Melanie- Good for you. I hope to follow suit. Slowly. Perhaps the convincing will take a while as the whole immaculate front lawn/backyard bbq notion of suburbia has long since been etched into our psyches. As is the notion of privacy as total insulation from others into our world. It's a bubble, a trap. Then we wonder why so many are un…
Melanie- Good for you. I hope to follow suit. Slowly.
Perhaps the convincing will take a while as the whole immaculate front lawn/backyard bbq notion of suburbia has long since been etched into our psyches. As is the notion of privacy as total insulation from others into our world. It's a bubble, a trap. Then we wonder why so many are unhappy.
I am hopeful that if we are shown a better more beautiful way, we will choose it. Mark Lakeman, the architect in the first video has obviously thought this through deeply. Which is good, I could never do it.
I do love the St. Manchan poem. I recently read it to one of the monks here and he loved it as well. It expresses a deep longing, I think.
Mr. Lakeman is absolutely spot-on in his analysis, I think.....neighbourhoods being built by developers/builders rather than the inhabitants themselves have a very different purpose. I can't help but think of medieval villages which were built around churches, marketplaces and water sources...everything radiated out from there and necessitated interaction and co-operation. None of us would choose a soulless grid of McMansions if we thought we had a choice (and we actually do). I'm trying not to think too hard about the monumental nature of the task that would be jostling the populace out of its consumer stupor...as I said, the lawn thing and the anti-dandelion propaganda people have been fed for decades...ugh. I know it's happening in small pockets so that's a straw I'll happily grasp.
And yes, the deep longing of that poem...it's almost wistful and dreamy....I can absolutely relate.
I know I can get easily discouraged if I start thinking too much on the magnitude of the task at hand. I have to keep reminding myself to do the small things I can do. I recognize my own impatience, having lived in barren--though often "nice"--places my whole life.
Melanie- Good for you. I hope to follow suit. Slowly.
Perhaps the convincing will take a while as the whole immaculate front lawn/backyard bbq notion of suburbia has long since been etched into our psyches. As is the notion of privacy as total insulation from others into our world. It's a bubble, a trap. Then we wonder why so many are unhappy.
I am hopeful that if we are shown a better more beautiful way, we will choose it. Mark Lakeman, the architect in the first video has obviously thought this through deeply. Which is good, I could never do it.
I do love the St. Manchan poem. I recently read it to one of the monks here and he loved it as well. It expresses a deep longing, I think.
I hope you are well. -Jack
I am well, thank you, Jack.
Mr. Lakeman is absolutely spot-on in his analysis, I think.....neighbourhoods being built by developers/builders rather than the inhabitants themselves have a very different purpose. I can't help but think of medieval villages which were built around churches, marketplaces and water sources...everything radiated out from there and necessitated interaction and co-operation. None of us would choose a soulless grid of McMansions if we thought we had a choice (and we actually do). I'm trying not to think too hard about the monumental nature of the task that would be jostling the populace out of its consumer stupor...as I said, the lawn thing and the anti-dandelion propaganda people have been fed for decades...ugh. I know it's happening in small pockets so that's a straw I'll happily grasp.
And yes, the deep longing of that poem...it's almost wistful and dreamy....I can absolutely relate.
I know I can get easily discouraged if I start thinking too much on the magnitude of the task at hand. I have to keep reminding myself to do the small things I can do. I recognize my own impatience, having lived in barren--though often "nice"--places my whole life.