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Chapter XI

A New Chapter

I took the train route home. One last taste of its luxury before returning to the humdrum. These trips are a huge privilege these days and must be booked a year in advance. The railways and associated technologies are celebrated by everyone as the iconic trophy of what can be done when everyone works together for the common good, but then, has that not always been the case with the railways in particular. 

Since The Renewal, such journeys can feel somewhat tightly controlled and monitored, but that in itself makes the solo passenger like me feel safer which was one of the barriers to people using public transport in The Time Before. I sat back, closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the soothing, swift, high speed part of the journey. There are no stops on the way back.

*

Today, walking down the street to my workplace, there seem to be more people around and as I reach the high street, it almost feels bustling again. I step aside to let someone on a skateboard pass and find myself face to face with a woman holding up a large piece of cardboard bearing the roughly written statement: 

               THIS IS NOT PARADISE 

and all I can think of doing is to smile at her. I spend the rest of the day pondering why. Why had she written it. Why stand there holding her declaration up for everyone to see and what, what did she want us to do with this piece of obvious truth. 

All day it has sat at the back of my mind as I carried out my repetitive tasks on the computer. I am relieved that AI was largely abandoned as too expensive and dangerous for the dubious benefits it promised but never seemed to deliver, so that all but the very largest organisations returned to smaller systems and networks and less powerful computers, especially since each is required to draw from their own energy source now, resulting in nearly every building having solar panels on their rooves, in their grounds and hanging off any balconies. Since we began to manufacture these things in several places around the country, there has been a revolution in the way we live and work.

Each day can be boring but productive for us here. The electricity source is still unpredictable, public transport still unreliable, electric bikes being the most popular mode of transport around these parts, supplies in the shops and the rare remaining supermarkets haphazard, supply chains struggle but we struggle on together, most of us feeling useful and appreciated now, if not entirely fulfilled.

All the way home I think about what it would take to make it feel like paradise. 

I turn into my street and admire the trees which have survived.

Some of them are in blossom now.

As I approach my house, I see someone leaning on the railings reading a book and a bicycle propped up next to them.

PETRA !!!!!!  As I run towards her that familiar gleaming smile sings out underneath her wide brimmed old battered beautiful hat.

*

The Sea

 

Chapter X

The Return Journey

A couple of days later finds us all on the shore, paddling, looking out across the mouth of the river to the land on the other side, across to the islands dotted along the estuary and down to the mouth where the river meets the sea. 

Gandalf ( it's his own fault, he's tall with long grey hair, a long grey beard and has taken to walking with a huge wooden staff which he whittles at a little each evening as we sit around the fire ) stands with his air of great importance, bare feet being lapped at by the freezing water and announces loftily in his West Country drawl; " There's three ways here and three ways back. By river and foot, as I came by, by railway and by sea. " I remember now that he wasn't on our little narrow gauge train but met us at the station.   

We all look down the estuary to the sea, past the islands and the inlets to where there are some small sail boats and other larger ships which could be fishing vessels. I wonder where one could catch a boat from and how far up the coast it would take you. Perhaps it would take several boats to get back, then a train and then whatever else was available. Suddenly I feel a long way from my home. 

Petra doesn't seem very interested in looking out towards the sea, but instead returns to forage for seaweed, shells stones and anything else she finds of interest washed up onto the shaley shore. 

Will and Sophie paddle and prod around for signs of life between the large rocks near the water's edge. Their parents sit smiling, proud and happy it seems. The air is chilly but refreshing and energising. Curlews come to survey us. Rhodri and Awena sit cross-legged on prayer mats and close their eyes. 

I reminisce about the coracles I saw people sailing in on a river in Wales one summer and think how fun it would be to take one across the estuary to one of the tiny islands for a different vantage point. This is how adventures begin, with a little inkling I chuckle to myself.

*

As we wend our way back to camp for our final night, I think about how living on an island forges one's spirit. The saying goes that we're never more than 70 miles or so from the sea in Britain and perhaps this has somehow entrenched in me an idea of the sea as an escape. Perhaps I could be buried at sea I muse. Maybe I could write a will that states my wish and carry it with me so that anyone who finds me could decide whether they could carry out my final wish or not. Maybe I'd have to put some money in with it somehow. Paper money has become so scarce, it might be a good incentive. 

Now that would be an act of hope and trust wouldn't it.

