Hortus Conclusus

 

 Wednesday evening, 2046. We napped all afternoon as our train swept through the land at its maximum speed, feeling the almost imperceptible lift at that certain point when air pressure took our carriage just slightly off the rails reducing friction and allowing the super speed. Somehow a magnetic force kept us on the right track. It's best not to think too much about it. 

Our windows dimmed; it’s not advisable to try to watch at these speeds and it’s a long way down the track so most of us closed our eyes and tried to relax to the piped ambient music. 

Now, as the windows clear and the train slows, we can see the environs of Euthenia on the approach to our destination; Hortus Conclusus. 

Skies are vast here. I move to the opposite window to see how the landscape has changed since my last visit. The huge, man-made lake comes into view. What an accomplishment; filled naturally by a combination of rain and flooding from the river, along with run-off from buildings and structures in the area via a complex system of pipes. Cattle and horses are drinking at the edge. Plants, trees and foliage are growing in abundant variety all around.  

It's been raining but the clouds have passed. A fellow passenger joins me to look just as a rainbow forms, it's perfect arc makes a complete circle in the water. 

My fellow passenger and I gasp and laugh together, briefly glancing into each others' eyes. 

*

Chapter V

Renascor- An evolving world

Slower still through Renascor. I know it from the map I keep in my pocket. It has evolved over time, as with everyone and everything. Trees have been felled and others have been planted. A lightly managed landscape and as we move around the edges of this transforming mixed open woodland, we can see paths leading through spaces between which my map tells us go to Cornworthy, Indiana Frink and Bourgchamp; camps and learning centres which honour past creative thinkers and makers where people go to learn to think and create and develop themselves.  

I have been to each place over the years, before the paths were completely cleared. Relatively early days in their conception and I would have happily stayed and lived there and helped out if that had been my destiny. 

However, something else lay in store.

*  

Renascor station pays homage to the character and purpose of the place with a huge circle constructed from fallen branches arranged so that there’s a circular viewing space in the middle through which can be seen a long path defined by golden coloured bark chippings meandering away from the station in and amongst the trees. Drawing to a halt, the doors open and we get out of our carriage to stand on the platform and look at the various structures and objects all made from materials and elements found in the area. A sculpture made from part of a tree trunk and metal cords at the far end of the platform is channelling wind, a curtain of found chains and rope from which hang small objects and fragments like hub caps and jagged edged mirrors sways and clanks and shimmers and tinkles back in response to the air channeled through the wind sculpture and together they create a euphonic continuous interplay of sound and tiny reflections of light and colour.  

*

We are ushered back in by a super Mario guard so as to allow the passengers from the next carriage along to wander about and as I step up through the door, I catch a glimpse of shimmering robes bustling hurrying down the long platform with the figure in black stumbling along between them. They seem to be going in the wrong direction for Cornworthy or the other two creative camps, rather they seem headed back towards Iaso which is disappointing, but I hold out hope that the fugitive is taken after all to somewhere they can thrive and escape whatever it is they were running from. Redemption and mercy will surely be among our saving graces as the new world evolves. 

*

Chapter IV

Moving On - The Crumbling Past

Our train moves slowly out of Iaso station in deference to the peace of the place and, creeping  onwards, we move into a once urban landscape with ivy covered crumbling walls on which children in their winter woollens, britches and stout boots sit and swing their legs whilst waving at us, or else pick their way along its precarious top keeping up with our train’s progress. 

Over the tannoy, someone tells us in a warm, convivial voice, to please not take photo’s during this stretch of our journey. 

We pass amongst the slowly degenerating ruins of what was once known for being a poor neighbourhood; now, its tall tower blocks with their tops knocked off are festooned with greenery, moss and ivy, roads and pavements are being taken over by trees and plants and grass with all kinds of animals living in amongst its people; a concrete jungle undergoing a slow, gentle reclamation by nature. We see birds for the first time in profusion taking off from the tops of trees and pecking amongst the cracks in pot-holed roads and broken pavements some almost completely overgrown with a variety of tall grasses. Tent like structures made from a mix of reclaimed materials; stone blocks, wooden planks, bent branches, tarpaulin, colourful cloth, knitted coverings, have been constructed within the ruins of old buildings and we steal glimpses of them through the gaps as we pass by onwards slowly to the inevitable Buddleia forest where someone just visible picks their way through to somewhere in the pale sunshine, clouds of butterflies billowing above

  *

I’m travelling in disguise, as we all are to some extent.

