So the killing continues...

I wrote this blog about eighteen months ago and the only response I feel I can have to recent events is to post it again.  For the passage that begins ‘This week has seen...’, I now write - the massacre of innocent people in Paris, the state killing of an individual by use of a drone, the continuing aftermath of the bombing of a Russian passenger plane, the almost daily atrocities taking place in Syria, Iraq and many other places.  The politicians will call for greater security, the military will call for reprisals, the media will look for blame, and all will fuel the flames of fear.  So the endless circle of violence rolls on as the individual cowers in tears for the human race.  Soon the politicians will meet in Paris to discuss climate change.  Will they make the connection between the devastation of the earth and the devastation of humanity? Will they see that peace and sustainable living are intricately linked?  Or will they bow yet again to the forces of greed and callous cruelty?

The killings go on, justified in the name of security by men on television in their impenetrable grey/black funeral suits; whilst for their 'enemies' murder is carried out by men dressed as plastic action men dolls.  Flesh and bone are torn apart to make room for ideas: there is nothing sacred about a life which does not agree with you, may threaten you, might defy you.  Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters brothers; indiscriminate lives, indiscriminate tears, lost smiles and all tenderness exposed as bloodied flesh in the explosion of bomb and bullet....

Last night the moon rose from the Albanian hills, a ghost of what it was to become.  As it gained form and substance it filled with an extraordinary gold/silver light, sending a pathway across the sea towards the tiny village on the coast of the island of Corfu.  Today the sunlight dances on the water against the background of the blue, misty hills and the pale early morning sky.  The beauty takes the breath away, not in some sentimental moment, but in the realisation this is the natural world of which all humanity is part.  It exists, untouched by human thought. 

This week has seen what human thought does at its most vicious: the attack on the Palestinians in Gaza and the shooting down of a civil aeroplane as it was flying over Ukraine.  Both these events have seen the violent deaths of innocent people caught up in the desperate fighting of other human beings, who appear not to care who they kill as long as their goal is achieved.  Elsewhere bombings and killings continue, the number of refugees rise and those who suffer most are women and children – the powerless.  As a species we seem to be addicted to violence, to the cruelty and greed that drives aggression.  We lack sensitivity and are dominated by fear, which leads us to seek security in ways that make us all much less secure.  We are divided by nation, by ideology, by religion; by the way we define ourselves; by the images we create; and we use these divisions to give meaning to our lives, whilst we cut short the lives of others.  One wonders sometimes how we, who are so destructive, continue to live on this planet that contains so much beauty; and, if we continue as we are, it would seem likely that we will not survive much longer.

What can be done amid such apparent callousness and ignorance?  Can a new generation be brought into being where violence, anger and selfishness are not seen as the way to be? At the moment we live in a world of separation and we teach our children through this separation; humanity is separate from nature; I am separate from you.  So we compete instead of collaborate; we exploit instead of care; we are individuals standing out from the crowd – who we despise.  We compare so we might feel superior, but all too often we feel inferior.   The continuation of war takes place in our families, in our classrooms, in our entertainment, in our media and ultimately in ourselves.

Do we really want to live without war?  Are we prepared to face the reality of how we live; in conflict with ourselves and in conflict with others?  Or will we continue to wring our hands in horror at the photographs of bloodied, broken bodies?  Cry our tears of outraged hypocrisy at the carnage, call for revenge upon the perpetrators and carry on the madness that underpins our so-called sane society.

We have to look at what life is, without sentiment, without judgement, and observe exactly where our behaviour is leading us.  So come to understand what is happening, without justification and without condemnation.  And then that understanding leads to a change in this way of being, not through the creation of a new ideology or system, but through taking care of humanity through pure observation.  Taking care in the sense of learning what it means to be human in this world, not separated, but unified through our common consciousness.

This has tremendous implications as to how we bring up our children – this is where the road to sanity begins.

In the company of writers: a time of learning.

Waiting outside the station for the taxi I watch for anyone else who might also be making their way up to the house that used to belong to the poet, Ted Hughes, for a writing course centred around nature.  When my wife read the description of the course to me so many months ago I felt I had to go; that this would be an integral part of the next phase of my life.  Two women come separately past me, looking every inch writers; confident, assured, knowing where they were going.  I begin to formulate the question, but they are gone, over the narrow bridge that spans the loquaciously enthusiastic shallow water.  I realise then that I am apprehensive, that I am experiencing a nervousness born from past hesitance and antipathy to groups, heightened by the sense of being exposed.  Can I write after all?

I arrive at the house, a grey stone impressive monument, slotted into the steep hill; the meadows below give way to young woods that dip to the river then rise towards the horizon.  The colours will change during the week, but the mists, early morning light and evening gloom will create an ever changing connection in the mind.  I am shown to the Log Shed with its own grey plaque detailing its grand opening some years ago by a Baroness, no less.  I am honoured indeed and relieved to find the Log Shed has its own bathroom, cause for relaxation at the thought of private nocturnal wanderings. 

