sitting here, before the fire, while SPELT dough proves. house temp. doesn't warrant heating but the yeasted bread-making does. LANA sings to me from the corner stereo-player : the young diva who has currently ousted ADELE in my attentions. beside me, on sofa, is my shoulder-bag and my swag of birthday books from KRIS (and his COLLECTED WORKS BOOKSHOP) in Melbourne. There's a glow from the red, fleecy throw, draped over backrest, that rivals gas-fire....i pick-up ROBYN ROWLAND'S book = "THIS ROAD" (Picaro Press -March 2007 - Wagtail-63). my eye alights immediately on the very first poem - no further than the title,in fact = "PERVERSE SERENITY". and it stays my mind/catches my mood.
i live in Dorset.and am amazingly settled and content to be here at the moment. is there serenity in being here? are we defined by where we are? is a serenity that is dominated by environs a type of escape from reality - a perversity? i am very aware, that for many years, i have been sustained by things that are not of Dorset, and are not even of being in this house, until lately. i had links around the world, but precious few, and certainly none meaningful outside of family, locally. i was fortunate to have been sustained, in the main by KRIS, who ploughed a sustained and deep furrow from OZ to the UK & the family in Dorset, since the mid 80's when "we" moved here from Southampton. it was his delight to throw himself into "our " Dorset life / or into one of the many blackberry bushes that line the little lanes and paths around Radipole & Chafeys (my meditation path) AND the path leading to St.Catherine's at Abbotsbury. He says he does not live in Melbourne but inside his head. for my part, the proposition of being where one lives, is overridden by where one is in one's head.
the BUDDHISTS say = ALL IS MIND. i agree. YUP! ALL MIND. ALL MINED. ALL MINE. DORSET ON MY MIND. DORSET IN MY MIND.....(the risen dough became the well-baked bread...)
....now i can enjoy the feast of all that arises in my mind....
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