
She used to like Scotties
But now she loves Pugs
What does that say of her journey?
From pugnacious aye-right
To soft scottish sky-bright
Unfolding from surly to girlie

She used to like Scotties
But now she loves Pugs
What does that say of her journey?
From pugnacious aye-right
To soft scottish sky-bright
Unfolding from surly to girlie

This is why, for me, the mystic number is 2.
“Meaning is the essential feature of consciousness…” David Bohm
The first question for me is this: “Is there meaning?” This is, of course, just another way of phrasing “Why?” or “Is there purpose at all?” Surely this underlies all of living for each of us. Sometimes we confront it; sometimes we avoid it — but it is always there. Since we are inside existence, and have no rational external reference point, there can be no purely rational answer. Personally, though, it seems obvious to me that the answer is yes; but that is, in the end, an article of faith, albeit one underpinned by all of the extraordinary “coincidences” in physics that make life possible.
Let’s then take the existence of meaning as a truth. Where does it lie?
“The dust inbreathed was a house, the wall, the wainscot, and the mouse” T. S. Eliot
It seems to me that purpose is not to be found in what Freud thought of as the “self” or Ego. This is entirely different from Jung’s definition of Self — which is much more interesting. “I”, that is, all of our “I”s, will dissolve as bodies die. At that point, their molecules will be taken up into infinite new forms, just as the body I currently inhabit is made up of atoms that have been part of infinite others — including all of those I have known: my mother, father, brothers, wife, and so on.
Nor do I believe that meaning lies solely within the material world. In fact, the more science uncovers of the “how” of quantum mechanics, the less concrete materiality really appears.
It seems to me that the frantic search for meaning within things — dialectical materialism — is a dead end, or at least a distraction. On the other hand, the material world must surely be a part of meaning. But part of what?
“We are one, after all, you and I, together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Part of a whole. All is one. Indeed, that is what “universe” means: one thing. Another way of looking at it could be that meaning is found in process — the flow of matter and energy. Perhaps: “the whole flow of energy and matter.” How, though, do we break that down into something we can get our arms around, or understand?
Maybe another way of looking at it is that the material is part of something else, partnered with… mind? Spirit? Antimatter?
“The relation to the Thou is direct. No system of ideas, no foreknowledge, and no fancy intervene between I and Thou. The memory itself is transformed, as it plunges out of its isolation into the unity of the whole” Martin Buber
That, for me, is where Martin Buber and David Bohm come in. They each talk about meaning as lying within “relation” or “dialogue”: what lies “between”. Buber’s amazing semi-poetic meditation, I and Thou (Ich und Du), has been transformative for me. I would encourage everyone to read at least the first two pages, where he defines the “primary words” as I-It and I-Thou, as opposed to I, Thou, or It alone.
I therefore have two building blocks in my search. First: there is meaning. Second: the place to look for it is relationship.
“Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence” William Blake
And that is where number arises for me. If meaning lies in relation, then relation requires more than undivided oneness. It requires distinction, edge, and encounter: something that can meet something other than itself.
My daughter, as a teenager, told me she thought that an incredibly important concept was “boundary”, and I have been assimilating that ever since. Without boundary, nothing can be known. You need the “other” to understand yourself.
I wrote this some years ago.
“From zero to hero, the world is born with the appearance of 1. The archetypal boundary is right there in the change from nothing to all. But one is one, and all alone, and ever more shall be so. From 1 to 2, consciousness is possible: granularity and separation. We can understand existence because we have edge: a within and a without. Quantum mechanics shows that everything exists only as a cloud of possibility — until observed. It is the act of knowing that crystallises reality out of potential. Deliberately to mix language: it is witness that causes wavefunction collapse. It is consciousness that creates reality, and that is only possible when edge is born with the advent of the number 2. Duality appears to be a fundamental property of existence. Energy is the flip side of matter (E=mc²); everything is wave and particle simultaneously. Yin is nothing without yang. Ich and Du embrace, and the world unfolds.”
That is why, for me, the “mystic number” is 2. With it comes a consciousness of existence, and the possibility of relation and dialogue, which Buber and Bohm so eloquently place at the core of meaning.
So I return to the first question: is there meaning? For me, yes. It is not found in the isolated self, nor in material things alone, but in relation. And relation becomes possible only where there is boundary, distinction, and encounter.
That is why, for me, the mystic number is 2.
After my mother died in 1996 we found a discovered a little book of hers. Her father had learned to sail on HMS Conway with the poet John Masefield. I found a fragment written by her in his style and I have adapted and extended it to describe the journey of the river Clyde. , This is in your honour Mum x

