Nature (God?) was saying "Look at Me" then today must be one of those days. It was day that brought a sea of mist, dramatic clouds and showers and a golden evening's sun. It showed me lots of wildlife from woodpeckers to deer. It showed me numerous different trees from the apple trees in the walled garden to the colourful hornbeams that I sketched. It showed me a landscape of hills and valleys. This was a reminder that we live on a planet where by the forces of nature will always continue to do their own thing. Mankind will, seemingly, never cease to evolve into a species that alienates itself from the natural world and seeks a selfish "I can do whatever I want" attitude with disregard for one another, other cultures and civilisations. We seem intent on destabilising communities and countries by greed, fundamentalism and selfish ideologies with no regard for a bigger Earthen picture or philosophy.

Sunrise, Hopton Titterhill, Shropshire.

The sheltered valley in the woods is surrounded by birdsong as I walk up Hopton Titterhill. It feels like a spring morning. As I climb higher through the trees their song gives way to the fine chirps of possibly tits and goldcrests that inhabit the conifers. I find a place to sit and I have only just got here in time.

The sky above is mainly a flat sheet of cloud with a few break here and there to the pale blueness above. This is reflected in the valley below me by a carpet of mist, an almost perfect blanket of white that fills the whole Vale of Wigmore and extends as far north as I can see up towards Church Stretton. It looks like a frozen lake before me, so distinct at its edges and so smooth. The sun, with a bright pale orange light, briefly emerges a little way above the horizon through a gap in the cloud layer lighting up the edges of the distant mist, before being shrouded in grey again.

The mist is moving slowly in the valley. All the hills above a certain hight have stood proud of the mist. Clunbury hill, that about ten minutes ago looked like a perfect island of green fields and topmost trees surrounded by water, has now almost vanished under a mist tsunami. The forecast had a been right to predict a mist and so I had anticipated a dull, damp morning with no promise of a sunset. This is magnificent. As I write, so Clunbury Hill has now reappeared again and the horizon is lit by golden rays of light emerging from the gently moving clouds. The light intensifies and I am now in morning sunshine. A the sunlight changes and evolves with the movement of the clouds so large areas of the sea of mist are lit up before me. These constantly move and change as it there is a giant spotlight that tracks over the landscape - randomly appearing in selected areas.

A greater spotted woodpecker taps away at on old tree stump about fifteen metres away. Small birds are chirping everywhere around me, unseen in the trees, and a blackbird sings out over the hillside. Later on I saw some deer on one of the forestry tracks.

During yesterday's long drive I was wondering whether I should make these trips in the future. When I spend my whole day glued to a computer screen it takes a while to adjust to this new perspective of being in the landscape. Sitting here, looking out over the mist and hills just forces me to stop and readjust to a different world.

Sunset on Black Hill, Clun.

It may have been a bit of a mistake to try and take a Friday afternoon off work today but I have been trying to get up to my homeland for a few weeks. I am, thankfully I suppose, incredibly busy at work and a major bit of work landed on my desk just a few hours before leaving which, because of the nature of it, ruffled a few of my feathers. Still, I sorted it all out by 2.15pm and then drove for just over three hours through showers and bright autumn sunshine up to Black Hill near Clun, Shropshire. A favourite parking place rewarded me with a place at which to cook tea and a have an extensive view over the Welsh hills to the sun on the horizon and the remainder of the storm clouds. I've watched several sunrises and sunsets here in the past and as I then walked up onto the hill I was rewarded with a gorgeous amber light, salmon clouds and a tranquil landscape. My focus for much of the past week has been intense concentration at my computer screen and now, here, I felt an openness and space that I have been longing several weeks for. After a short walk, the light seemed to be disappearing rapidly. It was a very still evening with just the gentlest of breezes beneath a clearing star-filled sky. It was cool but not at all cold. Where the sun had set some clouds had edges lined with deep pink and a little later there was a large block of deep grey shapes that lingered behind the distant hills. I wondered if they were rain clouds heading this way.

Saw a distant dear and a quick glimpse of what was possibly a woodcock silhouetted against the sky amidst some conifers. A tawny owl hoots and its call echoes throughout the woods. It is good to see the hills again; to smell the damp bracken; to see tall conifers; to hear the bleating of sheep in distant fields and to drive, twisting and turning along the step narrow lanes with revealing beautiful views. I see a shooting star in the sky and the gentle twinkling lights of very high aeroplanes. Condensation drips gently from trees around me. There is no total escape from noise of man though. I can hear the occasional car and the heavenly rumble of the aeroplanes.

