Astral Asbos

Oh good grief, I’m disintegrating and I’ve only been back from holiday a few days.  I got psychically mugged at the pub the other night and then last night I went on a total bender on the astral.  Lucid dreaming doesn’t half take it out of you.  I can’t complain as it was fecking awesome in every witch way but really I’m shattered and aching all over and I’m half-expecting the psychic police to come  banging at the door any moment and issue me with a warning.  Can you get an astral ASBO? 

The house is mayhem. The bags are still in the hall, half-emptied; dirty clothes in clumps making their way slowly towards the washing machine. Random men keep appearing at the door and asking random things or giving me random parcels and really I haven’t a clue what they want as the dogs are barking so loudly and my head is in another time entirely.  So I’m smiling and signing and probably selling my soul or buying a time-share in Milton Keynes or something.  My PC is behaving like a memory-challenged OAP and I’ve got my iPod on shuffle and, as I can’t ever be arsed to organise my music into types, it’s segueing from The Black Eyed Peas to Syd Barrett to The Killers to Hildegard of Bingen.  Every so often Art Giser pops up and warns me that I need to sort out my prosperity mentality (yup, Art, I know, I know - I'm working on it, alright?  Cut me some slack). 

Was I really in Turkey just a few days ago?  That's a surreal thought.  I lived on watermelon and baklava for a week as the hotel’s idea of vegetarian food was cold Brussels sprouts in curry sauce. Yeah, that’s what I thought.  I’m not a fussy eater but there are limits.  Actually I need to start eating a bit more carefully.  One or two foodstuffs a day does not a balanced diet make.  Yesterday was golden beetroot and Turkish delight; today it’s carrots and Victoria plums. 

Anyhow. Onwards. The SP needs a walk – I can see him out of the window tugging desperately at a long bramble.  Bless his heart, he’s obviously trying to weed the garden – but it’s past redemption.  James has gone to Taunton and Adrian is in St Albans. I’m supposed to be polishing off my columns but they’re all blurring into one.  Maybe I’ll try out Barbara Ford-Hammond’s new meditation download – Power Nap.  Or could I just be totally decadent and go back to the astral for a gentle afternoon frolic?

Oh, and I nearly forgot… The Sea Bands behaved impeccably and, despite long transfers along windy roads, neither James nor I felt remotely sick (despite inhaling industrial quantities of sweets courtesy of CandyKing).  I will be posting off bands to Sage, Jane and Solange... 

PS- this is hilarious - if you Google "Astral Asbo" you find a ton of pictures of Asbo Jack.  Fact. 

Beware sour-faced gurus

You know what really gets my goat?  Sanctimonious spiritual people.  Po-faced gurus.  Judgmental New Agers.  Well,  okay, there are more but that'll do for now.  See, what gives anyone the right to tell you (or me) what to do?  There’s a lot of wisdom out there, for sure, but once someone starts believing they’re the only one who’s right, that there’s only One Way and that way just happens to be theirs, I start whistling and examining my toenails.  You know how I feel about religion but, to be fair, there’s an awful lot of crap being spouted in ‘New Age’ or holistic circles too. 

Which is why Barbara Ford-Hammond delights me.  I met her on Twitter (at least I think so, I forget) and she describes herself as ‘a holistic therapist and muse’ which would, under normal circumstances, make me narrow my eyes and pick up my foot.  But she’s alright, is Barbara.  She doesn’t take herself too seriously; she has a good sense of humour (and, see, I rather think a real guru would have a blasted good – if not nigh-on evil – sense of humour). She’s just published a book called The Psychic Way – Fine-tuning your Intuition and, if you’re remotely interested in a world beyond cupcakes and shoes – it’s well worth reading. ‘I believe that we all have natural but often hidden or ignored abilities and talents that are tucked away in our psyches,’ she says.
‘You are responsible for what goes on in your mind. Only you. Others might try to influence you but unless drugs or brain-washing are involved you have the ultimate control of you. When you accept full awareness of yourself and the power within your own mind, practically anything is achievable. The only limitations are those imposed by you.’

Read that again, will you?  See, I agree with that wholeheartedly.  I really do. Whether you do or not is, of course, entirely up to you..  ;)

I actually think the title of this book is a little misleading or maybe it’s just a little offputting.  Psychic sounds alarm bells for a lot of people but really it’s only science we can’t quite measure yet.  As Barbara says, reassuringly (bless her): ‘We will remove the weird, the wacky and the woo-woo without losing the magic and charm available to you in your inner and outer world.’

If you’ve ever wondered about chakras or auras; hypnosis or meditation; clairvoyance and its cousins; spirit guides and angels; cosmic attraction; past life regression or even future life progression, this is your primer.  It doesn’t preach and it doesn’t patronise. Just gives you a matter-of-fact lowdown on the airy-fairy stuff.  Well, that's my feeling.

I gulped this book down like a long cool glass of water.  Yes, I already knew most of the stuff in it, but I like the slant Barbara gives to familiar material.  I’m now slowly re-reading it, trying out some of the meditations, pausing to let some of the images and thoughts settle in my head.  My only gripe about this was that it didn’t come with a CD of the meditations. But then it was pointed out to me that you can get downloads of a fair few of Barbara's meditations at her website: here.
And you can read her blog here...
Let's end with some quotes from the book.  If these please you, or inspire you or irritate the hell out of you, you would probably like to read this book!  If they just leave you cold, then move on...

