FINISHED READING - What Art Does by Brian Eno & Bette Adriaanse

Subtitled - An Unfinished Theory, What Art Does is an invitation to explore the impulse to create art in all aspects of human life, both past and present. The main question it asks is why, why do we do that, and what purpose,if any, does it serve society more broadly? Eno does not confine his definition to preconceived limiting ideas of high or low art, fine art and craft, of what is or is not art. He simply is observing an aesthetic necessity in the human zeitgeist to apply art, an artistic sensibility to everything we do. He gives the screwdriver as one example:

'A screwdriver has two parts:the blade and the handle. The blade can only be made in one form: it has a specific purpose and it had a specific shape and size and strength.. If you go to a hardware store and look at the screwdrivers you'll see that all the blades are virtually identical.

This is not true for the handles. There is no space for 'art' in the blades - but there is in the handles, which might be striped or speckled or multicoloured or opaque.These variations in the handles make no difference to the usability of the tools. They are stylistic variations that do not relate to function, The less functional a thing is - the less it has to do something in particular - the more space for art there is in it, the more freedom there is in it. The art engagement begins where the functional engagement ends,'

And this human tendency has been with us from the very first time our ancestors made a tool or inhabited a cave. Wall paintings in caves are no different in purpose to the interiors of a modern home. In that they embody human beliefs, identity and aspirations, they are reflections of both who we want to be, how we want to be seen, and how we actually are. Art of any description operates on the same level of feeling. The feelings we have about ourselves, about the objects in our home, the home itself, and our wider sense of our position within society. All are reflected through an aesthetic sensibility, of Art.

Eno explores the aspect of aspiration through art, by seeing it as a form of fictional rehearsal or imaginative experiment. We try out ideas through art, through drama, theatre and films, in novels etc. These are all safe vehicles for trying ideas out. They can be cathartic, or simply reflect back to us the state of society or relationships, or offer another way of seeing things all together. And if we don't like this, we can walk away from it or switch it off.

'Certain forms of art get criticised for being escapist. There's an assumption that good art must always be difficult in some way. But what is wrong with escaping? What's wrong with wanting to experience another reality that is better than this one? What does that tell you about this one? If you find out what 'better' means for you, you have a richer understanding of the world you're in and what is missing'

And whilst it is impossible to say one piece of music, a play or painting changed anyone's mind or views about things. That doesn't mean its entirely without influence or suggestibility, because art provides you with the feeling of what happens should you be willing to change, to act upon an impulse. It offers you a place through which to empathise with another persons tragedy or predicament. It creates a more willing openness to seeing situations and other people differently. When art becomes too tightly focused on a political polemic or is delivered as a diktat then that alienates us, because it does not offer you any option, it tells you what to think and how you should be acting.

' In art, we try out new possible worlds and other ways of being, by paying attention to our feelings about them. Art allows us to share complicated concepts and feelings with each other. This cultural conversation opens doors to shifts - in ourselves and in society. Art shepherds change.'

Eno's ideas in What Art Does have been gradually developing over recent years. I've watched a number of lectures he has given on this subject. So much of the content of this book is then quite familiar territory to me. But I do remember when I first heard his ideas on art, how exciting they were. Particularly because it moved you away from elitist and exclusive ideas about the elevated purpose of art, Ideas originating largely from Ruskin, with a smattering of Morris, and passed down to us through art criticism. The interest in Eno's ideas is that they provide you with a way of looking at, appreciating and understanding any form of human aesthetic expression, irrespective of origin, culture or history.

The style and presentation of this book is quite intentionally accessible. He has collaborated with the Dutch artist Bette Adriaanse in the creation of the illustrations for this book. The colour pallet and stylistic characterful expression having helpful echoes of self help and health information leaflets. Eno writes in plain English, he doesn't use specialist language, and eschews presenting concepts and ideas in any way that might feel excluding or exclusive. It never feels patronising or that you are being talked down to. Because if there is anything about the whole area of art that is known, its that a lot of people can feel its not for them, or that it requires a certain sort of mind, intelligence or talent to appreciate it. Sometimes to even to mention the word art makes some folk automatically self exclude.   

One thing that Eno's theory really opens up is how egalitarian art actually is, How much we are already partaking in art, simply by the sort of choices we make about what we surround ourselves with. Aesthetic decisions that we all make every day of the week, without probably noticing. Simply through deciding what to wear every morning, we are making an artistic statement about who we are and how we are feeling. I can't recommend this book highly enough.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8

TWO MINUTES - Looking Up At The Tree Canopy

   A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 123 - The Valley Where Our Discontent Resides

Shoulder pain be dammed, I've progressed the garden patio repairs. Which have further revealed just what a cack handed bodge of a job who ever laid the decking in the first place made of it. To which I have now contributed my own bit of clumsily executed cowboy joinery to make it functional, if not necessarily good. The patio decking in general, if I were being honest, has not many more years of life left in it. I made a major repair intervention last year and then again this year. 

This year required removal of seriously spongy or decayed to the point of collapse lengths of decking, and then reusing bits of half decent decking or garden trough wood, to fill in the resulting holes. I expect at some stage its deterioration will eventually move the dial too far away from being repairable. At which point we will have to see what we can afford to do. One benefit of my current repair was I was able to put the water butts overfill pipe under the decking and properly into a drain. A minor victory, that I can tell you has warmed the cockles of my tidy heart.

In the aftermath of the HA! the persistence of shoulder trouble, and the combined effect on quality of sleep, has stalled engaging energetically with whatever it is my semi-retired life might consist of. The unpredictability of physical impediments acting up, has on occasions left me stranded in despondency. As a consequence that mood kills dead anything it encounters. There are days when I haven't a clue what to do, so I end up wandering around in neutral, in an aimless fog. I'm sure this period will eventually pass, because they usually do. 

I have noted, that a lot of frustrations and beefs have been poking their heads above the defenses, revealing the soured bitch within. Its usually worth knowing areas where in your psyche the grumpy old man lives. That mumbled voice, with a rougher edged tongue than you'd expect. The views and opinions you find yourself holding don't have to even be reasonable, nor true. They may simply be the sort of negativity that arises when you are generally overwhelmed by life, pissed off with yourself or seriously lacking in sleep, for instance. They seep in from the silenced periphery, where those carefully modulated responses, pausing to consider how best to react, that use linguistically evasive or indefinite language, have all been temporarily suspended. 

