Seeking the Blue Print

A rose is a rose

2007-05-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

Each one of us has it in themselves to be a free spirit just as every rose bud has in it a rose

Rudolph Steiner

Check out Jaimies Blog

2007-05-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

Jamie finds the coolest music vids to put on her blog. If you are a Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash fan go listen to the Highwayman by the Highwaymen. It is just great!!!

http://jdurward.blogspot.com/

Jamie also has a great idea for those of you that just cruise the blogs...

Oh my......just when I thought I could relax and do nothing....

2007-05-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

Lives of all great men remind us we can make our lives sublime. And, at parting, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time.
--Longfellow

I love this quote. It is so thought provoking and inspiring.

Crossed knives under murky water

2007-02-24T00:29:00.000-08:00

This morning when I was washing up the dishes I started to empty out the washing up bowl and there at the bottom of the bowl were a few knives, criss crossed over each other. Now I have more than a few remnants of a superstitious childhood lingering in my behaviour so I of course, uncrossed them immediately. There is always my mother's warning hovering in the ether whenever I see or do something that contravenes her superstitions. "Uncross those knives immediately before you have an argument with someone" her voice whispered from the past. Without even nano second of resistance I did exactly as her voice said. As quickly as the event passed it still started me thinking about the whole metaphor that I had witnessed with the knives being there all the time hidden by the murky dish water, unnoticed by me....but waiting lying there ready to be exposed as I went about the process of cleaning up. It also started me thinking about how superstitious beliefs had formed some of my behaviours

Isn't that what we do when we start to clean up our lives? In the process of the cleaning up it is inevitable that we find things we don't like. We expose the anger and the pain we have covered up for whatever reason. They just stay there until, like the knives at the bottom of the dirty dish water, they cant be ignored. But I am digressing.......

It started me thinking about some more of my mother's little warnings, like throwing salt over my left shoulder (and wishing) if I spilled the salt. I have heard of old folk in the west country who put salt around their fireplaces and on the doorstep to keep evil away. I imagine this superstition came from the belief that salt can drive away the evil and the left shoulder? Why is that associated with evil? (Those left handed people get some bad press don't they?) I would really welcome any other readers thoughts on this.

Now why would putting an umbrella up in the house be unlucky? A bit messy perhaps..even a bit dangerous in a small west country cottage but unlucky??? Is there something to do with covering your head?? Any ideas?

Walking under a ladder? Blessing yourself if you see a magpie? Where do all these come from?

Grace is a higher law than Karma

2007-02-01T10:39:00.000-08:00

There was a time in my life when it seemed as if all the challenges in the world were lined up ahead of me like an obstacle course. I had no sooner negotiated one glitch than another one seemed to rise up out of the ashes to appear even more insurmountable . One after another they appeared until I felt I was at the end of my tether. Why is this happening I would implore my friends? Did I do something awful in my last life? How can I stop it? One day Christine, a new friend, turned to me and said "Robyne stop fighting and find the gift...try to act with Grace....endeavour to be gracious in all you do and then you will discover that Grace is a much higher law than Karma. Grace can topple mountains". I can remember that conversation with such clarity it is as if was yesterday. My friends didn't talk like that. We were slightly new agey but not THAT new agey. But at desperate times desperate measures are called for and even though I didn't actually believe her, I was willing to have a go at anything. I had bored my friends silly with my complaining and my lurching from crisis to crisis. So it was sort of comforting to hear someone say such a thing. It also meant that the mastery I had to have was over my own behaviour and never over someone else. The courage came in trusting a concept that was so alien to me. I should add that it was the sixties and there were lots of ideas floating around.

For those who have learnt in childhood that bullying is an appropriate response when things dont go their way, the decision to just stop and try to understand the other may be too huge a chasm to leap. It is just too difficult to believe that standing still may be a far greater defense. When your life metaphor is warlike and your whole anguage is a language of war then it is tricky to not default into attack. But what if you have defined a war and the "enemy" doesn't turn up. If you are left with your arsenal poised to attack and you are met with a centred stillness how do you engage? How can you cope?

