fortitude

Into The Woods

~ Jim Hindle ~ Leave a comment

I am tired today.  I am tired like my bones and my blood have been fighting.  Spring is here, the hawthorn already thick and full in the hedges.  The blackthorn blossom has already been and gone.  Actual sunlight graces the days, mead for the mind.  It’s all just as well.  At the time of writing, the war in Iran carries on.

But perhaps despite, of even because of such things, we can begin to pick things up a little, pick up our feet as we head for the literal hills, limber a little as we take to the tracks.  Do we go forward with what?  Bloody-mindedness? Stubborn optimism?  Spring comes unconditional, offers its charms consistent as clockwork, dependable as country people’s hope.

For all the woes of the world there is still some kind of ameliorative, a knowledge the world is much bigger than us, puts in place our mortal concerns, has been here before and knows our hearts like a mother knows the ways of her own children.

It is not so very far from the woods here – I’m practically already in them as I write.  Here, just past the sign to the village, where the footpath gives out, past the last of the streetlights, at the bottom of the garden and just up the pot-holed lane, trees encroach like memories of how things once were and could be again – blueprints of an undetermined future, holding a promise of how things can be, a sign of our natural state, an origin story for us all.

We know all this is fragile in a sense, that old guarantees may no longer suffice, that there is still much to be decided.  Our living biosphere is crying out now, crying out for change, for us to stop pumping the air full of gas; gasoline habits were hooked on, cooking up a daily brew we mainline in the atmosphere as if there was no tomorrow or we are over-confident tomorrow never comes, that we have never a care for the wake that we leave, the wreckage of inertia or indifference, a tab tomorrow’s children will have to pick up.  We are counting the cost of that bill even now, despite the distractions; we insulate ourselves with screens, chained to a matrix that seeks to consume our consciousness while all the while the old things still persist – the birds sing on perennial, the leaves unfurl like banners on a march; a million strong, militants for memory, that chant we still have our inheritance, we hold it in our hands; this bright green dream of summertime, the places we come back to, can call home.

Maybe, at some stage, we will step out anew in all this.  For now, there is just a simple sense of beckoning, the tender young sun, the birds on the bough, miles of woodland lying in wait, ambushing us with unexpected beauty.  Vistas open, tracts of trees present themselves.  Walking here becomes devotional, every observation like a prayer.

Is it ever enough to remember that, far away, people might be dealing with very different realities?  Is it enough to say we never wanted the war, seek to have no part in it?  The madness of a military might can still perhaps help us re-enforce the peaceful things, to see the green leaves budding now as if these are the fundamental things and all else is a diversion, a deviation from the original plot.

The trees at peace, the land itself arising, clear and strong – can these things set our reckonings; currencies true in the new day?  Can they, in themselves, form some kind of better direction, some guiding force like true north for the soul?  Perhaps we can find our way forward not by proscriptions or admonishment but by remembering what lies at our doorstep, at the end of the lane, that these are our values and here is the fight; to seek and to see and hold onto the gifts that we have; to hold onto and value them and strive to see them endure.

I will rise and go now and go to the woods, walk through the heathland, the paths through the trees.  Like everyone else I will hope for the best for the season – for a fair prospect, for peace in our time.  Perhaps in ways that might not be so clear, the trees can somehow help with all of this, by more than just providing sanctuary or a reference point for that which we ought to hold dear.  In my wilder moments I wonder if the woods can be a kind of sounding board – echoing and amplifying prayer, like green cathedrals: dynamic, alive.  Who can say what currencies and capabilities these dreaming beings hold?  If you sleep in a tree you may feel it – the cradling of an older consciousness, the sense these creaking creatures are still very much alive, that they can anchor us, guide us, help us find our feet on the path.

At times, it may be enough to simply go forward with a clear mind, to offer intentions, to hope for the best.  If trees and woods can be a kind of antidote perhaps it is enough to simply seek to share the secret, that the solutions may lie at our doorstep, that all that is required is to step out beneath the lintel, be it that of a house or a town, find again the things that matter, that can help us endure, remember how life can still be.

