Vipassana Meditation April 21
Allowing. Accepting. Feeling. Connection. Is-ness. No other place to be. Contact. A blurring of the supposed lines between me and my body, my body and I. The origins being discovered of deep aches, held tensions, hangups. Is it all in the mind? Or at least in the mind’s reactions? Quietly sitting for one hour, having naturally woken with the sun.
Vipassana Meditation April 20
Much milder than two days before. And in the midst of the head rapidly shaking side to side, a sudden bliss, a feeling that all is okay, at least right here. Bliss comes from nowhere known. It doesn’t seem to be caused. Evidence would suggest elsewhere that in fact all is not okay. Yet maybe it is. After all, how could things be any other way than they are?
In this local body, there’s the crunchy tensions in the neck, tightness in the tight foot arches, the tender right wrist and sharp right arm up near the shoulder. There’s slight fear in the mind, lifting as the sitting went on and vanishing in the moments of warm wellbeing during and after the head shaking. The hour passed very quickly.
Vipassana Meditation April 18
It’s getting crazier. After the thoughts have settled and the agitation that I carried forward has ceased, the organism takes over. I maintain a sense of equanimity throughout, quietly watching as the strange ritual commences. A ritual familiar yet variable, never formulaic. Right hand shaking so very fast. I take a peak and it’s really going for it, wobbling, shaking, rotating, flopping – by my side or overhead, over to the left. A deep knot at the right side of my neck, tingling sharply, then suddenly my head is shaking left and right, again very rapidly, up into the lower skull, then inside the skull around the back and right of the brain, shaking, shaking. There’s tension in there? Nothing I can do. I find myself sometimes thinking of unresolved technical problems somehow, while this intensity is going on. When I’m back in attention, the tension sensation intensifies, as do the movements. Then my whole torso is rolling around, rotating from the waist, like an ancient dance, from sitting. Then I’m arched forward on my hands and the head and neck stretched forward. Soon the right arm shakes again and gives way, so the torso takes my weight and brings me back upright and my arm is free to rave. Afterwards, this all feels exhausting and yet enlivening, like some old, old, very old tiredness has lifted, things I’ve been carrying have been liberated. It’s not so conscious, I guess because this is happening in the unconscious arena where the choice to hold, or not to, is taking place.
This area of Old Portsmouth feels very nautical, with narrow town houses, usually three story, squeezed in to form non-uniform terraces, many with those characteristic maritime bays on the first floor. Lombard Street and St Thomas Street are just east of The Camber harbour, with The Point being on the west side: Broad Street and Bath Square leading towards the narrow entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. All of this area was within the old walled city. Apart from the town houses, one can find fortifications, an old savings bank, historic inns, a former bathing house (Quebec House), the Popinjays warehouse, the sailing club and an old customs watch house with an observation hut. Most of the buildings are C18, with some C17 and C19. The landmark former Seagull Restaurant is from the early C20.
Lombard Street:
The listed buildings of Lombard Street and St Thomas Street, Old Portsmouth:
Broad Street Portsmouth:
The listed buildings of The Point / Spice Island, Old Portsmouth:
Bath Square, Old Portsmouth:
Vipassana Meditation April 17
1 hour
Deep in the early hours of the morning, white fire in the right calf. Same in right wrist. Head shaking side to side in sweeping movements and in tiny micro vibrations like a power plate. Eyes scrunched. Right foot arch cramping. Belly drawn in and up, pulling the colon in tight, massaging inside. Moans. Dribbles. Coughs. Hand taught. Lips contorted. Neck sharp, up under the skull. Even a brain pain. All this not at the same time, thank goodness, but often one or two concurrent. Not much of the subtle awareness and deep release today. Then back to bed for a good sleep.
Vipassana Meditation April 16
1 Hour
My body feels relaxed, muscles soft, shoulders and face less concerned. The ongoing ‘work’ is still very physical: deep into the neck and shoulders, and at the inner eyes and into the forehead. Right arm, wrist and feet, but these to a lesser extent than previously. Resistance to sitting: I don’t want to feel anything, just get on with the day. But I know how that goes. And I know that it’s not strong resistance, rather more like a child’s excuses not to do something perceived as slightly less fun than… watching TV or something. A few minutes after sitting down it’s gone, but there’s the ‘all over the place’ attention, scattered, dashing here and there in thought and memories. Suddenly it’s unwound and there I am, awake, daydreams over. A strong nausea soon passes and I can begin passing attention from head to feet and back again. All this is about half an hour. Then the aches, pains, tensions, tingles are immediately apparent; I don’t have to look for them. And when that’s all there is, a high-pitched pain in the neck, for example, that’s all there is. There’s no room or need for thinking at all. And it moves, the pain, so I follow it carefully, slowly, up into the skull, down into the shoulders. Then from the wrist, up the arm, back to the same spot until, suddenly, there’s no sensation – gone – and then there’s another in a different place. Repeat as necessary.
