Less

“Endeavor to be inclined always:

Not to the easiest, but to the most difficult;
Not to the most delightful, but to the most distasteful;
Not to the most gratifying, but to the less pleasant;
Not to what means rest for you, but to hard work;
Not to the consoling, but to the unconsoling;
Not to the most, but to the least;
Not to the highest and most precious, but to the lowest and most despised;
Not to wanting something, but to wanting nothing;

Do not go about looking for the best of temporal things, but for the worst, and, for Christ, desire to enter into complete nakedness, emptiness, and poverty in everything in the world.”
― John of the Cross

 

Another day in the legal trenches, but at least I managed to get out first thing. 

Pay attention

I walk every day.

And I've been at it my whole life.

At some stage, ye old body will give up the ghost, and I'll have to contend with a more sedantry life; but I hope it doesn't come too soon.

Of course, some people like to be more active and do lots of "exercise". For me, I find walking more than enough and, in any event, it enables me to slow down my (sometimes) active mind and pay attention. I do, though, like to listen to an audiobook and I've got one on the go that I'm relistening to at the moment by John Butler.

I don't see many other walkers around the village -- save a few dog walkers and old folk; I think that's a sign of the times and it's been like this for quite some time. Perhaps in the end, I'll be remembered more for my walking exploits and my photographs than I will for anything else.

Blessings.

Monday

I've lost count of the number of times I've had to get ready for work, put my game face on and pretend that I was doing something worthwhile. Today, is no different. I want it to end; I've wanted it to end for a very long time, and, yet, here I am still at the coalface. You could say I'm lucky; I don't feel that way. If anything, I think this is my fate: to be strapped to an interminable wheel until the end of my days. Like so many times before, though, I will get through the day; I will survive, ready to face into the headwinds of another working week. PS. I leave one of my part-time jobs on 19 February 2026 and, as things stand, I've nothing lined up to replace it. That feels right and necessary, despite knowing that money will be "tight". I also feel a relaxation, knowing I'll have some time to travel and do some of the things I've been putting off all these years. 

It's been a while

 

I don't know why I ignore Blogger. It was the first blogging platform I ever used, and I really should pay it more attention. Perhaps 2026 will be the year.

Anyhow, I'm still here. I'm still doing my lawyer thing -- only just -- and I'm still at odds with the world that I find myself having to navigate.

Onwards.

I'm still here

I've used the rubric a few times before but let's just say that I'm still kicking and screaming my way through life with one insoluble question:

How the hell did it get like this?

Kindness et al.

Now, more than ever, we need to find a way through this collapsing world.

Yes, there are lots of strategies, templates and exhortation we could employ but, truthfully, we know in our hearts that if only there was a little less hate and a lot more kindness the world would be a much better place - in so many ways.

Then again, the trope has been done to death and look where it's got us. Not very far.

Perhaps it is that we've an aversion to opening ourselves up in case we're taken advantage of or worse still. 

Perhaps it is that we don't feel it. It's more act than truth.

Perhaps there's no quid pro quo. (Does there or should there be?)

Truth is, I've no more an idea than you why the world is too often riven with a lust for hate when it should be in swoon to kindness. That doesn't (of course) stop me wondering.

And wonder I will alongside all those other issues that continue to haunt me.

Blessings,

Julian 

Where next?

At the moment, I'm deep into capitalism, having finished David Whyte's thought-provoking book, Ecocide: Kill The Company Before It Kills Us.

If I'm honest, I'm not sure what I'm going to discover that I don't already know. That said, I'm not suggesting I know very much about (inter alia) Natural Capital, Green Swans or neoliberalism, but you don't need to be Einstein to work out that capitalism has been one of, if not the main enabler for the Anthropocene. Oh, that, and our insatiable, wanton desire for more stuff. 

Yes, that's right. Absent us, there wouldn't exist the corporate vehicle, less still greedy capitalists (I say that, of course, only mildly tongue-in-cheek.)

As I've said so many times: we need the world; the world doesn't need us.

And where does all this fit with the latest UK-wide CV19 restrictions and the catastrophic situation we find ourselves living in and through? Again, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is that we were never meant to live so close to nature, or perhaps we're not as 'smart' as we thought we were, or perhaps this is simply a course correction to wake us up to the fact that a virus - yes, a virus - can wreak havoc on an unimaginable scale.

It's all so depressing, right?

I suppose.

