season of soup… today, homemade organic carrot with cheese on toast! traditional but tasty with a twist a day for getting on with things around the hoouse, so of course, endless delaying tactics… cooking eccentrically, then dressing up as a sun ra-esque sphinx to do the hoovering the salad was delish… lettuce and fig and pumpkin seeds, the dressing a concoction of ooh lemon, ginger and turmeric (yesterdays juice), with apple cider vinegar and tahini! the red gunk likewise from earlier in the week… tofu, aubergine, chickpea, mushroom, pepper with the obvious onion, garlic, chilli, toms i am just trying to imagine what my grandparents would have made of it, or even my 10 year old self? them were seldom different days… food was bland stodge, colours forlorn forgotten now, a gallimaufry of flavours… strange difficult days, yes, yet the possibility of such astonishing culinary opulence onwards chores chores chores
holywell spring, eastbourne… a few days back on the cusp of st brigids water drips down, seeping through rock, across foilage, chalybeate, i gather in the cup of my outstretched palms, then sip… in my heart, a simple clear summoning, of those in need of healing …tho in truth, such the loong dirge of winter, we could all do with the balm I love this unadorned form of folk religion, you see it in india everywhere, else in the piled cairns of stones along the camino world teems with the sacred… earth, air, fire, water… spirit swirls throughout, yet coalesces in the particular the belief that this ancient tree is sacred, else, here, where water oozes from the land, a spirit dwells its diy ethos, ‘this is how i wish to worship’, taken back from books, stepped away from temples, this kitsch intimate sweetness… gods, goddeses, ours and the gaurdian of this well? today, i ‘see’ her, the pink Rose bloomed at the heart centre… lithe movement, as water flows… hair, green from frond and foilage… shining white as chalk, shining silver as water i find one smoothe, flat pebble from the beach, tongue stuck out with reverse jenga concentration, carefully place it atop the pile love and blessings for all beings
May all beings be well. May all beings be happy. May all beings find peace.
(for Tika, much delayed written version of a tale i told high in the himalayas, arriving to a hut in the midst of a hail storm!)
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I once attempted a Vipassana meditation, in the Goenka tradition, 10 days of silence, stillness and near perpetual meditation. It was immensely powerful, but way too much for my fragile sanity, I left after 7 or 8 days. Part of my learning was in fact: “it’s ok to leave, sometimes it’s good to give up”.
I really struggled with the Silence, with the Social Isolation, that, and the Intense Visions. Ultimately i decided that, yes, I could have made it to the end… pushed on through, the likelihood tho would have been that I’d blow a spiritual gasket, either attain enlightenment, emerge as a saint, else as a madman… and is it mostly a matter of context as to which is which? As a Father… i need to be rooted in the world. I have responsibilities. Yes. It’s Ok to leave.
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The retreat was in January, a beautiful location in the Welsh countryside, as we arrived they separated us, men to one side and women to the other. All phones placed safely away in lockers. The gong rang at 4:00 am every morning, the days filled with endless meditation, breakfast, and the occasional ‘relaxation’ hour when you could walk around the grounds. The meditation technique began by focusing on the place where breath first comes into the body, just beneath the nose. On later days we were moving attention around the body in a rhythmical fashion… first slowly, eventually quickly.
Its a curious experiment, everybody emerges having had a completely different experience… some of my friends have merely found it boring and suffered from aches and pains, whilst for others it triggered deep childhood anxieties. A very obvious criticism is that it is not ‘trauma informed’ and my own strong feeling was that it was irresponsible of the organisers, it failed the participants, in that there was no support of any kind afterwards… its like being thrown off a cliff, who knows where or how you’ll land?
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I was expecting that, if I was lucky, somewhere towards the end of the retreat I might experience some waves of eternal cosmic bliss. What happened was that after meditation on the second day I went out to look up at the bright mineral stars, went back to lie down on the bed and my whole body felt like it was made from exploding stars. spangled eruptions. Eight days still to go. buckle in! For me, the closest experience was to that of tripping. Intense visions and insights, ecstatic reverence closely interwoven with fear and paranoia. A powerful religious tone, seeing halos around other peoples heads! This mingled with classic buddhist thanka type images, the sensation that my body is on fire, a cold fire, that does not burn, else that my body is eternally blossoming, the flowering of form.
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Rather than being Buddhist in aspect, most of what I ‘saw’ was in a western, nature based tradition, the feeling that i am a Narnian, else dwell in a Tolkien-esque place. I think that we all have a particular spiritual palette and it is this that the unconscious and imagination draw from. It’s developed in childhood, from a time before our conscious personality is fully developed. Mine was a green realm of woods, streams and low hills, British, the human sized spirit of the land.
