(Above is an audio recording of the blog post)
It was still dark when I got on the train to Oxford. Still half asleep, my eyes wouldn’t stay open. As it happens when I am moody for a lack of rest, I silently swore inside my head, asking myself why on Earth I keep inflicting such a pain to my body and bother to lose a comfortable night in bed to spend a day among strangers who fantasise about philosophy.
As the train leaves its dark cave in a big, slow yawn, my mind relaxes and I begin to wonder in-between the lands of dream and reality. Mile after mile, the grey dawning sky dissolves into a dim, electric blue and, from the window opposite my seat, a pink, orange fire lights up the hills of Manchester outskirts.
Shining flashes of green and cyan appear on the window, as emerging from the curtains of a stage, their reflections in the puddles of previous rainy days, on the vast, flowery fields, blinding me with their beauty, daring me to wake up. It’s a new day.
Stop after stop, deep into the Midlands, the Spring grows bolder, bushes and trees seducing the eye with their bright white and yellow ornaments. Out on the farms, the animals have been let out for their morning grazing. I spot a fawn, quietly crouched in the high grass, then another in the solitary morning field. Horses, too, and sheep and cows. A flock of crows circle a treetop, one bird flying higher, above the others.
After all, I should know why I am here, on a train to Oxford. This ride, through the heart of England, the old Queen of Europe, is something I cannot renounce to. It’s my Safari of the mind and soul, to meet the fantastical creatures of the world’s philosophical imagination.
Mixed feelings fill my heart as I arrive at New College, making it swing up and down. The truth is, I am the stranger among strangers, and the real question echoing in the clock’s strong bangs is ‘who is the me wanting to be here?’ It’s 9am. Once again, after a year, I see some familiar faces, some barely recognise me or recall my name, some others stop me by. One colleague from a far land remembers our only conversation. We hardly know each other, and yet, that spark in their eyes tells me that one brief exchange at a dinner table, 12 months earlier, has been enough to make us pick the thread again from where we left it, down on the pavement of the courtyard, next to the singing magnolia.
“Becoming attentive to something means inter homine esse”, this I learn today from Nopparat’s seminar. Diving deep into the subject matter until getting lost, a temporary forgetfulness of oneself, of one’s own temporal circumstances, to experience the world from a different point of view. Buddhadāsa. This seminar is a refreshing bath. I let myself wonder in this underworld, my attention floating between shore and open sea, like a spirited fish.
Suddenly, the clock strikes again. It’s 6pm. How long have I been here? It feels, at once, a short and long time. It feels to me to have travelled much further than the mileage stated on my google map.
Back on the train going home, my eyes are wide open, thrilled with the excitement of the day, but I can’t see a thing, it’s pitch black outside. All the tiredness and dumbness of this morning has been washed away, but the train is closing fast the distance between reality and dream. Tonight, I’ll sleep deep.
