The Wretches That We Are.

This year I have made a conscientious effort to read Charles Dickens after I had a conversation in which I loftily described something as 'Dickensian' and realised, internally cringing, I was being completely and utterly dishonest with myself and that my only real contact with Dickens had been the musical from 1968, 'Oliver!' and 'The Muppet Christmas Carol'. However upon reading A Christmas Carol I personally found it to be a charming story of personal redemption and transformation and I feel it can still speak volumes today. Dickens knew, deep down we are all potential Scrooges, we are prone to be dismissive or in denial of our own pasts and we can often view the future as an unfolding series of problems and worries rather than a place of potential and of joy. Our relationship, our personal tether to the past and future can make us grumpy, unkind and more seriously, unhappy. Ultimately for me it is also a story about remembering who we are, remembering our own personal narratives and finding peace with ourselves so that we can utilise the past, present and future to find like Scrooge does as he walks around seeing the world anew that;

“everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk— that anything— could give him so much happiness.”

The story ends as we know with Scrooge a truly changed man, far from the cynical, gloomy and hard hearted man he once was. It is his resolve to let the spirits of the past, present and future 'strive within' him that is the catalyst for his change. It is worth reflecting on the past, present and future in the story briefly to show the real power and weightiness of Dickens's message that is really almost lost under the clichés of Christmas time in the story. The message that we can change and that life can be a joy and that we can find happiness even within our broken and rubbish self's.

To the past then. The past is constantly with us and Dickens knew this. He also knew that our relationship with the past can be unhealthy. Scrooge's relationship with the past is unhealthy. Scrooge, it seems is in denial of the past and seems to have become a dismissive man as we see at the start of the story where he initially shrugs of seeing the face of Marley's ghost appear on the door knocker. He denies the memory of how Belle his one time girlfriend left him for his love of money, she even seems to know that he will disregard and repress the memory of their parting prophetically saying;

“You may— the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will— have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke.”

Memories can pop up or suddenly flood our minds when we see an image, get a whiff of an old familiar smell or hear a sound or a song. They can be heavy and quite over powering. Memories can make us anxious, laugh, make us cringe or blush however it is our acknowledgement of our past that is ultimately important for Dickens, the good and the bad of the past have equal value, no matter how they make us feel. Dickens completely understood the power of being honest with ourselves about our own pasts and more importantly the power of our memories and of not being dismissive of our emotions. Often I think perhaps we all go through life only experiencing the memories and recollections that 'come to us' that bubble up from the depths and pop in our minds however the past can be a potent and powerful tool in informing our behaviour and how we feel and how happy we are. We should perhaps not just let our memories just simply appear within us. We react to our memories and Dickens is suggesting that we should in fact nurture our reaction to our memories, our past and develop a stance where the bad and painful memories can in fact roar and cheer us on in life. We can strive to become humble and compassionate in the light of our failings and our grave mistakes. We can resolve to love more in the light of our past loneliness, no matter how bitter. The past and it's pains can undoubtedly give us drive and can spur us on and inspire us. The French have a brilliant little phrase, 'l'espirit de l'escalier' which as far as I know means 'stairway wit.' It relates to the sensation of thinking of a come back after an argument when it is all too late. It is that sense of looking back and wishing we had done something else that can provide us with a burning zeal for the present moment. That is the power of the past Dickens wrote of. Our memories, the past, can inform us daily so that the 'shadows of the things that have been' our failings, our pain, the good times and the heaven sent moments of our life can make us strive to be better people each day. Scrooge upon being brought face to face with the past again was, over powered and fell to his knees. In the words of the philosopher Seneca who wrote quite rightly in 'On the Shortness of Life,' those who forget the past, neglect the future.”

