Lammas/Harvest blessings… right on cue the first tom to ruddy ripeness… tho this one seemingly so huge that it has, after einstein, warped the fabric of both time and space must be such a bulge full world seeing thru the eyes of a fish? apols for another veg snap… guess august is always fruit and festies yield of a different type… daughter has been moving out of her student house, a glut of clobber! where does it all come from? the trusty estate car fit to burst guess that is what being a parent to kids in their twenties is often about… i can see my dad patiently and good humouredly helping me move for the umpteenth time… lugging another lucky dip box: wizard cape, curios, futile gee gaws and a hoard of books. thanks dad! life in all its rhythms and cycles
Sarah: Oooh that’s goodMine completely failed this year no tomatoes
oh thats a shame… for me, most years, the only thing that gives a decent harvest… slugs and snails don’t seem even remotely keen on them! xx
Sarah: only thing I’ve managed so far this year is radish’s!Think it was v wet , then v hot, now v wet !
yes, sit, be soft, be kind, with these your orphaned loves
the black smoke of sorrows hangs heavy dense, acrid, cloying no single specific reason these things surface from time to time… shadows are sometimes foregrounded… rearing up, given substance beyond our imaginings often, with me, it follows a joyful, full power morning yoga melancholia seeped deep into muscles, settled, pooled in a habitual way of holding good to limber, then loosen, mbe, if possible, allow to pass?
much of it is not even our own misery some borrowed from the cloak woven by our ancestors how many times did we bury our beloved children? how often, as pastoral nomads, headed for the summer pastures, did we have to leave behind our infirm mothers, fathers, elders? in more recent days, frequently the crops would fail, else pestilence and war squat malevolently upon the land
other woe was crafted just for us… as a baby, the cries which went unheeded overwhelmed by the unknown… flinched from an imaginary blow were we held, cosseted, our needs met? gnawed by the ignore not a matter of blame, attunement is a most particular skill to master nonplussed by our sorrow
yet self more porous than we might imagine… sustained merely by the lie of its perpetual telling sadness, anger, the usual gang of neglected emotions, these with their ebb and flow, sweeping through us like a tide others borrowed from the zeitgeist (‘times ghost’), the maw of the media which chews over, spits out the myth kitty of our communal misery what the stain of trauma and abuse? climate catastrophe, how many species have thrown in the towel over the last decade? so much masked in our culture of frantic buoyancy
which of us has not poured imagination, courage and love into a project… to find it comes to naught as tho our dreams and hopes have no merit to see others flourish who has not told someone of our love for them, only to be ignored, pushed away this love, so tender, its sweet perplexed smile
yes, sit, be soft, be kind, with these your orphaned loves
Snozzcumber! that GREW in the garden!! probs shouldn’t be quite so suprised as i planted it… but miracle of a slug dodger i’ve named this one wilson… wilson pick-itt Update alas poor wilson is no more…. sunday morning yoga followed by courgette and sunshine… a great start to the day
couldn’t wait till the midnight hour tho… too peckish
Sigh … Since festie I have clearly eschewed the use of clothes… So unspiritual and a symbol of capitalist oppression… Sky clad in.B&Q
heart drenched with love, back from buddhafield, my slightly belated, a little bit exhausted, waffle appreciation post for the yearly lush bubble of buddha… soul nourished, mind frazzled yet fizzed, pure exuberance so good to see friends with their babies and toddlers, a new generation, to meet again after the grueling covid palaver beautiful pics from cc, as my phone turned off, thanks lovely x
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‘spring water flowing through a meadow and the shadows of clouds passing over the hills and the ground where we stand in the tremble of thought taking the vast outside into ourselves.’ from billy collins: directions
