Saturday, May 15, 2010 the daffodills have finally bid farewell, after 2 months of shining their earthy sunshine on us. their bright yellow is replaced by whole fields of giant dandelions.



blue is the current vibrant hit with mother nature now. yesterday we visited bluebell wood, where i went as a kid to harvest and sell them off my trolley in the town. i had forgotten how remarkable they truly are. they love to grow in shade, so the woods were alive with their royal blue carpetting. yet some manage to thrive under tall grass. or young bracken stalks, and there was one hillside of a couple of acres which was shocking with millions of bells, against the background of the lush deep green grass.

a fairy gathering place, i am sure.

speedwell and forget-me-nots also are abundant with their softer blue hue   it is such a miracle to see the earth produce such colour.

today we walked in an ancient beech gorge. some trees in full leafy splendour, others with their tight brown sheath still protecting the young leaves, like tiny spears at the end of each twig. we had lunch by the stream in sunshine, and desert with a snow shower. as we drove home we noticed a full leafy canopy over one of the laneways.

summer is in the air and yet, as they say round here ''ne'er cast a clout till may is out''.
wishing you peace and joy.

Thursday, May 13, 2010 Many spiritual traditions share the practice of sitting in silence. In the little town of Bakewell in the UK we had the good fortune of sharing some time with a beautiful wise old Russian teacher whose main practice is 'sitting in silence'.

We met John at the local markets. He was sitting quietly watching the world go by as he sat with copies of his book ready for those who may be interested. John had written about his adventures and spiritual understandings that has brought him 'the peace that passeth understanding'.

Roger asked John if he would teach him the art of meditation, to which John agreed.  Even though I had my own meditation practice which I loved I was open to be with this beautiful quiet man to learn so I went as well.

We would sit quietly together in his home with very few words said. He gave us a prayer/mantra to work with, with the intention of focusing our minds to create a space for the stillness to shine forth. We would often sit for near an hour and then leave quietly to return to our little cottage.

After a few weeks we started to meet in the local Bakewell Parish Church, a magnificent 13th century stone building. We met after the closing time of the church and the depth of silence inside this grand temple was palpable and enriched our experience of sitting in stillness.
 
John's message was simple: listen to the stillness, focus on peace. When out in the world ... look and listen.

We had our last meditation together last night and afterwards we had John and his wife, Tania, over for dinner and a walk around our little village. A blessed meeting and a lovely couple!



On the topic of silence, I received an email from the Gangaji Foundation with a quote from Gangaji:

Wednesday, May 12, 2010 It is interesting to watch England's politicians come to terms with a blended parliament. Five days after the polls were closed we watched the television coverage of the country's two party leaders give their first press release. Images of them amiably chatting on the lawns of number 10 Dowling Street, laughing and joking together while bemused and sceptical journalists watched on. Reporters quoted past negative comments each of the leaders had made about the other (the namecalling and disagreements) and asked where those statements stood now in the face of this new political agreement. They both laughed and made a unified statement that they will have to work as one team now to serve the nation; that they will have to put aside their differences to work co-operatively rather than with confrontation. 

Isn't this after all what we teach our children? To be friends and play together co-operatively even if there are differences.

I have just finished reading an insightful book called Gandhi and Beyond - Non violence for an age of terrorism by David Cortright. Jim Wallis, author of God's Politics and editor of Sojourners wrote:

Tuesday, May 11, 2010 A dovedale afternoon as told by my partner, Roger...
 
Quite deservedly earning the title of  ;queen of the dales'. Dovedale is putting on the ritz for me today
as i drop intp the dale, near '' Frank-in th'dale'' bridge, where the open verdant valley, with lush meadows, full of newborn lambs, funnels into the deep limestone gorge with 200 ft white cliffs and steep curving slopes, i hear the call of both lark above and timid (yet o so proudly plumaged) pheasant in the woodlands.



the valley floor is quite flat and for 5 or 6 miles it is a very gentle stroll by the winding river side. it is a warm sunny spring day and the daffodils adorn the river banks in profusion, lighting up the narrow path, walkers are out aplenty, soaking up this accessible widerness, which has changed little in a thousand yesrs or more.

Halfway along the path, i take a track up the hillside, which lifts me up onto the moor-farmland, past patches of fresh wild garlic leaves, young, tender, and pungent (which i pick and use to flavour my pub lunch) and red campions and celendines.

