Sitting With a Light Pole: Exploring Urban Animism

My typical pattern when writing seems to be either trying to express a gently growing brainful of feeling and experience, or a ‘someone’s-driven-a-truck-into-my-living-room’ set of ideas that needs to be written down. Today, I’m vacillating between both.

Empiricus the Potato, doing a bit of sitting-with

You see, a colleague mentioned a theory to me the other day that piqued my interest. Actually, they mentioned three, but I can’t type and chew gum, so here we are talking about one of those ideas. As is my usual pattern, I ordered a book or two on the spot to read more, but decided that while I was waiting I’d sit with the conversation I’d had.

Have you ever sat with someone? Or sat with an idea? I’m not particularly big on new buzzwords or phrases (I work for the government, don’t get me started), so when this phrase ‘to sit with’ started circulating, two things came to mind.

First, sitting with someone who’s going through something, a peak or trough of profound emotion. To witness, share, support. Back in the Dark Ages I was a social worker at a hospital, and from time to time I sat with people. Not try to be something for them, just to sit with them. I always felt privileged and humbled to be present with someone, a patient or family member, who was at their most vulnerable.

The second thing my brain does when someone says ‘sit with’ is go straight to horse-riding instructors barking, ‘Sit down in the saddle.’ Some people know it as ‘sit deeper in the saddle.’ Learning to ride as a teenager, it took me a while to work out what the fuck that meant. I was sitting. What did the instructor think I was doing, a cartwheel?

It took quite some time to understand how to relax the pelvic muscles and bear down to get more contact with the saddle through the seat (read: arse) bones. ‘To sit with’ always associated, in my mind, with bearing down — getting more contact and weight in the saddle through your arse bones.

In some ways, both ideas are similar.

So why am I telling you about my early career and arse bones? Simple. I sat with a light pole the other day. I didn’t observe it, I didn’t describe it. I sat with it.

The ideas I’d been pondering from that conversation with my colleague were about new materialism. New materialism talks about relational agency, the idea that what happens between things can matter more than whatever’s supposedly within them. What I felt with the light pole made that idea suddenly, unavoidably concrete.

As much as I love new ideas, my intention is always to make them practical. Otherwise, what’s the point? I’ll probably write more on the theory another time, but for the moment, we’ll just sit with this.

See what I did there? You’re welcome.

When I first thought of testing new materialism by sitting with something, I assumed it would be easy, boring, and not especially useful. My notes from that day don’t bear that out. The point was not to observe it, or feel toward it as a potential entity, or look closely enough to give a police report style description.

Once I actually tried sitting with the light pole, I noticed a few things. Firstly, it was surprisingly hard not to do the usual animist things. When I head out to do my own practice, those observational mindsets switch on automatically. I have sat with new locations before, it’s a good way for your senses to pick up subtleties. But deliberately sitting with what most would consider an inanimate object was new.

So I bore down. I relaxed those internal muscles (not the arse muscles; the mental ones), focused, and was attentive. I chose that light pole because it had some benches nearby and was right in the middle of everything, which meant I had a decent chance of going unnoticed if I started talking out loud or waving my hands around. Hiding in plain view, right?

So, I sat. It took a little while, but I reached the state of sitting with. A few things worked well:

• Sitting beside the pole. I sat like I would with a friend, rather than staring at it directly. Makes sense - if I stared at a friend, they’d tell me to stop being weird.

• Saying my intention out loud. Being upfront and clear about my intention may have only sharpened my own focus, but maybe it acted as a kind of introduction or bridge too.

• Not trying to do anything. Just be, not do. I think doing is a default setting, as it was certainly the most difficult part to do.

The results were interesting. There was no flickering light, no hum of acknowledgement, nothing overtly mysterious, mystical or ‘woo’. But I did notice a couple of things.

Firstly, the light pole became prominent in my sense of the park, almost like a large rock in a flat landscape. Even when turned away, I was aware of where it was. The whole experience felt like when someone stands close behind you and you sense their presence before you turn.

Secondly, I felt more in the park than when I had arrived, like something was anchoring me, or pulling me inward like a magnet would a piece of metal. Maybe that’s what co-presence feels like? Perhaps I was more there because I was present with another, creating more than the sum of our parts.

There may be a psychological explanation for all this, probably something derivative, bland, and inert. And if so, good for them. What I felt was vital, solid, a visceral knowing.

Those experiences will need more thought and definitely additional trials in different settings, since sitting with a light pole once as an urban animism practice just ain't gonna cut it.

I know what you’re thinking. Well, I don’t, not really. But I can guess. How is this different from my normal animist practice? I’m glad you asked. There are several differences, but the main one is passive versus active.

Normally (whatever that actually means) I would be much more active in my engagement through animist practice. I would seek connection of some form, which normally (for me) means a feeling of being seen in some way. Acknowledged, if you like. And sometimes connection would be more dynamic, reveal more, be instructive or directional.

My test with the light pole was much more passive. I didn’t try to be or do anything. I wasn’t seeking a particular outcome. Much like when you’re just being with a friend for companionship, or sitting with them during a traumatic time, I was just there.

After I left the park that day, I expected the experience to be a one-off. Not unrepeatable, but something with no lasting effect.

However, a week later…

Back at the park, different time, different weather, different mood. I didn’t go there to test anything, although the previous experience was floating around in the back of my mind.

As soon as I turned off the road and pulled into the carpark, I became aware of the light pole. Not in a shining light from heaven kind of way, but more like a subtle, gradual awareness of the most solid thing in the park. If I had been facing the right direction as I pulled into a car spot, I would’ve barely been able to see the light pole from where I was.

But I could sense it. I didn’t even need to try to put those arse bones down, they were already well and truly there.

And, I felt more present. I was with the park. Sure, I was also in it. But I was with it as well, with the light pole the centre of that with-ness. It wasn’t the actual, physical centre of the park but that seemed to be irrelevant. The shift from being in a place to being with it surprised me more than anything else.

And that was my truck-into-the-living-room moment: returning a week later and still feeling more present, more connected, more with the light pole.

This changes things. I’ll be back. Not to test anything or prove a point, but because the light pole and I have clearly established something worth tending. Whatever new materialism wants to call this — relational agency, co-presence — I know the texture of it now. And I want to know if it scales.