*

By the River Lif

 

Chapter IX

By the River Lif

Spending some time to reflect whilst sitting on my mossy mat which I made as a precursor to the burial cradle beside the river flowing from high up in the hills I come from, through the centre of this peninsular I've travelled to and out into the sea nearby. I sometimes imagine that I can smell the salty air and this along with the occasional cries of seabirds come inland combine to fill me with a kind of nostalgic longing I've felt since going to the seaside as a child.

So long ago. Such momentous events over recent years, wars, interrupted by the second pandemic, then the sudden unexpected switching of the magnetic poles and the way it disrupted technology for years and years. We were left stranded, left so much to our own devices, left to try to carry on with whatever was still working and develop other things which have now taken on such momentous significance and urgency; the provision of food, shelter, maintenance and promotion of health, both physical and mental, social cohesion depends on these things and we depend on each other more and more. We have to organise and work in a way that only a small minority were doing over the long decades leading up to The Chaos. This past decade has seen exponential change and rapid realisation that alternatives to central control are essential to our survival. We have had to face the hard reality of taking responsibility for our own lives again. It's both scary and exhilarating.

But exhausting too and so I am appreciating this short respite from the heavy burden of managing in a haphazard way back home, hoping to develop some essential coping skills, but mainly focussing on this final one that has cropped up continually over my whole life; how to enable a peaceful transition from life to death. 

*

Rhodri and Awena, the leaders of the course here at Ghia, are the types of people I would once have met at yoga or Tai Chi classes years ago, but they spent the intervening years pursuing their chosen path so that now they are experts in what they consider to be the right way to live, ie; treading lightly, leaving few traces and those only beautiful. Right livlihood. I can't remember when it started to concern me. Maybe something I learned in early childhood which never left me. 

That this should also encompass how to die is something I have largely ignored until events in my own life compelled me to face it. Death has always been something I allowed to take me by surprise and cause me great consternation and shock over the years. 

Now, I have resolved to address this gaping hole. 

*

Out of a nearby holly bush emerge the two teenagers who are in our group. Will and Sophie. They're smiling as they squat down beside me, both seeming at home in this wild place even after just the few days we've been here. 

" We've been sent to find you " Sophie admits.

" Partly an exercise in us being able to find our way " adds Will. 

Their accents are soft and Northern and make me feel happy. Will is tall and thin, Sophie much smaller and more filled out, but it's hard to tell which is the elder. Perhaps they're close in age, they do appear to be great friends whatever the age gap. 

" It's nice to be cared for " I quip, " What's on the menu today - I hope it's baked potatoes again, I'm starving. " Will and Sophie groan in unison and we set off, chuckling together, following the river back to the place we marked where the trail leads West back to our camp.

*

Baby steps. This short period of initiation is like reading the blurb of a very fat book.

It's going to take some time.

*

Onwards

 

I will describe our wonderful day spent cycling along the lanes and roads across the beautiful and productive landscape that surrounds the walled city when I get chance. For now, I must pack and prepare myself for the next stage of our journey; onwards by a small train on an old fashioned narrow gauge railway then on foot with accompanying horse and cart to Ghia.

*

Chapter VIII

Ghia - Place by a river

There is no sign at Ghia's station. A large piece of driftwood propped up against the rickety wooden fence around the platform bears an old and faded painting of the river which runs through its middle. The end of the monorail line is denoted by a large red rusting car carcass festooned with plants and flowers. A wooden plaque invites us to fill our water bottles at the tap below. The remainder of the journey will be on foot beside the cart which is being loaded from a large container with equipment and provisions, delivered there by some unseen hand. 

As we leave the station, I look back at the tiny train, once used as a tourist attraction, and marvel at how it's been kept going through the recent turbulent times. Diesel has become a rare commodity I know and perhaps one day soon the whole of the journey from the Garden City to Ghia will be carried out on foot and these places become even more remote from the rest of our evolving society. My resolve to make as best use as I can of my time here hardens with this thought.

We set off and start our walk along the rough paths, cleared by those who've gone before us, taking in the wonder of the tall pines which give us welcome shelter from the sudden soaring temperature, I reluctantly think about possible futures for us all. 

To look forwards can seem easier than to look back, unless we are brutally honest. My thoughts tune themselves to the uncertain rhythm of my cautious feet over this rough terrain which nature rightly keeps trying to reclaim in our absence. I know how easy it is to dream, to bathe our destination in a gentle light, sun or moon, with intermittent soft rainfall, sufficient for growth and sustenance, but not enough to flood the land around us, yet, the past, experience, wags its warning at me. The finger points to hardship and struggle of a magnitude perhaps never imagined, even in ancient times. 