All those who know me know how much I have rubbished the Big Brother programs. It is a crass voyeuristic program. I am not a fan of the unreality of reality programs. But this program does draw an audience of 8 million people. 8 Million is a great and untapped starting point for social change. And so it was. It was in this house that the watching public were unexpectedly shown the power of grace and the extraordinary strength of standing still in the face of anger. They were shown how one young woman, despite being hurt and confused managed to stand still and look within herself to find the good in those bullying her. She stood still and let the flotsam and jetsam of some damaged lives swirl around her. Now I dont know the demographics of the audience of Big Brother but I am fairly confident that a large percentage would be young people.
Just say, for instance that 6 million of those viewers were young people. That is 6 million who have within them a memory of how by not engaging in the behaviour of agression and by seeking to find the real people behind the nasty behaviour, she emerged as the winner of the program .

There was one soft guiding voice gently supporting her.....bringing her back to the centre when she was teetering. Jermaine Jackson sat quietly behind her...never picking her up nor defending her...simply guiding her back to her self. In hindsight it was not suprising that it was Jermain for he himself must have seen human beings at their most destructive and most predatory. It was he who had the life experience and wisdom to know that it would be of the greatest benefit to her to simply remind her of who she was. It would have been so easy for him to interfere. He would not have been challenged.Jermaine had a strong presence and was revered by everyone in the house. It would have been easy but it seems he knew better. He chose instead to let her draw on her own strength. It appears she needed little help and in doing so, her graciousness and generosity of spirit was an example for all those who watched.

Some say that Channel 4 ignored their duty of care and neglected Shilpa (I don't know her last name) and whilst this was reprehensible it did have an unexpected benefit. It provided an opportunity for viewers to witness another way of dealing with the destructive anger and bitterness of fear.

The program is over and my thinking about the impact of it had more or less disappeared. Then something happened today that brought it all back. On my way back from the city I found myself sitting on a bus behind four school girls. They were probably about 12 or 13 and they were huddled around a very pretty blond. All of them were involved in a very animated conversation. The blond one at the centre of the group was recounting some spat that had taken place with another girl at school. She was obviously upset and distressed. " What have I done to them? I don't know why they have to act like that. Are they trying to scare me?" One of her friends sat up and straightened her back. The she said with clarity and conviction "Act like Shilpa. Try to take no notice and then act like Shilpa, she'll hate that". It really made me laugh. That one tacky reality show had shown these kids how the greatest strength came from refusing to engage in a "war". OK, they just hadn't grasped that the outcome was not to increase the anger. But as far I am concerned , little "dolly steps" of understanding are much better than no steps at all.

I am pretty certain that this unknown Bollywood star had not gone into "the house" with altruistic intentions. I am also pretty certain that the intention of becoming a role model for millions of young people had never crossed her mind. But the law of grace is generous and in having the faith to trust the path of graciousness and with the support of Jermaine, the viewers' respect for her grew. The unfortunate side effect was that the disgust with the other three also grew. But there was an ironic twist. It was observed that as the disdain for the bullying behaviour grew so also grew a compassionate understanding for the three ignorant young women.

In Brighton recently I have witnessed how a group of women in the music industry grouped together to keep "a newcomer to the area" in her place. Despite the benefits that her connections might bring to them and their clients they were driven by their history and their fear to default to bullying. Confused .she was reminded of Shilpa and like Shilpa, the "isolated" young woman wished them well and simply refused to recognise nor engage in, their battle. Soon enough the troops and "hangers-on" loosened their grip and began to invite the young woman out. Soon the angry old women sat alone sending out emails and messages, but these were just the falterings of a lost cause. The young woman had chosen to stand still in her integrity and grace and wait for the thrashing to end.

Is this a new wave of behaviour? It may be a slow moving swell but I cant help feeling it is wonderful that it has arisen just at this time.

Just when I was beginning to despair the younger ones appear!

2007-01-16T01:36:00.000-08:00

Until I began blogging I was starting to get really despondent about the apparent lack of interest that the younger people have in their world and the people that live in it. But then I found them. They were lurking out of sight....While I was dissmissing them they were busy tapping away on their keyboards creating really interesting, challenging and insightful blogs.

Yep, it was me you heard complaining on the bus saying all the usual stuff "This generation are so focussed on themselves...all they think about is buy buy buy and creating wealth and image...Why arent they like our generation ...they are so disappointing, they never turn up at protests, they think feminism stops them getting boyfriends, and their music is pathetic, blah blah. They are so me, me me"... oops! I forgot to say lazy too!!!!!

