Words are not enough

Tuesday 1st July

So much has happened since I wrote this last Friday, that I hardly know where to begin. Lundy seems to have such an effect on me that I cannot begin to describe, where the mind goes incredibly still and silent. It is difficult to find words to describe such intense and deeply personal experiences – walking across sunlit fields in the evening light as a group of deer cross the path in front of you, watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon as a ball of glowing red fire that sets the sky ablaze, listening the skylarks as they rise high into the air and sing their hearts out, presenting to you your own private aria. How you do find the words to adequately express such intensely personal experiences that touch your soul in ways that no one could begin to imagine.

Words by themselves could never be enough to convey even a fraction of the magic that Lundy conveys. Where that magic comes from and what it means is as much a mystery as the island herself, and after 26 visits I am still no closer to discovering what this is. To me, it is about the total absence of distractions of any kind, the strength that comes from solitude and spending time in silence with nothing but your own company and the sound of the sea and the wind which washes everything away, like pouring liquid light into the soul.

Visiting Lundy allows me a very brief glimpse into my own soul. This has been a year when I have faced much heartbreak and much agonising over various things – it has been a year when I have had to face the fact that I will probably never achieve the literary success that I would have liked, yet in the end that does not matter. I am alive and Lundy reminds me of that. While places like this exist, there is light and hope for the world.

What then have I done these past few days? I seem to have crammed in a lot – on Sunday a trip to the Quarry Beach – my first since 2000 when I slipped and hurt my knee coming back up. I had been too frightened to go down since, but as I stood at the top of the ladder that leads to the beach, let out a great whoop of joy in triumph at having got over that fear. As I sat on the beach enjoying the hot sunshine on my bare arms and legs I was struck by how beautiful this part of the island is, and how when one spends any length of time there, one is transported almost to another world. Lundy is indeed one of those mythical otherworld realms, and no one who experiences her comes away untouched.

Yesterday then was a trip back to the beach, which was needed as confirmation that I had overcome this fear and could claim the beach back as ‘mine’, as another place that I could visit. This time I stayed down there for the entire morning – from around 11am until after 2pm, and then scrambled back up, as the sun went behind a cloud to traverse the other side of the island, and climb gingerly down to the bottom of the Pyramid.

Who would have thought when I first started coming to this island that I would have the strength or the courage to climb down to the bottom of a long grassy slope to a pyramid shaped chunk of rock at the foot of the sea, and sit for hours with the sun blazing down and seabirds wheeling overhead as they scuttle backwards and forwards feeding their rapidly growing young. Who would have thought that half the things that have happened to me since that first visit back in 1995, would have come to pass.

13 years ago I was working for Boots in a job that I detested; I was living at home, with no partner, but crucially had just met my first spiritual teacher. Today I am a self published author of one book, which is stocked in over 100 book shops nationwide, I have my own home, a job which I for the most part enjoy despite the challenges, and a loving partner. I am also more self aware than I have ever been, and for the first time perhaps in my entire life, have come to really love who and what I am. It is not Lundy that has given me these things, but she has certainly helped, as a place to rest my weary soul in times of trouble, lending me that shoulder of support on which I know I can always depend.

Today I awoke to glorious blue skies, and so left the cottage by 8am to walk to the Battery and around the west side as far as halfway wall to take pictures in the early morning light. Then it was back to the shop, and a brief chat to Reg, who celebrated his 77th birthday the day after mine, after 14 years on the island (the longest standing member of staff I believe), and my friends Peter and Pat.

Then it was down to the Landing Beach for what I had hoped would be a day of lazing around in the sun. The boat came in and I wandered down to the jetty to welcome her in and take yet more pictures as the people disembarked. Then it was a scramble round to Rat Island to find that the tide was too far in to attempt to get too close, and then back round to the main beach for an hour and an half until the sun disappeared behind a big black cloud.

It was still warm though, so I stayed for another hour, enjoying a brief and very cold paddle in the sea, but when the tide began to come in high up the beach around 2.30pm it was time to go reluctantly back to the village, via the shop for the Satsuma’s that I had forgotten earlier. Then onwards and upwards back to the cottage for a heavenly cup of tea and to wash the salt off my skin with a hot shower. The rain then began to come down and has been coming down ever since, in rivulets that cascade steadily down the winter pane. Well, it has been threatening for days, with the humidity steadily building, and a good downpour does clear the air.