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The Vipassana course incorporated cult like disciplines… which are identical to monastic religious traditions… not harmful in themselves, but important to be aware of. These included: Endless meditation. Social deprivation and isolation… You are forbidden from looking at anyone, let alone speaking. Sleep deprivation… You barely sleep. When meditating all day, the body doesn’t seem to require it, the mind is perpetually in the hypnagogic zone twixt sleep and wakefulness. Fasting… food is breakfast and lunch, you are not permitted to eat beyond midday… blood sugar levels fluctuate, prompting a mental clarity and spiritual openness. A single point of view… Each evening, the treat, and the only point of levity in the day, would be to listen to a tape of Goenkas voice intoning some nugget of spiritual wisdom… like a great bullfrog… this fixed viewpoint, a framework to understand your experience, yet no alternative proffered.
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The woods, time outdoors, was my main salvation, this felt so much more harmonious than the meditation hall. The beauty of nature in cold, empty January, the minute twitches of life, a mere wriggle of root, the first buds of snowdrops, small scale, but a distinct stirring. Goenka intoned a key teaching ‘Everything arises then falls away. The world comes into, then out of being’. It was sunset, mist midst a foggy twilight, I walked amongst the trees and could both feel and see this truth. Scintilla. Granularity. The fundamental oscillation of the universe, a palpable and joyful sense of this.
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Much of the time was also extraordinarily pleasant, for many of the meditation sessions I found myself slipping into a tranquil groove. Calm. Serene Bliss. Warmth and Abundance bubbling upwards, coaxed forth from the silence. World coated in a golden glow. An hour would pass and I’d barely need to adjust my posture, physical sensations would recede, and I would relax into a realm of rapture. Sonorous Profound Love.
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Food… the knowledge that grub was grounding… the meals were vegan, delicious tasty and nourishing,… savor and chew every mouthful. but, but… times when i’m sitting there flunked out, not wanting to be near anyone, hyper aware, hyper vigilant. Knowing i needed to eat, that it would be 12 hours till the next rations… It wasn’t hunger, but I wanted grub to pull me back down from my spiritual pedestal, yet each mouthful, each chew and chomp felt like a torment. Wish i’d smuggled some oat cakes in!
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I wanted desperately to make it to the end. The day of metta, of loving kindness. I needed to be hugged. On this day I would have been able to speak to some of the others. The restless mind makes up stories about people. Perpetual Narrative. The guy sitting near to me, agog, who seemed to be shining. The woman on the far side with whom there was a karmic bond? I wanted to hear who they were. Yet if I left, I would never see them again, there could be no hope of closure.
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The man I shared my hut with snored like a pig, he seemed to sleep all the time, his rasps would shake the foundations of the hut. I, in my near crazed funk couldn’t sleep at all, constantly interrupted by his snores. I found myself trying to sleep by matching my breathing pattern to his, obviously this is not possible, for a while it would work, but then i’d find myself breathing quickly, shallowly. I’d wake from my half slumber gasping for air, floundering, drowning. The rhythm of breath, air flowing freely into our lungs. The rhythm of blood, the pounding of the heart. This DNA double spiral. Another night, half awake, half asleep i became aware of a drumming, a pounding… ‘she is coming, she is coming… the serpent is coming from the deep’, a powerful, palpable sense of dread.
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The Snake was often with me in this time, usually beautiful and benign, ‘she’ was a majestic, immense, green sea serpent, a huge swoon swirl of sinuous energy passing through. Yet with me, terror is seldom far behind. Traditionally the way a snake shucks off its skin, is a symbol of spiritual rebirth, else the Urobus, the universe serpent, eating its own tail. I have always been fascinated by snakes. As a child, at the zoo, to enter the reptile house was a shiny silver sixpence extra, a small dark building, I’d go in alone. Deep underground. These glimpses of the Delphic Oracle.
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Equanimity, ‘not to grasp, not to reject’, is a core message. Fundamental agreement with this, but, hey, its difficult. Within a visionary landscape, equanimity was the golden thread. From where I was standing I could view the distant hallowed spiritual uplands, golden and glowing, but to get there the path ran downwards, across stony rugged ground, then into a dark wooded valley, eventually it climbed up and out the other side. I knew that within this forest lurked monsters, creatures fed from darkness, all of my fears and ones that I don’t even yet know of. Follow the thread, remember and practice equanimity, all shall be ok. But yeah, I was scared, and didn’t wish to go that way.
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I made an appointment and went for a 10 minute lunchtime meeting with the course leader, I was hoping for some assurance that the daunting array of visual and kineaesthetic hallucinations I was experiencing were somehow ‘normal’ for the process and that I wasn’t on the cusp of a psychotic episode? The advice I received was merely not to focus on these sensations, just to stick with the process. The guy was an odd, somewhat remote figure, it was pleasant peculiar merely to use my voice again. I returned to my room, fell briefly asleep, woke to find that i was following the rotation of consciousness meditation even in my sleep. Faster and faster… keep going, keep flowing. I couldn’t stop?! It was this exact meditation that was pushing me further and further out, a frenzy of madness.