Then hallelujah they appeared. It seems in the last few weeks that every time I follow a link to an interesting blog and click on the "ABOUT ME", Khazzam! There sits someone in the 20-30 age group writing with such skill, talent and throught provoking insight I am ashamed for having ever doubted them

I just love it! The blogs are just great and many I have bookmarked because they are so informative. It is a relief really that there is a good chance thankfully that they might just do it all better than we did. they might actually create a world that cares for people and the planet. They might create world where the creative people are valued as much as the scientific people. Where big business doesnt determine the "value" of a painting or where the marketing machine doesn't determine if a book is worth publishing. Even better they might just create a world that would never vote someone like Bush and Blair and Howard in a second time.

Now I have said all that nice stuff and repented could I just put in an early request....any chance you could do a bit better with your music?

Your thought for the day

2007-01-08T11:14:00.000-08:00

People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent. Bob Dylan

Oh heck! I forgot to be a rock star

2007-01-03T14:32:00.000-08:00

Oh my! It is 2007 and this morning I woke up and suddenly realised I had forgotten something.....In those hazy morning waking minutes I remembered that I had always planned (amongst other things), to be a rock star? A Rock Star! I clearly remembered that I was absolutely certain that I was going to be THE Rock Goddess of Rock Goddesses! Why else would I have practiced with my hairbrush microphone for hours and hours in front of the mirror? Can it possibly be that all that commitment was wasted? I had so perfected that cheeky sideways glance at the camera that I had seen Annie Lennox do...I had just about got it. That sort of coquettish look? Perfect! What about that book in which I had put together all my designs for my very "interesting" stage clothes? The only thing I hadn't actually practiced was learning how to sing or play a musical instrument. Not that either of those are important really if you want to be a Rock Goddess I told myself. There was one other rather large tiny glitch along my Rock Goddess career path - I was podgy. Now I have to admit it to myself that "Podgy",without Mama Cass's voice, is a bit of a liability for the dream girl I had created in my plans.

Between you and me, the truth is that I sort of decided I had better put the Rock Goddess thingy on hold until I had a bit of free time to learn the guitar and/or sing (anything that would distract from the podgy thingy - interestingly dieting was not even considered ) and when I could do that I would be idyllically happy and every one would idolise me and THEN I would take off some weight and go to the gym. So I popped the design book in the bottom of the wardrobe, used the hairbrush for brushing my hair and did a few other things that didn't actually need me to learn an instrument nor put together a wardrobe of leopard skin tights shiny pants and gold lame revealing tops. But always hovering in the background was my secret plan to be famous and the diva I always knew I really was.......

Life went on I distracted myself by living it -I amused myself with things like going to university and working. The children's dreams of greatness became my dreams. My hairbrush microphone technique became a little rusty and a little too 60's. My dreams got pushed under further with each partner and each year. I happily drove my daughters to cello lessons and swimming classes and I enjoyed spending evenings doing things long forgotten.

And now here I am waking up in 2007 in my 60th year and I have only just remembered that I have never stood on a stage (apart from running workshops or in my ballet school concert when I was 6) . Never once have I worn too tight leopard skin pants and a gold lame top.

But this is 2007 and all doors are open. I can't help but think that if I want to be a rock star then a husky 60 year old voice might just be the thing......as soon as I learn the guitar I think I might just do it! I know I can find that old hairbrush somewhere. And while I am looking for the hairbrush I have a suspicion that some other hidden dreams might just bubble to the surface... I just can't wait.

Business or survival of the World? I guess it business

2006-12-19T07:19:00.000-08:00

"Australia emits the most planet-changing carbon dioxide per capita of any industrialised country in the world, but our Federal Government has its head too far down a coalmine to sign the Kyoto Protocol, price carbon appropriately or encourage genuine large-scale investment in renewable energy. Politicians at all levels of government need to see the writing on the wall, and realise this is not an issue for somebody else to solve - it's the issue in their backyard." www.GetUp.org.au

Our farmers are crippled by drought. Bush fires are breaking out earlier every year. We're facing record-breaking heat waves, increasing water scarcity and intensifying cyclones and storms. Each of us with hopes for our future, or with children and grandchildren who will be left with our mess, must act now. www.getup.org,au

The winter is drawing in but I dont feel like flying south

2006-12-13T10:14:00.000-08:00

Since July I haven't written very much - I do my usual daily jottings but my "work in progress" and this, my very self indulgent blog have been ignored. I have been travelling a lot over the last six months but now it is winter and it feels right to become introspective until the primroses start to break through. How better way is there than to meander amongst your dreams and thoughts than in writing?

