The Primordial Breaks: The Inoculation of Self in the Spaces and Silences around Glasgow

It's got nuttin' to do wif your Vorsprung Durch Technik you know... Blur, Parklife

Perhaps, indeed, the earth should be thought of as a mighty breathing process... The supreme breathing process!

Karlfried Graf Durckheim



Progress through technology. Sure. Why not? But first you need to define what sort of technology you're dealing with.

The original techne + logos is nothing more than the body-mind + discourse....

The problem with the modern world's conception of progress is that it is no longer the coveted sanctum of the bodymind, but that which is outside the bodymind. 

Of course, there is nothing 'outside' the bodymind, but modern man is no longer as insightful as he used to be, so he continues to plug away at the illusion.

This is how progress has come to consume the world, and the bodymind. With all manner of disease and un-ease, dementia, and obesity, all pushed through by man's refusal to look inside himself, illusion is rife, and Man has never been so unhealthy.

How then to retrieve that health, that wholeness?

By looking perhaps at language itself. We did it with technology, so why not with health?

Get to the root of language and you will get to the root of the self.

The word 'Health' derives from Norse hale, meaning whole:

health (n.) Look up health at Dictionary.com
Old English hælþ "wholeness, a being whole, sound or well," from Proto-Germanic *hailitho, from PIE *kailo- "whole, uninjured, of good omen" (source also of Old English hal "hale, whole;" Old Norse heill "healthy;" Old English halig, Old Norse helge "holy, sacred;" Old English hælan "to heal"). With Proto-Germanic abstract noun suffix *-itho (see -th (2)). Of physical health in Middle English, but also "prosperity, happiness, welfare; preservation, safety." An abstract noun to whole, not to heal. Meaning "a salutation" (in a toast, etc.) wishing one welfare or prosperity is from 1590s. Health food is from 1848,

If you consider language as a great family of words, simplistic as it may seem, you can see that the closest relatives to Health are words like in-hale, ex-hale, whole and holy. 

When Blake wrote, 'All that breathes is holy,' he wasn't joking, and he knew of the relationship between the breath and saintliness. When the Scottish writer Kenneth White wrote that it was, 'plus facile d'etre saint que d'etre sain' he wasn't joking either. Sainthood is, in a world beset by the iniquities of excess and an unstable existence, easier to acquire than good health, good health being akin to some form of godhood.

At any rate, in order to 'see' this, whilst embroiled and embedded within a noisy and heavy-handed man-made world, is nigh on impossible. One needs exacting silence (as the sounds of Nature and the absence of noise), and the necessary and essential space within which to allow that silence free range. Seeing is no joke. People cannot see anymore because they are too dug in, and too entrenched within a linear world whose end-point is self-annihilation and suffering.

In order to see, they have to climb out of the trenches, get away from the frontline entirely, and make for the hills, or the coast, or maybe even the desert. it is only within these 'primordial breaks' (spaces with space) that one will have any chance of collecting one's self, and thus of seeing.

Inoculation is usually a word used around disease, but it simply means to 'put an eye into' from the Latin in + oculus. This is what I mean by seeing: insight, or 'inseeing' as the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins referred to it. It is no coincidence that on the morning of the centenary anniversary of the Battle of the Somme, the American president Barack Obama pleads with us to 'look inside ourselves'.

But man has turned his self inside out, so that looking inside becomes rather messy. He is the only creature out of billions who willingly cuts his self off from space, and while he's at it, pollutes that space (and his body, the elimination of distance only incurs new internal separations). He has become indurate and listless as a consequence. It is like this that he can listen to the news and the daily atrocities without so much as blinking an eye, not knowing that beneath the veneer of civility lies the same protocol that caused the holocaust, the same blind sub-routines that allow man to distance himself (to cut his self off from) his fellow animal being, commodify space and time, and turn his own self into some kind of packaged entity.

It is only by returning to great Space and great Time (become not overcome) through one's own locomotive power (locomotion dispels self-obsessiveness as well as spatio-temporal obsessiveness) that one will begin to graft that third eye back into the mind.

The human has become too compressed (without space to allow his dissolution), and Time has correspondingly grown into some tyrant. Space has to be re-absorbed into the bloodstream, re-inserted into our living. Hill-walking, coast-walking, cycling through open country, should be on every school curriculum for more than just a couple of hours a week. More like two days a week. Minimum. Children will learn more of physics, biology, language (and even metaphysics) simply by being out in the field, using their own steam to move. Moreover, they will discover where they are, learn to see things from different angles (Perspective and Parallax should be a subject unto itself!), and learn to identify native plants, animals, rocks and the like. In order to edify the self, one must ensure a good foundation. Rocks are a good place to start!

Glasgow is particularly blessed in that it is surrounded by wide open spaces, hills, and coastlines, all with the potential to transform (if not transfigure) the curious bodymind, and release it into its original domain. Cooped up in the noise of the city, and dismembered from the inside out, there is little hope for the inoculation of the self.


 Looking from the Crags circular path above Dumbarton towards the Highlands.





























