|
Carla’s Niche
Camelot Journal
Copyright © 2006 Carla L. Rueckert
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
(Carla) Let me say a bit about this trip first. It came about because a beloved student and friend of mine, Pupak Haghighi, decided to take a husband. Pupak is an Iranian-Japanese woman now in her thirties who spent three years in Louisville in the ‘90s going to university here and attending our L/L Research meetings. As is the way with our tribal species, she wished me to be a part of the wedding. My official title is Witness, which in her culture is like being a Spiritual Director for her and her husband-to-be, Peter, and is a lifetime relationship for us three, plus Peter’s brother, Michael, who is his Witness. I have been privileged to hold that role informally in Pupie’s life for some eleven years now, so it makes its own kind of sense to formalize this relationship as a part of their sacred marriage vows. It is extremely handy that I love Peter dearly and find it most easy to take him as well as dear Pu into my heart in that way. Her wedding will be on June 12 and Vara and I will arrive at Heathrow Airport in London on June 10, where Peter will pick us up and take us by car to their little East Sussex village of Forest Row. They have a home there with a hospital bed set up to accommodate my arthritic distortions and a room with a normal bed for Vara as well. This home will be our base for the time we are in England.
Vara most graciously volunteered to be my Admin, Jill-of-All-Trades and Companion for this trip. This was insisted upon as a condition of my being able to make the trip at all by my beloved husband, Jim, who must stay in Kentucky with Jim’s Lawn Service duties and cannot help me to travel this time. The last time we were apart for more than a weekend was 1986. Jim has taken me traveling so many times! On one occasion I rode lying on a mattress (I could not sit up because of neck and shoulder distortions) in the back of his truck to West Virginia for a speaking engagement, which I did from another hospital bed. I try not to miss a chance to serve or go new places! We have been on many a beau geste for L/L Research, but this time the game was called for him on account of rain, sun and summertime, all of which grow the grass he mows for his fortunate clients. I have to say that the hardest moment of this day for me was saying good-bye to my beloved Mick, my knight in shining armor, for three weeks. Ouch!
I am scheduled to speak five times in the 16 days following the wedding and, in addition, I have quite a few personal channeling and counseling sessions scheduled. This bounty of good work to do has manifested miraculously! I put a notice on our www.llresearch.org site asking people to arrange public speaking events for me in England on a donation basis, listed the dates I would be available and within two weeks, a fortnight I should say since I am going to England, I was booked for speeches in Forest Row, London, Bath, St. Albans and Newcastle.
(Carla) I wish we had thought to take pictures of the packing process! Vara and I are to attend two teas, a pre-wedding Woman’s Celebration and five speaking engagements in addition to the wedding itself, so we needed a record number of special-event outfits, we who normally are denim-clad. Snapshot One of the process would be of a “style show.” My bedroom was utterly invisible, awash in the garments from which to choose winners to pack. It took two thoughtful hours to try on clothes and choose the event outfits and an industrious few minutes to put away the losing garments.
Photo Two would involve kits. I assembled a medicine kit, a morning wash-up kit, a grooming kit, a bath kit, a before bed kit and a make-up kit. I do not usually wear any make-up but for public appearances I color my face to come closer to cultural norms so people can listen to the message I am offering instead of being distracted by my naked face. Also assembled were a computer kit, a morning offering kit and a correspondence kit. All of those were labeled and stacked next to the clothes. Shoes, underwear, nightgowns and the usual accoutrements were added to the piles. There it all stood, a would-be Photo Three of massive, yet orderly, clutter. I thought, “I will have room either for my kits OR for my clothing.” A photograph of my bedroom at this point would have shown an amazing array of chattels of all kinds filling the floor, bed and window seat to bursting. TOO MUCH!
Not for Vara. In an hour, she had wrangled the entire assemblage into six bags: my capacious purse, a computer carry-on, a medicine carry-on, two suitcases and a garment bag. We felt pleased with ourselves. That was a lot of stuff to winkle into order! But Princess Xena, er, Vara, managed to MacGyver it! A snapshot would have shown the bags all tidily stacked by the door, and everything else put away. This comes under the heading of Little Victories! When I get back, my bedroom will be neat.
(Carla) The final snapshot would have been a blur. Vara had been getting me together for hours! She packed her own things in forty minutes flat. How she did that I do not know. She said something about having it all planned in her head. Vara has a remarkable head!
I did one more thing this morning: I recorded an extremely generous donation of $1,000.00, which will help to pay L/L Research’s bills for this trip! It was an incredibly positive omen, I thought; the energy is definitely there for a magical time of talking about living the Law of One. I said good-bye to our three pussycats and to the Magic Kingdom’s fragrant mimosa, blooming day lilies and our newly planted impatiens climbing over Jim’s stonework gardens and we were off.
We discovered at the Louisville airport that nine bags (Vara had packed all of her needs into three, count them, three, bags) were too many for regulations. The airline rules allowed each of us two carry-on bags and two to check: a total of eight bags. So we needed to “disappear” one bag. We chose my purse, not small but the least sizable of all the pieces of luggage, to finesse. I carefully tucked the purse’s contents of books, correspondence to do, ID documents and my three week-at-a-time pill cases into the computer carry-on. Vara stashed my folded purse shell in one of my bags to be checked. It seemed a delightfully apt solution until the stewardess walked off with both my carry-on bags, saying that my under-seat could not accommodate them and she preferred to gate-check them through. By the time I discovered this, they were gone and I now had nothing to do during the flight, I who am known as a workaholic. And no ID or money. Nothing like that feeling of security!
(Carla) Vara had gotten seated next to a Persistent Speaker and, after take-off, quietly pointed out to me that she would be unable to read her book. As it happens, we are both reading The Invisible Garment. I spent my flight time reading Vara’s copy of the book while Vara was practicing vipassana as her seat-mate droned on, Zen-fashion, without taking a perceptible breath, for the entire flight time. I offer heartfelt thanks and a special medal for service-to-others to Vara!
The flight was perfect and we landed at summery LaGuardia, falling in that is-it-controlled-or-not fashion small planes have from a cerulean sky. After milling about on the tarmac, where a handicapped van had been ordered for me but no one had told us or the crew it was there, we were taken inside the airport where we were given a short-cut ride, courtesy of the airport wheel-chair lady and various elevators and doors which opened only to the privileged halt and lame, to the baggage claim area. All our luggage was safely returned to us. Thank you, Lord. A skycap hoisted the bags to the curb, from which a shuttle eventually fished us up. After riding through Queens traffic, horrendous to the eye and assaulting to the ear, we safely came to rest at the Eden Park Hotel, which has free shuttles to both LaGuardia and JFK airports—the key factor in its choice as we came in today to one airport and fly out tomorrow from the other.
The Eden Park Hotel is ironically named. It towers, a thousand-windowed slab of enormous size, next to twelve lanes on four different expressways, which ribbon along parallel to the industrial boulevard directly by which the Eden Park building stands. From my window in Room 316 I count exactly three trees: two between access ramps some two expressways away and one on hotel property. There is nowhere to walk. But that is OK with us! In order for us to stroll these days, we need a wheelchair for me and Vara has to push. This effectually deadens any casual urge to go a-wandering. I expect we shall do some wheelchair walks before this adventure is ended, but today we were just glad to get where we were going, get some supper and fall into bed, which we did in good spirits.