I have three more days (four if you count Saturday) to enjoy the island before it is time to go back to normality, whatever that is. I will be counting the days until I can go back to this welcome sanctuary, the light of my existence.

Happiness is a week (or two) on Lundy

I would have posted this from the island as I went along, but did not have Internet access, and so have saved it instead for when I got back. My diary then from two glorious weeks on my favourite island, can be read below:

Friday 27 June

It is hard to believe that it is almost the end of my first week on Lundy, and even harder to believe that it has taken me this long to even begin to feel as if I wanted to write. At home it somehow just seems so easy and so effortless, I just sit at the computer and the words seem to come. This though was supposed to be a break from the computer, and so, although I have found myself looking at it and wanting to write, somehow the impetus was just not there.

Today though, and yesterday I am marooned at home due to the weather – when I say home I mean of course the Old Light Cottage, which becomes my home while I visit the island. In some ways it is more my home than the real one, since I seem to spend so much time here – when I thought about it and added it up this morning I was astonished to find that I have actually spent around 8 months of my life here on this island – 207 nights staying at the cottage and another 42 in the Radio Room.

It often seems that I am more the real me when I visit Lundy than when I am at home, what though is the real me? This is something I have pondered on at great length during my time here, and I have come to the conclusion that the real me is what lies underneath all the distractions – the silent core that remains when everything else has gone. When I say everything else, I am of course referring to all those things by which we define ourselves – in my case, the writer, the job, being Coran’s partner, and also all those things that we surround ourselves with – books, music and the aforementioned computer. While I can reach that space at home, perhaps by sitting at the viewpoint, or just through silent meditation, it is somehow easier to reach here, surrounded by nature without the distractions of everyday life. It is telling though that when I look back on my previous visits here, which I use as a marker for how much I have changed, I do not remember bringing books or music with me at all on that first visit, back in 1995, let alone a laptop. I must then have made my own entertainment.

Lundy is the sort of the place though where it becomes very easy to lose yourself not only in distractions but also in the power of now. Books I have discovered can be a distraction, and even the sound of the wind – which I use to drown out the incessant babble of my mind. That is why is seems so strange to wake up and find that the wind has dropped – in some ways, when I come here all I really do is replace one set of background noise with another.

There comes a point though, somewhere in the holiday when this association starts to fade, and for me it happened on Tuesday morning, when I awoke from an intense sleep to find that the mind was beginning to still, as it was no longer racing with thoughts the moment that I awoke. I have been watching my mind since and seeing the madness of it all – how when I become bored of the lack of distractions and unable to cope with the present moment it starts to create lists of distractions – what to eat for the next few days, where to walk, how to spend the evening, when to come back to the island for my next visit, and even what I did and ate on previous ones – it goes on and on. I then start to fantasise about what I would bring with me if I were living here for either the summer season or for an entire year – something I know is not going to happen – that moment passed a long time ago, but I can laugh and smile to myself as I do these things, seeing them for what they are – just silly ways to pass the time.

Time though is an illusion which is created by the mind, which is to say God, as mankind cannot cope with the fact that everything is happening right now. It is a way to stop us from living in the present moment and embracing that eternal moment, which Lundy is in theory at least, designed to help me embrace. For the most part she does this admirably, but still I struggle and fight against this, as it means the temporary death at least of the ego.

The ego was bruised considerably when I arrived and read the log book, and the comments made in response to mine by a certain Mr Grumpy – this is not a name that I have given him, but one that was given by another resident, as he seems to spend much of his time criticising what others have written in the log. He seems to have a strong dislike in particular of those who write longer entries, and those who talk about their lives outside of the island. It is an appropriate nickname in many ways (he does not give his real name), which seems to have stuck.

He seems to have singled me out for some reason, and I suspect this is because I fought back and wrote comments alongside this. He seems though to have a strong dislike of anyone creative, or to be more precise anyone who writes, since he has also made comments about what the mother of the author of a guide to Lundy wrote, asking if she is a friend of mine. I have never met her in my life, although I believe I did once meet her son, the author.