I probably manage to get up here about once a year as it is on the distant edge of my homeland haunts. It is the conifers that seem to mark the passage of time more than most things for me. I notice their growth over the years and how felled areas are replanted and new trees fill the landscape. I look forward to the time when the trees around the car park at Hopton Hill are felled to reveal the views once again, but I think that may not be in my lifetime.

Womb of Rain

August Bank Holiday Monday and it poured with rain all day. A walk through a deserted local park found me walking under some large trees that provided some shelter and for an hour or so this evening I was in the shed listening to the rain drumming on the metal roof. Both of these events reminded me of some of my journal writing from a couple of weeks ago. The following is adapted from the pages I wrote that evening:

This [the shed] is a place of peace and the rain is pouring down outside quite heavily. I am sure it is not just a shower and a strong breeze flows through the garden. It all sounds beautiful [a word that I am dwelling on quite a bit in my thoughts] and the rain is getting heavier and the sound louder. My thoughts are almost becoming drowned out by the torrential downpour and the breeze blowing in through the open door carries smell of damp earth and vegetation. And I just want to write about this beautiful place as the rain thunders down. I remember being up on a hill near Leintwardine sheltering in some old isolated farm buildings during a rain storm. I was outside - but in a place of shelter. Somewhere where I could experience the elements of nature and have my senses awakened to the weather but yet be out of the wind and in the dry. There are many times when I have enjoyed sitting in the car either at lunchtime or when out and about and and it has rained. The sound of rain is all dimensional - all around me - almost comforting as if I am in a womb of safety. I have never thought back to how I might have felt in my mother’s womb before. Of course, I don’t consciously remember it but there must be some vestigial sub-conscious recollection of those formative first nine months of my life. It must have been an odd feeling to be surrounded by water, not breathing, but yet to be alive. It is amazing how we start off our lives surrounded by water yet as soon we are born that environment can be deadly to us as well as water being vital for the continuation of life.

My future lies in the outside rain, in the seasons, but at the moment I just listen to the rain - the sound of it on the roof, dripping off plants and flowing in the gutters. Here I am in the dry - sheltering from the outside elements - like a baby in a womb.

Swifts and Stories

Swifts are ‘screaming’ above me as they dart though the warm July evening sky. I am inspired by the speed and agility of these birds that are rarely seen in close up. I wonder how they perceive the world around them? When I watch small birds and insects moving with such apparent speed relative to their size it almost seems as though they adhere to different laws of physics. They seem to be able to process information about their position in their environment so much more quickly than we humans can. They can run, fly or move with lightening agility between, what might seem to us if we were that size, such difficult terrain. I know that it is probably all down to ratios of size and mass and other things, but even so their perception of their environment must be quite different to ours. At the other end of the scale are plants and trees. How do they interpret their environments? I am not sure I would really class them as conscious individuals but they are still seen by us in human terms as living things. For an old oak tree living for potentially several hundred years in one place there is not the need to rush around like an ant might do on the woodland floor, but it still is ‘aware’ of its environment in terms of light, shade, moisture, nutrient availability etc and is able to adapt to changes where necessary.

Our perception of the world is unique in the way that we as human kind sees it and also how we see it as individuals. Our lives are spent trying to make sense of the earth we walk and attempting to build a sustainable life for as long as possible. On our journeys we each build upon our unique personal story and it is that story that creates a framework for how we view our lives too. Like all other living things we have to find food and shelter and yet we have evolved to do so much more. We have become a species that seeks constant innovation: the desire to better our place in the world. These are our own individual stories.

I have returned to my journaling again. This is an exercise in writing three pages of A4 longhand each day on anything that springs to mind. My motivation this time is to seek healing from what I think is a partly anxiety related illness. I have had chronic tummy problems since childhood and I decided to revisit my writing as a way of opening up a communication with myself and to try and break out of some boundaries that were closing in.

After a month and a half of writing two of the themes that have emerged are these: the need to recognise that each of us (humans and others) has a story - a story that has shaped the way that we think, act and live. Perhaps I don’t always recognise the stories that shape and form others around me. Also, I am trying to revisit my spiritual life. This has struggled a little recently due to a lack of suitable inspiration and motivation, but now that the summer is here I feel more refreshed and willing to explore a few things.

My personal artwork had to take a back step whilst I began the journaling. I can’t do everything I want to do and I have a whole bunch of ideas that I am awaiting to forge into something cohesive.