I observe my fellow sojourners up ahead: Petra, long dark plait hooked over her small back pack, wide brimmed felt hat, simple, indigo dyed loose fitting ankle-length dress, soft leather ankle boots, walking light-footedly, seemingly well-prepared, carefree, in her element here as she looks up intermittently, shading her eyes from the filtering light which pours through the tall pines creating their cathedral effect. 

Further up ahead, the family with two teenagers which surprised and cheered me. It can't be easy leaving techno life behind to learn how to manage off-grid.

At times I have felt a loss at not having children of my own, but over recent years I admit to feeling mostly relief. And yet, this I feel is due to a lack of courage on my part and today the urgency of working towards creating a hopeful future looms large inside me and this I know involves the heavy responsibility of preparing younger generations for how to thrive. It feels arduous, but not impossible. 

There's an elderly man infront taking the lead. He joined us at the station and seems like he knows the way walking with a lofty, knowing air. Our local guide walks silently beside the huge carthorse who stops occasionally to drink from one of the many rivulets running beside our slightly raised path. A sudden pang of joy hits me at the thought that the guide considers the water pure enough for the horse to drink. Perhaps things are already healing. 

*

  

Respite

 

I have unpacked my meagre, essential belongings and abandoned the electronic notebook for this handwritten one to save electricity which is in short supply here and also because it seems more in keeping with the spirit of the place.

My cell is sparsely furnished but clean and adequate. No shower, just a basin and large washing bowl with a jug. A small adjoining closet houses a composting toilet and several lidded buckets for various types of waste. An information sheet assures me that everything will be emptied each morning and that this task is rotated amongst volunteers who are here to learn about composting. I suddenly feel useful.

*

I'm writing by candlelight, so will be brief. This evening was charming. I joined my fellow traveller, whose name I now know is Petra, in the quadrangle outside our cells where we sat on a bench and watched the playing of the fountain which is the centre piece and saw the moon rise into a clear blue sky above the square. There were some stars we didn't bother to name but just sat in companionable silence, watching and listening. The birds' evensong was celestial, other guests stood or sat around the quadrangle quietly absorbing the peace of the evening until the tolling of a bell somewhere told us it was time to go and take our supper in the Long Hall.  Which was frugal, but delicious.

*

Now in the morning light I can write more. Petra is from further afield than I and younger. Her driving force is to become a herbalist and as part of her study will travel on, as I will, to Ghia, to learn with specialists about plants which grow wild and how to forage and make use of them. I reluctantly divulged my reason for going on to Ghia, knowing that this would make it real. Our ensuing conversation cemented my resolve that it must be what I want to do. 

Death doula isn't what I imagined I was born to do, but all the events leading up to my decision seem to point me in this direction. Speaking my intention out loud has made me feel lighter and I'm looking forward to taking a picnic and exploring the environs of this place before moving on to Ghia tomorrow. 

*

 

Garden City

 

Chapter VII

Garden City

Our view is interrupted suddenly as the train passes alongside honey coloured old stone walls encompassing Hortus Conclusus and my companion and I hurry to gather our things together.

Everyone will alight here says the voice over the tannoy. This for some is a final destination where people come and stay awhile to rest and recuperate inside the cloistered garden city with resorative trips out into the beautiful environs, a taste of peace and paradise to heal and re-energise so that the hardships and strictures of daily life may be resumed with the necessary fervour.  For others, it's a place to give birth. There is accommodation and expertise available for those who need to convalesce and others who are in the last stages of pregnancy. The rest of us who are intending to travel further onwards will stay in a separate quarter. 

We all step out onto the ancient stone of the platform together and take in the fabled high vaulted ceilings painted in the style of the Sistene Chapel but with secular imagery telling the story of our new society's generation and vision. 

The mood is one of subdued joy and wonder. Passengers talk in low hushed voices. Further down the platform, a small child strains at the leash of their pregnant mother's hand and someone else scoops them up onto their shoulders. Other children of various ages who must be weary of being cooped up on a train, wait patiently among the adults, looking at the frescoes, some taking photos with their wrist phones. 

These recent times have instilled something in us all, unspeakable, a softening of the edges of feeling, everything fleeting, a distance from joy as if its light might always be chased closely by shadow. We are held in some aspic of shared shock and grief and peering reluctantly further down the platform to those among us on trolleys and in wheelchairs, some of whom may be travelling further onto Ghia with me soon, I know we all know, even the youngest amongst us, that they are the reason why. 

*