A sacred place
“A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.” – Philip Larkin
Good morning my weary travellers – or whatever time of day it is where you are.
Above is the last stanza from Philip Larkin’s poem, Church Going. It was another thing that I heard John Moriarty refer to in his interview/podcast (see yesterday’s post); he could recite the whole thing!
It has so much in it not least a strong suggestion that our “serious house” can and should be a place where our ancestors lie buried.
On this point, I wonder how many of us talk to the dead? And, no, I don’t mean in a faux Ouija board style; I mean we commune with them in a deep, mythic way. Only yesterday, as I walking back from Dartmoor, did I find myself talking to my late uncle and grandparents (it’s not the first time I’ve done this); I did so following an encounter with a swallow who had flown very close to me up the narrow Devon lane; I suddenly felt a deep draught of spirit and knew that I needed to talk back to Adrian and my grandparents; and I found myself reminiscing on a few things and remarking that we’d all be together very soon.
And by telling you this, I’m very conscious that you might think it a bit woo-woo or that I’ve lost the plot. I understand. I really do; but that doesn’t mean we should abandon our ancestors – not the dearly departed or those down the aeons.
And that of course raises the question:
What happens to us when we die?
Yes, we die in a physical, corporeal sense, but what next?
And then there’s a mention of a serious house.
What does that mean to you?
Our bodily conveyance or something much larger?
I’d like to think that it goes beyond our karmic DNA and, instead, houses all our beliefs and wisdom about what it means to be human – in spirit, if nothing else.
Then again, how many of us think of ourselves serious people? Serious in the sense that we take our lives to mean something more than living up to our potential, being all we can be and living a comfortable life.
I realise how jarring and ill-tempered are those last few words but if I think of all the people who have come into my life and all the straw-head knowledge they and I have stuffed inside, I’ve come to realise the zeitgeist wasn’t living a serious, positively monastic life but something that resembled a picture-perfect life, aided and abetted by the Ad Men who have pandered to our every desire for a better quality of life. And that means very few people I’ve known wanted to or were drawn to have a serious conversation. (Holidays, work and money: now you’re talking.)
As an example, I don’t recall anyone being drawn to talk about death – theirs or anyone else's. Instead, they were afraid that by calling in the ‘D’ word, they’d hasten their demise. It was a bit like the ‘C’ (cancer) word – I’m thinking of the 1970s now – which these days we’re much more open to discuss, be that our prognosis, the treatment options or referencing those people who’ve battled the disease and lived to fight another day.
Truth is, I’ve never shied away from difficult subjects and I don’t say that in a braggadocious way but merely to highly the fact that be it my ‘filter’ or my sense of aliveness with the world, I’ve never felt that certain subjects were off-piste. I’m not saying I’ve any skill in being open or discursive but all I’m saying is that to be human means we have to deal with all our beliefs, fears and shades of meaning, even if we feel a deep trepidation about stepping into the abyss of rejection…or worse still.
As I pause to reflect on what I’ve just written, I’m drawn to muse on the poetic brilliance of Mr Larkin and all the other poets whose work I’ve come to love and admire. But that also introduces a degree of sadness and melancholy knowing that all of us could be much more poetic in the way we live out our lives, given I think it’s a serious business and one way to touch the deepest parts of our soul.
Anyhow, as they say, it’s supposedly a day of rest and it’s time for me to go out on the saunter; I don’t have the dogs this morning which will be nice for change. It will mean I can stop and breathe in all of nature without being pulled hither and yonder.
Take care.
Blessings,
Julian
Photo by Spencer Marsh on Unsplash