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AT 54 I am very aware that my journey is advanced, my intimate inner landscape is a rich and mature one. The doubts and fears I had when I was younger are less potent, though not absent from my life. I've been communing with life for a fair old while and there is a certain comfort or familiarity with being in a constant state of going out to meet something coming in. I am not a solitary creature and I do not think that is in our human makeup. The idea that the external landscape I interact with is separate from my inner landscape is not something I can even conceive anymore, though I can clearly see the extent of disconnectedness all around me. When I see what people are capable of doing to this dear and precious jewel of a world I am sometimes angry and other times intensely sorrowful. When I see someone throw a crisp packet on the ground I wish I had some way to approach them and remind them that this is their home, but I am also conscious that this journey is a very intimate one and no one could have given me what I've had to discover the long way. It isn't so much wrong to throw a crisp packet down, as a powerful statement of being disconnected, and am a skilled enough social clinician as to presume to (re)connect their wires? I am not, so I try to tread gently and deal with the anger and sorrow, for those are clearly mine to deal with.
I have a very different attitude to corporate and political abuses, but that is another story, but a real and active part of my landscape as well.
I was at Avebury last night under a waning full moon. I had been watching the weather closely, checking the satellite pictures, and with clearing skies from the west and moonrise at 23.48 a visit was on. We were due to arrive around half past midnight and the last miles were driven with a huge moon beckoning, drawing us to my spiritual home on earth. It is almost impossible to describe my feelings as we approached. I wasn't excited so much as in the grip of a familiar and profound yearning, a desire not just to be there, but to connect with something profoundly real, in a way that worrying about gas and electricity bills, never enough money to make ends meet, trying to get a small business together and viable, are all pressing, and frighten me half to death a lot of the time, do not share the same reality. They are no less real, but qualitatively and hierarchically they are profoundly different.
Would I want to live in a world of bills and money and the fraught daily agonising of 'managing', political activism and corporate greed, without wonder, without awe, without beauty and the peace that is Avebury? Or the ability to get lost in a single Bluebell?
Something is not right. This message is just to keep things from messing up down the road