Biorhythms are nonsense. And yet...

You ask anyone with any chronic illness how they are, and often you'll hear: "there are better days, and there are worse days." We can all sympathise with the notion of cyclical fluctuations in samopoczucie, in one's physical, mental and spiritual condition. 

Back in the 1970s, I had read – and thought a lot – about biorhythms – the idea that we are all subject to three cycles governing the way we feel and behave.

From Wikipedia: "the biorhythm theory is the idea that people's daily lives are significantly affected by rhythmic cycles with periods of exactly 23, 28 and 33 days; a 23-day physical cycle, a 28-day emotional cycle, and a 33-day intellectual cycle." The theory is predicated on the notion that all three cycles are precisely matched at the moment of birth, and run on throughout life, hitting peaks and troughs that can come together at rare intervals.

At the time, newspaper articles and pop-science books passed from hand to hand in sixth-form common rooms and with the aid of pocket calculators, we were trying to work out whether we were meant to be having a good day or a bad day (or a combination of both across three metrics). But there was a huge snag that I could see – the mathematical precision that the theory depended on. Biology isn't digital; it's messy. Women's menstrual cycles are a good illustration of this, periods coming early, late or sometimes not at all. So why should, for example, the human intellectual cycle run at exactly 33 days? For all people? 

Although biorhythms have rightly been dismissed as pseudoscience, I nevertheless intuit that there's a wisp of truth here. We all have our ups and our downs, physically, intellectually and emotionally. For some people, the amplitude of the peaks and troughs is not significant. Externally, they appear consistent.

But not everyone is consistent. Athletic, intellectual or artistic performance can fluctuate. And obviously there are extraneous factors. Are we ever at our absolute peak when taking an exam, running a race or just experiencing the emotions of a long-awaited vacation?

So – is this all cyclical? Can one pin down those highs and lows, and based on that – can one predict them into the future, such as solar or lunar cycles?

Here's my experience – when the physical cycle is low, one is more likely to come down with some infection. There's a greater need for daytime naps, nocturnal sleep has longer duration, there's a higher propensity to small aches and pains. 

So when the physical cycle is low, I'm not trying to break exercise records. I take it easy. I go to bed early and have a lie-in the next morning. And when the cycle peaks, then I can go for it (like the two sets of nine pull-ups to the bar I managed on 6 November.) Pull-ups are a good indicator for me of my physical condition. Some days I'll be pulling seven or eight; others three or four are more usual. So looking at the data gathered over 11 years, can I see a pattern? If there is (just looking a pull-ups, for example), it's not at all regular, but there are peaks and troughs.

Intellectual cycles are also interesting. These, I think, are longer in duration. For me the symptoms of an intellectual low is when I feel that I don't really know much. That my understanding of the fabric of reality is poor. My curiosity wanes, I'm more easily distracted. When speaking in public, I do so without much conviction, and I feel I'm not carrying the audience along with my narrative. And blogging – sometimes I feel inspired, sometimes I'll go back to an old post and think "that was really quite good!". Other times, the prose seems flat, contrived or borrowed.

Emotionally, my mood swings are from gregarious to withdrawn, though in the withdrawn state I'm not unhappy, so I'd rate my happiness levels as consistently good. Sometimes I do need to be alone.

Consciously sensing the feedback from your body, mind and spirit are to me essential in keeping on track. But the fundamental question is – are we running on cycles, or are the ups and downs of our physical, mental and spiritual condition merely the result of external factors? And if there are cycles – to what extent can we control them, physically or indeed metaphysically?

This time three years ago:
Twilight rambler

This time five years ago:
Late-November pictorial round-up

This time six years ago:
Artificial Intelligence vs Artificial Consciousness

[In retrospect, an interesting and prescient piece!]

This time seven years ago:
Viaduct takes shape in the snow

This time ten years ago:
No in-work benefits for four years?

This time 11 years ago:

Third snow-free November in a row

This time 12 years ago:

Another November without snow

This time 13 years ago:
Snow-free November

This time 14 years ago:
Krakowskie Przedmieście in the snow

Kanalisierungszeit

 What's going to happen now? Let's see...