Much as I hate to admit though, Grumpy does have a point. It may be true that I did write a lot of my book here, and have had enquires from visitors, but most of my comments re my book were born from ego, and I do bang on about it far too much. It has been on my mind for much of my time here, will Gardner’s the wholesaler order more in my absence, since the numbers are now at the level where they should be doing so, and will Coran know what to do and do it properly.

I have changed so much as a person though these last few months that it pains me to see someone relating to me as I was when I wrote those comments, which is not how I am now. This though is the only frame of reference that he has, since he does not know the trials and tribulations I have been through and just how much I have changed. It serves to remind me then of how much work I have done and how far I have come to turn my life and my attitude around, and stop thinking of this book as mine when it is not nine at all. No more than people’s children are theirs anyway. It was interesting as well to stop and catch my thoughts almost in mid air as the ego self was there admonishing what he wrote and wanting to add yet more comments that would add fuel to the flames and get both of us nowhere. The ego you see needs him to be wrong so that I can be right; there is no right and wrong though, just differing opinions. It has been a long and difficult journey and I still have far to go, but I am getting there with Gods help.

When I realised though that my birthday (June 21st) this year fell on a Saturday, I could not resist booking to come back to this, my favourite place. I don’t think I could think of any better way in which to celebrate, although it may have been nice if the weather had been a little warmer. If it had been, I planned to start the holiday with a couple of hours sitting on the beach. There seemed little point in hurrying, as the boat got in early, after an 8am start from Bideford. It was not though to be, as the mist and the rain descended, and so it was a warm cup of tea in the Tavern instead, in the company of the other new arrivals.

This was in total contrast to 2006, when I remember sitting outside on the grass near the cottage in 80 degree sunshine, while the cleaning ladies did their thing. That was the start of a three week adventure that I don’t think I shall ever forget – not only because it was the first and only time (so far) that I have managed to spend 3 weeks in my favourite place, but also because shortly before I went, the first edition of my book was published, and I got to hold it for the very first time. That was a very emotional moment, and one that I also will not forget. It was also of course the year that I got to go up in a light aircraft and see the island from the air, courtesy of a rather nice Pilot from a flying club near Cambridge. I never did put copies of those pictures in the log book.

With the demands of work, and the worry about whether or not I will even have a job to go back to (Coran tells me there is still no news), I have been seriously neglecting myself of late, and I do and did really need this holiday. Today then, being marooned in the rain and the wind means that I am forced to spend time with nothing but my own company, listening to what I truly and deeply need, and not the over busy brain. It is fortunate then that this interruption in the weather has occurred just at the time when my brain is beginning to switch off, and I can for the moment at least, hear what lies beneath the constant babble. I am aware though that if I am not careful, there usually comes a time, a day or so later, that the brain and the ego does its best to start up all over again. Still, a day or two at most, like this, is usually all I need anyway, to re-connect with the silence, the essence of who I am, and to go deeply within.

It was not the best crossing I have had, but by no means the worst. Sea sickness tablets were taken as a precaution, but thankfully my breakfast (a wheat free chocolate muffin) managed to stay down. I met my friends, Peter and Pat at the quayside, having driven from my b&b at Brynsworthy, just up the road for the 8am sailing. After 2 early starts in a row, at around 5.45 am, I was exhausted after very little sleep.

I must be getting fitter though, since despite the fact that I was carrying this laptop and a small rucksack filled with water and spare clothes for the sailing, I made it to the top, stopping just once halfway up the path from Millcombe to catch my breath.

The cottage was as always one of the last to be done, and so following the obligatory jacket potato with melted cheese and coleslaw (yum) it was an afternoon in the pub with the Daily Mail and my neighbours in the Old Light for company.

I finally got into the cottage around 2.45 pm and then made a quick trip to the shop for provisions followed by unpacking and an early night. I slept through to 5.45 am and awoke to clear blue skies with blustery winds, and spent the rest of the morning indoors acclimatising, apart from a stroll around Acklands Moor to pick some wild flowers, and a trip to the village to send a friends birthday card. Work though was the last thing on my mind, so I was in bliss.

