Where are you really from? Lent 2021: Day 21

It was Brexit that divided society into 'citizens of somewhere' and 'citizens of nowhere'. The former have deeply established roots in a given community; the others are migrants - said by Brexiteers to be rootless nomads, settlers from elsewhere. Before then, urban Britain had somehow got used to newcomers moving in from other countries and other continents, while rural England was largely unaware of the phenomenon. Whilst most English cities voted to remain in the EU, small-town and rural England (and Wales) voted to Take Back Control, because they didn't like strangers talking in foreign languages in the High Street.

My son was born in West London to parents who themselves were born in England to British citizens. He moved back to Ealing after completing his postgraduate studies in Paris and before that, 20 years living and studying in Poland. When applying for a UK National Insurance number, he was asked "...but where are you really from?"

A good question, and one with a metaphysical dimension. And it's the metaphysical dimension alone that I wish to pursue in this Lenten post.

Sensitivity to spirit of place is important to who we really are. Those qualia - those subjective conscious experiences that are at the heart of what it is to being ourselves - are often triggered by being at a certain place at a certain time. You catch yourself being suddenly aware of the flavour, the atmosphere, the klimat. It's unique. It could not be elsewhere. And that moment of intense sensation of being there can often come back to you, in flashbacks and in dreams. Geographically, such moments root you.

Now, if you are a well-travelled citizen of nowhere, who has had many an exotic holiday, trekking along mountain ridges, splashing in the ocean's surf, hiking through the jungle to visit a hidden temple, those moments can come from all over the world. The citizen of somewhere, however, has stronger connections. Probably the place that most frequently appears in my dreams is Paddington Station, with its vaulted glass roof, cast-iron and Victorian brick arches, ramps and tunnels, platforms and kiosks. Sometimes its in London, sometimes its in Wiltshire or Warsaw. But it is recognisably Paddington - the station I commuted through for many years while working in Central London. However - it's not today's Paddington Station. In my dreams it is darker, eerier; full of soot, smoke, grime and steam - it predates my childhood. Then there are the flashbacks to place - particular places that I find it harder to pin down; but the sensation is so familiar; again, they predate my childhood.

I have written much about this phenomenon and how it has shaped my spiritual worldview; the question you should ask yourself is whether you too have such experiences that might point to a past conscious existence. Some I have spoken to feel an affiliation with early 19th century Paris, colonial East Africa, Sweden under King Gustavus Adolphus, the Deep South, the British Raj in India or Ancient Greece. But such discussions are rare; they are always with mindful people.

Takes you back? Where?

I don't know how the physics or indeed metaphysics behind this phenomenon works. Easier to explain are atavistic memories - ones with a possible genetic vector. One such I experienced was the intense sensation I felt one summer's day as I cycled along the road from Grójec to Mogielnica, never having been there before - cresting a low hill just before Mogielnica, an apple orchard to my left, I felt a sense of this place being strongly familiar. Year later, I would find out that my paternal grandmother was born around here, her family had a farm in these very parts. Or the time one late winter/early spring day on Wimbledon Common, South-West London, a broad sandy track between banks of leafless silver birches used for horse-riding - I felt the lie of the land reminded me of the Kresy in prewar Eastern Poland that my mother's family came from - having never been there myself.

Far harder to explain the America flashbacks that I have had since earlier childhood and continue to have to this day, familiar, comforting.

I hope that over time, my nightly dream diaries will offer enough quantitative data as to places about which I dream (even hybrid places, or ones improbably located) to take some educated guesses.

A consciousness anchored in spirit of place has a better recall of the thread of time passing through biological lives; we have so much to discover about our purpose and our journey along the infinitely long road from Zero to One.

This time last year:
Buildings and the sense of the Mystical

This time two years ago:
Face to face with Schrodinger's Cat

This time six years ago:
Opening of Line 2 of Warsaw's Metro

This time eight years ago:
A selfless faith

This time nine years ago:
Ul. Profesorska after the remont

This time ten years ago:
Lent kicks off again, for the 20th year in a row for me

This time 11 years ago:
Halfway through Lent

This time 13 years ago:
Spring much closer