{{ Sweet snaps of the Rhine, pressed trousers, polished shoes, you're representing the U.S.A., remember. These people all around us were our enemy just ten years ago. Today, they've bought into our dream. Automobiles, neon and jazz. Television sets and sport. Frauleins remind me of home. But you stare into the dead eyes of some older guy, and you know, you see hate. Hatred, resentment. I last saw that gaze fixed on me in Alabama. Losers and winners. But here, they know who beat them. They know if it weren't for us, if it weren't for our military presence, they'd be under a different boot. Some of those older guys had had a taste of that. No Marshall Plan, no dream, no Auto, no neon, no jazz; just grayness and the lash.

Demonstration flight 0530 tomorrow morning. I'll be part-engineer, part-salesman. Talk them through the features, answer the technical questions. Handling their objections. They're think they're good engineers – but heck, we're better. Better science, better universities, that's why. They see only detail; we get the bigger picture. We're Can Do. We Think Big. 

So – tomorrow. The guy who takes the decisions – he's from the Ministry. He has the budget. So it's a good thing most of that budget comes from Uncle Sam. That's why our people from the Embassy in Bonn are here too. We're here to sell.

Smell of rubber and kerosene, men working round the clock to get everything working perfectly for that early morning flight. Calibration, control, last-minute tweaks. Weather forecast isn't perfect but it'll do for the demo flight. Hangar doors are wide open; inside bright lights and the sound of engines being warmed up. Step ladders, crates and trolleys. Busy.

Look – at heart, I'm a mechanic, not an engineer – and sure as hell I'm not a scientist. I can take a carburettor apart, immediately see what the problem is, fix it, put it back together, and replace the unit so the engine works good. I'm handy with spanners and screwdrivers – real handy. That's what kept me out of the meat grinder in the Pacific, I was too useful to the Marines fixing F4U Corsair engines. But today my job calls on me to pretend I'm a scientist, using fancy words I don't entirely understand. Why am I here? I often wonder! Talking to real scientists, real engineers, and the budget boys from the air force and the ministry, I can tell a good story, from real life, from actually having handled the kit inside an RB-36 at 35,000ft with Red fighters climbing towards our ship for the intercept. I'm one of a handful of aircrew who have actually been over Soviet territory – though officially, I can only imply that, and if asked openly, I must deny it.

Night time in Wiesbaden. The Aral neon over the gas station, the milchbar across the road, wet cobblestones, Volkswagen Beetles, shiny black Mercedes-Benz sedans. Here and there a gap between the buildings, a reminder of wartime destruction, but the people are well-dressed and well fed; this isn't Guatemala or Honduras. Been there too, selling military hardware. Didn't like that. Just selling them redundant airplanes that they'll use fighting between themselves or killing their own folk. Candy from a baby. Still, taught me a thing or two about diplomacy. West Germany – a different matter. Just across the border to the east lies a massive foe, well armed and dangerous. Technologically not our match across the board, but here and there they have surprises up their sleeves. We have to be prepared for those surprises. And our allies too, holding the line here in Europe with us. Some stuff we can share – some we can't. Never know whom to trust, who'll sell our secrets to the Reds.

Ideologically the Ruskis are the enemies of freedom. Seen those cartoons they publish about us? See how they try to mock us? Given half the chance, how many of them would want to be living in the free world?

Tanker trucks are driving into the hangar, the plane's being fueled up. Black German crosses freshly painted on the wings and fuselages. Different to those wartime ones. More like World War One and the Red Baron's flying circus. Checklists. Inspect everything. No smoking within 100 feet. Cigars tomorrow, I hope. And beers. They remind me of home too. 

[AI-generated image]

I think back to America and our office park. A beautiful place to work. I see the sense of what I'm doing. Strategic defense. Not messing around – projects designed to make the world safer through the application of military technology. We won in 1945 because of air power. We'll beat back the Ruskis in space. Burbank, El Segundo, San Diego – I work with them all, Bethpage too, especially around Navy contracts. Keep in with the boys. Best way of life in the whole world. Our German customers – they'll need all our help to keep the Reds out. Not just the hardware, but the promise of better life. A Frigidaire full. That is all. }}

This time last year:
Świnoujście out of season

This time two years ago:

New York City really has it all

This time three years ago:
Where the two contracts end

This time four years ago:
In praise of the Nikon D3500

This time five years ago:
Agnieszka Holland's Mr Jones reviewed

This time six years ago:
The Earth is flat

This time seven years ago:
Fiftieth anniversary of the Polski Fiat 125

This time nine years ago:
Wojtek the Bear in Edinburgh

This time 12 years ago:
Red tape and travel
[A reminder of how bad things once were!]

This time 14 years ago:
How much education does a country need?