The homeward stretch is along old green tracks (once laneways for horse and cart, which never got the tarmacadam treatment...phew...but are left running between the old stone walls for posterity).

I catch a glimpse of a 'mad' march hare doing its stamping dance and also get to hear the first cuckoo of the year in this locality, workers would stop and all go to the nearest ale house to 'wet the cuckoo', but i had already been to the pub.

The footpath system offers myriad choices and i pick my way to suit the healing knee, past tiny hamlets and sheep farms and little copses,  Before i drop down into the dale again, i am gifted with wide vistas up to the head of the dale near the 'dragons back' area near where we are living.



Sitting by the 'Frank-in-th'rocks' footbridge, i hear the woodpecker in the tree above, as i look out over the families and dog walkers wandering by, being rejuvenated by the rural tranquility.

The buds on the ash and sycamore are bursting into lime green flush, and the ubiquitous whitethorn, or May blossom, is colouring the lanes.

It is peaceful in this quiet backwater and the sound of the river Dove dropping over the wier and the trout jumping after the evenings insects in the pools round off the sense of serenity, which is echord by the bleating of the new born lambs, and the soft cooing of the wood pigeon.

2 months ago, i was here in thick snow.

Today, the lifeforce is returning with a mighty surge.

Sunday, May 09, 2010 Happy Mothers Day to women across the world.

The care, devotion and love that mothers give is extraordinary. I honour the love, joy, patience, sacrifice, courage and strength of mothers everywhere.

I love my mum and had a lovely chat with her this morning over the phone. I deeply enjoy and appreciate her love for me and my family.

Much love to all mothers far and wide!

Sunday, May 09, 2010

The book Dancing in the streets – A history of collective joy written by Barbara Ehrenreich has captured my imagination. In her writing Ehrenreich looks at how and why people celebrate together… and also what we fear about it. She explores the history of ecstatic rituals and festivities and the way in which it has bonded communities from our early beginnings and through the Roman, Greek and early Christian civilizations to more recent times. It has been fascinating to read especially in light of my experience this weekend.

On Friday we were enjoying a three hour walk with some friends in the Derby Dales (in the UK). We made our way up from the river into the small village of Youlgreave for the classic walkers pub lunch.  Hiking up the winding path into the village we heard the sound of Middle Eastern music drifting down upon the breeze. Now, in England, this is not at all usual so following my nose (or ears in this case) I came upon a hurdy gurdy man practicing a baroque piece of music… the strains were hauntingly beautiful.  The player was sitting hunched over a wooden instrument slowly winding a handle on its side. His fingers tapping the keyboard attached to the underside of the instrument. He finished his piece of music and paused, rather shyly, to receive our praise.. . and our questions. Having never seen a hurdy gurdy we were full of questions. He was happy to oblige us. The hurdy gurdy is like a rather large violin with a keyboard attached and a wheel that activates a roller that performs the duty of the bow. It has a louder sound with a drone that creates a rich sound. (I hope I have done the instrument justice in my description!) Anyway, what on earth was he doing here in the village of Youlgreave? It was the 2010 Hurdy Gurdy festival and we literally stumbled upon it.

Having found the timetable for the weekend I signed up for the dance class on Saturday morning and with a small amount of nervousness and a large dose of inquisitiveness and excitement joined the line up!  I had a ‘ball’! French and Breton dances are simple steps that are performed in lines, in couples and in large groups (our teacher said he has seen hundreds of people dancing together in France). Like the old barn dances I was taught in high school (many, many years ago) we twirled and spun and took simple steps here, there and everywhere. Sometimes I stumbled over my feet and my brain was confused as to what went where but overall I got the hang of it pretty quickly. During this time I spoke only a few words to the other dancers. Our focus was on the rhythm, the beat and the timing.

I went back for the afternoon session and twirled, spun and laughed some more while learning the Bourrées in 2 and 3-time, Mazurkas, Waltzes and Scottisches. The footwork and circle dances are quite hypnotic and suspend all thoughts bringing you fully into the present moment – which is lots of fun and deeply satisfying.

In the evening  Roger and I attended the performance of traditional musicians (an all female group, Sym and a lively dance group called Bof!). The dancing began when Bof! hit the first strains of a Muzurka.