Thursday, June 9, 2005
(Carla) I awoke to the early dawn, my usual habit, and settled in with some written correspondence. My count, when I finished for the morning, was five letters answered and thirty-four to go—not bad for me, as I am chronically far behind in “snail-mail.” I use trips to catch up. I value these correspondences greatly and feel that one-to-one conversation is precious beyond its apparent importance by far. Such conversations cut through so many layers of cultural miasma! But oh, how woefully I lag behind in response. I feel sympathy for those who write me, for sometimes it takes six months or more for me to respond back.
(Carla) Vara stirred when I opened the curtains to the morning light, and then slipped back to dreamland. She was catching up after several nights of little sleep. I pressed on, greatly enjoying my three-trees and twelve-lanes view of Queens! When Vara rose, showered and addressed the day, she called Air India and found that we had another challenge before us: Air India would allow us only seven bags between us. Vara had opted to save some L/L Research funds by traveling economy and that class of passenger only receives permission to carry three bags. One more piece of luggage must be “disappeared” or we would be charged a steep price for checking it. After a suitable bit of breakfast, which for me would have been juice if I could find it, but ended up being a coke because they were out of juice, with all my additives poured in to make my nutritional shake for the morning, we addressed this challenge.
Vara chose to try to place the contents of the two garment bags in one. It was fascinating to watch her slow down to the awareness level of the baggage and ask it for help in finding room in apparently already-full suitcases. One item placed here, another item there, a careful look at what remained and then another round, until gradually she had not only repacked so as to reduce to seven bags, she had even managed to place the offending eighth bag, carefully folded, into the middle of the remaining garment bag, which now held 25 pieces of special event clothing. It was a work of art and I beheld it with appropriate awe! The feat took a solid three hours of slow and thoughtful maneuvering. Vara definitely now possesses a companion medal for service-to-others.
After we had enjoyed a luncheon, I started on this journal and by the time I had finished my first day’s entry, it was time to call the shuttle bound for JFK and begin the process of boarding the flight to Heathrow. How I enjoyed watching the people and the outfits at the airport! I think saris are lovely garments and naturally on Air India we had many Indian nationals and marvelous assortments of drifting silks in gorgeous patterns and combinations. As a woman said recently, “Saris are more comfortable than pants! They expand infinitely.” I would like to wear them, I think.
We were checked through after a very short wait, for Vara had noticed that business-class passengers are offered a different, shorter line. A kind attendant allowed Vara—as my helper—to join me and shortly we were all through with the mysterious activities of Homeland Security. They have an unnatural interest in shoes! My wheelchair attendant had told me Vara could not join me in the lounge, so we were all set to enjoy resting in the airport’s public banks of chairs, but a soft-hearted fellow took pity on us both and obtained permission for both of us to enjoy the lounge, where we found soft chairs and complimentary refreshment. I called Mick to say good-bye for the last time stateside, and Vara was called by two of her friends wishing her bon voyage. We were whisked by another kind attendant to the airplane and settled in for a nice dinner and the flight “over the water” as my Nana used to put it.
Prawns for dinner in business-class! The meal was gourmet but alas! I dropped a prawn on my white pants! It took three washcloths and much dabbing to make me presentable again. I so often do this that I feel remiss! Shall I dwindle in old age to a lady with spots on all her clothes? I fear so! I just hope I can still see them!
(Carla) As I finish this entry, the cabin around me has gone dark and I am peering at my laptop to make out the letters I am typing. The crew seems to want me to sleep! I find that energy escaping me at the moment, as my thoughts review this day and all its rich harvest: the hotel clerk who lent us a cart so we could move our seven fine pieces of luggage, the shuttle driver with his earphones and brave orange polo shirt, the sweet face of my wheelchair driver, the excellent puzzle page in the Indian newspaper in the “Maharaja Lounge” with not only the New York Times crossword but the Guardian cryptic.
Oh, joy! I had an Indian seatmate who is a statesman for the legislature of India as a whole and we had a provocative conversation for a spiritual activist like me about India’s woes: twenty approved state languages in a huge continent which has perhaps ten times that many native tongues; yet India, he says, has democracy and freedom. We agreed that this is far more valuable than easy solutions. China, he said, could impose a rule on their huge country like a national language and it would go into effect, willy-nilly. But India cannot. And he likes that. Even though it makes his job much harder, this good man likes that.
I told him we feel the same in the USA. I personally do not approve of our present president’s decisions and judgment. I am an FDR Democrat who believes in labor unions, a middle class and a way of life Bush seems determined to erase from America. This is, of course, my opinion only and apparently not the winning view. But in three years, we can choose again. What a boon! The freedom to be aware, to think, to choose: is that not a wonderful thing!
It will be three in the morning, in the time zone I left, when we arrive in London. There it will be 8 AM and the day will be full of promise. I look forward to London, to meeting Peter at the gate and to motoring to Sussex.
Friday, June 10, 2005
(Carla) It was a tough trip “across the water” with no sleep. I discovered Greenland is a very large island, as the cycling visual on the cabin’s TV monitor showed our snail-like progress across its breadth. However, the airplane was superbly quiet and the trip was smooth.
(Carla) Peter Brinch (pronounced “brink”), the groom, met us at the Heathrow Airport and with a speedy exit through customs we were soon driving through the chalk plains south of London to their little village of Forest Row in East Sussex. Need I say it is charming, picturesque and quaint to my American eyes? Bumpy-topped chimneys surmount steep roofs and the houses are often flush to the street in this part of the country, with much brick and stone being used. The hedgerows by the roadside are flush to the road and canopies of tree branches arch completely over the narrow roads. Their house is off the A-22 route, near East Grinstead. This will be our home base for the three weeks or so we are here.
We entered the small, stucco home of the bride and groom to find Pupak’s Aunt Ue (pronounced “oo-ay”) elbow-deep in mounds of vegetables and herbs. Vara and I took one speaking look at each other and joined the confusion of things to do, me chopping veggies and Vara helping Peter to set up my hospital bed and Pu to do errands. By evening I had washed and prepared tarragon and mint leaves for the Iranian flatbread and cheese dish as well as green onions and radishes, all in quantity to feed 90 people. I began on the 24 bags of parsley and managed to finish four of them before needing to leave to go to a “Goddess Gathering” that Nikki Williams, a shamaness, was giving for Pu.
(Carla) Nikki lives in a converted shed off a car repair park, an unlikely place for pastoral beauty, but she makes it work gloriously. We had a wonderful time, with a dozen other women gathered to celebrate Pu’s transition into married life. Nikki’s floor was centered with a blanket of sacred objects, from flowers to crystals to candles to everything in the world to create an opulent and sensual space. Our feet were bathed in rosewater and we told stories around the circle. Each woman had brought a gift she had created herself. Vara and I had both brought poems for Pu.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
(Carla) In these northern latitudes the sun rises before 5 AM and so did I! I caught up on correspondence for a while and when I heard others stirring around, I finished unpacking and began on the parsley again.
