Here again in the sunshine, calm and surprisingly well rested. Eighteen punters, eight people on the ceremony side, and I cant help but think I’m on the wrong side, just receiving. It’s not my job. Nice to dip into it from time to time though and drop all the helpfulness and find out what I need and go towards it. I need excellent financial advice. That’s what I need. I didn’t have to illustrate that by blowing money on a weekend in Hereford and a load of plant medicine, but it’s good to put it into relief. I’m out of debt again because of the Olympics, but only if they pay me which they might struggle with now because of incomprehensible monolithic bureaucracy. Plus my bed is covered with letters where I’m being fined for not paying fines because I couldn’t afford to pay the fines for the things I couldn’t afford that I couldn’t afford.
Sun on the top of the clouds and burning through in patches. Wind in the grass and the reeds.
These guys are a lovely lot. Lots of stuff going on. Messy old lives we all lead. Here we all are with all our mad shit and all our clarity, sharing both with each other.
Last night was something of a purge. My stomach was empty but still filled a bucket. Stumbled outside and “mindfully” slung it into a patch of nettles before rinsing the bucket and doing it all again three hours later. Sometimes you forget that if you’re trying to bring new things in you have to make room for them first. Purging is good for you, kids!
There’s Sananga involved here as well, and I’ve brought some hapay which is basically hard snuff. I haven’t had any hapay as it grounds me and I’m still looking to air and fire right now. The Sananga … you lie on your back and they put it on your closed eyes. Opening your eyes is nothing but pain from then, and all you want to do is close them, so you open them and open them and it hurts and it hurts and somehow it all comes good and there’s definitely a metaphor in there somewhere. I love the stuff but I fucking hate it and I can feel it on my eyes but I know damn well that it solved my blepharitis years and years ago, and I’ve been wearing my lenses too long so why not fill them up with painplant medicine? Which sane person wouldn’t solve mild anxiety over contact lens use by lying on their back and having a stranger pour agonyjuice into their crying face? “You curled up like a bug,” says Rob who was next to me. “It was that or scream the place down.”
I’m happy to be here, and happy I came. I haven’t necessarily been very sociable but it’s not what it’s all about. I just ate a big lunch and I’ll probably be looking it at all in a white bucket in six hours time. All is well, all will be well. I’ve got so much work to do. And I need to pay someone now, the right someone, to help finally dig me from all my financial buggery, because that someone can’t be me. I’m too shit at it and it doesn’t feel like that’ll change in time. Plant medicine and singing doesn’t do the paperwork.
AlBarclay 