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| in context (i hope) |
He was driving home the other night - leaving his thoughts a free rein, when they took a huge swirl into the past, looking at
many things including loves lost and won, misplaced and simply missed when he suddenly came up over a hill at the back of the vineyards and he spied the spire
of the church in the village of Campagnac – an auspicious place at best of
times as at least one tale of love misused unfolded nearby – and he noticed a
giant and brooding grey cloud that seemed to emanate from the church steeple
itself as if the Devil’s work was a-foot.
From the car stereo system the
ethereal sounds of the lead singer of London Grammar rushed both around and
through him and he found himself thinking about your recent tirade concerning the
ignorant fools that populate parts of this planet.
As one would.
He thought superstitions are interesting - in
that those who are superstitious know that they are superstitions, and so by that very fact they know that they are something that has no basis in anything except imagination,
if they did they would not be superstitions and therefore one can only believe
in them if one accepts that they are something that you can’t believe in, and one is conscious of that.
So maybe, just maybe, one doesn’t need to
despair of the state of people’s thinking but see it instead as a sign that
deep down those 50+ per cent believe really in the hope for something better.
Probably you had to be there amongst the
vineyards, the clouds and the music for this to really make sense but he was
thinking along the lines of … when one is little one believes in Father Christmas
and Fairies at the bottom of the garden, and pots of gold at the end of the
rainbow and leprechauns and wishing on the first star and crossing one's fingers
and thinking that if her name is spoken out loud enough times she will fall in
love with you – and as one grows older one sheds or looses these things one by one
and the world changes from a magical place to just a place.
And maybe all that one means, when you
confess that you still believe in any of these, is that you still want the
place to be magical, and therein is a seed of hope that people carry - for turning
whatever they need to turn around, around.
He wondered if any of that made any sense.
ab/71
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