Vipassana Meditation April 15
Then towards the end of the hour I find that my eyes are open and it’s over for now. Previously, moments of there being nothing but the sensation. It starts out as what I call ‘pain’ but by staying with it, or noticing any moving away, it’s no longer pain but something else, something I don’t know about – I could call it intensity but that’s still fixing it as a thing. And it’s moving, changing, evolving, doing it’s thing of it’s own accord. And the essence of this practice is that it can’t do it on it’s own – express naturally – it needs ‘me’ as a watcher, witness, observer, or beyond these ‘doing’ states, it needs awareness. It needs awareness because without it it’s locked down, alone, isolated. Tenderly I approach and in my approach it’s clear where I am not moving with care, where I’m moving with ambition or a goal, or using force, and the seeing of the non-tenderness is its undoing. Even tenderness itself may be contrived and if so that too ceases. It’s a natural dropping of the unnatural, and only then something new can take place. In the context of the pain, this ‘new’ is release, change, ending.
Vipassana Meditation April 14
That’s where it’s at. Shutting up. Sitting still. Listening, watching, attending. What could be simpler? That’s probably why it’s not so common: it seems the answer, the thing to do is elsewhere, in the doing, in the experiences to be had, in the life to live and sheer gettingness of worldly life. Not to ignore worldly life, but worldy life without inner work is hollow and all to fragile in its successes and fun.
I’ve been practising lying down, about every other day. But it’s not the same. Sleep is too close by. The body is too relaxed, has to do too little. The slight work in sitting up changes a lot. The energy too is more awake, more daytimey. It’s not like sleep where there’s nothing to do, it’s not like daily activity, it’s between the two, but it’s a step away from bed relaxation. And while there, sat still this morning there was the certainty that there is nothing else to be doing at that moment. Nothing I am missing out on, nothing I should be doing, no experience grander or learning deeper. This is it. Of course I then start scheduling it in: more of this please. Or even just working out when I have time. Again, it’s simpler: if there is nothing else more valid, just do it. Once or twice a day, for an hour each time. No scheduling or persuasion needed.
Here I am in the early 90s – dropout (hasn’t changed so much). Floppy hair (has changed). Road Runner Dispatch in South Street, Havant (has changed). Dot matrix (has changed). Funny stubble (has changed a bit thank goodness). Expression (hasn’t changed).
New Alresford is about 7 miles east of Winchester. The ‘New’ distinguishes it from Old Alresford village a mile to the north. The old part of New Alresford centres around East St, West St and Broad St, a T-shape. Pretty much the entirety of this area is listed. Broad street is probably the best-known street in the town, for it’s grand scale and colourful Georgian buildings. Many of the buildings have carriage entrances leading to the back of the buildings.
Here’s a panorama shot of the street, looking north, followed by the listed buildings of this street:
Crumbling away, still very apparent in most places, the Meon Valley railway line ran between Alton and Fareham in Hampshire. The dismantled railway passes a few miles from my home, near West Meon Hut and at the village. It was quite an engineering undertaking considering the small populations along its route, serving only villages along its 23 miles. This is probably why it only lasted 50 years or so – that and Gosport and Stokes Bay not taking off as tourist destinations. Most of the bridges remain, as does the station platform just south of West Meon. Nothing is left of the iron viaduct except some foundations, abutments and the mighty embankments either edge of the river Meon. Here’s my tour:
First up, the north end of West Meon Tunnel. This is near West Meon Hut. The tunnel entrance is locked and it’s used to store caravans. It’s private property but some bloke fixing his motorhome said I could take some photos.
