Contemplative Inquiry

9.15 pm 25 June 2026. 32C/89.6F, after a peak of 38C/100.4F earlier in the day. Elaine and I sheltered in our air-conditioned hotel room for much of the day. (We don’t have it at home). We ventured out towards sunset, which was once again magnificent. But we did not stay out for long. Some people seemed comfortable and were enjoying the evening heat. Our age and health conditions made it more problematic. I for one was became dizzy and ennervated.

This shouldn’t be happening in an Atlantic coastal town 51 degrees north. The heatwave of the last several days should be the final, local, experiential proof of the climate crisis many of us have anticipated since at least the later 1980s.

Depressingly I can predict  that many people won’t see it that way, held in the malignant trance of a manufactured denial. For me, this is the scariest aspect of the crisis. An effect both of insanely short term vested interests and a human talent for not seeing inconvenient truths in front of our faces.

Elaine and I go home today in more clement weather after an overnight storm. It has been a memorable visit, one that had room both for pleasure and a certain weirdness.

It is 21 June, the morning of the Summer Solstice where I live. I feel refreshed and enlivened by a morning walk that became a solar celebration. I went out at 6.45 am, just short of two hours after dawn, leaning in to the influence of the sun in the here and now  A time when the sun was high in the sky, but the temperature still a friendly kind of cool.

Neither I nor the camera could look straight into the sun. I observed and experienced the sun through indirect effects. This was a physical, naturalistic, rather than metaphysical connection with the solstice morning. I was an inside rather than outside observer and can show my own presence too through my shadow on the path. I was part of the morning, this dance of light and shade.

In some places I saw sharp distinctions of light and shade and in others subtle ones. In both cases I was aware of a nurturing power, that of the sun in this time and place. I know that the sun can be different  – either relentlessly fierce or seemingly absent. I felt blessed that I could experience an hour of gentle solar celebration on this solstice day.

It’s as if these birches are drawing  me further into their world. A Nemeton has been growing in silent slowness beside our home.  As the the birches continue to grow, I notice a change in me.

These trees have decisively burst out of their official role as ‘landscaping’. They have shown themselves to me as vividly alive in this more than human world. In response I’m feeling a stronger embodied link to the birches, beyond simple recognition.

This sense of connection, which Elaine also feels, has been growing for some time, and I have written about it before (1,2,3). But it’s only recently that I have sensed an invitation from this group of trees to deepen the connection. Now, I can envision an active sacred space – a Druid grove. A place for energetic attunememt with the trees and of contemplation.

(1)

WAXING

(2) https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2026/03/25/lady-day-birch-in-full-leaf/

(3) https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2025/06/11/the-feeling-of-home/

Everything changes. I took the picture above at 6.05 am, at the start of an early morning walk. The clouds are a soft grey with clear blue sky visible at certain points. By 6.41 the clouds are dark and roiling, moving quickly through the sky. The light spaces are unstable, though there are hints of the rising sun’s power.

Early morning walks, honouring the high summer’s gift of extended light, are a recent innovation for me at this time of my life. I now feel fully recovered from my falls and proficient in the use of my walking stick. My 77th birthday has inspired a more programmatic approach to diet and exercise.  June 2026 so far has been relatively cool and this has been good for my energy and motivation.

I notice that these walks are not especially meditative. I do not stop and look much. I don’t have a full direct sense of interconnectedness and non-separation, though I hold these as a strong conviction. I’m more goal-oriented and that narrows my horizons in the now. I am still in the now, of course, because there’s there’s nowhere else to be. But my subjective experience feels different.

Often, as the summer develops and the Solstice is not far off, I celebrate clear contrasts of light and shade. This year, and this morning in particular, I have found these contrasts softened and more variable. Light and shade are harder to distinguish from each other. They don’t stand out in an obvious way. Yesterday evening, at 9.15 pm a little before sunset, I had the same sense at the end of the day. The interplay of light effects, and the rapid change (not shown in a still image) gave the whole sky a look of creative turbulence. I am happy to embrace this energy.

“In a rectangular channel of space light drops in oblique layers of polished cubes sustaining gods and fragments.

“Monstrous human heads without backs protrude lips satisfied with the taste of pride.

“Seductive goddesses, cat-faced and maiden-breasted, sit eternally stroking smooth knees.”

Jessie Dismorr (1915) Egyptian Gallery London Notes (1)

I am looking at prose poetry (2) as a new form of exploration/expression in my contemplative inquiry. My phone’s AI describes it as “a literary hybrid that uses the sentence and paragraph structure of prose but relies on the compressed, figurative language, rhythm and emotional intensity of verse”.

Now that I am reading prose poetry, I find that the use of prose structure is fairly consistent but that the use of language is more varied than the AI suggests. A liminal and rebel space in literature, this genre (if it is a genre) has morphed and changed over time and in the hands of different practitioners.

I see creative writing as an organic part of my inquiry and not as an incidental decoration. This is why I have engaged with haiku (3) and have been writing them for some time. I shall continue to write haiku, whilst also being attracted to prose poetry as  another, more flexible and expansive, option. Whilst not committing myself to a date, I plan to publish my own prose poetry in this blog.

(1) Jessie Dismorr Egyptian Gallery in Jeremy Noel-Tod The Peguin Book of the Prose Poem: From Baudelaire to Anne Carson Penguin Random House UK (Kindle edition)

(2) Jessie Dismorr – Jessica Stewart Dismorr (1885-1939) is best known as a painter and illustrator. In 1913 she joined the Rebel Art Centre and signed the Vorticist  Manifesto, championing the depiction of the dynamics of the machine and challenging the public’s conservative views of art. She contributed 4 works (now apparently lost) to a Vorticist exhibion in London. She was also a writer and Egyptian Gallery is part of her London  Notes collection.

(3) https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2026/04/26/

a fiery sunset

changed by the onset of night

bright morning follows