After lunch I went out for a walk to the top of the Quarries and back, followed by a trip to the beach, only to find that it was closed due to essential maintenance. I tried to gain access via the goat track, but found that was blocked too and so sat at the top of the track for half an hour reading, and then up to the Ugly, where I was joined by a very strange couple, the female half of which was carrying a Sainsbury’s bag full of cross-stitch and the male of which gave a running commentary as to what birds he could see through his telescope, oblivious to the fact that no one was either interested or listening.

Monday was the best day, wind free with blue skies with dawn to dusk. I made the most of it by walking down the lower east side path, possibly my favourite on the island, to Brazen Ward, where I scrambled down to the outcrop and sat watching seals, reading and sunbathing on and off for around 3 hours. I was joined at one point by another couple, but they respected my privacy and stayed at the top away from where I was, thankfully.

Around 3.30 pm I made my way back up via Gannets Combe to watch yet more seals (they really do make the most amazing sounds) and then slowly back the well trodden path past Tibbetts to the cottage for tea. It was such a lovely evening, it seemed a pity to stay in, and so an evening stroll was in order up to the Castle and back to keep an eye on things down in the landing bay and then a walk back to the Old Light to see one of the most spectacular sunsets I have witnessed.

Tuesday was a boat day, and so I decided that this would be a good day to visit the beach, as I realised that the men would temporarily stop work in order to let people up and down, and I didn’t mind the idea of sitting down there until 5pm if the weather was good. It wasn’t cold, but the sun was not out either, at least not all the time. Still, it was a good day, pottering around slowly watching the tide come in, until I managed to scramble round to the Devils Kitchen for some more scrambling around the various rocks and gullies, watching the seals watching me.

I came back just after 5pm when it started to spot with rain and then went for an evening stroll down to my friends Peter and Pat who are staying at Big St Johns. It is about the fourth year in a row that we seem to be staying on the island together, and it is nice in some ways to know that they are there should I want some company.

It is difficult to remember details of what you did sometimes after the event, but Wednesday I remember as the day when it was blowing billy oh and I went for a long walk all along the west coast as far as the North End via the Battery. I am not sure how many miles I walked that day, but my calf muscles certainly noticed it, and I was so tired I think I went to bed around 9.30pm, the earliest I have been in bed since I got here. Of course it may have been earlier had Coran been here to keep me warm, but I won’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.

Yesterday and today have both been uneventful days of mostly reading and listening to the natural sound of wind (not mine!) as it beats against the windows and the walls of the cottage. Yesterday I managed a short stroll up to the Castle and then on to the Ugly before it started to patter with rain, and today I walked in the mist all the way up to three quarter wall. It was that horrible almost half drizzle, the kind that is not really rain at all, but nevertheless soaks through your clothes pretty quickly, running down the length of your waterproofs to plaster your legs.

Still, the fire is on now though with my damp jeans drying off, and the wind and rain continues to beat against the windows as I write this. I get the feeling that the weather will change for the better during my second week, as the forecast is good, and usually a couple of days like this is followed by a longer period of sun. I need to feel the sun on my skin, and so it will be a welcome change of long balmy days spent walking the length and the breadth of the island, scrambling along ledges to reach the sea and watching the day trippers on the top of the island marvelling at how I managed to get down there. Then I will be marvelling as to how to get back up again…

Such is the joy of this island, where you can continually push through both physical and spiritual boundaries to discover what you capable of. It beats sitting on some beach on the Med and dancing drunk in night clubs ‘til 4am with strangers any day of the week, and I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be than right here, right now.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a perfectly valid way to enjoy oneself, and I guess the end goal is the same – to reach that high that can only be achieved through the rush of adrenaline through exposure to an outside stimulus. It is just that I find it preferable to achieve this through a natural stimulus – i.e., through the beauty of nature and through pushing one to the limit of ones endurance as one battles against the elements to get home, as opposed to the artificial rush that comes from loud music and alcohol. They are both highly addictive, but the natural one does not endanger ones health (or hearing) like the artificial one does, not unless you count windburn as a health hazard anyway. Personally I like the way it makes me look, with that weather beaten expression and healthy glow, and natural golden highlights.

