Note by JRW: The following is an extract from a handwritten letter by Myatt, addressed to me. He dated it One Sunny Morning in May.


 

One Sunny Morning in Early May

 

A sunny morning in early May has renewed, invigorated me; for here in the field where my tended plants grow - warmed and drawn-upward toward the life-liberating Sun - there is the now drying soil, warm to my touch; the birds, nesting, flying, perching, singing; the hedge, centuries-old, fully in leaf; the breeze playing verdant tunes upon the trees, which all now are green, and greener - even the Oak and the Ash; the midges, cascading, up, down, around, as if in rhythm to such verdant sounds.

Thus am I aware of how there is a symbiosis here between Sun and soil, between Sun and Earth: of how connected each part of Nature's emanations are to each other. There really is, here in this land, an awakening, new life, between early March and the beginning of May, and I feel so fortunate to be in this one place, working with my hands, touching, nurturing, seeing, sensing, this living, these beings. And it does not seem to matter - while this now hot Sun lasts and only whisps of high cloud obscure a little of the blue - that I am alone, having lost the woman I loved. For in such moments, such hours, I sense I am really not alone: for She is there, here; a numinous presence.... So I know how and where I should dwell for the years remaining to me, just as I know there should be, can be, is for me only the knowing of, the living of, the gentle propagation of, The Numinous Way. Anything else - politics, religion - is, for me, now, a dishonourable compromise that negates what I have learnt, discovered, felt, experienced, known.

Such emanations as I feel, know, here - now- are Her life: a life, a living, a presencing, we might know if only we slowly stayed, working, dwelling, in silence and long enough to sense, feel, experience, what grows as it grows, warmed, drawn-upward toward Sun and nurtured by the giving that is rain.

But what do we humans do? We ravish; we plunder; we exploit; we despoil; we destroy. We are unbalanced, mere ignorant children, lacking as many of us do an awareness of the beauty, the fragility, of the living, breathing, being which is our Earth: a being we seem intent on killing.

What if we who live upon this world are alone in the Cosmos, with the life that surrounds us being unique? What do we do? Destroy, ignore, this miracle. And even if - as seems probable - we are not alone, will we ever grow up, act with reason, honour and empathy, and care for, and value, our home? What if we venture forth, into Space, as the dishonourable, exploitative, killing beings we have remained for far too long?

Yet here the Apple trees in the fields several hedges and a lane to my right are all in white bloom, and a few days ago, not long after Dawn, I heard a Cuckoo there, the second I have heard this year. Nearby, before the sunken narrow tree-lined lane descends, twisting, down to meet the stream, there is a cottage whose Wisteria is now abundant with its beautiful flowers, and walking along there in late Spring sunshine with the leaves and branches of trees rising up and shading so giving a special kind of space and light, I am reminded of those great English cathedrals with their vaulted columns and arches. Were such trees, such lanes - such a pagan intimation of a living Nature - their inspiration?

But it is now the time for me to eat my lunch before the work of the day resumes.....

 

DW Myatt