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we the bright shining ones a nighttime visit to the crew tent filling thermos flask with barleycup, about to head to the dance tent for a euphoric footstomping psytrance rave ah buddhafield the only time ‘barley cup and rave’ sit congruently within the same sentence else: emerging from a devotional puja to the sumptuous colours and harmony of an epic sunset lounging in the shade in a hammock, amongst the oaks and silver birches in the glade… before, eek, quick stepping up to the front gate, stewards hat on, to help out with the van fire! singing with gleeful but tuneless gusto buried within the brethern of the bass section… snoozing in the dharma parlor in a ‘work that reconnects’ workshop, grieving the loss of species and habitat, then lurching into the middle of a comedy yoga skit out on the village green these things, and yes, a lot of dancing! i so love to dance… to drums after the rituals, live music in small world, or to the bedlam cacophony in the recycling / drum and bass tent gleeful juxtaposition… each minutiae but a fractal of the whole… or vice versa?! a summoning
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i tend to wonder, wander, wind blown thistledown, seeds of the heart, going whither my feet roam… join a group, then drift away… trying to stay within the field, the aura of grace and flow… the minute i ‘want’ something/somebody the energy seeps away trust that when i acknowledge the immediacy, the intimacy of feeling… then all is fine, not to say flippin’ gorgeous it helps knowing so many people, disparate down the years, else just to turn around and share a few noodlin’ words with your neighbour the golden thread of hare magic, motif, woven through the whole festival Alala’s heartfelt recitation of a poem from memory the divine transcendence of a hug from a stranger, a lover, stopped still for eternity halfway across the field… green gold, gold green… twixt nettles and the hare an impromptu 5 minute sing-a-along and boogie in a queue for crew food chanting kirtans around the fire as the moon rises and the night time stars wheel serenely overhead
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my stewarding mostly consisted of meandering between the different steward positions, checking how everyone was getting on each a Galapagos island of conversation, chewing the breeze(?), sure, a 5 minute of perfunctory ‘hows the shift going’ which swiftly lurches in ANY beautiful and random direction: ‘vipassana and the myth kitty of each individual, unique yet eternal soul’ ‘whats your favourite flavour and colour of ice lolly?’ ‘the spirit essence of our huge ancient beech tree’ ‘the mores, foibles and manners of the 90’s crusties squat rave scene’ ‘the beauty and exquisite precision of logical thought’ ‘roll over on your back, kick your legs in the air, upturned turtle yoga!’ i always love stewarding and the whole steward team… most of it’s loafing about nattering to passers by… else laconically, on the walkie talkie, in best late night radio dj voice issuing shift advice ‘watch out for maroon motors… they always give most trouble. over’ yet occasionally something festival important happens, focus, reset: function… ‘how can i help?’ part of the joy of the steward crew is that often their fresh to the whole experience many of them the same age as my kids… i’m occasionally pondering what does it mean to become an elder? if not me… if not us… then who? if not now then when? a slow gradual transition, settlling down into this, suprisingly comforting, notion what are the energies and the postures that i wish to model? wisdom. open hearted kindness. embody boldness… that man can be a bedraggled, florid extravaganza! that world is both beautiful and often funny? that to sing and dance and chat together is astonishing, we are enough all of that and stubborn more i see too many folk, usually young men, wandering around on their own, bewildered on the fringes… these kindred… all beings are welcome, all included… some fierce yet protective dharmaparla spirit Feet Rooted in the earth, Rose Gold Rising, Arms Aloft, White Gold tumbling down… these energies to spill out from the heart, onto this land or into anothers arms… echo echo the same x as always to clutch at things with a splodge of words, acknowledge the intangible, the various… breathe
buddhabuddha
Jonnyfen: Beautiful words man! x
thanks lovely, hope to see you there next year x
Clarissa: Love this! Takes you right back there reading these beautiful words
Dinnae neglect nor forget the glorious pics too! Xx
Saoirse: Joy beyond joy, deep immersion in the moment. Blissful and radiant .
Graeme: Summation.It was a great pleasure working with you once again Richard.These words deepen a tangible gratitude for this gift we share.Ty
Yes. Ditto. Hugely enjoyed reconnecting with you, Emma and all the team. Having a role, some responsibilities… however fluffy and occasionally flakey… helps anchor the experience. In a warm, supportive, rich and stimulating environment we can all flourish… and become more who we truly are… blessings on your onward journey! xx
We be beautiful!
