A hard, hard frost this campervan morning. Minus three and I really am not going to venture outside other than to poke my head out confirm it’s cold and then get back into the van. A clear sky with pink contrails and only gossamer thin cloud. An orange tint on the horizon as the sun threatens to reveal itself. Reflecting on traditions, change and some resistance this morning. I am on some levels resistant to change, I enjoy the comfort of some traditions and use them as boundaries and signals to know where I am. The traditions of Christmas that I enjoy and hold me, let me know where I am and to some extent reflect who I am. I once read and made a note that “ Tradition becomes our security, and when the mind is secure it is in decay “. I don’t feel that’s right. In some ways with security comes the luxury to think and reflect. If I had no pension and continued to work at the rate I was then the space to create and reflect would be gone. I think Somerset Maugham had more of a clue when he said that tradition was more of guide rather than a jailer. I find, like hierarchies, some traditions difficult to handle and go out of my way to take them apart as they normally represent some form of oppression, be it women, children, workers, ethnicity, junior staff etc. Traditions created so people know their place. Not benign traditions, rituals and celebrations with a rich history, but poisonous, self serving, critical traditions to preserve the status quo. I have been lucky to be part of ceremonies, rituals and traditions with a rich history and have them explained to me by masters of their art. They serve the many and are for the good of all. We seem at the moment to be enveloped in traditions that serve the few and exploit and rob the many. It feels even more sharper now at this time of year. Any way enough of this winter cheer. I head further north. Lovely days people.
“ The season binds is across time and place“ Horatio Clare.
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