A living house

When you go somewhere and the place feels alive with some primordial energy, like a sparkling happening, like there is stored energy, it isn't. The happening is happening right there and then you just can't see it. It isn't stored, time doesn't exist, everything is happening at once. But some things are so powerful that it leaks through. You’ll notice it especially in some places that have been pretty much untouched for years and years, all the matter there is the same matter that's been there forever so it sparkles with lots of energy of happenings and beauty. I guess you might say it is stored there but that's just for the likes of me and you.

That's why when you go to view a house and it's spooky people will say they can't live there because something bad happened, wait and see, something bad was happening when you viewed it but bad ‘somethings’ often decimate illusions and restore grace to a place. The next time you went it may have been a completely different feel. Don't get me wrong, there are some places where something bad is always happening and places where something good is always happening but that's just a catch 22. One bad thing happened so bad there and then that caused the feeling to scare people in another time dimension and that also informed all the ‘previous’ ones and they informed the ‘present’ ones if we keep it linear for a moment. 

If I had a house cat, I would keep it in a ‘living room’ and fill the height of the wall with ivy to keep the moisture down. Here in Cornwall the north walls get mouldy. Some beings in some countries have never heard of mould and some minds have never had to process it.

My friend has rag doll kittens that she keeps in the house. She fears they will get stolen for they are considered most beautiful and they fetch a high price.

My friend Kitto’s grandad built a plastic house on the Isle of Man. He spent a fortune on diggers and never did anything with them. He made a house out of plastic, he built it himself on the cheap. One day Kitto’s grandmother was drunk and expressed she wished to have stone walls. Now, Kitto’s mother is building a house in its place with hemp bricks, the walls will breathe. The plastic house is getting knocked down. We are glad. A real living house. A phenomenal thing for a phenomenal now. 

The Isle of Man was created by two warring giants. 

It is among the archipelago of British Isles.

It is among everything.

There is a housing crisis in Cornwall at the moment  but truly it's a home crisis. If people felt at home in themselves they wouldn't need such big places and they wouldn't be so greedy and particular. It would be nice if we could all just take a spot of Earth like the rest of the mammals and make a nest there, feed our young, nude and cosy without the fear from others that mother is secretly a pervert or pressurising texts from the NHS recommonding vaccines in the voices of Dolores Umbridge. My body is my sons home, even when we were homeless he didn't have a housing crisis. I had a home crisis though. Tossing and turning at nights in morbid fear for my life, creating and sustaining life withour understanding my own place in it. What is home? To be in the heart of yourself, safe and happy, at peace forever. 

That's why people put forever homes on pet adverts, we love to say forever even though we know we are finite, maybe we know less and more than that when we say forever. I like to hope so.

Myself, Jessica and 8 others sailed to Isle of Scillys recently; Jack, Becky, Dom, Cole my son, Matilda the daughter of Jack and Becky and Nula the dog. That made / makes  7, and the boat herself, the wooden sailing  lugger; Eileen. That made / makes  8 and that is also made / makes 1 and beyond 1. Infinity and beyond.

Jack lit old parafin lamps and hung them off the masts in the evenings. They lit the sails and wood and our faces, I sat beneath the stars among the glory of the world. 

A favourite pair of trousers went overboard when we were / are anchored at St Agnes. I will cease with the past and present now. Now and Eileen, a symphony sailing out of existence into the circle of be. We said we would wait till low tide in the morning and dive down and get them then. 

We left St Agnes, leaving the trousers on the sea bed, seeming to leave behind it's unspeakable magic, but it followed, the silent interpreter of the integrating 8. 

Even piles of trash on the Scilly Isles are stacked perfectly on the long grassy banks before the shore, before the melting of the fluorescent orange sun into the dimming turquoise sea. The stack of trash, a love letter from the true self, the inhabitants, the mirrors.

