Posts tagged with "place"

Spaces in between

I’ve started noticing how often there are adverts in the in-between places - magazine ads in train stations, airports, doctors’ waiting rooms; commercial breaks in a TV programme; billboards next to roads.

These are places where we’re in transition – where the flow of experience is interrupted or suspended, places where our sense of self can be a bit shaky - where we need to grab on to something and say ‘this is me!’ These spaces can feel empty and lonely.

But if we stop and stay quiet in these spaces, there’s a chance to open out into what’s going on right now, and to catch a glimpse of ourselves at a deeper level. That’s a place where there’s a great potential for healing. And we have to be tender with ourselves - and each other - in that place.

Let’s look through the Wilderness shaped window!

 ”What do you see?”  Was the question given by my paired partner Emily, on settling at the place found by natural inclination and gut instinct. Well, I saw a stream, mossy banked, at the tree-line edge facing up to steep escarpments of Glen Tilt, it was very inviting, the ‘babbling brook’ was calming, and the Scots pine trees enveloped and created a sense of security. 

“What insights does it give for your life?”  Well, it gave me a picture of a re-ordered life.  Frequently I am at the summit ridge, possibly over the horizon, away working, providing for my family in the forest brook.  The glade spoke to me about home, a place of canopied security, sheltered, a source of comfort and nourishment, yet I wasn’t within sight of it often enough.  I need to find a way to stop ascending ridges of work pressures and pressing on to the next career summit and find the will to stay closer, within sight and calling distance of the valley, the tree line, and the homely bank.

Of Stags & Men

Our second Natural Change wilderness weekend, in the rolling glens of Perthshire. We are on a managed estate this time and it feels very different, though still very wild! It’s prompted some interesting questions and debate about the “huntin’, shootin’ & fishin’” type of life, and the industry around it, at the lunch and dinner table.

It’s turned out to be yet another transformational experience – for us all in different ways – and as before (and in the intervening weeks since Knoydart) there are lots of similar and parallel themes and metaphors arising. About a sense of place, and what does that mean; to the tensions between us imposing ourselves on the land and the land imposing on us; on tumult versus serenity and calm. That last one has come from the amazingly powerful river – The Tilt – which is flowing alongside us. It’s this incredible mass of energy and power, in full spate and the sound of it is almost like white noise. In places it seems to bubble up, rather than flow, and we’ve all been drawn to it in different ways.

This sense of the wilderness as metaphor, and it offering us the place and space to reflect, is now so much clearer for me, and I’m very open and receptive to it. It’s been around as a tool or voice forever of course, in poetry, books, film and song, but I suppose the danger is this becomes both self-indulgent and romanticised. That has been offered a sharp contrast by the signs around us of economic activity and the reality of living, surviving, here.

The thing that epitomised that for me was when I was out on one of the activities, and came across these two beautiful white ponies – by all accounts they are bred in this area. I could see that their coats were kind of dirty and matted at the sides, but just thought it was mud and rain. But talking later, I was told it was the stains from the blood of stags, which are shot, and then the ponies used to transport their carcasses down the hillside. My instinctive reaction was just horror, on a whole range of different levels, but the argument is that it is better to use the ponies than some 4×4 or moto-cross type vehicle, which churns up the land etc. I find that so hard – just because it’s sustainable, does it mean it’s right?

The river awe

What a great name!  I live right next to the Awe and walk down there most days.  Recently with the rain we’ve had it was in spate - it rose at least a meter and was roaring down to the sea in a huge unstopable flow.  Watching the river was mesmerising and dizzying, and it filled me with energy.  It is back to its normal state now, and i went down it yesterday in my canoe, accompanied by dippers, looking at the marks high on the banks where it had been.

I have been thinking a lot about the flow of life, letting go, and it seems that rivers have been making their presence felt a lot in the last month.  I’ve been reflecting on letting things go through me (perhaps throwing in a new current), rather than me stopping them, trying to hold them back.  Part of it has to do with the constant onward flow of energy and ecology - it would be painful and pointless to resist the awe in full flood.

Returning home for me threw up a new realisation: working away so much in the wilds, i always struggle coming home, and i’ve come to realise that my day dreams about living in the places i work are partly about resisting that process of ‘leaving behind.’  I am committed to Taynuilt, the place where i live, but i realise that i have been leaving a lot of myself in the places where i work, and not really letting them go.

Reading through my research notes, and everyone’s blogs prior to reengageing with the group and the project next week has been great.  I felt like i was taking up the threads again reading everyones words, and seeing all the pictures.  What was clear to me as well, was the inexorable flow of the process - how far we have floated together.  And where will we fetch up?

