Posts tagged with "solo"

The solo journey: snow, sun and sheep on the hill…

The outward journey…

Snow, falling gently on frozen ground

lightens sky and track

in the distance wood smoke rises from a tipi

leaving wispy traces in the cold, clear air

Solo participants taking their places around the circle of stones

surrounding a fire which crackles and spits

offering some comfort from the cold, winter chill

a singing bowl rings out  heralding  daybreak and time to step over another threshold

Trekking uphill, boots crunching in snow

ice cracking beneath my feet,  freezing wind biting my face

clouds tinged with pink seeming to warm the early morning winter sky

and a grouse, startled, flies low across my path.

Sun rising now beyond the hill sets clouds ablaze

before reaching a crescendo and

bursting over the horizon

 heralding a new day bright with hope and possibilities

Sheep on distant slopes

wandering aimlessly  over frozen ground

baaing hungrily and incessantly

waiting to be fed and nourished

The return journey…

Snow… a stark reminder of November 2010

when usual habits were disrupted

when global became local

when we asked questions of climate change…

Sun… dipping low in a pale wintery sky

drawing the day to a close

marking the passing of time and

reminding me of the temporal nature of life…

Sheep…  familiar now on these frozen hills

form an orderly  line behind a farmer’s quad

an indication of changing landscapes, of our impact on the land

and make me think about the global food supply

a Solo participant… returning slowly along the path ahead

seems to offer  support and challenge

opening up possibilities for me to think which path will ‘we’ take now?

Who will walk with me, talk with me, care with me, change with me?

Finally… gathering clouds obscure the sun 

signalling the end of this solo experience

returning to the tipi, I cross the threshold once more

wondering what we will take forward from this …

Solo, Dawn ‘til Noon, February, Glen Prosen

I cross the threshold, a now familiar feeling of beginning, of opening to possibility, a joyous not knowing.

The morning is monochrome, an Ansel Adams and when dawn breaks the colour bleeds back into the landscape slowly, ochre yellow, moss green, burnt heather.

The bleating of the sheep is curiously rowdy and I realise that they mistake me for the farmer as they come running off the hillside at first in twos and threes, then in their tens.  I am confronted now with the expectant stares and tumultuous bleating of over a hundred sheep.  I am an accidental Pied Piper.  I think of where my deep gladness at being on this hillside meets the deep hunger of the sheep and I find myself wanting.  I would swap my flask of hot coffee for a bag of sheep mix now, it’s been a hard winter.  They follow me hopefully but soon give up following this imposter Messiah and continue to wait for the Chosen One!

The sun rises, the colours intensify, baby pink, steel blue, citrus orange but language feels inadequate in the naming of this palette.  I recall a voice from our work earlier in the week and I contemplate the scarification of the landscape.  I am not walking on a track but a tract of burnt heather, a Paul Nash painting in miniature.  Facing forwards, up the hill, the sun is appearing over the horizon and it’s consuming magnificence is a kind of utopia.

Turning back, looking down across the hills of burnt grouse moor and torn up woodland, I see dystopia too.

Forwards/ backwards…inside/out…long-shot/close-up…surface/deep…utopia/dystopia…

So many of the threads of the week unravel and weave again in my mind.

The wind has dropped.

I’m sitting against a post and wire fence that demarks the edge of the spruce plantation and realise I may have found my railings for today.  I wonder how long I will be able to be chained here willingly and with joy.  I realise that I have chained myself willingly to my purpose for the past twenty seven years.  I know what my deep gladness is and I think I understand where it meets the world’s deep hunger.  It begins to dawn on me that if I am to continue with my purpose, I may have to willingly chain myself to the railings of my core beliefs and leave others to the unshackling…at least for a while, for as long as it feels necessary.

A stoat in ermine with a black nose and a black tipped tail scoots across my path and into the plantation.  I remember the rush of joy that an unexpected visitation can bring.

I walk again to warm up.

I have an interesting encounter with a field of bullocks – I’m the Pied Piper again – this time the Messiah arrives on a quad and we are all grateful.

I am so familiar with this place.  I decide to revisit the cottages, the glasshouses, the Douglas fir, the Giant Redwood and I wonder at our human need to re-visit.  Today the pull is very gentle, a quiet curiosity to see how far I’ve travelled since then, what I have carried with me, what I have let go and I am warmed by what I find.  There’s no desperate yearning for the past here, there’s an open-armed embrace of the future.

I find a place for the second ‘long sit’ of my solo.  It’s remarkably close to the site of my earlier solo this week, but there’s a tempting rock to support my back and it’s in the full morning sun.

I think of how different the practices of walking solo and stillness solo are.  Today the walking frustrates a little and I long to be still, to wait, to see what comes up, to revisit my intention.  I organise myself.  Some things flood in from my very first solo, chiefly my love affair with my sleeping bag (I resolve to give it much more use in the future)!