In the story the Ghost of Christmas Present come to Scrooge next, however I am going to the future, or the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Scrooge is shown by the spirit a harrowing image of the future in which Tiny Tim is dead and he see's a conversation of some of his business associates about who is going to attend his funeral in which one of them reflects “upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it.” Finally, he comes to see his own grave coming face to face with his mortality and the finite nature of his life. The future for Dickens can ultimately provide us with a healthy regard for that great leveler of all things-Death. It is not our death in itself that should inform us but a striving to over come death in how we will be remembered. Dickens's message isn't a stale, morbid depressing one that we are all going to die one day, his message is we have one life to live and need to make the most of it, it is inherently both optimistic and realistic. To quote Seneca again who Dickens would have nodded in agreement with, we “have all the fears of mortals and all the desires of immortals.”

And finally to the present. The here and now. The Ghost of Christmas Present then as we know also visits Scrooge. He visits Bob Cratchit's house and see's the poverty of his employee Bob Cratchit and his son Tiny Tim who is ill, however they cannot afford treatment for him on the meager wages paid by Scrooge. He also see's his nephews family's talking negatively about him. Scrooge is shown the dire nature of his current life and his negative affect on those in his life. Dickens is showing us how the past and the future can inform in changing for the better our present situations and transforming positively our very character. The past and the future can provide us with an unbending and unyielding will to engage positively and joyfully with the here and now. We should live with unbridled joy and happiness at the prospect and potential in this very moment for goodness, the wretches that we are.

Dickens can serve to give us a resolve in the here and now to be cheery, to be wholly joyful, to enjoy others and to make the most of every moment. Dickens is showing how powerful a healthy relationship with the past can be, how it can inform us, whisper to us in this moment, inspire and and drive us on that strive to be better people. The future and it's prospect can also be a source of constant joy and happiness to us if we regard is as a jewel like opportunity to live fully and be who we are, and be good and ultimately be brilliant to each other. The prospect of death is something to be recognised and something the can serve to spur us on, something that can be over come by our life and how we lived it. Coming up to 2013 perhaps the best new years resolution then may be  perhaps old Ebenezer Scrooge's resolve; “I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.”

Football and the Dim, Dark Nooks and Crannies of the Mind

It was the existentialist philosopher Albert Camus who famously said, “All that I know surely about morality and the obligations of man, I owe to football.” Now, I haven’t the faintest idea what he meant by that, however the quote does show how it has been noticed that football has inherent, meaningful qualities from which we can learn about ourselves. In short then, it is been noticed football is about more than just efficacy. It is about acts of beauty, glory, skill and brilliance. Football therefore can point to something inherently brilliant about being an evolved, blinking, breathing, conscious creature. I think one of the ways in which football may do this perhaps, is in terms of psychology. Football, and I believe this to be beyond debate has produced some breathtaking moments of wonderful, inexplicable spontaneity. Now, where do those outrageous moments, those split second decisions come from? From what dim, dark nooks and crannies of the mind do these sparks of excellence spring forth?

Sports psychologists talk about the concept of being in the ‘zone' and having 'flow.' Flow is a pleasing experiential state that occurs during full capacity engagement in which an individual is performing at a level that is matched with the demands of the task. I think we can all experience flow even doing the most mundane and profane things, such as making ourselves a cup of tea or making the bed for example. It is commonplace in itself however it is when flow heightens to a state of being in "the zone" that I think things get interesting. The zone as Ed Smith, a retired professional cricketer perfectly put in his exceptional piece The Mystery of Sporting Form, is;

“an isolated experience of complete absorption, a period of time when there are no extraneous, irrelevant thoughts...What does it feel like, being in the zone? You do no more or no less than what you have to. There are few inessential movements, little psychological or physiological waste. Every movement has a purpose, a reason behind it.”

