Splendid isolation was the splendidly-titled foreign policy that did so well for the dear old British Empire in the late 19^th century – the high cost to other countries notwithstanding, of course. That separatist nerve is clearly still twitching in the British organism; it may be island mentality or post-imperial depression, but it also has global application. Protectionism, in whatever form, may have a practical, defensive function in the short-term but is ultimately insular and self-defeating. 

You might say that, as a planet, our collective and individual world views are, in their own way, no different. Certainly no one needs reminding of the joys of social isolation at the moment, but as a collective we still see ourselves as somehow separate and distinct from our larger environment. Not the green one or the blue one, but that big, black twinkly thing aka the rest of the universe. Our disdain has little to do with anything other than self-absorbed disinterest and a still-infantile understanding of ourselves, our place, or any place else.

Little kids come home from school with those generic drawings that parents proudly stick on the fridge door – the ones with the strip of green along the bottom, the house and chimney, a smiling sun and a poorly coloured-in strip of blue across the top. And that’s all lovely except that it also represents our general earth-centric perception too, which bears more resemblance to the Night Garden than to hard science. In many ways we still live in La-La Land or HG Wells’ Country of the Blind, whose inhabitants insist that there is no sky, just a giant roof. More pertinent are the occupants of Plato’s Cave, who dismiss any talk of a larger world and are content instead simply to wail and bark at the grotesque shadows movement outside creates on the cave’s inner walls.

The laws of creation are written all across nature. As a foetus develops in its mother’s womb it has no, ahem, conception of the complexities of its environment, not even that its own life depends entirely on it. Similarly, we might say that the solar system (and beyond) is our cosmic, amniotic milieu which nourishes and supports us in ways we cannot yet imagine. It’s not a question of ingratitude, just ignorance. After all, it was only yesterday that we considered ourselves the centre of proceedings, only for the Copernicus, Galileo et al to dare suggest that our womb was possibly a womb with a view. And here we are, four centuries later, still at heaven’s door, still wondering and still not not knocking very loudly.

When we look to the heavens – if we can see them – we can, perchance, make out rudimentary outlines of hunters, animals and tools. To all intents and porpoises, there is nothing else going on. But if we could hear the broader audio spectrum, the intergalactic static would be deafening. Curiously though, these days the Big Bang sounds more like a Vespa running out of gas. But it was a while ago and it is moving away from us and I guess you did have to be there to get the full Dolby. Talk about surround sound.

But if we could hear it like that, imagine day after day, century after century, age after age, the rumble of planets orbiting, layer upon layer since the dawn of time? Shouting to be heard would be the staple in all myths and history. There would be tales of wars caused through mishearing, reliefs and frescoes of the ancients covering their ears or tearing their hair out, driven up to high places by sonic madness to rail at the gods or just scream at the night sky to shut up. I mean, we’ve all been there, right?

We call space space when, to give it its due, it is (apparently) 99% plasma and fairly crackling with electromagnetism. It’s full of vibes. Likewise, the planets are not baubles there to entertain us on a clear night. They are all doing something and there are endless fields to pass through and reciprocal influences that know no limits of time or distance.  

So I was interested to hear that our neighbourhood planets are ganging up on us again and in a manner that has a resonant history of its own. The Solar system crew: they always seem to be up to something. Basically, there is a squaring up between the big guns Uranus (the new) and Saturn (the old) which translates to us as a battle for freedom and rights. Sound familiar? Recent alignments have coincided with the US Civil War, 1860–62; the Russian revolution, 1918–20; Mao’s Cultural revolution in China, 1965-67 and widespread unrest, from the USA to Prague via Paris and London in 1968. For example. All produced confrontation and protests that were concerned with various aspects of human and civil rights.

If this time does end up resurrecting the spirit of the 60s it does not mean you’ve wandered on to the set of a Tarantino movie or that you have permission to get your afghan coat out of mothballs, but you might want to give your Doc Marten’s (or Solovairs) a polish. The 60s had its sheen of idealistic optimism that hinted at the possible but that, you may argue, was merely part of its naïve, stick-it-to-the-Man charm. This time flower power won’t do it and probably not TikTok either.

It seems that, aside from being a sedated, belated, bleated, ephemeral, post-war celebration of the beginning of this age, the 60s counterculture might also have served as an amuse bouche, a taster menu for now. But a colder, more complex now where the stakes are far higher, idealism has evaporated and the Establishment is not quite so established anymore, and knows it. If it comes to pass, quite how a 21^st century version of the 60s protest movement will look will be interesting to behold.

It may be that being locked down six ways til Tuesday for so long has generated a matrix of unstoppable, latent kinetic energy that will manifest as righteous fury for humankind’s greater good. Then again, maybe we’ll just head to the local food bank for dinner with friends.

If it’s time to move towards a more egalitarian global mosaic – then let it not be in an Orwellian, flag-waving or bread-and-circuses way, or even a revolution in the old sense, because they never work. It’s easy to sit around demanding that others change but this time us as well as them must change, and fundamentally. It’s a big ask but we’ve run out of old road and the time is right, if a little late. Looking around, it seems people everywhere have pretty much had enough and 2020 brought that into startling focus. We know it will get quantumly better eventually but as for the journey…. well, it’s ours for the making.

It wouldn’t be excessive to expect revelations, shocks, sparks, resistance and a gloves-off, teeth-baring engagement between the clinging old and the wresting new. The planets are staring us down, photonic light is flooding the earth more than it has for millennia and the magnetic Schumann levels are sky high. Our amniotic environment is speaking to us. And down on the ground, well, no one needs telling that the time is ripe for something.

It has been said in several wise quarters that this time is more critical than any in known history and that it’s coming now, kicking off in our lifetimes. What can we do aside from buy more toilet paper? Slip on our sweet boots and suits of light, get out there and shine. Some of us may not grasp or particularly care about the machinations of life beyond the horizon of our own busy lives, but we’d better get ready cos there’s a train a-coming.