I returned the next day to speak with the course leader again at lunchtime, his advice this time was not to meditate whilst sitting in the meditation hall. just to sit there. I tried this, yet became convinced that we are all resonant with each other, in a room where everybody is powerfully meditating, you cannot help but thrum with the same vibration, you cannot stop gyre circling higher.
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That night the snoring was even worse, frustrated I finally got up from my bed around midnight, went to the hut of the course helpers to tell them, bliss to actually have a brief normal conversation. They came over, stood outside and laughed, the snore sound was unbearably loud, they said they’d move me to another hut, but by then i realised that what I actually had to do was leave, the snoring was the catalyst, the turmoil was within myself.
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‘We are all star consciousness’, words written in a visitors book as I prepared to depart, I feel this strongly to be true, I can see the star tarot card, the beautiful maiden pouring water endlessly onto the land… a bird in the tree beyond… a golden 8 pointed star of mental clarity. Mineral, pure, clear, cold. But we are more! The abundance, the green tendrils of vegetable consciousness, this wriggle writhe. else animal consciousness which is blood and movement, deep red, vermilion, scarlet… blood and bone… quick, vital Beyond all that human consciousness. Connection… about the heart, relationship… we are poor shiversome creatures nothing without our fire, our intelligence, our tools, a love of language and story. We exist as family, as tribe, it takes so long to nurture a human child… carried in arms for the first year, we are nothing without each other.
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The morning I left the retreat, they offered me a lift down to the main road, from where I could catch the bus. In truth I did not feel the need for the immediate clamour of towns and human life… far preferable: gradual, gradual. It was a beautiful dawn in the middle of January, deep in the welsh countryside, the morning sun had just crept above the hill opposite… radiance, the distinct white rays of starshine, mingled with the golden warmth of sunshine. I hoisted the bag up onto my back, to begin to walk the couple of miles to the road… there is always something profoundly satisfying about walking away under our own steam. A farmer was pootling along in his tractor up in the field, he waved!?! With pantomime enthusiasm I semaphore waved back… longer than a week since any human had acknowledged my presence! weird and deeply pleasant. I came around a bend, and there, sitting outside an old farmhouse door, was a dog. She jumped up and started barking, a beautiful, young collie, with black and white markings. There was no ferocity, just a playful enthusiasm, she pranced from side to side, I hunkered down and threw open my arms. Tongue lolling, tail wagging, she came forward for a cuddle. This was too much for my wrangled heart, all the pent up emotion from isolation, over a week of teetering on the boundaries of madness. I started to sob, tears welled up, then splashed out of my eyes, some of them flopped down into the eyes of the dog, rolled around, then dropped to the dust below, as though she, in turn, were crying. Swollen, awash with gratitude and love, marvelous hound. Blessings for our hearts, our blood, our passion, for all of this love that dwells in these our beautiful animal souls.
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afterwards Hanna came over and hugged me for days… this was exactly what I needed… a yearning for human connection and warmth, that i felt was missing from the whole experience, we loitered, cooked hearty meals, went for slow dawdle country walks, slept greatly and just chatted. A few days later my kids stayed, the simple, benign pleasures of being human. All that remained of my meditation experience were mad, ragged, fervent dreams, those and a strong ringing, a persistent tone in my head which endured for weeks afterwards, a note of one particular frequency, possibly 528 hz, the eternal hathor frequency? that which comes from out, beyond, somewhere in the universe. It took several weeks to fade.
Soften back into the stillness, allow a pool of golden warmth gather at the heart, then radiate out to all living souls
May all beings be well. May all beings be happy. May all beings find peace.
