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I woke up in a Soho doorway
A policeman knew my name
He said, “You can go, sleep at home tonight
If you can get up and walk away”
I staggered back to the underground
And the breeze blew back my hair
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Come on, tell me, who are you? (Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?)
Ah, who the fuck are you? (Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?)
—
Songwriters: Peter Dennis Blandford Townshend
Who Are You lyrics © Spirit Four Music
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Following on from the recent dream I am back on the Llyn peninsula near Pwllheli at a time when my life was in flux. We had left Zambia because of the troubles at the birth of Zimbabwe. My life trajectory going from an English prep school to the grown up school proper was broken. Nchanga Consolidated Copper Mines were no longer going to pay my school fees. I was about to be thrown from a small genteel school of around a hundred boys aged under 13 into a mixed sex comprehensive of 1500 pupils up to the age of 18.
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I was there, on the beach, with Quadrophenia questioning the various aspects of myself aged ~ 13. I did not want to be on that family holiday. I took long solo walks along the beach in the wind and the sometimes rain. I felt alien and that I had come from another planet…I sensed many different aspects of myself, the rule of the four being one.
The question as to who or what I am or may be, has perhaps been posed by others too. People want to know…they like guarantees.
I have traced my maternal blood line back to several generations who lived in Beddgelert and environs, near Snowdon. Near to the river which flows from Glaslyn the beautiful blue lake at the cwm half way up Snowdon. The family then headed South to the Rhondda in search of work digging coal. Given the common nature of the surnames involved it was not trivial. Looking for a specific Jones in Wales…There is no surprising pedigree just a very simple story of economic migration. Some of the houses in which my relatives lived in Beddgelert have been on sale. The English took the census and they required data on which languages people spoke. They may not have been entirely welcome in the village.
So who the fuck am I?
Unlike the TV show about genealogy I also have hints at previous incarnations. They cannot be proven by documents or micro-fiche.
My status in the world is as a retired “anglais”. I am an immigrant. I cannot vote nor take public office here. I am bunched together with a whole group of expat Brits many of whom have some kind of story, most of whom do not fit the conventional rat-race-greasy-pole life any more. In Brittany the further you are from the coast the cheaper the housing. We are in the grey-zone. It is unlikely that I will change the circles I move in. Our lives revolve around doctors, supermarkets, DIY stores, garden centres and strolls on the beach or in the countryside.
Although I was once a practising scientist and academic. I don’t identify as such. It is useful to point this history out from time to time so people are not floored with surprise when I ask questions.
I have a selection of narratives which can be used to explain and narrate various aspect of this life. The input, putative as it may be, from previous lives adds an extra dimension of sorts. It has no obvious practical application. It is a bit like finding out my relatives worked in the Sygun copper near Dinas Emrys, Arthur’s fort. It is interesting but has no real world application.
Who as a question implies both a name, an identity and some kind of social status or significance in the world. In America I would be a nobody. I am not rich, I am not famous and I wield no kudos or power. Trump might call me a loser.
I have a passport and a carte de séjour. I have an official on-paper identity. I have a social security number and a tax account.
I have indeed woken up at a night bus stop lying asleep on the pavement near Soho. Replete with a skin full I had missed the last tube train and was attempting to catch a bus home. I have had a few encounters with Old Bill… the cops, after significant nocturnal refreshment in central London hospitality establishments.
People want to know who you are, to whom you are affiliated before they will believe you or trust you. They want to know if any interaction with you might add to their kudos. They want to know, “what is in it for them?”
Because I am a nobody and a loser people are unlikely to listen to me. There is no social benefit, no socio-political gain. Quite the contrary any interaction with me is probably socio-politically risky.
This is the rub, unless you are anyone, unless you have some kind of pukka institutional or congregational affiliation, nobody wants to know.
Nobody wants to know or interact with a nobody. Which is quite funny if you say it over.
Unless you have a reputation, supported by referees there is no acceptable evidence. You may not even exist if there is no one to vouch for you.
There is a tendency for people to imagine that they must know more than an unknown nobody because they are a big cheese affiliated to other cheeses. They can be arrogant and snobby.
People want to know, “who the fuck are you?”
If you cannot answer that…
Dreamyoga 