Like trying to speak

Crack a shell into many pieces and toss the salt stained flesh to the sea light

The debris gathers on the sand waiting for high tide to tidy the violence up

Swirling patterns tornado the mind’s eye

I look for fissures on the film of the calcified armour

to apply pressure with my crooked fingers and rip them apart.

All this because I wanted to open with the word crack

then these words followed,

came out of the chaos of my void like brain

to rest on the white page as though it were deliberate.

A long drawn out discordant organ sound purges the atmosphere of nonsense

a desperate antenna searches for something to settle on.

Many moths rest on the floor

How long does anything last.

Keep going

Insist on something

For something is everything that struggles to exist

To live in the suffocating smog of the city

The squeeze and the speed and the concrete horizons

Indifference permeates everything and takes the yells from my mouth

We are sleepwalking

We are sleepwalking and talking about the football again

The world won’t end it will just get much worse

Harder, crueller, scarier unless more people start creating and converging

And leading

And boy they had better be better than me

Only that isn’t it, is it

There are no heroes

We just have each other

So let’s not settle for gibberish or time wasting

Let us chant the truth

Temperatures are rising

Species are dying

Ice caps are melting

Lets not stay with classroom science

For this is happening too fast and it is so much more than I am bothering to capture

I’m too panicked to do a good job

Imagining a future looking for food

Fighting for food

Old wounds enraged

Warmongering and lies reign

Picking out make do shelters from the debris of our homes

Picking out dead bodies

Having to move house to escape the water

and join the throng of marching homeless

Through the heat and embers of our dreams

 

And I guess this is to my daughter now she has arrived

And cracked the shell of my heart open

Discarding me on the beach of meaning

Longing to make everything right for her

So she can breathe the air and kiss the light

Not hide from it

 

Yes, my daughter you were born just as the world leaders parted ways

And the commentary intensified

Some leaders returned to oil the wheels of a suicidal kind of progress

Other leaders went back to shed tears and shake with rage

Along with the people of their betrayed countries.

Onslaught after onslaught, a terrible kind of waiting

You waited for the meetings to end and my trust in power to receive its death blow

Tracing it back that happened about the same time Bezos took the podium

And I saw he spoke an alien’s language

You waited for it to all finish and the leaders to fly home

As if you knew our hope was not to be found in what they would vomit out

But somehow instead by us coming together and entering the flow

Those endless words left me numb

The most beautiful and truthful were ignored

So you emerging sleek and wailing was a timely lesson in wonder

And the most profound challenge

Can I hold your gaze?

I am not the person to write about the shortcoming of another climate conference

All I know is that in the first month of your life

The weather is unseasonably warm  

In some places dangerously so

Enough to stop food growing and kill

And Thwaite’s glacier is cracking open  

Is all this too abstract to galvanise anything other than feverish writing?

 

And listen, who is this to? I said its to my daughter yet I want people to read this and engage now

Before she even learns to read. Please.

And when should I show her this kind of outpouring anyway

I am supposed to protect her not burden her

I have to say it

I am no oracle

But our civilisation might not outlast my daughter

And this spells untold trouble, great loss and pain.

Still we subside the fossil fuel industry

Look after powerful companies like they are babies

Whilst in the first month of her life an actual baby cries

And I pace the night-time corridor, patting her back

And crying too.

 

So I look again for fissures

For the shapes that tessellate

I am going to insist

That we already have the solutions

You will find them as you look

And shout for the chance to try them out

We don’t have the silent billionaires on side

Nor the political will to tame them

So let us spread the word

You know, take on the press and cause good trouble

The work of reimagining has been happening for decades

The work is to bring more into the fold

Out of the nourishing wombs of darkness

Let us birth more creativity, togetherness and resolve

Out of nonsense and obscurity may we get to what really matters

How to start a fire

If there is no heat in your heart

and each breath is brittle

If passion has dwindled

and all causes feel lost

Ask yourself

what can I break on the altar of my life?

