equinox blessings
Equinox Blessings
light and dark are equal, this halving harvest
a cusp, be-twixt then be-tween days, which speak of balance, of equanimity
spirit radiates down, soul oozes up, White Gold, Rose Gold
miscible energies which
meet, mingle, manifest
part buddha, all buffoon
but more, for to be human, this hodge podge of humour, sorrow and beauty
breakfast in the garden, languish in sunshine, the last hurrah
amongst tomato plants, the red nose splodge of late fruit, the sprawl of the nettle patch,
umbelliferous leaves of courgettes, the veined twirl and writhe of their urgent saffron trumpets
a purple florid phosphorescence of pustulated buddleia flowers
(purple prosed preposterousness myself!)
ponder back on a summer of festivals, hammocks, saunas, frantic flung about dancing, hugs
a gentle daunt at the days to come
to the beach for sunset!
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pic is portrait half in light, half in shade… and the same for buddha< i like the way the buddhas solar disk halo and the sun ray emblem on my t-shirt give it a subtle (very subtle!) yin yang resonance
waggle hands
A glorious late September afternoon in Brighton.
As we clamber out from the sea, me ungainly squawk floundering, some doomed wingless bird… I ouch eek my way up the slope towards our bags, the sanctuary of a towel
‘i am not your friend for your elegance’, fair enough
later, peering through the hole in a hag stone, eye snags on eye… ‘helloooo’
then casually flicking small pebbles down the beach, delighting in the way they rebound, several flea hops in each and every direction!
the unpredictable popcorn randomness… here… then there… then about turn, back the other way
i tell you how i love to be up at ditchling beacon at sunset, a giants shadow cast beyond and across the land, with a gleeful cackle, mimicking the crows caw, i clasp my hand shut… blotting out the entire village of Fulking in the valley below… omni-potent, Ozymandias, lord of all i survey
you tell me about paddle boarding at sunset beneath the murmuration of starlings, silent, nary a cheap, but for the whoosh then whoop, the plunge of air, imaginary bellows lung… and watch out for the rain of starling wee!
to blunder warble on, explaining how i fell asleep watching one documentary, then awoke later to a program on Japanese master restorers… their extravagant focus, a diligent application, the overwhelming, and lets be honest televisually soothing attention to detail
‘i am not your friend for your precision’
(me thinking there’s probably an awful lot of reasons why i’m ‘not your friend’… this game could go on for a while!)
later, the grand depart, back to the town
whilst walking up the slope, a westering sun behind us, shadows yawning, stretching pleasant out
some pondering, mulling before town cryer pronunciation
‘i am your friend for the way you regulate my nervous system, your calming presence’
I reply ‘yes, yes, but look, see how amazing my shadow is when i furiously waggle my hands!!! it’s ridiculous!’… the shadow of my lurch broad swollen arms, a frantic fluttering wrist swivel, truly it is glorious!
‘I am your friend for your calmness… and playfulness’
guffaw
Palace of the Winds
Protected: Thailand 86
Protected: oz letter 15 May 1986 source
Into The Wild ’26
Into the Wild Festival. I was there supporting my friend with circus pole for kids.
End of Summer vibe, the endless heat of this extraordinary summer finally come to an end
Rain! tho not enough to ruin the festival, but the seeking of shelter gave it a distinct flavour… intrepid ways of overcoming the hinderance
Folkkadelic playing on the Sun and Moon stage.
People were gently grooving and gyrating, but then a huge downpour came.
The majority of the crowd rushed straight to shelter within the ‘Into the Wild’ Cafe.
But I and a few bold, foolish others ran towards the stage.
the band and their equipment were covered, the awning stretched out far enough that there was space for two rows of people to dance without getting wet.
About 20 of us gathered there, a lifeboat of survivors… we went absolutely crazy, twirling and whirling, euphoric bedlam
outside the raindrops hopped like frogs!
I spent a lot of time in the Buddhafield sauna.
something nourishing and ancient about being naked and warm, the cozy womb-like atmosphere.
Chatting, sometimes impromptu chanting, occasionally singing.
It’s always a unique blend of people. You stay for 5 minutes, the sweat starts to drip, you retreat to the cool outside.
once outside, sway gently or dance naked, arms upraised, as the rain pummeled and cascaded down, looking up at an ash tree likewise swaying in the wind. Resonance
An easy win! because the minute you got tired of this, the cold, the clammy starts to creep, hop back in the sauna, heat up again…
three cycles of this, until it was time to head to the chill-out room, where musicians would play, and you could just lie and relax.
