Day 687: Cumbrian Bliss Sticks

The hillsides here waken a part of me that's been asleep. I never thought I held much connection with my roots, with the England at all, with the northern landscapes I grew up in. I was wrong. It's not surprising. It's not news. The shapes and sounds and colours that touched me when I was young still touch me now. That's normal. I just didn't get how much. 

I'm up in Cumbria, not quite where I was born, but not that far. There's a difference in the light. Up here, dark and light can sit together in the same sky in a way that the south just doesn't get. There's a beauty in that too - the lifted light that Brighton has whenever there's a touch of sun - that's lovely. But Yorkshire, Lancashire, Cumbria - all that stuff up here - has a way of carrying contrast in its blood, as if its landscapes were the embodiment of a mixed message. I love it. I'm not sure I can live here, yet, but it's definitely in the mix of where I might live soon.

I've just come from a wonderful, rich, four-day feast of rituals, learning about rites of passage, rituals and ceremony with the Dead Good Guides people, two wonderful women who walk this work with the whole of themselves. It was 'fun', I was about to say, and of course we did have fun, but it was so much more than that. It turned out that altogether, we were 13 women, which in itself creates a very definite vibe. There was no shying away when emotions showed up. The women showed up too. There's no protecting needed when it's only women. By that I mean that it's less likely that someone will try to fix the rising swell, or put its lid back on. There's an easier space to sit with it. That's sweeping... I know men who do this very well indeed... and it was so quick and deep and easy with these women.


Some of them really made me laugh (I have to confess to a little crush, for this very reason); some of them got me full of curiosity and wonder; some of them filled me with admiration. All of them touched me at some point. And my beautiful friendsoulsister Tiu de Haan was there, so there was magic and wonder and a 70s gold lamé flare suit. I learnt a lot. I laughed a lot. I did some writing, which I loved, and I made a clear commitment, which I will honour. 

There was so much magic and serendipity, as if our days were orchestrated from above, beneath and through. There was kindness, music, and the beautiful fruits of autumn everywhere. 

And instead of going back to London, I'm still here. I was supposed to take a train back down to London, but my wonderful, lovely airbnb hosts are leaving me in their home with their dog tomorrow. I'll be with her (Skye, a wiggly, lithe, utterly mental Springer Spaniel who wees when she gets excited and does the best Big Eyes ever). All I need to do is take her for a poo. She's just been spayed, so unfortunately, I can't take her for proper walks, but we are allowed to hang out, and tomorrow, the cone of shame will be removed, so I'll be able to see her in one piece, rather than a body and a head in a cup.

I'm feeling blessed, full, tired and happy. I'm ready for the next bit. Strapped in. Go!