Day 462: A Thousand Arms

I LOVED that I did a workshop that sent fear and resistance coursing through my veins and that I found that I got masses out of it and feel good, positive and changed afterwards. That's good, isn't it. There were some very lovely people on it and we did things that, once again, beloved friends of mine (and indeed probably the majority of people I know) would balk at (ha... 'balk' - onomatopoeia at its best). And I loved it.

What a blessing the pond was those two days. Three, in fact. Three days in a row, I had the pleasure of the silky-smooth water, the sweet green of its surroundings, the wonderful wildlife and the company of such a wide range of women. On Sunday, even as early as 8.30 in the morning, there were about 50 women in the pond, ranging from girls to ancient elders - I didn't notice anyone considerably over 80, but the pond keeps you young, so I may have been wrong. 

I love the easy community of these strangers and more and more I realise how much I love being able to be pragmatically naked, without shame or any kind of a statement being made. It's not a nudist place - nudism as such is not allowed, in that you have to be costumed when swimming and topped and bottomed at the very least when sunbathing - but changing is allowed and there's no way there's room for everyone in the changing rooms on days like that.
In the summer, I find the shock of the cold water almost more noticable. It isn't more intense, of course. It's much more intense in the winter, when it steals your breath and sends your blood speeding to reach your vital organs to make sure they don't shut down. In the summer, though, the air is hot and the expectations of water temperature are high, so when I get in, I'm always shocked at how cold it feels.

It's all in the mind, though. On days like these, the cold doesn't come close to taking my breath away. It just feels cold. There's a thing to remember for 'life'. Ha! Maya is back. The rope and the snake. The stories we tell ourselves and the things we believe for want of the stepped-back perspective that offers objectivity. Drama is more compelling, so often, than plain old reality.

I'm grateful for a stranger's compliment at the ponds and for the energy with which it came. Just perfect.

Fabulous picnic in Ruth's back garden with very pleasing Sarah Lonton and David on Saturday night. We'd intended to go to Alexandra Park, but a Red Bull event closed the car parks and in reply to our question about where, nearby, it would be possible to park, a young boy at the closed entrance spoke the heartbreaking words 'They haven't told us to tell anyone anywhere else'. Heartbreaking and heartwarming. I'm so grateful I no longer need to wait for 'them' to tell me to tell people something, rather than having an idea, finding out, coming up with a solution, and, most of the time at least, being happy to take responsibility for what I do say. I love not being 20 any more. It's ace. 

cat not included

We had our picnic at home and then walked up to Alexandra Palace. We partook of the view and of some dogs and flowers again, and then we went home for a cup of tea and a Mrs Crimble's before they left. Can't get more party than that! It was perfect.

Lovely to see Ruth last night, and to walk with her, getting some alone time and a trip to the park, where we saw flowers and dogs (albeit from afar, the dogs) and enjoyed overhearing three young boys being seriously unstreet and pleasingly child-like. They were at an age (ranging between 10 and 13, I'd say) where it'd be more usual, in my recent experience, to hear them telling each other to fuck off. Instead, they were marvelling at the fish in the pond and making hollow (and somewhat pointless) boasts, my favourite of which was 'I'll put my bike in there'.


I'm delighted, this morning, to see that the rose I was given yesterday, which hung limp and sorry after an evening in the car and a journey home on the train, has perked up beautifully and opened on my dresser, all sweet and crisp. Lovely.