It is Never Too Late for Honey on the Silk Road;
Love for the ancient wisdom of the Universe and our DNA

On the Road Again
Now, now, NOW I cry like a petulant child.
Patience is the calm response.
No Now. I want to know now. Wait …
Then, Oh! Here I am, now.
The mysteries of our tribe begin to unravel.
Wait …

I have wandered on this path before,
sometimes knowing, sometimes not.
I panic as I wonder where to start.
With you, with me, with us, with them?
With them? What does that mean?
The panic begins to take hold …
Shhh. Start with you, me, us,
them later – much later.

Breathe …
Keep breathing deeply, remember slowly.
Slowly feel the ancestors.
Higher beings gather round you
Showing you the vibrant multicoloured pathways.
Your tribe’s DNA like a magic carpet.
A magic carpet that will gently reveal the stories,
The wonders of the Universe and beyond

Sip tea with honey, the Silk Road beckons …

………….

Chapter One  The beginning of the journey

Being sent to my room was never a punishment. My loose weaved bedspread was always there waiting for me. First, I would bring my blackboard and easel to the middle of the room, then my old chair would be placed opposite. My bedspread would go over them and all of a sudden my tent would be there in the middle of my room, beckoning. My maroon eiderdown would be my carpet. Being very practical, my pretty China potty and an apple or two, hidden in my pockets earlier, would come inside. Lastly, a torch and Chippy, our beloved black cat, would sneak in as my companion. I haven’t thought of this before but perhaps he was my familiar – he certainly was no ordinary cat. He had a history of saving  members of our family and protected me from a dog bursting into our kitchen when I was still in my highchair by using diversionary tactics.  As I said no ordinary cat.

I loved being inside the tent watching the sunlight play through the loose weave creating exotic patterns as I started to drift off on my journey of the day. Sometimes I would be with my tribe of native Americans, or out bush in Australia. Other times the tent would fill with the tantalising smells of Egypt, China, and other far eastern countries I couldn’t name. The sounds of the Jungle would  almost assault my senses and I would spot all sorts of animals which felt as “familiar” as Chippy. This was how I explored the world. It was only writing this, I remembered the brick wall facing my window, no wonder I travelled!

We lived near Kensington Gardens and I loved escaping there when I wasn’t in my tent. I had different adventures in the park. My favourite pastime was dodging the deck chair ticket man and building huts with them behind his back. I loved the smell of the earth and the canvas of the deckchairs mixed together. Here the squirrels, toads and pigeons were my friends as well as all the creepy crawlies. I quite liked seeing how long it would take before the deckchair patrol spotted me and, when they did, off I would run to my safe place which was the Peter Pan statue. It was made of bronze, always warm to the touch, comforting. It would shimmer with a blue green light – magic. As I stroked the rabbits, mice and squirrels who were my friends, the outside world would vanish. I loved the serene faeries like guardians surrounding the little boy who had escaped from home landing in my park. They looked after me too. Definitely my safe place.

On very rainy days I would walk up to Harrods and head straight for the banking hall in the basement. I loved sinking into the leather sofas and the squashy noise they made. From here I would look for a suitable lady, sometimes family. I could adopt. From the banking hall, I would follow them for a little and then head for the books or the animals. In fact it wasn’t just the sofas I loved, it was the whole palace like store – the beautifully decorated tiles everywhere including the loos. Ever practical, I knew where they all were. The smells had a force of their own, knew no limits – zillions of colliding French perfumes, coffees, teas, fruits, freshly baked breads and pastries, books infused with different inks, and of course animals with all their mysterious odours. My poor grandmother, who brought me up, had a really hard time worrying about where I had wandered off to, but in a strange way I was only following in her footsteps – running away when she was five, the same age I started. So no wonder this journey is about continuing to be an intrepid traveller and the tradition continues with my sons and grandchildren. We are definitely globe trotters exploring this extraordinary planet, which is only to be expected when we take into account our mixed DNA.

