Grateful: Day 47 - Mixed Surprise

Such long days, and so full.

I upped myself early to swim. I missed yesterday, so I was excited and trepidatious. I'm not hard. I don't like to be cold. But the pond was calling. A pleasant walk from Highgate had me reaching it in perfect time, only to find that - of course - it was closed due to strikes.

It's funny - just as I'm not hard, I'm not really very zen. I don't do disappointment that well. And I've been tearful again recently, so I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find myself with a wobbly bottom lip. As it was, I had a little chat, along these lines.

I'm disappointed, but it's okay. Maybe I wasn't meant to swim today. Meant to or not, I can't, so no point being upset. I don't feel upset. Don't you? Really? Are you just pretending? No. I'm sorry I'm not going to swim, but I'm glad I got up and the Heath is beautiful and I can go and write in the cafe with that extra time. Brilliant!

So, within about 15 seconds, I was already excited about what I could do instead. If you've only ever been exposed to me through this blog, you might think that was a natural pattern before. Really not. Not from my perspective, anyway. A definite benefit of this blog.

Whatever people say about habits cementing themselves in 21 days, I think it's really true. It seems to be working. I don't deny reactions, but they seem to pass through me quickly. And even when they don't - the Belgian situation sat heavy in my belly for quite a long time - they're still lighter because I've watched them swell or dissipate, and because I'm curious.

I feel like right now, someone is letting me in on something I've read about but never really understood - it's like a dose of enlightenment juice. By that I mean that I don't feel what I thought 'Enlightenment' would feel like. I certainly don't feel immune to things. I fail a lot. I procrastinate. I have anxieties. I feel embarrassed about things and I'm sometimes insecure. I can be tactless and bullish. And I can be warm, laughy, friendly, happy, a little bit infatuated, playful, creative and excited too. None of that has changed. But there's something else present too. Maybe presence itself. There's something different that I didn't have before. Whatever it is, or could be called, I like it. I want to keep it up. It's really good.

So up on the heath (oh, you inconsistent thing. Sandison, I'd really like your help on the Heath/heath business)... I stopped to watch the sun. It was poking up through a bare tree, over a bit of a hill-brow. In the distance were London tallnesses and inbetween them and the woods, a buffer of low cloud. I waited with my eyes closed (I remembered what Nigel the cameraman had said about watching sunrises) and I did a meditation from that workshop a week or two ago. In that, you pretend the sun is shining on you. Well it was. Surely that's just as good. Better, even.

I opened up again to see it rising in the sky, then moved on, exploring a bit and dropping down by the Mixed Pond. I didn't have a plan. I'd already wandered a while on the Heath and anyway, without a key, you can't get in. But then, from behind two stony-faced fishermen, I saw naked people on the banks and bobbing heads (with hats) in the water. I thought I'd try my luck.

I hung around at the gate until someone came - a man on a bike - and let me sneak in with him. You're not allowed to swim unless you've paid for membership, mainly because of insurance. There was a legal battle, apparently, a few years ago. It was nearly banned, people swimming unsupervised, but this was the compromise - only with membership, only with at least one other. But it was Just Too Tempting. And I stuck to half.

Thing about the winter mixed pond is, the luxuries of showers, hot water, indoor changing aren't on hand. They're there, but locked up for the winter, so it's back to what ladies used to do a few years back - just strip, costume, dip, strip, dress and go. Oooohhhhhh. It was ace. Delicious. Cold and leafy. And such a bonus, as I'd already accepted I wasn't going to swim. The man who let me in hung back a bit to make sure I got out. Thank you, pond man. What a nice thing to do.

It's funny how things you think would be embarrassing - communal nakedness with polite strangers within sight of the main path - just seem entirely normal. And that old nudity chestnut, the imbalance between dressed people and naked ones during conversations. Just not an issue here. Compartments. Context.

So, what a start. Then a quick write in Hampstead, a bumble to Islington, a bit of not really work, a meeting with a German improviser who wants to run a workshop - I said no to running it for him, but I think the outcome worked for both of us. It didn't seem rude, anyway. And thank you, Klaus Peter, for paying for my coffee. You didn't have to, but I really appreciated it.

Oooohh... quick nod to the gratitude rut. I've had a situation where I've been doing some stuff for free for someone. It's involved a few meetings, a few exciting chats, quite a lot of me travelling quite far to get to somewhere convenient for that person, and spending quite a lot of time. All of which is fine.

Every time we meet somewhere - a bar or cafe - that person looks so uncomfortable that I have to fight myself not to say 'I'll get these'. He's even made it really clear he'd rather not shout me a drink, because of his budget. Now, that'd be okay if he didn't then buy himself a whole heap of stuff and consume it in front of me. Aha, what am I indulging in? A sense of entitlement! In my world, I feel it would be only polite for him to offer, just once, to shout me a drink. And I'd do the same, happily.

But by focusing on that, I'm missing the good bits. I'm feeling a little tension in my belly of 'gaaaahhhh, that's annoying'. And actually, it's not my right at all, nor his obligation. And even if it was, I'm having a worse time by focusing on my projected 'should' for him than I would if I just either let it go or even said 'ooh, thanks, I'll have a pop'. I mean that's the thing. I'm cheap. Cheap as hell. I don't go harder than pop or herb tea most of the time. I'm not a triple-whisky-when-someone-else-is-paying type.

Ha - there I go again. Entitlement. Agree with me, I'm saying, this is wrong. Be on my side. Whatever's true, it doesn't change a thing. This isn't what a gratitude practice looks like at its best - judging others for not seeming grateful (that's another thing - no thank you - that bothered me and I spent far too long focussing on it), for their perceived sense of entitlement, or for their choices. There are options: don't go back. Ask for what you want. Make things clearer. But resentment isn't one of the best, and it really doesn't help.

I'm grateful for Ruth's continued recovery, and that she's back. I'm grateful in anticipation of getting back my bike tomorrow, my sweet bike. Please allow yourself to be released and come back to me. I want you back.

I'm grateful for hard-working, idea-outpouring, creative Rob, for Kate - I'm missing her, for Lilley and Daniel, for Juliet (oh, Juliet, I didn't call, I'm sorry), lots of work, and for a positive outcome promised in the tricky 'Belgian situation'.

I'm grateful for a very tasty supper, full of garlic. Oooh, my breath. And cooked for me by Ruth's sister Ann, who is caring for her so well.

I'm full of thanks for yoga thoughts, and happy for that. And for patience, mine and other people's. And for some truly wonderful opportunities - we can do our workshop next Tuesday - impro, playing, stuff. Maybe another mask thing. People adding themselves to the mask weekend (now just the Sunday), so we'll ahve a healthy-sized group and more fun to play.