When meditating and appreciating Nature, observation and reflection comes alongside slowness and being more aware of the environment around me. There is an appreciation of space: the empty space and the space taken up by the humans and non-humans who belong in it. There is a language of discovery, a sense of beauty and awe and a feeling of belonging in the natural world. This is part of my story and after a good few years on this earth I feel I should open the doors and walk out again and discover new things. For me, it is a slow process. Things happen over weeks and months, time is almost like a natural time - a time that flows differently from the minutes and hours that govern commercial deadlines and the demands of family life. Like an oak tree that stands in a field, I just need to wait and see what happens.

Spaces

A light summer rain delicately touches the many trees around me. Through the warm summer air the faint drops of water fall - just enough to create a softness of sound that fills the space. The diverse shapes and greenness of the many trees in the ornamental park form a frame for my field of view with a water lily filled pond and a soft close-mown lawn before me. Wood pigeons coo amongst hidden branches and tits and blackbirds flit here and there. A few butterflies, undeterred by the rain, create the only other movement on the otherwise motionless vista. Meadowsweet, one of my favourite wild flowers, borders the pool with splashes of cream. I love to perceive spaces around me. It is not just the observation that inspires me but the sense that I can sort of feel the whole 3-dimensional existence of the space. I can sense the shape and form of all that is around me and imagine that I am like a bird: able to fly and explore the space rather than being limited to the static place from which I observe. I suppose it is like imagining an out of body experience where it is possible to float up, touch the top most leaves of a tree and experience the place from all angles. There is so much to look at. I always remember as a child being fascinated by looking out of large windows onto the garden. I could sit for hours and just look. There is none of the draw that digital media exerts whereby emotions and adrenaline are fuelled by the desire to know everything about the world and who is doing what, when and to whom. This takes a different sort of seeing and fulfils a different visual and psychological appetite.

Why does this being still and just looking appeal to me? It is a form of meditation that requires me to forget who I am and experience the presence of 'others'. I have been thinking a lot in my daily journalling about the idea of beauty and awe. It is something that I am learning to find in everyday things around me, not just the big and wonderful. To me there is almost more beauty and awe to be found in a roadside verge than in a stunning Lake District view. Places where nature is visibly evolving in ecosystems independent of man's involvement.

The sketch of the tree was just a bit of playing around on the iPad when I arrived here. As I look around me I am deeply aware of the colours and patterns made by the different component parts of the vegetation. I notice how each of the plants occupies their particular space and habitat around the pond. The rain has stopped now and the light is brightening. I wonder what I can learn from this place? I want to walk out and dance barefoot on the soft damp green grass before me and experience the freedom the space provides. And you know what? After a week of being sat in front of a computer screen in a stuffy office I am going to do just that!

Fire

The evening is warm, but the overcast sky and brisk breeze brings with it a hint of possible rain. The light is fading as I pull an old wheelbarrow to in front of the summerhouse whose doors are open to welcome the summer night. The barrow has a layer of bricks in the bottom and on these I have built a fire with logs from the woodpile. The fire is lit and it takes only a few minutes before the logs are well ablaze and flames are reaching up warms with wild energy. Sparks occasionally jump out and add to the spectacle. As the darkness draws in so the firelight warms the woodwork of the summerhouse with a deep orange glow and the fire settles to a gentle steady burn that takes all possibility of a slight chill away. 

The garden feels incredibly peaceful. The low roar of the gentle flames is reflected in the sound of the background town traffic. Not far way the peace is broken by the crackle of some fireworks - presumably a small celebratory display of some sorts. Apart from this my peace is undisturbed. 

With me I have my drum. I haven't played it for several years. I never played it in our old garden, it never seemed right and I always felt self-conscious as neighbours were often moving about their gardens at night. Here, in the new house, the end of the garden seems much more private and remote and so it was with a gentle hand that I felt comfortable in returning to an old friend. So, by the warm light of the glowing logs I played and just relaxed into a special time of peace and reflection. 

I thought about how our earthly existence most likely originally began with fire and to fire it will return. In the middle of this we have come to an existence where by fire has become to be something more of something managed by man though nature still has the ultimate power to use it as she will. We are drawn to fire, we are mesmerised by its beauty yet destructive power. It creates, yet it destroys. To me it is a symbol of pain and also creativity that brings healing.

The fire burned down to just a pile of deep red charcoal and I was half tempted to sleep out beside it, but I was rather in need of a good night's sleep as the next day I would be out on the bike all day and I didn't want to get too tired. The fire and the drum were my friends this evening and we shared a wonderful time together.