When a player is in the zone, perhaps then this is where the jaw dropping stuff starts happening. When the mind is clear of extraneous thoughts, it is fully focused, concentrated, the brilliant stuff has room to spring forth, the magic happens. The x wing lifts out of the swamp and Rooney scores an over head kick against Manchester City. Being in the zone is about 'just doing it' like the Nike slogan.To hammer home this point,  about 'just doing it' letting the mind do it's thing, the Guardian Secret Footballer wrote;

“You see, if you are a top footballer, your subconscious mind knows more about football then you ever will. It is only when our critical mind – the one we use for “thinking”, not just “doing” – gets involved that we get compromised. If we can just fall back on knowing that we know how to do something, and not having to consciously calculate how to do it, we stand more chance of performance. This is perfectly illustrated by the fact a player can make a pinpoint pass while running at speed, off balance, over 50 yards but when it comes to the penalty spot, the bit about turning amateur is in the fact that we start to “over think”. We become technical and mindful of the process.”

It seems then that the subconscious mind has more to do with what we do than what we think.  

In his piece, The Question: Do Footballers Know What they're Doing? Jonathan Wilson quotes from a Wayne Rooney interview;

"When a cross comes into a box," Rooney said, "there's so many things that go through your mind in a split second, like five or six different things you can do with the ball. You're asking yourself six questions in a split second. Maybe you've got time to bring it down on the chest and shoot, or you have to head it first-time. If the defender is there, you've obviously got to try and hit it first-time.”

We (Wilson) will come back to Rooney.

Now I know absolutely nothing of psychology, and I do not know enough to go into this in any detail whatsoever however from my layman's reading it seems evidence suggests that our subconscious mind does most of the work and that our minds may actually work to present to our conscious minds the illusion of free will, to trick us into being convinced of our agency. To use my poor handle of language, it seems brain activity occurs before action and the self conscious awareness of doing the action. The brain seems to act before we get the sensation of deciding to act. Sam Harris someone who would regard themselves both a philosopher and neuro-scientist blogged that;

"A persons conscious thoughts, intentions, and efforts at every moment are preceded by causes of which he is unaware." 

And to continue with the Wayne Rooney point here Wilson then goes on to write;

"If that is the case, then those six questions in a split-second" Rooney experiences have been answered before he has even asked them...and, if that is true, then it turns out...that (Alan) Shearer was right; that moments of sporting excellence are inexplicable."

It is the mystery of our minds in all this that really interests me. Not too long ago I watched BBC Horizon episode entitled Out of Control? In it scientists were told to represent on a piece of paper how much the conscious mind has to do with what we do. The small scribbles drawn to represent the amount our conscious mind had to do with what we do suggest our subconscious minds have a much larger role to play than previously thought. I think it may be the way that being in the zone shushes our conscious mind and clears its clunky processes from us that leads to moments of inexplicable brilliance (though this is of course not to discount individual genius) where our big mind, our subconscious mind, has more opportunity to shine through. Some goals are just so marvelous and awe provoking, I guess it is the inexplicable nature of them that makes them so magical to us.

Mass Produced Buddha Statues

Bangkok spreads out before you as you approach it from the airport by taxi, inching along the horizon the closer you get. It is a vast cityscape, a sprawling, awe provoking metropolis. A forest of gargantuan structures take up your whole field of vision. Over 1000 sky scrapers lurch up towards the hazy, ash-grey polluted sky. It feels dramatic, it looks powerful. Your are in the East, entering the mighty city of Bangkok. It is huge, Bangkok is a mega city, the term I believe generally used for a city who's population is roughly over ten million people. Now, in order to recall the rest of my personal experience of Bangkok clearly, a minuscule history will need to be brought to mind in the first instance.