This time 15 years ago:
Between Sarabandy and Farbiarska

This time 17 years ago:
Lights in the night sky

Springlike autumn klimat

Sun outside – go get it. Wring out every minute of that precious light. Bathe the brain in photons. Leave office work until after dark. The snow's gone; daytime high today was a pleasant 12°C.

Below: good local news, ongoing for a couple of weeks – a pavement for ulica Wolska, the road from Chynów to Widok. More pavements, more folk may to tempted to leave the car and walk to the shops. And vastly safer. The 'built-up area' roadsign means 50km/h speed limit, but even so. (That's not snow on the new pavement; it's sand intended to work its way into the cracks between the paving blocks.)

Below: trundling to town, the Koleje Mazowieckie train between Krężel and Chynów. This service means I'm within easy reach of Warsaw (32 minutes from Chynów to W-wa Służewiec). Running parallel to the tracks is ul. Torowa ('Track Street').

Below: reverse view from the level crossing on ul. Spokojna ('Peaceful Street'), looking up the line towards Chynów station.

Below: last of the 2024 crop. Too high to gather, but still hanging on.

Below: Mazowsze architecture at the far end of ul. Spokojna, as it reaches the village of Piekut. Next to this old house, a new bungalow is being built. The English pattern of moving out of town into the quiet of the countryside once enough wealth has been made is becoming the new Polish trend.

Below: between Piekut and Dąbrowa Duża.

Below: leafless silver birches between the pines.

Below: low sun on the edge of Jakubowizna. Two recently built houses show the way.

Below: back in Jakubowizna on the way home. The sun is about to set.

Below: I live twelve minutes from here. Setting sun aligns with the path home.

This time last year:
Encouraging more cycle-rail journeys

This time two years ago:

Time's Telescope

This time three years ago:
Justify the buy: Nikon D5600

This time four years ago:
First frost, 2020

This time six years ago:
Edinburgh, again and again

This time ten years ago:
Ahead of the opening of Warsaw's second Metro line

This time 11 years ago:
Keep an eye on Ukraine...

This time 12 years ago:
Płock by day, Płock by night 

This time 14 years ago:
Warning ahead of railway timetable change

This time 17 years ago:
Some thoughts on recycling

The snow and the sun

A powerful combination when it comes to qualia. The sensation of strong sunlight reflecting off the snow was something I only first experienced when on a skiing holiday in 1984, aged 27. Snow, when it came in England, was accompanied by dark clouds, and would melt away all too soon. Yesterday, as the clouds passed, and the sun lit up the snowy scene outside my window, I had the notion to recreate the skiing qualia flashbacks of Val de Whatever in France, and lit a cigarette, not to smoke, but as an incense stick in the kitchen. I also do this (very) occasionally in high summer to recreate Stella-Plage qualia. That increasingly rare whiff triggers those flashbacks far more intensely than visual stimuli alone. Sun, snow and tobacco smoke brings that back as though it were the same moment.

Propelling myself out of the cosy warmth into the snow required little effort this morning; I recently bought a USAF-pattern N3B parka (the long version of the N2B which I've owned since 1980). It's so warm that despite the cold, I had to stop along the way to remove my cardigan. Destination today: Rososz. The small grocery shop, where I can buy provisions for an outdoor lunchtime reverie.

Left: the little lane leading down to Grobice. All the apples are safely gathered in, the tractors have ceased chugging up and down. Here and there, the sound of chainsaws as old branches are pruned.

Below: something new in the neighbourhood – last week I noticed the arrival of the white hut installed in the gap between the turnoff to Machcin II and the path to Rososz. Since then, this plot has been enclosed. I'd expect a new house to pop up here; The hut, I take it, will be used by the builders. Five or six new houses have already built to the east of Jakubowizna's border in the past few years.

Below: on the path to Rososz, passing the edge of Dąbrowa Duża. On the way out, I meet not one single person; on the way back I pass a Nordic walker. Quiet. The way I like it.

Below: most of my journey (5.25km/3.25 miles each way) is through forest. 

Below: having popped into the shop in Rososz, it's time to set back home. With the sun so low in the late-autumn sky, it feels like late afternoon – despite it only being half past midday.