Sam: Was lovely to see you again Richard
You too bro! Tho, ha, that ‘neuro-bleak-batter-core’ was a dismal racket! Dunno how Cleo and Ella tolerated it… Each to their own! Xx
Ok ok secretly I loved it… Life isn’t always folk noodlin and bird song!
Sam: haha everybody loves a cheeky bit of neuro Hope you got home alright bro & are adjusting back to whatever this normal stuff is x
Ha ha… Soul is always exultant, yet mind frequently dingy and body just craves a ferocious beat!… Neuro deffo has its place … All good here, tho stopping by Saintsburys on way back from a run, smiles, let alone hugs in drastic short supply… Wishing ya ease for your transition xx
RP: Ooh, like the sound of that!
Cleo: Lovely to see you Richard! Hope you having a wonderful time back by your coast big love xx
Cleo! thanks m’dear… all pleasantly slow and gentle back in seaside sussex… today will toodle along to stanmer organics… permaculture, tea and a boogie…. adventures continueloved your warmth and beautiful energy at the festie… hope life flows sweetly with you! hug xxx
Cleo: sounds wonderful and i am glad to here your adventure continues lovely to see you again, the kindest soul and maybe the seaside will call us together someday – see you on the coastline
aww a baby snail curled up and asleep in a courgette flower! cute …. that or she’s punch drunk sozzled into unconsciousness having gorged herself on the nectar… the blighters have utterly decimated almost everything i’ve planted…. runner beans are has-beens of all the courgette plants this is the ‘last man standing’… a pyrrhic victory… snails have been so bent on devouring the others this plant has mostly survived… one fruit looks like it will make it to harvest. yay courgette flowers are super on salads… tho might give this one a miss… plenty of vitamins in snail slime? toms are looking good tho the devastation is the same every year. you’d think i’d learn. try something different? apparently not! i don’t mind. spiral shells… mystic beauty evicted to the patch of great willow herb down the far end of the yard anyway stuff to do! x
Megan: If you plant lots of garlic, onions, leeks, etc. around the plants they like it keeps them away (to some degree).
chess… when playing this ancient and intriguing game, best to dress to impress, like some ottoman panjandrum! with left over birthday money from mum i ordered a chess set and a book of puzzles, arrived today. fun ……… my latter years, once my dance career is complete, will be spent playing chess in a park, on a hill over looking the turquoise sea each morning I shall set out the pieces and recite poetry, sitting there in the shade of an ancient tree, surrounded and succumbed to Roses opponents will come. opponents will go. the hustle is moderate to lucrative a beautiful old town nestles somewhere down below, meditteranean… spain? italy? Praha-on-sea? yet the stillness rhythmically punctuated by the ullululation of a mosque… daydreamy artifice need not be overly specific n’ realistic in the distance a band plays flamenco inspired music, sometimes mournful, often more euphoric. latino… frangipanni … jacaranda … bouganvilea as i ponder the board, half an eye wanders to the endless variety of beautiful folk meandering by, dog walkers, book readers, jugglers, kids… many stop to tell me about their lives, i nod sagely. KnxB Check!
