Enquiry
By
John
Riminton.
Alone,
aware, mind ranging through the thoughts that haunt the night.
How
reconcile the ways that people meet and interact?
For
what else is there?
The
shop, the club, the tourist launch, the school, the bank, the
residential home
arise
from people meeting one another.
The
skills are honed by life – some never gained
Destroyed
by power, greed or selfish trait.
And
who am I?
I
am a link between two generations
A
factor in the thoughts of other minds.
Who
else is more?
Two
Gulls.
by
John Riminton.
Two gulls together flying very
high
a span apart, intent upon their
course.
Pair-bonded or companions on a
flight
small dots, identified by
wing-beat and by size.
Gulls surely fly for pleasure but
why so high?
far higher than the nearby hills
and out of sight of food
and why together?
We 'd share our thoughts and
friendship
discuss
the landscape or the track
comment
on plants and birds.
and
go our way.
But they?
What empathies and needs keep them
together?
We only know that there exists
a realm beyond our thought
wherein they fly.
"Enquiry" and "Two Gulls" were read by John Riminton at the opening of the Godley House Memorial Walkway on 11 November, 2012.
The Illusionist
by
John
Riminton.
When I
was doing the Busker circuit in southern England, they used to call
me the Great Illusionist because I would occasionally perform the
Mango Seed Trick. You know mango seeds are so rare in England that ,
like money, you would think that they don't grow on trees, but, of
course, they do, but that does not make suitable seeds easier to find
and so I only did the Trick on BIG occasions.
I don't
know whether you have ever seen it performed but it really is fun. I
would take the seed (you know what they look like), put a bit of soil
on a concrete pavement, cover it with a cloth, chant a bit, and you
would see the seed sprouting under the cloth, leave it a few minutes,
take the cloth away and there would be a young mango seedling!. I'm
not going to tell you how it is done, but it always got a great
reception.
I first
saw it performed when I was a kid visiting some distant relation in
Sri Lanka and it blew me away. I decided then to find out how it was
done but I had to wait until my OE year when I went to India. It all
fitted in well because that was the time, in the 1970s when half the
young world was flocking to one or the other of the various gurus
running Ashrams around India and I was really serious about my
dharma. Anyway, I visited an ashram near Mysore and settled in for
a year of contemplation that included learning some Tamil which is
the local language down there. In fact, I became quite a proficient
Tamil speaker and towards the end of my stay decided to go walkabout.
In the smaller villages, the locals were intrigued that I spoke the
language and offered me all sorts of hospitality and, in one of the
villages, I met a snake-charmer/conjurer, back home after a season in
Madras, and became quite friendly with him, staying in his home. I
told him my childhood fascination with the trick and, after some
earnest soul-searching on his part, he showed me how to do it, plus a
couple of other, much less spectacular but useful tricks – may his
kharma glow.
Coming
back to England was a shock. No shortage of people in India and the
Mysore pavements were crowded but the atmosphere was so different.
Back in Guildford, everyone was so earnest, and worried about
something – usually money or property values, the difficulties of
commuting, whatever - but with none of the humanity
that I had seen everywhere in India. I was expected to do a degree
in Economics at Reading but it just didn't work out and I dropped out
after the first year – but what to do? That mango seed stuck in my
mind. I found a place that would give me some instruction in
conjuring, took to it like a duck to water and became a Busker – it
was wonderful. Can you imagine what it feels like to stand in a
street, everyone ignoring you and then, ten minutes later, to have a
small crowd watching your every move, laughing, applauding and
leaving money for you? And it wasn't just in England – there was
already a circuit that took you to the continent so that one became
part of an elite group of musicians, acrobats and other performers
where we found our partners, lovers and friends.
Occasionally
some of us would perform in central London or other big cities among
the scurrying suits that had put me off economics in the first place.
Afterwards we would gather in some pub for a drink and talk about
the performances and the reactions of the crowd, momentarily absorbed
by what they were watching before recovering their worried frowns and
returning to their offices where they would resume their efforts to
reassure their clients that the financial world was all Triple A and
that economic growth could go on forever.
We used
to laughingly drink to the thought that maybe we were not the real
illusionists.
Clouds
by
John
Riminton.
"Than
these November skies
is
no sky lovelier. The clouds are deep;
Into
their grey the subtle spies
of
colour creep.
The
opening lines of John Freeman's beautiful poem about English skies
came unbidden to his mind as he looked across the range of low hills,
partly obscured by clouds through which shone a single ray of
sunlight.
The
scene, in fact, provided an excellent metaphor for his thoughts.
By
any reckoning, it had been a terrible eighteen months.
Professionally, he had been working on the complex relationships
between peak oil, global warming and the various financial crises
springing up around the world. That would have been depressing
enough but the problems faded into a grey background to domestic
events. First of all, against his wife Julie's advice, he had
invested most of their savings in one of the vaunted Loan companies
which, of course, had gone bust and into receivership so that they
would now be lucky to get-/10cts in the dollar – eventually. Then,
there had been the small matter of the earthquakes and being red
stickered in a Red Zone. With savings (if any) inaccessible and
insurances late to be paid and impossible to get on a new property,
they had been forced into rented accommodation that Julie hated. Her
family had suffered badly as well so that she was also grieving on
their behalf. Then, to cap it all, their teenage son David had been
suspended from school on some pretext that fortunately did not
involve drugs. How do you get off a via
dolorosa
like that? He had tried counting his blessings – he still had a
job, Julie spoke to him occasionally, he was quite healthy, but they
didn't quite seem to tip the balance back to even and then.........
Late
last Friday he had received a call from an old colleague in Sydney:
"a job has come up that would suit you well especially as the
company would provide you with accommodation for six months. I have
told them your name and CV and they are prepared to offer it to you,
without advertising, subject to interview but you would have to
attend at your expense. Are you interested?" Was he ever!!
The week-end had been spent discussing it with a Julie reluctant to
leave her parents but who could, nevertheless see the advantages.
David seemed grateful for anything that would get him out of his
present hole..
Suddenly,
the closing lines of the poem came back to him
"In
all the myriad grey
In
silver height and dusky deep, remain
The
loveliest
442
Faint purple flushes of the unvanquished sun".
John Riminton
© Copyright Act 1994
John I loved your stories..the last one is very moving but it gives hope cheers Jan
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