mince pies

mince pies are alright…. sotto voce, begrudgingly, i have eaten one and a half this year and counting, and quite tasty actually, after an entire lifetime of loathing them… these the days of revelation… i was wrong… eating humble pie?

Richard Basgallop look a knitted mince pie! … and aggh you can now add more than one pic to a post, that will squander even more of my days!

Richard Basgallop …and santa is in a yoga asana… and has peculiar horn like deely boppers, further inspiration to take up knitting

Megan I still hate them

worlds end (from 21st Dec)

Happy Solstice, new Bhaktun thingummibob vibes!
may all beings be well, may all beings be happy
my moment of tranquility came this morning half way up mount caburn, never where you expect it, after a trains cancelled dashing daughter to school
devoid of vigour i didn’t even make it to the top, just paused on a bench near a copse of trees
such strength and stillness, the trees looked like brittle twigs, but have you ever tried to push one over? i have! such obstinate power. you’d have to be a woolly mammoth, a rather chubby waddlesome one at that
anyway just sat and meditated for a while, warm sun, an edge of chill in the air, the continual chuck chuck warble sound of pheasants, a suprise unseasonal tweetle twerp of a song bird
the rumble of my stomach, the distant waterfall of the a27, the grubby clamour of mind… opening my eyes to a diamond sparkle in the grass, snail shell in my pocket, a sheepdog on the far hillside chasing spiral patterns
well, not an extraordinary transfiguring rapture, but, yep peace enough
so wherever you may find yourself, perched atop a ruined mayan ziggurat? else in the thin air high in the himalaya, above the temple of fire and ice at mukhtinath scrabbling precariously down from the thorung la pass… or at work… or tucked up in bed with miserable sniffles
i wish you well, and whether we feel it or not (some days do, some days don’t… as it is) know that we are together, we are one, and the force that holds us.. om shanti. love x

Richard Basgallop: pic is dawn this morn.. and 2 songs. primal scream wafflesome version (as me).. and dusty, brightons finest, a song to sing in the car!

Nigel Happy Solstice! Woken up by the motel toucan but feeling it safe to venture closer to Mayan territory .. so leaving wondrous panama. Come visit us In Nicaragua for the new year string! X
21 December at 13:21 via mobile · Like

Nicky Happy new ear :))))) xx
21 December at 17:39 · Like

end of the world

ugghh is it possible to overdose on honey ginger and lemon? can one dwell too long in a lavender and jasmine bath… beyond even twiggly wrinkled prune fingers
its the end of the world (possibly) and i’ve got a mild attack of the sniffles. snotmageddon.
mildly disappointing really
still i’ve got the best bobble hat in the entire universe.. and huge quantities of chocolate. not all bad
see even REM weren’t always boring old windbags

aggghh i’ve just remembered smiley happy people… noooooooo!


watching the wind on the surface of the water
flattening the waves, plumping up the froth, shrapnel stipple pockmarking the surface
playful agog, then it is gone, to alight elsewhere, some capricious djinn
to be a sailor, when all is calm, idle, marooned on the placid expanse of ocean
to whistle for the wind, a gentle summoning, subterfuge, an act of sympathetic magic
tacit acknowledgement that the wind, with all its blustery pomp cannot be controlled
that when it wants, and only then, it will fill the slack sails with its burden brute force
i like wind because it is invisible! rejoice in the bleeding obvious, known only through its consequence
hung out washing dancing on the line,
a fire just as it catches, wind coaxed, the joyful fury as the wood surges into flame,
prayer flags, colourful, aloft, in the high himalaya, clap flapping their prayers to the heavens
else the augury of birds, a seagull that stalls, stukhas then slow dives to the waves
a hawk as it hovers, a subtle manipulation, the angling of bone, sinew and feather, miraculous stasis midst the roar
mastery. to blend with its element. grace

………. its fun, waking up, writing words and at the same time half heartedly perusing facebook! x