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(as i’m clearly prone to waffle)… i loved chess as a kid… sport of kings? that and table tennis… best games ever… do all programmers adore chess? i was the captain of the school team… top board… which sounds impressive… but when its a drear bog standard british comprehensive… i think i was the only oddball actually interested… many of the other pupils dressed as mods and spent all day being brusque and gambling with games of ‘penny up the line’… tho yeah in hindsight that sounds fun too! i even played at cobham chess club… clive craigmile (craig clivemile?) took me along most weeks, there was me and one speccy kid, he was good, and lots of earnest, intelligent middle aged men chess clocks with the looming impending doom of the flags… a genius invention… notation pads to jot down every move an air of intense concentration. humbugs, in fact every variety of boiled sweet… oh and pipes! surely them bods were smoking pipes? clever
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i almost posted a black and white photo… to comply with the underlying chess cliche… but decided the colours were far too lush and sumptuous to waste
‘chess a game for clever and serious people’, a selfie obvs, tho as befits all attention to detail folk, i set the board up so i’d lose to fool’s mate on the next white move… hence the glum… well scholars mate actch, but ya get the drift x
Roast Avocado and Asparagus, on a base of quinoa, with spinach, orange and almonds! washed down with a czech lager… oh and an equally green view from the downs first attempt from a birthday recipe book from my sis, tasty! tho somehow warm avo has the unique quirk and kink of something from the 70’s i was half expecting the suggestion of a vegan prawn cocktail for starter and pink angel delight for pud?! this despite the fact i doubt i tasted an avo before ooh 85.. back in the seventies of my childhood it was but a colour for bathroom suites the zeppelin of cuisine (well if your middle class brit like me) has clearly drifted in the direction of the moon (new instagram moon in cancer)
heart felt thanks for all the birthday greetings… 57 today, here i am cream crackered, just having ran for 57 minutes (9.973 km) to Seaford head and back to Tidemills. tidy! daughters coming over, haven’t seen her since she’s back from greece, so we’ll have a mellow day… eat pie, drink prosecco, go for a walk, swim in the sea… tho deffo not in that order! ‘Love people, both despite, and for, all their flaws… then have the wisdom to both acknowledge and cherish, the myriad impossibly beautiful ways the world loves us back’ i adore composing a sentimental aphorism
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ha, i like this photo, accidentally blinked, which is as well for my red rheumy hay fever frazzled eyes, makes me look like a goofball mystic meg, ‘the closed eyes of the seer representing spiritual vision’.. or in my case, the fact that i haven’t got a clue in which direction i’m going! enjoying running at the mo, as you get older treat your body well, just so that you can utterly take it for granted when you need too… because when wedged down the front at a festie, the crowd goes mad i want to wild whirling dervish frenzy with da best of them! today, jogging along beside the oomph of the mighty ocean, grubbing across the willow strewn marshlands, then weaving in between the dog walkers along the promenade if i was fit would have blundered on over seaford head and to teh seven sisters beyond., no hills for me.. dullard but determined! narrowly missed out on making the 10k target in the allotted 57 mins. put that down to having guzzled way too much cacao and been to a dance yesterday evening
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last night i dreamt of flying… not the bobbing along banging your head on a chandelier, like a helium balloon, type of flying but rather that which begins with a balletic leap or two, then, with practice, carving your way through the air, with skill and diligence you begin to soar. Outside above the tops of the trees, looking down, see those people below?… ‘tally ho land lubbers! ground huggers! you FLOOR BOTHERERS!’ to swoop, plummet, then soar i alight, it is dawn, sit cross legged on the banks of the river, a sense of summoning, imminence, she is near, robed in the gentle colours of the sun rise, Sri Lakshmi, Venus Aphrodite, the goddess … dreams eh! have a beautiful day xx
tis bloooooms day (Joyces Ulysses set on the 16th June 1904)… preposterous book… prague my proxy for dublin… took me years to wade my way to the end of that mighty tome! everywhere i went the only things I had in my brightly coloured hippy duffle bag, juggling clubs and a much battered copy of Ulysses… both seldom used… yet parks, pubs, raves… whatever time of day or night, however wrecked when i’d meander home, somehow i never lost my bag must have started the book at least 10 times… beautiful gibberish… ooh its about hmmm death, music, politics, family, lechery… and everything in between… a hologram of much of the universe if you’ve finished it presume your an intellectual, a pseud, have had far too much time on your hands, are dogged and tenacious… and that you LOVE words… personally, I think its fab! oops enough of the maudlin’ reminisce… i was going to say, get the audio book of ulysses… it’s read by Bishop Len Brennan from Father Ted (apparently a famous Irish thesp)… deeply nuanced… he switches voices mid sentence… makes it much easier to understand as the often the book is several voices gabbling over the top of each other within a single coagulated convoluted sentence. hurrah!
no tomatoes 
everybody loves a cheeky bit of neuro 
Hope you got home alright bro & are adjusting back to whatever this normal stuff is 
x
big love xx
lovely to see you again, the kindest soul and maybe the seaside will call us together someday – see you on the coastline