As a Buddhist it can sometimes be tricky to speak honestly, without over filtering and pre-editing what you are saying. To the point where it can be hard to ascertain exactly what meaning you are trying to express.Sometimes an outburst of clearly expressed views, however wrong headed, can be better than suppressing or continually putting a monitoring guard rail around them, or sitting heavily upon them so hard they can hardly breathe. Sometimes the valley where our discontent  resides, can run a lot deeper than we anticipate. Intuition alone is telling me at the present, that something is coming to a head.  Something has to break or be broken.

Tomorrow we do our once a fortnight day in Seagulls & Samphire, Blakeney, running the shop that has the largest range of our stock in it. I don't always enjoy this at the moment. Its been a much colder experience this winter than last, due mainly to my being on blood thinners. It takes quite a while for the place to warm up, particularly as a bitingly cold wind has persisted along the North Norfolk coast for weeks and weeks, even when its a sunny clear blue sky day. But that being said, the Blakeney shop is doing rather well for us. Since it reopened after a winter repaint and reorganization in February, our monthly take has been heartening.

Studio Designs, the shop in Wells Next The Sea that also holds some of our stock appears to be the place to sell striped fabric lampshades in. They've never sold for us in Sheringham or Blakeney. Though you might be tempted to think North Norfolk was one homogeneous coastal entity, it has very distinct variations between its major seaside towns. These are largely down to the differing mix of class and income brackets that live or visit them. Though this is a broad generalisation, Cromer is predominantly a trad seaside town that has a strong working class feel to it. The further west you go it tends to get gradually more middle class and posher. Until you reach Hunstanton and then you are back to your traditional working class seaside town.

It doesn't happen everyday, but when I take a walk into Sheringham Park these days, I find a particular bench off the main circular tarmac route. I follow the earth path down into the less manicured woods and reed ponds. I have settled on this one bench in particular out of the many scattered across the walking routes, to sit. I have on occasion also taken a coffee in a travel cup for company. So I plonk myself down on the weather seasoned wood and just sip, and just sit, for as long as feels needful. The length a travel cup of coffee takes to slowly be drunk, or beyond that if it feels appropriate. I simply take in the woodland before me, breath in the smell of it, hear all the randomness of its noises, some natural some human made. 

There are the dog walkers. The thunderous noises of RAF planes and the samurai chopping of wind farm helicopters flying over. The gentle undulation and sway of leaves and branches. And now we are well into Spring, there is the general background buzz of numerous insects setting about their daily work. The light bursting through the tree canopy, fading out then fading up, dark green to  light bursting green. Nothing truly dramatic happens, but there is a gravitas to nature, it has energy and firmness of purpose. Its hard to stop being the observer and be an equal participator. For I always come with some intent or other. Something I want to gain from my sitting with nature - relief from the discontented nature of feeling separated, being a sentient adjunct to life. Maybe if I practice sitting here for long enough the veil that having a consciousness puts across my perception will pause for one brief moment - in an ease-full revelation.

VEINS OF INFLUENCE - A Certain Ratio

Nothing ever comes unpredictably out of nowhere. In popular music I enjoy seeing if you can detect traces of where a bands influences came from, and by turn see where that band also had an influence on what was to follow. For the purposes of this demonstration I've chosen a starting point of  A Certain Ratio. Click on the links to hear the influences.

Essentially their origins kicked off in Post Punk, but let us not overlook musicians who preceded that. One name in particular springs to mind. In the context of A Certain Ratio's eventual musical trajectory I don't think the influence of Bowie's Blue Eyed Soul Funk period on them can be underestimated. From Young Americans 1974, and even through to the 'Berlin Trilogy of Low 1979 you can see a multiplicity of musical cross overs into A Certain Ratio's future of ethereal salsa inflected funk..  

A Certain Ratio named themselves after a line from Brian Eno's 1974 album Taking Tiger By Mountain By Strategy. This album is Eno at his most playful, lyrically it is associative surreal nonsense and musically eccentric mixes of waltz and reggae rhythms, as on Back In Judy's Jungle. One track, Third Uncle was even at the time seen as something of a precursor for punk. But its the track The True Wheel  where we find the line - 'Looking for a certain ratio, someone must have left it underneath the carpet'. Though starting off with a plodding Roxy Music like key board rhythm, it goes through dramatic musical transitions, Portsmouth Symphonia strings played forwards over backwards and ends on a drumming gallop that reminded me of earlier tracks by A Certain Ratio.  

Eno collaborations with Bowie are well known, both were heavily influenced by The Velvet Underground. With the long grinding urban grooves like on Sister Ray, informing the direction of many a future post punk band. For it wasn't until post punk arrived that bands truly picked up the VU mantel of arty noise experimentation. The late 70's Manchester punk scene, as folk lore tells us, burst into life after the performance of The Sex Pistols at Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1976. A Certain Ratio arose out of that, forming in 1977. The Pop Group from Bristol share a similar timeline to ACR also coming together in 1977. It is in them that you can best see where ACR's arty jagged jerky guitar sound morphed from. The Pop Group, Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle all sound very much like ARC's rather more anarchic blood brother contemporaries.

Joy Division and A Certain Ratio were both signed by Tony Wilson to his fledgling record label Factory. Though ACR were first off the block in getting a single released, once Joy Divisions debut album Unknown Pleasures was out in 1979 ACR seemed increasingly to be forgotten and overshadowed by their stablemates burgeoning fame. They themselves blamed their producer Martin Hannett for making them sound like pale imitators of Ian Curtis. But the style of vocal delivery at this time does often veer into the same dour sounding territory, of urban morose.

Whilst Joy Division turned out to be the more famous of the two bands, hugely amplified by the tragic early death of Curtis. There was something about the sound world of Joy Division that was unrepeatable, nor to be borrowed from, it was all too inimitable. So it is ACR who I'd say have turned out to be the more influential of the two bands. Their official debut album To Each in 1981 appears to have had an difficult gestation period. By which time their punk origins had already matured into what could be described as hallucinogenic industrial post punk funk. The best example of which is the albums concluding twelve minute plus opus Winter Hill.  This was an early signpost for what was to become Post Rock. Its a shame that ACR never followed up the experimental potential of this.