I am the first, but it is not long before others join me on the lawn that overlooks the valley.  We talk in tones that acknowledge our reasons for being there and it dawns on me that it is our love of the natural world that has brought us here and that many of us will be quite tentative in our approach to writing.  Apprehension continues, not like a debilitating affliction, more as an uncomfortable memory seeking to take hold.  This would carry on to an extent into the next day in its symptoms of a tightening of the throat; a turbulence in the chest and a tendency not to seek out interactions. All the time there is a magic in process, unseen, unknown and arising from my fellow writers with their unassuming abilities and care for the world; the tutors, so different, but with intelligence that reveals itself in their conversations and a genuine concern to explore humanity’s relationship to nature and how that can be expressed in writing.

On the third day there is a change of perception.  No longer do I question my writing ability – it is irrelevant.  What is clear is that I need to work on the project, to give it serious attention and to see where it leads me.  I am no longer apprehensive, as the walks through the woods, the sound of the river and the watching from the garden have mingled with the conviviality and communication to bring about an intense feeling of learning.

And this is my project: to explore what is learning and what is our relationship to nature. This exploration is set against the background of the work of J Krishnamurti, with which I have been familiar for over forty years; I am currently teaching in a school founded by him.  This will give the exploration context in a global sense and provide opportunities for further conversations in India and the UK in particular.  There is no attempt to create an authority or to adhere to orthodoxy, but the opportunity to examine questions and statements that have been alive for a long time.  This approach sits harmoniously with the direction the week has taken, in the sense of engagement with the world crisis through nature and the fundamental understanding that humanity is inseparable from the natural world.

I am not alone when I return to the station, with a grateful acceptance of the road ahead.  I have said my farewells to the two women who, at the beginning of the week emerged from the station; they are no longer strangers. I have been helped both in practicalities, and in understanding.  The road stretches out.

I am quietly treading the road of peaceful revolution.

This is the first post of a new blog (the old blog being reflectionssoneducation.blogspot.co.uk ).  It heralds a broadening of horizons, more regular posts of at least once a month, and forms part of a serious and significant writing project.

Above is blue sky, the pale tender blue of an early spring, crossed by wisps of smoky cloud blown by a sharp breeze.

There is a call, a shrill cry, and the form of a bird of prey, long wings outstretched, drifts over the bare trees.  The grey brown of its feathers can be seen and its head moves from side to side, surveying the ground below.  There is another and another, at different heights, barely a movement of wings, yet they cover immense distances in a matter of seconds.  They are magnificent, free and beautiful.

The ground below is damp and muddy with the footprints of many sheep; several trees lie like broken giants felled by the unusually strong winds of the winter.  It is a blessing to be alive on such a day.

 To wander through life, both physically and psychologically, with no end in sight and no roots to put down, brings a sense of exploration that is neither romantic nor seeking out new experiences.  In engaging with living in this way there is an immediacy to relationships, an openness to question assumptions and a willingness to face insecurity.  It is not possible to hide behind dogma, ideology; to join any movement; to follow or to be followed; and yet if there is any separation from life then all exploration ceases

To wander; to move around; to be free; to travel; to see foreign lands; to observe; to swim in cold rivers and warm seas; to walk in mountains and forests; to see all manner of birds and animals; to listen to the voices of others; to talk to friends and strangers; to make mistakes along the road….. to be human. 

However, I am an ordinary man, somewhat cautious, neither a courageous explorer, nor a discoverer of truth.  Nevertheless, I have always been curious as to what might lie on the other side of the next hill.  I am a family man; I have not as yet uncovered any extraordinary revelations; I have not changed the world  although I may have made some difference somewhere; my steps being small, almost inconspicuous, leaving the barest of footprints in the dust, sand, snow, mud and leaves.  All the same there has been movement, constant movement, the passing of time, travelling, ageing, and learning…..always learning.  Not the accumulation of knowledge, just learning: finding out, understanding; so that one word, a gesture, an observation, a reflection, has the possibility of changing the mind, opening new doors and closing old ones.  I have travelled across Europe to India, to various parts of that country and met so many people.  I have visited places in Europe, observing the different cultures.

However, I am a teacher, not of a particular subject, but of children and young people  and I have been teaching for a long time.  I have discovered I know very little with certainty, having more questions than solutions

The pilgrim, the wanderer, the teacher, has a particular responsibility; that is to observe, to listen, to question and to communicate.  How communication comes about varies from person to person.  When modern society is seen in its insanity, arrogance and stupidity, then there has to be some kind of action, and an action that does not arise from a reaction that will further contribute to the mess.  There is a slow, urgent, revolution in progress. The present stage of my pilgrimage is to question and explore the relationship between young and older people through learning and to participate in this revolution.

My pilgrimage may be one I have taken alone, but it is not a lonely journey.  My wife has been is an intricate part of these wanderings; the pattern of my life is weaved in with hers.  My children, grown and living their own lives continue to be an essential part of this exploration, and now my grandchildren form part of this delicate and fragile pattern.  The students I am with now, all the students that have come before them and those that will come after are a constant source of discovery: the wanderer learns the danger of conclusions and the illusion of knowing.

Now, in my seventh decade, the road has left more time in the past than that which will be to come.  As the leaves of the trees turn brown, become brittle and fall, and the branch’s stark beauty is outlined against the silver of the winter sky, so my wanderings will cease.  But now it is spring and there is energy and life in the air; and I am quietly treading the road of peaceful revolution.