And the obvious thing to do would be to postulate a series of nourishing answers. But I'm leary these days about being seduced down that path. Instead, I'm more disposed and inclined to ask a better question or at least to wonder. I know, all that navel-gazing is all well and good but it ain't going to fix the mess we're in. True. So very true. But then again, let's say we manoeuvre our way through this latest existential crises, what then? Something resembling what we had before? Possibly, but I'd like to think we'd take more than a little stock of what's really important but more particularly if we can continue living without consequence. Or to exist as if we can sort out whatever shit comes our way. 

I don't know. I really don't know but for me it's more a question of continuing to sit with and contemplate how in my little corner of the world, together with my family, we might imagine a more beautiful world and what we might do to change our purview to something more resonant with our cultural past. If that sounds a bit otherworldly then fine, but right now that's where my focus increasingly returns - the past. Or better still our indigenous ancestors. I don't mean to cross the aeons but the last few generations because if nothing else they knew how to live within their means (perhaps they were forced to), to care for their locus (they didn't seem intent on fowling their own nest/s) and to love the little they had. It wasn't all a bed of roses but it feels to me all these years on much more normal than infinite or at least unprecedented growth, or whatever it is that's fuelled our destruction of mother earth.

Anyhow, have a wonderful Sunday.

Take care,

Julian

Limits of all kind

“The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.” ― Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain

Good morning from a quiet and very dark Devon.

The coffee is poured, there's quiet, almost sleep-inducing music on in the background, and I'm here again at my computer musing on life.

I've written before about limits, having been inspired by Stephen Jenkinson's work. Yes, the same person who has written so eloquently about death, elderhood and especially limits.

You know the kind:

• life
• death
• the earth
• relationships
• our abilities

in fact so much of what we take for granted or expect. 

But we don't covet limits. Quite the contrary. Instead ― and yes it's a generalisation too bloody far (as ever, Summerhayes) ― we're obsessed with the trope that says you can and MUST be all you can be. 

To me at least, it's all so sad. 

Of course, you might, and I'd expect you to profoundly disagree: what's wrong with living up to your potential? 

Indeed, what's wrong with what? 

Look around you. The answer's everywhere. Sh*t, I could even make the point, as insensitive as it is, that wanting it now, and wanting it all has brought us to this place. We sure as hell never wanted to limit the amount of air travel we indulged in nor the fact we wanted to expand the reach of our geographic territory. I mean, it's not that long ago, one or at two generations perhaps, that no one moved from their home town or not very far away. 

But of course, I'm being very opinionated and you'll rightly accuse me of my own brand of hollow, and slightly terse exhortation. In fact, you might even say (and I wouldn't blame you), it's none of my damn business how you order your life.  Then again, in case I need to restate it, I'm not really a solution type of guy. A better question! Now you're talking. In fact, if only we'd ask ourselves something more than "What's next?".

Don't forget (as if you've a choice) we're human. 

Or as Alan Watts said:

"The prevalent sensation of oneself as a separate ego enclosed in a bag of skin is a hallucination which accords neither with Western science nor with the experimental philosophy-religions of the East".

I wonder if we really see that apropos what we're not able to do? Instead, we seem to believe that we can do practically anything. But we can't. And we shouldn't believe that we're (almost) homo deus in stature. 

For me, one way I find of bringing myself out of the trance of being all I can be is to spend time in nature. It reminds me how small and insignificant I am. Also, that I too am dying and trying to be the same person I was 10, 20 or 30 years ago is more than a little delusional. When I'm really connected, it feels that there is no me strutting around with such self (small 's') importance: I am nature. 

In the end though, as I've said so many times, how you live your life is how you live your life. But all I can tell you is that as I age, I feel more at home in my skin by dint of not having the desire to constantly better myself or be something that I can't be by dint of my mental or physical persuasion. Does that mean I've given up? No, not at all. But it does mean that just occasionally I'm fully alive to the person I am ― all body, mind and spirit.

Anyhow, have a wonderful day.

Blessings,
Julian 

All systems go

Over the weekend, I spent time reading Ecocide: Kill The Corporation Before It Kills Us by David Whyte. 

I'll be honest, it made me feel sick to my stomach given: a) our unholy fascination with the corporate vehicle; and b) the damage it's wrought and continues to do so, unabated. 

Think about it. We talk about climate change, environmental degradation and sustainability but, save for regulation that might kill off the capitalist ideal - it's never going to happen on my watch - it's the company that's responsible for all the egregious harm to mother earth and her people. 