Below: it's time for lunch – feldakohol in the form of a tin of Warka Pstrąg, some kabanosy and salt snacks [I have switched Polish or German brands rather than Lays, as Pepsico has not pulled out of Russia. It still owns and operates its factories there, paying taxes to Putin, money which he uses to slaughter innocent people. Lays actually opened a new salt-snacks factory in Novosibirsk this year. Fuck Pepsico.] Here, I sit and eat and drink and find altered states and inspiration. I watched the clouds chase east. Every now and then one obscures the sun, but the wind is strong and the sun soons pops back out.

Below: just as forecast, an overcast afternoon and evening looms. I'm almost home. The sun is low. In two weeks' time, we'll have the earliest sunset, and by the New Year, the days will have become noticeably longer.

Left: the last few hundred metres, dense unbroken cloud rolls in from the west. The birches and oaks are almost leafless; winter is due. Will it be a harsh one? Or mild?

Below: aviation bonus: This is only the third time I've managed this: getting a photo of an aircraft flying across the moon. (The second time was a speck on a dot as I didn't have a long lens with me.) Here is a Polish medical air rescue (Lotnicze Pogotowie Ratunkowe) Eurocopter EC135, SP-HXG crossing a half-moon. Nikon D3500/ 70-300mm Nikkor zoom, 1/400th sec at f/6.3, 100 ISO. Snaps like this make carrying full kit worthwhile.

Below: less remarkable, but nice enough nonetheless. A Qatari Boeing 797 Dreamliner begins its turn into its final approach at Warsaw Okęcie airport.

During the dark half of the year, every sunny day should be made the most of.

This time five years ago:
Photo round-up, London, Warsaw and Kraków

This time eight years ago:
Poland's North-West Frontier

This time nine years ago:
Cars must fade from our cities

This time ten years ago:
Unnecessary street lighting wastes money

This time 11 years ago:
Warsaw's heros on the walls

This time 13 years ago:
Tax dodge or public service?

This time 15 years ago:
Warsaw's woodlands in autumn

This time 17 years ago:
Still here, the early snow

This time 12 years ago:
Another point of view

First snow, 2024

Well, there was a very light dusting yesterday (21 November, tyle co kot napłakał = as much as the cat cried out = cat's tears = next to nothing), but this morning, there was a more substantive snowfall. It won't stay long, as the temperature is +2.8°C at midday. But for the record kept on my blog, it counts.  Below: view from my kitchen table, breakfast time, still below freezing, just.

As usual, the first snow means transport disruptions; my inbox this morning contains an email from Koleje Mazowieckie informing me of utrudnienia ('impediments') on the Warsaw-Radom line, another one saying that KM passengers can use InterCity trains with valid KM tickets (useful if you're travelling from, say, Piaseczno to Warka), and a third email stating that the 08:33 train from Warsaw to Radom is running 90 minutes late. SNAFU, in other words. 

On the roads, things are not good for all the motorists who've not yet changed from summer tyres to winter tyres (a colleague spoke of a five-day wait at his local vulcanisator). I'd expect a spike in road-traffic accidents and much slippin' an' a slidin' going on.

A first snowfall on 21 November is nothing unusual. It's not the warmest November on record, but far from the coldest. The earliest snowfall recorded on this blog (now entering its 18th winter) was in 2009, when snow fell on 14 October. 

Below: a table of all the first snowfalls that I recorded on the blog. Skipped years mean the snow (or lack thereof) wasn't remarkable enough to merit a post. One winter stands out – the one before the pandemic; a weak fall at the end of January was literally the only snow that winter. Otherwise, what's clear from the table is that first snowfalls in October and in the first half of November haven't occurred in Mazowsze over the past 12 years. This squares with my observations of first frosts.

Winter	Date of first snow
2024-2025	22 November 2024
2022-2023	24 November 2022
2020-2021	20 December 2020
2019-2020	29 January 2020
2017-2018	21 November 2017
2012-2013	29 October 2012
2011-2012	21 December 2011
2010-2011	30 November 2010
2009-2010	14 October 2009
2008-2009	22 November 2008
2007-20087	14 November 2007

UPDATE: Afternoon, 22 November. Walk to the shop. Below: Kodacolor Kansas at the end of my lane.

Below: low sun, field at the edge of town.

Below: on the journey back, ulica Jabłoniowa, sunset, berry field, barbed wire.

Below: ulica Torowa, half an hour or so after the horizon had swallowed the sun.

Below: Chy-town station in the snow at nightfall.

