Author: Duncan Toms

20 and 21 August 2013

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In meditation

20th

Body wracked with tension as if held in the very cells and bones. Nausea. Dizziness. Meeting each sensation as an equal, and despite the intensity, seeing if it is possible not to hate or fight it, even the worse things. Seemingly entering into the heart of things, via the body. The mind reacting to the body, choosing action based on feeling. Is it possible to uncover and meet everything head on and so learn?

21st

The way to peace is through the trouble. When there’s no avoiding it any longer, it becomes you, and then the trouble changes into something else entirely, is understood without an understander and is over. And one finds oneself in a new state, on ground beyond where one stood minutes before. Yet minutes have lost their meaning and so has standing. All is new and peaceful and waves of joy wash residues away. And then from a direction unseen and unknown, another energy comes, further transforming and establishing an order unplanned. None of this involves will or effort. Resting in peace is not for the dead. 

 

 

18 Aug 2013

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New routine:

Up 05:50-0600. Wash.

Meditation 06:10-07:10

Walk 07:30-08:30

Work by 09:00

Lunch 13:00-15:00

Work 15:00-18:00

Yoga 18:15-19:15

This worked really nicely for me today. The main change in the above is switching yoga from morning to evening. After my neck injury last week, I realised that it is safer to stretch later in the day. And I enjoyed the walk before work, energising me for the morning after lying down for one song. Total time to myself, without any spiritual discipline, just me and the world waking up, with the rhythm of walking.

Meditation. Yesterday:

Learning to back off and observe more cleanly. Notice the steering and controlling and naturally step away, yet still entirely aware of what’s happening. As learning takes place, a different quality washes over the brain, one of space, freedom and often blissful energy. But not fantasy – this is very real, as real as all the gritty struggles and torments one is used to.

Today:

Unsteady foundations, like the floor of Bath Abbey built on thousands of graves. In sitting still, there can’t help but be an exposure of this wobbliness, and in the awareness of it, it dissipates. On going back to the breath each time, an intermediate stage was discovered. One of rejection or criticism. ‘I don’t want to think about that,’ therefore: back to the breath. This isn’t right practice. Yet right practice exposes this wrong practice. Then, once things are smoother and steadier, move to the body. This took ages to move very far. As soon as attention moved to sensations around the head, more unstableness was apparent. Then a thought loop, then back to the sensation, instability gone, until on a new area. By moving slowly, eventually I got to the injury recovered neck. So tight! Before the time was over, I’d skimmed down the arms but by this time I was wondering about the US Open and Federer’s form. Could sleep and sleep after but going for a walk.

Only on the way back I started to notice them. Slugs. Every one or two meters a couple more, most of them were the little white ones. The road was damp after the night’s rain so probably they would be able to get across without dehydrating. I rescued one or two of them with small sticks and put them in the grass. And yet there were too many of them to save them all. It was very warm in the direct sunshine, at 8 a.m., a quiet Sunday morning except for the main road, cars firing along, Red Bull cans along the verges. I picked a couple of them up that had been left in the lane. The walk today, down past the old farm shop, past the cottage with the Aston Martin along Riversdown Road (a lane), then across the A272 towards Woodlands. In the half hour out I almost got as far as the old school. A kind of steamy air, and slightly misty along the straight road at Brockwood Bottom, the sun rays coming through the trees and the mist. Glad to be out, and be able to be out, before work. Stepping on acorns and hazelnuts, crunching satisfactorily underfoot, kicking fallen sticks off of the road, dead wood fallen during quite a stormy night, the wind up. This morning, much stiller and the summer drawing to an end.

Worked on organising Spanish translated books all day. The architect of the Krishnamurti Centre, Keith Critchlow, gave a tour of the building to guests and visitors. I joined the group for a while. He said that Krishnamurti said that if he were a visitor, he would sit in the quiet library and listen to the sounds of the fountain in the courtyard. Thanks to donations, the fountain will soon be restored after years of not working.

Evening yoga, the first since the injury. Was able to do a short headstand without a problem, and otherwise going steady and gently. Pauses between poses, rushes of energy making me yawn and sometimes scrunch my face up. At one point my arm shook like in meditation.

A clear, aware, grounded day, once the foundations had been set early on.

