Author: basgallop

off on an early morning flight… not this early, soul always thrusts us awake before we would either need or want
boy flew away on his adventure last night too… enjoy!!!… now, midst the gloom, surreal tip toeing about the house, feel like, time slip, i’m bleary eyed up to be out on my post round delivering mail
leonard has gone, sure everyone will be posting, tis facebook… not in my opinion an occasion to mourn, somehow feel that, more than most people, he managed to powerfully inhabit his own life. impressive. and has left us some beautiful words. who would want more from life? but yearning, we always do. thank you.
this version not quite the simone one, but the one we grew up on, currently bizarrely ‘watching’ this, with no sound, as no headphones and don’t want to wake sherbailey
don’t really need volume, etched, powerfully evocative of sitting around after sunday roast, as a teenager, whilst mum and dad played mournful ancient songs
once again. doffs dapper hat. thanks mr cohen, all that beauty

ah not a great day… again … political glumness, even less hope, if that’s possible, than before, of the progressive inclusive political agenda the world so badly needs
emma played a version of this at dance (i think! might have been something else, i was somewhat busy dancing)…. the song is buddhism innit

Spirit is the upward flowing energy, of air and fire
wheras soul, is the more female flow to ground, that of the elements of water and earth
soulful days we’re living through

the perils of easy street
sea serene, placid, yawns to the horizon
only the soothe wash of its voice, which entices, then intones
‘do nothing… be nothing’
as unbeknown, grandmothers footsteps, it wriggle creeps up the beach behind me

tenderness, the peach golden glow of dawn beneath a light mist, i emerge sleep befuddled from tent, to pause, then breathe,
a majestic tree stands alone in the field. center. nary the slightest stir of air, stillness manifest
a single leaf detaches itself, begins its slow fall to the ground, no flounce, without pirouette… ‘there is only grace’
whilst it drops through the canopy, a dry dead leaf rattle, as it jostles and brushes against the other leaves
to the ground, surrender… drip by drop, scale by scale, leaf by leaf… necessary. this, the giving up

dancing in the woods… am i going to roll around in the dirt and leaf mulch? of course!
take a pile of leaves in hand, allow them to waterfall out and cascade down to cover me
personally, looming grief, lots to ponder and summon in this autumnal season
to end the dance, face down, nose buried in earth, the warm, sweet, foetal fungal smell of rot,
a body lies atop me, this comforting weight, others
her heartbeat above, ‘Her’, mother earths, slumbersome heartbeat below

a ring of shaggy ink cap parasol mushrooms, minuscule dew daubed cobwebs… a fractal, fine grained beauty, life energy moves in swirls and spirals
else catching leaves, usually a tumultuous floundering giggle, this time one came almost to hand
a perfect tiny oak leaf, lobed, i made a wish, then later, a gift to the sweet natured pregnant woman i’d just been chatting with, ‘for you and your baby’

aww had a lovely time at the festival at emerson, so many vibrant, fascinating folk to chat with. to eat together is always is a boon, a blessing and a bond… delicious yum grub too!…. to be few, yet many.. .. a lovely gamut of workshops, summoned most of the possible moods, singing, dancing, water energy… soothing music… oh and a powerful ritual too… an honour to try to hold space for the testimony of so many women…
each of them expressing a unique blend of emotions… such courage, honesty and openness… let this sadness too, flow to earth… healing
no picture this post, words mostly shared for myself, autumn, obviously, often an inner time
but mostly… thank you x

immense skies this morning, firstly a full arch of Rainbow, fit for gawp, majestic, blazoned across the heavens, doubled up about around its feet, shimmer gauze of colour
the Rainbow forever emblematic of hope (memories of that endless day, high above vilcabamba)
swag bellied clouds, saunter across the horizon, a rain burdened gloat, dark shaded (4b!) undercarriage… tangible, seething blackness
but then to the west a clearing… huge, wan… full moon about to set, smoke wreathed, an unexpectedly masculine aspect, under aries
whilst at the other side of libran sky scales, the queasy leer of sun, picking out the steeple of the church at bishopstone, the cliffs behind, the white cap of a wave
crows at seaford head, specks of black, flung up like ash… riders on the storm
curious some days a cycle ride is all brute, rhythmic, anchored in muscle and bone, other days it is the piffle pitter patter of thought that predominates
somedays it is in song, but today all is expansive… attention wrenched above
world a collage of sensations within the mind
home to find i’d missed most of it! cloud burst puddles, lakes, the sky lolling about, peek-a-boo, there, in reflection
………….

asunder… well thats what i’m calling my pic, ha, somewhat annoying really, its the words i enjoy, natch, just wanted to take a snap to illustrate the storm sky, but hey ho flags, so weighted and pointlessly freighted with symbolism!
if it was shredded, on a battlefield, surrounded by artfully strewn bodies, glowing in the pompous golden light, the false Romanticism of a high victorian empire painting, why, it would symbolise courage… fraud, jingoistic nonsense
… but here, with all the current political fallout of patriotism, for me its about pride, and a pathetic self delusion… tumpedty tum!

oh and before i plough on with work, sure nobodies read this far below the line… ever the blather… heres a quote from hobans ‘sea thing child’ not the quote i was looking for, but such a wonderful tale, everyone, not just kids should read! x

“The wind was howling, the sea was wild, and the night was black when the storm flung the sea-thing child up on the beach. In the morning the sky was fresh and clean, the beach was littered with seaweed, and there he lay–a little black heap of scales and feathers, all alone. All alone he was, and behind him the ocean roared and shook its fist. He lay there, howling not very loud, Ow, ow, ow! Ai-ee!” while the foam washed over him and went hissing away. He was too little to swim very well and he hadn’t learned to fly yet. He was nothing but a little draggled heap of fright.
After a while, when the tide went out and the day grew warm, he crawled up on the beach, leaving a wide and messy track behind him in the smooth sand. He crawled up among the big old seaweed-bearded rocks by a tide-pool, and he went to sleep, cheeping softly to himself.”