I was born in Sydney, as my profile says, and every year as the nights grow longer there is a strange compulsion, wherever I am, to head south. This year I don't think I will.

Many of the people I love have moved away from Australia and I suspect that this drive to go back is a longing to reconnect to who I was... to a time when the world was not who I am or who I might be. I know now that we find the essence of who we are in our past. We learn much from our ancestors, not just in the colour of our hair or the shape of our nose but in the look in our grandfather's eyes, the love our father had of people, our mother's huge heart or the deep connection that our granny might have had to Welsh hills. I believe the answer to who we might be lies in that bequest that our parents gave us as they too carried forward the family knowledge and genetic makeup. The thought is bouncing around that maybe we begin where our parents left off and our task is to pick up the family baton and go forward.

Although I am only first generation Australian ,I am Australian. It is true that it has not been passed to me by my ancestors but I still feel that enticing fear in the bush of Australia and I AM seduced by the smell of scorching ironing as the eucalyptus leaves crinkle on the edge of the dirt tracks in summer. I enjoy, in that beautiful/scary kind of way, the huge open spaces and I can see the promise that beckons us in the distant landscapes. I am inspired by those huge skies that make me believe that there is no limit, no boundaries to be whoever I might be or to go whereever I might choose to go. It is like the energy of the Fool in the Tarot deck that drives you to step out and be greater than you are , to step up and be "the leading lady in your own movie" as heard in some corny film the other night. I remember when I was a young woman in London, a friend laughed when I said I loved the red dirt of Australia and he teased me saying there is no red dirt in Double Bay*. I was embarrassed that I sounded dorky but I know now that there WAS red dirt in my blood.

Despite this annual yearning to head south most of the times I feel at ease wherever I am. I recall how in the beginning my travels were to "open the gate to the bottom paddock" and let the fence around my home gets bigger but now I suspect my travels are more about trying to find where my home is. I do know now that my home is where I am with the people I love and as my daughters create their own life and my friends move to Europe I feel less and less that this year the trip south is a valid journey. Perhaps the axis is shifting.

There are some place that resonate with you more than others. I love the drive up over the Pyrennees and I feel myself soar in the Scottish Highlands. I feel my energy soar in the Californian mountains and I feel intrepid driving through the high deserts. This winter though I am going to snuggle down in the south of England and write.

*Double Bay is a harbourside suburb of Sydney

You upset the Grace of Living when you Lie -Tim Hardin

2006-06-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

I seem to be surrounded at the moment by people who's lives are changing. Some changes are painful and unasked for. Some changes made worse by the feeling of betrayal. This quote from Tim Hardin really resonated for me when I heard it today

Halting the Meanderings and Getting to the Nitty Gritty

2006-06-06T03:24:00.000-07:00

Life got in the way of my trip to Scotland. I am not sorry really as much as I love being there.

It is time to get down to the business I have committed this Summer to...re-membering myself .. to putting back the pieces that I disconnected when I was too distracted by life and my love of others to notice that I was discarding pieces of myself out the window as I negotiated the twists and turns of the way.

I am retracing my track to that point where I got lost. It was here in England where I came in 1968 full of hope and enthusiasm and knowing that I could be whoever and whatever I wanted to be. It was also here that I started to unravel the cocoon that cushioned me throughout my early years to expose the potential - the blueprint of my life.

Forgive me if you feel this sounds dramatic but just for the record, I deeply believe one of the most amazing things about each of us is that our lives our full of miracles and signposts that most of the time we just walk past and dont even notice. The sign posts that could lead us to our true potential but in our fear of facing who we truly are we run for cover. We distract ourselves with the desperate search for other things... we give ourselves messages like "I am nothing without a boyfriend" or "I can think about myself when I have sorted out the kids" or "buying loads of stuff" or "thinking the look of our body is more important than what goes on in our hearts" when all the time perhaps the most important thing is being authentically ourselves...or rather finding out who that authentic person is. The rest is just extras- wonderful, enjoyable extras, but extras nonetheless.

