Why I am here, what I am doing.
May 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
England is a beautiful country. Of course, there are many beautiful countries in the world, I would love to see the great mountain forests of America, and the vast red deserts and rock formations of there and the Australian Outback. I would love to sail down the pure Arctic rivers, past the little villages on the edge of inhospitable icelands. I would love to be in Italy, and marvel at the ancient hills, dusty roads with their shivering poplars and olive trees. Oh, to travel, the most marvellous thing!
I love capital cities so; Prague, where the Winter is biting cruel but yet still full of tourists jauntily sipping the hot, sugary wine in the charming and beautiful Old Town. I love Krakow, Paris, Dublin not so much, but still good, and now London. What a crazy city London is, what a lovely, vital, filthy, immense, dangerous sense of history, as though it were lead, weighting and warping the air around it. The many books I have read of historical (if perhaps, a more fictional) London are full of wonder, how it has swallowed up all the towns around it, fed its monster with villages and suburbs. The great river, dirty and ancient; with its ships and barges bringing fish and meat and all things from the coast to the leaning tenaments. The cramped alleyways, single glass panes streaked with grime, little cellar theatres and gin bars and green parks frequented by very hardy birds.
I am here because it is not life to remain always in the one place – whether in body or in mind. If a person’s body cannot travel, can their mind wander plains unknown even on this Earth? I wondered with my legs when they were bad what I might do, but resolved to travel the world anway, even if it was on two sticks. But what about the people who need to carry the oxygen and things? Or are paralysed from an accident? How is travel happening in their spirit? I do not know.
My life was stifled and small in my home place. The air is freer here, there is not the sense of oppression I am feeling often. In London, you can be anyone! You can be artist and political and say what you think! You are not subject to the law of a country run by religion – what a silly thing this is – to use any church and its ancient ideals as the seat of government in a modern Earth. The things I am doing here are simply to be true. I know that I am not destined to be great artist, or writer – but I can hope that by expressing all these art things that are the bedrock of my soul, that my seconds here are more meaningful and devoted to happiness than not. In my art also I am coming closer both to other people and to God, and this cannot be a bad thing.