In 1979 ACR were the support act on a US tour with Talking Heads headlining. You could see why they'd be a good fit together, sharing a similar musical counter point of jerky odd unpredictability. Legend says touring with ACR is what prompted Bynre and Co to consider taking their own journey into funk, tentatively beginning on Fear of Music in 1979 and fully blossoming on Remain In Light in 1980. Interestingly House In Motion was later covered by ACR. By the time To Each finally came out in 1981 it was ACR who looked like they were following a trend, rather than being the trend setters they really were.

ACR took an increasing interest in world music rhythms, Caribbean and Brazilian in particular. And this set the scene for a short lived movement for salsa and jazz lite influenced bands in the mid 80's such as Blue Rondo A La Turk.  ACR have over the decades turned themselves into a slick musically more conventional band, shedding most of the hallucinogenic industrial side of their earlier work. Yet it is to this earlier period in their career that they owe their most enduring influence. You saw it early on in the London collective 23 Skidoo and Sheffield's Chakk, then later in Test Department, and I'd say that you could at a stretch include Post Rock, with bands like Godspeed You Black Emperor in their use of found voices and the painting of vast slabs of soundscape.

SCREEN SHOT - The Gorge

Levi (Miles Teller) is a much sought after American sniper/assassin. Now employed by Bartholemew (Sigourney Weaver) for a job she believes is ideal for his skill set. After a secret flight to an unknown destination, he is dumped for a year by an elaborate guard tower overlooking a deep gorge. Opposite is a similar guard tower on its other side. The man he is replacing shows him what the set up is, then leaves. But unbeknownst to Levi his predecessor is murdered before boarding the helicopter meant to be taking him home.

Dasha (Anya Taylor-Joy) is Levi's opposite number in the other tower. Through boredom she strikes up a conversation via a flip chart with Levi. Both wonder quite what it is they are defending, until the distant groans from the gorge manifest as bizzare human-planet hybrids that mount an assault upon the towers. Their interest in each other grows until Levi decides to take a risk and devise a way for him to cross the gorge, just to spend time talking with Dasha person to person. And it is this moment when both their romance and the shit really starts to take off.

The Gorge has a slow building tension, which I thought might not sustain itself through to the end of the movie. But actually it does, and though it has plot developments you can see coming a mile off, it is a quietly effective movie that doesn't squander any of its 127 minutes.

There are a few plot devises that stretch credibility. Depending on your level of tolerance for such things, you may decide to abort, head held in hands, at these points. There is no way the high-wire that Levi travels across the gorge on, could be single handedly made taught enough across such a wide span for him to zip wire along it. At one point they discover celluloid film stock that is supposed to be decades old, and yet still plays in a projector without fragmenting or melting. Likewise when they find a working computer screen. Both of these inform you of all you need to know about what is really going on in the gorge, in a matter of a few minutes. Its narrative convenience aside, at least these were polished off with matter of fact briskness.

There is a good chemistry between Teller and Joy. It's also great to see how handsomely buff Teller has now become. Now he is finally allowed to be middle aged, and not your perpetual teenager or not a very nice guy, he makes a believable romantic lead. The Gorge is, in the end, despite all the caveats about cliches and clunky plot devices, its a half decent movie and I quite enjoyed it.

CARROT REVIEW - 4/8

FINISHED READING - Caledonian Road by Andrew O'Hagan

Campbell Flynn is an academic, an art historian and would be cultural commentator. Though originally from a less than moneyed background in Glasgow. He has married into a much wealthier family with aristocratic connections, he imagines himself a much more elevated and important person than any of his old money relations do. A lot of folk think him a bit of a lightweight impostor. He's written one successful book about Vermeer, but holds a vision of himself as less tradition bound and capable of being more cutting edge than that. 

He writes a book Why Men Weep In Their Cars a polemic on the state of modern masculinity. It feels too left field and exposing for him. So he decides with his publisher to pay an actor Jake Harte Davis to publicly pretend to be its author. However, once published, Harte Davis goes off script and starts expressing much more ruinous and controversial views that cause the publisher to pull the book off sale. On top of this Campbell begins collaborating with a student Milo on writing a lecture, who unbeknownst to him is a computer hacker who is simply using him to gain access to further potentially damaging information about William Byre and his nefarious circle of connections.

Byre is an old college friend from Cambridge, who has since then become phenomenally wealthy. A charismatic witty bruiser of a businessman, who has got where he has purely by not being too concerned about the ethics or probity of how his wealth has been acquired. But all of that is now rapidly catching up with Byre, and accusations of fraud, employing illegal immigrant work forces and now a scandal about the sexual abuse of his mistress. Campbell is heavily in debt, mostly in money borrowed from Byre, so his own safely privileged world now looks a lot more unstable. Its no longer a question of if, but when this might all collapse. Will Campbell, by association alone be drawn into Byre's ignominy?

Now these are only a fraction of a vast microcosm of characters woven into this story. There are Countesses, Dukes, Russian oligarchs. dodgy drug dealers, a devious uncooperative tenant of Campbell's, wealthy environmental campaigners, investigative journalists, controversial shock jock columists, all of whom stomp their very muddy feet in Campbell's world or family. Its often very funny about the mutual disdain held between old and new money, new and old tech, and the sense that one thinks the other morally inferior. In actuality they are all implicated in a world that is fundamentally poisoned by its own prejudices and rank hypocrisy. And though Campbell might like to believe he can be above all that, he isn't.

Caledonian Road can quite justifiably make a claim to be a current state of the nation novel. Its a London centric world view of how the elites pat themselves on the back. And if there is trouble deny it all, keep your head down for a while, then regroup for the humbled and redeemed come back. So far all so familiar. O'Hagan's previous book Mayflies was a huge success, rightfully much lauded. Its focus, however, was much more tightly drawn than Caledonian Road. Caledonian Road, if it suffers from anything its through the sprawling nature of its web of characters that criss-cross fertilise and implicate still more. That the book devotes two preliminary pages to briefly list all the characters, who they are and who they are related to, tells you the publishers thought we might need some help keeping up, and we do.