I returned ‘home’ early with my son Cole. We alighted the handsome sailboat named ‘Gleanor’, the boat of the infamous captain Spike. He met us on the shore of Tresco in a rowing boat, he rowed us slowly through strings of orange seaweed, over the ocean of heaven, past stacked boulders fringed with dangling mosses onto the good wooden boat. Gleanor flew back, sometimes she went 11 knots. She was sailed by 5 good, gentle men. They made carbonara at Falmouth Marina and we drank good red wine I’d bought at the extortionate store on Tresco. They pulled out a block of Lidl’s ‘simply value’ cheddar. I'd never eat that normally, I like organic, growth hormones and cruelty in that other stuff, but when they pulled it out it had a God presence. I often find that, you think one thing or another for a while till it becomes a religion and then the devil itself is made holy. Of course a big block of value cheese is what 5 men need when they are out at sea. I grated it handsomely onto my pasta, we didn't make a dent in the block. If that had been my small block of organic cheddar it would have been gone in two meals. I bought that cheddar when I got home and thought I could make a religion out of it. It didn't last. I am back to my small block of organic cheddar. 

Rerouting us back to the account of the trip to the Scilly’s, Eileen’s anchor dragged at the Old Grimsby anchorage. A French man jumped aboard and found the controls secreted beanthe the newly tarred sail boot of the mast and let down the chain. Jack was awed that he managed to find them their. Intuition me and Becky said together. Eileen had got to Isles of Scilly intact and with all on boat alive by the power of Jacks active chaos and anger, resilience and open heartedness, Dom's exquisite cooking and myself and Becky rocking back and forwards in the womb of the boat, with the babies and the dog, guiding ourselves and Eileen out of a deep, mundane, sleep then giving birth to us all again, the 8, the 1 and beyond into another dream. 

Jack had bought wine for Spike and the French man to thank them. Spike had provided what was necessary to fix the boat they had hit without a call to the insurance companies, because they surely would have had a faulty claim. You have to wait 12 hours at a new anchorage to make sure the anchor doesn't drag. A strong gust the coast guards had said, no ones fault. 

Jack lost the wine for Spike but I had this good red, Jack was panicking as he dropped me off in the rib the morning we left with Spike about this wine for Spike. I had the wine for Spike, of course the wine I’d bought that we never drank because of the beast that came every day and spat us all out in the galley came again. 

Never mind the wine. Spike says Jack owes him plenty and the wine doesn't cut it. Jack stole lobsters out of a fishermen's pot. Spike will tell him. 

Becky called me, they made it to Mousehole. She told of two men who came out the rushes on St when they returned. They seemed like ghosts wearing clothes of the past, they said they were farmers and had been on the island since 1620. They stroked Matildas face, smiling and nodding, knowing, interested in the child. Becky was inspired to summon reiki to protect them from the eerie moment, but who can be protected from the standing stillness to otherness into nothingness when it is only the self you shall meet?

In the rushes beside where they were sat were my trousers, washed up there a lifetime ago, probably the same time these men came to the island. We’ve been ‘home’ 5 days but it was a forever ago. Becky illuminated the happenstance to them and they replied ‘Good things happen to good people’. She called me and we play acted marvelling but nothing in this phenomenal dimension surprises us anymore, nothing and everything. It is most ordinary to be marvellous.

I am writing this because I've been observing my mind for sometime now and agree with the sages about how it's phenomenal, thoughts and feelings, they come and they go, but I'm yet to find a true self beyond that. Truth is I don't know what else to do now. I don't know what I am, where I am or what any of it means. I often get moments of a sense of dreaming, like I'm just about to wake up from something unreal. But the sense of that and the thoughts that back it all up are all just snowflakes in the drift. Perhaps I've lost the thread of the discernment spool. I can happily say one reflection about it all, it's incredible to be living, breathing, thinking and doing without being able to make sense of any of it. Of course there's plenty that makes sense here in this world but fundamentally, foundationally, I got nothing.

This leaves me with nothing better to do than write this. It's 6:20am in Penryn, Cornwall, United Kingdom, round about the time 2022 that the Queen Mother died. I made myself an instant coffee at 05:30 and have been drinking it in between rushing back to bed to feed Cole who keeps stirring awake. Last night he shouted out ‘No’ because the fluffies of an owl teddy were noising him. 