And for late night internet tonight. Thank you, Ruth, for this and so much more. I am truly grateful.

Grateful: Day 46 - ... grateful

I'm feeling all blessed again today. Very blessed.

I accompanied beloved Ruth to The Whittington this morning. People were lovely. She was lovely. There was warmth and good care all over the place, even from the first moment. And we got there about 6.35, so that's quite a feat.

I left her just after 7, more nervous than I was showing (I hope). I love her dearly, and any kind of procedure has risks, but I felt in my belly that it would be alright, and thank goodness, or God, or nurses and doctors, or the universe, it was. I am very grateful.

I spent the morning talking to interesting people about things they cared about, and got paid for it (or I will, at least). Based on that, I get to decide what I'd like to do with them in half a day to enrich their experience. Some really impressive nuggets from some fascinating nugget-makers.

I'm laughing at myself because I want to write something and I feel a bit ashamed. That's funny. I can't write that - people will think badly of me. Aah well, think what you think. It's okay. You might be right. You might not. Time will tell.

So in my yoga class last night, my teacher made lots of adjustments. Last week, he made hardly any, to anyone. One to a new person, I think. This week, he did the tour of the class for pretty much every posture, moving a hand here, a head there, whispering instructions. And I noticed something i hadn't noticed before.

When his hand had left wherever it had been - on my back, moving my arm etc - there was a tangible sensation of heat and energy for about a minute after, if not slightly longer. Really clear. The quality of the energy was also very clear. It was calm, present, connected - and hot like a thick coffee cup hot - not at first, but after a moment.

When my first yoga teacher, lovely, gentle Anita Holland, would touch me, either to adjust me or just to calm me, I would feel like someone had just drained the holding and tension out of me. I'd feel a wave of calm. When she spoke, I'd see a misty morning and dew and soft clouds rolling down a mountainside. So very soothing. His energy is different, but equally honest and present and healing (sorry Rob/Sandison - hippy warning has come WAY too late today).

I felt embarrassed about writing about this because I'm evidently quite sweet on the man, rightly or wrongly, but that wasn't the kind of touch it was. It was a totally different communication.

What I'm excited about are these energies on many levels. This is the first time in a long time I've been aware of these energy flows apart from when I'm giving a massage. There again, it's a calm, honest, loving and entirely non-sexual energy that's passing. I don't feel it very specifically, but I feel the general flow.

And then, of course, there's the other application - the tantric one, is how this school would describe it. These energies are there. They exist. Or I feel them, at least, so for me they do. If they can be used to communicate that kind of love that's calm and reassuring, that creates safety and trust and a feeling of being nurtured on lots of levels, then it can also be used for more dynamic purposes, like sex, but not just the raw shag kind - something a bit more interesting.

And okay, I have a bit of a crush on my teacher. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened in the world. But that's not the point. There are people - lovely, balanced, fascinating people as well as possibly some who aren't - who experience this kind of energy. German smiling in the street man had it. Other people have it. It's a kind of consciousness thing. It's a connected thing. It's a brand new thing for me, to think about focussing it for anything except safety and relaxation, so I might have all kinds of sticks by the wrong end. But there's a lot to find out, and it sounds like with the right environment and lots of luck, which, if nothing else, I seem to have, it could be just what I need.

So it's not about one person - it's about a whole new way of looking at things that are already there, and then possibly developing them more once they've been all looked at and shit. There's more to this. Much more.

It's time. (To be spoken in sci-fi voiceover style, and taken to mean whatever you like)

Grateful: Day 45 - mooning

I can’t believe I forgot to mention yesterday’s moon. It humbled me. It was a sharp sliver in the sky, big between branches, low over Walpole Park, and bright. It must only have been 5pm. It made me stop.

It was nothing at all like this moon here. Not even a little bit. It's pretty, though, isn't it, this one?

Someone held the bus for me this morning. He was a tall man, smart, gaunt. He had a face like a haunted person in a play. He held it by dithering a bit in the doorway, so the driver wouldn’t catch on and go. Thank you, man. I said thank you, and he smiled, but he didn’t seem to want a connection in the eyes…

It was a lovely thing, in the first place, that I should wander out of the house and up the hill to find a bus pretty much there. And then, getting off, a man with long tied-back hair stepped back to let me get off before him. He smiled more with eyes. Thank you as well, second man. How nice.

My bike is still locked to a lamp post in Acton, refusing to be unlocked. Do you think I could get the Police to bolt-cut it free? I wonder if I can prove it’s mine. I used to have it insured. There’ll be an email somewhere.

So I walked the rest of the way. I was bounded towards by two golden Labradors, wide-set and smiling like middle-aged men. One was a bit lopey and awfully getty uppy. I didn’t mind, of course. Their owner, also a middle-aged man, was less warm, but even if he’d been lovely, I probably wouldn’t have petted him.

I walked, then, from Highgate tube over to the pond and got there 15 minutes too early. The last thing you want to do is stand around getting cold before you go in, so I went for a heath yomp. It was beautiful. All the grass was sheathed in white and there was mist on the fishing pond. Two shags going for a dive. They were under for ages. I didn’t wait. I trusted they’d come back.

I have to confess, I was scared as I padded towards the steps in my bare feet. It’s become a ritual, though. However cold, whatever the sensation, I carry on down the steps. There’s more than one lady that just dives in. Not me. Just a gentle walk down the steps, as if nothing had changed.

It wasn’t bad. I’m not saying it wasn’t cold, but it was very nice. The mist was atmospheric and I couldn’t stop smiling, all the way round. My arms and legs prickled. My toes complained, then disappeared. I didn’t dunk my head.

Maybe because it was so cold, the ladies were giddy. In the changing rooms, there was lots of loud talking and laughter. A politeness dance about who would put their feet in a washing up bowl of warm water to thaw their toes led to calls of ‘both of you get in’, so they did. Clinging to each other or the sink, I don’t recall, they managed it. There were lots of shouts about Calendar Girls.

And then, the weirdest thing, someone came in with a camera. Bearing in mind that most of us were naked or at the most half dressed, one way or the other, the fact that nobody flinched when she asked, and then just started, to take photos. We all just carried on. The ladies got back in the bowl, briefly, for a snap, and after that, just normal. It’s funny how comfortable we all seem to feel. Maybe they’ll turn up on facebook, but whatever happens, the ladies will keep on.

I miss Ruth at the pond, but I get to see her here. That’s lovely too, and warmer, in a different way.