I am very comfortable.  The sun warms my face.  I close my eyes and the red triangle, a personal image that has been so strong this week, is very present here.  I am generating heat.  I am a warm red triangle vibrating outwards, rooted in the earth.  I know what I need to do and I have the resolve to do it.

I am becoming.

Solo Time #1a – The Mystery of Balnaboth

“How hard it is to escape from places.  However carefully one goes they hold you – you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences – like rags and shreds of your very life.”

Katherine Mansfield

Fluttering on the fences during my first solo are the bright memories of my visits over many years to this glen with my husband, sister and my nine year old niece.

The Mystery of Balnaboth

-

I set out,

I know where I am going.

The gravitational pull is too strong,

It guides my feet back to this place,

And there you are unwrapping the knife from the clean, checked tea-towel with a flourish, brandishing a salami.

-

Here the grey clouds promising rain speed across the sky,

But time has collapsed and I’m there on my back dizzying myself watching snowflakes as they fall,

Climb upwards and fall again.

-

Today the mist rolls off the Hill of Strone

And the perception of dusk falling seems impossible.

I wait,

And the memory of her little perfect snow angel comes, bright and white.

-

I meet these memories as they rise and burst like tiny bubbles on the smooth surface of my solo time.

I try to greet them, to say ‘hello, see you later’ but they are legion and irrepressible.

You are laughing as you press the salty salami into my mouth, a strange promise of the distant Italian sun on this snowy Perthshire hillside,

The sweet sloe gin that follows seems a kind of perfection.

-

She has walked across the sacred boundary of yews and pauses with her hand against the ancient wooden door of the chapel ruins,

Fully knowing what lies on the other side she whispers,

‘The Mystery of Balnaboth!’

-

Pattern and Structure

The first workshop is over and we thought some of you might like to know what we did out there in the wilds.

The group arrived on Monday late afternoon and most of the rest of the day was for settling in. In the evening after dinner, we met around the fire in the tipi on Long Beach and had a chat about what we’d got planned for the week. We were careful to remind everyone about the upcoming solo day, and to have a think about what they wanted from their day. We also invited everyone to come to this first workshop as themselves, rather than as representatives of their organisation.

On Tuesday we spent the morning exploring the local area before making up groups of three to do a co-counselling activity. The focus was on the quality of listening in co-counselling, rather than on the content of the discussion – which remained confidential to the participants.The theme of this activity was ‘human needs’ and after the small group work we gathered together to look at some theories from Abraham Maslow and Manfred Max-Neef. In the afternoon we went on a slow-walk. This led into an outdoor meditation, using the five senses to become aware of our surroundings – and was followed by an hour spent quietly alone. The evening was dedicated to preparing for the solo which was planned for Wednesday.

The solo day really started when everyone went to bed the night before. From this moment on we kept silent. On Wednesday morning we met in the tipi and everyone headed out for the day just before dawn, crossing the threshold of the tipi door to mark the start of the day. In the evening at    dusk, everyone returned in the their own time. After sitting by the fire in the tipi, or just checking in to show they were home, it was time to go back    to the Old Byre, get cleaned up and eat. All in silence.

On Thursday morning we met in the tipi before breakfast and broke the silence, before having breakfast together. Everyone was asked to hold their story until the formal story-telling session later in the day. An hour of reflection time was given before the story-telling started, to allow everyone to gather their thoughts and decide what they wanted to say to the group. The story-telling process was highly structured and designed to create an easy space to speak honestly and to encourage deep listening. Everyone told their story and had a chance to reflect what they had heard – without judgement, problem solving or interpretation. The process took all day with regular breaks and another fabulous soup from Rob for lunch.

On Friday we met in the tipi for ‘circle time’ where everyone had chance to say how they were feeling and to bring any issues to the group. After this we packed and headed out into the heart of Knoydart for the day. Along the way we explored issues that had arisen for each person during the story-telling day. This led into an activity in pairs designed by psychotherapist Sarah Conn, from the University of Harvard Medical School, where the wild place we were in became a mirror for our feelings and experiences. This helped us focus down on specific issues and insights that emerged during the solo day. On the walk home we stopped to explore some of the themes that had emerged during the week and to talk about the potential trauma of going back to the everyday world of our usual daily lives.

Everyone was up early on Saturday for the boat back to Mallaig and the journey home.

starting out

After a few weeks of not knowing what would be happening or what we would be doing on the first away week, we are now here in a beautiful place away from cities, people, motorways…….

The solo day is tomorrow but for once I have no plans of what to do but only where to go – along the coast rather than inland.  Still to decide whether to fast or not or whether to take a camera or paper or really what to do.

The thought of having no technology, even a watch is very strange.  Over the past few years technology has crept up on us all mobile phones, broadband, internet, hdtv, digital cameras……..  To not have any of that in this environment means that you have to live in the moment and gradually accept that there is no need to take the phone with you if you cannot get a signal.