(Carla) At 11 AM, I went with Peter and Pupak to Plawhatch Farm (which means, roughly, Forest Gate Farm in modern English), where the wedding was to be held. Peter is a biodynamic farmer there. Biodynamic farming is a system created by Rudolph Steiner and this is how he and Pupak had met, as Pu studies this method of honoring the land and attempting to treat it well and volunteers her time there. This farm stretches for some acres in the country near Forest Row. Cows and sheep were in the field and roosters could be heard nearby. My feet will not take long walks any more and their wedding grove was some little distance into the farm, so two strong men, Gregers Brinch and Jonathan Horvak, took my wheelchair down the rough track into the woods, a path which had been very roughly hewn only that morning and which contained many a snag and surprise. It was comical. At length we bumped down into the forest dell that was still being prepared. The clearing had been overgrown with six-foot-high ferns and Peter and his brothers, Michael and Gregers, had been scything them down since early morning. Hay bales were being laid out to receive the guests in concentric circles.
I was seated near the center, as I had several parts to play in the long and comprehensive ceremony. I was one of the directions, West, and a singer as well as the Baha’i witness for Pupi. The other three directions were North, spoken in Peter’s native Danish; South, spoken in Pu’s native Farsi and East, spoken in Pu’s Aunt’s Japanese. My instructions were to “speak American.” I am assured I have a “smashing twang.” At length the ceremony was declared rehearsed and we bumped back up the winding hill and off to the continuing food preparation. The chill factor was substantial and I yearned for the sweaters I had foolishly left at home.
(Carla) Peter’s mother, a sophisticated and deceptively simple woman of considerable charm and slight build, was waiting for us when we arrived back at Forest Row. Her house, called “Applesham,” lies just up the lane from Peter and Pupak’s, with gardens of such beauty as could make me weep. Joan’s mate, Matthias, of Dutch extraction, is a biodynamic farming teacher. He has constructed descending gardens with three ponds, which communicate, when encouraged either by weather or by water from the hose, into an amazing network of waterfalls and rills. Vara walked up to join the farm party and we lunched gloriously on all manner of homemade bread and organic goodies. I found myself yearning for meat!
I met for the first time the entire Danish contingent, which consisted of Michael’s children, Iona and AnnaSophia, Gregers’ wife Sigune and their four children, their sister Jennifer, and Yette, Joan’s sister in law. Danish flowed around us in a liquid stream, not at all guttural but euphonious.
Then, back we came to finish the parsley and help Pupie’s friend, Bahir, pronounced “BaHA,” to cook the Iranian dish of herbs for which the parsley was chopped (and chopped and chopped and…)
(Carla) Peter and his brothers went to prepare the rehearsal dinner site but ran into a closed door for a solid hour. Thus was the dinner created to be very late in starting? They were finally able to begin to set up the room at the time the party had been set to start. Pupie, Ue and I feverishly rushed to set the cartons of food into bowls, added serving spoons, and we began dinner about two hours late. It was Chinese take-away, with lots of rice and food for both vegetarian and carnivorous tastes. I greedily enjoyed the beef and duck. The party broke up after ten and we cleared away, washing the dishes up and sweeping the room we had used. Coming home in a daze, we fell into bed around midnight.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
(Carla) The wedding day! Amazingly enough I found the bath open, so I had a restorative bath and got ready for the ceremony. We left the house at 9:30 with a wedding party of the Danish contingent, Joan and Matthias, Ue, Vara, me and the wedding couple, plus all the children: about twenty people.
Pupak was wearing a white satin dress with no sleeves but wide shoulder straps and a scoop neck, the bodice tailored and the skirt belled out into generous folds and drapes of luxurious, whispering material that puddled into a small train at the back of the full-length skirts. Pu had oversewn its bodice with seed pearls and embroidery and appliquéd streams of silver and gold daisy lace down the bodice and across the billowing skirt, which whispered with many under-layers of rich material.
Vara had spent the time of the wedding rehearsal meticulously sewing feathers, seed pearls and tiny gems with glass beads on to the wing-like, sheer “veil” which was worn like a stole and occupied her final minutes before we left for the Registry in Tunbridge Wells in frantically sewing a pewter clasp on to the waist of the “veil” to keep it in place and ruching the center of the back-neck part that draped across Pu’s nape so it would lie down properly with delicate threads. It was a mistresspiece!
(Carla) Vara looked lovely in lavender silk, while I wore an ivory silk top and damask patterned sheer jacket and a long pleated red skirt with ivory dots and border stripe. It looked terrific with my wheel chair! The groom wore a white suit with a huge boutonnière of tiny flowers and leaves exquisitely prepared by the children. The children had made circlet-crowns of the same flowers, which grow in profusion in this part of God’s country, for the bride and for themselves. How festive and Scandinavian it looked! Fresh flowers are such a treasure.
Gregers and Jonathan, an American long ago gone to Denmark to live and a dear friend of the family, brought me and my chair down to the grove again. Gregers and I were joking and laughing, practicing our wedding song, which he had just written and which neither of us knew completely. We were, therefore, unprepared for the fact that, since we were late to the wedding along with all the main wedding party, having been late also to the Registry, when we entered the clearing, there were 90 people watching our arrival with some interest. Had I had any sense of decorum left by this time I would have been mortified. Fortunately, I was spared such attacks of conscience by the press of so much happening so fast, and so I was settled into my place amidst the gorgeous, huge arrangements of flowers created by Rose for the grove, the altar with its flowers and candles and the hay baled circles and awaited the bride and groom.
The Celtic harp and flute played and played. Ten minutes at least went by. I had begun to wonder whether Peter and Pu had decided to bolt for an elopement “over the anvil” in Scotland when at last they appeared and the 90-minute ceremony began. It was presided over by Annie, an Interfaith minister whose robes were ivory and traditionally ecclesiastical, decorated with symbols from all religions. I cannot describe the richness of this rite, which had been created specifically for this occasion by Pu, Peter and Annie and which contained one each of everything one could imagine for such an occasion! A Native American rattle was shaken to ring the happy couple with sacred sound to seal the blessing of the four directions. All of nature was invoked! The elements were called! Michael and I witnessed for Pupak and Peter in the Baha’i way and Annie gave a beautiful homily. At length all was accomplished, the bride and groom candles were lit with their vows and then one candle was lit from both their tapers to symbolize their unity in marriage. Rings were exchanged and they led us off to dance in the adjacent meadow (being careful to avoid the gifts of the cows previously inhabiting it.) I watched from my wheel chair.
Do not think this was the ending, long as the ceremony had been! We were just warming up. The subsequent reception was in two parts at an arts center called Peridur. The first part offered Thai food and Japanese sushi, plus the fresh dipping veggies prepared by us earlier. These precincts were just beautiful, with roses and other blooms everywhere, the rhododendrons climbing to majestic heights and every building full of nooks and crannies and crenellations, which I find delightful. I have never seen such a cosmopolitan crowd as was at this wedding. I could have easily been persuaded that this was the United Nations! By now I was exhausted and sore of body and wishing it all to be over. Hah! Perish THAT thought!
At length I was taken home and went down like a cranky baby for my nap. After two hours, it was up and back to Peridur, where we celebrated with a wedding dinner fit for royalty.