enjoyed dancing and crewing in St Nicks with you guys again last night, its been forever meant to say that its miraculous, and a joy, to dance in such an ancient, sacred, sombre space this snap, crew christmas bash end of 2015, came up when searching for the group again, made me chortle only ginny and nathan really still involved time passing, how long have we been blessed to dance in the church, 15 years? but a blip, when you look at some of the plaques in the bell tower, 1667 else the beautifully carved font, lugged from lewes priory, sometime after its fall, nearly 1000 years old was waffling to somebody after about the quirks of crewing you get to throw open and later shut the doors of the church, all massive bolts, chunky church keys and ancient creaking wood, powerfully evokes the old, old notion of church as sanctuary else when everyone has gone, the lights all turned out, stand in the middle of the nave, midst the silence, and utter a long resonant Ommmmmmm
sweet! good see some faces of dancers of yore popping up xxx always think to bin facebook, but then i’d miss things like that
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energy comes into the universe, stays for a while, then passes obvious, yes, but feeling that strongly this morning, cusp of the solstice as the drab dismal rain buckets down listening to benjamin zephenaiahs autobiography… he has such a lush distinctive voice anyway, as a sentimental cancerian, sometimes when i’m dancing its with the cheerful ‘ghosts’ of yesterday, ‘aww do you remember when?!’ more often its flailing around in the exuberance of the moment… and ha, even sometimes there is space to be excruciatingly bored… ‘different song, different me, please!’ that’s part of the beauty of life, blip in a blink and it’s gone, but also, these endless strung out moments seasons turn, the dance moves on… wish you happiness wherever you find yourself energy comes into the universe, stays for a while, then passes
halfway through scarfing brekkie, it was so delish that i felt compelled to stop and take its portrait
a lidl special, muesli, granola, oat milk, plumped out with frozen fruit (four berry medley), organic banana, maca powder and pumpkin seeds
pudding was 2 chocolate ginger biscuits… because i can
normally i should have moved on to porridge by now, but always behind the curve (what curve, the earth is flat ne c’est pas?!), likewise, i shall remain in shorts until the winter solstice
oh and the other pic is a stumble upon from forever ago, but i like its four berry flavour
anyway… as you were
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from my jog this morning:
brambles covered in black sludge, the wilt smother of forgotten fruit… glum, autumnal doldrums… listopad, leaf fall, season of remorse
the gradual retreat of light, the withdrawing of life into this earth… sodden ground
ha, precisely why i’m out, sweating and cursing along the tow path… prod those brain chemicals… dope dopa-dopamine saviour!
I love climbing trees, heres me, ooh mbe 8 feet off the ground limber lumber! aloft! a mottled, dappled, fickle light, decanted through the vibrant green of leaves… seethe green the long, far sprawled arms, which creak wiithin the wind, something of a sea swell, an ease, a sway, that further emphasises this living sturdiness yet root chakra, shackled securely to the ground, a great grey elephants foot, then the root rummage deep within the earth dragonflies skitter past, iridescence of wing
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fraught of thought! duff photo, lack of perspective, so you’d never know i was near skybound went for a cycle ride yesterday, battled up to the South Downs way, followed the ridge to alfriston, then back via Friston Forest. kids and i have been climbing this tree forever, the be-tentacled Ash… on account of its octopus limbs I love Ash energy, always feels gentle and forgiving… tho I do know 2 ancient ones, in a much neglected copse, those are trees of the fae, you can imagine doors, a portal to the under realm climbing, i usually get to about 8 ft up, then think, hmmm, thats probably far enough i’ve never been the daredevil type, a smidge delusional and gung ho, yet renowned more for timidity and vertigo super impressed by anyone who scales to preposterous heights, but they be creatures of fire and air, whilst i’m more earth and water (mud!) when doing a creative visualisation, in the bit when they say ‘imagine your home, somewhere where you belong’ i always feel myself to be cradled in the arms of a huge ancient oak tree, proper gnarly usually its near to a stream or a waterfall, else a gentle slope down to the sea and a small sandy shell strewn cove grown ups should climb trees more often! a political slogan? …peters out midst vast distraction and things to do
Rainbow Moon Aura look up agog! wonder… loom lune opalescence what is a pearl? thing of flesh, an oysters itch from a grain of sand
Coming out from the Zu Studios Mycelium party in Lewes, 1:30 in the morning, after 3 hours of sweat drenched dancing like a loon to Kaya Project An almost Full Hunters Moon… pic credit to Mara, thx… impossible, almost futile to snap these things on a phone blast of moonlight washes it out… yet, to the naked eye, the moon was a near perfect pearl in the sky, etched with its familiar craters and shadows around the moon space, elbow room of darkness, then two Rainbow rings of course i have seen moon auras and rings before, memorably when out in the desert around Mount Sinai, back when i was 22 yet always in shades of whites and greys, never this intensity of colour beautiful astonishment i love the fact that even at 58 years of age, I can still experience a completely new natural phenomenon high whisp feather clouds, the ice crystals have a prismatic effect on the moonlight it lasted for about half an hour… people came out, familiar faces, new ones, but all stopped to gabble and gawp bathed in moonlight
the woods reek of rot, of fungus, to speak of solemn loss autumn is afoot, not quite, but certainly tickling at the toes i am nimble amongst the cautious quiet of the morning having rummaged deep in the wardrobe for todays costume, vintage 2013! nut season… conkers with their whorled grain and rich lustrous mahoganny sheen hazlenuts startled, fresh from the preposterous, baroque lace of their casing yada yada! ….. grappled with flu, some work, equinox boogie and sacred stroll, lots of hanging out with friends and family! been pleasant snaps from this morning and a jaunt to batemans with daughter x