My time in the UK is running out. There is an urgency now for me to get down to retracing the trail before I have to go back. The difficulty is that many of those people I could remind me of what I used to be like, have disappeared into the tsunami size wave of people who have washed into my life and drifted back out.

I do know that 1968 in London stands out as a time when my life was sparkling - rich with gifts and people. Maybe that is a good starting point. I will start there. It is a good time to remember. 1968 in London was fun especially for a girl from a large ordinary family in Sydney who's life had been sheltered from anything even slightly dangerous or painful. London was Carnaby Street and Liberty's and naked dancing and ... it was a incredible. The music, the clothes, the freedom ..they all shouted to the world "that times were changing". There were people thrown into my pathway who I had only imagined ever meeting. Left wing writers, artists and revolutionaries. I met people and I now cringe about my ignorance of who they were and the courage the showed. Some meeting stand out like having lunch in Highgate with a friend and Koestler was there and I was silly...vacuous and silly... but I was just 20 and 20 then was not like 20 now. I forgive myself for being silly but not for wasting a wonderful opportunity. There were others of equal stature but I didnt know they were.

1968 was was also a time when I finally found a person who's dreams and sense of humour and heart aligned with mine for a couple of years. Throughout 1968 and 1969 he took my hand and guided me through the maze of pop concerts and the hippy life. He was the one person who woke me to the transforming magic of relationships. He was the first person that I had met that valued words and books as much as me. You have to know that growing up in Sydney then was not easy for most men unless they were football loving and macho. But my new friend was different. He had arrived from the States trying to avoid Vietnam and the army. He played with words, and made literary jokes and fell in love with Australia and me. I felt like I had been waiting for him. Together we headed to the airport and he held my hand across Europe until we married. But like all relationships they come with the gift of pain as well as pleasure and when he left a little of me died. A callous grew that enabled me to keep looking for love but never really trusting it when I found it. Perhaps here there is a key to who I was.

Perhaps...just perhaps, it is time to revisit the woods of Highgate and Hampstead Common and the chocolate maker at Primrose Hill. Perhaps I left a little piece of myself hovering there in the view from Kenwood or the dappled spring light of the beech trees. Perhaps the sweet smell of the melting chocolate will open the door to a lost memory.

Love is a constant challenge not a resting place

2006-06-04T04:33:00.000-07:00

Today is Sunday an I am still in London. The sun is shining. I treated myself to breakfast in Marylebone High Street at my favourite spot spending an hour or so over the Sunday papers.
Ah, what a treat. I love Marylebone High Street. It conjurs up all sorts of memories and fantasies for me. If I was a little flakier I might even say that I believe I had had another life there (or perhaps if I knew you better!)

Walking along I was totally lost in my private landscape when I heard someone screaming "Don't punch me again - Don't punch me again!". Now wherever you are reading this, I want you to suspend your reality and try to picture this posh little "very British" street at midday on a sunny Sunday with people just beginning to drift out into the sun. The picture, although it is 2006 is timeless if not a little too genteel for me. The thing that struck me was that no one seemed too perturbed by all the yelling except for myself and one young American man.

The truth is I have always had a problem with people being abused. Put it down to my Welsh father and his sense of social fairness if you will or maybe that I am just a busybody but it makes me what to do something. This in iteslef poses a bit of personal dilemma because I am, I should remind you, a coward. I lack courage in all sorts of ways but somehow my sense of outrage at hearing people cry for help overcomes that sometimes. So, with my brain in sleep mode, I did follow the noise to the source behind a large van which stood outside a high street supermarket. A young scruffy looking "homeless" person was being held by the neck by a very large supermarket security person and two other large male members of staff. I dont know what started this nonsense but maybe he had shoplifted something or was causing a ruckass. To be honest I have no idea and as usual went over without much information at all. What I DO know is that he was small and they were big. I also know that he was hungry looking and they looked very well fed. Now, that again makes me sort of want to do something. Whatever the reason for the troubles, there seemed to be a pretty big imblance in the power and the treatment he was getting was not right. I intuitively walked up and stood there right in front of them. I think I might have believed that if I just stood in witness, then it would stop. Which, funnily enough, it did. The big guys looked at me as if I was crazy. They let the guy go and then just walked away shaking their heads.