Winters Jog

ice cream head! best cosset me noggin tea cosey stylee, back from an early morning jog, trust me ice cream head is much better than colly wobble goolies
…off in my jogging pantaloons following the frost sparkled pavements up to the cliff tops
Running across the ice brittle grass, stiff bristled as a crunchy ocean bed of sea urchins
clip clop, kept on looking around for a horse, but just the sound of my own passing over the iron shod ground
i love coming across horses on a hill side in the early morning light, it is not their full fettle movement, but the utter stillness, entranced, dream phantom still
i digress, below, like liquid nitrogen(?!), the sea is frozen into a wave… the hunger, the loll tongued stare of the steppenwolf
the water cradled within the harbour walls is calm and gentle, stippled… like cling film on jelly
surrealy the only sound to break the stillness (to quell the rattling in my head) are chimes, a few wafted bars from an ice cream van!
i imagine mr softee, wintering in his mobile home, apron and feather duster, with a sigh, with a smile, unable to resist pressing the button, simple nostalgia for summers sake
anyway i get to my turning around point, where i get the first glimpse of brighton, usually a shrug and ‘naaaah’, but today, the low slung orange sun behind me
and there, with the furious snarled grimace of the sun god, or more likely the rictus grin of a cartoon character stung by a wasp, i raise both my arms, the long shadow reaches out, gaping to the horizon
and tho it might be fanciful to claim to have blotted out the whole of brighton, i did, at least, obliterate peacehaven heights… some might say a very good thing

he he i love a bout of early morning poncification! to make up for it, a lovely pic of finn from way way back when! stanmer house in the background


touch, most gentle, intimate and sincere of all the senses… nourishing in most of its guises, whether through massage, the pummel of muscles, which relaxes, then releases the fraught stored clenched memories
or from a hug, warmth shared, summoning something greater
it disturbs me that society has almost banished touch, cuddles reserved for your own children, a caress only for a lover, sometimes people shy away, almost flinch when you reach out to touch them (like salt on slug lips?!)
‘how dare you!’, ‘invasion!’, ‘keep your filthy paws… (off my silky drawers)’
yes touch can be rough, abrupt, ambivalent sexual, but also and, even, sometimes, at the same time gentle, playful, releasing, forgiving

it is ancient, that which is deepest, oldest, first… fundamental
think of the oldest life, as they squirmed through the primordial ooze, the world as a felt experience
or the foetus us, shrimp curled in our mothers womb… held, contained, feeling only the pressing outwards, inwards, of cusp and boundaries.
Our ancestors, plains dwellers, frightened within the night, huddled close to the genius warmth of fire, eyes gazing upwards, marvelling at the cold distance of the crystal stars
… but from the safe, held, coddled warmth of the rummage of bodies, the we, the closeness of us

humans sweaty, grubby, present

ha! indeed i greatly enjoy my own grandeloquence! boa constrictor squeeze the life from a thought with the clammy clasp of words
a tumble of words written first thing in the morning, inteersting space, before we are grounded by conversation

………… and a mail that got totally ignored … struggle with that sort of energy!

was doing some sun salutations this morning, such a gorgeous b-e-a-utiful day out there, and was thinking absent mindedly about your status, of course i should just have been with the postures, but my mind so often doodles in spirals.. was going to say the obvious, that when i split from my ex, barely took anything, tried to embrace all those ideas of letting go, making space, but in all honesty i don’t think it was that succesful for me, as always trying, rather than allowing it to come from anywhere natural… ended up with less stuff to lug around though, so guess that was good!
.. but actually i was thinking more of the temple metaphor, i tend to feel more like what? a small fearful creature scurrying through a sprawling decaying city, the city of all that i have ever known, baroque, medieval, prague probably, where i used to live, but knowing well that i am not merely that creature, but the city itself, the faces and guises on all the statues (ooh thinking grandiose like the bayonne at angkor wat, amazing place, hope you’ve been there!), but also the beautiful woman glimpsed turning away from the window, somewhere on the outskirts fading into other people, the social realm, ancient archetypes… oh but also the new life, the flowers pushing up growing through the paving stones.
hmmm enough of rather obvious morning fancifulness, my kids are over, shall have to see if they fancy being roused into going for a walk… teenagers!