something true, I lack
2003-02-23 || 11:57 a.m.

I've just been watching Countryfile. The first part was about protecting the Jurassic coast along Devon and Dorset. There are rocks there that are 155 million years old. When I sat on the beach in Dorset in the summer and thought about how my existence was not even the size of one of the pebbles on that beach, I didn't really realise quite how right I was. At the time I thought how it was both something and nothing at all.

Then they showed a bike route in Scotland. It's mostly planned cycle routes along the route of an old Victorian railway line. There was this amazing viaduct. Viaducts are one of my most favourite things. Its that combination of man attempting a futile plunge into steep landscape and the beauty of the structure; the contrast with the hills or mountains or lakes around. It reminded me of this book I read about reincarnation once. It was a collection of children's memories. One child remembered being in the Tay bridge disaster. They remembered travelling with their father to their grandparents I think in Dundee. They stopped off at the last station before crossing the bridge. There was a father and four children. As the train snaked across the bridge the bridge began to crumble and the last thing that people watching from the station saw was a trail of lights falling into the icy waters below.

I know that many people think reincarnation memories are fake somehow or misguided or pure fantasies but what I think is that the simplest explanation is the most likely one. Plus you cannot quantify that 'knowing'. That knowledge that this is a memory, an experience just the same as one from a present life. What makes it any less likely to be a memory than remembering what you did yesterday. Surely all these things are one and the same?

There was another thing in this book. It was a story about a mother whose child had died young, she was something like 5 years old. The child was described as being almost a perfect child. But then she died. One day the mother was sitting in bed and suddenly the daughter appeared. At first she thought she must be a ghost but she reached out and touched her and she felt warm and real and flesh and blood. The child climbed into bed with the mother and they held on tight to each other. The mother felt as if the child had something to teach her. As if their roles were not how we would perceive mother and child roles to be. The mother was the child and the child was the knowing. The child told the mother that she was there to show her the infinity of life. She said she could not stay long. The mother begged her to stay but eventually they both fell asleep and when the mother awoke, the child was gone.

People could dismiss this as a dream, a wish fulfillment, an aspect of grieving but who can explain why the mother believed it to be real? Because she did. For her it was a real event, as real as watching Coronation Street on the TV. or pinching yourself to see if you are dreaming. You know, I've never done that, pinched myself to see if I am dreaming because I always feel sure I know when I am dreaming and when I am not but is that some way of explaining that sometimes the boundaries are just not clear at all?

And then they went into a church in Countryfile. A 7th Century church. I wondered why churches always feel peaceful. I thought maybe it is the things they are built out of. Over here most churches are old and built of stone and stone is cold and cold is associated with calm. But St Anselms is modern. I remember it being built when I was small. It still feels calm. I wonder if it is because people go inside and take the atmosphere with them. Or is their any other presence?

When I teach RE I light a candle to symbolise Jesus being present in the room. I usually blow it out quite soon because otherwise I leave it burning and forget and I don't want burning the school down added to the list of my transgressions. But I tell the kids it doesn't matter if the candle is lit or not - Jesus is still there.

I don't believe it. But they do.

And that is all that matters.