Late summer impressions - from the heart and from a city

From the heart...

Back from a "Friends' Working Weekend" at Embercombe last night.

Feeling dreamy and strangely emotional today. It feels like Embercombe and the experiences surrounding it have stoked that fire in me again, and perhaps putting pen to paper (I am now copying this from handwritten notes - the keyboard feels strangely uncomfortable after the pen gliding across the paper) is making me admit it to myself. I feel shy and vulnerable in front of myself. Perhaps that is why I am prone to tears while writing and re-reading this.

The fire is for...

... "invince-ability": not letting my (re)actions be directed by inconsequential bickering - including in particular that from my own ego - or the more challenging maneuvering that human beings are prone to;
 

... love and passion; and
 

... drive: the ambition to get out and about, to spread the heartfelt message and the feeling that there is another way (and that it really is not as difficult to find and follow as people make it out to be).

At the same time, I am experiencing an inner calm and patience, and extraordinary clarity and creativity. I want to sing and hum, listen and immerse myself in beautiful music, just like I did on Saturday evening - that truly magical evening shared with kindred, loving souls! I thought I would want to work on my CV in "my" usual coffee shop (where I was while writing my hand-written blog post), but when I got it out, my draft skeleton of a CV looked just as lifeless and drab as a real skeleton looks. Before setting out to spice it up and "flesh it out", I felt that I had to yield to this urge to write...

I want to immerse myself in the middle of the river that is life - the river of change with all its currents, turbulences, eddies, pockets of calm - just like I imagine my bundle of purposefully collected and beautifully decorated twigs and sticks to be, released into the Thames from Waterloo Bridge after my "Journey" started at Embercombe this March.

 

From a city... 

I work in a grey office, from which I cannot witness the changing weather, air and temperature outside. I can walk around in my white shoes without needing to worry about getting them muddy (though they tend to get dirty from the pollution and dust after some time). I can't smell nature, both the good and unpleasant smells, and I reflect on the fact that us humans in more developed pockets of the world are separated from our own products, our own unpleasant smells that we create. 

I can't feel the soft, damp grass or squishy mud beneath my shoes, walking on hard concrete, asphalt and paved pathways. I recall a rather grisly scene when, the other day, I saw a pigeon in the middle of a busy road that had been squashed by a vehicle. I witnessed as, over the days, it was driven into the asphalt vehicle after vehicle, bits of it probably being picked up on all those vehicles' tyres as well. Obviously, the road was too busy for anybody to pick/scrape it up (I certainly would not want to be the person doing that...). It makes me think of the life we lead in these concrete jungles...

Where nature is allowed to penetrate every now and then (apparently London is one of the greener cities of the world "with so many parks and squares"...), it is overrun with people desperate to remind themselves (I would guess mostly unconsciously) where their true roots are - in the earth, beneath the shelter of trees, lying in the summer meadows, listening to the soothing breeze or a gurgling stream - or desperate to walk their numerous dogs who are otherwise locked away in small, medium or large abodes, and whose hot poo is collected in little plastic bags by their owners, lest they be fined a maximum of £2,000... and then sent to landfill or incineration I presume... I am reminded of having "wasted" time watching Legally Blonde 2 a few weeks ago, which seemed to imply that fighting for pets' rights only included fighting for pet dogs' rights - a truly shocking reflection of the extent of the 'dog as pet' culture in our societies. I was quite enraged by this realisation, but continued to watch the movie, driven compulsively to witness its end.

I explore the thought that the need to have a pet, and in particular dogs, is simply another way to fulfil the urge to get in touch with our primal, intuitive, affectionate and playful selves again. I wonder how many people would still feel the need to own a version of "man's best friend" if they were part of a community like the one at Embercombe, which allows self-expression from the heart without judgement. And, by the way, is a dog "woman's best friend", too? Why is it that a lot of (though not all) women prefer the mysterious creature that is a cat? The mysteries of femininity perhaps ... And perhaps totally unrelated, but nevertheless on my mind: I read some time ago in a book on vedic architecture that cats like to lie and sleep on geopathic stress lines. Maybe I'll link those two lines of thought one day.

Returning to that grey office...

I am lucky that I have a job which allows me to be relatively flexible with my hours and to have a manager who does quite the opposite of micro-managing me. But now my conscience is kicking in: I probably should get back to work and do what I am being paid superficial, yet essential  money (at least in this concrete world) to do... 'til next time...