  The girl who started running away

For a while now Brancaster beach has been my muse. The moment I feel the sand beneath my feet, hear the waves and taste the salty tang, the past, present and future seem to merge. Memories of all the wonderful teachings that have sustained me throughout life come flooding back. Like my bedspread tent it becomes a portal where I can be transported to Australia, America, Egypt, Kenya and many other places with ease. I was delighted to discover that some of my ancestors had been on this very beach. My children, grandchildren, brother, cousins and friends have all gravitated here. As I write this I realise it feels as if our DNA is embedded in the sand itself.

Then there is the quality of the light. Even on a dank grey day there is a luminosity reminding me that we are part of a Universe full of wonder and mysteries still to be discovered, or not … is it not said by scientists that we are 98% stardust. So like a muse, I am woken up some mornings feeling a visceral call coming from a few miles away and during that day will find myself barefoot, feet rooted in that crystalline energy. Sections of my brain activated as parts of my story are gently revealed again so I can pass them on to my grandchildren and anyone else who comes across them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are times when the dunes and the light remind me of my love, dare I say passion, for camels. I would dearly love to have some as companions but I am not sure they would appreciate the wind that sometimes comes directly from the Arctic. Having said that, not long ago,  a scientist discovered camel remains there with a theory they originally came from the cold and  snow, their feet geared to traverse that landscape with its harsh weather before deserts!  I call them Time Travellers of the Soul and my story will start with them.

I think somehow I have always loved camels. Their sandy colour, big heads and graceful walk which can pick up speed when needs be. The first time I actually rode a camel was in Israel just after my youngest son was born. I just knew what to do and, once I was up there, an old familiar switch was flicked. I was back in another world without a name. A few years later, I was in Egypt and allowed to ride alone around the pyramids at night filled with a sense of utter peace. It was for real, not a dream, and yet there was a feeling of just wanting to ride off into the desert and see what would happen next. I stayed out in that magical night for as long as I could before the awareness of my sons in England brought reality rushing in. They were still little boys, still needing their mother. That cord would bring me back to them many times and it still does. Now I have two lovely daughters-in law and grandchildren who  pull on that cord too.

Back to the camels, Egypt … during that trip, I would go into other dimensions and connect with random pieces of information about artefacts in the Cairo Museum, past lives. One day I was in a felucca sailing on the Nile with some other women when I went into a form of trance. The women I was with looked slightly alarmed when I came to but my dear friend Daisy just calmly sat beside me. We went riding camels again that afternoon and she never said anything else about the trip on the felucca except that, when I came to, she pointed to a minaret above my head with the moon and sun looking as if they were part of me. The night before we left it felt like our hotel room filled with aboriginals – at the time we laughed and put it down to too many strange experiences whilst we had been in Egypt. For heavens sake how on earth were aboriginals connected to Egypt. Strangely enough when we were at the museum we had gone into a room full of artefacts which appeared one moment to be Native American, then Aboriginal, then Asian, then back to ancient Egypt. Perhaps that had triggered it. Enough, it was obviously time to go back to England. I also remembered amongst the ancient artefacts being fascinated by an object that looked very similar to a plane – more about the plane later.

I kept thinking of camels when I came home and wondering if there were any in England. There were, I discovered them in Devon and used to take clients camel trekking. They are fantastic when working with conflict – camel therapy. They seem to flush up the truth with such amazing intuition. Rather than ride them, I would give a camel to each person to walk with. During their time together with this gentle but self-willed giant, reflect on the conflict they were experiencing with someone. A solution would be mirrored in their relationship with the camel. In muddy conditions, typical in this area, camels move quite slowly and the terrain in the countryside could be challenging. By default this would allow time to process what was happening. Sometimes the animal took the lead, sometimes the person and in this way cooperation happened. If it didn’t they would both end up in the mud and be forced to find a solution. Perfect for conflict resolution.

Then out of the blue, one day the phone rang. It was my brother, a little drunk, calling from Tasmania to say that our father was dying and could I come as soon as possible. Then he hung up. The Universe definitely wanted me to go and within three days I was on a plane heading for Tasmania. My friend Daisy then told me that I had predicted this when I was in a trance on the felucca and that she wasn’t to tell me until the phone call. Apparently my tribe in Australia were waiting for me once my father died. I was to go to Alice Springs and they would find me. My sons had totally accepted that I was to go, as they had done before. I remember sitting on the plane in a state of shock wondering what on earth I was doing, especially as I didn’t know when I was coming back.