(Carla) All the rest of the food we had prepared was offered along with salmon, rice, asparagus, broccoli and potatoes with béchamel sauce. There were lavish desserts. After the banquet there were toasts and speeches. Danish wedding cake was presented to the bride and groom. It looked like a marzipan Christmas tree, made with rings of cake narrowing in diameter to one last tiny ring on the top, surmounted by roses and firecrackers. The top ring was presented to the couple of the day and Pu broke off pieces of the rest until all the guests had some to eat or take home. I saved a piece for Mick, tucked into my napkin and stowed in my sweater coat pocket.
(Carla) I sang the last song of the evening as a benediction at about 11 PM: “O Taste and See How Gracious the Lord Is.”
Monday, June 13, 2005
(Carla) I shake my head trying to think of how to describe this day! It was a whirlwind of people and food. I thought that there would be a let-up after the wedding day, as the ceremony was over, the massive food preparations were complete—or so we thought—and we had been asked out to brunch to say good-bye to Jonathan, one of the Danish phalange who was off to his flight home. That sounded easy enough!
However, Jonathan never showed up. A dozen other people did, all wanting a bit of breakfast. I thanked my stars that I had done all the dishes before bed since very shortly, every cup and glass in the house was newly taken. Croissants appeared, mercifully, and a riotous two hours was spent in company with children kicking a soccer ball around, teenagers playing guitar or chatting and adults bringing things back and taking things away. Pu and Peter were gone doing errands the whole morning and into the afternoon and we managed as best we could.
(Carla) Just when the last breakfast dish was washed, a contingent of fourteen showed up wanting a bit of lunch. Vee and I emptied the refrigerator and created what we could: strawberries and cream from the wedding supper, the leftover salmon made into a salad, the leftover potatoes made into another salad, the remaining cheese sliced and the Iranian bread pulled out to serve. Pu’s son, Ocean, had asked Aunt Ue to make a special vegetarian soup for him, and she was in the midst of doing that when the onslaught started, so she made more soup! And more soup. I think she made four full pots of her authentic Japanese veggie and noodle soup before the table was satisfied. Richard Evans, another biodynamic farmer from Plawhatch Farm, came by with a wedding gift basket and brought homemade dark bread. In the end, we had a handsome lunch!
Pu’s kitchen groaned under the massive piles of dishes dirtied during this four-hour feast and so we spent some time restoring the kitchen to order and taking to their compost heap substantial offerings from all the pre-wedding preparations.
(Carla) By sundown (about 9:30 PM), the house was restored to order at last and the waves of people had left town. Just when we thought all was safely quiet, Pu and Peter came back from Plawhatch Farm, where they had been planting beans, with Simon, a 19-year-old Plawhatch interne from Austria. He was fresh-faced and starving, having not eaten since arriving at Plawhatch at 5:30 that morning. No one else had eaten supper either, so we all geared up and found the makings for another big meal, using up all the Chinese take-away leftovers and the béchamel sauce for pasta. This, oddly, was the heaviest cooking day of our journey! Remind me not to open a restaurant! This would not be my choice of environments for everyday!
(Carla) I have never gone to bed wearier nor slept more deeply. The marathon wedding had wrecked my fragile shoulders and I was enormously grateful for the comfort of the “articulated bed” which pampered my body and nurtured me so well.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
(Carla) I was up early and so was able to bid Pupie and Peter bon voyage as they left on their honeymoon at 6:30 AM. They have chosen to revisit Peter’s childhood home, Faenu, an island off the coast of Denmark. They shall return on June 22. After bathing, feeding the animals, taking my morning medicine and neatening the place, I went back to bed and slept the sleep of the just most of the rest of the morning! Exhaustion had overtaken me completely.
(Carla) Vara and I both surfaced at eleven or so and I confessed to her a great need for red meat. We went in search of a good burger and found one at a worthy place called the Foresters Arms. Vara was driving Pu’s car, which was right-hand drive with a stick shift working exactly opposite the way a standard USA shift works. And the traffic is on the left side of the road, making a clever puzzle of the task of getting from here to the village and back. She was a champion! We emerged from the trip unscathed, our first British money in our pockets, our first food bought.
(Carla) We set to work on Jim’s agenda. He had transcribed several old session tapes for our L/L Research Transcription Project and used some of the words from those tapes in creating songs for his group, The Smyeurkers, now renamed Tatoine. He wanted to re-record these words digitally to reduce the background noise on the original audiocassette tapes. We set up his equipment and did that.
(Carla) When Vara returned, he coached her on the use of the lavaliere microphone he was donating to our cause. It will be very helpful to have a self-contained microphone to record the talks I will give. He left us with the CD recording equipment that we will be able to use all through our stay here.
Jim had also come with a desire to have a channeling session so we set up next for that. Synchronistically, in my continuing efforts to whittle down the pile of snail mail I had brought with me, I had just opened a letter from a Portuguese gentleman whose questions were remarkably similar to Jim’s. Jim obligingly agreed to sit for Amadeu’s questions as well as his own, so we had a combined session! What a boon to have both sets of questions addressed!
My physical distortions seemed to worsen with this session, long as it was, and I went back to bed while Vara and Jim spent the sweet evening hours burning in their fire pit Peter and Pupie’s collection of pre-wedding boxes, bales and cardboard, which had mounted to epic proportions and which they had intended to burn before they left. I awoke at nearly 11 PM and made some scrambled eggs for the assembled. The fire was burnt out and so were we! We made an early night of it, putting Jim up for the night in Peter and Pu’s bedroom.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
(Carla) I awoke, bathed and went back to bed until Jim Kent and Vara rose about 8 AM. We bade him good-bye about nine o’clock. Vara and I had tea and contemplated the day. I told Vee that she looked wasted; she informed me that I looked the same. We agreed to go back to bed and slept well again for some hours.
(Carla) We went into the village after lunching and lay in more stocks of our favorite foods. My stationery box had gone missing, vanishing completely, so we looked for a new supply but were unsuccessful. We agreed to go into East Grinstead, a much larger town, on another day to search further, and returned home.
(Carla) I began to organize seed thoughts for my speech. I will use this speech template for all five talks, although I am sure the different crowds will bring far different discussions from me. Vara got me all set up on Traveller and I began to make a key word search on “love” from the Law of One, Book One. However, I had set up on my bed and almost immediately fell asleep! At 5:30 PM or so Nikki Williams called and said she would collect us for tea, so Vara and I changed into proper tea dress and we set out to the village.
(Carla) Over juice, latte, tea and cola at “Java and Jazz,” a tiny bistro in Forest Row, we had a wide-ranging and energizing conversation that sparked Vara and me into continuing the conversation after she had dropped us off. Nikki said, among many other things, that she felt she would like to interview me for a film she is working on now.
Nikki is not only a shamaness, goddess and sound healer; she is also a moviemaker in the middle of an epic project: a DVD about people who wish to affect transformation at this time of rebirth in the planet itself. The idea for the film came to her some months ago when she found an article about a Mayan gathering which was being planned in order to fulfill an ancient legend about the so-called end times, which the Mayans as well as a number of other sources, including those of Ra, say is upon the people of our planet. The legend runs that when every drum of a certain type is sounded at once with intention, the healing of the Earth will be achieved. Nikki has long been an advocate for the transformational needs of both our planet and its people and this riveted her. Money came in most providentially so she could make this trip to South America, and off she went with camera in hand to film the ritual. She has persisted since then, filming interviews with perhaps four dozen people so far who have in one way or another been engaged in attempting to create a harmonious transition to what the Ra group calls fourth density and what many people have called the New Age or the Age of Aquarius. We arranged to find a time when the sun was just right for doing that interview, plus a channeling session. We parted from Nikki feeling we had met a truly kindred spirit.
