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An Early Inner Existential Experience

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  • dick.richardson@ymail.com
    An Early Inner Existential Experience Another Silent Night. ( Just another of those little odd existential experiences which I have had since the age of three
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 3, 2009
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      An Early Inner Existential Experience

      Another Silent Night.

      ( Just another of those little odd existential experiences which I have
      had since the age of three and before building up into the two big ones
      some years later. I will not mention the ones at three and four here
      because they were deep and run down into the mystical realms and you do
      not like that stuff here)

      I was not really aware of what was happening at the time in those days,
      but from hindsight one could call such things little `mini mystical
      existential experiences' I suppose, and of which it seems I had
      quite a few when I was young. But in those days, and well before
      wham-bang day, I just assumed that these were quite normal events which
      everybody regularly had, perhaps on a daily basis. So one never made
      mention of them to anyone. Don't suppose I have ever mentioned this
      one to anybody before, for I do not talk, or write about these little
      kind of things as a kid. But here is a very typical one anyway.

      However, I must have been about eleven at the time, and it was at some
      point deep in the depths of winter and early dark evenings. At school
      that day a kid whom I knew well, but not one of our mob around our
      streets however, asked if I would go down to his place that evening, and
      we could either go out to `play' or hang around in his place for
      a couple of hours. He was a nice kid and I liked him a lot, so I said
      OK, fine, I will see you about 7 PM. Anyway about 6.45 I trundled off
      down to where he lived. On leaving home it suddenly started snowing, and
      quite hard, and settling fast. He lived in what was well known to be the
      worst slum road in Tottenham. Most of Tottenham was quite select in
      those days albeit a very industrial part of North London, but it had a
      few real nasty slum areas, and which were not far from me. This was a
      long road with massive great depressing drab tenement buildings all the
      way down both sides of the road – the sort of place they should have
      bombed but missed. Dimly lit, as ugly as ugly can get, and it had a real
      big reputation for hard cases, criminals and all the rest of it.

      Anyway, I got to this kids place by seven, but it seemed that he was
      having trouble with his mother that evening. He said he was not sure if
      he could come out, and his mother did not seem to want me in there,
      perhaps she thought I was a bad influence on her little boy :- ) So, I
      said well, see what you can sort out and I will wait across the road and
      you can give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down from your window. He lived
      on a middle floor of that block of apartments.

      So I went to lean against a lamp post which was opposite his place so
      that he could see me in the lamp light. Within a few minutes I got bored
      and a bit chilly. I turned my coat collar up to keep me warm and just
      glanced up at the sky in so doing. The lamplight was casting a kind of
      hallo of light in the sky above, in an otherwise surrounding blackness.
      But as I looked up I saw all this snow just gently dropping though this
      area of light, and I kind of got enamoured, smitten, by the spectacle of
      it. It was as quiet as the grave and it was almost as though one could
      hear the snow falling through the sky and settling on the fallen snow.

      For a while I turned my gaze back to the street, the dark dank
      buildings, the bits of light glowing from behind tatty old curtains; the
      snow glistening from the lamp light on top of dustbin lids and
      kerbstones like fairy dust lights shimmering. But now, Ker-Riced,
      everything was so beautiful, perfect, at peace and tranquillity. There
      was not a soul to be seen in the whole street, no sound coming from the
      houses or windows; it was as though for a while time had stopped moving;
      but of course it had not for the snow was still falling, and very heavy
      now, and it must have laid well more than an inch deep on the ground by

      On looking at all this, and constantly turning my gaze to the snow
      coming down in that lamp light and then back to the street scene again,
      and my vision flitting across the dustbin lids, the dark corners of the
      doorways, the small specs of light coming from apartments here and
      there, and I just became so goddamned happy and excited, and an inner
      peace. It was as though an inner part of me started singing to it all
      – not literally, but that kind of feeling; and there was no
      sensation of being cold and getting somewhat wet. I must have looked a
      right twerp had anybody looked out of their windows and seeing that kid
      standing there in the snow in the dark all alone looking like a pig in
      muck enjoying himself.

      I have no idea as to how long I stood there leaning against the lamp
      post observing all this and feeling and confirming to myself the beauty
      of it all. Neither did I give any thought to the kid in the apartment.
      Eventually, after I know not how long, I figured I ought to be going
      now. So I stood upright, shook all the snow off of my head and
      shoulders, and trundled home through the snow in the dark and in a weird
      kind of silence; and a rather fascinating mood. And I was just smiling
      to myself as to how beautiful that old slum road really was. It was the
      best evening out I had had in weeks. But of course, one does not mention
      these silly little things to anyone. But that too was a silent night
      never to be forgot. Hell bells, they should have had a heavenly chorus
      choir singing silent night at the time – now wouldn't that have
      been something eh :- )

      Huh, and fools say that this world is a prison for the soul. They do not
      know their arse from their elbow and they are all pretence and bullshit;
      and probably in fear and loneliness too. The world is wondrous, and so
      is everything in it and out of it. Tis amazing how differently we can
      see the world is it not. Visions from the depths of pour being revealing
      the essential quality of being deep within us and the unity and harmony
      of all things extant – inner and outer. No wonder they want to keep
      us weirdo's who see things differently quiet and out of the
      limelight and deride our very existence. Still, tis a way of living
      nonetheless, and I ain't complaining – tis they that are
      complaining :- ) And yeah, sure, memories are made of this; and we are
      the stuff they are made on.

      Merlin, - - or little Dickey as he was then; the ignorant Cockney urchin
      - not fit for little boys to play with ;- ) Oh tis funny innit.

      [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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