Dear Diary, Running to become

I jogged today through the Sussex countryside damp dripping wet from the 4am rain, puddles stretching across the road, sun shining on the fields, now brown and fallow, glinting through the trees magnificent in autumn attire, green red gold.

These lanes I know so well. 

I ran miles and miles and miles through them in the 90’s. Mile after mile. Winding my way to fitness, speed, endurance… Competition, fast times…

I have been back here to work. I have been here all week.

Yesterday evening Anadi joined me, and as we left the restaurant that we had supper in, I commented, ‘I remember the feel of November here… It feels like I remember.’

In the loo of the restaurant I had seen a poster advertising their New Year’s eve event for 2020… ‘I remember your event for welcoming in 2000’ I said to the owner.

I was there …

Remembering… I was there, but it is like it never happened. It never happened

The person I was is gone. The life I was leading then is gone.

And all that remains is now.

Our past disappearing like the wake of a boat.

And now, being here all week long, it feels like London and my new life there is a myth – I made it all up… A dream I had, which I have woken from and find myself back here, in these Sussex Lanes.

Jogging along my never ending running path, taking me no where.

Which is why I like it.

The road that never ends, that goes no where and yet gives me endless lessons in Zen…

Being here, now…

I have journeyed on this running road for so long, step after step; seeking the way, the direction, a destination – only to discover, there is none

The steps go no where except within.

And so I keep going running anyway, along this road I have never travelled before, to become.

More free.

Dear Diary, A new life

Yesterday Anadii and I caught the river boat instead of the tube.

We journeyed from the Embankment to Battersea, ‘disembarked’ and then walked the rest of the way back through the park… Along the long tree lined avenue, with fallen leaves golden brown dry; beside the grey expanse of river, bright skies above.

Past the Buddha statue golden huge on his white seat… The bustle of stalls readying, appearing just for for the fireworks that night.

Celebrating gunpowder treason and plot!

Families out together, babies in prams, children racing and couples wandering.

A Saturday afternoon in London Town where I now live!

Six years of nomadic life seemingly gone in a flash…

Like it never happened.

I have stopped travelling with all I own in a rucksack. And I have landed, but not where I began…

In any way at all.

The surroundings are different, and I am different.

In truth living without a base to return to – does not truly suit me. 

As a child I was often sick before going away on holiday  – ‘Oh poor little thing. She doesn’t like going away’, my Mother would say… Off we would go, and I would settle in and have a marvellous time – only to cry when it was time to leave again…!

However my inner compass moved me to shed all I owned six years ago and take the road less travelled… And even though at times I yearned for my old life, I knew that I must keep travelling, keep letting go, keep clearing the way.

Journeying within.

And then early this year, in February I sensed the time of journeying as a nomad was drawing to a close.

I had shed not just my possessions but so much from within too.

I was lighter.

And then on my 60th birthday I shed my body and my mind too.

I collapsed on the bathroom floor at 6.30am – for no physical reason – all subsequent medical tests revealed me to be super healthy.

I left my body. I experienced a sense of aliveness, awareness, vast expanse, silence, freedom and I was zooming along at great speed towards a dot in the distance…

I had shed everything – even my self.

And then I heard Anadi calling me… And I came back.

And now a new adventure, a new life in London Town is opening up before me.

Dear Diary, Look within

I remember how helpful I found it when I was first shown how when we point a finger at someone – the other three point straight back at us!

Those three fingers are the ones that we must immediately become more interested in than the pointy one –  if we are to be free…

Free of projection, free from the hurt inside us from which the finger is pointing


It takes practise. It IS a practise to always remember to examine first our own process… Where is our vision clouded? Where are we seeing through the filter of our own story? Our own wounds – the self that is of the mind, rather than of our essence?

Our truth

Our silence

When we start to point and say… ‘He did’ ‘she did’ ‘he always’ ‘she always…’ ‘Did you see that’?