On that note though, it is time for a trip up the Old Light to listen to the wind as it roars around the inside of the tower... I climbed up all 136 steps right to the top to admire a view, which well, today is non existent, but which normally you can see in all directions for miles, and sometimes as far away as the South Wales coast. The sound effects though were mighty spectacular, listening to the wind as it battered and howled its way around the inside of the tower.

I guess though it will be a quiet evening in, on this the last night of my first week on Lundy – how glad I am not to be going home tomorrow and leaving this splendorous isle, and how lucky I am to have another whole week to look forward to. It is hard to believe that this time last week I had just arrived at the Red House near Barnstaple, on the eve of my trip out here, having spent a rain soaked and exhilarating afternoon walking across Saunton Sands in the blustery winds that have catalogued this week.

A poem from the top of the Old Light, written by the fair hand of one Chris Eve on Friday 13th June 2008, one week ago:

When I escape this mortal shell
If God excuses me from hell
There’s just one place I want to be
Where my spirit can fly on Old Lundy

I’ll fly with the raven and glide with the hawk
The beasts of the field, with them I’ll talk
And sing in the wind and dance in the rain
And swim with the seals in their own domain

And if God in his mercy will let me stay
I’ll watch this jewel night and day

That to me sums up just what this place is all about. It gives us all a very special gift, and one for which I am eternally thankful.

Letting the masks slip

It has been a really strange week for me, with the mind buzzing, and so much to do that it has at times seemed almost overwhelming.

It is always the same before I go on holiday - so much to do and so little time. Cars to fill up, laundry to be done, bags to be packed and a million and other things to do in between, including for me, the village newsletter that I edit.

Most people it has to be said, have been very good and sent me their contributions in good time, but still it has been a rush to get it all done and organise the pages. I have had to be ruthless this month and stick to just 24 of them, even though it is a double edition for 2 months - July and August, but I think I have achieved a good mix. As well as the usual contributions from the National Trust and various local groups, I also have a piece on how to amuse the kids on long car journeys and an anonymous piece entitled I Believe, which was sent to me by my friend Barbara Stone.

Barbara is what I would describe as a networker, as she spends a large amount of time circulating various interesting snippets to the growing number of people on her mailing list. This is useful for me, since the stories all have a spiritual slant, and I do like to try and bring at least some spirituality into each issue. I think this is important, since there are three regular pages on Christianity - the church services, the letter from the Parish Rector and a piece from the local Christian Fellowship. Don't get me wrong, they are interesting articles, written by lovely people, but it is nice to have a balance between religion and spirituality and represent more than one view.

Lundy then is looming again - all being well I shall depart for Bideford early on Friday morning. If the weather is good, which it has been so far this week, I shall then hit the beach at Saunton Sands before going on to my bed and breakfast just outside Barnstaple. It is just a 10 minute drive to the boat at Bideford the following morning, which is just as well given the early start, at 8am. I have to be there at 7am, so that means an early morning call around 5.45 am. I expect to spend the afternoon then zonked out in the sun outside the pub !

I really need this holiday though, since I am just so tired, with so much going on, waiting for news about work (will I come home to find a closing down sale in the window?), worrying about whether Gardners will order more books while I am gone, and whether my partner will know what to do, wondering for that matter how he will manage on his own for 2 weeks. He has not been too good of late with this stomach playing up and getting a lot of headaches and aches and pains.

We both though relish the time alone and crave and need it, as if it is part of us, and so I know that he will cope, and cope remarkably well, because that is the type of person that he is. Despite his fears, he knows that the silence and the enforced solitude makes him stronger and closer to who he is, not further away. It does diminish, but enhances, as it gives both of us the opportunity to relax and let the masks slip, masks which we wear from day to day, even with each other. It is this that I find the most draining of all, playing all the different roles - the sales person, the writer, the blogger, the sister, the friend, the partner. On Lundy I don't have to play any roles at all, but can just be me, and nothing else.

Coran, books, music and nature

I seem to be waking up earlier and earlier of late, which I suppose is only natural given the time of year. I often find though that this is the best time of day, and certainly the most creative, so perhaps I will try to continue this habit.

As I write, the early morning sun is streaming through the windows of my study, with a gentle breeze wafting through the trees that moves them gently from side to side. The birds are twittering away as I look forward to the challenge of a new day.