In Search of the Spring

~ Jim Hindle ~ Leave a comment

It’s a winter night as I write this.  Spring is a little way off – tantalising but, for now, still out of reach, as if its very closeness is another form of trial.  It does not need saying it’s been wet.  Or that, tonight at least, the forecast stretches indeterminable as far as the forecast will go.  Is this the time to look for fortitude, to bang on grand-eloquent in the face of the onslaught of rain that we’ve seen?  Certainly, we take sucour where we can.  Is it enough to think that Spring is now just a matter of weeks in the waiting?

Some things at least can stay consistent; the early flowers like promises reminding us all is not lost, that – even if we can’t predict exactly what may be in store – we know the earth will tilt enough to bring warmer, longer days, some sense of opportunity, of time to be won, of the knowledge there is much that we can do.  Our choices then can simply be pragmatic; we can try and ignore the weather and woes of the world, or give into despondency, despair.  Or, perhaps uncoupled from relentless media for a time, we can try and stay practical; to keep our houses in order and seek to spread this out, like lights against obscurity, like boats on an unfamiliar sea.

The alternative is to bow to the clouds, stumble in bewilderment counting out the things we cannot change or cannot yet do so like fathoming miles in the dark.  Sometimes it’s enough to just mark one staging post at a time, conscious perhaps of big pictures and yet putting them out of our mind, like harnessing all our reserves as if the next few weeks are the last miles of an already long day and that, for now, we only need think of immediate shelter, face our full tomorrows other days.  We can fix our attention upon a fixed point, be it distant or near and ignore the complaints of our legs as we make way towards it; as we forget, if you like, almost every other thing than simply going forward for a time, knowing there will be some kind of respite.

We know there are no guarantees unless they be the belt of a will for survival, of the grand and possibly largely untapped forces of collective will; that, seeing all the clearer our predicaments, we can be that much more primed to dig for resources, to fathom the depths of our mental reserves, calibrate the heights of our potentials.

As others have said, in darkness our dreams burn the brighter.  Our dreams and our dreaming can serve as a beacon as well.  In the meantime, we can set our minds and our faces to the weather, stride out in it as if bloodymindedly, seek the signs and support of our fellow travellers, knowing that we face all this together and in that there can be a sense of consolation, the knowledge of some kind of solidarity, shared endeavour certainly, even a kind of grand conspiracy against some of the things we may face. 

At this time of the year, I can find it helpful to fall back on old resources, read books – like Edward Thomas’s that seek to find and welcome in the coming season; in his case almost literally seeking to unearth it as if a journey in its honour can somehow summon it up.  Here Thomas sets off for the West early one March on a pushbike, armed with little more than a camera and piece of old tarp.  The Spring he sought was a place as much as a season, a kind of Shangri-la that he had to travel to find.

I can find myself reading of old walks or preparing for more at these times; dot to dots of journeys spanning years, totalling some grander navigation, like the point of them all can shine through all the clearer; not questions of distance or itineraries of place but the sum of an overall effort, of some kind of will to continue as if getting beyond any more personal or even universal winters.  Here our efforts can be calibrated if not actually weighed up; the things that we do in the seasons we have, the striving against any attrition, where we may eventually measure the breadth of the harvest bestowed.

We all have to live in the times we must face, deal with the cards we’ve been dealt.  We do so best if we can keep our eyes on horizons, look for opportunities, for any help available and that which we may be able to give.  That’s going to look different for everyone of us.  But we can take things one day at a time, knowing each evening may find us a little restored as we enter our various havens.  Journeys – physical or imagined – can help.  But ultimately as we grind or make our way with better grace through the last of what has felt like a particularly bitter winter, we can remember that all things will pass, that Spring can be seen as a season of the mind as much as anything else, that it can be here with us now, that flowerings can take many forms.

Thoughts for the Coming Winter

~ Jim Hindle ~ Leave a comment

It sometimes seems it’s all that we can do to keep on going.  That fateful Thursday several weeks ago news poured down like the actual rain.  Quite apart from the sad passing away of the Queen, there were many other things that became apparent on that momentous day.  You can say a lot of things about our new government and its reaction to our pressing social and environmental crises.  Whatever our response, whatever the need to challenge proposals, we can only hope that, economically, we’ll see increasing sense or a least a hastening of the day till we get a government worthy of the name. 