Bangkok the capital city of Thailand, began life as a market town originally settled under the Kingdom of Ayutthaya on the Chao Phraya river which runs through the city today. The 'Kingdom' was essentially a bunch of principalities under the King of Ayutthaya. In the 1700's the Kingdom was invaded and ransacked by a Burmese invasion. Much of their art, temples and literature was tragically lost. The Burmese withdrew within the same year to concentrate on their war with the Chinese. Chaos reigned in the confusion after and a General Phraya Tak (who became king Taskin) fought the remaining Burmese and established the capital of Thonburi. General Chao Phraya Chakri who later became King Rama established the capital of Rattanosokin across the river from Thonburi. So where Bangkok is today was the site of two capital cities. King Rama mounted a coup against Taskin and became King in 1782. Today the ruins of the old city of Ayutthaya are preserved as a UNESCO world heritage site and thus King Rama became the founder of the modern Bangkok we know today. In the 1800's Bangkok heavily industrialised. There was a huge population boom in the 60's then came the Asian Investment boom in the 80's as multi-national corporations put there head quarters in Bangkok. Today Thailand is known as one of the Asian 'tiger cub' economies and as we know is heavily export driven.

Now, please forgive my nose-wrinkingly crude history but I feel it is necessary to be glanced at to really get across how how rapidly the city has undergone massive socio-economic change. The history shows how precious what is left of the old Ayutthaya Kingdom is and how it sits jewel like among the rushed concrete of modernity. To my mind this seems summed in the image of the infamous head of a Buddha statue in the old Ayutthaya city that has had the roots of a bodhi tree grow and wrap around it. In the same way the roots of modernity have enveloped the old city and the old temples. The future, the new, is squashed right up to the old.

The new Bangkok of today is a brave new world, far removed from it's past. All the major consumer culture symbols are present in the city today. You are never far from the yellow glow of the golden arches of McDonald's and the homogeneity, the predictability, the repeated nature, of western consumer culture. Conspicuous consumption, the buying of consumer goods to display social status is prevalent. The Siam Paragon shopping mall in Bangkok is one of the largest in Asia, with over 270 shops and ten floors it is of dizzying proportions. As a man who can feel overwhelmed in Tesco's when it's busy on a Saturday I was glad not to have gone, but noting it's presence in the city displays the cultural and historic shift that has taken place. It seems apt at this point to quote Zygmund Bauman when he wrote about the 2011 English Riots, “the fullness of consumer enjoyment means fullness of life. I shop, therefore I am. To shop or not to shop, this is the question.” And remember, in the world of today, "if you don't have an I-phone, well, you don't have an I-phone." I think that the enormity of the mall sums up the disparity of the Bankgkok of the past and the Bangkok of today. A pervasive consumerism is part of the new Bangkok, a Bangkok of hyper modernisation and consumption.

Of the old then, and the Ayutthaya past, the Temple of the Golden Buddha was to my mind the most impressive. At some point, before the Burmese invasion the statue was covered in plaster to prevent it being stolen. It wasn't until 1955 that by accident the plaster was chipped by and the secret golden statue inside was re-discovered. It is the worlds largest golden statue. When you see it you can imagine some villain out of a Indiana Jones film scheming to steal it. It sits knowingly in the temple, in the lotus position, in it's true form, utterly resplendent. Gold on that scale does not look tacky, it has a curious, glorious warmth to it. It conveys the sense that there is something more to us, something as brilliant as the glint of the light of the golden form. The temple walls are adorned in a beautiful and ornate hand painted pattern. To reflect on the patience and presence of mind it must have taken to paint is truly humbling. You get the sense stood in the temple with your bare feet flat on the mindfully cleaned floor, watching the statue glint under the dome of the meticulously painted walls that the statue was perhaps made by men with higher minds. 

As is normal with most cities the 'palace next to the slum' scenario occurs in Bangkok. The poor sit at the rich man's gates. You can see lame dogs limp among the flashing lights of the strip clubs and dirty children sleep on the street. Drunks lay asleep hunched over on the steps to shops. Graffiti, a global phenomenon is present on some bare walls. Bangkok is a city of exoticism, it is sin city. Your are constantly invited by men with a long list of sinful acts to go see a 'ping pong' show. He will do this by accompanying his proposition with an amusing 'pop-pop' noise. Men constantly offer porn dvd's in the street, stalls sell rows of sex paraphernalia. There are strip club all over the place and of course there are the lady boys.