The stench of emerging scandal permeates every page, it doesn't so much erupt, but slowly seeps increasingly noxious fumes to the surface. The narrative, hence. can feel a little lacking in foreshadowing exactly where its taking you, the necessary element of dramatic thrust sometimes appearing absent. It can give the impression at times of being overly polite and gentle in resisting really skewering its characters. Everyone portrayed here is to one extent or another putting on an acceptable front. The only ones who don't give a damn are the aristocrats, who say exactly what they mean out loud, and be damned. Its the fate of state of the nation novels in that they never age that well. They also are written these days so the middle class literati can mourn their revolutionary sentiments through them, and then quickly move on before the desire 'to actually do something' overwhelms them. The age of Dickens where a sharply pointed novel could launch a reform movement is long gone. These days we haven't gotta clue what to do.

When on form O'Hagan writes with his usual beautifully eloquent sense for the telling detail and his feeling for the satirical in situations can be pin point accurate. I enjoyed reading Caledonian Road a lot, even though it never quite compelling captured the whole of my attention.

CARROT REVIEW  5/8

POEM - A Plea To Whatever Is Transcendent

Whatever exists
beyond the corporeal
beyond
whatever the outstretched arms
of my imagination
can inadequately touch upon
whether 'you' can even be you'd
or gendered fluidly
I prey upon this with my mind
pray for it with my heart
and this minor souls bereft nature
pleads, like a starving man
surrounded only by pictures
of bread and wine
for one vivid experience
of it
so the ache
with which this hiatus
bores into the side of my stomach
might finally be settled
and be soothed
to at last
feel at ease
with the inherent
human state of aloneness
for whatever I do
whatever I chose to believe
whatever picture I wish to paint
of the transcendent
feels a few sketchy lines
skimmed across a page
a cartoon version
of divinity
of omnipotent original cause
conceptually aloof
and alien to feeling
all arising
out of a personal inadequacy
from base greed
a craving need
to fill the gaping hole
in my fragile belief
with a conveniently shaped
plug
which when bedraggled in doubt
can never be adequately filled
anyway
no wishes can be complied with
intuitive sense informs
me to not demand intervention
advance order a response
through arrogant temper
just align or not align
whilst staying calmly benign
if any of this is indeed true
and no delusion
then help me dream of it better
if this desire will be of benefit
transform my senses
transform my vision
transform my mind and heart
to be a fit receptacle
for small jewels
the golden amulets
to bedeck my shrine with
perfumed incense
to adorn the air with smokey swirls
light transient candles
to display
the present way forward with
for my arms they are open
and receptive for
whatever can be offered
in a kind act of reciprocity
do not remain hidden
any longer
before my human time
and hence opportunity
for comprehension
finally escapes
the cup of my fingers.

Written by Stephen Lumb
17th April 2025

TWO MINUTES - Of Spring Rain

  A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies

LISTENING To - Taxi Guy by A Certain Ratio

 

I came across this track on You tube recently. Recorded live it was originally a broadcast performance made during lockdown, that was then released as an album. The tracks on the live recording are all taken from their 2020 Loco album. Taxi Guy represents in many ways a galloping run through of all the various musical influences and tropes that have entered into the A Certain Ratio discography over the decades. Dedicated to Denise Johnson, an ACR stalwart vocalist who died at 56 in that year. Opening with the lollop of a thumping drum, it develops into a thrilling musical fizz of smooth sax, the snappy stick rhythm of a snare drum, with flavella flourishes, whistles and cow bells. Part joyous carnival celebration and part a gently lyrical ride, as though you are being driven in the back of a cab, momentarily dropping in and out of a latin inflected soundscape, on a beautifully clear dawn morning in Brazil.  I find it utterly entrancing.

QUOTATION MARKS - The Heartwood of The Holy Life

So this holy life,
does not have gain, honour and renown 

for its benefit,
or the attainment of virtue 

for its benefit,
or the attainment of concentration 

for its benefit,
or knowledge and vision 

for its benefit.

But it is
the unshakeable deliverance of mind
that is the goal of this holy life,
its heartwood,
and its end.

Taken from Ch29 Mahasaropama Sutta, Majjhima Nikaya.
Trans Bhikkhu’s Nanamoli & Bodhi, Pub. Wisdom.

ARTICLE - Deconstructing Enlightenment A Little Bit

Many people who claim to have no particular religious affiliation still talk about Enlightenment as though it exists and can be a life goal. I talk about Enlightenment, as if I know what it is I'm talking about, as if I know where it is, as if I know where I'm going, what I need to do to get there, and what it will be like when the Buddha Bus arrives at its destination. But I do not know this from my own first hand experience. I've read about it in Buddhist texts and commentaries, and that is all. And the more anyone talks about it in this way, the more this spreads a misapprehension of it as an easily verifiable state of being. 

No one actually knows, and those who say they do are charlatans and liars. Enlightened beings apparently would always stay shtum about it. At least, so I have been told. I've only encountered one person who struck me as exuding an aura of being Enlightened. But how, as an un-Enlightened being how would I even know that? I just read the vibes, apparently. It might appear like I am propagating one un-substantiated assertion after another.

You can read the Buddha's discourses and the lives of sages and get the vaguest of whiffs of something that is at variance to life and reality as it is ordinarily lived. Unless you are Enlightened you cannot talk in any meaningful way about what that is or is not. Most likely Enlightened persons would refuse to talk about it, because you cannot put your state of being into words, because words are inherently inaccurate and misleading as a means of conveying what the state of Enlightenment is actually like. At least, so I have been told. Even the Buddha initially didn't know if he could, or should, attempt to teach what he knew. So the apocryphal story goes. 

Where does that leave anyone as a spiritual practitioner? What the hell do we think we are doing when we meditate?  Then you find this Zen story and all your worst fears become manifested in triplicate.

'One day Nangaku visited Baso's hut. Baso stood and greeted him. Nangaku asked, "What have you been doing recently?" Baso replied, "I've done nothing but sit in zazen." Then Nangaku asked, "Why do you continually sit in zazen?" Baso answered "I sit in zazen in order to become a Buddha." Nangaku picked up a tile he found by the side of Basos hut and started to polish it. Baso watched what he was doing and asked "Master, what are you doing?" Nangaku answered, "I'm polishing this tile." Baso asked "Why are you polishing the tile?" Nangaku answered, "To make a mirror." Baso said, "How can you make a mirror by polishing a tile?" And Nangaku replied, "How can you become a Buddha by doing zazen?'

