Journal 31st October Sawhain

Monday October 31st

Sawhain.
Nice to be flying today. Back from a weekend in London where I was so upset about green eyes not being in touch that I had to leave the Deva Premal concert. She was having one of those subdued, clenched teeth smile domestics with Mitan. In another mood it would have been hysterical. As it was, I couldn't stand the tension. The bullshit of their chants about love and embracing when they quite obviously had either been at each other's throats or were about to be offstage. I'm sick of lie of love.

Today is a Kali day. I feel her. A fuck it all, sack me if you like day. I need to do some work and it's nothing you'd understand.

Before I get off the plane I have decided, I'm going to Findhorn. To my tree. I feel the need for ritual.
For surrender.
For the Findhorn river. Cleansing and Purification.
And to see him once more.
Of course.

I go home and logon, hardly any emails so I leave. I'm wearing my glorious jacket I bought in Monsoon. Black needle cord with black sequins spotted on black embroidered roses. I love that one sleeve cuff has a rose, the other just a leaf. It makes it look expensive. I wear it with my grey silk skirt. My boots are done though, and I go into Forres to the shop I got them and get some fabulously Gothy new ones. The style is called 'Ozzy'. They are my Hallowe'en boots. I love them.

I drive all the way down to the tree, the light is too poor for the walk and the ritual. I have bought two muffins, one black, one white. For dark and night. For love and fear. For balance. For surrender. Of all this worry.
For life and death.
That's what I'm really doing here. This day when the veil is thinnest. The ancient trees, living so long, the darkening skies as the day dies, the dark and the light, in me, in the world. I recognise and release it all. In the crumbling of a muffin.
I take flame red orange roses for each tree. There is another one, a fourth tree, broken in the storms, but still ancient and beautiful. I take a leaf from the ground beneath each of them, to take home, to take with me. To remember. It's dark by the time I'm finished, the last of the dark and light offered into the river. Peace. The fear freed at last. In the offering of ritual.

I change my boots and get back into the car. As I'm driving down the road to the Park I know why I'm really here. To see him. To see if it's over. To see if he's still with her. To see. Just to see.

He's not there. I pay for dinner and as I'm walking to a table, he comes round the corner looking like an idiot in that stupid hat he wears. He's stunned. What the hell am I doing there on a Monday night? I'm thinking the same thing myself. I smile at him and see that Japanese woman is there. Walking behind him like a squaw.
Is that racist?
I don't mean to be. The way people live in Findhorn, more and more I think screw that.
So I smile and sit with my back to the room. No point looking and being hurt. I have butterflies and am nervous but I think it's just old triggers, the CC, it's smells and vibe. It's no longer about feelings.
I think.

I chat with a woman from the Sangha who has just returned from a tour of the black Madonna's in Spain and France. She eyes my grey silk skirt, not for the first time, as she asks me "Did I hear that you've been ill?
"No, but I'm going into hospital next week.
I tell her what for and she goes on like a Greek tragedy about how sorry she is like it's the worst thing that could happen.
"I'm fine, I say, "I chose it and I've done a lot of work on it and am now just wanting it to be over. I realise I actually mean that. It's the truth. It's where I am. Muffins well spent.

She eyes me suspiciously, it's her modus operandi with other women, then says "Well, I'm sure you're being very brave about it.
I don't answer, she can't get a rise out of me. I see her. Right through her. I always have and I ain't doing the Findhorn 'women together, best pull out your hair in your suffering' bullshit.

Then she asks me "Do you have someone to take care of you?
I say "Yes I'm all sorted".
She's sure of that before she says, "Because I was thinking I could come and do that."
I'm stunned, we know each other, but not that well, and she's so 'glass is half empty' she's the last person I'd want to stay with me when I was recuperating. I smell a rat.
Then she says,
"Who?
"I'm going to a private hospital and then I'll be staying with friends in the countryside.
She cheers up considerably as she says "Oh, then I could flat-sit for you, that would be really good for me because I have to be in Aberdeen a bit more¦and it would be great for me to do that¦

Findhorn.
There are the wounded, the damaged and the mentally ill.
Then there are the chancers.