The whole incident led me to think about power, and the extraordinary power we, as older women often have just by being older women and standing there in our own presence. I don't know what it is about but I sense we represent another side of life sometimes to those committing violent acts. Maybe we are the mothers or grandmas of these people with a different face and for just a second we hold the same space.. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that all violence can be stopped by "just standing there" but sometimes we just cant run away and pretend it isnt going on and just witnessing might tip the balance. Liek all my thoughts, one thing leads to another and I started to think about my mother and the way she controlled us all by just giving us "her look" when we were crossing the boundary into behaviour she didnt like. No word needed to pass between us. She had no need to chide us. She had all the power she needed in "her look".

I was reminded too of Greenham Common and the imagery that the women used to change the behaviour of the police when they tried to disrupt the protest. And I thought again about those thousands and thousands of women who caught buses and trains to gather and just stand there in their presence. It made me wonder where all those women are. Those ordinary women like me who joined together to show that women do care about violence and war and senseless killing. Where are they? Are they sitting at home watching The X Factor or Noel Edmonds? I have a secret longing that they are whispering into the ears of their grandchildren that life is sacred, and love is constant challenge and not a resting place and they, like thsoe who cared before them, must carry the notion of the power of creativity rather than destruction? I hope so.

Which is a great segue into my passionate belief that we are all Creative Beings and most of us just have got lazy and lost. But more of that some other posting.

Whenever I travel I often drop into the nearest Quaker meeting. Not that I am a Quaker but there is a reassuring constancy about spending an hour sitting quietly with a group of like minded people wherever you happen to be in the world. For me, travelling is so chock-a-block full of new experiences and new sensations that often I just forget to enjoy myself in all the rushing around. There develops this absurd urgency to fit everything in before I move on and this turns my experiences into distractions rather than refilling my creative "bank". So today I again stopped for an hour to just sit an enjoy the silence. It was SO needed and so enjoyable.

Tomorrow I am driving my old Corolla to Scotland to Callander.

Water water everwhere but not in all the rooms

2006-05-27T03:37:00.000-07:00

Blame my short attention span if you like but my search has been negelcted for a few days. My friend and I decided to put our life planning on hold whilst we rested in the nurturing arms of the nearest health farm. Well that is not exactly true, the hand-on-the- heart truth is that the sight of the Two for One special late offer on the internet combined with our adolescent and self indulgent spontaneity has us chugging down the M3 in the old Corolla, (which incidentally now has a broken side mirror but that’s another story) along the leafy roads to Hampshire.

I have never been known for having any sense of elegance even when I am stationary. I have to admit that travelling exacerbates this neglect and the “Looking gorgeous” factor has never entered the packing strategy This "strategy" has, up until now, consisted of grabbing those things that happened to be at the top of the clean washing pile and putting together a combination of clothes that would cover all temperatures. For over 40 years this has worked with never more than a slight hiccup which has been easily sorted by a quick trip to the local store to buy whatever was needed. However, as my little car wound its way along the “driveway” I did question my strategy of not including a gorgeous element in the travel kit. Health Farm, health spa conjured up images of well manicured image focused women. I put the niggle aside thinking I would hide out in the pool or room just lazing around unseen.

Now I think that if you ask most people they will have some sort of understanding that England is known for its “understatement”. If, for example, a health farm such as this was in Australia or America there would be flashing signs and whiz-bang-tom-foolery along the way letting you know that it is ahead. As you got closer there might even be imposing security gates with speaker phones or signs reassuring the guest that they were indeed important, safe and very lucky to be admitted to such a place. Not so in the UK.

Back and forth we drove along the road looking for some sort of indication that we were on the right road or at least in the vicinity, not that we were late, but there was some urgency to take advantage of every second of our "two for one" priced few days. It was only on the 4th passing that my friend spotted a small sign hidden in the trees. We then twigged we had found an entrance. But what entrance, was the question? We decided that even the English couldn’t be this obscure… maybe we had found the service entrance. Whatever road we had found we were desperate to get there and together we reasoned that there was more than one road into Rome and we could somehow get ourselves to the right place one we got to the staff car park. The "unsealed" road (actually I checked later and it was actually sealed it just felt unsealed) wound itself across a golf course and down through a rhododendron lined wood of freshly-leaved beech trees. We rattled down the road for what seemed a long time, crossing over small bridges and halting for bridleways all the time still quite sure this was the “staff's" driveway. Then the view changed. The bower of leaves stopped and I was reminded of Dante’s “in the middle of the road of my life I found myself in a dark wood where even the road had disappeared……” but instead of darkness as the dark wood stopped we found ourselves confronted by a wonderful sight.