Walk: Ropley / Gilbert Street

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Today we walked for an hour, maybe an hour and a half in the area of Gilbert Street, just north of the South Downs National Park. Gilbert Street sounds like a street. It isn’t, just part of the loosely connected settlements in the Ropley/Monkwood/North Street area, southwest of Alton.

From Ropely we crossed a vast hayfield to towards Lyewood House:

Hay Field, Round BalesDon’t play on the round bales we were told on their introduction in the 1980s. I preferred the rectangular ones we could build dens with.

Each field a whole other scene:Ropley area

Golden Barley Field

Views to the west, climbing higherHampshire view

In Little Down woodPond near Ropley

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Near Lyeway FarmNear Lyeway Farm

Cottage at Swelling HillCottage at Swelling Hill

Into Old Down WoodOld Down Wood

Down the hill to Gilbert StreetTowards Gilbert Street

On St Swithuns Way, passing sheep and horsesMale Sheep Horse Paddock

And back to the start at RopleyRopley Hampshire

 

A good walk with many changes of countryside within quite a small area.

Hampshire Architecture – Droxford

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Droxford is a Hampshire village situated in the Meon Valley. It has the busy A32 running through the middle of it, with the river Meon just to the East along with the former Meon Valley Railway. Most of the old buildings are right on the main road, with some set back on Mill Lane and near the church. In the village you will find listed cottages and houses from the C15 to the C19, although mainly Georgian. Larger houses are the Manor House (II*), Fir Hill, West House and The Old Rectory (II*). Next to the river is the church, of Norman origin. Out of the village are some listed farmhouses, barns and their C18 granaries.

Here I present all of the listed buildings in the parish, except for a couple of barns that I couldn’t get access to. Thank you to all the property owners who gave me permission to photograph. My favourites today are The Malt House and Mill Cottage, appearing first.

The Malt House Droxford C18 Mill Cottage Droxford C16

11 Aug 2013

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Dreams: Crippled. A snivelling wreck in a damp corner, spine arched, alone, neglected, no one near. But I’ve seen him, me, caught a glimpse at least. First contact. Then… Van not starting. Others I’m with go on, leaving me, again, alone and also taking the girl I like, who just felt caring pity towards me. No one wants caring pity. On my own, trying, trying, trying to make the van start. Even pretending it does to those who ask when passing by.

Meditating after a deep dream allows the meditation to go deeper, as long as you are not too spooked and are willing to explore it in a relaxed, attentive way. The dreaming has already uncovered a lot for you.

An injured day. Neck much worse on waking and I’m unable to sit upright for meditation and breakfast and therefore work. So I spent the day propped up on pillows, finishing the yoga book, answering some work emails, watching a few things and browsing about. Saw some pictures of Marilyn Monroe doing yoga. I hadn’t realised.

Probably thinking of my neck, but it’s not good to turn to smile at the camera with one’s neck in these positions.

After some athletics this evening – Bolt does it again at the World Championships – wacthed Kirsty the property lady’s show about making furniture from free stuff. I remember something similar in the early Channel 4 days, when I first saw car seats being used in the home. The table from scaffold planks was ruggedly appealing. 

Here’s hoping the neck is freed up and painless tomorrow…

10 Aug 2013

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Woke at seven after going to sleep just after eleven.

Deep dreams these nights. Scenarios that last and last. I can’t leave them, even if I want to, and last nights was a continual getting ready to leave a hotel-like place, or maybe a hall of residence. But I was too drunk. Or disorganised. Long time periods would pass and I’d done nothing at all to prepare.

Sitting this morning was uneventful. Some unsettledness was close by, so I moved towards it, yet most of the time all was lost in little thought stories. However, a sense of deepening stillness behind the thinking bubbles. Sat in half lotus some of the time but soon got pins and needles so back to both feet on the ground, one leg slightly in front of the other, so that neither leg weighs on the other.

A simple yoga sequence today after the long review of poses yesterday. Shoulder stand, plough, forward bend. Repeat. Sit quietly. And that’s it. Some nervy sensations back of the neck. The flaw in today’s routine – straight into the shoulder stand with no warm ups. I should know that this isn’t a good idea, especially with my prone to be stiff neck, so suffering all day from very stiff trapezius both sides. 