To walk around Bangkok is to experience sensory overload. There is the noise, the din of the traffic, the constant beep of cars, the whistle of the traffic controllers and the shrill noise of the smaller engines of the tuk-tuks. The crash of the sky train meandering like a snake maybe 25 foot above you. The hum of people talking everywhere on phones, market men loudly advertising their products (it seems if they is a space on the pavement not constantly occupied by pedestrians someone will set up a stall there), large adverts on t.v screens can be heard and seen, looking ghostly above the urban landscape. Then there is the smell, food seems to get cooked in every crevice and cranny available and wafts tantalisingly into the streets. You feel the heat. It's not just hot it's the mugginess, the closeness of the heat is draining, the city essentially acts as a microwave. Then there is the the visual overload. The people of Bangkok live cheek by jowl. They hang from the rafters. Its an anthill. People! People are everywhere. People brushing past you, people passed out and homeless sat next to the pavement. Groups of people huddled around fuzzy t.v's down alley ways. People cooking, eating selling, buying. It's thrilling to just walk down the street and the city feels alive.

There was a night market near our hotel and I spent a good evening strolling through it. Now, I do not know whether this can be verified as a quantifiable, statistical truth however I have a deep inking that there may indeed be more fake watches in Bangkok than people. The shelves were full of knock of clothes, 'adides' t-shirts and the like. You can buy fake headphones, some unbelievably well faked trainers, fake hair dryers, everything and anything for anyone. For those with a warped and evil propensity towards violence knuckle dusters, knives, throwing knives, daggers, flick knives, tazer's, swords and replica air guns are all readily available to the discerning customer. Other stalls sell jewellery, pictures, and statues and mugs etc. From the stalls row upon row of mass produced Buddha's stare blankly at you from the stall after stall.

Earlier I referred to Bangkok as a brave new world, the title of Aldous Huxley's famous dystopian novel. The title, 'Brave New World' comes from a moment in the novel when the main protagonist Bernard Marx repeats ironically to himself the Shakespeare line “O brave new world, That has such people in it.” The line is taken from Shakespeare's the Tempest and is a line by a character called Miranda who after living a quiet and subdued life on an island sees civilisation for the first time and exclaims in wonder "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!" The line in the Tempest is also ironic as all she can see are some drunken sailors, however it is the wonderment and amazement that the line is exclaimed in that I think best optimistically sums up my very short experience of Bangkok. "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!"  

The Mystery of Our Dreams

‘Mare’ is an old English term that refers to a demon or evil spirit that comes in the night and sits on their sleeping victim’s chests pinning them down. The ‘mare’ was often similar to the mythical creature Incubus or his female counter part Succubus who according to mythology would lie on or sit on innocent and helpless sleepers. Today when we have troubled or horror filled dreams we refer to having nightmares...

Upon hearing the front door click shut as my partner left early for work I turned over in bed back into the comfort and warmth of the duvet. I was aware that I had to be in work an hour early and was anxious to be in on time however I still had half an hour or so left in bed. My alarm was set and I gladly acquiesced into sleep again, having only really been half awake upon her leaving. What happened next I can only try and explain with words as best as I can.

After falling to sleep again at some point I became aware that I was awake again, normal enough I hear you say! I felt my body in bed and was conscious of the fact that I had to get out of bed shortly. I could feel the duvet laying over me up to my shoulder and the pillow under my left cheek. I was warm and cosy and having the usual stream of consciousness you might have on a weekday morning when you are in bed and are aware you have to be up for work soon, "I’d literally, quite literally, give my right hand for an extra hour in bed /will anyone really notice if I don’t iron my shirt?” etc.

