I woke up in the early hours of a morning and travelled up to Camden Town.... It was really strange wandering around at dawn, there were no people and it was quite peaceful, but strange.... I followed the Grand Union Canal and then hiked up Primrose Hill where I watched the sun rise. It was quite murky and un-beautiful...but beautiful still, in its grey vagueness.
Etched in stone at the top of the hill, William Blake's words 'I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill...' and so have I, but in another time, back when the sun didn't hide, back when it was so much easier to find...
And then the whole week, he kept coming up again in so many different contexts, in conversations, 'tyger tyger burning bright, in the forests of the night....' stranger still, the words exchanged with strangers that still, believe, in him.... I re-met the girl with whom I went to see his grave and the children painted, and the teacher lived there because of him, and the scribbles on the wooden tube and the colour on the walls! TYGER TYGER BURNING BRIGHT! IN THE FORESTS OF THE NIGHT!! Another strange week comprised of unearthly connections: both material and divine.
