A special place
30th May 2015
30th May
A Special Place
“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime's experience. In the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields - these are as much as a man can fully experience.”
Patrick Kavanagh
I suspect that I, like many, have a special place where a spiritual connection is made. A place where time is found to reflect and find some peace. In fact I have several places dotted around the country and each of these locations are nothing short of sacred ground to me. They represent a significant place in my consciousness, demanding that I return to them when I am near. Each of these places taps into my soul, as I am able to pause the hubbub of life and just live in the moment, expanding my consciousness and subconscious within the immediate space I occupy.
Such places include a seat that rests high on the sandstone escarpment of St Martha's Hill. Here the South Downs can be viewed across a seemingly endless canopy of thick forest. A wild land in the heart of the mad and highly populated South East and a beautiful, peaceful spot. I know each tree, can identify every landmark.
Then there is the high perch of Houns Tout, a steep cliff at the seaward edge of Purbeck. This sea cliff over looking the English Channel is covered by the fragile, pink thrift that dances in the sea breeze.
There is also, the limestone pavement found on Twistleton Scar. This wind swept and rocky terrace, with its collection of erratics that stand like giant chess pieces, looks up to the broody Ingleborough. There is a strong feeling of being transported to an ancient land.
Then there is the shores of Innisnee on the west coast of Ireland. With the mountains of the 12 Pins, reflected in the waters of the Atlantic, and the gentle 'phut' from the engine of a passing fishing boat.
All these places are special and sacred.
And then there is this gate somewhere between Great Langdale and Grasmere. A popular area, and a gate I suspect that is overlooked as it looks the 'wrong way'. Not to the high mountains but towards the lowers hills around Windermere. These humble credentials combined with its honey spot location does not make it seem an ideal 'special place'. However, it s this very familiarity that makes it somewhere I am drawn to time and time again.
There is a gravity generated by this special place, that pulls me here. Each visit I get to increase my understanding of this small space. I instantly recognise the shape of the land, the sounds that bounce around this small set of fields, enclosed by trees, and begin to recognise how they interact and create their own characteristics and ambience. I can merge into this little world hardly noticed, but able to notice and see, if not understand, so much more of this one small place. I gain a sharper focus of the land around me, the complex activity of live that is dramatically taking place, whilst finding a serenity in the way I am increasingly 'fitting in' with the 'space'.
Always, I see sheep, they go about their business once they are no longer wary of me. If I move their attention fixes on me instantly. This alertness is stronger now they have lambs. But soon they take no more care, once they perceive me as no threat.
Then there is the shrill, tremolo melody of the Wren as she flits around the edges of the surrounding woodland. Always aware, always picking and foraging for food and always performing it's piercing song. She has little time for me and I suspect some of her energetic song is a warning to me.
Often I see Red Squirrels scurrying around in the leaf litter, the odd (and rare) Roe Deer, that stares at me from the woodland. Unsure, nervous but also very curious. Who can hold their nerve by not moving first. If I win she often bounds off with a sharp bark.
I see the woodland and life around go through its endless cycles, dictated by the seasons and I am becoming more aware of what flowers will appear and when. Today I saw Shinning Cranesbill in exactly same place I saw them last year and in in the same place. Then there is the ubiquitous Bluebells that carpet the woodland floor and invade the edges of the fields. The Bluebells are literally bursting in brilliance under the increasing shade of the over hanging tree branches and they to seem emit a glow across the scene.
The increasing familiarity and understanding of this one small place allows me time to 'slot in' and to become part of the landscape. More I understand it more time seems to become available for me to just be. A place where I can simply look and know no more than what I see and hear, but understand more of what I feel....and this is as much as I can fully expect to ever experience and I hold it dear. an increasing depth over the width of experience and understanding.
"I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand’s-breadth of it shines alone
’Mid the blank miles round about:
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather—
Well, I forget the rest".
Browning.
A Special Place
“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime's experience. In the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields - these are as much as a man can fully experience.”
Patrick Kavanagh
I suspect that I, like many, have a special place where a spiritual connection is made. A place where time is found to reflect and find some peace. In fact I have several places dotted around the country and each of these locations are nothing short of sacred ground to me. They represent a significant place in my consciousness, demanding that I return to them when I am near. Each of these places taps into my soul, as I am able to pause the hubbub of life and just live in the moment, expanding my consciousness and subconscious within the immediate space I occupy.
Such places include a seat that rests high on the sandstone escarpment of St Martha's Hill. Here the South Downs can be viewed across a seemingly endless canopy of thick forest. A wild land in the heart of the mad and highly populated South East and a beautiful, peaceful spot. I know each tree, can identify every landmark.
Then there is the high perch of Houns Tout, a steep cliff at the seaward edge of Purbeck. This sea cliff over looking the English Channel is covered by the fragile, pink thrift that dances in the sea breeze.
There is also, the limestone pavement found on Twistleton Scar. This wind swept and rocky terrace, with its collection of erratics that stand like giant chess pieces, looks up to the broody Ingleborough. There is a strong feeling of being transported to an ancient land.
Then there is the shores of Innisnee on the west coast of Ireland. With the mountains of the 12 Pins, reflected in the waters of the Atlantic, and the gentle 'phut' from the engine of a passing fishing boat.
All these places are special and sacred.
And then there is this gate somewhere between Great Langdale and Grasmere. A popular area, and a gate I suspect that is overlooked as it looks the 'wrong way'. Not to the high mountains but towards the lowers hills around Windermere. These humble credentials combined with its honey spot location does not make it seem an ideal 'special place'. However, it s this very familiarity that makes it somewhere I am drawn to time and time again.
There is a gravity generated by this special place, that pulls me here. Each visit I get to increase my understanding of this small space. I instantly recognise the shape of the land, the sounds that bounce around this small set of fields, enclosed by trees, and begin to recognise how they interact and create their own characteristics and ambience. I can merge into this little world hardly noticed, but able to notice and see, if not understand, so much more of this one small place. I gain a sharper focus of the land around me, the complex activity of live that is dramatically taking place, whilst finding a serenity in the way I am increasingly 'fitting in' with the 'space'.
Always, I see sheep, they go about their business once they are no longer wary of me. If I move their attention fixes on me instantly. This alertness is stronger now they have lambs. But soon they take no more care, once they perceive me as no threat.
Then there is the shrill, tremolo melody of the Wren as she flits around the edges of the surrounding woodland. Always aware, always picking and foraging for food and always performing it's piercing song. She has little time for me and I suspect some of her energetic song is a warning to me.
Often I see Red Squirrels scurrying around in the leaf litter, the odd (and rare) Roe Deer, that stares at me from the woodland. Unsure, nervous but also very curious. Who can hold their nerve by not moving first. If I win she often bounds off with a sharp bark.
I see the woodland and life around go through its endless cycles, dictated by the seasons and I am becoming more aware of what flowers will appear and when. Today I saw Shinning Cranesbill in exactly same place I saw them last year and in in the same place. Then there is the ubiquitous Bluebells that carpet the woodland floor and invade the edges of the fields. The Bluebells are literally bursting in brilliance under the increasing shade of the over hanging tree branches and they to seem emit a glow across the scene.
The increasing familiarity and understanding of this one small place allows me time to 'slot in' and to become part of the landscape. More I understand it more time seems to become available for me to just be. A place where I can simply look and know no more than what I see and hear, but understand more of what I feel....and this is as much as I can fully expect to ever experience and I hold it dear. an increasing depth over the width of experience and understanding.
"I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand’s-breadth of it shines alone
’Mid the blank miles round about:
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather—
Well, I forget the rest".
Browning.