So, are we deludedly polishing a tile, thinking it will become a mirror through our efforts?  It certainly feels like that. The more one examines meditation the more this apparent paradox resurfaces. Krishnamurti teased his followers by saying meditation was not a practice that was best served by you being conscious of a purpose at all. And when one looks at the way early Buddhist texts refer to the various levels of consciousness attainable - the four dhyanas of form ascending into the four formless dhyanas - none of these have a sign saying Here Be Enlightenment written next to them. 

Meditation appears to be a spiritual skill akin to upgrading the quality of your mind from fuzzy Beta Max to the radiant clarity of a Blue Ray video player. Adjusting your receptivity, responses and ability to calmly reflect on the nature of reality. Meditation cannot of itself make you Enlightened. The Zen story is just trying to manage the rampant delusion of your expectations.

And, before you ask, I accidentally stumbled into what I've always interpreted as First Dhyana on three occasions, a long time ago. My ability as a meditator lets say, has exhibited its limits, as I'm most likely resentfully over aware of.  Nevertheless - eight levels of dhyana - that could easily mislead anyone into thinking meditation practice was an elevation upward in the general direction of Enlightenment, wouldn't it? Say not so, well at least not so glibly. All these teachings are simply ways of modelling the territory, they are rarely literal descriptions of the territory itself. So we are told.

Once you encounter all these obstacles and inhibitors along the path of spiritual practice, it does cause you to question whether knowing of an idealised state of Enlightenment can serve any useful function at all. Tyler Staton, who admittedly is viewing things from a Christian perspective, does have some interesting things to say about the limitations, usefulness or otherwise of an 'impersonal force' to an individuals spiritual development.

'And the truth is I cannot love an impersonal force or be loved by one, I can't be loved by the universe and I certainly can't be loved by my own meditation practice. All I can do there is declutter my mind and slow down my internal world. Those are all good things, those are healthy habits, just like you should eat leafy greens and try to get some exercise and they will improve your life and help you become a healthier person and probably feel better. But they will not give you a life that is lived to the full, to fill your internal world with peace and will not offer you joy'

Well, I imagine a more experienced skilled meditator might want to question the assertions in that last sentence. I could only do so theoretically. Tyler does later assert you can only have a productive relationship with either Jesus, God or the Holy Spirit because they are all personified in a personal relatable way. Which no doubt makes logical sense if you approach things from his perspective, or any faith which embodies its Godhead to a degree. For me it does provoke a deeply furrowed brow, that says, yeah, how do you have any sort of meaningful helpful relationship interacting with an impersonal force, such as Enlightenment? Can Enlightenment even be fairly described as an impersonal force? And if not why not? - Discuss

In reality do we have to self consciously confect an indifference or dispassion towards the transcendental aspect of Buddhist faith, to sort of alienate ourselves from the stated objective of the whole of Buddhism ? What sort of twisted metaphysics is this? What in the end are we left to have faith in? In a man who reputedly died two and a half millenia ago, in ourselves, in our potential, in the spiritual process itself, in some sort of contemporary guru, in Beyonce? 

That Buddhism did eventually succumb to introducing imagery of Enlightened archetypes, giving Buddhas and Bodhisatvas identifiable form and characteristics, was this in response to a difficulty they'd encountered in maintaining faith in what was in essence impersonal, and counterproductive to actively desire. Once the Buddha was no longer around as the founding exemplar, Buddhism resorted to symbolic structures or imagery to provide devotional focus. Did Buddhism simply find itself in such a metaphysical dead end, that the rise of the Mahayana and Vajrayana's innovations was an attempt at fixing? And so they provided something to worship the ideal through, to offer our ineffective practice and ourselves up too.

When the thing you are ostensibly aiming yourself towards is Enlightenment, this experience is as remote as it can get from ordinary human life. You are orientating yourself towards an empty imaginative space. We take it on faith that Enlightenment can exist at all. When we allow ourselves to imagine how we might get to be Enlightened, it tends to fall into either acquisitive progressive steps towards something that seems external to us, or resides like an incubus within our being just waiting for us to stumble upon it and release it. Both require a moment of Awakening. Whether Enlightenment exists, or where Enlightenment exists, until we reach that Awakening moment is a reasonable question to raise.  The answer will no doubt turn out to be - unverifiable.

If the spiritual life is only ever about the Sisyphean task of continuing to push the heavy boulder of your practice up a steep hill with no visible peak within sight, then its no wonder there is little room for a joyful engagement with daily life. When I doubt, I doubt the effectiveness of my practice first, and the truth or otherwise of whether Enlightenment exists or not remains curiously untouched. Probably because it has never felt that real in the first place. You can't be angry, disappointed or despairing towards a complete void - can you? Or has my feeling for Enlightenment just been slowly corroding?

Enlightenment is nothing that is tangibly available to you right now to experience. I frequently find myself trying to cope with remaining acutely aware of the immense gap between my personal worldly experience and the impersonal nature of an unimaginable transcendental state. And I do wonder whether that is a healthy position to hold yourself in for too long, without any perception that that gap might in someway be closing. On a really bad day, Enlightenment can sometimes feel like it is the ultimate delusion of all delusions. Something even Dogen referred to as 'A Dream Within A Dream'

TWO MINUTES - In A Wood

 A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies

MY OWN WALKING - 2nd April Journal 2025

The shoulder pain has and hasn't been improving. The resistance band exercises have certainly encouraged an increased flexibility and movement. But I can't do them for more than a fortnight before the shoulder joint itself becomes inflamed and my ability to sleep at night shortens. Dramatically reducing my ability to find a sleeping position that remains comfortable for more than a short while.

This has, over time, begun to affect my mood and mental state. I have found I'm more prone to despondency, reluctant in the maintenance of my diet, and the limitations of controlling what I eat. I also easily lose a sense for what I want to do during the day, I become empty of motivation. The multiple ways my lifestyle has changed since the HA! start to feel like an oppressive weight that I want to throw off, that I'm just existing, so what's the point? I've discovered an aspect of nihilism in my character raising its poisonous head.