Just to the north, Vinnels lane crosses the old line, now infilled almost to the height of the bridge, by soil and by trash:
West Meon Station building is dismantled. It was situated just south of the village along, yes, Station Road:
Some views of the old platform, being eaten by nature:
At one point the platform lowers to allow people to walk across the line:
The platform runs under the road bridge of Old Winchester Hill Lane:
A few hundred meters north of the station is the site of the viaduct, crossing the Meon Valley. The river here is just a stream. It crossed between two 20m embankments:
All that is left is some foundations and the abutments either end of the viaduct, with huge slots for the iron girders:
North of the viaduct is not open to the public, but I followed the line through some woods, probably overgrown in summer, the embankment turning into a cutting as it approaches the hill:
Less than a km from the viaduct, the hill is too steep and one reaches the southern end of West Meon Tunnel. It’s closed off with earth, metal and blocks. Where the blocks have been knocked though, bars and wire prevent access. There was a damp breeze coming from the hole, and a strange atmosphere about the place. I was drawn to it, wanted to stay, but at the same time I was slightly spooked:
I then walked back to the village via the footpath in the spring sun to shake the mood. Here’s where the viaduct crossed the river and lane, and how it once looked:
Back at the station, the road bridge and looking down to where the station was, and a similar view in the old days:
At the former West Meon goods yard next to the station:
I then drove north out of the village along a little-used gravelly lane over the hill towards Arbor Trees farm where there’s a bridge of the consistent black engineering/red bricks. I find these quite charming. MEL = ‘Meon Line’?
And another bridge just to the east, probably taken down to allow farm vehicle access:
There’s no footpath here, but I couldn’t resist following the old line to the A272 tunnel, for a very different view of a familiar road:
Varied textures, colours and crumbly brickwork of the road tunnel:
Finally, a romantic image of the viaduct, and a brand new station once upon a time:
New Alresford is about 7 miles east of Winchester. The ‘New’ distinguishes it from Old Alresford village a mile to the north. The old part of New Alresford centres around East St, West St and Broad St, a T-shape. To the north of Broad Street is the ancient town bridge (pretty much hidden) and the area of The Soke and Mill Hill, which leads to Ladywell Lane, where one can find C18 (and earlier) houses, the Globe Inn and Old Fulling Mill (C17). At the opposite end of town are Bell House, a former workhouse then mental hospital, and some old cottages.
Vipassana Meditation April 4
am 1hr
In the stillness, the root of a stance, the origin of a snarl, the basis of a tension or an ache, the origin has a chance to change, rather than the usual chain reaction of dislike, aversion. In the stillness, ecstasy bubbling away, different day by day. One day intense sexual bliss, another day as though sex doesn’t exist, celibate Changing changing. Deep aches at the back of the neck under the skull. Tight mouth causing the disapproving expression I see in so many others and feel emerging in my own face muscles. Right foot tight from the ankle, across the top of the foot, and sharp in the arch. And then in the stillness my attention fluttering here and there, that which isn’t still is highlighted, pinpointed, and here is my very attention, my very attitude and it’s… squirming. Writhing like an injured worm or eel. Been hurt, spiked, and now squirming in some kind of agony. Watch, feel, it’s okay. I don’t want to put it down – put it down like a sick animal, no, nor put it down and forget about it, as I know how that goes: an unsettled day, flitting from thing to thing, ability to listen or focus shot to pieces. So I watch gently, allowing things to change naturally as is their want.
New Alresford is about 7 miles east of Winchester. The ‘New’ distinguishes it from Old Alresford village a mile to the north. The old part of New Alresford centres around East St, West St and Broad St, a T-shape. Pretty much the entirety of this area is listed. Most of the buildings in West St are commercial, with accommodation above, and some banks and old coaching inns – The Running Horse, The Bell and The Swan. This collection also includes Pound Hill and The Dean. The majority of these listed buildings are 18th Century:
NORTHERN INDUSTRIAL TOWN
It’s just a northern industrial town
The front doors of the houses open into the street
There’s no room for front gardens, just a two-up, two-down
In a northern industrial townAnd you can see the green hills ‘cross the rooftops
And a fresher wind blows past the end of our block
In the evenings the mist comes rolling on down
Into a northern industrial townAnd there’s only two teams in this town
And you must follow one or the other
Let us win, let them lose, not the other way round
In a northern industrial townAnd the street lights look pretty and bright
From the tops of the hills that rise dark in the night
If it weren’t for the rain you might never come down
To your northern industrial townAnd on payday they tear the place down
With a pint in your hand and a bash ’em out band
Sure they’d dance to the rhythm of the rain falling down
In a northern industrial townAnd there’s plenty of artists around
Painters steal cars, poets nick guitars
‘Cos we’re out of the black and we’re into the red
So give us this day our daily bread
In a northern industrial townBut it’s not Leeds or Manchester
Liverpool, Sheffield, nor Glasgow
It’s not Newcastle-on-Tyne. It’s Belfast
It’s just a northern industrial townMerry Christmas, war is over
In a northern industrial town
Words & Music : Billy Bragg
Train tunnel, raves and BMX in the middle of nowhere…
Today I walked in the area north west of Privett in Hampshire, following some of the old railway line. I started at the Angel, a restaurant and hotel, originally built for rail users:
Not sure why there was a station a mile from the nearest village. Rumour has it that the owners of Basing Park next door insisted on it. There’s a fancy station building opposite the hotel, which is now a house:
The line led under the A32 here and you can climb down a steep cutting and see through to the old station. The area is used for fly tipping, next to the railway cottages:
Having followed the disused railway north to Woodside Farm, where some work was being done on the site of an old rail bridge, I headed east then south, circling Basing Park. Just past the house and Broom farm, on Hempland lane, is the north end of the tunnel:
The tunnel is sealed apart from a gap at the top to provide for a bat sanctuary.