Once again, I was beaming by the time I walked across the heath. Radiating good post-pond vibes. I worked non-stop from 8.30 till almost 4, then moved to a café nearer to my yoga class and carried on. Didn’t manage to send stuff. I must log on early and do that. Oh yes. Sorry, Paul. The work IS on its way.

I have been well tearful again today. Not sure why. One small girl set me off, just by being. There was something so open-faced and natural about her. And all of a sudden, there were tears.

I pulled a good few faces at a good few children on my stint. By the afternoon, the place was so full of children, a bunch of them screaming, that I had to leave. I needed to walk anyway. That’s a long time to be sitting in one chair (well, almost – I swapped chairs with someone with a shorter lead – but you know what I mean.

There’s a gratitude rut I wanted to think about. Shall we do that tomorrow? Shall we? That’d be nice. And there’s the yoga class… oh, the yoga class. I suspect I’d better keep most of that to myself. I feel slightly inappropriate. I just want to make it clear that I’m getting a lot out of the yoga itself and I love that it’s all about energy.

I smile a lot in that class – I’d say half of it is because this stuff just seems to make sense in my body and my mind. I love what’s being said. The other half is the lovely delivery/deliverer. Such good energy. Calm, strong, present, human.

May the powers of juice make eveything alright tomorrow. Just fine.

Grateful: Day 44

Under normal circumstances, the words 'apple corer' and 'eyeball' in the same sentence should not inspire joy. I'm doing a victory dance, though.

I was looking for a solution - how to bore a hole into a ping-pong ball to make a pupil? I bought a rubber-handled apple-corer and a lighter from a pound-ish shop and gave it a try. I am now the proud owner of an orange eyeball with a perfect hole in. Get me.

A good mobile phone handset unlocked for £10, in less than 5 minutes, after lots of other shops had said £25 and a three-day wait.

I had a use for the experience with the Berlin hairdresser. In the pound shop today, the man proudly helped me to find everything I needed: paint brushes, elastic, a set of craft knives, an awl. He was quite personal, but not in an uncomfortable way. There was something in the way he was looking, though.

Then he uttered that old ‘stranger danger’ classic: I have lots of pretty things in this dingy back room here, why don’t you come and have a look, little girl. He wanted me to leave my bags outside and go in there with him. Alright, it wasn’t dingy in there, but the insistence with which he tried to herd me in there was quite unnerving.

Had Mr Fingers (or should I say Mr Thigh) not happened, maybe my wide-eyed politeness would have made me give in. As it was, I heart the twinge of instinct saying no and politely declined. And during that exchange, I asked him if they did mobile phones and unlocking there.

If he hadn’t come over all creepy on me, I’d never have asked. Thanks, slightly sleazy friendly man. You just saved me about £50 which I was getting round to believing I had to spend to get a reasonable working handset that would not eat up messages and calls with its nose in the air.

I enjoyed today’s second session of mask-making. I learnt a lot, again. One thing I learnt was to be even more prepared, and to be ready to Make Shit Up but not in a lying way, when things go wrong.

The masks were too thin (take note, Catherine .Take note, Tanya). The paper we’d used for the papier mache was much thinner than the paper normally used. I thought I was onto a great thing, finding that. Now I’m sure I was, but to have a sturdy mask, you need it to be thicker. It’s not thick enough.

And there’s the thing – each thing to its purpose. Perhaps it’s not thick enough to become a developed half mask. If you work on one of those, it becomes a friend for life. It mustn’t wear out. For a single show, with a bit of reinforcement in the joints, I’m sure it will be just fine. I learnt a lot from that, especially from Steppan.

Why am I asking him to do things a certain way? If it’s because it’s how I learned it, does that make it right. Surely a better option is to give the relevant information – I think if you do that, this is likely to happen; the reason we do this is to make this happen, or to prevent that other thing. Surely the best way to find out these things is genuinely to find out.

Speaking of Steppan, thank you so very much for a lift all the way to Ruth’s door in Muswell Hill. You saved me at least an hour of journey time and probably a bit of spinal damage, given everything I was carrying.

And I got to see Dominique - how nice to see her. Somebody I only really know through other people, a blog connection and through seeing the good work she does. An improviser, singer, teacher, director and lovely woman.

It’s distressing me a tiny bit that I can’t post this until tomorrow, but I will have it done before the bong of 12, and we will find a new way. I’ll be working a lot tomorrow, so perhaps not then. We will find our way.

The thing is to do this daily, and to post it as soon as I can. Not to follow the rules, but to honour the practice.

I’m ashamed that I haven’t done any yoga sitting this week, and nor have I spent any extra time upside down. It seems like a waste.

I spent a happy 15 minutes pulling faces at a lovely little muncher… kind of shy and smiley at the same time, and full of easy glee. Made me very happy.

A great, lovely dose of Ruthness coming home. Lovely. And tomorrow, a busy day ahead. Get that sleep face on, there’s work to do.

Grateful: Day 43 - Faces (and another obscenity warning)

Masky, masky, masky.

Made masks with a bunch of actors today, and two lovely friends Catherine and Tanya. How lucky am I? Doing something I love, learning, spending time with good people, making things. I love watching people making masks. Mask-making is such a tactile pleasure.

It starts with plaster casting a real face - had the pleasure of that with Catherine this morning. It's such a nurturing, calming act, gently applying plaster of paris bandages to a person's face, or lying there having it applied. It involves trust - for a while, you lie there with nothing but your nostrils out, so you can breathe. You have to grease your eyelashes, or they get held onto by the plaster and they come out. You have to grease your whole face, of course, but the eyelashes are the bit that it's easy (but unwise) to forget.

Then you mix creamy plaster of paris to pour in and set. It sets smooth, smooth, hot and heavy. In your face. Your actual face that you've just made. An extra face. Kind of a death mask, as you have your eyes closed, but very, very pleasing. Almost as pleasing, once it's out, as the act of pulling off the plaster mould. Touchy, lovely sensations.

I love that if Catherine gets pulled over in her car on her way home, she'll have a little face-only version of herself in the boot. And Tanya travelled home with her drying mask in her hands.

There's vaseline at every stage. On your face before the cast, in the cast before you pour, on the cast before you clay, on the clay before you papier mache. Oh, papier mache. Yes, yes, yes. Little strips of paper that you have to 'distress' to break down the fibres a bit and make them soft. Dip them in gloop/papier mache juice - a mixture of pva glue, flour and water, in this case, and smooth it on. It's so sensually pleasing.

Making anything in clay is pleasing too, but when it's a face, a human face, there's something maternal that springs up. Everyone in the room seemed attached to their mask, even those that felt it wasn't going well. And those that were enjoying it anyway? It's quite hard not to use a pet name for a mask - I favour 'sweetheart'. Lydia was fixed on 'baby'. It's totally natural. This is your creation. You love it. You bring it into the world. You spend 4 hours stroking its face and making it smooth. Call it what you like - it's yours.