For a similar reason I spent much time in the late night dance tent, silent disco, ear hugging headphones on, subside into the music… delirious, geometric rhythms, the laser strobe and looped visuals, club vibe… it felt like you weren’t in a rainy, muddy festival at all!
Favourite band was BCUC… conscious Soweto sound, hugely intense with an urban edge! soulful singing and rapping, with a crescendo of disparate psychedelic, acoustic drumming! went mental
spent a sunset hour sitting by the fire, firstly chatting with a couple of new found friends, but then appreciating the closely woven voices and acoustic guitar of a young hippy couple, sat directly next to them, a very intimate energy
they got a few of us to sing along, a song about rivers and home, they’d only written 5 days previously, its first fireside performance, enchanting
helping out in the kids area was a pleasant change, we’d lug the portable pole up from where it was stored in the tent, then set it up
My friend would dangle upside down for a short while, long enough to entice the first batch of kids over… warm up stretches, then a gentle choreographed routine of spins
Aww and R was there! My lovely friend from BF, the first person we saw as we drove onto site, I stopped the car and vaulted out to give her a hug… fancy meeting you here!?
I only saw her twice more, the first time we halted 3 metres apart and did a little leg shimmy dance, before passing on
we have a friendship that seldom erupts into words, she is not that kind of person… every time i embark on one of my stunning, well honed anecdotes, her brain evaporates, skipping somewhere free, far away across the field
and that is mighty fine by me… usually we end up with a symphony of beeps, honks and gurgles
oh but a long, heartfelt hug… transported to the realm of perpetual bliss… a shimmering delicious thing… a yearning, solemn silence… forever, somewhere beyond the further shore of love
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setting up with J, such a novelty to have any pictures at all! fist evening sunset then phone off for the subsequent 3 days
below: long ago… 2017? 18 more likely? with lol, fran and alex
Protected: India 86 – part 2
Elephanta Island
Discovering that the Full Moon always rises as the Sun sets.
Mumbai 1986 (Bombay as it was still called then)
pink balloons at the iconic Gateway to India
From here I took a boat from the quay, across the bay, over to Elephanta Island
5th-century rock-cut caves, dedicated to the worship of Shiva
climbing the steep, stone steps past the vendors and monkeys to enter the cool, shadowed interior of the basalt caves.
goggle, jaw agape in awe…the Trimurti, a huge, three-headed bust of Shiva
Nataraja, Shiva as the cosmic dancer, dancing the world into being, crushing the demon dwarf of ignorance, Apasmara underfoot
one panel— a depiction of Shiva as half-man, half-woman (split down the center with his consort Parvati), representing the synthesis of masculine and feminine energies.
pockmarks on the stone—damage left behind centuries later when Portuguese soldiers used the images within the sacred caves as target practice. heathen. other peoples gods.
It was a Sunday, the locals there on a day trip, large extended family picnics, tiffin tins bearing creamy, spice stewed curries… kids pell mell running around, all the boys playing cricket.
The return trip back across the water, the engine cuts out, we are adrift in the stillness of the bay
many of the young boys gather round, clamouring, they become convinced I am one of, else at least, the spitting image of an Australian cricketer
Jeff Thomson? Geoff Marsh? Greg Matthews? they squabble over precisely which one… our physiognomies pleasingly vague and similar to the locals eye and sensibility.
As the red sun dips into the western horizon of the Arabian Sea, the massive, luminous full moon rises simultaneously in the east over the Mumbai skyline.
Amongst the hubbub, here at the center, stillness
a fulcrum: Sun going down, nestling deeper as huge gawp full moon rises.
It is ever thus Full Moon always rises at Sunset
from first principles, a simple scientific realisation, but something I had never appreciated or known before
the simplicity of cosmic alignment, the moon lit by the suns rays has to be directly opposite it when it appears full
at all other times the light is at oblique angles
grok good, harmony and beauty, the cosmos reels and wheels, we rest, eternally seated below
Nepal 86
Bare Bones ….Kathmandu – Nagarkot – Pokhara – Poon Hill
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Nepalese buses.
Rammed full of people. Somebody would have their elbow in your nose.
The groan and throb of the tata bus engine, sway, then jostle.
You’d feel completely overwhelmed by the burden of humanity.
Zilch leg room, not designed for European proportions.
Scramble up the ladder, to ride on top of the bus.
Freedom. Much more room above!
Wending our way through the mountains.
hang on for dear life.
Steep drops to one side. Raging, foaming streams.
A goat up there with us.
Beneath the sky, the hills surrounding, engulfing.
Beautiful.
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“HORN OK PLEASE”
The language, the rhythm of horn honks.