After just 50 years of use the Meon Valley Railway Line was closed in 1955. Sometime in the last twenty years, the deep cutting to the north has been filled in:
Back in 2008 I found the south entrance to the tunnel:
Apparently it’s owned by a local builder. When I visited five years ago, the door had been left unlocked, so I ventured inside, calling out first to see if anyone was in there, my voice echoing far within. No reply.
It looked like the entrance area was part of the late 80s rave scene:
Further in, past some building supplies and a skate ramp, there was… nothing. I made my way deeper. I had no torch and checked the way was clear using my camera flash. After a while though, I started to be concerned that someone might come to lock the door and so didn’t go any further. I read that in the middle is total darkness due to the S shape of the tunnel.
I also read that one man died building it, and another dug himself out after a partial collapse while digging the 1000+ yards.
Back home, during internet searches, a Nike video kept popping up in the results. I ignored it thinking Google was just emphasising the word ‘tunnel’. But no, a year after I was there, Nike 6.0 sponsored the building of cutting edge BMX ramps in the tunnel and held the Tunnel Jam competition. The best BMX riders in the world, in a tunnel in the Hampshire countryside! Here’s some photos by Nuno Oliveira:
Apparently it’s still all in there, usable only by those who know who holds the keys…
Vipassana Meditation March 28
This takes such care, delicacy, to trace the movement of the self, or of neuroticism, as it flits from subject to subject, looking for security. Care to see it as it is, not to steer it but follow it, hold it, in a loving, curious way. I call it an ‘it’ but it’s not clear it’s an thing or an entity, and if we’re not careful we get into thinking that ‘I’ am different from ‘it’. Somehow in the care and attention the two are not two, but a clearer watching of the quality of desperation, the craving, the demanding, the seeking. At moments an unwinding of this two, leaving thoughtless non-moments of joy, bliss, stillness, unity.
Vipassana Meditation March 26
Oh the freedom! Nothing to do! Just rest and watch. And even the watching isn’t something to do. It can be, of course; it depends how you are watching, the quality of it. This might be the meaning of letting go. Not of something else – how can you do that? – it tends to equal some sort of suppression – but letting go of any ‘doing’ in the watching. Then there’s a different kind of action, direct, now, no delay, no ‘I will do’ but seeing and action together in the now, in the simplicity of sitting there. In this quiet observation, the body and mind express, have freedom to unfold and tell their story. In safety and under a listening ear. ‘Under a watchful eye’ sounds a little rude, like the eye has an attitude. No, ‘a listening ear’ is better. Poor shoulders! Taking the brunt of it, this life. Doing the best they can, storing up fears and tensions. What else could they do? And now I’m introducing the possibility of them not having to do that. Is this what karma is? The previous incomplete or ‘wrong’ actions are stored up in the organism, and they have an effect in unease and tightness, to say the least. We can’t get away with anything; there’s no cheating or escaping. Any action has a consequence, and it’s all stored up, remembered somewhere within, in the brain or body, or energetically if you prefer, and there it is, karma, waiting for you. There’s no avoiding it for ever, nor for a day really. And in the simplicity of sitting still, there is a possibility of learning not to add to it, and in the not-knowing attitude of listening to sensation, there’s a different kind of action, one that doesn’t add but allows change. A change in action, a change in mind and body right there.
Vipassana Meditation March 24
Where are you going? Why are you pushing in that direction? What if you don’t push or do? What is the quality of doing, and of direction? What is effort and where does it come from? Is it necessary here? How subtle does doing get? What is letting go? What is letting it go on? What ceases as the new begins? Can I allow the organism free reign while in the safety of a seated position? What is pain? What prolongs it? What is pain to me? What am I doing about it? What am I up to?
Falling Awake 