The solo day will take that a step further – no conversation – no watches either – so no knowledge of what time it is except for the sun in the sky.

The solo day was overcast and so not much help from the sun.  I had decided to set out early and go along the coast and spend time alone watching the sea and life pass by.  I brought my camera (as I had decided that it was not technology) and penknife (to carve some wood for my son) and some paper and pencils to write and draw (badly).

Spending a day alone or not talking to anyone was not that bad however on retuning it was very strange not being able to talk to anyone, to find out what others had done or to share what had happened.

That would come the next day.

Is it necessary to tell people you’re not dead?

If you found a pale, motionless body lying in a secluded wood, wrapped in a survival bag, would the fact it had a sign on it saying “I’m not dead” really help?

This is just one of the thoughts that wandered through my head while lying beneath the stand of alder trees that became my solo spot.  The sight of a woman in the distance dancing madly is funny, the sight of a body lying motionless might actually scare someone.  Wondering what is the best thing to do to avoid scaring the natives and triggering false alarm embarrassment, I decide that a sign probably wouldn’t help.  Beside, it feels spookily like tempting fate.

As the wind blows, autumn leaves flutter down, falling on my face.  I begin to wonder what it would be like to lie here forever, slowly being covered by leaves, dissipating outwards, becoming part of the living entity that is a forest floor.  I idly speculate on what the world would look like if you could take away everything but the life that inhabits it.  I imagine it would look like an intricate, sparkling silver web; each life forming a knot in the threads, constantly raveling and unraveling.  My cold feet demand my attention again and I think fondly of warm slippers and sticky toffee pudding.

I move, I sit, I doze, I write and I sketch.  The day seems long but dusk falls sooner than I expect.

Solo spot from a distance…

Photo by Ken Cunningham

Mountaineering with Maslow….

When I’d started out, the solo didn’t seem too daunting.  I’ve spent a lot of time in the mountains, silence and solitude don’t phase me and I’d even decided to fast for the day so as not to be distracted by food (‘fast’ is probably a bit melodramatic.  I had early breakfast and a late dinner with nothing between the two – something lots of people do every day).

Heading out from the tent into the early morning gloom was quite peaceful, nearly falling into an unexpected river as I headed for my chosen spot less so.  The ensuing tramp across a bog was unpleasant, the wet socks nasty and the subsequent attack of the giant tick fiend from hell was hideous (knowledgeable friend tells me it was actually a sheep ked but when one runs across your face you don’t look too closely).

One very hasty retreat for the tick/ked haunted chosen spot resulted in the rapid choosing of a new spot.  Sadly it also resulted in my precious pair of dry socks getting wet too.  Inevitably as I settled down to my day of quiet contemplation the cold began to seep up through my soaked boots and socks.

I tried various tactics from rapid wiggling of toes to trying not to think about it; all to no avail.  Eventually Dave’s advice came to mind – if you’ve got cold feet, put them in your rucksack.  So I emptied my rucksack, took off my socks and shoes, inserted my feet into my fleece hat and hopped into my rucksack. 

It worked, but the price for my comfortably warm feet was an inability to move much.  After an hour or two this becomes a problem as you get quite cold sitting still; which is how I came to be dancing in the middle of nowhere but only doing dances that don’t involve foot movements.  The YMCA was followed by the Monster Mash, the Twist and when I ran out of ideas the Grand Slalom while humming the music from Ski Sunday.

 It was at that point that I really began to wonder what on Earth we were doing here…

It’s amazing what can sneak up on you when you’re not looking…

The beady eye surrounded by scaly skin is just inches from mine, and the look it is giving me is not a friendly one.

The tornado that is my life has dropped me, not in the magical land of Oz, but in the magical place known as Knoydart. Someone must be smiling on us as the sun is shining out of a cloudless sky and the sea is like a mirror. As for the scenery, words just can’t do it justice.

It is as I bend to put on my boots, ready to do some exploring, that I come eyeball to eyeball with the unexpected local. The peacock is just the other side of the glazed door from me and looks as surprised to see me as I am to see it.

The day has unfolded as a series of activities intended to help us start to focus and push distractions out of our minds. The location and the weather (plus the lack of mobile signals and internet connections) is doing everything it can to help and I think I’m doing this quite well. But then before I know it some thought about emails, forms, agendas or work plans is looking at me eyeball to eyeball just like the peacock. I suspect that they aren’t giving me very friendly looks either.

Tomorrow we will be heading off for THE SOLO; spending from dawn until dusk alone outdoors. I’m half looking forward to it and half scared. I know that all the emails, agendas and work plans in the world will achieve nothing if they don’t all add up to something bigger. The Solo is the first step to making it all add up, but what if the distractions won’t leave me alone? What if they insist of sneaking up on me like stealth peacocks? What if all I can think of is stealth peacocks………….