social commentary

38. Chance encounter with a Goddess

The moon was curious so

she donned a bobble hat and,

gathering her galaxy into a shopping trolley,

trailed along the grit street,

the wheels of her milky way wobbling

a little…

 

Face round and smooth, she

shone out among the crowd,

despite the woolly hat

and the trolley.

37. Mother tongue

When I learned to speak 

I spoke working class.

Don’t misunderstand me.

It’s not an accent, it’s 

a position.

I can adopt it still.

 

When the old ones are chuckling on the bus,

when the builder is pricing the job,

when the craic sours around

cracked mirrors and lairy sinks.

 

Sometimes it claims me

when I least want to own it

but there is no one else

to walk me home.

 

Lately I grow tired,

teetering on this tightrope

between form and expression and

knowing the abyss

could swallow me whole.

33. ASOS

Having no one to come out to

the lonely man spent 

his Saturday shopping for all things

rainbow.

Or failing that, pink.

 

Monday announces

rainbow trainers, rainbow socks,

beige trousers (a stumbling block),

rainbow t-shirt, pink hoodie and 

pink backpack.

 

And as he walks to the Park and Ride,

Grindr in hand,

he momentarily aligns

with the lonely businesswoman —

all overtime sober in serious cuts —

their progress smashing genders

like avocados.

32. Progression

There is no entrance charge

to the temple of what was once

revered. It is chill-dark.

 

In the corner, Jacob’s ladder—

retracted now—

leans abandoned, blackened

beneath St. Peter’s toe.

 

Only nostalgia vainly thrives

against sterilizing dust.

I light another candle and walk

 

out in the asphalt citadel.

Here

the lifeless guard every stone horizon,

 

the clean busily manufacture

fresh, and the finest

gather to show purpose.

Under a crystal chandelier

 

you tell me

‘In life we can never turn back’.

Elsewhere

 

a muddied cock crows thrice and

still the leaves grow.

 

What were we thinking?

14. Lockdown: towards the 'new normal'

It’s mid-June, 2020 —week 11 of lockdown here in Scotland— and there’s just a promise of lifted restrictions on the early summer breeze. 

Whilst everyone’s experience of lockdown has been unique; fraught with its own risks and containments, challenges and opportunities, one way or another we’ve all learned a lot.

As I ready myself to emerge, blinking, from my bunker, it feels apt to pick through what I’m hoping to carry with me into my own ‘new normal’. 

So far, at least, I’m lucky not to bear either of the burdens that will scar so many. Although one or two have experienced the virus, all my immediate family, friends, neighbours and colleagues are alive and well. This is the first thing I am now reminded to be grateful for.

But that’s not to deny things have been hard in smaller ways. 

In the first week I lost all my income-generating work, and all of my volunteering. 

No matter. I had some financial reserves, and quickly shifted my focus to finishing the dissertation (ironically on the subject of ‘time’) that was due in a fortnight. By then, we were all sure, this would be over. How convenient, what a gift.

By the dissertation deadline, it was clear lockdown was going to last much longer. And now that I’d completed all my coursework, there was nothing left for me to do. I still had no paid work coming in, no volunteering and, as the days went by and the scale of the situation became clearer, future projects and commitments disappeared, rinsing my diary well into the winter and beyond, to 2021. 

There was an overwhelming sense of loss— at once intangible and yet all too tangible. I had lost my liberty, and my income, and I had also lost my space. The ‘room of my own’, which gave me more joy than I knew, was now occupied by my adult son and his partner who had locked down with us. My books, materials, projects, notes and records were now scattered through the corners and cupboards of the flat.

Along with my liberty, income and space went my purpose, my direction, my worth. I was bereft and felt numb.

Of course, I need to check my privilege here: I was not ill; no one I knew was ill; I had a home; that home had sufficient space to accommodate the basic needs of four adults; I even had access to the outdoors; I had family; I had three of my closest family around me; and my partner’s income was assured, for the time being.

For a while, this litany was enough to sustain me as I energetically rewrote my  daily script. My state-sanctioned hour’s run in the local park was supplemented by frequent ‘Yoga with Adriene’ sessions. But in between these markers I was falling deeper and deeper into a kind of catalytic state. By the fourth week, I had disappeared into hibernation. I spent hours in bed, consuming uncommon quantities of sugary, carb-laden, fatty snacks.

It seems this experience was not unusual. And, apart from the distressing 10lb of ‘Coronaspeck’, was not, in hindsight, all bad. In letting go of almost everything, I gained perspective on what was lost and what was left. Something about that dip was quite earthing. 

I realized much of my usual energy was, in fact, fizz— the sparking of anxiety. The absence of many of the usual environmental stimulants simply highlighted how much they frazzle me. I began to draw up a table:

 

(-)                                                                               (+)

polluted air                                                                 clean air

the growl of traffic                                                     birdsong

late night revelers                                                      silence

constant threat of injury                                           empty roads

being bombarded by marketing messages          limited opportunity to consume

ever increasing velocity                                             slow, steady pace

the judgment of others                                             limited social contact

the noise of others                                                     fewer neighbours

multiple newsfeeds                                                   single headline

travel as consumption                                              closely observing one location

ambition                                                                  reflection

change                                                                          rest

I started to relax into new relationships with the humans and animals around me. As I began to turn a corner, I set about finishing off all sorts of small projects – darning every needy sock, embroidering that jacket, recovering that quilt, finishing that knit, some creative writing. I still couldn’t take on anything too big, too concentrated, but I was making progress. And, of course, the rest of the world was adapting too. 

In dribs and drabs, some paid work has slowly begun to return. I signed up for a webinar series exploring future options for my profession, and emerged with a new peer support network. Then, having learned to navigate at least seven new work-based online platforms, I also began exploring the leisure potential of the internet as never before.