And moving through this landscape with its new generation who must be protected, we only see its surface. Though that has changed during the time between my travelling here before and this return is obvious, though the true changes must be subtle and hidden to us outsiders

•    

Chapter III

Iaso Station

Iaso arrives after a long, leisurely drawl through peaceful, undulating countryside dotted with farm buildings roaming animals and small hamlets. A wide river runs through marsh land to the North of the train tracks. Huge windmills soar majestically off a distant hillside. Painted to look wooden, a trompe l’oeil homage to the aspirations of the area, though they look slightly grotesque due to their size. Some young people take snaps with their watches whilst smiling adults look on. 

The station also reflects Iaso’s agrarian aspirations  with festoons of foliage trailing from the living roof sheltering the platform and huge wooden planters containing herbs and miniature fruit trees positioned at each end making the station feel cocooned in greenery. 

Two Iason dwellers board the train, distinctive in their grey woollen jackets and skirts topped with fetching felt hats with wide brims.  The weather is chilly but not freezing in these parts at this time of year but even these days, temperatures are likely to plummet in a month or so and we know from geographic and tourist information that the Iasons will take to wearing thick, long woollen great coats and big knitted hats like large turbans, said to be waterproof since they’re made from unwashed wool.

The Iasons’ tricycles with their huge front baskets are parked side by side on the platform and they carry wares onto the train upon large basket weave trays hanging from jute braids around their necks. Passengers stand in turn to survey what’s on offer; small glass bottles of juice, slabs of wholesome looking cake, and delicious smelling pastries still warm from the oven. Each Iason vendor uses a stick to balance the large tray on whilst they dish out what each passenger requests and bump wrist phones with them to complete the electronic transaction. 

I have seen this many times and still it makes me smile. I take some orange coloured juice which the Iason vendor tells me in a low, quiet voice without making eye contact is peach flavoured and a warm pasty which they say has potato, carrots and spices in. I smile, bump my wrist phone to theirs and they both make delicately tinkling approval sounds. I notice a beautiful, intricate red stitching on the hem of the vendor’s sleeve and further up, a leaf shaped hole with a pale white muslin-like backing, secured with the same delicate stitching in red thread. Looking up into the Iason’s face, I smile and remember the word for this type of thing; sashiko ? As I murmer it, I receive the glimmer of a smile in return. 

*

Nobody minds the delay in such a lovely place whose healing spirit enters the carriage and has the effect of making passengers sit more comfortably in their seats. Some turn sideways and put their feet up on the seat having removed their boots. Conversations  strike up between people about the food, the delicious juice, the unusual platform, the cleverness and quietness of the Iasons. A hum of contentment pervades the air.

Some passengers, like me, have travelled on this train before and share past experiences. I sit quietly, remembering the year I spent here in my teens learning about growing vegetables and making compost. Outside, on the platform, we see other passengers from carriages further up the train wandering about looking at the plants and smiling at the Iasons as they re-stock their basket trays before moving on to the other carriages.  

I take note of the various people who are distinguished by their travelling clothes. We are a motley crew. 

(Kalmia)

Night falls outside the windows. Our carriage becomes filled with a peaceful ambient music and the light dims to amber. We tip our seats back and pull the cover stored beneath each seat over ourselves then close our eyes to dream of a better world to come.  

*

Lazily dawn awakes, revealing a sliver of gold along some distant horizon we only know to be beyond Sea. Quietly we rise ourselves from sleep, our music fades, light changes to day, food trolleys roll in of their own volition from which we take whatever we want and need, it’s all in with the trip, take it in turns to use the bathroom down the aisle, the movement of our train, the light, the sound, the restful sleep has slowed our hearts and minds and we settle in again to watch 

the passing world

Chapter II

From The Private Car

Two Ariss watch the drama unfold through the tinted windows of their private car.  One, wearing a shimmering silver holomask, turns to the other who has chosen a deep blue shiny one for today, waits for their response, then on the nod, opens the locked door and enters the other carriage just as the security net drops down from the ceiling covering the body slumped in the aisle, which is just beginning to stir. 

The Ariss works swiftly, almost unseen in a floating robe and the shimmering holomask whilst deftly untangling the net then, carefully pulling the black bundle along the smooth carriage floor into the private carriage. 

Just as the door shuts silently, two Bullet guards in Super Mario adapted uniform incongruously brandishing stun sticks putter in waddling slightly on soft booted feet. Nothing to see apparently, so, waving their sticks cheerily to everyone, they potter back out again. Passengers chuckle and sit back with a collective sigh to enjoy the slow ramble through idyllic landscape. 

*

 

Spekulation

Some notes on a journey

Chapter I

Altered states 

Travelling between towns across countryside glittering with solar panels,  giant windmills looming large in the near distance, their vast arms whirring slowly in ever constant winds, a bullet train hisses and slows to the charging point in front of a vast, monolithic grey windowless cube. This train's hermetically sealed interior locks out the hum of the data centre and a potentially noxious atmosphere. Heaven's  overcast with the pall of greyness that is now the sky, so seldom broken by sunshine here these days and so rarely visited by birds that people have begun to lose the habit of looking up. 

