Having spent some time now travelling by solar ebike, I have discovered
an unexpected sense of brotherhood with sailors of old, especially as I
am intermittently crossing ancient storied seas, the self-same Adriatic,
Ionian, Mediterranean traversed by the likes of Odysseus, whose Homerian
epic so enthralled me as a precocious twelve year old.
The parallels between relying on the wind, or the sun, to maintain
motion mean the weather becomes an obsession, examining the sky at
sunset for clues as to the morrow’s progress – a new ritual. Of course
these days aided by weather apps on my phone, though there remains a
deep delight in direct observation, and any unassisted predictions that
actually manifest.
Accustomed as we now are to the tyranny of the clock, our robotic
submission means to realign one’s immediate life path with a force which
knows no schedule, is an exercise both in humility, and reconnection. A
sailor’s nightmare is to be becalmed, mine to beclouded, if such a word
exists. Of course in theory at least, unlike those ancient mariners, I
do have backup, plugging into the grid in the absence of sunshine.
Though as a spendthrift traveller unwilling to rent a few square metres
of planet merely to access a mains socket, that backup can often be more
illusory than it first appears. Especially should I find myself, as I
often do, in remote forest or high in quiet mountains, far from the
nearest human being, let alone a power socket, then the fundamentally
illusory nature of that security is starkly revealed. Besides, there is
an undeniable pride in surviving without recourse to the seductively
easy, endlessly dripping pap of corporate power. I only need enough food
and water to reach the next sunny spell, or in desperation must abandon
ship and hike out to civilisation, humbled, hoping my precious steed is
still intact when I return, lugging my hardwon ‘independence’, several
kilos of lithium filled with that special kind of humiliation that only
slavery can bring. Thankfully that has only happened once so far!
Those who know me, would not be surprised to hear me argue that a
glaring symptom of our current decline and social malaise, is
disconnection. A yawning gap between our daily being, and the living
planet that alone sustains our very lives. At every level from the
fundamentals of food, air and shelter, to the energy web of sentient
being that weaves our actual existence.
Having waged a long and ineffectual war of words on this very subject,
eventually resigning myself to the depressing wisdom of horses and
water, it is a small but definite consolation to engage in a life that
joins these dots, at least a little. Even better to feel connected to
explorers of old. To, albeit in a very minor way, resonate with their
courage and hardiness, venturing forth over unpredictable terrain,
reliant on wits and good fortune to safely progress.
Examining the clues of neglect, hence undisturbed peace whilst exploring
a possible campsite for the night. Evaluating the likelihood of
discovery by police or neighbours, or being troubled by insects, wild
boars or runoff, should it rain. Inevitably, the most feared are other
humans, as if we evolved to be solitary, predatory hunters, obsessed
with maintaining territorial control, rather than the social primates we
so obviously are.
Why should it matter, if someone sleeps on a patch of unused ground for
a night or two? Obviously not to damage it or the surroundings, nor to
endanger crops or other cultivated areas. Scotland, eventually, has
reinstated the evolutionary right to roam, but there is no concomitant
right to lie down. We all need to sleep, as much as roam, breathe or
eat.
Aye, but then we’re back with the horses again, refusing to taste even a
sip of justice. Which circles round to the reason for my immediate
destination, Crete, or rather its ancient, seemingly atypical
matriarchal society misnamed by us as Minoan. Odysseus emerged from the
violent, patriarchal cultures of mainland Greece, facing many dangers,
most of which just happened to be female. Sirens, witches, tricksy
queens and goddesses. Bit of a meme there!
As far as we can tell, it took nearly a thousand years, and three major
earthquakes/volcanic eruptions for Crete to be weakened enough to be
conquered by the likes of Odysseus. Until then, they flourished without
the dominion of men.
The point of this digression, is that unlike all the surrounding warrior
cultures on the mainland, there is an almost complete lack of weapons
and fortifications, no art celebrating conquest and domination, only the
generosity of nature, joy and beauty. Women clearly still held a
central, even superior role in society, which itself had little
disparity of wealth, no obvious hierarchies of power, yet sophisticated
architecture, centralised long-term food storage, and widespread
literacy, even amongst the hill farmers. In short a society that used
human ingenuity to enrich life for all, rather than enforce scarcity as
a tool to enslave and exploit. An actual example of the kind of the once
widespread partnership societies posited by Gimbutas, Eisler etc. Hence
my desire to feel the stones of that place, to touch even slightly, the
ghost of that lost contentment.
That I will navigate there propelled by gravity and the Father’s many-handed rays, leaving only a wake of fading tyre-tracks stretching to the horizon,
feels an act of worship. A respect for the hope of a rekindled humanity,
reborn as the wise, constructive fingers of evolution we long were,
until the Great Breaking destroyed our faith in the Mother, warping us
into these amnesiac, collectively suicidal lunatics we have indubitably
become, endlessly reeling from one oppression to the next, unable to
regain our rooted balance. Culturally, emotionally and sexually
traumatised by the literal apocalypse modern science blandly christens
the Younger Dryas.
It is hard to live in this world without some faith in a better one. At
least for me. Others seem to resign themselves to evil as inevitable,
even necessary. I did not come here to support that capitulation. Which
probably goes a long way to explain why this is written in a dusty,
anciently sacred canyon far from the ‘comforts’ of civilization on a
device powered mostly by the same sun that fuels both my journey, and
ultimately, my life.
Leave a Reply