It was an early start. No pond, but a walk to Acton Park to see a little bit of sunrise and get some air (some dogs, some nature, some instant glee). The park is still autumnal, smelling rich and full or golds and browns. I saw a tall, lean Jack Russell stalking various pairs of magpies. Very sweet (and entirely ineffectual).

After that, a coffee to help me wake up. I bought it from the nice Turkish men in the Station Cafe. On the way past, both there and back, CostCutter man stood in his shop waving and smiling until he couldn't see me any more. And the Turkish coffee man who's just given up sugar, after expressing his disgust at the very thought of Muswell Hill, made nice expressions of 'come back when you're here'. That kind of thing.

And then a truly ninja day. Catherine drove us to Muswell Hill (having driven down from St. Albans in the first place) and helped me move the bulk of my stuff. Thank you thank you thank you. Such a massive help. We had coffee and biscuits and laughing with lovely Ruth. I can't actually repeat the bassoon-related thing that made us all howl, but once again, I had the pleasure of watching Ruth's laughing face, which fills me up with glee.

Back, through traffic. Face mould. Hairy junction. Lucky parking spot. Cheap Chinese and pop. Maaaaasssssskkkksss. And then back here for a bit of washing up, a dose of The Omen (why? why not? why?) and blogging. Why have I put off writing my blog until I have to rush it? I love it. More than I can say. I love doing it so much. Even the things I love, I put off at least a little bit. Maybe staying at Ruth's and possibly not having internet late at night will force me to do it earlier in the day, and be more organised. We shall see.

So, outside, as I write (it's late - it's always late - not sure how that will work when I move as the wifi is normally off late at night... hmmm)... outside in Acton, a man is beating on a door, repeatedly shouting 'Open the fucking door, you cunt!' to a woman inside. He's really putting emphasis on that last word.

Now, I'm concerned, especially when he shouted 'I'll smash you up, you bitch'. This is not a nice man, or if he has the capacity to be one, he's not doing it right now. Nor is he a clever man (same qualification about his capacity to be so). Love, of all the strategies to get you in, that's among the weaker ones, I'd say.

It's not funny. The reality of this situation is ugly. I'm sorry that man is in that woman's life. If it wasn't real, however, if it was possible to divorce that truth from the words themselves, would it be okay to laugh? Is this the moral side of gratitude, or of noticing the things that can be appreciated even in situations that can't. Is it okay to laugh? Not at the situation, but at him? Answers on a postcard. Preferably stuck through his door.

Oh god, it's time.

So many more things: a lovely evening with Kate last night. The delicious problem of feeling sad to be about to miss someone, but going back to spend more time with someone else you've missed. I value both of them very much. Tesco people making me laugh. 3 cool kids at customer service. The two boys put neutral masks on after seeing them in my bag. Mainly because the (very pretty) girl talked about them. She has masks like that, she says, because she's a dancer. Can't believe i didn't ask her more! But I love that people offer up their stories so easily, or the things that excite them.

Sarah Dawrant, again, thank you. And Sandison - it's been a day. I've missed you.

Grateful: Day 42 - A Gaggle of Shags

Nearly every morning at this time of year, as I'm coming back from the pond, I see a shag, airing its wings on one of the other ponds. Sometimes two. I honestly think that's what they are. They could be cormorants. I think they're in the same family as herons, but I could be wrong.

This morning, there were six, all perched on a kind of floating rectangle in the fishing pond, all airing. It was such a sight. I had to stop and just watch. One of the swimming ladies, whose name I'm sure I will know very soon, was taking a photograph. The sun was beautiful on their backs. The light was humbling.

What I love about these birds is that they can dive. Sometimes, in the pond, you won't see it go down, but all of a sudden, it will pop up from under the water, out of nowhere. And they're not small.

There was a split-second where I thought about not swimming this morning. I woke two minutes after my train had left, dreaming about missing a train by seconds. The next one is 15 minutes later, and given the fact that it takes about 6 minutes to get to the station, I think I did frighteningly well to get there.

Tomorrow's up in the air, though. I have a lot to do, and I'm moving house as well, so it's possible that I'll skip it and save myself for Sunday. Never know though. I'd rather swim.

I got to see Victoria Sandison today. How Good Is That? It was just lovely. Lovely lovely. I don't even have the words. How can I explain how soul-feeding it is to see her, how much I like this person? I used to work with her and I loved it. I have never ever been bored by her. She is a delicious mix of head and heart, if we're back on the yoga stuff. She loves people like nobody I've ever met. She is so open. And she's wise and headstrong (in the best of ways) and clear.

And she always makes me cry. There have been many times when she's said 'I'm going to make you cry now' and then she has, with something moving, loving, simple. But she knows I will so she tells me the story. And today, I made her cry. Ha ha ha ha haaaaa. In your face, Sandison (I love you).

Conversations with her are like eating a feast in very good company. There's so much flavour to it, and so much appetite to hear it and to talk. I could have stayed there for hours and hours. Well, I did, but hours and hours more. And hours. Thank you, Sandison, to you and for you. You are a gift.

This morning, I cried all on my own. I went to see the lovely smiling man in CostCutter. He wasn't even on the till, he was in the back, but it was him I went to see. I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you. I'm moving again tomorrow, and I won't be spending as much time in Acton (I will miss Kate very much. I wish I could transport her with me, or magic her flat into another place, maybe in a nook of Hampstead, near the heath).

I found the man, and I said my piece. Thank you for always being lovely. Many times, you've made my day. That kind of thing. He was lovely, and kept smiling and saying 'I appreciate'. I felt good, so smiling too, I carried on up to home, and was overcome.

I just felt a great welling of 'stuff' in my throat - thankfulness and emotion and softness. I felt really moved. I have spent so many years thinking that one reason I'd really like a partner is to have someone you can be considerate and nice to, someone you can really think about and enjoy doing things for - not in a subservient way, but with the glee of doing little secret deeds to charm other people.

I don't have a partner, but why wait? And even if I did, why limit it to them? I've always feared that people would find me too needy if i did that kind of thing, and some of them do, but many really don't. They're not busy thinking what i'm thinking, they're just living their lives. If a random stranger does something nice for me, the likelihood is, I'll be charmed.

Oh, I wanted to talk about the magic of the show last night. I'm still imbued with it, but the moment for talking about it seems to have passed. I'm still drinking in the pleasure of how it went, and the energy and sweetness we all shared. It was just so enjoybable. Such great fun.