For there in the gap left behind

waits the first spark to a larger fire

Education for people and the planet

Following another insufficient COP there is a growing vacuum between our day to day lives and what is required to mitigate the worst effects of climate breakdown. Although COP26 was tepid, the awareness and concern for this climate emergency we all face is growing. I believe students and teachers are hungry for a school system that addresses head on the challenges of the present, indeed the reality of what we are faced with renders much of what we do in the business as usual manner meaningless. After all, as the Friday’s for Future placards read, ‘What am I studying for?’ because there is ‘No future on a dead planet’. A wellbeing curriculum that puts people and planet at the focus is the only meaningful route education can take. I am not close to an expert in education, or in anything really. A true expert is recognised by their intimate knowledge of a subject, the way they pirouette with their experience, intuition and insights aligned with the facts as they emerge. I am not that person. Though I could not resist sitting down to write this piece. Education at its best invites everyone to the table and engages with lived experience.  Ideas alongside hard won pieces of information, have to be distilled through a prism of values that asks what do we collectively want as people? What is the good that we want to corporately praise?

Education as if people and the planet matter, has been a preoccupation of mine since my degree in Outdoor Studies and Experiential Education. From then on in I told people my work was to do with transformation and real learning. The reality is I have spent a decade sifting through the sand at the edges of an education fortress whose foundations have eroded. At sea, me and the system I speak of. I wanted to graft myself to something that was going to address the challenges of our age. So much so that I still have not trained to be a teacher and am currently working as a Learning Support Assistant in a mainstream secondary school whilst I look for signs of land. What challenges am I referring to? Those now familiar phrases that spell very real trouble such as ‘climate emergency’ and ‘ecological collapse’ along with growing societal division, the presence of racial inequality and a desire for social justice that currently outstrips us. Anyone in the pub will tell you that you go to school so you can get a job. The same person might also tell you that school was a drag but they liked the social aspect (or found it excruciating). I believe education is far more than an induction process into the world of work. It is a participatory journey towards greater wholeness. Where we can slowly specialise and work out how to be a blessing to others, first by being introduced to the ways we are blessed.

The story goes that our education system has a history of seeing the young people in its charge as resources, units in a capitalist project of immense hubris, on an endless mission towards perpetual unrestrained growth. As the factories closed and job market changed, schools have been engaged in a project to pacify and hypnotise the majority whilst syphoning off an elite to captain the ship as it sails diligently for the iceberg (The greedy minority wager by the time the iceberg melts they will be sipping cocktails on another planet). I am not cynical enough to buy that story whole-sale, but only because I know that inside our school’s individuals are making daily choices to champion curiosity, creativity, rigour, questioning and collaboration. Our education system is not one thing but an unwieldly network of competing values staffed by overworked, well qualified, mostly passionate people who want the best for people and planet. That is my intuition; schools are not a conglomerate of evil and brainwashing, they want to change in response to our times, but they are under resourced, scared and not given a mandate to make bold changes. These people that make up the institutions are in the cross fire as politicians, corporations and activists posture over what education is for. It is a tug of war fight that pulls the young people from apathy through a desert devoid of inspiration into anxiety and disillusionment.

I want to explore how we can own the best in education, for from a flawed system good ideas have been birthed and are still gasping for air amongst the detritus of confused values, antiquated methods and data worship. Ideas that find their footing in primary school don’t get a fair run out into secondary. For example, cross curricular approaches to learning work well, they prize research skills, nuanced thinking, discussion, collaboration and recording work innovatively. But perhaps this is just tinkering around the edges. Do we need to be thinking more fundamentally about how we organise our schools in relation to age, class size and timings of the school day, to hold that children will not all follow a linear path? Do we need to create a society that affords families more time over work, time that might be used to team up in different configurations at different points in their child’s life, patterns that allow for more exploration and serendipity? Ultimately to make journeys, physical and internal, to find an awareness, love and respect for themselves, others and the environment. That last point was influenced by the views of Colin Mortlock in his book Adventure Alternative (Colin founded the degree course I took and mentioned above). Schools do have an important role in offering teenagers that rubric of boundaries to react to, to stretch against, but this is an art form not a blueprint and the blunt instrument of conformity does a disservice to the life force inside the young people. Instead schools can become sites where elders, true experts and mentors are put in the path of the next generation, where those groups sharpen one another for a future that needs both vitality and wisdom, along with a sound scientific understanding of the world we live in.

