Heroes Not Zombies

This is a pretty common pattern in the sand created by the sea before the tide recedes from the beach. It looks like waves or ripples doesn’t it? When you look at this you know that it’s been created by the water.

There’s something about this kind of pattern which we recognise instantly as natural. I’m sure with skill, time and effort, an artist could create a similar pattern but there is something about an interplay of regularity and irregularity here.

Natural patterns usually share this quality. Not only are there “no straight lines in Nature”, a statement which isn’t 100% true but true enough to be a useful generalisation, but this interplay creates a kind of chaotic, or near chaotic, design.

This is where Nature exists. On the “far from equilibrium” zone, in the borderland between chaos and order. It’s unpredictable in detail, co-created with the local environment and it’s beautiful.

Here’s a different, equally natural, common pattern caused by water running over sand.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Both of these patterns can be seen elsewhere, in rock, in trees, in a cloudy sky or on the landscape seen from high above.

When I come across patterns like these I feel I’m glimpsing the usually invisible creative power of the Universe.

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We humans see objects everywhere. I look at this sky and I don’t see simply an entirely grey sky, I see patterns. The sky is laden with water which, on a clear day, I can’t see, but on a day like this I see the water molecules collected together. We call these collectons clouds.

On this particular day I see a vast dark grey funnel of cloud stretching from above my head to as far as I can see. It looks like a vast highway or path in the sky. I see it as a distinct object…..a particular cloud, separate from the other clouds.

But where are it’s edges? Where does it begin and end? The closer I look, the harder it is to see an edge. “It”, this cloud, doesn’t seem so separate from the rest of the sky as it appears at first. It’s edges blur and fray and blend into the neighbouring clouds.

Yet it still seems an enormous heavy presence stirring a certain anxiety in me, carrying the threat of a storm, or at least, some heavy rain.

I don’t have to stand looking at it for long to see it change. Over the course of a few minutes it slides to the side, thinning and dissipating as it goes. Not much later, I can see no trace of it.

This is what we do. We abstract certain elements of reality, focusing on just a few of them, to the exclusion of others, and, so we see patterns which we’ve seen before, and we give them names. We turn them into objects.

Objects like clouds remind us that there are no fixed, separate objects at all. They show us that all so called objects are patterns within the Flow.

Clouds emerge in the sky, the way a wave appears on the surface of sea. They are perceptible for a short period of time, constantly changing, through every second of their existence, then they’re gone.

Some objects have much shorter lives than clouds, others much, much longer. It depends on the speed of the flow. Mountains take millions of years to form, and millions more to disappear.

I’m not saying objects are not real. I’m just saying they are never fixed, separate or permanent. They are a useful concept but it helps, I think, to try to see them as emerging patterns within the Flow, vastly interconnected within Indra’s Net of reality.

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One March day a few years ago I noticed some ducks and some fish in a pond. Not very remarkable you might think, but what caught my eye was the pattern.

This particular duck is creating concentric rings of ripples on the surface of the water, probably through the paddling action of its webbed feet. It seemed like it was sitting quite still on that one point, even though it was obviously constantly moving to create the waves. That in itself is quite beautiful and mesmerising, but there’s more. Look where the fish are swimming. Some of them seem to be swimming along the ripples, making them appear to fit the overall pattern.

As a whole image the duck, the ripples and the fish, create an interlinked, beautiful pattern.

I return to this photo quite often. It reminds me how interconnected everything is. Nothing exists in isolation or in a vacuum. Just by being alive I change the world. My breathing, my eating and drinking, my actions, my words and even my thoughts create ripples of change.

Some ripples don’t go very far, but others are picked up and magnified by others and spread far through time and space.

This is how it is for all of us, and it’s long been this way.

So this reminds me to try to live consciously in awareness of the fact I’m embedded in one great web of becoming.

What energies are you sending out today? What ripples are you creating?

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I read a lot. I’ve always read a lot. I have a LOT of books. I’ve never counted them, quality not quantity after all! So, perhaps it was no surprise that I noticed this statue last time I was in Nîmes.

I can’t think of any other statues of people reading. Do you know any? Actually maybe I should call this a sculpture rather than a statue because I don’t think it was a commemoration of a particular person (correct me if you know better).

Storytelling and sharing knowledge must be two of the most fundamental characteristics of human beings. Books, of course, are one of the most powerful ways of sharing – of telling stories, expressing ourselves, learning what life is like for others, exercising our imagination, creating a shared web of knowledge and ideas.

Dictators and zealots have a history of attacking books, destroying libraries and/or burning and banning particular books. I suppose that speaks to the power of books and learning. Those who want to control others often end up trying to control what they read.

These days reading has become even more widespread, not just through books, but through social media, newspapers, magazines, hey, even blogs!

All of these channels can, of course, be weaponised, used to spread propaganda, to undermine and disempower as much as to spread knowledge, joy and experiences. That’s why I think education is so important. We have to teach our children, not just how to read, but how to discern, how to think critically, how to be aware of the power of words.

I do think a healthy, vibrant, flourishing society is one where everyone is well housed, well nourished and well educated. How bizarre that such basics seem so utopian.

Still, I’m an advocate for better societies, where the instinct for care and cooperation is given more attention and energy than the instinct for aggression and competition.

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Isn’t this the most glorious bee?

I’m no bee expert but I think this is called a “Carpenter Bee” (please correct me if you know better).

It’s almost completely black but has this iridescent purple colour on its wings. When I think “purple”, I think “royal purple”, and, actually we associate bees with royalty, don’t we? The “Queen Bee”. “Royal jelly”. I remember the three bees on the coat of arms of the Barberini family in Rome (Palazzo Barberini is an utterly astonishing gallery of art. Put it on your bucket list!)