More will come of this, that's all I'm saying. Much more. We will play until our arms fall off. We'll keep having ideas until our heads open up so the flow can get in and out easier. We'll keep ambisioning until our ambitious, risky projects become real life, and then some more.

I'm so thankful for the approval I had this morning, and for a happy, healthy outcome to 'the Belgian Situation'. I'm grateful for all the work I have, for Esther Lilley, with whom I had an almighty snip (that's a good thing, don't worry) and for her Daniel, busy making her happy up there in York, and being made happy by her (Victoria Sandison, I love you, in the most appropreeay ob the eways - ha - just in case you forgot)

I'm thankful for the small child in the sport shop, less than half an adult height, so probably almost two, wearing protective headgear and full size boxing gloves. Best thing I've seen all day. That's what I said to his mother. In my head, I had a tiny flash of 'or were the cormorants better?' but they're different categories, aren't they? They both totally count.

And the cackling boy in the supermarket, playing the game of throwing stuff on the floor. I gave him sponges to throw and acted shocked every time he did. He howled with laughter and so did I. His mother and grandma kept saying 'sorry' and telling him he was being naughty, which he wasn't, really, as that's the game we were playing. They weren't saying it angrily, though, and I'm so glad I did that. It made me very happy. I think I will have one of those, please.

I watched a video that made me cry this morning too. Now, if you choose to watch it, bear in mind that this man has lived in California for a Very Long Time. Breathe through it. It's worth it. Enjoy.

http://www.ted.com/talks/louie_schwartzberg_nature_beauty_gratitude.html

Grateful: Day 41 - Operation Insulation Celebration

Anna Levy, Kate Andrews and Andy Hix, you ROCK! I am in awe of you for your playfulness, willing and courage. You nailed it and it was a privilege to play with you.

Same goes for Rob Grundel, Simon Veal, Vicki Pipe, Jacky Wood and Michael Brünstrom. Such generous, supportive, yessy playing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We just did the Operation Insulation show, with a new group of people, two of whom have never done impro and one who's done a little bit, a very limited amount of rehearsal and a brilliant audience (they were amazing)

The show was so much fun. My only regret is that I've only just got home, so I have 2 minutes, pretty much, to get this blog posted, or I'll fail my challenge.

Tomorrow, hold your breath. I've got news.

Grateful: Day 40 - Just Like Jesus

I bet traipsing through the desert for 40 days was nowhere near as much fun as what I've been doing. If I've offended anyone with that, I hope my ignorance about what Jesus is actually supposed to have been doing for 40 days and 40 nights will make you feel better. Yes, I could Google it, but I shan't. Not until the post has gone up, anyway.

What I realised today: nothing has actually changed. I am no closer to being anything but single (if I'm close, it's entirely without my knowledge). I'm still not earning enough to pay a normal rent, despite the fact that I feel like I am working a lot of the time and that I get paid relatively well for quite a few of the jobs I do. I'm not suddenly rich, or famous, or in love (though sometimes I feel like I have that buzz in my belly like when you're in love, only it's not about a person, not a specific person, anyway). But I'm happier. Much, much happier than when I started this. And for that, oh no, I bore even myself sometimes... I'm grateful.

I remembered to go to Bristol! In itself, that’s a bonus. There was a point yesterday when I’d forgotten entirely – and this job’s been in my diary for a month!

And what a delightful job. Being the designated language expert and extra pair of eyes for a foreign language trainer recruitment day at Power Train. So. Much. Fun. Not only do I get to play with languages, the ones I speak well and the ones I don’t, but I get to watch other trainers in action. It’s always an education.

And I enjoyed it very much. Thank you, Rebecca and Charlie, who both came to the gratitude talk last week, for giving me suggestions of books and organisations that would be good. And a happy, healthy pay slip. This is great. Some money for January. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And more work from Sweden, pay from Belgium, Danish invoice going in.

And oh, those Norweigians! I haven’t forgotten you, juicy company. I’m just all lonely out here on my own. Memetor… such great people all together doing magic, and I’d like to play with them. I’m sure when we are all geared up and on the same path, we’ll get together again. That would be great.

I’m aching to hear from Sandison about today’s excitements, and from Esther Lilley. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see Juliet tomorrow too. And who did I get a long-awaited faceful of today? Amanda Bolt! Improviser, academic, mother, household maker, artist, head of critical thinking at Circomedia, writer, actor and all round good egg. How wonderful is that?

A treat. Oh yes. An absolute treat. Not long enough – lots of things I meant to ask and didn't, but so very much better than not at all and what a bonus, that I happen to be in Bristol on Amanda's day off/study day. Exciting plans afoot.

I didn't manage to catch Sarah Lonton, or Uli, as my phone died, and I've failed to meet a deadline for work, which I'm sorry about. But all those things, be they the pleasures of talking to people or making amends, can be done within the next few days.

I missed the pond. I always miss the pond if I can't swim. But I’ll be there tomorrow.

Aaaaannnnndddd SLEEP.

Grateful: Day 39 - Sauce

Given half a chance, people will shine.

I went into Pavarotti's deli/sandwich shop in Bank today. About three months ago, I had a sandwich there that made me weep humble tears of joy, so I went back for another round. It was about 2.30, maybe 3. The rush was over. The dry-faced man behind the counter started with a cold stare. Then I asked for my sandwich. I didn't remember which one it was, so I described it - salt beef, gherkins and this amazing sauce.

He softened - the salt beef special. He said he'd make me one. As he did, he started beaming. 'I make that sauce myself', he said. 'It's a special recipe.' He told me all about it as he piled inhuman amounts of salt beef onto a ciabatta, covered it in gherkins and all sorts of colourful things, and massive glops of the special sauce. 'My sister in law, when she was pregnant - totally addicted to this sauce.' Another grin.

As my sandwich was pinged in the microwave and then crisped up in the panini squasher, he gave me a little espresso pot full of said sauce, and a recipe for chicken escalopes that it went well with. All the while, beaming like an oscar-winner. He totally made my day. What a legend. And bugger me, the sauce was good. Oh, god!

Things I forgot from yesterday, or ran out of time for: voiceover. I did a v/o for a Belgian company. Standing in Gentbag's 'office' speaking into a mic as he sat and made zombie videos of me on his i-phone. When he says 'can you just...' you know he's going to come up with a whole list of things to do. It's like being 5, in the playground, and someone tells you exactly how you're going to play, just for his amusement. I love it.

In Edinburgh this summer, he had me running from room to room, shouting in whatever language he picked and then he'd punch me (stage-stylee, but quite convincing) and I'd have to carry on in another language.

