Planthood & The Taproute

Man doesn't grow anymore, he accumulates, gets larger, metastasizes and spreads. He doesn't grow because growing is dependent on going and if you do not go (as in use your own locomotive force to move you) then you cannot grow. Man's 'growth' is now in line with an economic growth that treats the eco- with such disdain that his 'growth' now follows the same pattern as the malignant cancer cell. Man's loss of space and contact with the soils. seas, and skies, has made him into a tumour, the tumour emerging from the tumult and the crowd that man's false economy has welcomed. Furthermore, man has abandoned his body to machines that do it for him whilst polluting his environment. This abandonment has led to the destruction of the human's route system to the point where he can longer hear the earth communicating with him. Man needs to get back into his own body and not the shell of a body that has been fixed onto him like armour, an armour that prevents man not just from hearing the earth but from feeling the earth and seeing her. And the best way to get back into your own body is to get back onto your own two feet, whether through cycling, walking, or other.

It's amazing the territory you can cover (home into) on your own two feet especially when you combine the bicycle and the train. Personally, I have a few short train routes that I use as catapult to get me and my metal hoss a little further out, or if I cycle down to the coast or up to Loch Lomond, a train that can heave my weary body back home. Everyone should know that 'bike plus train equals brain' and use this equation accordingly to home in on your territories and create a vital and revitalizing home range. This expansiveness will not only create 'routes' but it will create roots too. These are the roots and routes that will align your physical body with your circumstantial body, and the more the two align the more expansive you will feel as a mindful bodying entity. 

We are all plants whether we recognize this or not. We all have root systems, the only difference being that an animal's root system is a little more difficult to see since the root is the 'route through the land itself'. Naturally, in amongst these roots (and routes) there will be a main taproute, a large central dominant route from which other roots will sprout laterally. This taproot is your main locomotive route. Roots are routes since all a root really is is locomotion manifest whilst delivering nutrition. A root in other words is a natural delivery system that delivers vital sustenance into you. This is what a cycle route is or a walking route, indeed, one might say that the Sustrans routes all over the country are exactly that: taproots that deliver vital nutrition to all those who conjoin with it. A country without these taproots is not a country but a quagmire. And just as the country is a quagmire without this 'health service', so too is the body a wheelie bin without auto-locomotion. One of my taproots takes me down to Bridge of Weir from Paisley Canal on the sustrans cycle path. I then veer off up and over the plateau (via Barnbeth, Auchensale, Law) and through a few miles of empty back lanes before descending down to the village of Kilbarchan and heading back on the sustrans path to Paisley Canal. It's a route of some 90-120 minutes depending on how many pauses I make to inhale the settings or if I make a tangent. But, really, like all routes that deliver this much nutrition (peace, no cars, full country settings, villages, flowers everywhere, animals, birds...), it's timeless, and it's this timelessness that invests you within a sort of ecstatic eternity that reveals the cyclist or walker of these here parts to be all things. Every plant should have a taproot, and if you don't then you're not a plant anymore receving sustenance and communiques from the Earth but some sort of parasite (car-driver) polluting her when you're not sucking the lifeblood (oil) out of her.
So, the moral of the story is: tend to the roots by attending to the route system. See yourself as 'plant' before 'man' or 'woman' and the bodymind will take care of itself. 

The Mountain of Beverly Hills

Ubi aves ibi angeli


Today, an article in the LA Times reveals that 'The Mountain of Beverly Hills' is the 'city's finest piece of undeveloped land' sitting as it does at the highest point of the zip code 90210 with panoramic views only a winged creature should have. Its 157 acre site was originally listed for $1bn making it the highest listing ever in the LA County area. With over 2,800 billionaires in the world, listing agents were keen intitially to see a royal family from the Middle East or a Chinese billionaire purchase the property. Nevertheless, a corruption scandal has transpired and things are slowly going downhill for the so-called Mountain of Beverly Hills, and its dreams of being bought and made over. To make over is however to do over. That which is made over is inevitably done over too.

As a keen cyclist who regularly gazes from Glasgow's peripheral hills and imagines other cities in Glasgow's place, I have often wondered what LA would be like if she were here in Glasgow (after all, Glasgow, some might argue, already has LA in her). I have often sung the praises of Glasgow's hills for still being hills. I look at them all the time thinking that if this were LA that hill would be an estate, that one there would be the homestead for some billionaire's tasteless mansion, and those hills there would be so covered in properties that you wouldn't be able to see the hill anymore. To be sure, Glasgow and LA are not that unalike. Both have hills relatively near their city centre and both cities are sizeable spreads. From Glasgow's Kilpatrick Hills for example I can see the city 8 miles away towering up. If I look west I can see the ocean about the same distance away. With these parameters and a little imagination, I could be in Beverly Hills gazing into downtown and then out to the Pacific. Trouble is if I was really in Beverly Hills I wouldn't be able to see anything for all the buildings; I wouldn't be able to enjoy the silence and the space that would facilitate a spacing out as well as a gazing out because it would all be owned and developed. In short, if Beverly Hills were the Kilpatrick Hills, Kilpatrick would not have that old world charm anymore, nor would those blissful hills. If Beverly Hills were the Kilpatrick Hills I wouldn't be able to get anywhere near them for all the fences and big gates. And yet, Beverly Hills never used to be that 'owned' and populated. Once upon a time not that long ago it was all open land, undeveloped, uncontaminated, unowned. Now, it's the largest gated community in the world with some of the largest egos to boot. And I think, city of angels, are you kidding? Angels don't live in mansions and genital-compensating cribs, nor do they live in tents and informal settlements made from cardboard boxes. Angels have wings and can fly. As far as this is concerned Glasgow with its bird strewn hills (and its corresponding lack of ostentatious garishness) is more angelic than LA; its hills are still hills, and its birds (and people too perhaps) still angels.



































A Universe Degree

This sunny Sunday morning, on the way up to Contemplation Rock in the Kilpatrick Hills I meet a group of graviportal hillwalkers struggling a little with the stepth of this route. I congratulate them on getting off the beaten track and taking the alternative route up to the top. We chat for a couple of minutes as they sweat and catch their breath. I wish them well and tell them (without trying to be condescending) they should be proud of themselves for getting this far, that anyone who comes up this way should get a degree, not from any university but from the universe herself. They chortle and I plod on, still further up, leaving behind a group of students on their way to graduation.

Birding

This morning, atop the braes, skylarks and stonechats, and some birding. Birding as hillwalking - as being bird - and not simply as watching them. Hillwalking after all is a form of flying, a form of soaring, a form of aviation. And as all 'birds' know: aviation is firstly a tale of using your own engines.




Swinging Over the Strath

To swing is to sing...

and to sing is to be at one with the land.

Here, up behind Barrhead and Paisley, just behind Fereneze golf course, is the kissing tree, a tree so named because of the westerly wind that has caused it to buckle and bend as if kissing the sky. It's a beautiful walk up from Barrhead or even Paisley. I took the bike up from Barrhead but really only cycled when I had reached the kissing tree and it was all downhill to Paisley. The route from Barrhead to Paisley train stations took a mere 80mins. and yet...