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? 

Winning Euromillions!

It’s been a funny old week.  I’ve been battling with myself – yeah, again.  I’m not the stroppy type – I only ever pick fights with myself. It’s mad, it really is.

Anyhow, I need to get a grip, make things happen.  Because we’re the ones who hold ourselves back, right?  And I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while now. Stuck. Unable to see the next move, the right move, clearly. 

Right? Rite! That’s what I needed. Something to figure out where I was going wrong; why I was being blocked (blocking myself); to get to the bottom of what I didn’t understand.  Magick.  Shit yeah.

Magick (with a k to distinguish from the rabbits out of hats malarkey).  Call it summoning powers and entities and whatever.  Or call it, if you prefer, getting in touch with your higher self, the part that isn’t a bonkers numpty. The part that knows. Oh, call it whatever you like. It really doesn't matter.

Anyhow.  While the world was whizzing around getting in a tizzy over politicians and journalists (umm, short aside: why did it all come as such a surprise, eh?) I cut off.  Did my thing.  Went dark and witchy.  

Candles were lit. Incense billowed. Circles were cast.  Sigils were drawn. Shadows danced. 

Questions were asked. Requirements were discussed.

It’s always a bit precarious and I’m wary about this summoning business now.  I used to demand; now I request.  I used to think I knew exactly what I needed: now I ask to receive what I need. 
Sometimes uncanny coincidences (hmm) occur. Sometimes the universe has a stonking great belly laugh at your expense. 

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m strapped for cash right now (holding patterns are crap for generating income).  While debating all kinds of deep and meaningful spiritual questions, I threw in a small request for some dosh.  Okay, hands up,  the lottery crossed my mind.  How much could I ask for?  In the end I went for the fall-back position (just as a test really) – let me win (no earning required) exactly what I needed.

And I bought a Euromillions ticket.

So, today the SP and I were going up to the hillfort and we stopped at the shop and bought a drink and a packet of sweets. I fumbled in my pocket for the right change: £2.60.

‘Ooh, hang about. Check my ticket will ya?’ I said to the girl serving.
She went over to the machine and turned back.  ‘Hey, you’ve won!’
My heart leapt. ‘What?’
‘Yeah.  But don’t get too excited.’

She handed me my winnings.  You’ve guessed, right?  Yeah.  £2.60.  Ho bloody ho.

Buried secrets, floating water

St George monastery

I want to go back to the desert. A day simply wasn't enough. I yearn to visit the Greek Orthodox monasteries in the Judean Desert.  Some square and solid like forts (Theodosius, Mar Saba); others clutching cliffs.  Just look at Deir Quarantal; look at St George. 

There are real fortresses in the desert too.  Seven.  Always seven.  Scattered yet connected.  Herodium. Hyrcania. Machaerus (where John the Baptist was beheaded). Dok (on the Mount of Temptation). Alexandrion. Kypros. And, most famous of all, Masada.  Yes, yes, I know they’re scattered between three lands…ah, how I hate politics.

I want to go to Qumran, to see the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. What else lies hidden?  I wonder, I wonder.  I wondered this in Egypt too as I walked over sand and rock…what magic lies hidden under our feet; what lost knowledge; what secrets?  It takes so little time for things to become hidden.  Here on Exmoor if you leave something out for a season it will become covered in moss; it will quietly fade into the landscape.  Maybe that’s why I like deserts – it’s harder to hide, harder to become hidden.  In the desert you have to hide, actively.  You have to find caves. 

How many other secrets are there, caved in, forgotten, in and around Qumran?  All over the world?

The caves at Qumran

Qumran, possibly once a fort (I like forts, can you tell?), probably a place of Essenes, potentially the City of Salt.  The Essenes are interesting – some think their thought lies behind the Kabbalah, but it’s not certain. What is?  They believed in the immortality of the soul and they figured they would receive their souls back after death (so, hmm, where were those souls when they were alive?).  They purified themselves with water…

We went down to the water, to the sea.  The Dead Sea.  The Sea of Salt.  Actually a lake bordering Jordan to the east and Israel and the West Bank to the west.  It’s 423 metres (1,388 feet) below sea levels, the lowest place on the Earth’s surface.  8.6 percent saltier than the ocean.  Okay enough facts. 