We also have a number of bee metaphors in our language. “Busy as a bee”. “Make a beeline for”. “Got a bee in her bonnet.” What other ones can you think of? “Honey”, in English anyway, is a term of endearment. “I love you, honey”.

Do you see what’s happening here? A photo I’ve taken of a single bee sets off my trains of thought down pathways of the significance of the colour purple, the association of royalty with bees, memories of a long weekend in Rome, and a handful of associated metaphors.

That’s what we humans do. For every one of our experience is unique. If I just showed you this photo and kept quiet, you’d tell me your own particular thoughts, memories and musings. Our experience of this bee would be different for each of us.

Reality is an ongoing process of co-creation.

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I love this photo. The fire of the Sun has turned the sky orange and tinged the water laden dark cloud red. Fingers of rain reach down to soak the surface of the Earth. The little silhouettes reveal signs of Life, of trees on the far left and of a human constructed road and telegraph pole in the centre.

This scene is one of a spectacular concurrence of the elemental flows – fire, water, earth and air – which combine and interact to create and nurture the life forces and evolutionary drives which flourish on this little planet.

Fire. The energy of Sun without which there would be no Life, and with too much of which there would be no Life. Water. The apparently simple molecule of hydrogen and oxygen combined, which cycles around the planet, falling as rain on mountains and plains, creating rivers to reach the sea, evaporating under the heat of the Sun to fill the air with clouds, ready to fall again onto the earth. Earth. The carbon laden surface rich with a vast array of minerals, the substrates of all existence, without which there would be no forms. Air. Rich in water, oxygen, and carbon dioxide, ready to be sucked into the plants which use the Sun’s energy to turn it into stems and leaves and flowers and fruit.

The astonishing plant kingdom, our predecessor in the story of Life on Earth, the complex, vast web of living organisms, mind boggling in its diversity, adaptability and resilience.

And we humans, with our inventiveness, our creativity, our ability to transform whatever environment we live in.

Isn’t the ordinary, everyday, just astonishing? Isn’t this planet and our very existence utterly awe inspiring?

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One March day I drove to Callendar, just north of Stirling. One of the old ways of describing Stirling was “the gateway to the Highlands” because Stirling Bridge was one of the few crossing points over the River Forth. North of Stirling, the Highlands began, and to the south, the Lowlands.

Certainly by the time you reach Callendar the landscape changes dramatically, lochs, mountains and glens everywhere.

This one particular day it was very still so the surface of the loch I stopped next to was just like a mirror. I took a number of photos that day and I return to them frequently. They are both mesmerising and calming.

Such clear reflections challenge us to look more carefully, to take the time to figure out what we are looking at. And that’s a lesson I take with me wherever I am.

So why not pause now and reflect, allow yourself to slow down, raise your conscious awareness and see more clearly just what beauty and wonder there is around you today.

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Look, I know I stress the importance of things like uniqueness, difference and diversity, but today I want to share the beauty of repetition.

There is a comfort in the familiar. There’s an ease in routine. We are creatures of habit. And there is a beauty in repetition and symmetry.

I delight in all of that, so isn’t this another of the essential paradoxes of Life? I’ve often written here about the importance of separateness and belonging, of our need to be different and our need to share what we have in common with others. So here’s another one – the beauty of difference and uniqueness and the beauty of sameness and repetition.

What holds these opposites together for me is awareness – becoming conscious of, embracing and engaging with our everyday encounters. Not choosing one “opposite” to the “other”, but appreciating both, relishing both, delighting in both.

And not or.

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My garden is full of birdsong. There are many small birds, robins (two of them!), blue tits, several species of small birds I don’t recognise, as well as some blackbirds and pigeons. I guess these are all the regular inhabitants here and now I’ve arrived we are checking each other out, making connections.

I frequently notice a bird just sitting on a branch looking at me. We eyeball each other and I feel the connection.

The robin pops down pretty close to wherever I’m working to check out what I’m up to, and hops around the wheelbarrow and bags of cuttings once I’m done.

The garden here hasn’t been tended for many years and there are large areas of dense thickets of brambles, ivy, seedling trees and astonishingly vast “Old Man’s Beard” creepers with stems as thick as your wrist shooting straight up high into the tallest trees. As we clear them away the sunlight gets in between the trees lighting up the neglected hidden spaces. It feels like the trees are beginning to breathe more easily and the birds are finding new routes through the garden.

This phase of garden recovery is full of discovery, and fills the day with noticing and connecting…….noticing what is here and now, connecting to the present moment.

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Maybe when you were a child you would blow on a seed head like this one. You’d blow it to see how many times you’d have to blow to send every single seed flying, a bit like you’d blow out the candles on your birthday cake.

Maybe you’d make a wish. You would use the seed head to strengthen your hopes.

Maybe you’d ask a question and the number of blows would be the answer – you’d use the seed head to predict the future.

Maybe you’d try to tell the time from the number of blows you needed (something that only worked by chance or if you knew the time in advance)

When I look at a seed head like this one I see abundance. Nature isn’t a machine. She doesn’t use the least possible resources to survive and thrive – she doesn’t follow that idea of “efficiency” stripping everything back to the bare bones, delivering “just in time”. We saw this kind of “efficiency” collapse during the pandemic because we didn’t have enough health carers, didn’t have enough PPE, had supply lines easily disrupted and depleted stores.

In Nature, and in our own human lives, we thrive better when we have abundance, when there is “redundancy” in the system.

Does the plant really need all these seeds? Yes it does if it is to survive and thrive.

I remind myself of that when I gaze at this beautiful seed head, replete with hope, with desire, and with potential.

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