Yes I watched all six series of Schitt’s Creek on Netflix, but I was also guided to perspective-altering readings on gender, attended sessions of the Cambridge University Students Union, took Japanese drapery classes with a Berlin fashion designer, joined a ‘Me and White Supremacy’ book circle, learned about No Dig horticulture by the guru himself, joined the writing team of an online magazine, even attended a webinar on wall maintenance given by a neighbour, and— most fabulously— went to a disco in the Sri Lankan jungle where, amongst folks from all over the globe, I boogied with my friend from Japan; 2am for her, 4pm for me. 

This is surely how Tim Berners Lee intended his new tool to be used.  

I can’t pretend all is perfect. I’m still carrying an extra 7lbs and can’t remember the last time I didn’t pour myself a ‘cheeky’ alcoholic evening drink. To be honest, this constitutes the physically unhealthiest I’ve been for many decades. But I do feel that some mental or spiritual purging has taken place— some Marie Kondo of the mind —and I’m in no rush to fill these newly opened spaces.

From all of these shards and fragments of experience, I’m beginning to piece together my ‘new normal’, and it’s a much broader portfolio than it used to be. 

Ironically whilst living under restriction, we have all simultaneously experienced a period of great political and social upheaval. These two phenomena are interlinked in all sorts of complex ways, but have manifested in both huge shifts in social order, and small regenerations of community. We seem to be re-learning that we need to look after each other.

Like most people, I have found greater connection with neighbours, local independent shopkeepers, my postie, and many others. I’m hoping, once lockdown is released, we won’t abandon our new communities. 

I’m hoping not all the innovation will be online, but I’m no longer minding that much of it will be. I’m crossing my fingers I’m one of many who now clearly see that our consumption and our habits were causing harm to our own wellbeing, as well as to the health of the planet. 

Life SHOULD be quieter, calmer, slower, smaller. We have the privilege of being one keyboard stroke away from all of everything. If we can stay grounded, and balance the real and the virtual, we can effect a lot of good.

As we head towards deeper economic and, inevitably, social disruption, I’m resolving to take re-entry as steadily as I can, and to try to hold on to the best of lockdown’s insights. 

 Let’s look after each other, and our earth.

12. Brave New Worlds

1.1.19

 

As the study of herbology draws me closer, the turn of 2019 finds me wondering what future my Diploma might offer.

Everywhere I turn, it seems, I am met with more and more evidence that I am aligning with a growing movement. A movement at once local and global, parochial and political.

Radical herbalism is emerging as both act and identity of resistance amongst the U.K.’s Generation Z, and — as Gil Scott Heron predicted — this revolution will not be televised (Gen Z don’t watch tv). But it is being organized, and crucially shared, through social media.

I have been slow to recognize my own limited understanding of that digital-age verb, to share.  We have not only been gifted a revolution in the means of communication (of Marxist ‘production’ in many senses), but a challenge to the entire notion of ‘possession’, and thus to the wayward direction of late-stage corporate capitalism. To share does not just entail passing on information, and even knowledge, but also opening up ownership. As I’m sure Tim Berners-Lee was hoping, the internet has given Gen Z the keys to a new kingdom. And they are busily, and mindfully, exploring the possibilities and the responsibilities with which they find themselves entrusted.

It’s not an easy task.

In a ‘Let Them Eat Cake’ moment, my partner and I were again puzzling on the enormous popularity of take-away coffee amongst younger people. Why, we wondered, would our son spend his hard-earned zero-contract pennies on some eco-unfriendly super-latte, when he could just buy a kettle and have a brew at home? 

But for many Gen Z’ers, kettle ownership is not an aspiration. The cost of a decent kettle is so prohibitive, employment and housing so insecure, that the possibility of kettle, abode and electricity supply appears too remote. Especially given that climate apocalypse is predicted in the next twelve years.

Yes, 12. 

This generation are not familiar with a comfortable expectation of steady accumulation; the one we inherited from our parents, the one that still blinds us to the urgency of the climate situation.

It reads like an Aldous Huxley novel, an Orwellian dystopia, a Mad Max film, Margaret Atwood’s latest — but stop, look around, and you will see that we are living it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, as Hippocrates is believed to have said.

To escape the obvious, but corporate-controlled, response of despondent drug-addled hedonism, what seems to be emerging is a New Puritanism; one that is based not on the harsh biblicality espoused by Cromwell, but on behaviours that permit escape from the tentacles of mega-corporations. 

And there are precious few non-corporate spaces left. 

Corporations (with their concomitant advertising, their Project Fear, and their behavior manipulation profit-yield strategies) now influence to an unprecedented degree our societies, our bodies, and our thoughts. 

Consider the state of health services — think of private drug company charges to the NHS; a service buckling under the popularized premise that we should live and be young forever.

Consider fast fashion, and the rise of image (self)–consciousness — together with its associated social atomization, and decay in mental health. 

Consider the accountability of democratic structures — influences on voter behaviour, electronic vote rigging, Trump and the Russians.

So it is any surprise that a generation struggling to emerge from this foul corporate soup is looking for alternatives? 

As we reach ‘peak stuff’, they are beginning to rebel by ‘cleanlining’ their possessions, and by treating clothes as their post-war forebears once did. 

And they know they will need to reclaim control of food and nutrition. To do so, they will need to break free from the food insecurity of mass production, and they will need to break the corporate control of agriculture — with its blind genetic manipulation, its pesticides, and its profit-maximizing disregard for the variety of natural habitat. 

As Hippocrates is believed to have advised:

Let food be thy medicine and let medicine be thy food

 

From plants to people to planet.

We have 12 years. The clock is ticking.

Get involved, and share in building the future.