Salt.  Salt purifies.  It’s been used down through the ages to preserve food and to purify water, to cleanse wounds, to keep away evil spirits.  Virtually every ancient tradition purifies bodies and souls with salt.  

It was a surreal experience.  The spa at Ein Gedi (simple, basic, really rather refreshing) was closing for the day so we had the beach to ourselves.  You have to wear shoes – the salt crustations are so sharp. You have to walk carefully, slowly, with consideration. The water feels thick, it slides over your skin as if considering it.  You lie back – carefully again – if you get the water in your eyes it stings like seven shades of hell; if you swallow it, you feel sick to the core.  And it holds you.  You lie, supported, in water, between the sky above and the earth below.  Suspended.  Purified.  Yeah, I want to go back.  :)

 

An afterword.

The Dead Sea is in trouble.  It’s been shrinking, quite rapidly, in recent decades. One metre every year. The spa we visited was originally built on the shoreline - now it's a tractor ride away.  Sinkholes are appearing along the western shore.  Israel and Jordan are working together to find a solution but it’s not simple. You can’t just import sea water from elsewhere as it would upset the delicate balance of the water. They hope to release water from the River Jordan and slowly lift the levels.

It’s an incredible place - the world's largest spa, you could say - and it’s up for inclusion in the new Seven Wonders of the World (ah, that magical seven again!).  I’m going to vote for it (the competition is tough but this place is just so, well, strange)…you could too…click here.

Dirty Dancing?

When I was very young, I got sent to ballet classes. I was seriously crap.  Too tall, too ungainly – the ugly duckling in the back row.  Ritual humiliation on a weekly basis.  I didn’t dance for years after that, until I got into my teens and realised that I needed rhythm, a beat; drums and guitars; loose limbs not pointy toes.  I haven’t stopped dancing since.  I danced my way through university and partied my way through my twenties.  I don’t really mind what the music is – as long as it’s got a beat, my toes will start tapping, my hips will start swaying.
 
Adrian, bless him, isn’t one of life’s natural dancers – he jokes that the pogo is his dance of preference – so I tend to dance solo, or with friends, or – as you already know – with the stampeding horde of ululating women that is Zumba. 

Anyhow.  An email popped into my inbox about the Disney Channel.  Seems they’re launching an online dance contest for children and young teens. Could I publicize it?  Heck, why not?  Anything that gets children moving is good in my book.   So, here’s the blurb…

Disney Channel has teamed up with Got To Dance winner Akai Osei to launch Shake It Up: Dance, Dance, an online dance contest that will give the winner the opportunity to have their dance aired on the channel, as well as a holiday to LA and a dance master class with Akai. The online dance contest is open to anyone between 6-16-years-old.

Viewers have until August 31^st to visit the site and upload their clips. The winner will be voted for from a shortlist of 10 finalists.  So, go for it!  

Disney did a survey on young people and dance and found, encouragingly, that almost half of them dance several times a week and that 67 percent of those surveyed said that dancing made them feel happy with a quarter feeling more confident.   I dunno, dance certainly boosts my endorphin levels sky-high.  It’s a total body and mind workout and I wouldn’t be without it...  It saves my sanity!

So, so far we were singing from the same songsheet.  But then they went on to say that the survey revealed the ‘most iconic dance moments in history’ and, errr…. Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal, High School Musical’s We’re All in This Together and Beyonce’s Single Ladies.

WTF???

Now, we could be here a very very long time if I listed all my favourites but…hey…. Let’s start with.. 

Heaven’s Gate – the roller skate dance is awesome… but sadly it won't load (YouTube it - it's worth it.)

But I love the waltz too…

They got the tough street kids into ballroom with this one in Take the Lead… and by heck the tango is one sexy dance...

There's Dirty Dancing, of course… 
http://youtu.be/WpmILPAcRQo

And there's Riverdance in the campervan in Father Ted (apologies, can't find a clip for that but it's a cracker.)

But, my favourite?  It’s got to be this, huh?   Love this movie to bits..

What about you? 

Nice things

‘Did we enter a prize draw?’ said Adrian, wandering into the bedroom vaguely waving a piece of paper. (gotta love the royal ‘we’…he never enters anything!)
‘Yeah.  We did. Why?’
‘Well, looks like we’ve won something.’

