Sunday

So two things stand out from this week, arising in conversations with two of my volunteers (two volunteers, actually, who have a lot in common: they both started the same day; they're both from over the other side of the Atlantic; they both moved here to be with their English boyfriends, at about the same time; they're both really nice; they both can't work and kind of rely on Oxfam to fill their time in that kind of way; they're both in their twenties; they're both really good volunteers). The first thing was when I got talking to the Californian, Sara, and somehow the subject turned to spiritual matters and, in particular, Mount Shasta. Now, I've had my Mount Shasta experience, and it was good to connect with that again, in some way; not only that, but she was reading a book about the supposed 'ascended masters' that live inside the mountain, and knew all about St Germain and that – and the whole talking of it really got my skin moving, shivers all over my body, a certain…feeling. Even nicer to remember; made me want to be there, to relive/retrieve that, to have more of it. And then talk turned to Glastonbury, where I'm due to go on Monday, and maybe move there – England's Shasta – and that got me kind of excited too.

The second conversation was with Angela, from Brazil, just talking about the English, our reserved natures, our lack of hugs, of physical warmth. That made me eternally sad – for I remembered how huggy I was back in my America/Mexico days, hugging strangers in the street, hugging male friends for up to an hour at a time, lovin', carin' hugs with newly-made chums – hugs that really meant something. Basically, I was huggin' all the time – and good ones, too. And now I'm sad because, something got lost along the way, and it's ever since I came back to England. I mean, at first I did that, and it was good, but I guess after a while it got lost, maybe was received in the wrong way, just wasn't the done thing…maybe I changed too – but, more than that, it wasn't the right place. Man, even really nice, cool, funny happy people here don't know how to hug, don't know the value of it – and I guess I just gave up. Yeah, that makes me really sad – makes me mourn for the death of a life I once had. My conversation with Angela brought all that up, and made me want it back – so I started with her – Brazilian, affectionate her, and that was good – and thought maybe I could move on to my old ladies and perhaps be the one that gets it going – or, at least, gives it a try. As you can gather, I miss that life.

So now I've got to hit the road – originally I was supposed to be gone on Friday, down to Lincolnshire and then Dereham, Norfolk, for friends and family, but the flood put a stop to that. Then it was yesterday – my day off all arranged, nothing holding me back there – but for some reason I just couldn't get it together, and was actually kind of relieved when my cover texted and said she was stuck in Southampton and I resolved to do the nice, safe thing and just go in to work, and just give Lincolnshire and Norfolk a miss, head straight for London. Today, though, there's no putting it off; I've an appointment with Mother Meera in Chelsea town hall in about five hours, and then a job interview for the Glastonbury position in Wells tomorrow afternoon. And then it'll be an evening with The X, in Bath. A little holiday; a little road trip – maybe a taste of the kind of life I'd like to get back to. A few days ago I was thinking I could just live outta my convertible, drifting 'round the country like some preposterously-carriaged modern-day sadhu, a few days healing here and there, money for petrol and food and sleeping wherever, visiting whoever, just spreading a bit of love and goodness, etcetera…or maybe not!

The road!