Then an open day with absolutely no plans. Put together the walk video from yesterday:

A nap before lunch. A shortish walk with C in the afternoon, laughing together at many things. Otherwise, listening to music, and looking at suggestions from this Reddit post: What’s the one song you’d recommend for someone to listen to to get into your music genre? Most interesting for me was the chill wave, underground jazz hip hop and the chillstep. Watched some elephants on the telly. Incredible creatures! To bed early to continue reading the 60s yoga book.

Weekend Walk 49 – Gander Down to Ovington – Allan King’s Way

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The penultimate stage of my King’s Way hike, from where I left off on the Downs, not too far from Cheesefoot Head, down into the Itchen Valley via Tichborne. The church there has 11th Century origins, and at Ovington church there’s a Norman archway. Otherwise, rolling downland, open skies, arable land ready for harvest, curious calves, a gorgeous pub location, lamas, woods, then the bass and slight chaos of the Boomtown Fair at Mattersley Bowl, closing some of the South Downs Way for a week.

9 Aug 2013

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Woke at seven, after sleeping at eleven.

A good, satisfying meditation. Soon came the feelings of bliss, and a sense of light. Before long, there was that nagging feeling of looking in the wrong place or of neglecting something, so then I looked in that direction instead of the usual fritting about in thought, and there it was, the raw emotion of fear. So now that got bathed in the light of the mind emptied. What is the point of an empty mind and bliss when there is something left out? No, meditation has to include it all. It’s a total thing, or as total as it can be at any sitting, given that there are blind spots and deeper neglects waiting to be felt, addressed, acknowledged, listened to, unfolded, bathed. And then they are no longer what they were, what I thought they were, once met fully. So, to follow the nagging . It’s there waiting to be followed and soon, on the following of the gritty areas, even more ecstasy arises as the conflict dissolves. There’s the feeling, then the unfolding, bathing, and then passing beyond to newness and change.

Once I felt no more fear, I moved down into the body, as that has to be included too. I got as far as the stiff neck before the hour was up. What’s the good of a clear mind and heart if the body is still riddled? Again, include it all. No short cuts or fooling oneself.

I’m left with a curious longing in my heart. I’m following its lead as I begin today’s yoga.

Stopping in between postures is so important. This is when the energy of the posture can go to work on the system. I stop still for a minute and let everything settle down again , and for whatever has arisen to go where it wants to go. A strange pulsing at the base of the spine, rhythmical and pleasurable. Eyes fluttering. A little daydream. Pause. Then on to the next pose, steady and attentive.

I’m more and more interested in doing what is real and not what other people are concerning themselves a with. Not that what they are doing isn’t real, but my concern with their actions or opinions is immaterial and fading. Not to be self obsessed but our own selves are the important thing, how we are spending our on time an what’s going on within us. It’s easy to spend a lot of time concerned about others. No one needs your concern, even if they crave your attention.

At 11, out for a walk on the South Downs, continuing along the Allan King’s Way, the second to last stage. I parked up on Gander Down, where I got to last time, and hiked over the rolling countryside and down to Tichborne. From there it was a short hop over the A31 and further downhill to Ovington. Old cottages on the lane down to the river and the Bush Inn, in high contrast to lorry drivers shitting in the woods just above. A quick lunch in the shady garden then along the valley a bit on Lovington Lane, and left the King’s Way to head back to the Downs. The normally peaceful countryside now with bass on the breeze. The Boomtown Fair at Mattersley Bowl. After some shade on winding paths through woods, and back over the A31, my route took me into the car park. I had no idea it would. So there I was, hiking into the festival grounds. I explained to the security why I had no wrist band and where I wanted to go. It was like walking alongside some sort of prison. A trench had been dug outside of a high, green fence. A woman sat on guard high on a corner watch tower. Ska music early afternoon. The party one day in. Later, along the South Downs Way again, I met a few walking to the site. They had a ladder for the fence. Join us, they said. I forgot to tell them about the guard tower so I don’t expect they got in. Their van was parked near my car, scribbled graffiti and twitter accounts all over it.