I've not yet finished the book but I do know from a video that I watched to launch the book that towards the end there is a manifesto of sorts, and I'll be interested to see what David Whyte says about systemic change or rather what comes next if we don't want to see the very ground of our divination wiped away in the next 100 years (it could be less; and if you want to know more, I highly recommend you read David Wallace-Wells' book, The Uninhabitable Earth).

I suppose the thing that troubles me most, though, particularly in the midst of a pandemic, is that despite the hollow exhortation about how companies and their systems could be made better, when you think about it, how likely is it, apart say from the behemoth oil companies who are well and truly in the dock, that any company is going to be brought to heel by anything more than, say, shareholders looking for something a little greener or perhaps direct action? In short, qua the need to grow, companies will continue to harm the planet, whilst the majority of us work inside and for them. 

I appreciate that this isn't a simple message to unpack or decipher but without trying to big up the book, I think there's a very clear message that needs airing; namely, if we don't invite those members, directors and leaders to reexamine what a more beautiful world looks like - and hopefully not some technical utopia shorn of nature or anything natural - then we really are screwed. 

Like so many of the issues that I seem to alight on in an attempt to make sense of my life and my life's work - or what remains of it - I've much to consider, not least how I can continue to be part of a corporate system that has no soul, less still a heart. 

Blessings,

Julian 

PS. This is a short introduction to the book that you may like to watch. 

It's all been said...

 ..before.

Nothing new.

Nothing to say.

Lots to do, but what?

What would make a difference?

Plant some trees, collect plastic from the polluted beaches, protest?

Arghh!

How about: be prepared to stop (HT to Stephen Jenkinson)? By hook or by crook, to stop doing what we're doing for fear of or the near certainty that we'll annihilate everything, everybody and all of nature in our pursuit of growth.

It's all so depressing, right?

I mean, here we are in the midst of a pandemic and if that doesn't make us realise and appreciate the fragility of the human race then nothing will. Nothing.

Does this mean I'm misanthropic?

It would be easy to think that but, as the old saw goes, it's us, the humans, who got us into this mess, and it's only us who can...[fill in the blank].

The truth is - always mine and mine alone - I've little faith that for all the good words and deeds we'll ever see the light and only at the time when things are bad, real bad, will we finally stop long enough to say: 

"Sh*t look what we've done". 

What then?

Well, we won't so much have the luxury of choosing to stop as to be brought swiftly to heel by the gods of misfortune who will make it clear just how little we did to avert the ensuing chaos.

Of course, within this piece, there's much to ponder not least when I'm going to seriously change my ways, not for the benefit of my oh-so-insignificant conscious but to show that I cared. 

I really cared.

Much love,
Julian 

All in

When we want to, we can achieve great things.

I mean life-changing things – for us and others.

Of course, we're not superhuman or robots and it's understandable why we're not always inclined or inspired to act this way. In fact, just as often we'd rather live a nice quiet life.

Don't ask me why – perhaps it's my continued rumination on death and dying – but at the moment I'm drawn to consider those people who have done great things in the arts or otherwise but have died young. I was going to say well before their time, but as someone bordering on the edge of fatalism, when our time's up, our time is up!

I'm not suggesting we lose ourselves under the staggering weight of expectation but I do think it worth allowing the thought to hang in the air when we achieved our greatest things and invite the question: "Why or how?"

Anyhow, back to the coalface.

Have a good one.

Blessings, Julian

When life passes you by

Right now, one day feels much like the one before. Hell, even the weekends have bled into the week, and it's a wonder I can remember what day it is.

And if this Covid19 thing has its continued way, I don't see this mesmerising routine letting up anytime soon.

But I digress.

Life.

'WOW' and 'Meh!' in equal measure.

And it goes by at such a pace that before you know where you are, you wonder where the hell it's gone. At the time – deep in the trenches – it all feels so real, so alive but in hindsight (at least for me) it hardly registers on the life and death scale.

I'll be honest, right now, there's a sense, a blessed one that I'm going through the motions. And that's not me; I'm very much of the school that likes to have a purpose or at least a settled meaning to my 'doing'. The only thing that's keeping me in the game is a sense of responsibility and not wanting to let anyone down. And that's fine – honest it is – but (and I've said this a zillion times) it's not forever. Not at all. And sure, I can have plans galore – the untravelled road and all that heady stuff – but I'd prefer to ride out the slightly sullen storm and wait to see what happens...day by day.