The Clyde
Up-bubbling in the mountains
As stream of silver hue
Over bright pebbles rippling
As fresh as morning dew:
She thunders over boulders
In clouds of rainbow spray
Through dear, green meadows winding
Inviting on the way
All horses, birds and creatures
To come and bathe and drink;
With highland cows who, munching
Crop flowers at the brink;
While fishes dart, and gleaming
Like moonbeams gone astray
They dive and leap and glitter
And in the water play.
But the Irish sea approaches
To turn her waters grey;
Haunts of men come into sight
And night is merged with day
For in the air there hangs
A heavy pall of smoke
The scent of salt and sweat
And coasters carrying coke
But she flows on regardless;
Her glory has not gone
For in the starlit evening
When gloomy day is done
Her wide and silent waters
Flow through a coloured maze
Of winking lights that dazzle
A million tinted rays
Men line with dock her banksides
This is the dear-green place
That they have built around her
The haunt of lowland race
But she remains majestic
Indifferent as to praise
And she will last when over are
St Giles and Mungo’s days

Carl Jung first described the “collective unconscious” as a deeper layer beneath the individual unconscious: a shared psychic foundation that connects human beings across time. I see it as a kind of pooling between us, both now and in the past, and possibly as one gateway to a larger shared life beyond the fragility of the mind and material consciousness.
This wider reality might be understood through traditions such as Hinduism’s Brahman or Buddhism’s Nirvana: a state that can sometimes be glimpsed through meditation, prayer, love, nature, or moments of profound connection.
The collective unconscious seems to speak through symbols, especially archetypes and mandalas.
Perhaps it is only the particular mind—this temporary form of consciousness—that dies. If that separate self is, in some sense, an illusion, then connecting with the shared stream of unconscious life allows us to taste something of immortality even now.
We may touch this shared stream through prayer, meditation, closeness with loved ones, communion with nature, or even through the collective dream-world of cinema.
In that sense, perhaps the movies are right. Whatever name we give it, something like Avatar may be what awaits. May the Force be with us.

“Nel mezz del camin di nostra vita mi ritrovai in un selva oscura, que la diritta via era oscura” Dante
(In the middle of life I found myself in a dark wood with no obvious way out)
We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.
Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.
The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.
When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.

We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.
Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.
The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.
When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.
We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.
Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.
The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.
When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.
This post and site are an inspiration !
Love and pain are infinitely bound together. This is something I have realised very recently.
The way to love your children is unconditionally. This is completely true, in fact it is a truism. I have parroted that through my life. What about that word – “unconditionally? It has a sting in its tail. It means – literally boundless, infinite. If love has boundaries, then is it really not some type of deal leading back to your own needs. “I will love you until or unless…” What is that? Something glib, a sticking plaster that enables us to believe that we are connected to the beloved, whilst hiding behind our fear and our own ego.
I have recently been confronted by searing pain arising from love. A love that I can’t control. I realise now that I have previously dealt with such grief – such as the loss of my mother, father and elder brother – by closing myself off. This was a defensive reaction I learned when I was sent to boarding school as a child.
But, pain and love are inextricably bound together. They are different sides of a coin. Accepting both is the price of living.
If there are no limits to love and pain – then they are both literally limitless. Infinite. The price of infinite love is the acceptance of the possibility of infinite pain.
Why do this at all? Because unconditional love is the bedrock of authentic living. The prize is worth the price. Though the burden is too much for us in our human frailty. As Elliot says
”human kind cannot bear very much reality” Burnt Norton
Fortunately (I truly believe) we are part of something infinitely loving, which I find in Christ. We do not have to bear the reality of infinite pain in order to express life and love. Love which underpins all existence. It love that is
“the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire.” Little Gidding
But then, again at least for me
“All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well” Eliot/St Julian of Norwich
Roger Penrose is a Nobel prizewinning physicist. He has pointed out that “artificial intelligence” can never be conscious. He bases this not on discovery, but on a fundamental law of mathematics; an equivalent to Godels Incompleteness Theorum. No matter how fast machines calculate, they can never become conscious.
What then is consciousness?
For TS Eliot “The point of intersection of the timeless with time, is an occupation for the saint”
”At the still point of the turning world, there the dance is” TS Eliot, Burnt Norton
“The point of intersection of the timeless With time, is an occupation for the saint” TS Eliot, Dry Salvages
”To be conscious is not to be in time”
”
“In this flow, mind and matter are not separate substances. Rather, they are different aspects of one whole and unbroken movement.” David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order