Then it is the time to look where those other three fingers are pointing – straight back at us…

I love being surrounded by people… I like people very much – their essence, their energy – meeting along the way, as we travel our earthly path together.
We encounter one another in every moment; on buses, trains, planes, coffee shops, restaurants – and in the street, out in the countryside – up mountains, by the sea…

We meet ourselves in the souls of others, who are reflecting back both our hurt to clear – and deeper than that – our essence, our one ness.
If we care to look
At the other
Our self
Namaste – I honour the part in me that is the part in you.

When I was young – in my 20’s – I yearned to retreat, to withdraw from the challenges of living in society.

The possibility of ‘getting it wrong’, seemed to present itself at every turn.
But I learnt that ‘getting it wrong’, is how we learn, how we heal and grow…
How we get it right.
Only to discover that there is no right or wrong
Way – after all.
Only the journey within.

I intuitively knew that my spiritual path must be along the rough and tumble of my life.
This is where I would learn to love…
And others.

And so I stayed in society and lived fully!
And I made so many mistakes!

But the road less travelled has always lead me back to my self
In every moment – as long as whenever I felt to point my finger I followed the other three back to within

To find silence

Dear Diary, I’m 6 miles high

I love journeying to nowhere.

Travelling on a plane or a train, with a the sense of no where to go and nothing to do.

A sense of purpose in not going anywhere…

Even when there is a destination ahead, it allows the moment to shimmer in its glorious essence and for the ‘not knowing’ to be fully experienced.

The journey of life going nowhere, only inward to truth. 

The inner journey asks that we become at ease with the unease of uncertainty; to become certain that in each moment we have all there is to step into the new unknown next moment.

Often we might stay trapped in patterns, even those we don’t like much, because they are familiar, known, uncomfortably comfortable.

But the new is unknown… And this is its gift, its expansion, its limitlessness…

And so once again, I find myself writing on a plane , six miles high, enjoying the in between land… But journeying to Edinburgh is an up and down voyage, no sooner have we set off, that it seems preparations to land are in action…

My brother suggested when I told him of my love of journeying, my enjoyment of the in between world of one moment, time suspended – that I take the train to Edinburgh – longer to be in that space, to feel tangibly the essence of the words the Buddha spake

3000 possibilities in each moment, the potential in every moment for the past to heal and for the future to be new.

I believe my brother is right, another time, I will journey by train, and watch the countryside flash by for mile after mile, while I stay still.

Dear Diary, Day 1

I feel very glad to be starting a diary blog again…

I kept a daily diary from the age of 14 to 22 and have since then written blogs and books and scribbled in notebooks.

And so here I am turning up again on my road less travelled, to share some of the steps I take towards freedom.

Which is our birthright, it is there for each and every one of us, and the keys lie within.

Because the freedom is within and when we find the keys we discover that the door to our cage was never locked.

It has been open all the time and all we had to do was spread our wings and fly.

But to fly free and light we must first let go of all that is heavy inside, all we believe to be who we are, all the stuff if our life – of lifetimes.

The story of our life can be charged with energy and reactivity and attachment to the hurts.

Which means that the past crowds into the present and our future…

But when we decide the time has come let go, to surrender then we can start to remember who we truly are….

I ran in the rainy grey sky along the grey river to the park, wet damp with dripping trees and sodden grass, shiny roads. The whizz of bikes and the pad of running feet.

This park that I raced races around many times, many years ago.

A track I once trained on as a ‘twenty-something’ full of ambition and burning zeal.

And today I find myself here again.

The burning zeal and ambition have left.

They left when they were done, when they were ready.

I let them go again and again, surrendered to the silence, felt free – for a while – but then back they always came, and so I followed their energy to feel it, to experience it – to see where it took me, to discover, running to learn…

What I needed to let go of, what I needed to clear, to surrender…

And then one day it seemed they were gone – I was left with the step.

Just the one

And the next

Revealing the path.