My partner sits in the next room, typing at his own computer, and listening to my Chicane CD 'Far from the Maddening Crowd'. This I have discovered, is perfect music for exercising to at the gym, especially my two favourites, Sunstroke and Red Skies. We will be off to the gym soon hopefully, before it gets too hot and maybe later on for some shopping, in between cooking lunch, chilling out at the viewpoint, and cutting our grass, plus for me of course, the newsletter that I edit.

Coran is flapping about now, wondering why he is not able to put these tracks on his own computer. I keep telling him that he should put the Napster software onto his computer, and then just log in using my ID, as members can download tracks that they have bought onto three different PC's. Men though never listen !

Ah well, none of this is important I guess in the scheme of life. What to me is important? Life itself and the blood pumping through my veins. None of this 'stuff' is who I really am, but is merely trappings that I have acquired in order to make myself feel better and more secure. It doesn't work though, as I am still as insecure and needy as the next person. One thing I do know though, is that these things may well be trappings, but I cannot imagine a world without the four things that are most important to me in all the world - Coran, books, music and nature - in that order. Today I intend to enjoy all four.

A Wonder to behold

Stevie Wonder is my undoubted musical hero. Had it not been for a reading site that I am a member of, I may never have known that he had announced a European tour, including dates in London, for this September.

I was really excited to hear about this, since I am one of his biggest fans. To me this man is an absolute genius, and his songs are poetry in motion. I have most of his albums from the early 70's onwards, and quite a few of his earlier tracks too. It is impossible to say what my favourites are as these change according to my mood, but I would count among them songs such as Creepin', Too Shy to Say and Love's in Need of Love Today, as well as sixties favourites My Cherie Amour, I'm Wondering and Uptight (Everything's Alright). I don't think there is one single song of his that I don't like, as they are all special, like the man himself.

I was so excited though when I heard about these dates that I immediately searched on Google for the dates and ticket information. I then discovered that they would not be on sale until yesterday morning, Friday 13th June.

My partner and I got up early on that day and dashed to the supermarket so I could get straight on the net after 9am and try and get some seats. I kept trying and trying for around half an hour but no matter which site I went to it was the same result; I would fill in the request form for the date and number of seats that I wanted (there was just one date in London anyway), and it would come back to say that it was unable to process my request, and to keep trying. The equivalent I suppose of dialling a telephone number and getting the engaged tone.

I went away then for around half an hour to do some other stuff, and then tried again, only to find that the sale had been suspended. How upset I was to think that I would miss my hero in action! I refreshed the page though, and to my delight found that another date had suddenly been announced for the following night, which was even better than the first, since it was a Friday, meaning that I would not have to get up for work the following day and have to rush home to make sure I got enough sleep. I could not believe my luck when the screen came back to say that 2 tickets had been booked for that night.

To say that I am looking forward to this is an understatement. I have been a fan of Stevie's music for as long as I can remember. This will be the fourth time I have seen him live, the last time being a charity concert for the blind in 1996, at the Royal Albert Hall. The other 2 times were at Wembley Arena in I believe, 1994 and 1995 respectively.

The show in 1995 was the best of all of them, since we were lucky enough (don't ask me how) to get 2nd row seats. When his backing singer led Stevie on stage the atmosphere was electric and the crowd erupted in an absolute frenzy. The arena just radiated this energy of love; the only other person I have ever been in the presence of who has anywhere near this effect on people is the Dalai Llama, and this did come close to what I experienced that night.

It is often the case that what disabled people lack in one of their missing senses they make up for in other ways, and this definitely seems to be the case with Stevie, as he works his magic on
everyone who is touched by his songs. They make you laugh and cry, and touch raw emotions deep inside, touching a sense of longing deep inside that is difficult to explain to anyone who has not been touched by the magic his man possesses. Yes, it will be a special night indeed - roll on September 12th, 2008.

Fragile - handle with care

The picture in tonight post pretty much sums up my present state of mind and so it seemed a highly appropriate choice.