As for the energy crisis, some kind of corrective has been on the cards for years, which makes it no less galling how relatively unprepared we are for it by the unambitious scale of action this last decade or two.  But it doesn’t seem a completely irrational hope that we can still emerge somehow stronger or in a sense a little more honest out of all of this; living more within our means while rising to the challenge to source our needs with greater concern for the climate.  As we know, if any of this is in any way medicinal, right now it doesn’t feel like a particularly palatable brew.  But there may be some consolation knowing that our trials are not in vain.

With all that said, it’s worth considering at times like these that we always have options.  While not everything may be as we like, we can still take steps to attend to our psychology.  We should do what we can to not let ourselves be dragged down by the sometimes obviously quite sobering prospects that appear to face us this coming winter; recently at least, any rational analysis of the news has threatened to become quite overwhelming.  Perhaps the best thing we can remember is that, despite the habits we may have regarding news and media, saturating ourselves with updates and bulletins and articles remains just that – a choice.  If that sounds indulgent or callous or reckless, consider the words of Howard C. Cutler in his writings based on conversations with the Dalai Lama on the practical ramifications of a positive state of mind; “it is unhappy people who tend to be the most self-focused and are often socially withdrawn, brooding, and even antagonistic.  Happy people, in contrast, are generally found to be more sociable, flexible, and creative and are able to tolerate life’s daily frustrations more easily.”  Crucially for any crisis, experiments show that those in a better state of mind are more likely to help out others in need. 

And therein lies another choice – developing a practical response.  That means we can focus on what we can do – not paralyse ourselves with concern or despair over those things that may be beyond our control.  A calmer mind is better placed to look at given options, to be inventive in any given circumstance, look for the ladder at the end of any allegorical alleys.  It can give us the strength to continue, drive for change and better circumstances, to be more kindly disposed to those all around us, bolster our capacity for patience and compassion.

Is it too much or too fanciful to believe there is a counterforce to all our woes, some spirit or will out in the ether or within each one of us that seeks and can serve to ameliorate all this?  A force that wishes us to continue, a will to carry on? Is it too lofty a notion to attempt to meet any hardship with grace, to bolster ourselves with silver linings, the things we still can be grateful about?  None of this is intended as a call for happy-clappy, Maoist sunshine state mentalities that justify sticking our heads in the sand.  But we can seek to respond to these times as effectively as we are able, even if that just means keeping our heads above water.  Anything that helps us get through each day, overcome the difficulties we can, helps give us the wind in our sails even in apparent adversity, is not as abstract or denialist as it may sound.

We know all too well what we’re faced with this winter.  Recent announcements regarding general help with our energy bills head off the worst of what we might immediately have faced.  But we shouldn’t pretend that it’s going to necessarily be easy.  It may offer some relief to reflect that if we can hold fast this coming winter, we may be in a much better place come the Spring.  Weaning ourselves off Russian energy was long overdue in any case and there should be no doubt that current events are certainly catalytic for greater energy security – it’s a question of how we respond, how we make the most of this as yet largely unnavigated opportunity, whether we shoot ourselves in the foot or look at it as a chance for benevolent change; encourage the take up of renewables with ever greater alacrity and, yes, first and foremost insulate our homes.  For all the need for better policy on high there are things that most of us can still do; if downsizing and cohabiting seem tall orders we can still seek every avenue for greater efficiency, make a shift to green power wherever we can, lobby for government grants – such steps at least would represent some progress despite the storm of the crisis we face.

While not negating what many may be going through or the blistering injustice regarding the attitudes of some of the cabal apparently running the show, the old things still count; fortitude and bloody mindedness, helping out our neighbours, keeping heart.  We live in changing times; some things must be laid to rest before we can bring in the new.  The kind of transition we face will be determined by our capacity to strive for every avenue of renewal, to think creatively, to seek to bare the world up as our culture transforms; with force of will, resolve and single-mindedness.  Perhaps it’s best to concentrate on that which lies immediately before us – to bolster and harbour and strive to endure in the knowledge that a brighter day may somehow lie in wait if we can just bring it to bare.