Monday again. Another week. What will it bring?
I remain homeless whilst I await the completion of our apartment so I’m heading off to another bed in a different location and this time…it’s your spare bed! So next week it will be ConversationswithPogue, maybe.
Anyway, room for a little craziness, if I may?
It’s autumn in England, heading towards winter. The trees are finally giving up the last of their leaves. Patches of yellow and gold remain in the hedgerows but for the most part the countryside turns to varying shades of brown as the farmers plough their fields and the faded yellow of the last harvest’s stubble vanishes.
At this season of the year my thoughts and moods turn to another time. For some unknown reason I always feel a tie to the period around the First World War. I read the writers and poets of the time. So many poets. Brooke, Graves, Gurney, Owen, to name a few. So many lost. And one of my favourite poems, As The Teams Head Brass by Edward Thomas which captures all that I now see as I walk the countryside.
Then authors. D H Lawrence feels like a kindred spirit. I love his books that capture the mood of the time, the essence of England and see so deeply into the souls of men and women.
The craziness? Where does this deep attachment that consumes me come from? It has come so strongly that I have travelled and walked the fields of the Somme and Flanders standing on hillocks overlooking plains where the youth of Europe spilt its lifeblood so cheaply. Thousands dead in a matter of hours to gain a 50 metre advantage.
I now continue to walk another countryside, the one that Thomas described. Little has changed. OK, the horse has been replaced by the tractor but still men turn the soil and storm blown trees remain to be found. And I wonder, do each of us have a soul that revisits the world in order to gain the fullness of the human experience? I’ve read of people who know details of the past they have no right to know and we’ve all experienced moments of deja vu, that uncanny feeling that we’ve been here or done this before, but we know it was not in this life.
I am aware many would consider my thoughts to be heresy or madness choosing rather to believe that we pass through this world but once. But I’m now wondering. It is said we are spiritual beings, souls, having a human experience. If true, why should we not have recollections of our experiences to date? I don’t know the answer but I find myself musing on the autumn morning.
Yours, off to view the plough,