A few of the dancers on the floor knew me from the classes and invited me to join in. People were laughing and smiling and while I didn’t speak more than a few words to anyone present I was amongst ‘friends’ and part of the community. The bonding was extraordinary and echoed Barbara’s theories on the effect of group dancing especially at rituals or festive occasions.

I love the synchronicity of how life unfolds, the timing of meeting the hurdy gurdy man in the street, reading the book and the dance classes… and in two weeks we head to France where I am sure we will find more local dances to join in and now I know the steps!

May you enjoy a dance or two!

Friday, May 07, 2010 Celebrant, Cath Hogan, sent me this link for 'The Wedding Vows'.

Instead of saying to his bride, 'I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife', the groom in his nervousness declares his love to his 'waffley wife (and then adds in his embarrassment ... pancakey wife.. she in turn falls into bouts of laughter...) I couldn't help but laugh when I watched it...

It really does happen... at one of the weddings I conducted the groom declared, 'I will wear this wing...' to his bride...much to the delight of his friends who teased him all night about his 'wings'!

Saturday, May 01, 2010 May Day in England is a big event and for a good reason. The 1st May is an ancient festival day celebrating the end of the long cold winter and heralding the warmer weather. It is celebrated around the country with Maypole dances, Morris dancing and outside festivities. Having now experienced five months of mostly freezing temperatures I can understand why… it is time to dance!

Thursday, April 29, 2010 The bluebells are popping out and I heard the first cuckoo! The swallows are back in their nest at my window relining it in preparation for baby making!

I was reading in the March 2010 edition of Derbyshire Life and Countryside, a glorious glossy magazine based in this area, about the cuckoo, the harbringer of spring.

In local folklore it is said that "19th century Shropshire workmen would stop work on hearing the first cuckoo call - curiously they are said often to call with their beaks shut - claim the day as a holiday, and go off to drink beer out of doors, to welcome the bird. This custom, which was called 'Wetting the Cuckoo' was observed at Hoffleet Stow, Lincolnshire, within living memory."

I wonder who started that tradition!

Monday, April 26, 2010

Following on from my blog entry yesterday, further on in Beth's uni assignment was the following story which she has given permission to share here. Thanks Beth.

My diary entry from Arnhem Land, August 2008

"Out of the swag at 5am in the darkness, walking the 2 kms to the escarpment edge-we have been asked to walk in silence, in respect for the ceremony, we arrive, women by the dozen, torchlit..to the campfire where our Yolgnu friends wait..sitting for a long time in the dark we wait in silence for the dawn, stars disappearing, we look towards the sea.

One of the women begins to speak, she tells us how the predawn is for them as Yolgnu women, it is the time they wake, and cry and sing.....for the past, for the present and for the future.

Before anyone else is awake the women are crying and singing. She explains about country. We are on Lirritja country, over there is Dhawa country. There's a lot of cloud and we won't see the sun for a little while this morning. The women chatter, then one by one begin to cry and sing, sing and cry the dawn. We are all invited to join in, to not hold back and we do.

Crying at the depth and quality of the collective voices, rising with the smoke from the fire, crying the dawn, crying our own pain, many women on this sacred land as the day wakes, we wake the day with our voices rising.

The birds begin, we sing like the birds, we sing with the birds, with the land, with the lightening dawn....then, all is quiet.

Nobody wants to move, then, one by one, women stand and speak. The Yolgnu women thank us for coming, coming the long distance from our homes, to listen to them. THEY thank US!

Galumbu had a dream as a young woman that many women would come-she said that as we sat together, her dream had become a reality.

Later I overheard a conversation-an ABC journalist was asking for an interview, she wanted to talk about women's ceremony. The elder said yes, she'd be happy to talk with her, about singing, about crying, 'our women are crying too much these days with all that is going on'.

I feel my heart open and open as I walk back to camp, to another day of sitting with the women, making baskets."

 

Beth wrote, "My own experience of being with the Yolgnu women of Arnhem Land was profound. I made the journey on my own around the time I was breaking up from a ten year relationship, I was traumatised and in deep grief. I'm beginning to understand why my time with these women making baskets was so transformational as I now recognise elements of the healing that occurred through the process. Collecting the fibre, dying it, weaving, the touch with natural world was enlivening. Creating a basket was a form of externalising what I was feeling, there was a safe space created, stories were told, there was listening, there was laughter, there were tears."

Thank you Beth.