And so we have.  A two-night stay at The Mullion Cove Hotel on The Lizard in Cornwall.  Veeery nice.  Very nice indeed.  I’ve been trying to materialise a free/cheap as chips summer holiday for all of us but, once again, I haven’t quite pulled it off. 

‘I suppose you and James could go,’ said Adrian slowly.  Never has man looked quite so dejected.
‘Oh, don’t be a numpty.’ 

Adrian and I rarely go away together.  Come to think of it, we rarely get to talk to one other – despite living in the same house.  Maybe it’s Fate. Maybe I got it just right after all. J

And, you know, sometimes it’s the little things that cheer you up, that keep you going.  I don’t really want or need anything material but, even so, little surprises, nice things, are…well….nice.

A disc arrived in the post today with literally hundreds of pictures from our Israel trip.  So, while I should have been working, I spent an hour just scrolling through and smiling.  Or, in this case, laughing.  

And a pack of Lillipops IcedSoothies.  They’re intended for pregnancy really – to help alleviate nausea and the symptoms of morning sickness – but with flavours like grapefruit and tangerine, lemon and mint, chamomile and orange, we’re going to be fighting over them (and no, nobody’s pregnant in this house!).

Also, in the post lately, a pack of Sun Believable self-tan.  As regular readers know, I’m deeply (or rather palely) Celtic…skin the colour of ice (or, as an Italian bloke on the beach at Pisa once said: ‘Vous avez le peau comme une bouteille de lait’).  Yup, we were speaking in French – don’t ask me why.  No, he didn’t get very far with that kind of chat-up line. 

Anyhow.  I don’t care so much nowadays about the deep tan but sometimes it’s nice not to gleam out too far in the crowd and so I am always on the look-out for a decent self-tan. Last year I was all over Xen-Tan. This year, I do believe Sun Believable has nudged the Warrior Princess aside (and no, News International has nothing whatsoever to do with it – at least, I don’t think so). 

And a couple of bottles of Righteous salad dressings (thanks to EnglishMum and her lovely blog).  I like this bunch. They’re a small young company, using only natural 100% vegan ingredients.  And the two we tried –  lemon seed and mustard;  ginger and toasted sesame seed - were both delicious. In fact, I have just this moment had a late brunch of white beetroot, red onion and broad beans with the lemon seed and mustard dressing - and very righteous I feel too.

What else?  I’m trialling Dermaquest Skin Therapy – a feather-light serum packed with hyaluronic acid and botanicals (and pleasantly free of unpleasant chemicals).  I’ll keep you posted.  

I’m still loving the beach bag I was given in Israel by Baram. These guys recycle huge advertisements into bags and book covers and so on. Mine has IRISH BUSH on it, which just amuses me mightily, because I am deeply childish.

Mrs I Bush and Rosie on the beach at Tel Aviv

And if there are any enterprising souls out there, take a look at Gitta Bags (and get them imported to your country PDQ).  These are just the neatest bags for parents with babies or young children.  We met Hagit, the designer and owner of the company, in Tel Aviv and she gave each of us a bag, taking in account the ages of our children.  One opened up to form a changing mat with a baby gym that popped out over the top.  Another was a rucksack aimed at small children, with spaces for crayons inside. The imagination, quality and attention to detail are incredible.

This isn't the one I've got but it's still pretty neat, huh?

Okay, so that’s my latest trawl.  Small things.  Nice things. 

What do you pray for?

I don't usually feature guest posts but today I'm making an exception.  When I was in Israel I met Susie Newday, a Tel Aviv based blogger.  I'd talked to Susie a bit on Twitter before we went out and I'd read her blog. Of course I loved it - what wasn't to love?  It's called New Day, New Lesson and the strap line runs: life hands you the lessons, you decide what to learn.

She is another seeker - she looks for messages.  However, I think she is a more optimistic, more open-hearted soul than I... 
I love her energy, her enthusiasm, her whole-hearted approach to life. She loves fully and totally.  She seeks the best in people; she looks for good and, hey, she finds it.  A lesson there, no? 
She met us at the airport with balloons.  She baked us huge heart-shaped cookies with our names iced on them.  She bartered for me in the souks and kept pressing little gifts on me, generosity incarnate. 

So, I would like to share her with you.  And here - to get an idea of where she's coming from - is a post she wrote for this blog.  If you like it, I'd suggest you make her acquaintance more fully - over at her place....


