To write is to imagine, and to imagine is to become human. The essence of being human is dissatisfaction. When I begin writing I have no ideas in my head at all, but a great dissatisfaction, a great restlessness, in my heart. I want to be more than I am. I want to experience more deeply. I want to be more alive, to be more in touch with what I am, what I’m on Earth for. Language is the voice that leads me to that other place where I am more in touch, more satisfied. Or perhaps I should say more fulfilled, because satisfaction hardly ever sleeps in the same tent as I do.
This afternoon I went for a walk across the village and down to the railway path that runs along the route of the long-dismantled Stafford to Newport line. It was icy, and the short day had almost come to its close as I started out on the path. The heatless sun was tangled in bare treetops, and crows haunted the bedraggled precincts of the woods, uttering their skeletal cries of admonishment and exile. I walked among the dying rays for an hour or so, trying to let go of all sense of urgency and indebtedness, all ideas of being someone and going somewhere. I didn’t manage it. As the light failed, I found myself looking anxiously at my watch and entertaining images of a hot meal and firelight and company. Contingent needs invariably win the day.
Nevertheless I did touch something essential on that walk, something that tasted of mystery, of the great mystery that we’re all part of, whether it manifests directly in our lives or not. It was to do with the connectedness and complexity of everything. As we’re discovering now in the light of climate change, the Earth is a hugely connected system, so much so that if any element of it is altered that change will be reflected in the whole sooner or later. And of course we are a part of that whole.There is no way we can be unaffected by what we’ve done to the earth and its lifeforms. We may put off the day of judgement, or attempt to mitigate its effects on us by some clever fix, (such as putting vast clouds of aluminium oxide into the atmosphere: not so clever actually) but the day will come.
The other aspect of that mystery is the complexity of the universe. Richard Feynman once said there is more happening in a single cubic centimeter of space in one second than the fastest supercomputer could process in a thousand years. Another example springs to mind: human DNA and the amazing system of gene expression that results in a complete human being– all stemming from the combination of four letters in the original code. So the question occurs: why the need for such complexity? To what end is it? Well obviously one end is consciousness. The physical environment supports the body and the body supports consciousness. But we have far more consciousness than is necessary for physical survival. Evolution seems to have a purpose in mind (though one has to be brave to suggest it in these times) which requires huge quantities of non task-specific self-consciousness; if there is no original creator to set that ultimate goal, why do we have such immense resources of energy directed at a)survival and reproduction, b)social organisation, and c)self-reflection? What end could possibly justify the dedication of such colossal resources? Surely only one which transcends present human needs, and which regards present humanity as a transitional state, (even a disposable state), the end of which cannot be forseen regardless of computing power (because it would require a radically new mind-set, or kind of consciousness.)
And then the sun set behind the trees in a welter of pomegranate and indigo and the temperature dived and I turned for home with a decidedly food-and-warmth orientated mind-set.
I’m still turning over in my mind my next writing project. I can indulge this pastime for months on end, but this season within a season seems a good time to explore such ideas, when the earth’s energy is infolded upon itself, when one is released from the relentless demands of worldly schedules and external activity is reduced to an absolute minimum. On the one hand I’m still fascinated by the characters who have emerged in the course of my last project, (The Blue Walls of Heaven) and I feel there is still much to be explored in unpacking the possibilities inherent in that situation. On the other, there’s a part of me that wants to begin something totally new, that doesn’t reference or develop any of those ideas. I’d like to have the courage to start with a character who is obsessed by one big idea and who pursues that idea through every kind of obstacle and temptation. (yes, I’m sure it has been done). That said however, this desire of mine comes from a relatively superficial part of my mind (because it can be expressed as a simple narrative concept), so maybe I should not afford it too much weight. In my experience the real gold emerges painfully slowly through months of blind effort, despair, doubt and wrong directions, and never can be reduced to a ‘treatment’ style of definition. You just have to follow the muse whenever she manifests and in whatever form she manifests and in whatever language she happens to speak on that occasion. And sometimes where you end up is on a different planet altogether from your consciously formulated intentions. That’s the risk implicit in creativity. But the risks in staying on the safe side of the street are far greater. Believe me: I’ve been there.
Stephen Parr /Ananda 31 December 2009