(Carla) When we got home, Vara picked up a pack of Sacred Path cards, which are heavily influenced by Native American sources both North and South, East and West, and we shared a fascinating mosaic of music, conversation and readings as Vara idly selected a total of five cards from the deck of 44 that interested her especially and read the cards. It turns out this is almost precisely how one is “supposed” to use that deck! The images on those cards were endlessly provocative and touched into both of our processes as well as the process we as a group are moving through in setting up the foundations of Avalon. Then we started into the information backing up those cards in the book that accompanies the cards. The Death of the Shaman card especially spoke to me. It was midnight before we gave up this magical moment and let the night take us to sleep.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
(Carla) I awoke the latest in years, about 9 AM, bathed my body with happy prayers in Pu’s wonderfully capacious tub, talked with my healing angels and invoked the undines in the water, asking for their loving wisdom. My body had somewhat failed after the marathon of wedding activities and Jim Kent’s extended session. I wish to be very conscious about maintaining its health, for we have much ahead both in terms of travel demands and in terms of the physical cost to me of doing appearances and sessions.
We continued the neatening process of the post-wedding, restoring to the house its magical peace and simplicity. Armloads of presents went up to Peter and Pu’s bedroom for them to open when they return home. Then I sat down in the tranquil, pale light to begin organizing seed thoughts for my speech. I sorted quotations and reflected on their arrangement while Vara began on the accumulated laundry, which was quite a task, since Pu and Peter had left a large amount behind and Vara and I both had a week’s worth to wash. The washer is quite small, matching the house with its very little rooms. It fits under a counter in the front porch space, as does the fridge in the kitchen. One does very small loads and there is no dryer. It was raining, so we could not use the clothesline, and—wanting to spare any surprise guests the view of our personal effects—Vee hung our garments anywhere she could find some free air space in the upstairs of the house.
At lunchtime, Matthias arrived to wheel me up the path to his and Joan’s house, “Applesham,” for a shared meal. Our conversation was a winding path through principles of biodynamic farming, Rudolph Steiner’s philosophy and numerous other things, including a long dissertation from me on channeling, which Matthias requested. It was a welcome chance to work on my speech, at least that bit of it in which I cover this topic! As I gazed at their bower of grapes and listened to Joan’s quiet voice, Matthias’ hearty Dutch accent and Vara’s pleasant alto, I felt, without being able to explain it, that we had crossed through a doorway into some slightly altered and magical world. Vee said she too was in a state that was somewhat altered from consensus reality.
(Carla) She pulled out the Sacred Path cards and continued to explore its synchronicities, and we found music that fed into the stream of coincidences and seed thoughts that were so well feeding our personal processes. We both had the sense, rare among humans, that we were walking in and out of each other’s deep mind and sharing one archetypal process, as though our spirits were walking through rooms in one house, recognizable from the décor as “Carla” and “Vara” but also containing shared spaces. Neither of us are women with boundary problems, both having firm and even tough limits to our personal space and holding our power. We were consciously allowing this process to take place and talked about the experience as it unfolded, letting the night grow late before we could accept the thought of blowing out our candle and letting the day go. I think it was a pivotal evening for us and perhaps for Avalon. Our “good-nights” were full of gratitude.
Friday, June 17, 2005
(Carla) Blessedly, the day dawned warmer than any time since we arrived, and I could dress in a T and jeans and open all the doors and windows to the fresh breezes. I continued to work on the speech template and get it ready for Vara to format in order to maximize clarity of form, so I could glance down and get the gist of my pattern quickly, Vara then did this and printed it out for me, so I was free to start considering other things, like this journal! I had done no writing since June 9th, which left me with a very rich tapestry of over a week’s experiences to record, and I worked on that until I found myself drowsing and went back to bed for yet another magical nap.
(Carla) The mattress on my hospital bed, or “articulated” bed, as the British call it, was becoming quite creased and uncomfortable, and I had awoken in some discomfort so I became reluctantly convinced that we must change the mattress. We arranged things in order that, when the two men coming for channeling sessions arrived, we could get their help in switching that mattress for two futons which were under Vara’s bed upstairs, having been stored there after wedding guests left.
Vara had worked the morning away continuing the very slow laundering process, still dealing with the rain and drizzle and being unable to dry on the clothesline outdoors and working on e-mail on Pu’s computer upstairs.
We had patties of burger and cheese with onions for lunch and went into the village to pick up food and household items the Haghighi-Brinch larder had run out of. I discovered a marvelous little bookshop in the back of the local organic vegetable store, called “Seasons,” and came home with quite a stack of books for the L/L Research Library on bio-dynamics and the spiritually lived life, as well as two local folk songbooks, a passion of mine.
Returning home, we got ready for Ian Bond and David Troy, both of whom wished to receive personal channeling sessions. We set up the equipment Jim Kent had left for our use on the back deck and checked the microphone. Things seemed to work well. What a relief! When they came, we sat down to prepare for the sessions. I find that normally I can find a way to re-create the questions people bring in such a way as to enhance the Quo’s ability to respond without infringement of free will. The shift in attitude is from the client asking hesitantly about something and asking if his feelings are “right” to the client owning and taking responsibility for his opinions and feelings about what is happening in his process and asking for confirmation and comments. This is a delicate process where I cannot declare things the client is NOT sure of, so it took quite a while for us to satisfy ourselves that their questions were the most clear and crystallized they could be.
(Carla) I went into my little bedroom to rest and tune for the two sessions and after about half an hour we had the session for Ian on the back deck. The weather held perfectly. After it was over I rested quietly for another half hour and we started to set up outside again for the second session, but the people living next door had returned home for the evening and children’s play and conversation were increasingly intrusive, with loud music drifting across the fence as well. So we moved the session for David indoors. These sessions can be powerful experiences for those coming to them, and I think both men were perhaps more than usually stunned and delighted! That lifted my heart. Their generosity was such that they took us back to the Foresters Arms where Vara had a steak and I had mushroom soup made with real cream and fresh thyme. It was an exquisite meal and very much appreciated.
(Carla) Back at the house at 10 PM or so, we bade them good-bye and continued our rambling conversation, listening to Robbie Robertson’s wonderful CD, Music for the Native Americans. Many resonances with our Avalon project kept surfacing and we talked and listened until midnight, relinquishing the day slowly and with great affection.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
(Carla) I woke at dawn with discomfort of various kinds and had a long and healing bath. Helios was back, shining and smiling! A hawk soared across the sky out the bathroom window as I left the tub feeling much refreshed. I felt that our first opportunity to share with people in this speech was being given good omens indeed.
My body was asking for more rest and I went back to bed, rising again at about 11 AM. I am normally somewhat inclined towards sleeplessness but not on this trip! Spirit has taken over and I go down to deep sleep like a drugged woman. I am most grateful for this nurturance.
(Carla) I continued working on the journal, catching up into June 16th’s entry, until 4 PM, when we were set to drive to St. Albans, Hertfordshire. Meanwhile Vara continued her various threads of work, finally drying the last of the laundry on sunny outdoor lines and continuing to peck away at her e-mail. Matthias came over to cut the Haghighi-Brinch’s grass and offering to tend the sunflower and calendula seedlings, which await planting.