This time last year:
An afternoon and evening in Katowice

This time four years ago:
Wola's Joryt building (and its place in Polish popular culture)

This time five years ago:
Karczunkowska viaduct opens to cars, but not to pedestrians

This time six years ago:
Edinburgh's Polish statues

This time seven years ago:
Edinburgh - walking the Water of Leith

This time eight years ago:
Poland's north-west frontier

This time nine years ago:
Cars must fade from our cities

This time 11 years ago:
Unnecessary street lighting wastes public money

This time 12 years ago:
Warsaw's heros on the walls 

This time 13 years ago:
Tax dodge or public service? 

This time 15 years ago:
Warsaw's woodlands in autumn

This time 16 years ago:
Still here, the early snow

This time 17 years ago:
Another point of view

How we look at the future

It struck me as I was walking northward along the road to Michalczew. Walking (as one should) facing the traffic, I could see the back of three road signs ahead of me. All of them triangular – warning signs. And then I imagined the following scenario...

You're driving a car with no windscreen. Just a solid metal panel in its place. All you can see is what's behind you and to the side of you; the image in the rear-view mirror and the two images in the wing mirrors; you can also see out of the side windows. You are driving forward, very slowly, along a long, straight road. The last few kilometres had all been all straight, nothing you can see behind you, or to the left or right of you suggests that the road ahead (which you can't see) won't also be straight. You pass a triangular sign. You can only see the back of it. You know it's a warning sign because of its shape – but what's it warning you of? You can't tell. Then a second triangular sign appears in your mirrors – and then a third. 

Some danger is clearly approaching. But what it is, you can't tell. You slow down anyway, and concentrate your entire attention on what you have just passed. Can you observe any patterns? You look left. You look right. Is the kerb moving away from you? Or towards you? This would suggest that the road is starting to bend one way or the other, and that you'd have to turn the steering wheel appropriately – and slow right down.

Such is our view of the world's unfolding timeline. 

The current scientific view of spacetime – the Einsteinian paradigm – defines our reality in four dimensions – three spatial dimensions and one temporal dimension. But time is the odd one out in this quartet. We can move up or down along the Y axis; left or right along the X axis; and backwards and forwards along the Z axis. And at variable speed. But when it comes to time, we can only move directly forward through it, at a steady one second per second.

We can look in all directions spatially, but we can only see backwards in time. We remember our past; we can only guess our future. Our relationship with time, compared to space, is extremely limited. Metaphysically, I regularly have flashbacks (anomalous qualia-memory events that I recognise and connect with the past), but have yet to have a flashforward. 

I am minded of this when I receive, as I do at this time each year, The Economist's The World Ahead. Journalists, commentators and analysts weigh in to describe the key trends that will define 2025. Yet despite the brain-power that goes into this publication, it's often overtaken by events by the end of the first quarter of the year in question.

An innovation in recent years is the inclusion of a panel of 'superforecasters', who answer a series of geopolitical and macroeconomic questions relating to the year ahead. The weighted results of this poll is more accurate than the musings of individual experts showcasing a pet theory. The aggregated wisdom of the crowds, especially if the crowd consists of individuals outside of the big institutions, without commercial or ideological agendas, is more accurate. But only if the right questions are asked. Questions for 2025 are quite bland; China's inflation rate, Nvidia's share price, Germany's ruling coalition. That sort of thing. 

The Economist's superforecasters got four and half out of eight with their forecasts for 2024, correctly calling the UK election, continued conflict in Ukraine, no clash between China and the West, and no euro-zone recession. But global GDP growth outpaced their forecast of 1.5%-3%; they said Narendra Modi’s alliance would win at least 300 seats in India’s election (it won just 240); and they wrongly predicted a Democrat would win the US presidency. But beyond asking a panel of superforecasters, looking ahead at 2025, The Economist raises some interesting outlier possibilities; among that of a supervolcano exploding or a new pandemic, two are intriguing – a lost text from antiquity is discovered; and evidence of alien life is detected.

Here I'd like to touch on the role of intuition in guiding us towards the future. All the intellects on earth, all the analytical powers, can sift through potential scenarios; they can work through the known knowns, the known unknowns and guessing the unknown unknowns – and still get it wrong. But if one is open to the power of intuition, a inspired glimpse into the future can prove as accurate as that a forecast based on pure analysis.

The butterfly effect – one seemingly trivial incident leading to a major event through a cascade of causal links – makes it impossible to empirically plot a future timeline that will inevitably happen. Even the most powerful supercomputer, even Laplace's demon, is unable to write the news headlines for, say, 10 August 2025. This makes an intuition-led seer's premonition just as valid as any professional forecaster.