I've never been one to allow myself to succumb to 'poor me' syndromes for long. Its one of the beneficial legacies my parental upbringing bequeathed me. But it has surprised me at how quickly and how deeply I can dive right back into it. There is an element of pride involved. I've always prided myself on being able to sometimes literally work my way out of difficulties. Often using 'doing' as a form of effective therapy. To have that option to whatever degree removed, has revealed how much of a one trick pony that was. Without it I can feel bereft of resources. I'm not lacking in resourcefulness, but it feels that I am. Its taking a while to discover how best to respond to the physical limitation of not being able to fully utilise my right arm at the moment. I say, at the moment, because its far from clear whether this is a bodily experience temporary in nature or not. 

After the pride, comes loss of control, a habitual ability to bring purposeful direction to my life. I had a number of projects lined up that required a degree of physical exertion from me. All are now put on hold. As these would now aggravate the hell out of the shoulder were I even to whisper the idea of trying to do them. Hubby would get cross with me too. There are moments when pushing the envelope is a useful thing to do,to push back against a limitation, and then there are those when its just brutal foolhardiness. So there is an elementary question here, I'm looking to locate the answer for. If not this, then what else? It feels as though I'm being asked to dig a little deeper than my habitual responses. To find a clearer, less cluttered and less dependent way of being in the world. 

The quality of an experience appears of more importance now. We are blessed by having Sheringham Park five minutes walk away from the house. And beyond the carefully landscaped and manicured vistas of Humphrey Repton's designs, off the tarmac circular paths, is a much larger rougher wooded area. Its a dog walkers dream. But its also a contemplative space. One day recently I took a long leisurely walk, and attempted to do what I imagined 'forest bathing' might be like if were I Japanese. Its simply walking and being in the spaces of nature, as part and parcel of that nature.Trying to minimise the gap between me and my conceptualised feeling for nature and its benefits, with a more direct experientially unprocessed relationship with it.

In my last My Own Walking post I talked about my need for an experiential spirituality, a deeper more intimate relationship with reality, This can have its beginnings in a closer experience of nature, its our most easily accessed source of intimacy. To sit and commune, and attempt to do so without executing a cost benefit analysis on it. So I sat down on a conveniently placed National Trust bench and contemplated the woodland that lay before me. Just taking it in without much internal comment. It was a simple straightforward experience, relaxed and quietly fulfilling. Like plugging in and recharging a battery. You don't have to do anything but turn up.

Sometimes our sense for needing direction, purpose and a goal in life, are done to the detriment of the quality of the experience. A deeper connection with who we are, where we are, is left out of the equation. We find ourselves madly peddling on an anxious angst driven cycle of activity for activities sake. For fear of a void opening up were we to stop. As though stripped naked, the lack of meaning in our lives would be literally laid bare for all to see. If Buddhism instructs us in anything, its not to fear the loss of control, not to angrily resist ones physical decline, to not be too mournfully over preoccupied with our own special suffering, nor to run away from the fundamental emptiness of the human condition. When we find friction emerging between our ambitions and external reality, the real problem is never with external reality. We've sensed there was a hole in our lives and immediately want to have it filled. Not allowing ourselves to perceive whether this abyss might actually be a portal, a entry into another way of being.

I have to be willing to allow myself as a man to be seen as physically weak. Never an easy thing for a man to do. To see that weakness as a point of spiritual growth. I observed myself in the woodland seeking out the best and most beneficial special place in which to sit. Even in the pursuit of closer intimacy with an experience I was seeking to have an ability to exert individual control over it. I couldn't see a bench, sit on it and just be. I wanted the best bench, in the best place, in order to maximise having the best experience possible. I was exerting my strength of will, over my future experience, to no real spiritual benefit.

The Buddha always had a companion who would deal with all the day to day practicalities.That companions job was solely one of service, to be selfless in their devotion to meeting the Buddha's needs, and seeing that as their primary spiritual practice. The job was undoubtedly not an easy one, and in the early years of his ministry, it seems the Buddha went through a quick succession of such companions. One of these was a young disciple called Meghiya. Meghiya was like all young men are, a bit self preoccupied with meeting his needs and desires. And one day he got it into his head that he just needed to go away and meditate in this Mango Grove he'd seen, he was sure he'd be Enlightened there. He asked the Buddhai if he would relieve him of his duties. To which he calmly replied 'Do whatever you think its the time for' which is a bit of a pointed answer. As was often the way, he had to ask the Buddha three times before being released, each time getting the same pokey none answer. Meghiya loses his cool, and publicly rebukes the Buddha for his selfishness, stomping off to meditate in the Mango Grove anyway. Unsurprisingly, the moment he sits down to meditate he is besieged by a flood of demons and negative thoughts. He returns shamefaced to the Buddha who presents him with a teaching on what happens to a practitioner when ' their hearts release is immature'.

The relevance of this story to me, is that spiritual practice never requires a particular set of special circumstances in order to be effective. And I would extend that further, life itself does not require a particular set of circumstances in order to be effective, successful or possess meaning. Even though we expend a lot of time, energy and thought trying to manipulate and second guess the future into fulfilling our desires and dreams. Instead of that, you use whatever comes into the orbit of your experience, whatever you just casually wander into, or find yourself encountering. If we always runoff to the modern equivalent of the Mango Grove, seeking some spectacular insight or personal benefit from it, this can provoke demons to arise, that personify your psyche and the naivety of your approach to life and spiritual practice. Our immaturity literally obscures our way.

Right now,for me, its not fighting but facing the message my shoulder pain is daily delivering to me. Though managing the practicalities better and doing whatever might help it to heal is important, it is also about my being more receptive and willing to see the personal teaching in it. Inevitably this settles on how best to respond aptly and creatively to these experiences of my own advancing age, the trials of sickness and befriending the idea of my future death. Yeah, that old chestnut, I was hoping for something a bit more fresh, sexy and svelte.