(Carla) We left him working as we sailed off to St. Albans in Peter’s Peugeot. Almost immediately, we got “lost” from the careful map Ian had given us, so our entire trip there, about a two-hour journey, was spontaneous guesswork. We became lost for real when we took the local exit to St. Albans and then somehow wound up back on the same M-25, which we had just left. The next exit was some distance away, and led to nowhere on our map, but we saw some numbers that looked hopeful, so rather than try to come back the way we came—traffic was very badly backed-up—we stayed on back lanes and wound up getting to the church five minutes before our appointed date with the church’s staff.
(Carla) Irene had been supposed to meet us but instead we met Paul, a church official who informed us that, sadly, Irene had an auto accident and was in much pain with whiplash. Paul was wonderfully hospitable in filling in, ushering us into tiny St. Albans Spiritualist Church in the middle of that beautiful town. He let us change clothing from travel jeans to appearance clothing and helping us set up to record the speech so we can capture it for the web site.
The discussion went very well. I followed my template to some extent but before the next appearance I shall need to re-work it so that there is less prose and more spareness to the words, less sentences and more phrases. These things evolve! We had a tea break after my initial talk, and I mean that literally! People got mugs of good British tea, and in that heat I could not imagine taking any myself! Tea, cookies—oops, biscuits—and conversation flowed for a good half-hour. After the break I found that people wished for a channeling session rather than Q and A, so we did that. It was well received and indeed I felt that the Q’uo group worked with the two dozen or so people far better than had I as a speech-giver.
(Carla) Back on the road at 11 PM, we headed for the service area on the M-25, which Vee found with amazing accuracy—the roundabouts and British way of signage had me completely buffaloed and I was so bewildered it was comical. We had a late supper of pasta and potato crisps.
Back on the road, again (this time at 11:33), we had a comical moment indeed after we got off the well-lit M-25 and into the countryside in the dead of night. Vara wanted to use our high beams, and in experimenting with the Peugeot’s light system, instead of turning on the high beam, she turned the lights off completely. Hurtling down the road in utter blackness, my comment was, very quietly, “Hoo-hoo, sphincter tight!” Something about the very quiet little hoot I gave when I said that struck Vee’s funny bone and we laughed all the rest of the way back to Forest Row. We made the return trip in 90 minutes, arriving at our front door at 1:07 AM. I think perhaps we exceeded a few speed limits! I was never gladder to see my own bed, and we both retired.
(Carla) I lit my candle and called Jim to let him know I was home and we had a great conversation. I found that he has managed to come to an understanding of access road technicalities on Avalon, which really has eluded me for weeks. Jim, left with the problem, had corresponded with our lawyer until he truly grasped the situation. He read me the letter he is sending to our neighbors there, the Hineses and Mr. Kidwell, and for the first time I understood the situation fully, I think. It is odd to be a continent away from the farm and yet be vitally interested in handling the matter. Jim and I are donating this farm to L/L Research, but we cannot give the gift freely until the access road is legally settled as being ours, so before we can donate, we must acquire legal rights to the road which is etched out of the side of the ravine of our feeder creek. Further, since Jim and I need to set aside a few acres for our own use before giving the farm away in order to preserve the non-profit status of L/L Research, we need to establish our own right of way off of that access road. In Jim’s capable hands, this is now moving forward. I fell asleep happy as a lark.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
(Carla) The day dawned truly warm for the first time, brilliant and bright, and I opened both front and back door to the breeze. After the rigors of the St. Albans trip my body was still fatigued and sore, so I had some of Vara’s homemade chicken cream soup and went back to bed, sleeping until past noon. Vara and I lunched and planned until Nikki showed up for the filming session.
The sunlight through the trees was dappled and sparkling and we got a good interview and a channeling session filmed, I think. Vara did not get to be part of the interview, for which I was heartily sorry. However, my idea about her planting in the background went south when we found that Nikki knew exactly where she wanted to film and that it was nowhere near where the seedlings were to go.
The session was intense and extremely positive, Nikki radiating real joy and expressing much heartfelt validation of what I said.
(Carla) She invited us to share her evening meal and off we went back to her little shed, which she has transformed into an inner space of surpassing comfort, elegance and quirky style with her Indian and shamanic mix of objects. It was a wonderful meal, with her chicken soup and Brie with corn cakes made of rice and barley flour. She also offered an excellent potato salad, which contained apples, gherkins, chives and spring onions. This is something I shall have to try recreating when we return to Kentucky! It was a splendid meal indeed, a real treat for me, as usually when people try to feed me I simply drown in their food. I am pretty omnivorous at mid-day, but we were eating after the peace meditation time of 9 PM. This food was both delicious and edible to my cranky tummy. Hats off to you, Nikki! She said that a man who was fond of her and had been a macrobiotic chef for a decade in San Francisco spent two weeks with her at one point cooking three meals a day and teaching her how to eat well. I believe it.
We did get to the overtoning session we had wished to do before, at tea, the other day, and that was fun. Playing with sound creates a spontaneous, drifting environment where listening to the process of making tones, breathing and making more tones becomes an adventure in beauty and chance, choice and cooperation. She shared with us some of Tom Kenyon’s toning on CD as well, a challenging and very shamanic energy.
We also were treated to a viewing of a short film Nikki had done on the technique of inversion therapy. This is the kind of healing she had at one time been quite well known for offering and her film was riveting. I think I could happily spend a lifetime getting to know Nikki, which is the second time this trip I have strongly resonated with a previous utter stranger, the other person being Joan Brinch, Peter’s mother. We arrived home past midnight, having only let go of the evening because nerve damage from the St. Albans trip was beginning to torque up again and I knew what lay ahead! We could easily have spent all night just sharing energy. This trip has been an adventure in new and wonderful people!
Monday, June 20, 2005
(Carla) Vee’s footsteps up the stairs awoke me at 6 AM out of the kind of nightmare that goes far beyond the surface of the subconscious mind. Doing the overtoning with Nikki last night had probably set me up for entering deeper into the archetypal mind and its clear dreaming than on most nights. I felt upon awakening as though I had been dreaming all night. It was as though I was in a movie and also watching it. The story line was quite dark.
I had been handed a sheet of paper at the beginning of the dream and asked by a very terrified young man, whom I vaguely remember as being connected with Andrija Puharich back in the late ’70s, to take it back to America with me and give it to someone there. He said he was in fear for his life as long as he had this paper and could not bear the responsibility for carrying it further. I glanced at it. The whole outer side of the paper was blank and a quick glance at the in-folded side showed only a very brief word or two. I folded the 8 ½ x 11 inch paper in half and then in three and stuffed it into my jeans pocket. I had the impression that this was a task that was part of the work of a network of people and events, like gathering articles for a journal issue, rather than an isolated message to be delivered.