A sleep back at home, then good to lounge about after the walking. Snippets of TV. Tyre walls on Grand Designs. An elephant mourning the loss of its friend. The brother in Little Miss Sunshine not speaking ‘because of Nietzsche’.  Uploaded this from our Swedish holiday last month:

Came back from a night in London with a foot detoxification bath thing. I’ve no idea what it’s about but I stuck my feet in for half an hour. The water stunk! It felt nice around my toes, like bicarb of soda. Even if nothing else happened, my feet felt really clean and light afterwards.

8 Aug 2013

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Woke naturally just after 6.

I’ve been sitting consistently each morning, just haven’t been writing about it. It’s not easy to do, this waking up, feeling however you’re feeling, and instead of getting busy doing the day, just… ceasing. On the cushion. You and your stuff and your relation to it. The relation is the key. Or maybe the ‘you’. And the return of ‘yesterday’. There’s yesterday to remind you of things that perhaps you don’t want to be reminded of. Residues. Fifteen thousand yesterdays, maybe. There it is. And yesterday isn’t only in the mind, but riddled throughout the body. The past, held. And here you are, with the day ahead, the past inside, the breath happening right now yet affected by ‘later’ and ‘earlier’, the breath a link between mind and body. There’s still some shaking taking place, particularly the right arm, the over-busy right arm. And the neck. And sometimes the shaking overtakes everything until the whole upper body is a wobble. This is when the slight nausea comes and when all control ceases.

I’ve been redoing the Hittleman 28 day course to reboot my yoga practice. Straight after sitting, I’m focused and calmer, able to dive into the various stretches, pleasant to move after the stillness. It’s a very good, progressive course, varied in its asanas, without the obsession with standing poses of Iyengar, and absolutely no trace of yoga flow or vinyasasa styles. This is 1960s yoga. It ties in well with the book I’m reading: Yoga, Youth and Reincarnation, again from the 60s, before yoga became a big thing. The same results are mentioned and experienced from so many unrelated sources of so many eras. Unrelated practitioners and teachers, but common health-giving properties. I’m feeling fit and well and strong on it.

Much later on the local news: “Tomorrow, we’ll be looking at how yoga is helping former servicemen.”

When walking to the school, skirting around the podgy pigeons so they don’t have to fly away. Two meters is the limit. No sudden moves. Two young ones, looking slim like doves.

A young bunny having a good scratch behind the ears. My last day of looking after the chickens. Yesterday a hen died. Old age. Only three left now after the original 20. The cocky cock tried to sneak up on me from under the coop. But I had my stick and I saw his tactic. I held the stick out in front of me and he’s so charged that he’ll jump at it, trying to attack with his sharp spurs. When that failed, he started making some strange clucky sounds and then he took it out a bit on the mother duck. She shouted at him and then he went off looking for the other cockerel, the punky one, to pick on at the other end of the orchard. Any time a chicken feeds, the ducklings scurry over to pick up any pellets spilled from the chickens pecking at the feeder. It’s the mother’s second brood this year.

On a break, feeding the fish in the courtyard pond. The orange fish’s colour is fading on the head and underside. It happened while I was away a week and the weather got very hot. I read that changes in water quality can do it, or just old age. They feed more tamely now but still do the sudden darting away to avoid being eaten, I guess, swirling the food flakes behind them. No sign of the newts. How do newts get in a pond surrounded on all sides by a building?

Read online: “For every one human killed by a shark, there are approximately 25 million sharks killed by humans.”

An hour’s walk late afternoon,  over to Bramdean and back – along the ridge then dropping down to The Fox, armed with my bramble beating spear of a walking stick. Sunny, low 20s.

Steve Tyler on Top Gear. Hard to take my eyes of his face. What is it with this rock & roll long hair, shaman, things-in-hair look? Much of a cliche. Clarkson generally looking old and ill especially when pulling his daft faces. Last feature, James & Jeremy ‘reviewing’ caravan cars, those jacked up versions of regular cars. May called one “The Nisan Kumquat”. They joke that they are all the same. Clarkson: “James is in the wrong car.” He was. James: “Cock!” The Mazda perfectly happy to crash into a VW but not a hedge or legs, apparently a selective crash detector. Caravan racing: The Stig towing a suddenly one-wheeled caravan, sparks flying. Then some off road caravanning. May: “I’ve run over your left wall and your portable lavatory.” Then: “I was laughing so much I crashed into myself.” 