At its most benign the function of a school has been to equip the future workforce with the necessary skills to lend their backs to the wheels of progress. As the circumstances change so too will the jobs, that much is obvious. Only my feeling is that those defining the word progress have not had the spiritual maturity to understand what it might mean or possess a true vision for what it could look like. Purely equating progress with economic growth does not follow in the context of a finite planet of natural resources approaching a tipping point in its life support systems. True progress asks the nuanced questions around how we create wellbeing for the planet, for the people and life on it. That some people are asking these question gives me cause to hope. In my opinion to explore the ‘how’ of wellbeing for planet and people has the makings of an excellent lengthy school project, it should be the focus. Indeed, a ‘Wellbeing Curriculum’ could become mainstream, not one off sessions on diet and mindfulness but something deeper that equips students to critique the outdated economic status quo and learn about innovative solutions to subjects such as organising and politics to trade and food systems. Of course this would include mental and physical wellbeing on the individual level but it should strive to place that into a political, environmental, economic and social context too. This kind of education values the substance of a person, their character, social and emotional wherewithal or what are sometimes called ‘soft skills’ over that which can be simplified to a number on a spreadsheet.

Each day at work I enter the four walls of a classroom, it is a lethargic bubble burst only by my own cognitive dissonance. Outside the world is coming to the boil, scarcity and chaos loom, inside we wade through the curriculum. The children are kept in incubators where they are not given the sustenance they will need to confront the challenges they will face together. They know it too. Broadly speaking we lose the ‘cleverest’ to the status quo that is self-serving and the ones whose needs are not met, we do not manage to induct them into their life spark and gifting. If they were resources, we couldn’t afford to waste them. Yet they are so much more, they are the continual emergence of life making sense of itself and they are woven into a united whole.

Somehow together topple them.

 

This is not to the wretched billionaire

I am done with my hope and naïve pleas

Earth is more than disposable funfair

Bank balance propped up by backs and trees

 

Their fragile ego is swollen like the sea

Minds that are altered poison hearts now shrunk

Take the power back before we are sunk

 

I thought about writing this to the very richest in the world. Some sort of desperate plea. I have carried a vague hope in their redemption though now more than ever I have pervasive feeling that these people, the billionaires (yes billions) cannot think or feel like we do anymore. Yes, they are still human. Once babies transmitting peace, smudges of wonder oozing innocence. But those days are gone, all those basic qualities squashed out of them by the insatiable game of getting. They are dizzy ego’s marching to the fanfare of their own success. They can’t hear the breeze or sway of the trees. They can’t hear the anger or wails of distress. Shout at them for syphoning off the worlds riches and for treating the most vulnerable, the most innocent, as expendable. Shout at them for these things and more but they will not be able to hear amongst the throng of their own reassuring stories. If they do hear you, catch a whisper, then they will not understand, their minds have been caught by far off ideas of outer space and immortality. Most of all though, of course, their minds have been captured by fear and power in horrific embrace. You can plead with them about the value of it all but I just don’t think they feel it most of the time, when they do it is in rarefied special moments that confirm their suspicions that they might be gods. Instead of those regular moments of everyday love and reliance. What do they value? I cannot say, what will outlast the fires and floods? A concrete bunker? I am sick of holding space for these maniacs, holding a candle hoping for their transformation. No change cannot rest on their action nor be entrusted to them. I am sick of waiting for them to change role and play the saviours. They do not have the substance or spiritual maturity. They would not be able to listen. They could not hold a gaze. Or pause at a sunset let alone a single leaf or bead of water. Their capacity for wonder has been extinguished by the scale of the universe and their bank balances, always too small to remedy their insignificance. Do they love anything? What will they take with them when they die except the knowledge they sunk the world… or burnt it … or both.

At the very least tax them, redress the balance somehow. Disobey, do not particpate, somehow together topple them.

