What Kind of a Stage is This?

 

'All the world's a stage....'

     I have to admit that this lockdown is rather suiting me, in a way. To be stuck here at home means I am more immersed in this place than ever,- now that the weather is picking up, I live in an extraordinary dialogue between the house and garden on one hand, and the sea on the other. In our faces the whole time, this sea is like a mirror held up to the soul, within us and beyond us, reflecting, beyond the grey ennui that sometimes engulfs it, now the turmoil and confusion, now the sublime beauty and serenity that together inseparably inhabit it. 

      Over there are the soaring seagulls and gannets, giving piquancy and depth to the little corner of peace and fertility which we try to nurture here in our garden, with our tits and finches, robins, wrens and dunnocks. They reflect the everlasting conversation of Father and Son, the transcendent and the immanent. Meanwhile the way those rocky outcrops defy the waves, attempting to shelter the bay within, remind us of the grim struggle that keeps the waters at bay, leaving us free to act for a while as if we had no need of their defence, even while we depend on them, both the rock and the waters, to maintain this stage, to keep this space open. 

      We tend to prefer to forget the threatening waters on the whole, but if we succeed in doing so, then our human dramas become mere affairs of play-acting and vacuous strutting,- we do indeed become 'mere players'! Some do believe this is all there is to the human condition, and more act as if it were. It is by attending to, indeed participating in, the above-mentioned conversation that we discover that actually truth and beauty do exist, that the stakes in our games could not be higher and that the ultimate prize is barely imaginable,- for humanity has eternal potential. It is Holy Baptism that initiates us into this conversation, in its full dimensions, and the other sacraments are there to give us the grace to follow through with it.

      To return to my own small share in the drama, in a much more limited dimension of it, I have explained before in this blog how in my youth I was immersed in the sea by crossing the Channel back and forth in a 27' wooden sailing boat, with no electronic aids whatsoever, other than a transistor radio, which gave us the BBC weather forecast, - Thames, Dover, Wight... was the litany.  At least it meant we should be able to avoid gales, but my Dad would be under pressure to get home for work on Monday morning; the biggest problem was fog. Those big throbbing engines, the swish of a bow-wave, the glimpsed looming dark shape with a white moustache.... Then there was the little matter of making a landfall in the fog, and the time when we mistook Le Tréport for Dieppe, or a man wading in the sea fishing for the beacon at the entrance to Rye Harbour!

     Yet more often than not, the one side receded and the other rose to meet and embrace us quite gaily. Two different stage-sets; different languages, customs, ways of doing things, mais plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose! Yet some things are different, and some actors reflect truth more authentically than others who merely parrot the lines. One all-too-common illusion in the England of those days (not to mention today?) that was soon exploded for myself was that the wogs begin at Calais! Didn't they have huge and magnificent steam engines there, that could pull trains all the way to Moscow, and such pretty girls! These days it might be expressed more subtly, but it is an illusion that all too often afflicts us, that our own stage-set is the true and right one. The moment we forget that our lines are part of a conversation with Another, then we are merely parroting them. By that immersion in the sea, that baptism, one learns to attend to the conversation, the Other, and so we may distinguish what really does grow and endure,- the green wood from the dead.

     Forever seeking the reality behind the appearance, one finds oneself a bit of a stranger everywhere, since all too many people settle for parroting their lines. Conversely, however, one learns the skills of being at home everywhere even as a stranger. In fact most people do respond to authenticity, and of course humour is a great help, as it hinges on and highlights the disparity between reality and appearance. But of course so many are actually possessed by the narrative in which they find themselves; they become defensive when challenged, and this is how we all tend to get into trouble. We do not allow for the possibility that what we see as Dieppe might in fact be Le Tréport, which has a shallow bar!

     It is the finding of other points of reference, preferably at right angles to each other, that can finally put us right. Hence the wonderful value of learning different languages and getting to know different cultures; yet this does not detract from the primacy of the Word of God. He, She, Them (dare I suggest we call them Heshem?) infuses all situations with the same ongoing dialectic, whereby we may discover Truth. Meanwhile, it is essential to believe in this possibility, even as we struggle with all the false narratives that plague and even appear to dominate the world! Heshem after all created us, completely understands us and our needs, wants to help us and is all powerful; however, He respects our freedom, above all wanting us to enter into a real conversation!

     It was poor Dom Luke, more than anyone, who alerted me to the possibilities of a fatal collision between differing narratives,- while the one outstanding thing he had insisted on was the vital necessity of paying heed to those gleams of light which penetrate our clouds from the Beyond, he found that the boards on which he walked could not tolerate the light within him. Education has a fatal tendency to tell us No, never mind such luxuries, such dreams,- you must learn the worldly talent of telling people what they want to hear! As a journalist, briefly, I saw even more clearly that this was the way of the world. It occurs more subtly and therefore more dangerously in our market economies as in totalitarian states, but Luke insisted that the very survival of life depends on people finding the strength and courage to be true to themselves,- to attend to the reality behind our games, the light within.

     Maybe, just maybe, one might hope that some rays of light are shining through the clouds of boredom and disruption that seem to engulf our youngsters in these lockdowns. Surely it should be obvious at this stage that the system of swotting to pass exams is futile and broken, and as in so many aspects of life, a big reset is called for! When we lose contact with the Everlasting Conversation, education in the humanities turns on its head, spoiling imaginations, undermining moral awareness and conscience, in the same way that the Church can find itself losing souls instead winning them, and allopathic medicine sabotages our immune systems instead of enhancing them. So besotted with our power and obsessed with our comms are we, that we seem incapable of paying attention to the simple fact that we are in immanent danger of destroying life on Earth itself. We have to learn humility fast. 

      It is a start to pay attention to Nature. Indeed there is much to be said for heading to the general territory where I seem to be finishing up, in a secluded and beautiful spot, with some bit of intellectual work set in the context of physical survival work like growing vegetables, doing the odd bit of building, and when possible doing some sea-faring. I think we have to help people who have the inclination to do so, and Fiona and I welcome guests to participate here. There is no shortage of things to do.... If anyone is interested, contact us by email, gannetsway at gmail.com .