. . . ye walk on My earth complacent and self-satisfied, heedless that My earth is weary of you and everything within it shunneth you. Were ye but to open your eyes, ye would, in truth, prefer a myriad griefs unto this joy, and would count death itself better than this life.
(Bahá’u’lláh Persian Hidden Words: No 20)
As I was in between switching my focus from one Eliot (Thomas Stearns) to another (George), I needed more time to ponder on why Middlemarch, her masterpiece, resonates so much more strongly with me than The Waste Land. Given that George Eliot is praised for the skill with which she conveys the consciousness within, it seems appropriate to republish this sequence which is a fictional attempt to project my inscape into words. It also gave me the chance to add two more possibly closing posts to the sequence. Here’s the first.
One Saturday, as we walk out of the front door, we hear a sound that we dread – a petrol engine growling as it drives rotating blades in their destruction of plants. Council workers are somewhere out there close by flattening some roadside meadow, with all its vibrant colours, into a monochrome green.
‘If they’re not going to play golf or tennis over there, why the hell are they doing that?’ I growl back fruitlessly. The expanse of greenery posts a notice barring ball games in any case.
As we near the local post box, our destination, we see a bearded bloke with a helmet standing near his van. We decide to bite the bullet and raise our concerns with him, even though we are pretty sure that he will say he’s only doing what the local council has told him to do.
We have a reasonably friendly exchange, all along the lines we expected except for one surprising point.
‘We get these complaints all the time,’ he says a bit sadly, pointing over the hedge behind him. ‘The people in these houses can’t stand all the weeds.’
‘Don’t they realise that the insects we need to pollinate our food rely on meadowland to feed them?’ I butt in.
‘They don’t like the trees around here either,’ he adds. ‘Too many leaves in autumn.’
‘You must be joking,’ my wife says. ‘What about the climate crisis and our need for trees?
‘No, I’m not joking,’ he replies sombrely. ‘And more or less 80% of all complaints are from that angle. Only 20% are singing from your hymn sheet.’
I’m stunned. We thank him for his time, disappointed though that he won’t even agree to spare the narrow strip of meadow at the roadside near our house.
‘We’d just have to come back tomorrow to finish the job,’ was his explanation.
After we post the letter we decide to go for a walk to the local park to cheer ourselves up a bit. As we cross a side road just down the road from where we started we bump into a neighbour as she sets off to meet some friends in town. I can’t resist pointing to a triangular meadow just at the end of her road.
‘Isn’t that lovely?’ I gush enthusiastically. ‘Look at the gorgeous colours.’
‘It’s horrible,’ she says. ‘Just rubbish, weeds. Why would you want that? Go and live in the country if that’s what you like.’
I make my insects point.
‘The kids can’t play in a place like that. They’ll get bitten.’
‘But without insects things will get worse – we won’t have enough food.’
‘Why would I worry? I’ll be dead by then.’
I don’t clock most of the rest of what she said to my wife before she branches off to go down town while we walk up the hill into the park.
When we walk out the following day the narrow strip is still in bloom. Perhaps they paid some attention to what we were saying. When we walk out on Monday lunchtime they’ve come back and finished the job as he’d said they had to.
That night, in order to try and pretend it doesn’t matter, once more after a long time, I play the meditation track I’d downloaded from Sacred Acoustics.
I’d had the heads up about Alexander and Newell’s book — Living in a Mindful Universe – in a conversation with a former colleague. Some months ago, I ended up bowled away by reading the book, so I naturally downloaded the free meditation from their related website. Its fascination had worn off, as so often happens with things that captivate me for a brief moment. I hadn’t achieved satori in five minutes so dismissed it as useless, but I remember its calming effect now so think it may be worth giving it another go.
The familiar combination of a Buddhist chant and synthesiser effects begins to allow my mind to cool off. Maybe I even manage to become almost calm.
I begin to hear a woman’s soft voice that I don’t recognise talking gently to Emergioli.
In his slight Italian accent I hear him respond.
‘Christine, it’s so good to hear what’s happened. What made the three of you decide to merge in the same way Humfreeze, Wordless and Mires did? Emma was over the moon that they’d be outnumbered after blending into me.’