Given the bind that theoretical science is currently in, as the physicalist/reductionist/materialist paradigm runs out of road, it would make sense to investigate what's currently considered flaky woo-woo and look more deeply at the role of our intuition in gauging the future.

I'd suggest starting locally with some n =1 experiment, to see whether we can intuit what happens to us over the next week. The key thing: don't overthink it.

This time last year:
First snow, 2023

This time two years ago:
The Algorithm of Fate

This time three years ago:
Non-local consciousness - science and spirituality

This time four years ago:
Fenced in at last

This time seven years ago:
Poznań's Old Market

This time eight years ago:
Brexit, Trump and negative emotions

This time 13 years ago:
Premier Tusk's second exposé

This time 14 years ago:
Into Poland's former Heart of Darkness

This time 15 years ago:
Commuter schadenfreude

Surviving the gloom

My first all-darkness long walk (12,750 paces) as Poland slips from the fifth season of the year to the sixth, namely from golden autumn to gloomy autumn. In case you're asking, the remaining four are deep winter, przednówek (after the frost and snow has gone, but before the rebirth of spring), spring itself, and high summer.

The sun has not shone since 5 November and the sun set today at 3:45pm; another 20 minutes of daylight will disappear from the evenings between now and the winter solstice. But my habit of going to bed early and ignoring the time change has kept my spirits up. As has my resolution not to watch or listen or read any news or engage in any political social media between now and January 2029. The mental-health hygiene equivalent of not fingering faecal matter before touching food.

Anyway, the changes of seasons is when the anomalous qualia memory flashbacks I get are most frequent and most intense. I felt several on my walk today; each gives me a little tingle of elation, a sense of continuity, a sense that there's more to the subjective conscious experience than what's bound by our biological lifespan. The silence of the fog-shrouded forest; the row of street lights reflected off the wet tarmac of a long, straight road;  the station in the distance, a commuter train rushing past (below)...

That great feeling, intuitive, powerful, genuine and restorative, of knowing that the soul – consciousness – lives on. The process of dying might not be pleasant physically or mentally, but death itself scares me not. 

Another summer gone, another winter on the way. A different way of living, coping with the darkness and cold, icy pavements, and above all, those short days. I have to make more of making the most of them.

Below: the Punctual Arrival at Chynów of the 19:12 Service to Warka.

Time and tide, everything moves on, nothing is permanent. There is progress, there is decay. On the progress side, a new pavement is being built alongside ulica Wolska, one day soon pedestrians will be able to walk safely from the railway line all the way from the far end of Widok. Below: level crossing, ulica Wolska, Chynów.

This time last year:
Edwardów, south of Chynów, at dusk

This time two years ago:
In which I realise I'm living in old Michałowizna

This time three years ago:
Dealing with the Hammer of Darkness
(Go to bed an hour earlier – ignore the time change)

This time seven years ago:
Poland's dream of a superconnector hub

This time eight years ago:
The magic of superzoom

This time 12 years ago:
Welcome to Lemmingrad

This time 14 years ago:
Dream highway

This time 15 years ago:
The Days are Marching

This time 17 years ago:
First snow, 2007
(It's 5.1°C outside right now)

Back into the Esker

I first made my acquaintance with this geological feature in late September, visiting it three times in a week. Since then, the earth's tilt has moved us in the Northern Hemisphere closer to the winter solstice than equilux, when I was first here. A public holiday meant time for  an extended walk. Back – into the Zone. The Esker Zone.

Below: the checkpoint has fallen, the gate swung open. The quest for a zone of my own continues.

Below: through the gap and into the Zone.

Below: proof of visitation.

Below: swept aside.

Left: at the edge of the forest, approaching Wola Pieczyska. Autumnal pics are flooding social media, mostly with their colour saturation and vibrance cranked up to max. So I publish this set of photos 'as was', out of the box as it were, simple .jpg files rather than worked-on .raw files.

Over 17,000 paces today.

This time three years ago:

Sunny holiday local check-up

This time four years ago:
Zamienie is changing

This time six years ago:
Thoughts on the 100th anniversary of Poland regaining its independence

This time seven years ago:
Globalisation in retreat

This time 11 years ago:
Leeds, a city made uglier by crooked developers

This time 12 years ago:
Węzeł Lotnisko (now Węzeł W-wa Południe) – works continue

This time 17 years ago:
Its Independence Day

Michalczew, church and cemetery

I noted last week while mentioning the church in nearby Dobiecin that the parish had been founded by Father Tadeusz Stokowski, the same one who was murdered in Michalczew in 1990 – the case remains unsolved.