Assemblage

 

He has a heart of gold

Money has ruined him

He doesn’t know who to blame

Buckets of shame

 

The secrets of construction

Rush a broken heart

Place your hand in mine

Let me lead you to the temple of desire

Built to be destroyed

Then looted

Then replicated

Forever more

 

Block thoughts

Cubes of dissonance

He wants to be better

He wants to be fine as he is

The bricks and mortar of sound body and mind

Will never last

 

Your private bomb sanctuary

Is bright red

 

Toxic fury

Unwieldly brain

A fist of neurones and receptors

Tighten

Uneven breath

Unkind words

 

Dust of a nation

Collapse and call us on

Primordial peace

The womb of a dove

Diminished by the dead

 

Still, going nowhere

Built not to last nor rot

Just be

Break bronze idols

Replace with robots

It does this

Violin strings flutter round the still centre of a single moment

The Irish flute patterns the air and my soul

Surges in the moonlight of deeper sound

I am thermal coasting on the spread shawl of music

What I long for unfolds before me and rushes ahead

The arrival turns to nostalgia

Then home

Then back again

In a tumbling spiral of desire

and complete presence

A response to 'Agua Viva' by Clarice Lispector

Clarice Lispector an angel human you have me mute and shivering hot. Longing to write dance in a one two step of consciousness. I, as in soul me, stutters and fizzes into life. Yearning replaced with the instance. A balm remedy with the excitement of yes!

Sweat pours down me as you talk about the bodily knowledge of word sounds and the endless question of why being replaced by the art of doing, of churning and leaping and turning inside out on the page. Keep going deeper into the pace and intention of writing. Writing is claiming something from time and asking for nothing. There is a partnership at work I don’t know anything and on the walk here a stream of bile filled my mind that is just as much me. I am replacing honesty with better honesty. The truth of things is painful and yet I have to turn to it, lean in and find space for my spirit. To write with a greater now that has within it blood and life as Clarice says the ‘plasma’. I haven’t fed from the placenta but here is a sound that is feeding me, her thoughts on the page. The sound of her words in my skull. Am I trying to emulate a genius, something more, for she unshackles me and I am inspired. Once again I believe.

Blood liver. Life giver. Host or roses and other such things. Round it off, round it off. Rounded instinct pivoted by forces unknown. And full stops come up against a wall. Hear the water flush the dust.

The air is timid but the opposite _ bold. Both around me as enough, a throbbing embrace.

Vibrating potential. Field of belonging and expectancy. State of expectance on the air that is also tepid and slow yet pulsing. Oh and the birds.

Incessant contours of sound stab darts siren in the heat undulating throbs of a drill brief exchanges of words on the street, like the flutter of wings, rustle quiet rustle amongst engine surges and clatter.

And there the hiss of a cool drink being opened, punctuation I relate to, release. I am forever looking for release, a dive into the eternity of the moment, a lapse in pressure from the endless boiling point of my frantic mind. A mind which swerves from one thought to another trying to grab something with marrow and suck on it. Another thought muscles in, or is it instinct telling me such marrow will not be found in thought. The rich juice of life lies beyond. This is a moment to stretch it, to smile with this illusive essence, to laugh, to write it on a page, bottle top and laughing I am learning slowly, learning a nonsense that is freedom laced with meaning or do I mimic, is that my most taut muscle, lacking lyrical genius and without the richest depository of vocabulary. I litter this page with speed and doubt, give way to moments of roundness, the loop completed and darting into synergy like magnetism, those brief moments of perfect fit. I am talking about tessellation and this really is a response and half cooked notion, having read the work of a mind in flight. I am inspired amongst the mud of my limitation, making sandcastles without the sand. Yet my back is not to the sea at least. I am facing front on, drinking in the view. In the distance I constantly see and feel the tug of the tide as the water of life pulls near, draws away, rushes back. Intimacy in constant appraisal and my net glistening over-head, empty again, though through faith once again filled.  