From the Kilpatrick Braes looking over the valley.


 



























 The sky and the sea from Cardross...


The Dance of the Daddy Long Legs

 
Up in the Kilpatrick Braes at the sacred waterfall on a roasting day in May.... I saw this little guy flailing about and thought he was in trouble and then realised that he was having a shower! In fact, he seemed to be really enjoying it ;) All fun aside though, it must be kind of dangerous if you consider the weight of the water and the corresponding physics with regards to how light this guy is. And yet, there appeared to be no 'fear' on the daddy's part....





An Existential Memo for the Dazed & Confused





These are all the pages of a long poem I put together called The Root Human. In fact, the word 'poem' doesn't really cut it with this... I prefer Prophetic Record of the Essential and the Necessary....































































































The Transparency of Being in the Naked Braes above Kilpatrick


I sit here in solitude with Nature - open, voiceless, mystic, far removed yet palpable, eloquent Nature. I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day. Hovering over the clear brook water, i am soothed by its soft gurgle in one place, and the hoarser murmurs of its three foot fall in another. Come, ye disconsolate, in whom any latent eligibility is left - come get the sure virtues of creek shore, and wood and field...

This is Whitman writing of his summer days in New England in an entry called A Sun Bath - Nakedness. He continues:

Two months (July and August, '77) have i absorbed them, and they begin to make a new man of me. Every day, seclusion - every day at least two or three hours of freedom, bathing, no talk, no bonds, no dress, no books, no manners... Never before did i get so close to Nature; never before did she come so close to me... Nature was naked, and I was also... Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! ah poor sick, prurient humanity in cities might really know you once more! it is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability, that is indecent. There come moods when these clothes of ours are not only too irksome to wear, but are themselves indecent.

All of man's problems began, writes the Scottish apostle for simple living, Dugald Semple, when man began putting on clothes.

Clothes which clothe our nakedness.

Nakedness as being original. As originating our own movement, our own thinking, through Nature.

As Philip Carr-Gomm writes in A Brief History of Nakedness:

To be naked is to be oneself. To be nude is to be seen by others and yet not recognized for oneself. A naked body has to be seen as an object in order to become nude.

Increasingly, in a society that hides behind masks and spectacles, where surface is king, where the glitter and glamour distract and divert us (perverting Nature), the naked is nowhere to be seen. By that i am not talking simply of an unclothed body, but of a transparency of Being... where one's actions and one's words are aligned in a natural symmetry, where hypocrisy and double standards are things of the past, where people are not distracted by the hollow promises of riches from the outside.

In a society where transparency might as well be a four letter word, the masks and the coverings are ubiquitous. 'Status anxiety' proliferates a society that has been weighed down with surfaces and spectacles. People define their selves (and are themselves defined by others) in terms of 'stuff' they possess: kids, cars, cages... by stuff they wear: jewellery, clothes, hair... but it's all nonsense. It's all just another silly capitalist game to sell you stuff that you clearly do not need, to cover you up and manufacture another 'self', one that is more vacuous, more opaque, more heavy-handed and thick-headed, and more eager to buy this stuff.

Man is short for mannequin, after all, is it not? Or maniac? Or maybe both.

Human, on the other hand, like all his uncaged animal brethren, is a graceful entity connected to the soil, to the humus. To space and solitude, to the geo- not to the ego.

I am not my things. They say nothing about who I really am. They might decorate my home and identify a construct that has been carefully engineered by an economic system that has little of the eco- within it, but they are only things. They say nothing about the real I.

My artefacts, on the other hand, perhaps, can give some indication as to who this I is: feathers, rocks, skulls, a transformation mask I cobbled together from driftwood and sea shells... They say more about existence than any commercial object or piece of machine-made clothing could ever do - Birth, death, life, struggle, maybe a little flight...

There's a rawness (without being crude) to this collection of artefacts, an elemental energy contained within that might ignite something within your self. These artefacts re-mind us of the 'Essential'. The complete anti-thesis of what commercial products and goods are: extraneous and superfluous for the most part. And unnecessary.

Commodities brand, artefacts cleanse.

We are, in the west, by and large, being ferried about like caged cattle, unaware of our own existential imprisonment. It's appalling how blind people are to the excess, to the mind-boggling greed and power-mongering that goes on amongst them.

Real power however is the ability to see. And it is only when we become naked, when we divest the manufactured self of all its pomp and ceremony, its scars and brands, that we can begin to  really see.







The Kilpatrick Braes with its small patch of ancient woodland clinging to a hillside, is the most sacred place I think I have come across since visiting the primeval forest of Bialowieza in eastern Poland some ten years ago. The former is tiny in comparison, but do not confuse bigness for greatness. The sacred emerges from its unmanaged aspect - from its being left alone to its own devices - its naturalness - and from the resultant 'death' that covers this place. It's the death (or as my Polish companion told me, 'not death, reorganization'), that brings the woodland to life. And it's also a great place to get naked, physically and existentially, with great views over the valley, or as Whitman liked to say: vast draughts of space!