I've got an inkling that I'll still be peddling my legal wares, working with a more eclectic group of clients and helping those who most need my help, and alongside that, there's the creative thing. It's never left me but what shape it will take, I'm still not sure. I like all forms of art and to say that I want to do this or that seems so life-limiting.

Anyhow, perhaps the message is that life will pass you by, but not to worry too much because as long as we suck the marrow dry of this moment – not in a head-banging, frenetic way but in contemplation of the suchness of the moment – then in truth that's all we need to feel or be alive. Or at least that's how it's been for me some 53 years down the weather-beaten track.

Blessings friends.

Julian

Our truest self

"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." — Pablo Neruda

We thrash around trying to find out what makes us happy -- blissful even.

Occasionally, for a fleeting moment, we're alive inside, but it never lasts.

Of course, this is pure conjecture but how many of us have set out to find ourselves or rediscover something of our old self, only to find that we're chasing another chimaera?

I certainly have, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

What then?

Indeed, what then?

More of the same, anodyne routine? Or do we simply pull up the drawbridge on connecting with true self and accept our lot?

Again, that's a damn good question.

The truth is -- my truth -- I've no answers, lest still a gold-plated solution. Instead, perhaps it's time we got used to a degree of ennui or at least to the extent where we celebrated what we've got, rather than wishing for something immeasurably better.

Much to ponder.

Blessings Julian

Here again

But for how much longer...will I be doing my thing?

It remains an open question.

I'm lucky of course — blessed you could say. 

I mean, here I am with time enough to write the odd blog and with the benefit of a full-time job. What could be better?

Then again, much like that felt sense I've experienced all my life, I know that there's an unlived part of me waiting to find its place in the world. I don't just mean a better job ("Hell, no!"), or become an artist or anything in particular. No, I mean to say that there's a road less travelled that's waiting for me somewhere out in the future — assuming I make it of course.

Don't worry, it's not that I'm lost in the reverie of my new life or I constantly daydream but there remains this insatiable draw not to let the habit of today dictate what's to come. 

Does this mean I'm hopeful? That's not really my thing — i.e. trafficking in hope. There's only this day and if lived fully (as if we've got a choice) that's more than enough for me. What I am is someone who's not afraid of letting go, of free-floating in my anxious self and having no plan. Now (of course) when set against all the productivity gurus and the regnant order of the day that behoves we must have everything nailed down, my non-expectant plans look chortle worthy, but I don't care. Honest, Guv. I'm at that stage in life where I really don't care one iota what others think about my plans or the like. In any event, it will be what it will be and there's no one I need contact for permission. Does that sound selfish? A tad I suppose but in the end, do we make these plans or are they made for us? 

Anyhow, it's Monday. Time to take Alfie out for a walk. And then I'll get suited and booted for another day of Zoom/Teams madness until it's time to call time whereupon I'll indulge myself with a second walk before settling in for the night with a good book and whatever else tickles my increasingly titrated fancy.

Take care, and have a good one.

Much love,

Julian

A new beginning

"Why grief, fear, and despair? Certainly there are other emotions we call “negative.” Envy, guilt, shame, and anger, among others, account for a great deal of human suffering. But in my thirty years as a psychotherapist, I’ve come to believe that the inability to bear the core triad of grief, fear, and despair is the source of much of our individual and collective emotional ills." — Miriam Greenspan, Healing through the Dark Emotions 

I wish we could share more of our true self. 

Instead, we live in the shadows.

It's conjecture I know but perhaps there's a reason; namely, dealing with repressed grief. Not just the grief that enters stage left on the passing of a loved one but all those things in our life that we've never come to terms with; and I include in that the death of mother earth and the pandemic, which I know contorts so many souls.

What am I advocating for?

Space, openness and a way to show all of our humanness without being torn asunder.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure (in practice) how this might work but, right now, I'm starting to tentatively reach out to a few people to explore our literacy around grief, death and coming alive to true self. I've no formula, less still a programme to offer and am absolutely not selling anything. Instead, I'd like to invite a question that can't be annihilated on the anvil of our desire to cross the Rubicon between where we are and where we wish to be. This is something I've written and spoken about before and if you've the time you may want to watch the first few minutes of Stephen Jenkinson's talk below, which elucidates the point about question-making so beautifully. 

In the end, how we choose to embrace grief though is personal and to many sacrosanct, but if I could find a way of making the connection through conversation, listening and even a modern-day ceremony, then that's something that requires more than a passing few words here or elsewhere.