As the train clicks then moves smoothly forwards again, a squat, bucket-shaped ticket robot shuffles down the narrow aisle, holding out its scanning arm to check passengers' ident badges. 

Pausing next to a huddled shape, all in black, head covered and face obscured by a voluminous hood, the robot prods this apparent bundle of rags but it keels over and slumps sideways, bumping the robot a few inches to which it objects loudly, expressing it's alarm with an ear-splitting high musical note and the train jerks in a few instants to a halt, passengers shifting only slightly in their seats, some look expectantly at the door at the end of the carriage and others with mild horror and bewilderment at the black bundle blocking the aisle. Everyone covers their ears, wishing the pulse of the panicked alarm would stop. 

Prologue

Times changes

Flowers kept blooming into the beginning of Winter. 

The pink Geraniums and magenta Primulas were especially delightful in their colourful exuberance. Violas regenerated themselves, roses lingered on like beautiful memories, trees clung to their soul's senescent leaves.  Primroses rose up early.  

The air took on a glowing,  eerie luminescence through heavy clouds  

It might be now, but it was a vision from a near future.  

 

     There was a beginning

       Which implied an end

      There was a before

       And there would always be an after

                          

                                                   In the beginning

                                                    Was the wind

                                         And the wind became a word

                                        And the word was never spoken

                                                     Only heard

 

Time

Which or whom came first in all the every 

things like eggs and chicks and stuff and dust and 

When did people start to feel so empty 

sensing life is running away like sand

A notion in a dream once showed it’s self 

And asked what if the stuff of life could be 

undone like all the letters on a shelf 

were swept away and we like birds were free 

to fly with songs upon our newborn wings  

and carry twigs like words away to make

Some other worldly home where sadness brings

Its bags upon its weary back to break 

the cycle of destruction, so to bring

A steady state of joy where birds can sing.

 

Panentheism 

from the Greek:   pan       -  all

                                   en          -  in

                                   Theos  -  God

  A philosophical concept put forward by Karl Krause in the 18th century in which he expands the notion of pantheism ( God and the universe are one ) to have the universe contained within God, who is transcendent.

That is to say:  God is considered to be both immanent in and greater than the world. 

Apocalypse

From the ancient Greek word meaning revelation or disclosure.

  A literary genre originating in Judaism in which a supernatural being reveals cosmic mysteries or the future to a human intermediary through the medium of dreams, visions and heavenly journeys. 

Euthenics 

From the Greek verb eutheneo 

                                            eu  -  well

meaning to cause to be in a flourishing state, a way to prosper.

  Also inspired by  the Greek goddess Euthenia who personifies abundance and prosperity. 

  Euthenics was a nineteenth century movement, dedicated to the study of the improvement of human functioning and well-being by improvement of living conditions which included education, the natural and built environment, home economics, sanitation, contagious disease and parasites. 

Ellen Swallow Richards used the term in her book ' The Cost of Shelter ' published in 1905 in which she describes a science of better living and proposes a multi-disciplinary approach to the study and implementation of ways to improve people's lives. 

Unfortunately, these approaches and ideas fed into the notion of eugenics, which she herself understood and in fact accepted that her methods would be a natural precursor to this now reviled concept. 

Euphony

Having a pleasant sound 

~

Ghia  -  Italian word of unknown origin meaning earth or land or pebbles esp. a pebbly river bed.

             

Female 

             

Peaceful ruler

  Associated with Carrozzeria Ghia, an Italian coach building and design firm founded by Giacinto Ghia in 1915 which has become synonymous with high quality. 

  Ford Motor Company acquired Ghia in 1970 and used its nameplate on some of its models to indicate they had top of the range luxury trim levels. 

   Some people from Liverpool, home to one of Ford's factories, might have smiled at the name, since the word  'gear' was often used to describe something good, as in " that's gear that ".

  It's disappointing to note that Tony Crowley, author of The Liverpool English Dictionary does't mention this meaning, nor does he mention the famous relationship with the Italian design firm, but instead gives other examples of the use of gear being used to denote clothes, goods, especially stolen ones, and drugs.

-

Kilter - Good condition

                 Harmony

                 Health

A variant of the Scots word: 

Kelter - Balanced 

                   A state of working well 

                   Money         ( probably a Yorkshire use ) 

                   Property              "                  "

                   Rubbish               "                  "

                   To waver, 

                                     move restlessly, 

    to        wriggle, 

             with                  du

move             an    un          lating     motion,    move uneasily or to 

   tumble                     headlong, 

going   head      over       

                                       

                                                    heels. 

_