highways, byways and way stations…

'please look after this bear...'

It’s a weird place this no man’s land, in transit, transforming, not-knowing, homeless and yet oddly free. Which I guess I pretty much am. Last week was deeply painful, I wept and howled like a tormented beast. It’s hard to leave home at the best of times, harder still when you desert pets and a partner. I feel cut adrift, lost and alone. To add insult to injury, luck (and that bloody bastard, Murphy) left me with nowhere to go – familiar escape routes slammed shut and I became a Paddington, virtual tag about neck, plaintively pleading ‘please look after this bear (cat/cow?).’ I was finally taken in by a-friend-of-a-friend, who didn’t know me from Adam or what he was getting himself in for – but selflessly welcomed in this rather bedraggled stray nevertheless. I’m profoundly struck by (and grateful for) the unnecessary kindness of strangers…

I’m tempted to write psychological ‘telling’ lists (like my soundtrack theory) of what to take from a burning building (in my case: coffee machine, books, sheepskin slippers, pillow and pens) or what gets lost in breakups/divorce (black socks, pride, toothpaste and toilet paper) but today I don’t quite have the inclination. I’d rather celebrate the journey instead: train’s pulled out of the station, I’ve got a ticket to ride…

But here’s the good news: I’m treating myself to a month long retreat. Beside the sea, far from the madding crowd, “Atlantic Alchemy” seems wildly appropriate: a magical place to rediscover, reinvent, rejuvenate… and write! I’m reconnecting with old friends, back in contact with vital lifelines which were cruelly cut off. That Bright Eyes song keeps playing: ‘this is the first day of my life’…