On the shore.

The run along the sea wall, as far as the jetty, in weather foul and fair, was compulsory ritual.

The strong wind blowing off the Irish Sea knocked you off your step.

Here I am sitting here in my living room,, trying to conjure olfactory memory of seaweed, seabreeze...

A stronger smell comes to the fore:
Fylde farmers' manure spreading.

The nose has a fickle memory.

How ironic that I choose to remember what was compulsory.

I work a little to background the ambient sound in the room.

I have spent many years backgrounding, doodling, disappearing.

I suppose this is the most important skill that I developed at school.

I am to their purposes present.
I am to my purposes elsewhere.

"Learning management...ha, ha, bloody ha. Fuck you!"

I learnt to swear at school too...

They, I suppose, thought of that run in athletic terms, or perhaps social control terms.

"You need to tire out teenage boys, to keep them docile..."

I can hear the waves crashing on the parapet.

The salt stings your eyes.

I feel my skin tightening, my face reddening.

We can see no further than a few metres out into the deadening grey-brown.

"Come on let's wave-dodge."

"What's wave-dodging?"

"You'll see."

"Quick, if we get caught, we're in for it."

We dive down the steps ,off the promenade, down onto the sea wall.

We eye up the distance to the next steps.

It looks about a hundred metres.

"Come on. Now."

We sprint along the wall, as close to the  swirling fury as we dare.

We dare too much.

A large wave throws us off our feet.

For a moment we are swallowed up by its rush over the wall.

I hear a shout.

"Fucking hell."

We are dumped just on the edge, soaked to the skin.

For a moment, just for a moment, we were free...

I wasn't sure about being so free...

I was shaken.

"Bloody hell, that was close."

"Did you see where we landed?"

There was terror when we saw the danger.

We got to the top of the steps.

I wonder if those other boysbecomemen think of that moment now, so many years on.

"I was bloody terrified when I saw the wave hit you."

"I thought: now we're in for it."

"What are we supposed to tell the sodding monitors?"

"They'll be furious if we tell them why you've bloody drowned."

"Fuck!"

"Wow!"

We ran back to the school, squelching noisily, grinning.

On the shore.

I walked along the spring shore, treading over the pools.

Far from me, lost in her own thoughts, I saw my daughter heading towards the sea.

I heard the waves breaking from afar, I remembered stormier days.

Runs were compulsory.
Wave-dodging was freedom.

Protection.

News of the apparition spread like wild-fire through the dormitories, before too long, not a single child was able to sleep for fear of  being confronted with the phantom of the dread Lady Hesketh.

Before that night ended, many of the younger boys would have become familiarised with that name.

A ghost constituted an element of initiation into the culture of the school.

Briefed by their seniors, who were only too willing to share their knowledge, they would be able to put a name to their night terror.

Not one of the boys was actually able to give a reliable first hand account of actually meeting a wraith; it was that which made it far, far more terrifying.

Lady Hesketh, was a weapon of the elders. They had ownership of the spirit. She was theirs.

Phantom menace 

I remember years of institutional meetings which seemed to have only one purpose: to remind us all of impending doom.

We were constantly assaulted by news of vague threats, of powerfully unknown enemies.

Fortunately, we had among us those experienced fear-mongers who awakened us to such dangers.

Fortunately, we had some sort of protection...

I have come to recognise the tone of voice, the lowered volume of exposition, the acceleration of breathing, the long serious looks. 

There are those, it appears, who develop their power thanks to a privileged access to a spirit world.

We are in the presence of Shaman.

"Shamanism (/ˈʃɑːmən/ SHAH-mən or /ˈʃeɪmən/ SHAY-mən) is a practice that involves a practitioner reaching altered states of consciousness in order to encounter and interact with the spirit world and channel these transcendental energies into this world.^[1] A shaman is a person regarded as having access to, and influence in, the world of benevolent and malevolent spirits, who typically enters into a trance state during a ritual, and practices divination and healing.<sup>[2]"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shamanism</sup>




It is curious how harbingers of fear are often those we turn to.

Perhaps, they really are effective channels for elemental emotions which move us.

There are those who always know better than us.

They will protect us.

“I trust that every animal here appreciates the sacrifice that Comrade Napoleon has made in taking this extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?”
― George Orwell, Animal Farm


Apparition credits:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hamatsa
Hamatsa Ritualist 1914
Edward S. Curtis Library of Congress.

From mobs to communities.

Beautiful, terrifying mob, pops up when you are unaware, propagates unpredictably, virally, leading you here... or there?

#Rhizo14: 

active isotope, a radiating brand, a pin-prick.

"What brings you here my friend?"
Strong feelings?  Passion? Anger? Excitement? Hunger? Thirst? Curiosity? Navigation misplaced, mouse mistaken?

Massive, Awesome, delighted, enchanté to meet you thus!

Read with me a while, if you will. My sense will only be written forwards but understood long afterwards, backwards.

My apologies, I offer no sensible solace, only light entertainment as my passion dawns on us.

"Man is in love and loves what vanishes, what more is there to say?" Y.B. Yeats

We will be long gone in the ether and without a care in their world.  I have enjoyed much good company, have shared some laughter but when all is said and done are we just a non-event?

I prefer myself  in movement, in action thus.  This much I can do. We have curious work to do my friends. Still Hungry? Chaos is a lure for gaze but hard to digest.

Had enough? 

What do you do now? Who do you speak to for what reasons? For light entertainment to pass their time? Your time is their money.

God we need fun, what more is there? God we need poetry, when they only give us time for prose.

Don't dream too long.

Fear, breeds fear. There are terrifying people who have terrifying dreams who care not for you or I. They are darkly entrained in a time of uncertainty. They will give you all the damned certainty you care for. Rules, regulations, rewards, punishments, purges, the eternal life meme. These people, these chief Ants are on the rise my friends, they sense their time is coming once again. They will stop at nothing. Flee not from freedom.

#Rhizo14 is carnival.

This event, these few days are joyous, a moment to dream, to discuss, to...alliterate. Marginal rather than massive, open ended rather than open, on-line is not enough... for courses run their course. The carnival is illusion, we dress up, we turn the world on its head, we celebrate and then we go back to the drear of their deal. The new deal they have for us is un-negotiated, unread, undemocratically, but minutely detailed in their (our) small print. They have a lesson plan: no child left behind. Behind what? The Jesuits were always right. Get them when they are young, malleable. Mad yet? Have you no thirst for adventure, the wide open spaces? Stand up! Buck their trend, our chaos is their corral. 

Excited? Take a space, deconstruct their ranch, organise together a new reality. The instructions will be stolen from our reality TV. Cheat their certainty. Sing, dance, skate, build, design, haggle, imagine a community in which you would care to live. School is out, let us put away childish things, childish fears. Organise.

They fear a mob. 

People care, people are generous, they would love a better lot for them, for us, they are awaiting a lead not a promise. We are not all maggots.

#Rhizo14 was a network

Some one, somewhere set it in motion. We did much together but let it not stop at this. He made some sense of this chaos. He didn't do it for them. 

Build the communities in which you can be free when the carnival is over. I look forward to your news my friends. 

My time here is nearly at its end.