Emily and Me.

I must say that I haven’t yet got back into the swim of blogging but I want to say this because I consider it important.

Around sixteen years ago I was badly stricken by a severe case of the Brontë bug, especially with regard to Emily and her only novel Wuthering Heights. I made a number of notes covering significant dates, and also copied out some of Emily’s poetry. I came to believe that I understood Emily and her novel better than the countless creators of cinematic and other spin-offs ever did, and I wrote an essay on the subject which can be found at the other site. I particularly noted that many critics and academics accused dear Em of having had a ‘death wish’, which I didn’t entirely disagree with in general, but with which I deeply disagreed with regard to the reason for, and detail of, that wish. And I have to admit that I paid scant attention to the poetry, mostly because much of it went over my head.

Since then I’ve been consumed by metaphysical enquiry and have learned a lot about the more rarefied angles promoted by philosophical thought both ancient and modern. It was why I made yesterday’s post about modern science being seemingly on a converging path with ancient mysticism. And here’s the rub:

Tonight I had reason to go back to my Brontë notes, and while thus engaged I read Emily’s poetry again. Suddenly I understood it, and was highly surprised by just how spiritually sophisticated she was. This is quite remarkable when you consider that she was the fifth of six children born to a small town clergyman early in the nineteenth century, and who wanted nothing more than to write, tramp the lonely moors, and keep house. (Which is mostly all I want to do.) And she had great difficulty fitting in with societal expectations and connecting with the vast majority of people.

So have I finally met my match, my other half even, among the timeless enormity of the human throng? It’s widely conjectured by mainstream science that time is an illusion, and one of the favoured assertions is the concept of the ‘block theory.’ This promotes the idea that every fact of existence from the past to the future is permanently and immutably in place. (Although relating the theory to the future provides a possible stumbling bloc.)

It’s a fascinating idea, isn’t it? Fanciful maybe, but I still like it.

Science vs Spirituality

I watched a YouTube video last night which I found to be a most complete and yet simply expressed argument for why science and spirituality should not be in opposition. It’s here and it’s highly recommended viewing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGDj1uPNQp8

It occurs to me to suggest that it makes sense for science and religion to be in opposition because religions tend to be mostly about power, control, rules, and restrictions – in other words somewhat akin to cults, although adherents are conditioned not to think of them that way – and less about the wider, deeper, and freer pursuit of spirituality.

I’ll leave the rest to the video for anyone who wants to listen. It's quite short.

Epstein: Sowing a Small Seed.

No, I’m not back yet (see previous post), but there’s something I feel the need to say now because now’s the right time. It concerns the lamentable case of Jeffrey Epstein.

What Jeffrey Epstein and his cohorts did was deplorable in the extreme, but it wasn’t exceptional. It’s been going on for thousands of years for one purpose or another, to feed perverted predilection or to promote the pursuit of power and influence or both. It’s one of the darker sides of human nature and has always found its most extensive expression among the world’s elite. And it will continue to go on as long as power and wealth continue to be the yardsticks by which a person’s value, importance, and even personal qualities continue to be judged. (I recall Trump saying during his first run at election something like ‘my wealth is what will make me a good President.’ That should have been a red flag, but it obviously wasn’t seen that way.)

The human race needs a radical reset in terms of its perceptions and priorities so that we judge our fellows by wholesome personal qualities, good values, and ethical profiles. We most certainly shouldn’t be judging them favourably by how much property they own, how much influence they have, and how many $100 dollar bills they use to light their cigars. I’m not claiming that all rich people are bad because it obviously wouldn’t be true, but I do countenance caution when judging those who brag about their wealth.

This could have been a much longer post, but I’m going to leave it at that. I just felt the need to cast one small seed to the ground, however infertile I know that ground to be.

Waving and Wondering.

I’m reprising the content of several old blog posts here by saying that I don’t know whether this blog will continue.