Thanks to the waffler since Tuesday we have had just 2 members of staff in all day, running a busy store, for up to 9 1/2 hours with no break. The 2 of us that were in were running around like tits in trances trying to get the store looking good - don't ask me why when they are probably about to close it anyway! All this because some other Managers were coming to the store to do an inspection, and of course, they cannot possibly see it as it is. Well, when one of them asked me what I thought of the company, I told them the truth, and said we were not paid nearly what we are worth. I was utterly surprised to find that he actually agreed with me.

So, to say it has not been the easiest week is an understatement. Tomorrow though is another day, and it is also the first of my three regular days off (I only work four days a week). One week from now I shall be packing my bags and heading for Lundy via the M3.

Touching God

I have been aware for a few weeks now of a sense of unease in the back of my mind, which if I do not concentrate too hard, is just on the periphery of my vision. Many live with this feeling their whole lives, unaware of the cause, and unaware that there is anything else, that they can choose another way of being. Fortunately I do not fall into this camp.

I know that ultimately what lies behind this sense of unease is non acceptance of the now - the present moment, and what is happening in my life right now. To help me accept what is, and accept the sense of unease, for it is the act of accepting it that ceases its power over me, I have begun as of today to go over the lesson cards for A Course in Miracles.

I first discovered the course back in 1996, and got halfway through the book and cards before coming to an abrupt halt. When I got to the lesson where you had to give up all your fears, I found that I was not ready to do that, and so have not looked at the book (apart from to find the odd quote etc) since. I feel though that now is the right time to start reading it again.

I was reminded of this need last night, when I continued to read the Eckhart Tolle book, A New Earth. The page that I opened it at (page 240) said:

"Choose an object close to you - a pen, a chair, a cup, a plant - and explore it visually, that is to say, look at it with great interest, almost curiosity. Avoid any objects with strong personal associations that remind you of the past, such as where you bought it, who gave it to you, and so on. Also avoid anything that has writing on it such as a book or a bottle. It would stimulate thought. Without straining, relaxed but alert, give your complete attention to the object, every detail of it. If thoughts arise, don't get involved in them. It is not the thoughts you are interested in, but the act of perception itself. Can you take the thinking out of the perceiving? Can you look without the voice in your head commenting, drawing conclusions, comparing, or trying to figure something out? After a couple of minutes or so, let your gaze wander around the room or wherever you are, your alert attention lighting up each thing that it rests upon".

This is interesting, as the first lesson from the course is "nothing in this room means anything". Readers are encouraged to do the same exercise that Tolle describes above, gradually lessening attachment to the things that they see, and encouraging us to see with fresh eyes, perhaps to really see for the first time in our entire lives.

This reminded me of a deeply touching experience that I have each time I visit my beloved Lundy - one of my favourite occupations - to go out and night and gaze at the blackness of space. Living in towns and cities as most of us do, we do not often get the chance to see the night sky in all her glory, free from artificial lights with nothing between us and the vastness of space. I often go for walks at night when I visit the island, or climb the Old Light, to just gaze at the stars.

I believe that f you do not become completely absorbed and in awe when looking into the blackness and vastness of space, then are not truly looking. At this moment we stare deep into one of life's most incomprehensible mysteries and we have completely relinquished all sense of ego and self. The sense of awe is not derived from the fact that there are so many stars, or that we are small in relation to the universe, but from the depth that contains both of these facts.

When you become aware of space, you become aware of yourself and your own inner consciousness, as your consciousness opens up to expand that which is both within and without - our own sense of God. When the senses cannot perceive of anything, and the eye has nothing to see except the blackness, then that nothingness is perceived as space and a space opens up inside of ourselves that enables our spirit to shine forth. we connect with our sense of knowing and wisdom and realise that anything is possible, as the things that we see around us are no longer obscured or defined by form and we let go of all attachments.

When we observe beauty in nature, a flower unfolding, the sound of the sea, a beautiful sunset or sunrise, we touch a sense of recognition deep inside. We know that the stillness that we see in nature is a reflection of the stillness that lies at the core of our own being.

To coin a phrase from the best science fiction (or perhaps science fact) television programme in the whole universe, Babylon Five:

"I will tell you a great secret, Captain. Perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules of your body are the same molecules that make up this station and the nebula outside, that burn inside the stars themselves. We are star stuff, we are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out. As we have both learned, sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective." -
Delenn to Sheridan in Babylon 5: A Distant Star"