What am I? Another sad sap looking for the meaning of life, a way to escape death or at least fear of death and hopefully pain of death would be nice too. Grandad says it's a brutal world and there can't be a God, if there was a god he wouldn't have allowed all this cruelty and suffering. I genuinely have felt God presence in my life, a scaredness, an illumination of things and magical synchronicity when I let go into divine spontaneity. The being writing this now, where do the words come from? When I close my eyes in that instant to catch a glimpse of the source there's an emptiness mixed with the feeling of being alone and the sight of the fuzzy darkness of my closed eyelids.

Writing this I feel pretty content actually. It's shifted me somehow but I'm no closer to knowing myself. Maybe I'm just a body rammed full of concepts that need release. It's all pretty magical, it is. Some fish are bottom feeders, I know what I am about to say is not truly representative of the relationship between mackerel and plankton but let me just do a sweep, you'll get my meaning; Let’s say mackerel eat all the plankton and that's their job. Well maybe I'm a concept feeder, if I just process all the concepts then I'll clean the air around me. After writing these few paragraphs I entered God's presence again. . 

The energy here

Isn't stored 

It's something awesome happening in another bodies time right now 

I want to enter a different dimension.

I tell Cole, peanut butter spat all over the pillows - that's fine but the dog bowl tipped over - that's not fine. If I see one spore of mould in this house from his water shenanigans there will be a reckoning!

I think when you get anxiety, it’s because you're open. I think every human belongs to the body of one beast moving through all the things we don't know. Ninety nine percent of that beast is closed off to its experience so when a part of its body opens, the light rushes though it. That's anxiety. 

You're holistically healing the body of human beings when you get anxiety. That's why we shouldn't use deodorant. Because those little stink holes under your arm pits, those microscopic follicles a) would be an entire dimension to a bacteria being so shouldn't  be overlooked because it's comparatively small but b) and most importantly, those parts are a part of the whole and if you stuff them with chemicals you repress them and the job they do can't be done by them, it's a nip in the circle, everything gets clogged up and backed up.every thing great or small has its job to do.

When you have anxiety you're open and it's an outlet for the entire worlds repression, that's why it fizzes and makes you feel like you're going to be blown into 1000 pieces because light is literally rushing through you, so don't take it personally, don't try and fix it, just breath and trust, you won't come through it, it will come through you till you're just that light. 

On the telephone the other day Greg said 'it's all water’ - something in that opened me up. Like a portal. Maybe the water you are joins the water at large with that phrase. Water always tries to find the larger body of water. And with that there's that feeling again, is that the soul joining the larger soul and mystifying the human? 

Cole’s favourite play thing at the moment is gem stones. Crystals, rocks, I got him a few bags of tumble stones after he showed interest in some glass stones I got from a charity shop.

It was really sweet, he firstly put all the stones in the front of a toy ice cream van, like they were his living passengers. Each one must be effectively crammed in before the ice cream van could go, they fell out of the open windows and he'd have a melt down and the cycle would continue. For his friend Tabithas birthday I got them both a new bag of tumble stones which they received via pass the parcel, and since then Cole has played many games with his gems. Mostly they go inside vehicle of some kind, it's important to him that he can physically shut them into the vehicle himself. Sometimes he balances one on the top of a small car and is happy with that for some time. Sometimes he tries to hold them all in both hands when we are out walking or in walking and then he has a melt down when they drop from his hands, same situation as the ice cream van. They are so precious to him. I find them in unusual and thoughtful places and it makes my heart swell. Yesterday evening in the Natural Store I turned around and he'd placed two turtle teddies in a kiss embrace. Children are so angelic.

Yesterday we passed a woman in the street who had left over sweets from All Hallows' Eve. She gave Cole a lollipop and he gave her a gem back, he thought about it and gave her the second and then the third, she took them. Amazing. I like these gemstones as a toy for Cole, wherever we go, he drops them and gives them away and someone finds them, a little piece a magic. I can't wait to get the third bag. I too love to see them and hold them to the light, he likes me to hold them to the light for him. Blessed I am.