it's a Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day on this island off the Essex coast.

Instead of taking the fifteen minute shortcut along the roads,  I opted, instead, to drop down to the coast road, and walk the thirty minutes to 'town' that way.

It was sunny, with a sea breeze which made me grateful that I'd taken my lightweight rain jacket. The breeze was enough to refresh but not chill and provided a pleasant accompaniment to my stroll. Ostensibly I was going shopping for lunch, in reality I was walking out in the delightful May weather.

It really is an oyster island. The 'mother of pearl' discards were heaped, and the area around various oyster sheds littered with the unwanted shells. I'm a newbie here, so I'm still fascinated about oysters, not to eat but the mere suggestion of their history here dating back to the Roman times, and before.

Because I'd lived in the vicinity for fifty plus years before scampering around Asia, it was inevitable that I'd meet someone I knew in a previous life, sooner or later. And today I did.

James and I were at Art School together, back at the tail end of the 1970s. Although I had followed his career from afar we'd not met for exactly forty years. He, as well as being an artist, developed both a gallery and an Art Cafe (another smaller gallery tripling as a delicatessen and bistro) on the island.

James was busy taking delivery of copious small trees to enhance his business exteriors, and I, well, I was busy doing nothing (as Bing Crosby once sang).

In a Garden

The afternoon meditation rang to the music of halyards and downhauls in the breeze, ringing against static yacht masts like singing Tibetan bowls.

The sun warmed me as I sat soaking up those sounds, the shore breeze tousled my hair as if with a lover's caress. The cerulean blue sky painted titanium clouds, while the May sun kaleidoscoped candy pink, golden yellow and lavender against the inside of my eyelids.

Not since Cambodian days has meditation been this easy. Blessed Mersig has brought me home to a lily of the valley and forget me not garden where peace has been gifted amidst this tiny sanctuary.

On an island

Waking at 5am, the first order of the day was to slip on my black 'Schuh' slippers and creak down to the toilet (for obvious reasons).

Next up was to open the bedroom window wide, and settle into the rattan chair with the chinoiserie cushions. I sat easing my breath for the morning meditation (about 20 minutes give or take) and listening to my own thoughts, moving past them to experience the day.

As has become usual, birds, at various interludes, praised the day as I sat listening in the morning's cool. It is, mostly, peaceful here, in this part of the ancient island with its myths and legends. The daily cussing, loud 'rap' music and thunder of motorcycles is left far behind me. So too are the scents of marijuana and rotting rubbish in the no-man's land which had been that accomodation's backyard.

That ten month endurance is only nine miles away, but seems like a far distant time and place. Almost as far as the East which still holds my heart, but is divorced from me.

I have come to this red squirrel and demur deer island for respite, for sanctuary, as a semi-monastic 'retreat' and to be able to rediscover the delights of rurality, of an island's balm and comforting pastoral bliss.

7am and, after a Peruvian coffee latte, work calls. I continue to create the next issue (54) of The Blue Lotus magazine (which practically seems to create itself from interconnecting milieux. I only have to provide the equipment and physicality of movement).

Hello Deer

This island brings copious surprises.

One day, out walking, one of the reintroduced red squirrels bounded across my path. Yesterday I walked up the slope from my house and there, midway, stood a young doe (deer). I say young, but actually I have no idea of her age, but she looked young. She did that customary still stance. She stood midway and mid road, listening, watching. I too stood still, and watched her. Soon enough she moved off.

Today, I performed an afternoon meditation in the small rear garden. The sounds are different here. There are fewer gulls and more pigeons, and bees. Oh so many Bumble bees, constantly droning. I meditated to those wondrous sounds of nature, the throaty cooing of pigeons and the soft flutter of their flights. The Cosmos has brought me here to aid my meditation. I could not be more grateful. Thank you.