I then attempted to move, just a little contented ‘mmm my bed is lovely and warm shuffle and to my terror realised that I couldn’t. ‘Terror’ just doesn’t quite encapsulate the pounding, maddening fear that I instantly felt. My heart began to loudly and firmly pump in my chest as I frantically strained to move. The sensation of dread only deepened as I heaved to open my eyes to no avail. I couldn’t move a muscle, I couldn’t even scream. I levered with all my will but just could not move. I could feel my body but it was as if my connection with it had been severed, I was totally paralysed, entombed in my own body. I do not know how long this went on for. It felt like a long time, realistically, probably 60 seconds at most.

The morbid horror I felt then increased to an unbearable intensity when I clearly began to hear slow, creepy steps on the laminate wooden floor with me in the bedroom coming towards me. The steps were not those of a healed shoe they did not ‘click’ on the floor I can only say I heard the movement of someone and that the feeling of a presence in the room was so tangible, so obvious and so real. I inwardly trembled with the might of trying to budge my body as I heard the steps get closer rounding the bed towards me. The feeling of being completely and utterly vulnerable was sickening and I was by now stupefied with pure fright. I then had the sensation of the duvet being gently pulled off my shoulder. I can recall the gruesome helplessness I felt as the soft material gently ran over my skin. The terror seemed to then come to a black crescendo.

I managed to open my eyes. I did not come forth from this experience as you would suspect, like a diver who’s been down a little too long finally breaching the surface of the water and gasping for air, flailing my arms around in confusion. I simply opened my eyes and the terror all instantly vanished. I lay in bed silently and felt a great sense of relief wash over me. I was clearly the only person in the flat. I could blink and move and was delighted to do so and not before too long, I was asleep again.

Upon waking again for work the experience seemed instantly ridiculous. Surely I’d just had the Mother of all Nightmares. I began to rationalise it like Ebenezer Scrooge in a Christmas Carol when he questions his senses upon seeing Jacob Marley’s ghost, “you may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!" On my way to work I sceptically googled ‘awake but cannot move.’ I then read of the experiences people have under what is known as 'Sleep Paralysis.' I read of people experiencing audible hallucinations, the strong sense of a presence in a room and also the feeling of having someone or something sitting on their chest which I did not have. Interestingly it seems most cultures globally have a name for this phenomenon and most even a common folklore attributing it to some evil spirit or demon.  For example the southern United States talk of the ‘old hag’ who sits on victims, the Japanese have ‘Kanashibari’, in Turkey they apparently refer to ‘Karabasan’. It seems often these experiences are attributed by some to be acts of torment by demons or evil spirits which is not in the least surprising.

I now know that was I experienced appears to be well documented and I feel that what I experienced was not the ‘spirit world’ or the ‘other side’ or the presence of a demon or an evil spirit of some sort. Rationally I feel that cannot be the case. However I cannot stress enough the way the experience had a feeling of the spiritual. By feeling ‘spiritual’ I mean that it felt connected to a reality not of the corporeal world we live in, but a reality of the spirit or the Soul. The presence had felt and this is the only word that will really do; celestial. I had experienced everything through a heightened sense of reality (if you tap your knuckles on the nearest thing to you, that’s how clear and crisp I heard the foot step’s) but yet it had all felt poignantly ethereal. I presume it must have felt ‘spiritual’ because of the heightened sense of not feeling at one with my body at the time. It was a peculiar, frightening and mysterious experience that actually appears to be common place and very worldly. It was a concrete incorporeal experience that reminded me how mysterious consciousness is, how much more of the story of being human there is yet to unravel.

Henry Fuseli-The Nightmare (1781)

The Blog Title

The title of this blog is taken from Matthew Arnold’s poem entitled ‘Self-Dependence.’

Self-Dependence

Weary of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send:
``Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

``Ah, once more,'' I cried, ``ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!''

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer:
``Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.

``Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

``And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

``Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.''

O air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear:
``Resolve to be thyself; and know that he
Who finds himself loses his misery!''

By Matthew Arnold

Although the title of my blog leans heavily on the side of pretention, I feel that ultimately it serves a purpose and will do to facilitate my enjoyment of writing. I hope you enjoy reading.