Paul Kingsnorth (from NY Times article by Daniel Smith – 4-17-14)
Most people are continually fighting for something…for what they haven’t yet got, to protect something they already have, or to recover what they’ve somehow lost. Thus contentment, in an age of consumerism, has become an increasingly rare commodity. So, for those few people who still have it, what would be considered a contemporary substitute for contentment? Perhaps it may properly be called ‘resignation’…or ‘the end of hope,’ as described in the NY Times article below:
It’s the End of the World as We Know It . . . and He Feels Fine
Late one night last August, on the chalk downlands of southern England, Paul Kingsnorth stood in a field beside an old-growth forest, two yurts and a composting toilet. Kingsnorth is 41, tall, slim and energetic, with sweeping brown hair and a sparse beard. He wears rimless glasses and a silver stud in his ear, and he talks with great ardor, often apologizing for having said too much or for having said it too strongly.
On this occasion, Kingsnorth was silent. It was the final night of Uncivilization, an outdoor festival run by the Dark Mountain Project, a loose network of ecologically minded artists and writers, and he was standing with several dozen others waiting for the festival’s midnight ritual to begin. Kingsnorth, a founder of the group, had already taken part in several sessions that day, including one on contemporary nature writing; a panel about the iniquities of mainstream psychiatric care; and a reading from his most recent book, “The Wake,” a novel set in the 11th century and written in a “shadow language” — a mash-up of Old and modern English. He had also helped his two young children assemble a train set while trying to encapsulate his views on climate change and environmental degradation in what Kingsnorth describes as an era of global disruption. The “human machine,” as he sometimes puts it, has grown to such a size that breakdown is inevitable. What, then, do we do?
[Click here to read the entire article...]
His first memory was of being held by a nurse in the delivery room. She wiped him with a towel, put him on a scale and weighed him, then rolled ink on the bottom of his feet and pressed them onto his birth certificate.
Those prints have faded over the years, but his memory of that experience has not. In fact when he told his mother about his memory of that experience many years later, she looked at him with surprise and said that it had been exactly the way he remembered it. She went on to add that he had been unusually quiet and very alert right after his birth. And that when the nurse had finished toweling him off his eyes opened very wide and he began looking around the delivery room with an expression of wonder.
A few years later a similar eye-opening ‘footprint impression’ was left in his memory (see Born Young). This one, more ‘indelible’ than the first, recalled his beginning step upon a path that he would explore for many years to come. That first step was taken shortly before the age of five.
Returning home late one afternoon from an independent exploration of the area surrounding their home (including the forbidden next block), his mother greeted him with a slap to the butt and a stern admonition that it was time for him to start growing up! Not knowing exactly what she meant by that, he tried to connect it with what he’d just experienced on his afternoon walk. What, he wondered, should one use as a model for growing up? Should it be that of the ‘adult’ world he’d been observing on his tour of the neighborhood? Should it be the little old man, for example, who he’d seen transporting himself with 1-1/2 tons of smoking steel through the neighborhood streets…mostly to gain attention?
By the time he was fourteen he still hadn’t found anyone, or anything that suggested a more advanced state of understanding or awareness than his own. In fact, the older he got, the more childish (to him) most people seemed to be. Maybe somewhere in the wider world, he thought. Certainly there had to be examples out there, somewhere, even if only historic. And that’s when he began to read, voraciously. But the more he read, the more his hope of making that discovery began to dim. And while he found many literary examples of creative brilliance, they were invariably contained within a childish, culturally framed point of view. Continue reading →