The Window

Brussels is the latest western city to feel the agony of loss following Paris, London, Madrid and New York. Refugees from failing states flee intractable civil wars in huge numbers, leaving behind many more in terrible suffering. The world’s leaders appear divided and bewildered in the face of multiplying problems: economic, political, ideological, sociological, environmental, ecological. The words of WB Yeats, written almost a century ago, have an uncomfortable resonance today:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

I thought I knew this poem but one phrase has just struck me for the first time.

‘The ceremony of innocence.’ Could something like this, I wonder, be a way of rescuing our beautiful but fragile world from the twin and perhaps conjoined threats of life-killing consumerism and death-wish fundamentalism?

To answer this question, I’ll take a short digression.

I’ve been reading the travel writings of the Japanese Zen poet Matsuo Basho. Over 300 years ago he set out on a series of journeys designed to strip away the trappings of the material world and bring spiritual enlightenment. Old and unwell, he travels in all weathers, visiting shrines to historical figures and beauty spots mentioned in old poems. The sense of an ancient culture still surviving in Basho’s day is astonishing. Of one Samurai warrior, already 500 years dead, he writes:

His life is certain evidence that, if one performs one’s duty and maintains one’s loyalty, fame comes naturally in the wake, for there is hardly anyone now who does not honour him as the flower of chivalry.

Speaking as a would-be pacifist, I understand that this refers to an ancient code of conduct far broader than crude militarism. People 1000 years gone are described as vividly as if they still lived. Everywhere he goes, Basho sits down to write chains of haikus with local people, each person contributing a poem in response to the previous one:

I was told at Oishida on the River Mogami that the old seed of linked verse once strewn here by the wind had taken root, still bearing its own flowers each year and thus softening the minds of the rough villagers like the clear note of a reedpipe.

This reminds me about the Songlines of the indigenous Australians, those epic linked verses describing natural landmarks that guided young men on Walkabout all over the continent. Children had mentors in neighbouring tribes, a powerful force for peace. Like the indigenous American tribes, the first Australians had a sense of their wider nation as one people. All three peoples worshipped their ancestors and revered nature, which I take as proof that evolutionary awareness is instinctive.

Basho’s travelling companion Sora writes with almost Darwinian curiosity about ‘a pair of faithful osprey nesting on a rock’ at Kisagata lagoon:

What divine instinct
Has taught these birds
No waves swell so high
As to swamp their home?

They visit the lagoon to see an aged cherry tree which featured in the following haiku written by Saigyo, an ex-Samurai turned itinerant poet,  500 years before they get there:

Buried in the waves
So that it seems
Fishermen's boats are sailing
Over the waves of blossoms -
A cherry tree at Kisagata.

Basho idolised Saigyo and modelled himself on him. He was particularly impressed with this poem:

My sincere hope is
To leave the world in Spring
Under the blooming cherry -
In February, if possible,
On the eve of the full moon.

Saigyo died on 16 February 1190. Somehow I am reminded of the indigenous American idea of choosing the place where you will go to perform a last dance at the moment of your death. To live life to the full, we should embrace death as teacher and friend – in other words, an equal. We are life and we dance with death. Accept that with good grace and the dance will be elegant, joyous, serene.

Perhaps this might allow us to find a fresh way of looking at the world, happy just to be here. This is hard to envisage but I’m encouraged by Nietzsche’s curious statement, ‘Everything is permitted because nothing is true.’ After all, kids play Pretend quite naturally.

Some people say that the hippy vision embodied in the following Steve Miller song was just a game of Pretend but I am inspired by the accompanying pictures which our ancestors, bless them, would find astonishing and like something out of a dream. We should renew our capacity for everyday wonder. What else could have drawn us outdoors when we were young or Basho when he was old? And as we reflect on Brussels and consider the bumpy road ahead, it’s worth remembering that others have travelled this way before. In the words of the song:

think love you’re surrounded

we are one you and I

 

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10 thoughts on “The Window

  1. Over here in Gutenberg Land, we are also in loss. Almost all public ceremonies or festivities- that link the communities- have been cancelled, and there is a genuine fear, since a terrorist was found only 13 miles from us in Feb, of all things foreign. My personal hope, and the link I still find here, is a kind of underground web of believers- not the fundamentalism of hate, but of “I have my beliefs, you have yours, I respect you, life is good, let’s share that” that shows in small things. Like a flower just poking out of the earth. The ceremony of innocence, in my opinion, is sharing the joy of little things with those who see it. And thank you for leading me to new joyous places I didn’t know.

  2. “Happy just to be here” that takes me via the Python Galaxy Song to Le Guin’s Left Hand Of Darkness with its message of embracing and celebrating differences. Being different is being human – with a fundamental humanity underpinning it all. As usual Dave a thought provoking post. Thanks.

    1. Vive la difference! When minds are closing, let’s keep open the channels of free association and appreciate ‘things being various’. That’s a quote from Louis MacNeice … you’ve got my mind going now, thanks Mike, so might as well cut and paste the whole poem:

      SNOW BY LOUIS MACNEICE

      The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
      Spawning snow and pink roses against it
      Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
      World is suddener than we fancy it.

      World is crazier and more of it than we think,
      Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
      A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
      The drunkenness of things being various.

      And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
      Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
      On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands –
      There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

  3. Hi Dave,
    Very thought provoking. It is a long time since I listened to this Steve Miller song. What a great choice for such a terrible event.

    1. I took the opportunity to develop some ideas about a life philosophy which we could all share in common. It seemed the right time and the right song, but you never know with these things. Thanks, Opher!

  4. “Every morning I wake up is a good day”. I can’t remember who first said that to me, but I think about it all the time.
    I still hope we can learn to co-exist peacefully. We can only begin with ourselves. (K)

  5. sadly or not what happened yesterday brang us together.. we should probably learn how to coexist peacefully, keep resisting their attempt to start the 3d WW… Thank you for your post, was nice to read it..

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