What do I pray for? by Susie Newday
I do quite a lot of daydreaming. Often I just let myself drift and dream about how life could be if the world was more perfect.
I am not going to do a "beauty queen" and ask for world peace because dreaming or not, I have a trace of realist in my character.

So what do I dream of for the world?

I dream of a place where people are fulfilled and their jobs are not work because they are living and working their passion.

I dream of a world where people see the uniqueness in each other and where no one feels they are any better than anyone else, just different and unique.

I dream of a world of unbridled curiosity where people sit and listen to others without interrupting.

I dream of a place of joy and emotion where people aren't afraid to share, hug and be vulnerable.

I dream of a world governed by mutual respect. We don't all have to agree, but that doesn't mean we can't let others have their own opinions and points of view. Live and let live.

I dream of a world of kindness where people aren't afraid to talk to strangers and where people go out of the way to help others.

Are all these dreams as far fetched as world peace seems right now? Maybe and maybe not. What I do feel is that every single person who makes a shift in their thoughts and actions is taking a huge leap for mankind,

What do you dream for this world of ours? Do you think we can make our dreams come true? I would like to hope so.

Do publishers patronise teen readers?

Do we patronise teens with YA fiction?  I think so.  I’m just reading a piece by Nicolette Jones in the Sunday Telegraph which argues that teenagers are mature enough to deal with dark, even brutal or gruesome fiction.  I agree wholeheartedly.  Funny thing, so do all the teens I know. 

My YA novel Samael has been read by over a hundred teens (yup, that many – I like to do my research!) and not one – no, not one – baulked at the dark moments.  In fact, quite the contrary, they loved that the book didn’t flinch at the tough stuff.  They also loved that it combined heady romance and sexy supernaturals with gritty realism.

Yet editors at YA imprints are coy, verging on infantile, when they commission.  When the first draft of Samael did the rounds of publishers earlier in the year, it was turned down for being “too dark”.  Editors baulked at the elements of realism that intruded on the fantasy – the racism, the alchoholism, the bad parenting, the rape and violence.  It seems that supernatural romance novels need to stay ‘nice’ – though the definitions of nice are a bit shaky.  It’s okay for young girls to snog bloodsucking vampires or hunt with wolves but it’s not okay to show that the countryside isn’t always a bucolic paradise; that bad things happen even in middle-class homes.

Authors however are keen to tackle such themes. Theresa Breslin, author of Prisoner of the Inquisition, is quoted in the Telegraph piece. ‘We must let our readers see that, in certain circumstances, people get hurt, physically and psychologically.  Let us not patronise, insult or disrespect our youth; it’s a writer’s obligation to deliver emotional truth.’

Patrick Ness, author of Monsters of Men, agrees: ‘To not write about serious things is, in a way, abandoning a young reader.’  And Mal Peet, author of Life: An ExplodedDiagram, adds, ‘There is an underlying idea that teenagers are empty vessels who will believe, impersonate, be irredeemably depressed by what they read.’  And, of course, they are not. 
I don’t know about you but when I was a teen I was reading widely – and reading adult fiction because the notion of YA books simply didn’t exist.  I read about murder, rape, sexism, racism, underage pregnancy. Okay, there wasn’t a lot of sex (not for want of searching) but there was a bit…and there was violence in spades. 

Nicolette Jones makes the point that ‘youngsters experience everyday traumas: muggings, bereavement, divorce. They are not living innocent lives.’ She goes on to muse, ‘Perhaps they never did. Once they went out to work, married young, watched hangings.  They fight our wars and always have. And youngsters have always scoured literature for the taboo.’

Exactly. 

Come on publishers. Don’t fall into the trap of lowest-common denominator button-pushing. I know these are tough times economically; I know you’re playing safe…but, but, but…  Bend your rules a little; break a few boundaries.  Why shouldn’t teenage novels have sex and violence in them? Why shouldn’t a supernatural romance also deal with gritty everyday issues?

I'd like to say I stuck firm to my guns but I want Samael published so, in the end, I caved in.  I rewrote the book taking out or toning down the parts that bothered the editors the most.  But I wouldn’t go all the way…so to speak.  I won’t take out the alcoholism, the racism, the lousy parenting because those elements are as fundamental to my story as the desperate, hopeless love between Gen and her supernatural lover.

If you’d like to read a little of Samael it's here on the blog.