Hampshire Architecture – Portsmouth: Portsea and Gunwharf

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Portsea was Old Portsmouth’s first suburb, outside of the defensive walls of the old town and of the naval base. Formerly known as Portsmouth Common, the area quickly outgrew Old Portsmouth. It was heavily bombed in WWII but dotted among the C20 and C21 redevelopments are a few C19 town houses, St George’s church in the New England Colonial style, and The George Inn. In Bishop Street there’s the old ironworks and warehouses of the Treadgold company, an interesting mix of former houses and C19 warehouses. A couple of the houses-turned-workshop hint at the former slums in this area. The university to the East has acquired the former barracks at Mildam, next to the registry office.

Just to the south is Gunwharf, the former HMS Vernon and ordnance site for the Royal Navy. Sold privately, some of the historic naval buildings have been very well restored: the impressive Vulcan Block, the infirmary and the Old Customs House, once the ordnance offices. Nearby is the former gated entrance and King James Gate, removed from Broad Street, Old Portsmouth.

At Home – Bill Bryson

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I recently finished this very interesting and informative book. It’s basically a social history, in the context of the home. During the second half of the book I began to note extracts worth sharing. In my own words:

THE STAIRS

By the late C19, 80% of English wallpaper contained arsenic. William Morris’s famous greens were made from an arsenic-based pigment. Green rooms were suspiciously free of bedbugs. No wonder a change of air could really help health!

The average person today has more than 600 times more lead in their system than 50 years ago.

Lead poisoning can induce seeing halos around objects – an effect Van Gogh used. It is probable that he was suffering from lead poisoning, as many artists did.

THE BEDROOM

The expression ‘sleep tight’ comes from when beds were made from a lattice of ropes that could be tightened.

When sleeping at an Inn before the 19th Century, it was common to share a bed with a stranger.

THE BATHROOM

Visitors and residents at Versailles could be assured in 1715 that corridors and stairwells would be cleared of faeces weekly.

A typical report found that one London house had 3 feet of human waste in the basement. The yard was six inches deep with excrement, with bricks as stepping stones.

THE DRESSING ROOM

In the mid 1600s when buttons came in, people were very keen on them, sewing them in arrays in places they had no use. A relic of this is the row of buttons, often overlapping, on a suit jacket sleeve, serving no purpose.

Artificial moles in the late 1700s took shapes like stars and moons, worn on the face, neck and shoulders. For men, which cheek indicated your political leanings.

Around the same time, it became briefly fashionable to where false eyebrows made of mouse fur.

THE ATTIC

During the 20th Century, when stately homes became tourist attractions, one elderly resident refused to leave the sitting room while the horse racing was on. “She was voted the best exhibit.”

One person in Tanzania takes a year to emit the same carbon emissions as someone in Europe produces every 2.5 days, or 28 hours in the USA.

Highly recommended reading!

Weekend Walk 48 – Near Owslebury to Gander Down – Allan King’s Way

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The fifth stage of my King’s Way hike, from Featherbed Lane near Owslebury, through Bushy Copse and up onto the South Downs at Old Down. An already warm early morning turning to hot by the time I reached Cheesefoot Head. With some shade dotted about, the walk continued around Temple Valley, merging with the South Downs Way. I left the King’s way at Rodfield Lane on Gander Down, to head back south, via some woodlands and Longwood House, with its deep rhododendron plantations. 28 degrees by the time I finished and still only around midday.

Meditation Journal Late June 2013

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June 19

The beeps of the watch alarm seemed to be slowed down, half their usual rate, as I woke. A wash in the bath then straight to the cushion. Catch-up time: unfinished tasks at work, untidy ends to thoughts, ideas and conversations. Then at the end of each cycle of thought, the rush of energy of a more empty state, like the warm draft rushing ahead in the tube. Then in the more subtle elements of thought, how is thought modifying each feeling, each sensation? How is it being added to or manipulated? Later still, the body having the freedom to act, from quieter states of mind, a release through the arm, it taking on a life of it’s own in shaking, stretching, tensing beyond tension, then quiet again, animation over. Then a rocking through the head and neck. Hands extending past a normal extension. Jaws locked out in new forms, and a deep deep ache where a wisdom tooth is still, after all these years, causing the gum to adjust a bit painfully. An hour passes in minutes, and it’s quite a long way back to a normal state, after the watch beeping a reminder. The breath fast, steady, powerful, hands now in front of the heart and slowly, slowly the breath returning. Stillness of mind resumes before getting up.