I love that I get to do something like a voiceover, tomorrow language skills checking for a training company employing foreign language speakers, some Spanish/French/English proofing and some copywriting for a Scandinavian company. I love how varied my life is. I love that I get to choose.

Pondage was a gift today. Warmer than yesterday, noticeably. Raining bigly when I got the train, but it had stopped by the time I swam. A lovely chat with Catherine in a cafe, while I worked. A great meeting with Rob. More connections. Someone with a children's book who needs an illustrator... here's one in front of me. Someone who wants lovely venues to do classes in London. Here's a list. People who might like to check out The Hub Islington - here's a fundraising show/networking do happening on Thursday - come to that.

We had a rehearsal for that show today. It rocked. The cast is 6 experienced improvisers (Michael Brunstrom, Vicki Pipe, Jacky Wood, Simon Veal, Rob Grundel and me) and three hub players, delicious all, Anna Levy, Kate Andrews and Andy Hix. Only people with 'An' in their names are allowed. It will be a scream.

We rehearsed. Liora joined us, and Alecs, multilingual Alecs who pleases me so much in the Hub. He played along with our first round of Eastenders. Brilliant. I'm so glad he did.

The rehearsal was just ACE. They were all fantastic fun and really up for it. And then we did a structural rehearsal afterwards, to test the format again and just play. Great. Really excellent stuff. I was nervous about this show until this evening, because it's all so new, not polished, genuinely risky. After this, I'm just delighted. Can't wait. I know it's going to rock. Oh, and just in case, there are still tickets... £10 on the door, including wine and snacks and general networky stuff. Good times. Come!

And even better: we're going to do regular improv classes in the space - once a week, maybe, a drop-in, leading, of course, to shows. We'll split the profits - some will go to fundraising for the windows, some to cover costs. We'll start it soon. We'll get it in there. There is time. Cheaper for hubbers, of course. It will be great.

AND there's a chance I'll get to run a rehearsal with a brilliant new performance group, to try out stuff. And possibly another project in the offing, using movement, maybe mask, maybe dance. Fuuuuuccccckkk... I love this game.

Some very good news from beloved Sandison, and I get to see her this week too. I have to do my work before I do, so I can give her proper time and brain space. Have to do it. Oh yeah. I love her such a lot, and I've missed her.

Oh, another thing I forgot from yesterday - a poster advertising the portrait exhbition - massive Keira Knightly face, all beautiful, if very posed. And some inspired, or not so inspired, grafitter has given her a tippexed cocaine streak falling out of her nose. That simple. Basic vandalism of that kind always makes me very happy - like when someone's gone to the trouble to go round and round on the escalator to stick chewing gum eyeballs on a face. Or even better, if each eye was done by a random stranger - inspired to spit and stick on their way up. These little pleasures keep me happy.

I'm grateful for good friends, opportunities to play, and all the loving, real, brilliant sisters I have. My actual sisters - with both of whom I have changing, developing relationships, one easier and more fruitful than the other right now, one that sometimes floors me, though I can feel hopeful about it from time to time. But the others too... so many. Lilley, Kate, Pudding, J, Catherine, Sister Sandison, Sarah (of Good Egg Lonton fame), Heike, Kati, Sandra, Beata Bean and many, many more. And Ruth, my cousin, not my sister, but what a woman! How lucky am I? Well lucky.

Grateful: Day 38 - Heart and Mind

Best comment of the day, from Pond Lady Jo, as I got out: 'Oh look, your legs match your costume.' It's bright pink, or the bits she meant were. Probably for the best. The rest of it's blue, and that would be seriously bad news.

I'm sure I took notes this morning, but I can't find where. Back to memory, and the bits that really stand out. The fog. Oh, the fog. It was beautiful thick and carrying that smell, kind of cold sulphur. The smell of being inside a cloud.

Normally, as I cross the heath, it's dark when I get off the train and it gets light as I walk across, as if it was me switching everything on. By the time I'm at the top of Parliament Hill, it's kind of day already. I know there's an element of illusion - the station is at the bottom of a leafy hill, with lots of highish buildings, so some of it is about getting nearer to the open sky. Some of it is that, but some of it is the beauty of the pond's timing. We are only allowed to swim when it's light, so they open it on purpose, and I get that joy.

Not this morning, though. Fog as I walked across - not even any layers of landscape, it was so thick. Just tree shapes and crouching photographers everywhere. And on the way back, still thicker! Fog just everywhere. It's a bit womby, when you think about it. It's all enclosing and wrapped up. It's cold, of course, and not that cramped, so that's where the simililarity gives up and dies, but it pleased me for a while, so stay with me.

I found a lady on the floor. Oh dear, that makes her sound like a sock or a shopping list that someone lest. In my First Aid quest, I mean. There was a young blonde lady sitting on some cobbles holding her arm and her head. An older man was with her. She'd slipped and hit her head. Must have been spectacular. She looked dazed and she was a bit nauseous, even though she was walking around ok.

She worked in the school at the Royal Free Hospital. If she'd been going anywhere else, I'd have insisted a bit more, but I figured that if she's in a hospital, she'll be in safe hands, surrounded by nurses. She let me walk her that far, and then I left her to it. I promise I wouldn't have followed her if she'd said no.

On the train home, a small girl (6-ish) inadvertently burst into a Rhianna song. It was so sweet, not because of what she was singing, but how. It was so natural and not on purpose. Hannah Rye used to call that Juning... when you burst into song and you mean it, but you don't know all the words, so you mouthe it and some of it comes out all lame. Apparently, there was a girl called June who did it all the time. I never met her, but 30 years later, I still think of it as that.

Music on trains is of the essence. On the way home, I nearly lost it. A lady was playing some cheeeeese-fest of a ballad... oh, it was Bleed or whatever that song is by Leona Lewis. So funny. It was playing full blast. At first it seemed like she was just being really inconsiderate, but then it became evident that she was trying to turn it off. It kept happening, though, really loud.

My urge to bum-dance, or wave my arms, or even proper get up and boogie was MASSIVE. Like, humungous. And what stopped me, again, is that granule of not being sure whether I'd actually be behaving like a mad lady. It's all about the knowledge. If I knew, like the man at Impro Everywhere, that there was a hidden camera, or that another willing dancer would get on at the next stop, I'd feel different. Or if I just had the confidence to say fuck it, I know I'm not mad, but I find this funny, so I'm going to do it anyway. I didn't do it this time. Never say never.

Once again, though, what I did do was get the giggles really badly, and keep coughing unconvincingly into my book.

