Discovering Albion – day 9: The Church on the Cliff

scotland trip jan 15 158The Church of St Mary the Virgin sits high on its cliff above the town. It was founded around 1110 AD, during the time of Abbot William de Percy and the exterior reflects the twelfth century architecture in golden sandstone. The interior, though dates mainly from the 1700s and is a strange a place as you will see. Historically, it is an important survival. Aesthetically it is a claustrophobic jumble.

scotland trip jan 15 172It is difficult to make sense of the space. High sided eighteenth century box pews, like cattle pens… some marked ‘for strangers only’… fill the main body of the church while upstairs galleries look down. The ‘walls’ of the box pews are so tall that I, for one, could not see into them from the aisles between without making an effort to do so. Some are plain wood, others lined with green baize and others still bear red velvet cushions. A social hierarchy of comfort or piety? Although all is painted in bright, fresh tones, and lit by the huge brass chandeliers that hang from the ceiling, it has, to me, an overbearing atmosphere.

scotland trip jan 15 173Right in the centre of what should be the nave is an incongruous, but doubtless practical stove for heating. There is also a three-tiered pulpit, all polished wood and red velvet, illustrating the importance of the sermons in the eighteenth century. While, doubtless, this central position is also practical, allowing all the parishioners to both see and hear the minister’s perorations, I could not help feeling that it deprived attention from what should, perhaps, be the focus of the worship in a Christian church… the altar, invisible from most of the church.

scotland trip jan 15 153The place has a strange and cluttered feel. In the few spare corners left by the pews, odd treasures lurk; an iron bound chest, a Saxon coffin for a babe… art and history tucked away in every nook and cranny. The chest is interesting though. It is around three hundred years old and has three locks… one each for the vicar and the churchwardens. It used to hold the church plate and parish records, but it was stolen in 1743 and thrown over the cliff. The chest was recovered, but the contents were gone.

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Template of Time…

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First thing on waking

We reach for the ‘alarm’

To check the time

And cannot recall

The last time that did not happen.

*

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Mine-Sweeper…

Wales 053

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I entered the ruin to a low hum…

The snug fit of my arms in the portal vectors was no accident.

Once inserted an irreversible chain reaction commenced.

The stone and wood around me shifted into old form:

sleek… modular…

The screen before my face showed a small orange planet, turning in space.

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Winter walks with camera (6) : the shape of drama ~ Steve Tanham

Drama comes in many forms, but those forms can be accentuated by the rigours of Winter

(250 words, a two-minute read)

The estuary to the west of Arnside has an ancient feel, and is filled with dramatic shapes and foliage. In Winter, some of these can look primeval, and the natural desaturation of colour caused by the lower levels of light play to the mind looking for objects of potential menace…

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Distorted reality

moon-dog-dawn-flowers-025

I stood outside my son’s bedroom, bundled up against the cold that was dropping a few meagre snowflakes on the morning. Camera in hand, I was snapping away happily when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. The double glazing caught a pair of misaligned reflections, within which was caught yet another reflection from the infinity mirror on the far wall. You could see both the garden outside and the inside of the bedroom too; the one indistinguishable from the other to the eye that caught only the two-dimensional image on the glass.

At first glance, the eye saw what the lens sees, a single flat image. It took a few moments for the mind, filled with its knowledge and experience of the three-dimensional world, to begin to tease apart the various overlapping images and make sense of what they eye was seeing. I was conscious of the process and couldn’t help but wonder what someone from a different dimension would make of it. A two-dimensional being would be quite happy with the initial impression. Except that a two-dimensional being wouldn’t be able to distance themselves from the image in order to see it at all…they would, of necessity, be part of it, just as I am part of this image and reality.

What if there was a being that moved through more dimensions that we do? Would our three-dimensional image of the world look just as flat to it as the image on the pane of glass did to me?

Do we really live just within three dimensions though, when time has been posited as a fourth? The softly falling snowflakes were a visual representation of time as I watched them move  through space from one place to another. And as I was in those dimensions, watching them, where was the ‘I’ that was able to watch? It cannot be within those nominal four dimensions, for if it were, it would be unable to separate itself from the image in order to observe it.