The All Saints' festival prompted me to (albeit ten days later) to visit the church and the cemetery at Michalczew, to have a closer look than during my previous visit in April of this year. Then, the church gates were locked; this time I'd arranged my trip by train to arrive while Mass was going on, allowing me access to the grounds. Below: front elevation, view from the street; the Church of the Holy Family – Michalczew's own Sagrada Familia.

Before I take you on a virtual tour of the church and its grounds, here's a recap of the story for new readers. Fr Stokowski was parish priest in Michalczew since October 1957, having been tasked with creating a new parish for the nine villages between the existing parishes of Warka and Chynów. The communist authorities blocked construction of a proper parish church for over 20 years; Mass was held in a wooden hut. Permission was finally given in 1978 after the election of Cardinal Wojtyła as Pope, which led to a thaw in relations between communist state and Catholic church.

Designed by Fr Stokowski in person, the church was built by parishioners with their own money and labour during the materially challenged years of the late communist era. It was consecrated in 1982. 

On the morning of Sunday 3 June 1990, parishioners were gathering for the annual Confirmation ceremony. The church had been specially decorated for the occasion. A bishop from the Warsaw diocese had just arrived – but where was Fr Stokowski?  People started searching. Within minutes, inside the presbytery across the road from the church, they discovered the dead body of his housekeeper. And no sign of  the parish priest. The Mass went ahead, officiated by the bishop, but without the ceremony.

Later, while feeding the sheep that Fr Stokowski kept in a barn behind the presbytery, neighbours found his dead body under a pile of hay. The police determined that he had been strangled. Though money and commemorative coins were found lying around on the floor, there was no sign that anything had been stolen from the presbytery. Nor were there any signs of a break-in; the housekeeper seems to have let in the murderer. Fingerprints were taken, but despite extensive efforts to find the killer or killers, no suspect has ever been arrested. The mystery endures to this day.

Left: Fr Stokowski's body resides in the church grounds, rather than in the parish cemetery. Flowers and candles on his grave suggest his parishioners still revere him.

Below: the headstone reads: In holy memory of Father Canon Tadeusz Stokowski Lived 66 years In the priesthood 40 years Murdered 2 June 1990 Founder and Parish Priest, Michalczew.

Below: one of three grottos in the grounds, this one being the Grotto of the Annunciation.

Left: western facade. The barrel-shaped roof is most unusual; does it reflect Fr. Stokowski's aesthetic vision, or is it the result of the building materials available at the time? The church has two altars inside, one accessible from ground level, the upper one being accessible via an aerial walkway, visible in the pic below.

Below: the church viewed from the rear; the rows of benches visible in the foreground face the church's third, outdoor, altar. The base of its rear elevation is decorated with eight bas-reliefs depicting various scenes from the Old Testament (the white rectangles). 

Below: "Joseph is sold by his brothers to Midianite merchants" (Genesis 37:28)

Below: The dying Jacob blessing his 13 sons over Judah spoke of the prophecy of the coming of the Saviour. "The sceptre shall not depart from Judah until tribute come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be." (Genesis 49:10). [I must say, the text somewhat departs from the Scriptures...]

Below: bas-relief on the front of the church – "Moses miraculously led the Israelites across the Red Sea to the Promised Land. Through Holy Baptism, God leads us from this earth to Heaven."

Dan Brown fans and conspiracy theorists would no doubt be scouring the church grounds for hidden meanings – symbols and ciphers that could offer clues into the reason for the parish priest's murder, and the identity of the killer or killers.

Left: again, from the rear of church, showing the ramp leading up to the upper-level hall. The roof's unusual shape is nicely presented from this angle.

On to the cemetery, 300m away. The shape of the cemetery chapel nicely reflects that of the church. Below: the front view. Under the image of Jesus the words "I am life and resurrection".

Below: looking back the other way; the rear of the chapel is inscribed with the words: 'I was taken to heaven with body and soul" and an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Walking around the cemetery, I was struck by the fact that the men here died at an even younger age than in Chynów, with plenty of headstones giving age of death as late 40s and 50s.

Next, I shall have to pay a visit to the actual church itself, pop inside and check out the vibe. How is it decorated?

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