All Alone

 

Waking up in silence the next morning was bizarre. I felt the need to say ‘morning’ to everyone, or at least acknowledge them in some way.

After a bit of brekky, I set off at dawn in the direction of my chosen clump of trees. I was searching for a place which I could be happy with for the rest of the day, but most of the places I came across just weren’t good enough. They were either:

Too exposed!

Too full of litter!

Too dull!

Too restricted!

Not nice enough views!

Too low!

Too high!

Too dangerous!

NOT PERFECT!

Every place I tried out just left me feeling dissatisfied and it occurred to me how many needs I was trying to fulfil with just one space.

I eventually settled on an old decaying tree, which looked just the ticket. If I climbed up it I would get a view of the sea and lots more and there were so many vivid colours to see in the place. So I climbed my tree and settled in for the day with the wind blowing into my face and felt pretty content. But…appearances can be deceptive.

The wind got up and the rain started – it was time to move down the tree. I began to discover what an unforgiving place this wilderness could be.

At the bottom of the tree, I started drawing for something to do and once I’d got bored of that I thought I’d use my pen knife to carve something from the wood. Then I’d have something to show off from the day. But the wind blew the dust from the wood back into my face, and into my eyes. And I couldn’t get it out and it was so sore my eye was watering and I had to just shut them; there was no way I could draw or even look at things any more. So I threw my piece of the wood on the ground in anger and felt like throwing my journal away. What was the point of this? I wasn’t learning a thing! I shut my eyes and must have just drifted off to sleep for a bit.

I woke up feeling so angry and cold and frustrated, even though I had all the clothes on that I’d brought with me. I started to feel that it was about survival out there, even though I knew I could leave at any time. And my determination to stay frustrated me even more.

I felt like I was trapped in the wilderness, like a caged animal. It was the not being able to go out and explore the place I was in that was getting to me. And I began pacing around, like an animal in the zoo. I thought about the behaviour of these animals – big cats prowling round and round - and I understood why.

Some time in the afternoon (no idea what time, no watches allowed), the sun came out and I knew it was beautiful. I felt I should appreciate it, but I couldn’t. I had so much tension in my body from the few hours before that all I wanted to do was get back down the hill and have a shower and some food (I had decided to fast for the day – well, when else was I going to get the chance?)

I began to set off down the hill towards home, happy to be able to appreciate the evening now I knew I was leaving that place. I took my time on the way and noticed my route back, taking time to enjoy retracing the steps I had taken out at dawn.

I was surprised to realise how physically, emotionally and mentally drained I was when I got back. Even though I had gone without food for the whole day I could hardly eat 3 spoonfuls of soup. I took a hot shower and once I stepped out of it I had to lie down immediately, I felt so sick. I went straight to bed and slept for 10 hours that evening.

Boy, are we here!

So…we’re here. Boy are we here. It’s an amazing place, no question – so far beyond anything I have ever experienced before. And my boots have lost their shine already…

Am in a bit of a quandary about this blog. Spent a lot of time – too much probably – trying to think of how to begin. The temptation is to record all we have done, diary-like, but I don’t really think that is the point of the exercise. It’s all about reflection, on what we have seen, heard, done, discussed, debated and laughed over. There’s a thing I’m pleased about – there’s plenty of laughs – which may come as a bit of a surprise to those outside the eco-movement: news just in folks – they have a sense of humour too, even though they know the end of the world is nigh!!

 Actually, that flippancy seems inappropriate – disrespectful almost to this place and this experience. The sense I have most at the moment is privilege – I feel so privileged to be able to be here and participate in this. Whether it was sitting in a tepee, gazing out across the shoreline, water and mountains through the heat-haze of the fire; or walking alongside a burn, trickling under an intense green canopy of breathtakingly beautiful trees; or discussing Maslows Hierarchy of Needs and modern western consumerism – it’s been intense and powerful.

 So – do I know REALLY what this is all about yet? Maybe a glimmer. The disconnect from the earth that we have, focussing simply on consuming more to fulfil and sustain us, rather that tuning in and paying attention to our real needs – few of which are authentically met by “products”. This is a tough one for me personally – note my very first blog – but I take comfort in the fact that, in my love of all things Dolce & Gabbana, I’m perfectly aware I’m shallow!! Seriously – none of this argument is new to me, or anything I take issue with. The key question is: why don’t I do more to address it? What can I do – personally and without compromise – to make that shift? And - horror of horrors - will it mean giving up Christian Laboutin? Answers on a postcard, please, or just hit the comment button below, seeing as how we’re saving resources…