After proving, to my own satisfaction at least, the necessary existence of the fifth dimension, things got more complicated. While holding a conversation about cats with the son dangling out of his window, I wondered about the fact that the observing consciousness can always observe itself in the process known as infinite regress. Even in that moment, I was aware of the layers of my own consciousness as I chatted about mundane ideas while exploring an inner vision of infinity. And I wondered about the implications of that. I wondered too whether time was simply space observing itself… and if you view space as consciousness, which is far from a new idea, that opens up some intriguing and mind-boggling lines of thought.

While all this was going on, I was looking at the reflections in and through the window. In itself, it was a perfect illustration of both the distorted perception of reality we may have and the many layers it holds. Multiple reflections came together as one image. It is only my experience of those layers of reality that allow me to distinguish between bedroom and garden, inside and outside, mirror, glass and lens. It is only that experience that lets me know what is the image and what is the object.

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Onward #midnighthaiku

Seen from yesterday

Memories of happy days

Paint tomorrow’s wish

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So What Was That All About? Part 1 ~ G. Michael Vasey

Reblogged from The Magical World of G. Michael Vasey:

As an author, I want to see my books discovered, read and enjoyed. So I thought that I would do a multi-part blog periodically about some of my books. to rekindle interest and perhaps introduce you to books you never knew existed? I’m going to start with my attempts to write fiction. Something I haven’t attempted too often.

The Last Observer

Several years ago, my eldest son was at Kings College, London for a semester. I had moved. back to Europe in 2006 and so this was a wonderful opportunity to see him as he was at college in Minneapolis – St. Paul at Macalester College. We had a wonderful time together and one evening after showing me around King’s College, we headed across the road for a beer. The beer turned into several as we explored reality, quantum physics and some impressions I had got from meditation about the observer. I recall leaving flushed with beer and feeling upbeat after he told me you should write that novel. We had ended up discussing a plot you see….

A couple of more years went by and I would often think about writing THAT book but nothing happened until that one day when I decided to do it. The book turned into a novella about a guy called Stan. Stan was just an ordinary guy except for his imagination. He had a vivid imagination so much so that he became addicted to reading books as he could essentially see them as a movie in his mind more real than the outer world. What Stan didn’t know was that nearby a mackical lodge was investigating the sudden deaths of a number of psychics, occultists and paranormal investigators.

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Discovering Albion – day 9: 199 steps

scotland trip jan 15 140I’ve always had a soft spot for Whitby. Even the trip to get there from my childhood home takes you across the North York Moors and if you are lucky enough to go in summer, chances are the heather will be in full bloom from horizon to horizon. This time, however, we just had the bitter winter wind. Not that this was a bad thing at that moment… it made the climb up the 199 worn sandstone steps less of a warming experience. In summer it is hot work. Like all such things, there is the tradition that you cannot count them. I, at least, have never managed it… I get distracted.

scotland trip jan 15 134From here there are wonderful views over the little town and its harbour. Whitby still depends on the sea for most of its income, though the whaling and herring fishing has long since declined to be largely replaced with tourism and the manufacture of jet jewellery… and fossils of course. There are so many to pick up on the beaches here, released by the constant erosion of the cliffs.

scotland trip jan 15 135As we climbed up to the church and saw the disappearing cliff face over the town, I recalled that it is not only fossils that the wind and rain releases. That cliff face has eroded by a good distance since I was a child and human bones from the graveyard have been sent into the streets below by the landslips that have placed homes beneath the cliff at significant risk. If that sounds like something from a horror movie there is reason for that too… Bram Stoker set much of his book Dracula against the stark silhouette of the Abbey and church atop the cliff.

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Harvest of Wyrms…

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‘The Witch’, they called her but she minded not, tending to her herbs and the animals and birds which nature’s highest intelligence brought to the garden of her single-roomed house knowing her abilities to hold and to heal…

It started slowly.

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Glimpsing…

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From the corner

of my eye…

Through a keyhole…

half seen

unheard

Beneath the door…

Behind a crack in the curtains

A shiver of tree leaf

gurgling-silver over brook-stone.

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