My book - OH, my book. I think I believe in love again. Thank you, my book. I have just finished The Republic of Love, by Carol Shields. It wasn't the best bit I've ever read, and some of the detail left me all skimmy and move-on-like. BUT the bit where there are two people that fall in love (oh, the cover gives it away - you won't be surprised) and the description of how it is for them when they do... well, that made me all wide-eyed and excited about what may happen.

I've heard it from so many people - that at one point it was 'just different'. That all of a sudden, beyond the bounds of reason or logic, someone was there and the feeling was different. It was just right. Chemically, heartily, stomachally right. Not that it was perfect - that's not what I've heard people say - but right. And not always immediate, but often so.

And maybe that can happen for me. I've spent so many years believing it can't. Maybe it can. It'd have to be someone who doesn't mind all sorts of things, from twattishness to showing off and talking shit a lot and who doesn't disdain me for being a hippy in my heart. So why the fuck not. Oh, and swearing. It'd be quite good if they didn't mind that too much either.

I've had that feeling with houses - places to rent or buy. And with friends. I remember meeting Sarah Lonton, and within seconds, thinking 'oh yes'. No further than that. Just yes. Her good eggness showed through and though I didn't logicate about us being friends for a long time, something knew it. I felt instantly at ease.

But not yet with a lover or a partner. Yes, Berlin boy is a treat, our meeting was strange and easy and intense all at the same time, and perhaps something will come of that, but he is Safe Bet Category number one: people who live in other countries. Not on. I need to give that up. It keeps you protected from actually having to do proper intimacy, that does. It's nothing, or skype - which is a gift, but isn't real - or makes you overdose on the person's presence (think starvation, mirage, foie gras).

Oh god, the big bit that I want to say today, that I fear will go on, I haven't even started it and it's after half past eleven.

It's yoga again. I went back. Class three tonight. My yoga teacher continues to charm me (Safe Bet Category 2: teachers who are not inappropriate in an age way - I'm a grown-up - but in an authority figure way). But that's by the by. Secondary. Big time. Here's the thing:

We did a posture tonight, the Diamond (vajasana?) that's very simple, apparently. I should be doing it now, to help my late-night beans digest. You sit between your splayed heels and you focus on your heart centre and your third eye. You keep a dual focus of attention. You get them flowing together.

The way he explained it made me smile and smile. If you're not in touch with your heart, he said, you use your analytical mind - the seeing, naming, categorising bit. You observe, you label, you store it away or sort it with like things. You fit it into things you know, or the instant you get a whiff of knowing it, you make assumptions, drift off into your head and stop taking in. You could, that's all. Not that you do all the time, but that's the concept.

If you're only using your heart, like when you're crazy in love, full of expansion and flow and gratitude and bounteousness, bathed in love and flow, then you don't always reason that well. We're talking extremes, again, but you get the picture.

By opening the heart and mind together, so the theory goes, we allow our mind to observe infused with love. We see through the eyes of a child, with wonder and without pre-knowledge. We're still amazed, every time, at the colour of the sun, the taste of peaches or the softness of velvet against our skin. A leaf is magical. A cloud is a monster. Yes, we're still categorising, in a way, but the heart lets the wonder in. And the mind - well, the mind has the words, the tools, to articulate what it sees.

It still labels, but not always the 'right' way. It can communicate this wonderful juice the heart bit sees, and share the glow. Maybe that's why I've loved writing this blog so much. I get to see with the eyes of a child, or a wagging dog, or a curious loon, and I get to use words and images and feelings to describe it. AND I get the privilege of sharing it with other people, who make it come alive. Goodness me, I'm grateful for that. It's wonderful.

There - that wasn't too long, was it. Nearly there.

Grateful: Day 37 - Connected

The first post in a while that I've typed in direct (as in not into Word to post later). The only thing I found at all stressful about not having internet access was not being able to post this blog. Everything else about it was lovely. No constant checking of facebook, and my life was just as good. I need to keep that in my memory.

Something lovely happened this evening. I went into the CostCutter near Acton Central, where the lovely smiling gentleman is, who's always so polite. Once again, when I went in, he beamed and looked genuinely pleased to see me. And then he said 'You are always smiling, always happy' only he said it a lot of times. I smiled (of course - who could not smile when someone says that_ and said 'yes. I am.'

When I came back to pay for my pop, he asked me why that was. He was on the phone at the time, but he put it down and asked again. Why are you so happy? So I told him that I am happy right now because I write this blog, and because my days are spent looking for things to be grateful for, so I can report back. He smiled lots more, but didn't seem to believe me.

Then I remembered that I'd written about him. I got a bit over-excited. It was well meta. 'You're in my blog! I wrote about you, because you always smile too and you're so polite, so I was grateful for you'. Again, he didn't seem to believe me, but he was smiling a lot as I said goodbye, and he gave me a MASSIVE gift by saying that. I grinned all the way home.

I had a takeaway curry tonight. Three days of absolutely delicious vegetarian food has given me Dead Animal Bum again. While waiting in the foggy entrance to the retreat for the taxi to take us to the station, two of the lovely women I've just met commented 'It smells like poo out here'. I agreed, and said something non-specific about fields and cows. Ladies, if you're reading, that was me. I'm terribly sorry. It was my arse. I thought that in the open air, I'd be safe. Turns out nobody was. I do apologise.

The curry was tasty hot, with chicken in it (and real, not shaped/reconstituted). And it was a cheaper than the menu said it would be. Just by £1, but it felt like such a great bonus.

I'm going backwards now. On the way home on the train, I had a call from Richard Lovett. Richard! I haven't spoken to him for years now, and haven't seen him for many more. I looked for him for ages, on facebook and linked in, and finally found him a little while ago. I was thinking about him just last week. So much history. And we fell apart after a difficult time many years ago that I dealt with badly.

Richard was one of the first people I knew who got into buddhism, zen, equanimity, many years ago. I remember him, always passionate about what he was into, trying to explain it to me, offering it to me. And me, at the time, not even listening properly. I was to busy believing that he'd been wrapped up into some kind of cult. Equanimity. What, no drama? Why would life be fun? I suppose I just wasn't ready.

So - perhaps when I go back from Edinburgh, I will be able stop off and see beautiful Esther Lilley and her Daniel, if they are free, and then Richard, in Leeds or Bradford. Maybe I'll even do a day in Keighley. Lordy.

I left the workshop with some lovely people in my life, plans to do exciting things with some of them, and lots of images and words and flowings with them. It's true that it's easier to see people's beauty when they make themselves vulnerable, when they open themselves up to try things. Beautiful. Humbling. Touching. I am softer for it.