Much more work to be done.

Blessings, 

Julian

 

Growing old

 It's Friday. 

The end of another week.

And by my reckoning, given my date of birth, that's 2,776 weeks and 3 days since I was born.

Is that a lot?

It sure feels like it. 

In fact, only this week did I conjure up from the abyss of my reckoning the fact that I'm officially old.

Now we can debate the passing from middle age to old age but it's not the years that are important but, to me at least, a felt sense of belonging or should I say acceptance.

Yes, that's it: acceptance not resignation.

Did I think this time would come? Not really. As a wee kid, growing up in a small seaside town in Devon, England, all I ever wanted to do was escape. Get the hell out. I did. And I ran and ran until, well, I not so much found myself as I felt I'd put some hard yards between the old, underwhelmed me to someone slightly happier in their skin. But the trouble was I never quite escaped the need to do -- to always be on the road of 'doing'.

And (sadly) I worked so hard that my life disappeared by with hardly a mention. 

As I've written about ad nauseam, it was only when I suffered a little bleed on the brain that was I brought to my not very enlightened senses. For a while, I took my foot off the work pedal but it didn't take long before I was right back at it.

Why am I telling you this or any of it?

Because it's so easy to forget that in the middle of all that is us -- a fallible, sensitive human being. And if we're not careful we miss so much of our lives. That's not to say that we should ruminate ourselves into a solipsistic stupor but taking time out -- no, not to retreat -- to contemplate life and all that it offers is not only sensible but, I think, mandatory in these anthropocentric times. 

"Oh, please Summerhayes, not all of us can afford to lounge about doing sweet FA."

Perhaps you're right, but my overriding sense is that if we're not careful, even with all the planning in the world, our lives accelerate so fast that before we know it, it's over, and given what's at stake that would be a disappointment of the highest proportion. 

To be clear, I'm not exhorting any sort of change programme, JFDI daily routine or some molar-grinding presentation of be all you can be right up until the bitter end but I am asking or inviting a slightly different purview of growing into old age.

The truth is -- my truth -- I'm pleased to think of myself as old, if only because I'd like to think that with it comes a little more insight, a little more wisdom and patience for what lies ahead.

Have a wonderful day.

Take care,

Julian

Poem of the day

 Caged Bird

BY MAYA ANGELOU

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Little pockets of sanity

Life is a marvellous thing -- no, really it is -- but right now, betwixt a global pandemic and likely mass unemployment, it's hard not to get lost in a desperate wellspring of misery.

"Why me?"

My shtick (if I were to market myself!) wouldn't be premised on offering yet more advice, answers or even a cool sense of vulnerability to what ails you (I long ago dropped the 'coach' badge), no, instead, I'd invite us to wonder. I don't mean to daydream, although that might be in the mix. No to think about and ruminate on the notion of limits, endings, grief, sorrow and love. Especially love.

Of course, this sense of "What if?" isn't going to (inter alia) pay the bills or necessarily pull you out your funk, but then again, don't you feel that what we've done previously -- if not personally then certainly collectively -- hasn't really allowed us to see a more beautiful world our hearts know is possible (see the book with the same title by Charles Eisenstein)? I don't mean to suggest that you're the author of your own misfortune but perhaps, just perhaps, more of the same isn't where we now need to turn our gaze.

What I'm hinting at though, more than ever (and hence the rubric to today's meagre post), is in those fleeting moments of wonderment, we might find ourselves more lucid, more upright and able not only to fully comprehend our situation but to see it through a new vista.

But then again, in that heady state of wonderment, we may not be hopeful of anything more than our eventual demise. (That's a given for all of us and always, for me at least, puts things in perspective.) 

Here again, that lonely feeling of despair might not be what the doctor ordered, but sit with it for long enough and perhaps out of the cesspit of your orphan self might come a new take on what it means to be human. And in my book when comfort is so often the only show in town, I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.

In the end though how you approach any situation is a matter for your discernment but going (again) for the tried and tested option might not be the best way to navigate these choppy waters.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Federico Bottos on Unsplash

Poem of the day

 A Month of Happiness

- Robert Bly

A blind horse stands among cherry trees.
And bones shine from cool earth.The heart leaps
Almost up to the sky! But laments
And filaments pull us back into the dark.
Night takes us. But
A paw
Comes out of the dark
To light the road. I'll be all right.
I follow my own fiery traces through the night.