SCREEN SHOT - 2 Guns ( 2013)

 

Robert 'Bobby' Trench ( Denzel Washington ) and Micheal 'Stig' Stigman ( Mark Wahlberg) are two criminals about to make a bank robbery. Unbeknownst to either of them they are both working undercover, Bobby for the DEA and Stig for the US Navy Seal. They believe the bank they are about to rob is where a local Mexican drug lord Manny Papa Greco ( Edward James Almos) deposits his money. When they blast open the bank deposit boxes they find they are all stuffed with millions of dollars. Its evident this cannot be just one persons drug money. Whose money it is becomes all too apparent as they turn up looking for them. And the race to unpick what's happened whilst evading capture begins.

This is a classic American Cop Buddy movie, based loosely on a comic book series in a script by Blake Masters. Its very evident from the repartee and snappiness of the dialogue, that a lot of this has been improvised by the two leads. They spar off each other brilliantly, and the pairing is a very effective and amusing one. The script is tightly disciplined, and keeps you guessing as to what is really going on here, and still has a few twists up its sleeves even at the end. Baltazar Kormakur's direction is impressively fast and slick., the pace never slackening. All the leads are at the top of their form, what's not to like?  I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of this. It doesn't completely reinvent the genre, but gives it a very effective high polish.

CARROT REVIEW - 5/8

SCREEN SHOT - Manhunter (1986)

Will Graham (William Peterson) is a retired FBI profiler, he's trying to rebuild his life after a traumatic case catching the intelligent, but manipulative Hannibal Lector.(Brian Cox) Graham knows he is damaged goods, but is drawn back into profiling a new serial murder case, out of interest and loyalty, to Jack Crawford (Dennis Farina) his FBI superior. The perpetrator nicknamed 'The Tooth Fairy' is a tricky serial murderer, currently without a motive. The killer declares himself an avid fan of Lector. So Graham goes to consult with his former adversary to ask for clues to his new adversary's psychology. He knows this is a risky strategy, because you never know whether his offers of help also serve Lector's own purposes. Drawing Graham back into an interactive mindset that nearly broke his own sanity.

Manhunter is an early film directed and written by Micheal Mann and predates his biggest success Heat (1995), and other later adaptions of Thomas Harris's 1981 novel Red Dragon. Harris's novels, are known to be very detailed portrayals of the psychological underpinnings and thought processes involved in being a profiler or detective. They are thoughtful, densely and carefully written books, which a film cannot really capture effectively. Mann's film deliberately utilises a heavily stylised use of colour v monochrome, making great use of doomy synth to create odd and taut atmospheres. Mann never prettys the dialogue up, its self consciously acted flat with a low emotional tone, where internal thought processes are externally expressed, which can be a strategy that risks accusations of heightened theatricality. It does, however, exaggerate the sense of melodrama and the isolated unreality of the world that both the profiler and the killer exist within. This is great at creating the cat and mouse game between Graham and his serial killer prey.

Though it has an 80's aesthetic and style written all over it, this is quite a successful adaption of Thomas Harris. One gets the feeling that Mann made his films on a low budget, and at this stage could not call on top flight actors. Though Peterson does OK as Graham, one has the sense his limitations as an actor meant he couldn't psychologically draw enough out of the character to make it a compelling portrayal of a tormented man. He is often a bit too much of a blank canvas. This was Brian Cox's first Hollywood film, so was probably a relatively cheap buy, but a strong actor who could convey the devious playful character of Lector. Anthony Hopkins was perhaps closer to the Lector of the novels, in making his geniality slippery so that it gave you the creeps. 

At the time Manhunter was released, it did badly at the box office and with critics, they didn't like its tone at all. But over the years it has been reappraised and is something of a cult film now. I think its age and period have provided its stylistic eccentricities with an extra gloss that it now benefits from greatly. Not quite a classic in my book, but an early indication of what Micheal Mann could and would soon deliver.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8 

LISTENING TO - Catch These Fists by Wet Leg

I, like many, listened with great glee to the addictive ironic mischief of Wet Leg's big hit Chaise Longue. It went internationally viral, though it bore all the hallmarks of the novelty one hit wonder. Follow that if you can. And the album which did follow was a fine offering, but little could match the magic trick of that one hit song.

Lyrically Chaise Longue was quietly subversive and pokey, and that appears to be one of Wet Leg's enduring and distinctive features. They have moved on considerably and are much more knowing about what their strengths and band identity are. A second album Moisturiser is due shortly. On the first track released Catch These Fists, they appear to be channeling the urban New York swagger of the Yeah Yeah Yeah's through the rustic vibes of the Isle of Wight. To great effect I must add. This hits hard and has got real ball breaking potential.

Once they ran along roads dressed in Laura Ashley dresses and straw hats. Now they run along roads dressed in flannel underwear embroidered with words like Holy Spirit on the crotch. And the tongue in cheek insouciance has got a whole deal more stroppy. Though they continue to have an idiosyncratic way with a catchy guitar lick. Catch These Fists has a beautifully off kilter riff that tumbles around behind the song propelling it unstably onward. Whilst Rhian Teasdale deadpan half talks the lyrics.

Can you catch a medicine ball?
Can you catch yourself when you fall?
You should be careful, do you catch my drift?
'Cause what I really want to know is can you catch these fists?

Man down
Level up!
I know all too well just what you're like
I don't want your love, I just wanna fight

We're on our way to the club
Stupid is, stupid does
Limousine, racking up
Ketamine, giddy up

Man down
Level up!
I know all too well just what you're like
I don't want your love, I just wanna fight

He don't get puss, he get the boot
I saw him sipping on dark fruit
This always happens late at night
Some guy comes up, says I'm his type
I just threw up in my mouth
When he just tried to ask me out
Yeah, don't approach me
I just wanna dance with my friends

Man down
Level up!
I know all too well just what you're like
I don't want your love, I just wanna fight
I know all too well just what you're like

I don't want your love, I just wanna fight

Fight, fight, fight, fight
Fight, fight
Man down

Written by Wet Leg

MY OWN WALKING - April Journal 2025

I recently re-read a journal post -  Checking In With My Faith & Doubts. 

A couple of sentences stuck out to me like a sore thumb.

When you experience a sore thumb you have to ask why is this so bloody sore?

I'm still looking for experiential affirmation through my meditation.
I don't appear to be able to get beyond this being a bugbear. 

