“Travellers don’t know where they’re going. Tourists don’t know where they’ve been.” –Hostel wall, Inverness
I still don’t know why I’m on this journey, and though much of it was carefully planned, the actual shape of it is still unfolding. My journal is packed to bursting, as is my heart and my mind, but I have a lot of catching up to do as far as the blog goes. I meant to turn out polished, well thought out posts, but that will have to come later. For now, come have a slice of adventure with me!
The Druids of Albion are being so good to me! I am in Stroud right now, in the home of hobbits. If you’d asked me to pick a place to come to, I’d never have known to choose this one. I thought I was going to Glastonbury again, but this is definitely the place to be. My hosts don’t drive, which means I am seeing the place by footpath. There is a wonderful network of them here, and it is like being in on a great secret. The cars whizz by on the roads and we must occasionally cross their paths with care, but our world is trees and birds and the good earth beneath our feet. The canal is part of this network, and passing by the great locks is an echo of both the past, when they were in use, and a taste of the future, when they will be again.
I saw my first moorhen. It even did bird yoga for me, stretching out one wing and one foot, so I could see the shape of each. It hopped into the water, tail flicking as it paddled off. Jackdaws are everywhere. We walked to a large park to gather for the full moon just as the birds gathered to settle for the night. I’ve never seen or heard so many in one place at one time. Their strange popping calls were everywhere.
The local Druids gather in the park like my pack of friends used to, way back when. This feeling of being superimposed between past and future remains with me as I remember what was lost as the years go by. We stand in a small circle, in the dark, among the trees and share songs and stories. Kermit the Frog recites Ozymandias and we hear the story of a man who wandered into the Otherworld with his sheep. We sing, and this group actually picks up choruses quickly enough for us to all sing together. I haven’t heard their songs, nor they mine, but we are perfect in our imperfection, and our joy.
This place feels like the world I meditate on every morning on the way to work. It does exist in pockets, places where people can be themselves, where I feel I can catch my breath and be myself. This group wears what it likes. I feel like I can put all the message buttons back on my pack, and no one wonders if I’ll hurt my feet when I run around in sandals. I feel normal, whatever that is, and among my own kind. As I did at Anderida, and as I undoubtedly will at Bala. We are growing the world we need. It is in the process of becoming, as the world always is, but this time is different. We are living in wonderful, terrible, pivotal times, and places like this, where people sing and walk the footpaths unafraid in the dark, where the animals and plants are as much a part of the community as the humans, show me what the future will look like. Rooted in the past, living in the present, and one with the planet.
I was planning to go on to Bristol, not having met these folk before and not knowing their plans. I ended up canceling my hostel reservations. I’ll catch the train to Bristol in time to go north. This place is too tempting and I can hardly wait to go exploring. There are so many trees here, and such community. This is a place I could get used to and I know that this is where I was meant to be right now.