June 20

Really didn’t want to do it. Let’s wait until after the weekend, why not, please? Start a new week afresh then, why not? I’m not feeling my best, so best to leave it for now. It’s already a bit late, better not start now. Etc. I’d rather go back to bed with the laptop and while away some time. Please, let’s not go there today. But I went there. I sat down. Within minutes, feelings of peace, that somehow it’s all right. Not to say all is all right within, and yet it is in a sense. In the sense that it is what it is. A cliche, but it means something in the inner world. Acceptance? What is, is. What’s to be done? Nothing really. Watch, listen, see, allow, wait – and yet none of these really: awareness is beyond them all. the mind catches up with the unfinished thoughts of yesterday. Can yesterday finish, be over? Starting new days with left overs. And then peace comes in through a door I can’t see, and washes over the scene. And later, intensity to the point where there is nothing I can do about it. Behind the eyes. Vision behind closed lids a squeezed kaleidoscope, white light all there is in the intensity beyond pain.

June 23

A light slowly filling the headspace. At the intersection of thought, dreams and this light, an operation takes place. I felt a cleaning device of some sort reaching up almost behind the brain, getting into areas untouched in decades. The light can pervade all areas. I’ve felt similar feelings like being operated upon many times over the years. Sometimes there’s an inner-audible click as something shifts, other times a dissolving, either at a large scale that leaves no thought behind, or at a micro scale where there’s a dissolution of a tiny hook or hang up. Cycles of thinking, dreaming, light, ending, then a new space is created.

June 24

I am an escape artist. Perhaps the very ‘me’ is a mechanism of escape. When it comes right down to it, after feeling the way in, towards that which I seek to avoid, there seems to be no difference between me and the thing to avoid. In that non-difference there is great freedom, although for the time being at least it is very uncomfortable physically. But even in the discomfort there is a freshness and vitality and the feeling that there is absolutely nothing else than this, that this is all there is right now and all the wantings and hopings and directions and aims are meaningless. The clue is there, calling, calling. Listen. It’s been calling you for years, decades: over here, over here – yet we think we know better, a better direction, based on ignoring, ignorance of the calling out. The calling out is suffering, pain, that we are taught to avoid at all costs, or maybe just dabble in its shallows like the creatives have. Go deep. Go gently, go very lightly but go there. Where else?

June 25

Excruciating in the face, deep into the cheeks, eye sockets, gums. Also in the neck and arms, a deep ache such that I just don’t know what will happen as it builds as I go closer, closer, until I don’t know if I am it or it is me, or if any such division is valid. And yet as attention moves throughout, this new learning has to be relearnt, as strong sensation pulses from a forgotten part of my body. Breathing hard, out of control.

June 26

All questions of the mind, big or small, pale into insignificance in the face of the fact of suffering, and vanish entirely in the light.

Walk: Hen Wood / Westbury Park

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Hen Wood lies between West Meon and East Meon, south of Westbury Park, at the northern end of the Meon Valley. It’s one of the larger woods in the area where I live, but is only about two square km. (This shows how broken up the woodlands are in Central Hampshire.) Still, where there isn’t woodland the area is very sparsly populated. I did see one stunning newbuild home at East End, and met one of the owners nearby. I couldn’t tell whether I had right to walk in the woods. I suppose not, but there were none of the usual PRIVATE NO RIGHT OF WAY signs placed near to the footpaths.

I started at Westbury House, a care home, former school and private home. Just behind the house, the footpath leads south, and very soon I was in atmospheric woods, with many well established trees.

Westbury House to Horsedown Farm

Westbury Park Woods

Westbury Park Woods

Old farm machinery near Horsedown Farm:

Old farm machinery

After the old farmhouse, the tracks become wider, at the east of the woods.