A truck would thunder up behind us… festooned with brightly colored baubles, hand-painted, gaudy with tinsel… a heavily garlanded Ganesha on the dashboard, remover of obstacles, blessing the journey.
the lorry would toot once to let the driver know, “Here I am.”
The driver of the bus would reply, parp, “I know you’re there.”
Then, “honk, honk,” the road is clear.
The truck would overtake, a cheerful bamboozlement, a cacophony of horn honks, for the sheer thrill of it.
Then, as he got past, one final hoot, “Thank you!”
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Nagarkot on the rim of the Kathmandu Valley, gazing out toward the Himalayas, I remember meeting a young boy, 10 years old, Dinesh
He stood up very straight, spoke polite, impeccable English, which primarily he’d learnt from the World Service of the BBC.
He told us that the space shuttle, Challenger, had exploded about a week before.
a curious reversal, odd to learn of such a major global tragedy from a soft spoken boy high up in the mountains.
Travelling you were so out of touch in the days before the internet!
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Trekking
Permits, maps, trekking pass
we set off early in the morning from Pokhara
Squeezing into a jeep with a family of locals
the track cut across a wide, rubble-strewn riverbed, a massive field of grey boulders and gravel, washed down from the Himalaya over millennia.
A few hours walking upwards, then onto the ridge, Machapuchare—the sacred, sculpted, untouchable “Fishtail” peak dominating the horizon.
I had already felt ill the previous days, by mid afternoon in Chandrakot I was distinctly queasy.
Realising I couldn’t continue, I sent Alan, impatient and in a hurry, onwards.
I stayed that night in a wooden hut with a kind patient Nepali woman and her daughter.
A bout of diarrhea, then in the middle of the night I was sick several times, hard to be discreet in a small hut!
With no bucket available, I was sick into a small plastic bag and dumped it out the window.
I became convinced I had altitude sickness, hugely unlikely at only 1000m (approx) elevevation, and in my delirium wanted to head downwards towards Bierthanti.
yet in the darkness, creaking down the stairs could barely find the latch for the door!
Next morning, slightly recovered I headed down. Firstly seeing a chicken pecking at my bag of puke (yeucchhh!)
Fortunately I hadn’t found my way out, a steep, knee jarring descent.
Ah the Romance of travel
Bierthanthi was a boon and a blessing. I spent a couple of days there relaxing, recovering… a beautiful lodge, sleeping with the sound of the rushing river.
The Modi Khola, theoretically, at least, the deepest gorge in the world
Classic Tea House trek. Tasty, nourishing food… chai, eggs, porridge and the ubiquitous Dal Bhat
Most of the days I sat on the boulders in the river, reading a book, else watching the water churn and swirl around. mesmerised
Rivendell. At home with the elves. Felt that Tolkien must have been in Nepal (the alps apparently!).
Powerful mountains, the broad sweep of landscape, the Nepalese people seemingly conjured as characters from his books.
Onwards to Ulleri… from the valley floor to Ghorepani
A warm sunny day, but with a chill crisp nip to the air.
I wore only swim shorts and bounded along, ascending 1500 m In one day, a mile higher.
beginning with the resolute plod up a long, endless stone staircase.
at the level of the eagles as they soared and swooped above the valley below
the path spooled, wound around and around
donkey trains, the chime of bells, jangle of harness, their tasseled coloured head pieces, step to one side to allow them to pass
the perilous, dubious crossing of swing bridges
The local porters, barefoot, burdened by the immense weights, carrying pipes, coca cola for tourists, EVERYTHING
fascinating the way that the climate zones change as you ascend the mountain, lush vibrant green Rice paddies down below, then through broad leafed woodland, Sall trees clinging with moss, Rhododendrons, small shrines, the tangible presence of spirits… follow the trail long enough, alpine scrub, then nothing but boulders and wind punished bone emptiness… in search of the sacred folk have always retreated to the mountains
Hillside Lodge, just a few hours walk below the summit of Poon Hill.
Shut within a few years due to the excessive deforestation of the hillsides. As travellers we are very much part of the problem.
A crackling fire, endless joints, travellers company and tales. Bill and Lisa, his cousin, from Australia, a quiet Danish guy, Lars.
early the next morning, the final wander up to 3200 m for the epic sunrise and a panorama of the white capped mountains.
Back down again, it snowed all day, we were all marooned in the cabin.
after this, the next day a rapid yomp down, we tarried too long and I remember the last hour in the twilight looking for the lights of the next village.
In all a ten day trek… my first of many… would only take you 2 days to get to poon hill nowadays! times of youth and yore!
