Dreaming on the starlit hill

So, there was a hill at The Deep Pause.  A gentle slope hill, not a hard slog hill.   At the top stretched a small stone circle with a fire-pit in the centre - a mini mandala.  A line of trees protected its exposed flank, dappling shadow-shapes onto the green green, grass-green grass.

The first night most of our group crashed early to bed but Danielle, Lynn and I sat around the fire and had one of those conversations that smack you sideways because you simply aren’t expecting them.  And it was all good.  Very good. 

Stretching out on the ground felt good too, and looking up as the stars stretched themselves out felt good, and listening to the myriad little sounds of the night felt good.  So good, in fact, that when the others went in, I didn’t want to follow.  I wanted to stay right there, in that sweet sweet spot, in the soft not-so-darkness and spend the night out under the sky, wandering/wondering through star semaphore.  So I curled up in my blanket (my snugly heart throw) and did just that.

Vague thoughts of vision quests arose, of confronting fears and wotnot but, really, that was daft because there was nothing out there to confront – the scary monsters and super freaks are all inside me, not rustling in the hedgerows.  My animal medicine was yet to come. 

It got darker and darker but it was a silky blue darkness, like rubbing your face in velvet. It felt so safe up there, so held, just me and the fire and the stars; the cool breeze on my face and the crackle and warmth of the fire on my back and the rough and tumble of the earth against my side, grazing shoulder and hip and head. 

It struck me again how insane it all is.  There I was, this little ant stuck to this little planet like a fridge-magnet, whizzing through space, roller-coastering through time.  Isn’t it crazy?  You'd think that, at some point, the earth would go 'Oh, just sod it' and let go and you'd just ping off out there, like a stone from a child's catapult.  For now at least, it doesn't but, while the body stays behind, the mind can go...anywhere, anywhen.  Can't it?  

I put another log on the fire and turned over to stare at the stars and dream and dream and dream. 

'Proper' report coming soon on Queen of Retreats.

Waterloo Farm is pretty magical - if you're planning a trip to Cornwall, maybe check out their website?