Hen Wood

Each tree has its own character:

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Near Halnaker Lane, some views across the Meon Valley to the north to Riplington and Drayton:

Meon Valley North

And at the south side of the wood, some views to the South Downs, specifically Salt Hill and Teglease Down:

Salt Hill South Downs

South Downs

Teglease Down

Walking quickly past a clay pigeon shooting area, I headed north east, downhill toward Coombe Lane:

Hen Wood Hampshire

Hen Wood Meon Valley

Views from the lane:

From Coombe Lane

From Coombe Lane

Reentering the woods at Chappetts Copse Nature Reserve, I peaked into Westbury Park, and watched the crop waves in the wind:

Westbury Park Hampshire

The reserve:

Chappetts Copse Nature Reserve

At its northern end, the lane crosses the Meon. I really like this early 20th Century type of white road barrier:

Coombe Lane Meon Bridge

Then into a field of calves with their mothers. Even the cows were curious and they all followed me across the field:

P1020472

I stopped at a delightful spot at the river, under a large tree. Timeless:

P1020473

Then I was back in the grounds of the house, looking for the remains of the church. I saw this ruin but it doesn’t look church-like:

P1020475

Snooped about the grounds a bit, sort of pretending to be a visitor. Well I was, but not to a guest. The house was rebuilt after a fire in the early 1900s:

Westbury House East Meon

Last view into the park:

Westbury Park East Meon

Journal 17 June 2013

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Healthy mind: meditation daily, clear and rational thinking, awareness throughout the day.
Healthy body: yoga often, structural integrity exercises, non-impact exercise, whole foods without meat or dairy. No alcohol, no drugs. Not a prohibition.
Healthy emotions: in touch with the heart, long term relationship with a good woman, resolution of long term stuckness.

I’m feeling a powerful combination of all three these days, with a strong sense of something like spirit. I won’t say spirituality, nor do I now what ‘a spirit’ is yet I can say something like spirit. And with it comes and amazing sense of freedom. With the ability to reject cleanly that which isn’t freedom. To be healthy in any respect, reject cleanly that which isn’t healthy. Obvious really. There’s no limits to health.

Yoga workshop at the weekend and then the usual Monday evening class. Me and the ladies. All back body work; I don’t think I’ve ever worked the back of the legs so strongly, yet in a safe way. Can I touch my toes? No. Doesn’t matter. Yoga isn’t achievement, it’s bringing awareness to where there was none. Feeling stronger than ever at 42.

Drove C to the station for the start of an 11 day trip to Italy and Greece. We’re not often apart for so long. Departures and goodbyes help to bring out a lot: jealousy, envy, loss, attachment, fake freedom. After a long conversation last night and some tears today – “goodbye, darling” – I realised that I don’t need to be her keeper, and that freedom doesn’t have to be outside of commitment. And I can receive her love more deeply.

A friend just back from 10-day Vipassana in Herefordshire. We shared experiences for a long time over lunch. I can’t wait to go again in October – such a valuable opportunity, to sit down, shut up, watch and learn.

Hampshire Architecture – Later Southsea

Posted on by Duncan Toms

TE Owen was responsible for some additional building away from the lodges and villas of western Southsea. At South Parade there is one of his terraces, and just behind in Eastern Villas Road, three more. He also built two chapels and a lodge at the Highland Road Cemetery. Elsewhere, the drained land of Southsea was quickly built upon, with road after road of terraced houses, generally developing west to east. Interspersed in these residential areas are the large Victorian and Edwardian structures: the schools, town churches, a former convent, and the entertainment centres of The Kings Theatre and The Plaza, which is now the mosque. Near the theatre is a set of mill cottages next to which there used to be a windmill. Here I present the listed buildings of Southsea, away from the western terraces and the main part of TE Owen’s Southsea.

Journal 12 June 2013

Posted on by Duncan Toms

Not feeling so well today. Weak, some soreness of the throat, negativity, some morbid fear lingering close by. Woke and meditated as usual, in Alresford. Back to Brockwood for work, which was mostly editing summaries of talks, with some entering of new books to the archives. Hard to go anywhere about the community without having to update people, and still retelling the story to those who ask and I haven’t seen. I don’t prompt any of it; they want it. I spare the gory details. Many quickly want to skip away from the deeper notions of death, lingering so close by to us all, but one colleague and friend whose sister committed suicide quite recently was very different about the subject, much more willing to go into what her death meant to him, what death itself is, and the value and meaning of life. Not that I particularly wanted to go into those things now but the honesty and frankness was refreshing, as it was to touch these deeper themes in conversation.