I understood then that there is something elegant about the decision to keep the entrance road the way it is. As you leave the wood the impact of the view is astounding. The trees suddenly stopped and there, smack bang in front of us was a mirrored lake complete with gliding swans and geese ushering their new goslings along the banks. And overseeing all this stood “Forest Mere”, a gracious red brick rural home that now housed the health spa.

The British “understatement” ended there. As the automatic doors opened you entered a sanctuary that seemed devoted to you. Now forgive me if this is sounding like an advertisement but every person we met who worked there seemed trying their hardest to make me feel special and nurtured. I loved it. For three days, I was fed great food, massaged from head to toe, I swam, steamed and sauna-ed, I was wrapped in strange mixtures of algae and bundled like a marinating chicken. I was immersed in minerals waters and painted and preened and I loved every single minute of it. I want to live in a health spa. There was one glitch though which had me pondering life’s big questions……

My friend had, by chance, a better room than me. Now “better” does not mean it was huge with larger beds and a private spa bath and unlimited supplies of fruit and alcohol. No! For the uninitiated “better” means this, she had a flat screen television and bottles of water in her room. I only know this because I called the reception to let them know that the maid had forgotten to leave me any bottles of water. There was a silence on the phone until I was told that I only had a “premium” room whilst my friend had a “premier” room and I would have to buy my water. How strange I thought, here I am in a health spa where the whole message is “hydrate, hydrate, hydrate” but you can only have bottled water if you are paying for the more expensive room. I was relaxed. Fair enough I thought.

Now don’t want you to imagine that I was too concerned about this. I was so relaxed by now after all the treatments I could have accepted anything. But it did start me niggling over another of the big life questions that I tend to get into. Was this incident just a “homeopathic” dose of a world where only those who can afford water will be able to have it? Is this just a precursor of yet another case where the wealthy have the right to water where the poor of the world will have to continue to walk miles? I tossed the thought around for a while but then dosed off.

It was difficult to leave to drive back to London. The drive way seemed so much shorter on the way back too. The three days had slowed me down enough to stop long enough to wonder where to now?

"Is that what they call vocation, what you do with joy as if you had fire in your heart, the devil in your body?"

2006-05-18T10:35:00.000-07:00

I am still in London: It is raining....windy and raining but this is the cost you pay for such abundance in Spring.

I woke up this morning pondering what my next steps were. I am hovering between "am I a totally irresponsible middle aged nut?" and " I am doing the right thing in looking for my "authentic self"?. There is a battle that rages between the Free Spirit and the Virgo! The truth is beginning to unfold (and this is where the trouble starts) - I have to admit that despite heading towards 60 years old, I quite like "the irresponsible person" who in the last few weeks has sat dreaming under the trees in Richmond Park. I do like the crazy person who drove through Scotland singing at the top of her voice any song that she could remember. As fruitless as it might seem to some, I did really enjoy driving with the sun pouring through the open roof along the lochs of the Scottish Highlands. I loved the freedom of driving through the enclosed expanses of Glen Coe, dragging songs up from my memory and singing them at the top of my voice through open windows til my throat was hoarse and the sheep looked bored. I loved that each of the songs was inspired by a memory. Each song was jogged by anything that happened along my way. The wide open hills and fields dragged "Dont Fence Me In" scrabbling to the top of the song list and as I sang it conjured up images of our childhood family car trips. As my 20 year old Corolla did its best to climb the hills I could have been in the old Humber Super Snipe bursting with children and my dad's songs as we headed north up the east coast to Byron Bay.
Along the twisty road from Ullapool to Kinlochbervie I was in turn, Tina Turner then Julie Andrews. I wiggled my hips and pursed my lips as Olivia Newton John and anyone who had managed to grab a little spot along my neural pathway of memories had only to stand up and make themselves known. And I had fun. Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, the Moody Blues. I sang my life's journey.

And yet, and as Shakespeare would say, here is the rub, I can't help feeling it was a diversion from my search and I got nowhere in finding out who really am and what I was born to do.

