Back to Oxford...

Well, here we are, back to Oxford, back to the uncertainty of my living situation, and back to wonderful gigs playing mad frenetic guitar while my girlfriend sings 'Lady Marmalade' and 'Blame It On The Boogie' and, my, aren't we good? Getting them dancing in the aisles at Freud's, tight as, and me loving it, and shredding my hand up on the strings so into it, and actually earning money – which is good, since I have literally not a bean to my name. This time last year I had four grand in the bank: well holidays to India and Spain (twice) and Morocco and no work and a low-paid job before that and various purchases and giving about a quarter of it away have put paids to that and, you know what? It's actually quite refreshing to be beanless again. It gives life a certain edge, minimalises the options, puts me more in a state of trust and flow and openness and desperation and newness: I'm book-free and homeless and broke, practically naked and new-born in the world - and you can't beat that. Now I want to reclaim some of my light - tsk! imagine me writing a book about discovering God and being practically enlightened, and now being nothing of the sort! - and I wonder wither I shall wander to get a slice of that. Or shall I wander at all? Life will give me something, I suppose, now that I've finally done what I was supposed to have done all those years ago, before getting lost and losing the path that had been so clearly laid out in front of me by getting lost in thoughts and ideas and being too spiritually high and wanting things other than what life was trying to feed me, for my goodness and my benefit. Oh, what I'd give to get it back on track! And maybe we're always 'on track' anyhoo...