So, a low key day, just getting by, letting things resolve and find their place. I found out that the dead girl was a singer song writer, not well known, but has a few videos online, and has supported some more well known acts, folky. I wrote to her sister, who did the missing person campaign, to ask when the funeral is. I’d like to attend if it’s a public funeral to pay my respect and have some symbolic ending. The only way to contact was a facebook message, which is a bit of a sketchy way to proceed.

Made some spelt bread yesterday which I’ve been enjoying. Eggy bread this evening.

Journal 11 June 2013

Posted on by Duncan Toms

Immediately on waking, before even getting up, mediated for an hour, following the breath. Some time in, a voice: “why are you trying to get rid of me?” For a long time I thought it necessary to be rid of the self somehow, and of course this set up a subtle or not ‘me vs it’ approach. Having seen the folly of this years ago there is nether the less some kind of continuance of this war (and it is a war) inside, and today the accused was at least able to meekly appeal to an end to this.

Later in the meditation, breath getting shallower, tighter, I was back on the shaded end of the beach, which is now more like a cave in my memory, and I’m circling and looking at the dead body, the distorted face, the too pale skin, the rotted mouth, congealed blood. I’m reacting with terror and aversion, and yet I’m still casually circling and looking, still not quite understanding why she’s so tiny. The scenario soon passed and thoughts returned along the lines of: what happened to her after she was last seen? What did she do for two days before parking her car at the camp site? Was she alone all that time? Was anyone else involved? Where did she jump off the cliff? Why did she feel the need to do that, if she did it herself? And to the police: Why did they not take a statement from me? Why were you so off-hand or short with me? Angry at that. It would have only taken a minute or two for one of them to stay behind with me a little, while the other two went off along the beach.

And then the hour was over, seemingly a quarter of that time, and it was time for the activity of the day to begin. (Work, rest, visit C)

Journal 10 June 2013

Posted on by Duncan Toms

Woke with the alarm at 0700. Meditated an hour, my mind still going back to the images of the body on the beach, but the body no longer reacting with fear and no longer a shocking ‘oh no!’ internally. Then back to work, retelling the story, answering questions, listening to others’ take on it. A friend asked if I felt connected now to the girl and her family. I sort of do. Maybe I should write to them somehow and explain who I am and that I am sorry for their loss and if there’s anything they want to ask, I don’t know much but I can tell what I know. Without the gruesome bits.

Catching up on emails, editing summaries of talk for disc covers and downloads. Lunch at home, kind of avoiding the busy school with the students back from their overnight camp.

Yoga this evening, the weekly Iyengar class. So good to stretch. A little tired now so not really into writing but thoughts headed to bed and to sleep and the body will follow those thoughts and the dreams will follow.

Journal 9 June 2013

Posted on by Duncan Toms

A day off. A day to catch up and let sink in, undo and assimilate.

8am drive to Southampton to take the minibuses back. Driving them empty is always fun after the weight of people has gone – the responsibility and the load. I led a convoy of five plus the car that would take us home. Sunday morning; no traffic.

Then I didn’t go out. A day at home by myself. I slept until lunchtime and again after lunch. I watched Milo & Otis, as I wanted something supremely light hearted after the heavy of the days before. The beginning was delightful. As it progressed I thought: hold on, the film makers have put that cat/dog there, hold on, they’ve just chucked a cat off a cliff. Turned out that hollywood pieced it together from a controversial Japanese art movie then got Dudley to do the cuddly voice overs. Despite my objections, a dog riding a turtle is a must.

Otherwise I wrote about the incongruous find on the beach, and the activities before and after. No exercise, no yoga, but meditation on waking. This has really helped me deal with the shock of the find and the memories that pop back and my reaction to it. It’s all about reaction and that’s where change takes place, each reaction of less impact, more neutral, and without doing anything. Posted something on facebook about the discovery and it was good to get support from many friends, new and old.