Several significant aspects of my nature seem to be disappearing, you see. Where has my need to write gone? Where has all the delight in the little things gone? Where has my fascination with the human condition gone? Where has my sense of humour gone? Why doesn’t my old friend the llama ever nudge me and start up a conversation these days? Where has my ability to shrug it all off and keep paddling down the rapids gone?

The fact is, I feel emptier now than I’ve ever done. And it feels different this time. My sense of self has assumed the appearance of a battery that has run out of charge.

I’ve been advised that this is a natural condition commonly experienced by the INFJ/HSP type. It’s normal, apparently, for such people to run out of fuel and submit themselves to the bench on the train station, there to wait quietly and invisibly for the last train out. It’s all to do with having a life of almost unremitting stress and sense of responsibility to others. It simply drains the emotional energy, or so they say. And then we feel guilty and ashamed. And being a loner doesn’t help. Loners don’t attract support because they don’t want it. The faculty of support is seen as a one way process – all outgoing. And so when they do need it, there’s none to lean on.

I’m wondering whether this is just the latest example of a lifelong phenomenon to which I’ve referred on this blog several times. I mean the habit of being driven by focuses which amounted to examples of monomania – the fishing focus, the classical music focus, the photography focus, and so on. Maybe the need to write was simply the latest, and maybe even the last. It is a fact that, at the moment, I seem to have lost the will to write. It’s been a predominant feature of my life for around twenty three years, and has therefore outlasted most of the others. For now, however, I do feel like a candle that has been finally extinguished by its own guttering.

Or maybe it will prove to be just a glitch when the weather warms, the sun shines, the garden calls for attention, and the new leaves whisper seductively from the trees. We never know what’s coming next, do we?

*  *  *

One aspect of the news which has kept my interest piqued lately, though, has been the case of Jeffrey Epstein. Two seemingly reliable sources have emerged to provide credible evidence that Mr Epstein didn’t go into that goodnight voluntarily. Is that just another conspiracy theory? Well, let’s take a step back and ask what would have happened if he had lived and been brought to trial.

Being the kind of person he obviously was, there seems to be little doubt that he would have succumbed to the obvious response: ‘If I’m going down, the rest are coming with me.’ And then names would have been named, heads would have rolled, and the issue of corruption in high places would have been even more evident than it already is. That being the case, I think Mr Epstein’s premature demise was all but inevitable. Maybe it was the ghost of Jack Ruby who strung him up.

And a final note: We can be fairly sure that corruption in high places happens everywhere, so maybe there’s one good thing to say about Trump’s presidency. Being in possession of an ego the size of a planet, a brain the size of a walnut, and an ethical sense that would be hard to find with an electron microscope, maybe Trump has done us a favour by clearing some of the fog between the people below and the corruption above. Unfortunately, I doubt anything will change.

No Choice in the Matter.

Water, water everywhere. Cold, dirty water, flanking the road on both sides and running like a mountain stream. Water falling constantly from a leaden sky through the whole of the dark day, leaving ugly pools on the land and making the earth too sodden to work. And the cold east wind continues to hold station as it has for the past two or three weeks, showing no sign of backing or veering for the foreseeable future. The east wind is the one which invades my house with impunity, making it even colder than usual.

They said this would happen – the climate scientists, that is. They forecast that climate change would likely result in UK winters being less cold but wetter. So which is preferable? Hard to say really. For my part, I’m becoming a wimp who would relish living in some area of the tropics which has no hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, or active volcanoes. Not much chance of that, and still I don’t envy people who live in California.

A Note on the Night Window.

I stand washing the dishes in the cold kitchen and look at the window facing me. It’s black against the deep darkness, and smeared with a sopping veil of unwanted condensation which hides the view to the embankment and its host of white snowdrops. Flecks of rain run mindlessly down the outside, driven there by a cold wind from the east. It deflates my mood to a degree I find surprising.

And then I think of the birds and animals trying to rest out there with no protection from unfriendly elements. I hurry to lower the blind to remove the view from reluctant perception. This is the curse of the HSP.

(The blind is white, by the way, chosen to reflect more of the artificial light back into the room. Small mercies are welcome.)