'It's all make believe, isn't it?'  Marilyn Monroe

'Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.' Lewis Carroll in Alice in Wonderland.

'Since everything is in our heads, we had better not lose them.' Coco Chanel.

'All serious daring starts from within.'  Joan Baez

'Life is like an ever-shifting kaleidoscope - a slight change, and all patterns alter.' Sharon Salzberg.

'It's a poor sort of memory that only works backward.' Lewis Carroll.

'Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future.' Niels Bohr.

Watch Spot Die

This manifestation malarkey is working a treat.   Okay, so there’s the small question of the lottery but, hey, I won didn’t I?  And I bought another ticket as I figure today’s result was just a dry run.

In the meantime, I’m being sent exactly what I need.  Like the deep meditation track from Jackie Stewart. It’s sending me to such deep places – so way back into the past that I’m skipping millennia.  And then, this morning, a copy of The Psychic Way by Barbara Ford-Hammond.  I love it.  She’s so damn down-to-earth about airy-fairy stuff. I’ll tell you more about it when I’m done reading. 

But summer finally arrived on Exmoor today and it was too nice to stay in reading.  Adrian took James and Beth (his cousin, who’s here for the weekend) off to the mid-Devon show. I opted out.  I wanted some reflective time up at the hillfort. 

So the SP and I set off, with our lottery-won trawl, and climbed up the Cauldron (aka The Chimney, now renamed by James).  We stopped by Lulu’s tree – the one where we’d sat and she’d done her usual magic on me and absolved me of all my guilt (and, by heck, can I do guilt!) 

This tree had been bothering me for a while – the way it had a strand of ivy snaking round it.  It wasn’t an old oak tree – not like Hen’s Old Bert.  It was still straight and true.  It didn’t need strangling; it didn’t need pulling down by ivy.  So, a few days back, in the depths of my witchiness, I’d tried to pull it off.  But – ho hum – it wouldn’t detach.  Well, the middle bit did but it stayed grounded firmly at the root and stuck like superglue to the top.  Even swinging on it – like some demented Tarzan – wouldn’t dislodge the sucker.  It annoyed me.  But today I figured – whatever.  Maybe it’s okay like that.  Maybe it doesn’t mind.

And we went deeper into the woodland, away from the path, away from the possibility of people.  Following deer tracks until we found another oak – older, wiser, also straight and true, also embraced by ivy.  And I lay me down.

I had planned to do some yoga.  To stand tall in Tadasana.  To emulate the trees in Vrksasana.  To see the world sideways in Trikonasana.  To get a bit strong and centred with Virabhadrasana.  But instead I just stretched out – no, not even in Savasana, the corpse pose.  Just lay, felt myself supported by the soft ground, and gazed up at blue sky through green leaves.  I had a bit of a love-in with the Earth.  Felt the dappled sun on my face; felt the soft wind on my bare arms. 

The SP was busy – vanishing through bracken but coming back every so often to check in on me and plant a gentle lick on my face or touch a paw to my hand.

Then I turned and watched the world from the viewpoint of moss. 

I lost track of time.  I’m not sure how many hours I spent up there, clutching the earth.  Then a leaf landed on my hand – an oak leaf.  And I sat up and found an ivy leaf on my lap.  So I tucked them in my notebook, one at the front, one at the back, and walked away.

Walked slowly, meditatively, not my usual half-jog. 

Came back to find the house still empty.  So I sat in the garden and read a bit more of Barbara’s book and was pleasantly otherworldly for a little longer.  Then, all of a sudden, James was there, exuding eau de feral boy.  He plonked down next to me and handed me a sweet.  ‘Hey,’ he said.  ‘What’s a line you won’t find in an Enid Blyton book?’

I shook my head and frowned.  He started laughing, that infectious childish laughter. Could barely get the words out. ‘And so they put Timmy in a sack, threw him in the canal and said, ‘Right, we’re the Famous Four now.’
‘What?’ Started laughing myself.
‘I got this book from the fete. Did I tell you we went to the church fete as well?’
No, but never mind.

‘It’s brilliant,' he went on.  'Listen to this.  Things You Wouldn’t Read in a Children’s Book.  ‘With ten seconds to go in the Quidditch final, Hermione hid the snitch in her snatch.’ 

What the...? 

‘It gets better.  What about this? You remember Spot, right?'  I nodded weakly. God, did I remember bloody Spot.  He started grinning.  ‘Watch Spot Die!  See Spot turn malignant!’’ He convulsed with laughter.  ‘What about this one?  'As Prince Charming leant over Sleeping Beauty, he realised the Rohypnol had worked better than he’d hoped.’” He paused. ‘What’s Rohypnol?’

‘Er, what is that book?’  I snatched it from his sticky paw and rolled my eyes.  Mock the Week.   

From the church fete??

'And..Mum?  What's dogging?'

Ye gods. Where exactly in my three days of hard-working manifestation did I request that my child become exceedingly well-acquainted with filth?