I was approached almost immediately by a very polished, suave, wealthy and cultured gentleman who invited me to his villa for a stay. In the dream there was some connection between us because of which I felt I could trust him. He was most charming and his home was palatial. We sat in the garden for a long while and then, working it into the conversation casually, he asked me for the paper I had been given. I feigned ignorance of what he spoke, and he did not press the matter, but the next morning I found that my room had been ransacked. I had kept the paper on my body, moving it to my brassiere and then to my nightgown’s pocket and they had not found it. Over the next day or two, my host remained utterly courteous but I no longer trusted him and felt I had to keep changing where I hid this paper. Several times I went through mental hoops remembering where I had put the thing, but I always had it.
In the end she took me to a lean-to shed in a clearing in a poor section of town, which backed up to a patchy forest. It was enclosed on three sides only and the carcass of a cow’s head and upper body lay in one corner. The complete carcasses of three horses lay side by side across the center of the shed, their necks and noble heads lying nested side by side. These disemboweled bodies were surrounded with pools of their excrement, bowels, intestines and blood. She indicated that I was to lie down there and I would be unseen by the many gendarmes who were swarming all around this shed. I knew I would be safe there, that no one would look for me in such an abattoir. I noticed with faint surprise that I was not offended, as I normally would be, to place my body on such a dirt floor with its rivers of offal that I could not avoid and I sniffed to see if it smelled, but I could not detect any bad odors. In the dream, I thought to myself that was unusual! I was quite overwhelmed with thankfulness for Vara’s gypsy child self and my safety, as gendarmes continued to swarm around the clearing and I gratefully sank to the filthy floor, lying down to sleep, very content and sleepy, knowing I would be all right here.
As I was going to sleep in the dream, Vara’s footsteps awakened me to the dawning day. I wanted to ask her to listen to my dream, to tell it over to her to help me remember it. Oddly enough, I also found my note to myself: “Garbage!” We had forgotten to put it out and pick-up was early in the morning. Somehow, Vee coped with getting the garbage out and then talking with me about the dream.
The ensuing two-hour discussion we shared led us back through much processing we had done in the last week of late-night discussions and especially to the talk Vara and I had about being versus doing after the St. Albans trip. She and I had both, we felt, worked too hard in reaching out to people, forgetting simply to radiate from a point of effortless being. We also remembered the card, The Shaman’s Death, and were riveted by that coincidence. I know I will return to this rich tapestry of symbolism many times.
(Carla) We packed clothing, computer, and books to sell after the Newcastle talk and called a taxi to take us to the East Grinstead train station, where we rode to Victoria Station in London, then took the tube to King’s Cross Station and boarded for the trip to Newcastle. I tried to do correspondence but the ride was too bumpy to write neatly, so I drowsed until I discovered what that activity did to my neck! Not good. I read the rest of the way there.
(Carla) Newcastle seemed very industrial, riding into Newcastle Station. Sue Brians picked us up and drove out to the sea, where luxurious town houses are built in rows that are all built like one building. She has a place in one of these extended buildings up an incredible number of stairs, perhaps four flights (Vara—16 steps to the outer door plus 48 inside). Picture Vara and Sue hauling our two heavy cases and assorted purses!
Sue’s apartment is ancient and elegant, with crown moldings, high ceilings and a view of the ocean and a large ruin she called The Priory sewing the land to the huge expanse of sky by the North Sea. She plied us with wine and, later, a light supper and more wine! I went to bed Titus Andronicus, merry, very tired and thankful I had given us this day to travel and not tried to talk on the same day we traveled. It was a tough trip for me.
(Carla) The room Sue gave me has a balcony, as does the living room, but does not look out over the sea. It is, however, quite delightful and the duvet on the bed is perfectly gorgeous. My last thought as I sank into sleep was to rejoice in the fact that it was not only lovely but also soft and endlessly comforting.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
(Carla) I awoke to the gulls wheeling past my bedroom window in Sue’s aerie and found her up before me. She fixed me tea and we spent a leisurely morning watching my first British TV and chatting about the day to come. Off she went to work and Vara joined me for more TV- it was most enjoyable to catch a segment of Stargate as well as an episode of Star Trek Voyager, both old favorites of Mick’s and mine. I had a shower and caught up my journal, then focused on re-working my lecture notes, working until I felt that the notes more clearly reflected the essence of points I wished to cover. Many words of great power and beauty from the Ra Material were deleted in order that the ones remaining had pride of place. That felt really good.
We lunched out of Sue’s chock-full freezer and prepared for the trip to David Rankin’s house in the coastal countryside. He picked us up towards 6 PM. Unfortunately, neither Sue nor he had been able to hook Traveler up to a printer so I could not use the notes! The work had been done in my head, however, and I found in the event that this sufficed very well.
David’s house was a generous chalet with gardens and decks that stretched down towards the sea. Vara, he and I explored these decks as they constituted a lovely venue for the talk, but it was too chilly to be comfortable outside, so we went indoors and debated between the living room and the dining room, finally choosing the dining room. Sue had brought an audiocassette recorder to replace the CD recording equipment we could not carry by train, and Vara carefully set up that, plus my chosen chair. I felt like Goldilocks, as I could not find a good one. One was too big, another had no arms and I slid helplessly off yet another. Vara scoured the place for a good lumbar pillow and found a velvet lap shawl, which rolled up to make a perfect support and by the time guests arrived I was ready.
I spoke to a group of ten people, including folks from technical and executive backgrounds and humble ones as well, all brought together by their interest in what I had to say. It was most enjoyable to have a small group and I opened the meeting just as we would at home on a Sunday at one of our public meetings, going around the circle, having people introduce themselves and say a bit about their background and why they were there. I started off and had mentioned that I was married. As we went around the circle, each person, almost, said that he or she was divorced so when it got back around to me I told them, “Well, I was divorced, too, in 1968! I belong!’ This drew a relieved laugh from the group and we got down to work.
I set out to work through the material but found that I was being drawn to emphasize the scientific information, probably because of the preponderance of technically minded people there. After about an hour I called a “tea break” and we went into David’s kitchen. He had bought out Marks and Spencer’s top-of-the-line canapés and the women liberated the incredible array of cheeses, quiches, fruits, sausages, chicken, salads and the rest from their plastic, found serving spoons and plates and David decanted wines and spirits. This was no small tea! Gazing at the intake of the bibulous crowd I decided against lecturing further or channeling and we settled, after an hour of time off for food, into a Q and A session back in the dining room. I remember especially the plight of Alan Rankin, no relation to David and a most successful entrepreneur who was having a good deal of trouble with his arm due to nerve damage. My heart went out to him as I also experience that precise form of discomfort, due in my case to arthritis. The questions tended to focus on politics—the hostility and rage felt within the people on the street and the negative conspiracies. It was most challenging to thread my way back to the Law of One and fourth density. I enjoyed my wine and did my best!
(Carla) It was late before we could let this party end. I felt as though the group had created an optimal occasion for exchanging information and, hopefully, some inspiration as well. We ended up fribbling with dishes and putting away food and David delivered us back to the seaside town house in which Sue lives about midnight. I called to let Jim know we were back and we had our nightly talk and said the Lord’s Prayer together, a habit that has been kept this whole trip. Sue fixed tea and we chatted until after 2 AM and subsided into bed, happy with a good day’s sharing.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
(Carla) I woke quite late for me, almost 9 AM, and we began to make ready to take the train back to East Sussex. Sue took us to pick up Leslie, a woman who had been part of the group at David’s and who works with David and Sue, and we all went to the train station. We made our train with minutes to spare and enjoyed a tabled accommodation back to London.