I'm grateful, after all the struggle, for the energy-eating lady. She showed me how painful it is to live (and love - let's keep that typo in) from where she's living/loving. And how I'm not quite as Zen as I think I'd like to be. I rose to her and gave her what she needed to keep the attention flowing. I gave her fodder. I fanned the flames. I tried to be calm and clear and just set a clear request about what I needed from her (to be packed and ready to go when the taxi arrived to pick us up). It didn't go brilliantly, but she (from my perspective) was brilliantly rude, ending our conversation with a spat 'Goodbye!' in the middle of saying something.

I had her in my head a bit after that, and was out of my centre, not so smooth. But that's okay. I must have wanted that in some way. My frustration had been building since the beginning, really, and specifically since one bit of behaviour that appalled my sense of justice the day before. I could have let it go, and I chose not to. I don't regret it. I'm just looking to see what it was I was really trying to achieve.

One of my loveliest memories of this workshop wasn't even in it. It was this: the smiling, warm and talented mama of one of the course's organisers cooked for us. At every meal, our senses were met with an onslaught of refined flavours, textures and smells. All vegetarian and mostly entirely sugar-free. Today's dessert made me want to weep. And yesterday's. And every meal on every day. And everything with a smile. Listening to her chat to Bobby in Latvian made me very happy. Bobby didn't care. He went with it whether or not he understood.

At the end of our last meal cooked by her, when she came out of the kitchen, we gave her a massive round of applause, a standing ovation, even, some of us, peppered with whoops and howls. We clapped and clapped. Someone janged their glass. And lovely Latvian lady ran off into the kitchen with tears in her eyes.

I'm grateful. I'm grateful for all of this, for getting my blog back and being able to post, for having my own bed (starfish sleeping on the menu, big time) and for seeing lovely Kate at home. I'm grateful for a workshop that was everything other than quite what I expected, and very good for it. I'm grateful for all that honesty, from others and from me. And I'm grateful that tomorrow, I get to go to the pond. Can't wait. Can't wait. Can't wait.

Grateful: Day 36 - Esalen

I’m on a women’s weekend. In my head, this is the stuff that nightmares are made of. And yet I’m having a lovely time.

There are so many delicious people here. Lots of laughter. Not all of it about vaginas. There’s also a cat, the only male on the block for most of the weekend, (though a shaven-headed gentleman was bumbling around the place this afternoon looking for Susie, whoever she is). The cat’s called Bobby. He might be a girl. He’s black and quite long-haired, so you just can’t tell.

He sleeps on his back with his feet in the air or, like now, with one paw curled over his face. He purrs constantly. He has hairy ears, on the inside as well. He’ll be stroked by anyone, but he’s not a needy cat. He lets you come to him. I like Bobby very much. He’s no dog, but he’s pretty good.

I went for a swim before dinner. Naked. Mainly because I didn’t bring my pondy swimming costume. The water was chlorinated and warm – a completely different experience. The lights were low, but the pool was lit from within. I’d see my shadow shape on the back wall as I swam towards it. On the way towards the deep end, you swim towards the light.

I’ve always thought there was something dream- and death-like about being underwater in a pool. There’s a slow motion about it, especially when your eyes are unprotected. It’s all moving shapes, light and lilting. The silence of the water makes it different. I was on my own in there for most of the time, playing at going towards the light.

I’ve laughed such a lot today. This is the first time I’ve done this kind of workshop since I lived in Esalen in 2001/2002, or just after that time, at least. There’s often an energy-eater on a course like this, and this time is no exception. A lot of the group’s focus goes on framing her while she plays out what she needs to do to get attention.

But listen, there’s only one, and there are 11 of us here. And what we’re doing is quite lovely. It’s on the playful side of earnest. Or maybe slightly more on the earnest side, but with a great big willingness to play whenever there’s a chance, it seems. Most of these women are confident, funny and fulfilled. And creative. I’ve picked up lots of contacts of people to do shit with, work-wise as well as just fun.

Esalen was amazing, when I think about it. I wonder how many times I was the energy-eater in a group. I’ll probably never know. At least once, I’m sure and if I think once, then probably many times more. I did some random and fantastic stuff out there, from acting/therapy to tai chi, painting and the one that made me nauseous to think about but seemed to make the most difference, about sexuality. It wasn’t as terrifying as I’d thought, but there were full body hugs and a couple of questionable rituals. They’re what made the difference, though.

And then the whole lifestyle. Up early, for me, working on the farm. After a group circle, we’d harvest veg and wash it in cold troughs, shrouded in San Francisco coastal fog from 7 till 9 and then go in to breakfast. Every morning, I’d eat two soft-boiled eggs, because if I held one hot egg in each hand as I waited in the queue, I’d be able to use my fingers by the time it got to making tea or spooning porridge into a bowl.

I used to dance there. It’s the only time I’ve genuinely been free and comfortable dancing since I stopped drinking alcohol. I’d dance early in the mornings, in an hour-and-a-half session called ‘dance your prayers’ or something equally Californian. It was so good. I had a ball. A sweaty, thumping, twirling good time.

I remember some festival of drumming that we did, where we chanted, danced and throbbed our way through the whole village to celebrate I don’t know what, but it was transcendental. I was on another plane, by the end of it. Sweating again. Wide-eyed and high as a kite. Same as after a sweat lodge. Great states to be in, and no substances involved at all.

And the evening festival we did, with dancing too, and a great bowl of flowers picked from throughout the grounds and offered to every person coming in. They could have their feet washed too, and get a massage any time. There was no money involved. It was just so. Lovely.

Hot tubs on the clifftop – these were interim tubs while the ornate marble ones were built at the bottom, closer to the sea. I loved these wooden rounds where you could sit and watch, up to your neck in salty, sulphury water as a storm came in across the Pacific, throwing off great shards of lighting into the ocean.

And flowers. So many flowers. Every single day of my six months living there, I'd be out in the gardens or on the farm, looking at all the flowers and plants and pretty much every day I'd find something new. I had hot tub baths full of flower petals. I made flower gifts for people. I was surrounded by natural beauty in a tangible, day to day, in your face way. The closest I have come so far is the pond, but even that, with all its dark beauty, doesn't come close to the joyful, colourful vibrancy of the Esalen gardens.

There were black widows and teepees and troubled souls, and I learnt a lot there.

And tonight too, we’ve danced. And had a lovely time. And swum in the pool, all radiant from the dancing. And now it’s time for bed, in the singlest single bed I’ve ever been in. It’s not much wider than my computer. Ridiculous. I’d rather sleep all star-fish tonight, but I’m sure it will be just fine when I finally settle down. I’m spent.

I’m loving that the blog habit is still there, even though I can’t post this up today. I’m still writing and I’m still honouring the promise. A gratitude blog post every day. It’s been such a transformational practice for me. Things just keep getting richer.