‘Well, I think Pancake, Pindance and Humus all came to feel that remaining at battle stations would get us nowhere in the end because he’d be on your side and controls what we do anyway. They thought that maybe shifting from the more combative Greta Thunberg approach might pay off. This may be is why I ended up called Christine Wakeham – there are more ways of being a wakeup call than holding demonstrations. What do you think, Roberto?’
‘As you may know, I’m all in favour of working towards inner harmony. Without it it’s hard to see how we can work to make the world more at one. If the climate of our minds is overheated, how are we going to reduce the global heating that’s going to kill us in the end if we don’t pull together to reduce it. We’re closer in our approach than you might think. I strongly believe that our inner harmony should not only be in tune with our fellow human beings, but with nature as well. In English earth and heart are anagrams – such a beautiful pointer towards this close connection.’
‘This is music to my ears,’ I think – meaning what they said, not the Sacred Acoustics.
I wonder what I might hold in my heart to add into the mix to bring a state of harmony nearer to reality. I don’t want just a temporary truce between the remainder of my warring selves. Chris Wakeham is definitely connected with nature and the ecological climate, and maybe the science that goes with that, and Roberto Emergioli’s focus is on the climate of the mind in terms of both consciousness, psychology and spirituality. Both of those themes resonate strongly with me, but I sense that something might be missing.
The Heart/Earth anagrams suddenly remind me. What do they also have in common? Art!
Landor’s words come back to mind: ‘Nature I loved and next to nature art.’
‘Can I join your conversation, please?’ I gently interject.
‘You can hear us!’ Wakeham sounds surprised.
‘That’s the way it sometimes works,’ Emergioli explains. ‘If you’re happy, Christine, I think we should let him join our conversation.
‘Of course, of course,’ Wakeham eagerly responds. ‘I was just a bit shocked, that’s all. Welcome, Pete. I hope you don’t mind my calling you that.’
‘Not at all, Chris. And likewise for that name too?’
‘Sure. No problem. What was it you wanted to say?’
‘My heart is truly warmed by what I heard you saying to each other just now. Nature is so important, as is the climate of the mind, along with the science and spirituality that will help deepen our understanding of them both. I’m on the same page as both of you in those respects. Can I throw something else into the mix as well to see how that goes down with you?’
‘The richer our shared perspectives are, the closer we’ll get to the truth,’ Emergioli replied. ‘Share whatever you wish.’
‘Well, in addition to a book I’ve just bought on the power of trees and how much our lives depend upon it, one I have almost finished concerns the power of art and its positive influence upon our minds. It seems to me all three are linked – art, nature and our hearts – and we neglect any of them at our peril. Not only can we enrich our hearts with art, but it will also enhance our ability to connect with others. Emma and Pindance were activists who wanted to change the attitude of society by propaganda and demonstrations. That always felt a long way from my skill set and beyond the resources in my energy bank these days. ‘I’ve warmed both hands before the fire of life, it sinks’ and, while I am not yet ready to depart, I have to respect my limitations. Maybe writing, rooted in a felt connection with nature and my inscape, may have to do for now. Does that make any kind of sense to you?’
‘You’ll need to find the media that work best for you – poetry and blogging seem to fit that bill so far,’ Wakeham suggests. ‘I get that nature will be only part of your agenda up there with mind and art. But that’s ok if you can keep them all in balance. Do you think you’re up for that?’
‘With my help as well,’ Emergioli adds, ‘I’m sure the three of us can work this out so we honour all our priorities, and if we both support Pete’s efforts to write better, it will all come together.’
‘The proof of that pudding will be in the eating,’ Wakeham replied, ‘but it might be worth a try.’
‘Thanks, Chris. Sounds like I need to make a plan of action, if that’s the right word to use, that I can share with you both to see if we can agree on what looks like an effective way forward,’ I say. ‘Can we stop now and pick up on this later? I can maybe use this music as the signal for us to talk again.’
They both grunted their agreement as the twenty-minute track was reaching the point where the sound of running water trickled its way through the ending.
Everybody Means Something 
Leave a Reply