I love the RFH. I love that you can be there, surrounded by throngs, and just sneak up to another floor and do your thing. The people next to us were playing some weirdy board game that included hand gestures in unison. We had nothing to be ashamed of in what we were doing. Thank you, Cat, for trying out everything suggested and being generally open and excellent. Oh, and for the yoga class. That was ace.
There was no satsang. We'd gone there specially for it, but it was cancelled. Instead, a Sivaratri, from 8pm to 5am. I wasn't going to and I was working in the morning, and I needed things from home and it was terribly impractical (etc) but all the reasons I came up with not to didn't really weigh up, so I stayed. It was easy and flowy in parts and hard in others. And ALL through the night, we sang 'om namah sivaya'. All through. It was fascinating. I was distracted by pleasant thoughts and too much smiling. I sometimes came back to the focus of what we were doing, sometimes not.
The last of the five pujas was a struggle. I think I did a fair bit of open-mouthed staring into space instead of singing. Not intentionally - I'd just wake up from one and find that while I thought I was singing, I may have been just muddling mad words.
There's a significant risk of that happening now (the open-mouthed stary bit). I haven't been to sleep. I've worked, spent an hour or two with sweet Pudding in Russell Square, then cycled back up to Archway. I've chatted with Ruth and heard about the fabulous wedding she went to. I've even sent people emails... possibly unswise. No sleep at all (bar those indefinable drifty phases). My skin is starting to feel a bit wrong on my body. It's cold up there but I have two duvets. I'll be somewhere amongst them quite soon.
Thank you for hugs with partial strangers - the lady at the pond who told me about the death of her beloved dog a few days before. She let me hug her (we were both dressed by then). Thank you for a timed hot chocolate with monster-lover Paddy Otley, an interesting egg if I ever met one. Toy-maker and collector. Writer. Lover of the macabre and the cute, and especially a range of Japanese monster toys which also please me very much. You can't beat a good monster, I say.
I was about to launch into something about truth, but I think it needs to wait for another time. How can you talk about what's true when you're not aware whether you're awake or aslee? A second ago, I snapped back from 'a time' (NO idea how long) with my eyes closed and my fingers held close to the keybaord. Hunchy. No reason. Just that I could well have been off to bed 24 hours ago, only I didn't. Better do that now, then, even with great cavernous gaps.
In front of me on the table are flowers from Little Ruth and Rachel's wedding, brought back by Big Ruth - Narcissi, lysanthium, hebe and some lupins, maybe, or bluebells. Something smells gooood. They're not only pretty - they could have been picked very nonchalantly (thought the way the colours work with each other, I suspect it's not their first outing). There's a rose that's dusky pink, almost grey. I want to look at it for longer.
Thanks for feeling the way I do and the pleasure of sharing that. It's all just as it should be.
Oh dear - I'm starting to twitch. I give me about 7 minutes before I'm properly unconscious (in a good way) see you on the other side.
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