What is your iPod trying to tell you?

So I was chatting to Kim Bennett on Twitter the other day, as you do.

‘I liked the Beagle Oracle,’ she said. ‘I could do with a daily dose of BO.’  Ho ho ho. 

But really the pseudo-Beagle has been a crap oracle lately.  I fear he may be rather limited as a spiritual leader. His main messages appear to be:

Don’t listen!

Eat shit!

When in doubt curl up and go to sleep!

Run away!

Hmm, actually…maybe he isn’t so crap after all. 

But then, lately I’ve been going with the iPod oracle. How the hell did I ever live without my iPod?  I have literally thousands of songs on it now – every kinda thing you could imagine (from hip hop and heavy rock through acoustic stuff, pop and Latin-American dance to chanty floaty stuff and early church music.  Oh and a load of meditation tracks and my shamanic drumming tracks.)  And what I love to do is put it on *shuffle all tracks* and see what happens.  Really, it’s usually pretty damn good at giving me what I need.  I mean, what are the odds on getting five meditation tracks one after another when I’m seriously out of balance and need to go quiet?  Sometimes it gets an obsession with one artist or one song - I mean how many times do I need to hear Leonard Cohen's Closing Time?  Maybe it's just got a glitch... Or maybe not.  Who knows? 

Anyhow, in the morning I walk with James down to the bus and then I and the SP peel off for our walk.  I play the game that the first four tracks are the ones I need to hear.  And, you know, they always are.  Sometimes it stops there but usually it goes on, and on and on – message after message after message. Sometimes they make me laugh out loud.  Sometimes they make me wanna cry.  And sometimes it’s like having the finger wagged at you by a bloody stern teacher.  That fecking iPod can’t half get preachy on me sometimes.  You know, you should try it… it doesn’t have to be an iPod – anything that allows a real random shuffle.  YouTube doesn’t work here. And you mustn’t cheat…

Sooo, what did it play me this morning?  As the SP and I decided not to go up into the woods or by the river but rather to walk straight across the fields.  What did it say? 

It said:  

 So, what are they saying eh?  Music for thought?  Or just random noise?

And after those?  Eddie Vedder – Society.  Bob Dylan – Tangled up in Blue.  Roddy Frame – She Wolf.  Feist – Brandy Alexander.  Dido – My Life.  Syd Barrett – No Good Trying. 

I dunno, for some reason I am laughing my head off.  

Incidentally you should check out Kim's website.  She offers solo holidays for those on journeys, for those of a vaguely spiritual bent... in Greece, Cyprus or the UK.  Hmmm....how very very appealing...  www.serenityretreat.co.uk 

Limping



The Pact by deZane (http://www.dezane.com/)

Right. Now then. What was I going to say before I was so rudely interrupted by entities? Oh yes. The Journey. The Pact.

Where are we going? Well.... I have a rough idea of the final destination (Okay, let’s be honest here, I’ve been given my coordinates in no uncertain terms and in a very bossy voice) but I’ve set the cosmic SatNav to ‘interesting route’ rather than ‘most direct’. Let’s take that eh? Let’s see what happens and where we go along the way.

What I can tell you is this. There will be music. There will be art. There will be storytelling. There will be magic.

There will be joy and surprises. There may well be sadness and disappointment. Journeys, and life, rarely go exactly the way we plan, the way we desire.

We are gathering together a fine band of...what? Pilgrims? Way too dour. Let's say travelling troubadours, maybe. Some will fall by the wayside of course. Some already have and that is beyond sad. But, hey, we face choices every moment in life: yes? No? Whatever. Ego gets in the way of soul, so many times. I, I, I. Me, me, me.

I (yeah, I know!) was going to talk about other stuff today but me twisted me ankle last night. I know, I know (except of course I don't, really) – it sounds mad but I do feel there are messages in everything so I pay attention to this stuff. Ankles, apparently, are about mobility and direction. The affirmation to counter  this affliction is, apparently, ‘I move forward easily in life'. Ease? That would be good. Why does everything have to be so damn hard?  Maybe because we learn through the tough parts?  The swamplands of the soul.

Anyhow. So many ideas flying through my head right now. So much I want to show you; so much I want to ask you all. But, for now, I’m limping. So hey, today I was going to invite you to come plunging willingly down rabbit holes, landing with a bump in the gutter and bouncing up to the stars. Instead, how’s about you join me and the SP, as we go (slowly, carefully) on our morning walk?

Up into the woods...green on green with pinpoints of campion and bluebells and wild garlic.  Bracken unfurling, giving up secrets. May bursting out crazy like it couldn't give a toss.  No music in my ears for once, just birdsong - guttural croak of pheasant; pure poignancy of blackbird.  More honest sounds maybe.

We stop at my thinking spot, so high now, and look down at the river far below.  You can barely hear the babble/Babel from here.  I scribble furiously in my notebook.  Breathe. Scribble. Breathe.

Going uphill is alright but coming down is hard, so hard.  The SP watches me; he looks worried, my little dog angel.  'S'okay,' I tell him. 'I'll take it easy. Sometimes you have to take it one step at a time.'  Place each foot carefully; pick the path cautiously. 

 And we get down just fine.  And we walk through town, where everyone smiles and says 'hello' and yet I don't feel at home (but that's another post).  And come in and make coffee and a CD pokes its nose out, without a cover, begging to be played. Dido - Life for Rent.  Well, well.  I haven't listened to this for years.  So I do. 

 

And then I start thinking more about this limping thing.  And remember the wondrous Dr House (Hugh Laurie), the arch limper.  And so, let's leave this post with the good physician.

 

Dr. House: Nothing matters. We're all just cockroaches, wildebeests dying on the river bank. Nothing we do has any lasting meaning.

Evan Greer: And you think I'm miserable?
Dr. House: If you're unhappy on the plane, jump out of it.
Evan Greer: I want to, but I can't.
Dr. House: That's the problem with metaphors. They need interpretation. Jumping out of the plane is stupid.
Evan Greer: But what if I'm not in a plane? What if I'm just in a place I don't want to be?
Dr. House: That's the other problem with metaphors. Yes, what if you're actually in an ice cream truck, and outside are candy and flowers and virgins? You're on a plane! We're all on planes. Life is dangerous and complicated, and it's a long way down.

Ain't it just?  :)