A life of new meaning
On Harlech beach, I noticed a seemingly random number on the embankment wall of the Cambrian Railway above. Plaques on either side showed numbers 41 and 43, unsurprisingly. Pacing the sand, I estimated that they were 22 yards apart: the length of the old Chain measurement, still used for railway surveying. I guessed that the sequence began and ended half a mile away in each direction, but wondered if this really mattered. Finding interest in the mundane is in the spirit of psychogeography, a field of interest I've found so transforming in recent years.
As a way of experiencing, I’m fascinated by multifaceted meanings. I’ve enjoyed my new home fourfold through learning Cymraeg, in becoming more attuned to the nation’s overt and occult social, cultural and political histories. In classroom discussion, the question was often asked “What is your favourite place in Cymru?”. Invariably my reply is that it is wherever I happen to be today.
There is a different way of seeing: a deeper sense of noticing one’s surroundings. A guided walk in the company of “punk archaeologist” Rhys Mwyn emphasised the importance of perceiving odd details, or things hidden beneath the feet. Some gothic carvings at Tremadog, near to where Shelley had stayed and maybe Mary Wollstonecraft visited, sparked in his imagination that Frankenstein’s monster had been conceived there. Fact, fiction and fantasy are entertainingly intertwined.
Thinking about thinking, it’s one thing to be “in the moment” as they say, but psychogeography can be about being in all other moments simultaneously. When visiting historic sites dating back millennia, there is an imagined "spirit" in the ancient stones. I wonder then if we move through time or time moves through us. Or whether anything really moves at all. It's a subjective and illusory concept. Quantum physics aside, it's an idea that's strangely comforting. Through Cymraeg I’ve learned more about grammar (English grammar too) than ever before. The concept of the “continuous present” is imbued with extra significance.
There are creative ways of remembering: making sense (and nonsense) of the past, including one’s own. Through blogging I find myself rewriting and re-experiencing old events. For sixty years I have been in awe of the improbable pinnacles of Lofoten, Norway, pictured in a dusty old book belonging to an aunt. The feeling isn't diminished by the reality of only ever going as far north as Bergen, 500 miles short. With increasing age, it is axiomatic that there are far more memories of what has already happened than there will be in the future. I locate many memories in old places but with new connections. And in new places, some never even visited, recycling old connections.
Psychogeography is many things, whatever you want it to be. It enhances the enjoyment of noticing, experiencing, seeing, thinking, remembering, listening, imagining and wondering. For some it has become another dry academic and institutionalised discipline, subverted by the special pleading of sub-genres. For me it's in celebrating a diversity of meanings, and in the sense of connectedness of all things. Whether or not venturing into the realm of panpsychism, transcending and liberating the mundane can at least help make sense of existence. Reality, reverie and romance on equal footing.
You can read too much into things, but isn’t that the point?
LINKS
The illusion of time (nature.com)
The Schubertiades | The Romantic Piano | WQXR
A personal psycho-geography (cambriancrumbs.blogspot.com)
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I look forward to your comments. Also it would be nice to know where you are in the world. Thanks for reading.