Scotland you are magnificent! In Spring, with the Primroses and the bluebells carpeting the woods and hedgerows and the trees just starting to wear the soft green of new spring leaves I love you. I always feel that the rich brown of the dark rotting damp humus is the perfect setting for the soft butter coloured primroses and the lavender bluebells.

Again I am digressing and self indulging. Life is not just about having fun I can hear old voices saying. It is time to let Virgo out of the suitcase and do her thing.

Just say, for instance, that I lost a sock or even a relative or my favourite silver bracelet, Would I just lie in bed waiting for inspiration?Mmmmm.... Probably. Ok, call me an old hippy if you like, but the truth is, I do know that the "universe" has a much larger impact on my life than I choose to admit. I have had evidence enough in my life that help comes out of nowhere..or somewhere I dont know about! Perhaps I need to listen closer to the signals. All this running maybe distracting me from the real search.

If I was looking for a lost aunt I would go hunting through databases and records to find out where she last was or if she had died or who might know of if she had kids. If I was looking for my lost sock I would trace it back to when I last had it. But I can't remember. I remember Steiner once said that the children begin where the parents left off... does that mean that a clue to what my "gifts" are can be found in my genetic makeup - if that is the case then I must find my lost aunt and cousins.

In the meantime I have to eat and live and that is just a fact. New friends tell me to look for a "care job" in the country. They are short term, in beautiful rural homes and include accommodation they tell me. You will have time to ponder who you are they nudge me. That suggestion doesn't seem to resonate much excitement. I guess the truth is I am not much of a "caring" type and I am untidy to boot. being forced to be "tidy" causes stress!!

Even though I have repeatedly told everyone who would listen that I would not do any project management work while I am here, I am secretly sending out resumes and looking once again for that boring, reasonably well paid, place to fall. Again fear sends me looking for safety!! That demon that whispers about poverty and old age is sitting on my shoulder with a voice growing louder as I falter.

STILL LOOKING FOR THAT BLUE PRINT

2006-05-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

It is May. London as always in May seems to be flicking between seasons...springlike and abundant one day and wintery the next. The one thing that never changes is how expensive it is especially for an Australian visitor. But I am not really a visitor. I am more like a migrating bird that keeps coming back to England looking for my real home, my real mate and my real blueprint.

This blog is to log my search for that one thing I can be brilliant at. That one thing that brings together all my gifts and history and knowledge to create a "me".... my blueprint.

This blog is also for all those women who have put their life on hold whilst they sorted out the kids and helped "the other" to get ahead. It is for those women who suddenly woke up one morning to find that life was blah! May I remind you that you are never too old to be who you once dreamt you would be.

Do you just know there is something you wanted to do but can't remember what it was? Do you get the feeling that somehow you have a feeling that you have forgotten what you were born to do. You have forgotten "The Blue Print" - that one thing that you can shine at...that one thing you can feel passionate about and wake up in the morning feeling excited and ready to fly.

I am 58. I have always known that it is never too late to begin. Knowing that, has been both good and bad. I guess if I knew that there was a time limit on finding my authentic self I might have got down to it. One thing I do know is that for me each year the urge to live authentically becomes stronger, pushing me with moments of great joy and the nagging pull of discontent and frustration to keep looking. Like you, I don't know what it is that I am meant to be or what I am meant to be doing but I do know that I am having fun looking and I am finding out some great things one the way.

I also like the questions the search poses. They are big questions-- questions most of us dont ask ourselves because we are too busy making the vegemite sandwiches or trying to work out a way to pay the bills. Huge questions. Questions such as what sort of world do I want to live in? What kind of person do I want to be? Sometimes the questions feel way too big and they get packed away in the suitcase under the bed again until I feel the urge to clean up. And then, when the niggle comes and the world feels like it is going arse up, Khazzam! There they are. The same old questions, still waiting to be answered.

This year I have pulled the suitcase out again and left Australia trying to find a clue. The thing that amazes me is ....that little kernel of authenticity that lives within each of us never gives up - it just keeps niggling away pushing you forward to find out who you are and why you're here. It drives you to question the wisdom of the world. We never let give up on ourselves.

So here I am in London, not sure I have done the right thing or that I am in the right place but ready (today that is!) to trust that "those thousand unseen hands" that Joseph Campbell told us about will reach out to guide me in the right direction. Tomorrow I may be scared that I should be at home, settled in my job and saving my money for a safe retirement. But today...its ok.