I was having fits with the way the train seats were made. British rail service is very good, but the way they make the seats has no kindness in it for my particular body. By London I was in difficulty, with several different kinds of nerve and joint pain. Vara coped in her knightly manner with the heavy luggage as we wended our way from King’s Cross to Victoria on London’s underground railway system. It was with great relief that we found a pub called “Wetherspoons” in Victoria Station and sat down for a pair of most delicious cheeseburgers before taking the train to East Grinstead and home base.
(Carla) We arrived home by taxi to find that Peter and Pupak had also arrived. Their honeymoon had been just heavenly, they said, and Pupie kept saying how absolutely beautiful Denmark was. “You must see it, Carla,” was her refrain. It was so good to see her sweet face, and Peter’s handsome one, and know that they had a good time after such an intense wedding time. They seemed exhausted, still, but there was a glow about them that was lovely to see. Pupak believes she may well be pregnant! What an exciting time for them. This is something they have hoped for in their marriage but to have it happen so soon is miraculous! We shall have to wait and see if her premonition is correct.
(Carla) I was never so glad to see my own “articulated” bed and spent much of the remainder of the evening there while we talked about all that had transpired while we had been apart. I napped after dinner and Vara forged ahead with re-packing for the trip to Bath tomorrow, refurbishing my weekly kit of pills and washing our accumulated laundry, as we were both out of various items, notably underwear. Jim called while she was still at her tasks, and after our prayers were finished Vara and I had a last chat of the day. Compared to the last few days we were in bed early, the house subsiding into sleep by midnight.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
(Carla) Awakening to the dawn, I journaled, opened the door to Charcoal and Toffee, the Haghighi-Brinch cats, and sank luxuriously back into bed for more healing sleep, feeling still distinctly done to a turn by the travel of yesterday. At nearly 9 AM Pupak’s smiling face appeared and it was time for me to come to the surface. Peter and Vara soon appeared and we enjoyed breakfast and conversation before having a morning offering. Vara and Pu went to East Grinstead to get a rental car for the trip to Bath while I took a final look at my lecture notes, wrote thank you notes to the people who have so kindly shared time and energy with us this last week, had a wonderful bath and prayers and allowed Pupie to minister to my back with a wonderful massage and Tiger Balm.
(Carla) Vara had gone to bed late after doing laundry and amazingly that which we needed had dried. She collected our things from the inside lines and packed for the trip in her inimitably tidy and efficient style, which I increasingly have come to admire. Pu had decided to stay in Sussex and prepare for Saturday night’s talk there instead of coming with us to Bath, so Vee and I left Forest Row by car at about 3:30. It was a gloriously sunny, warm day and we sailed down M25 and M4 to Bath, listening to Robbie Robertson’s Music for the Native Americans album. As Bath opened up before us we attempted to follow the tortuous directions but to no avail, for we ran out of streets that went where the directions suggested. We asked for alternatives from two young men who stood pondering an opened car “bonnet” in an improbably narrow, steep lane on our last named street. Following their instruction, we ended up with a T intersection on the road we did, in fact, want. However, we no longer knew if we were above or below our next desired turn. “Which way?” asked Vara. With traffic behind us, I said, “Left,” and off we went.
At that point we were about a block from the correct street to Jill Smith’s house. Had Vara followed the Elkinsian rule of asking me for the correct turn and then going precisely otherwise, we would have been landed. However, she adventurously followed my advice, and for the next thirty minutes or so we had a fantastic voyage through the precipitous streets, Roman, Georgian and Victorian architecture and stunning public buildings of the city. I did not view a wide or straight street in all that time and “going around the block” to get back to the preferred direction was out of the question. San Francisco, I reflected, would look mighty flat to me after this. The British habit of either placing street names somewhere on one of the corner’s buildings or leaving it off altogether did not simplify the quandary. At first comprehensibly lost, we eventually became so tangled as to release all thoughts of finding our street, and Vara settled on re-finding the M4 and entering the city again.
At this precise point of total release we saw the exact street we needed. So we crazy Americans created a spectacular traffic jam, turned severely right, up yet another steep hill and narrow lane, and voila, there was Jill, waving at us from the window of her hilltop home. We pulled up into her driveway and walked up a series of flights of wide steps into her lovely garden.
(Carla) Our hostess in Bath, Jill Smith, welcomed us in. It took us a bit of time to recover from the giddy laughter that had swept us as we got progressively more lost. Many times Vara had spotted a likely hotel or restaurant from which we could make a call to receive help from our hostess, but Bath is enormously popular and parking spaces were nil anywhere, and rules about stopping apparently quite strict, so we could never get a purchase long enough to come to a halt anywhere. Around and around we had gone until we were quite silly. Jill sat us down—and what a fine table she had, with chair arms made for propping sore shoulders—and we enjoyed the breezes while we sipped cranberry juice and then some white wine and shared stories. I gazed around the walled garden and was drawn through its arch to more lawns and a lovely Victorian arbor trellised with Virginia creeper. A Buddha was nestled within and the space was cunning and serene beyond description.
As the light waned we sat down to a feast of roast lamb, roast parsnips and potatoes, gravy and green vegetables. Jill is by nature a tall, delicate and slight woman of immense charm and, like Vara, possessed of a roaring metabolism and appetite. I pecked; they ate! Our talk continued to rove over all the coincidences and synchronicities that have shaped the last little while for all three of us.
(Carla) After sorbet and fresh fruit Jill set up her Reiki table and gave me an hour’s session, which she shall repeat, she says, several times before we leave on Saturday morning. Her hands felt possessed of a curiously heavy and almost palpable energy, unique to her of any Reiki master’s touch I had experienced before and I was in a radically altered state immediately. By the end of the session I was experiencing no nerve or muscle pain whatsoever.
Her energy has an honesty which created for me an experience of being taken beyond myself, beyond the “normal” routine I have when people share touch therapy with me of praying for them, offering thanks and other non-spontaneous prayers. These prayers on my part are well intended and I do not criticize myself for the habit of consciously sharing back energy to the healer, but this was the day I saw into the pretension of being the pray-er instead of being in a state where the prayer took me. Indeed that is what happened, for throughout the session many images, prayers, senses of deep feeling and being lifted up swept through me, including the most profound gratitude for Jill’s generous service.
After the session I was languorous and not tracking very well, and we prepared for bed. Jim had called during the session and I called him back, changed into my nightgown and we washed up and sank into the wonderful duvets and down pillows in Jill’s guest room.
Friday, June 24, 2005
(Carla) I was awakened by the harsh sound of a bird calling Vara’s name, “Va-RA, Va-RA” outside our window. After journaling I had a luxurious bath and sat down to write some letters. Vara and Jill appeared and we breakfasted and began our winding conversation again, finding connections everywhere. Our talk had turned to trees, and Jill found a friend’s writing on that subject, which I shall copy as it is so beautiful and apposite. This piece is by Nancy Gibson, a friend of Jill’s. It is excerpted from Winds of Change:
TREES
Our roots reach down to draw up LIFE itself. Up from earth blending with sky, TREE gifts its space with the JOY OF BEING and sends it budding, blossoming, soaring. Every leaf shines glory, every branch grows LOVE.
As Humans awake to visions of |