The more I read this, the more I saw this as an expression of yearning, for something that I really want, that I'm simultaneously trying to convince myself that I shouldn't want. A deeper experience of the transcendental. Because wanting anything in Buddhism is a craving, it's seen as problematic, spiritually speaking. And this struck me as particularly barmy. Yet even as I write this,I see myself forming a cage around this notion and branding it an 'unhelpful view'. And before I know it surprise, surprise, I'm manifesting some negativity towards being a Buddhist. I'm simply tired of this prejudicial labeling of experience, but that isn't really what this is all about. I can sense an evasiveness here, in fact I must confess this is my umpteenth attempt to write about this. What I was writing, or the way I was choosing to write about it, really wasn't quite nailing it. And this was getting to be quite frustrating as a process of expression.

Then I recently watched, quite a few times actually, an interview with Tyler Staton, a Pastor from Portland, Oregon, USA,on Seen & Unseen's You Tube channel. I've found him a quietly impressive person, who embodied an appealing clear headed spirit. What he talked about was the need for an experiential spirituality, and this has set off bells of recognition within me. There was one paragraph in particular I found personally relevant. It appeared to sum up where I have been and where I am 

'for me it was a journey of quiet crisis, basically of getting a certain distance into the spiritual life and looking at the deepest wounds in my own life and saying you know there's patterns in my character and way of being that it seems like aren't missing one more bible study.....its not information, intellectual information I'm missing, its something deeper than that, that needs to be unwound within me, and also....I just began to see what I was experiencing wasn't matching what I was reading on the pages of scripture in ways that were increasingly troubling to me.....what am I missing, that was happening in the lives of the early church, because I want that...I want to experience their life. How do I begin to walk into that ? And that hunger set me on a journey.'

Though spoken from his devout Christian perspective, I found this also mirrored to an extent my own experience within Buddhism. I've also come to realise that whatever is absent from my spiritual life will not be found within the pages of a book, however intently I may study them. Something much more experiential is required here. But what the hell would that be?  Since having asked that question I have been scrabbling around trying to find a way to best explore and write about this. How would you translate this 'experiential spirituality' into a Buddhist perspective? Intuition suggested that this may relate to different viewpoints between a 'developmental' and an 'imminent' view on the purpose of spiritual practice and its relationship with Enlightenment. Though some would say this is inherently a false unhelpful dichotomy.

The 'developmental' could probably be described as representing the traditional Buddhist approach. You learn the meditation practices, the devotional rituals, refine your ethics and study the Buddhist Sutras. These develop your awareness, spiritual qualities and states of consciousness that will move you inexorably over time, and often lifetimes, towards the state of Enlightenment. Sometimes couched as The Spiral Path as if this should be seen as a linear form of progression upward, like climbing a spiral staircase.  

The 'imminent' appears in its most developed form in later Buddhism. It still utilises all the practices and study of the tradition,but doesn't envisage the progress to Enlightenment as linear or upwardly progressing. It believes Enlightenment is already here, present in us right now, but we are not yet fully awake to it. Terms like Buddha Nature and Buddhahood begin to be used to describe this imminent innate view of Enlightenment, and practice as an unfolding of our awareness of this in the here and now.

Into this I want to throw a third viewpoint that of Dogen the 13th century Japanese co-founder of Soto Zen. His view takes 'imminence' and gives it a profound philosophical shift in emphasis. He had a doubt about the whole 'imminent' approach, and it is one that those critical towards it use to this day. If Enlightenment is innate, what is the purpose of doing any spiritual practice ? Why practice anything at all, meditation, ethics or study, if you already have the awakened state within you?  Doesn't this fly in the face of the Buddha's traditional teaching?

Dogen came up with a solution, one that is very particular to him. That practice and realisation, are not two separate things, they are not even two things intrinsically entwined, but manifestations of the same thing - Enlightenment. For Dogen practice is an outward expression of the innate Enlightened state. He creates a compound term 'practice-realisation' to describe how every moment of practice is an 'actualisation of the fundamental point'. He radically develops this concept further so that everything is in a state of 'practice-realisation' and to sit in contemplation helps unfold this awareness,  allows you to experience ordinary life on a much deeper level. Now, this is what I believe 'experiential spirituality' means from a Buddhist perspective.

Dogen went to China to study Chan, which is the origin of Japanese Zen. Now Chan was itself a cultural cross fertilization between Buddhism and Taoism. A concept like Buddha Nature is very similar in its relationship between practice and realisation, to the idea of the Tao, as this innate and indistinguishable force present in life and nature. Dogen brings the latest development of Chan back to Japan, and through this further integrates it with a sympathetic relationship toward the forces of nature present in Japanese Shinto. Now a convincing case could be made that these insertions took Zen too far away from the traditions of early Buddhism, to remain in essence Buddhist. It certainly is less grounded in the core Sutra teachings. I would say it is still Buddhist in spirit, but not the orthodox letter of it. and I'm perfectly fine with that. I'm not too concerned about whether Dogen is orthodox or not. Does it feel a true or helpful perspective? Yeah, it does to me.

Then I read this appreciation of Dogen's approach by Norman Fischer that says it all really about what 'experiential spirituality' can be in all its intimacy.

'Dogen insisted that we all have Buddha Nature - that is we are already enlightened, we just don't know it. And because we don't know it, we live in a way that is destructive and that cuts us off from true intimacy....Dogen believed that we are not appreciating what life actually is..and then living it fully in every moment...step inside your life and let go all conceptual frameworks that alienate you from yourself, and from each other. Just enter life completely in this very moment. feel the awesome presence of what you can hear, see, smell, taste and touch right now. Become aware of emotions, thoughts, memories and dreams that flood awareness without getting hooked on them. Feel how, right now, human experience is truly awesome, and don't look for something to complete what is already complete. But most often, we don't believe that everything we need is right here, right now. We are always looking for something more than what is here - something that is missing.'

Yeah, tell me about it Norm.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK

If we doubt the walking of the mountains,
we also do not yet know our own walking.
It is not that we do not have our own walking,
but we do not yet know
and have not yet clarified our own walking.

When we know our own walking,
then we will surely also know
the walking of the Blue Mountains.
If there were an end to the walking,
the Buddha-Dharma could not reach the present day.

Taken from Dogen's Mountains & Rivers Sutra

Translated by Cross & Nishijima