Dreaming For A Future

We march for life

For our survival on an agile globe

For a receding reality, one fairer and greener

Something better than the world’s wealthy huddled together

In the dust and futility of their narrow horizons

All that is good in jeopardy that is the emergency

I pause for a drink, to quench my thirst

In that moment truly thankful for clean water to drink

Every sip is a portal to a well of worry where water is scarce

Even a glimmer of brevity sharply focuses the mind

Surge of panic amongst the colour throng

Breath shallow quick stalling

I fight for fresh air, to fill my lungs in a stubborn city

 

I think of womb you

A fragile whisper

This beautiful promise that already sends tremors across mummy’s tummy, your whole world

Alive yet unborn you wait to inherit the earth

Such an inheritance was never to exploit but cherish

A joining in with this exponential dance of teeming forms

An exchange of love

Are you dreaming of the future as you wait in there?

If nothing changes then by my age

Like so many already alive

You could be blighted by not enough food and the smallness of violence

A future at the mercy of water and fire

Put at risk by the very ground you stand on and the air you breathe

All the elements skewed against you by past generations

Things will shake you and rush you

try to tumble you and I tremble at the thought

The innocence of my youth was a luxury

Now we must strain for a world where all the trees of the wood rejoice

Where kindness can survive escalation and thrive

I want a world where we can hold each other’s gaze

I am heavy now with the weight of dread, the status quo

A fog pervades and the tide moves in

I held a sign

Oh I held a sign and stood in the way

The work won’t stop and its calling me

To imagine in higher definition and in new dimensions

Shoulder my fear and act out of love

Oak tree

I watched as the evening sunlight laced 

Shadow patterns across your flank 

And I said,

‘But that is for me, what is for you?’

Sensing the truer half of a clumsy question 

You ushered me closer with compassion

I pressed my head against your bark

Hands on the rough grooves of life lived

A familiar pose.

In the emptiness behind my thoughts you somehow spoke

Shifting the channels of my mind to show me

That yours is;

An unutterable intimacy with all life

And a deep groundedness in the wholeness of things

My heart quickened

And

I was silent

One rainy day

Today

The many doors of love

are open

And we frolic in the dancehall

of creation

Released from yesterday

No longer in the fear

of tomorrow

Free in the ocean

of a single moment

Listening for secrets

The art of listening

Is a painting that never dries

And a dance that does not stop

Does that invoke enough arrival,

enough stillness?

The art of listening

Is music before the notes

 

The great work relies on desire

On longing

Yet tug too hard

All is lost

Strain and you cannot hear

 

What is it we listen for?

Honestly

For the sound of Okay-ness

A rounded yes

Sometimes known as bliss

Until like Kabir

You believe in the Great Sound.

Leaden Tussle

Music - Jon Scott

Words and visuals - Tom Burgess

Apricity

 

Pacing the flat

Such enormous longing lines my stomach

I rake at the ground heart in feet

Like a bull in that savage ring

Treading a pattern of desire

Kicking up dust

 

That which keeps the centre still

Remembers we were once dust

This is the humming hush of a turning world

A truth that births compassion

We are dearly loved

We are deeply held

 

In an instant through the window

Apricity! The seasons radiant stillness

Everything is possible when movement is earthed

Time and time again the ordinary becomes

Divine interruption

Stirring

 I am hungry for beauty

Ambushed by tears

Ache of a thousand chests

I house the stars and the longing 

Fire Online In Time

 

Being on Facebook is like being at a sour house party

The host has skimped on sustenance

The remaining guests don't really know him or actively dislike him

The organisers all went to a different venue once they saw where it was heading

Maybe it is really late or maybe it never really got going

 

As I scroll through the heckles and rousing song

Past the sycophantic chanting of robotic thought

The fun has died with the light of my eyes

If there was ever any dancing it is now

designed out and replaced by adverts

The venue is a market driven dive obsessed with superficiality

The false veneer of a smoke machine generates polarising click bait

The centrifugal force of change might rip us apart

The chance of intimacy is slight

Profundity profane

Insight inane

Hollow

Dry

Tinder

Ready for a fire

 

Let us burn down this house

Think what could rise from the ashes

When the cloud finally rains

Data free falling, torrential life used to serve us all

Our dopamine no longer stolen could fuel a brighter day

Concentration and connection would emerge

holding mugs of hot drink and a bin bag or two