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Thursday, March 07, 2002
19:26 
I'm a P90
That's one of these, apparently.
Wednesday, March 06, 2002
14:48
Out on a limb
Well, I did it. I went on my first solo bike ride of any length - not that it was particularly far, but it was quite an adventure.
I don't like being alone. I'm not sure why - maybe it's the whole Core thing (well, it is the whole Core thing, but that's by the by and not even all of it). Mother Jaguar, in that terribly gentle way She has, told me that it was because I don't like myself very much. I don't tend to enjoy myself when I'm on my own. I have to keep a very rigid form, a very coping form. I don't really feel able to relax because I have to be responsible for everything. On the other hand, it can be quite liberating, because whatever form I choose to take is not dictated by the need to cater for other people as well. It's odd. I don't feel any less responsible when I'm with other people, but somehow it's easier to be responsible for other people as well than it is just to be responsible for myself. It's almost as if I feel at a loose end, that there are gaps, vulnerabilities that can be exploited (by what or whom I don't know) if I'm not completely involved in organising or managing or looking after people. Perhaps that's left over from Core as well. It's actually very difficult to pin down what I feel about this, precisely.
But, having determined that at this time in my life it is important for me to learn how to be independent - and not just as in able to cope on my own, but being able to take time for myself and not feel like I have to be around for others all the time - I decided that the way to do this was to start going out for longer bike rides by myself. I still can't face the idea of doing this when Frood or Andy are around, which is a bit of a bugger. I'm hoping to work up to the point of being able to take the weekend and go off cycling somewhere with a tent and a sleeping bag whether or not the boys choose to come with, and eventually to get to the stage where I can turn round and say 'No, I don't want you with me, I want some time to myself' which currently leaves a bad taste in my mouth even if I just think it.
So I started by getting rid of some of the more obvious excuses. I chose a day when Andy was off with his new strumpet (that's rather unfair on her, actually, she's very nice) and Frood was at work. I bought the ETA's Cycle Rescue cover so that I could be recovered if something dreadful happened like I mangled the bike. I chose a route that went around Somerset, near Taunton, so that there was at least an opportunity to see Frood, and I made sure that I was going with some objective in mind so that it wasn't just a pointless pootle around the countryside.
So I took the train to Bridgwater - and I must complement Wessex Trains on their little bike spaces - and rode out first to Burrow Mump and then to St Michael's Church, Othery. The Mump was pretty cool. Not as pokey as Glastonbury Tor, which I could see in the distance, and it felt reconstructed in some ways, sort of modern and faded. It reminded me of the way you can still see the pencil lines in a painting sometimes. The similarities were quite blatant and, marvellously, the National Trust has had some sheffield stands fitted in the car park at the bottom so you can lock your bike up safely.
I couldn't get into the church. As with many churches these days, there was a distressing note saying that they had suffered so much burglary and vandalism in recent years that it has become necessary to keep the church locked when there is no service. There was some jackdaws nesting on the tower, and some pretty astonishing lichens growing in the grounds. Hopefully I shall have photographs of these places in the next couple of days. I prefer Supasnaps for photo developing - they get really good colours - and so I've had to dispatch Frood with my film.
I had intended to ride on and practise some T'ai-Chi on Glastonbury Tor, but I got up too late as I was really exhausted, and didn't have time to get to Glasters and back and still make my train. So I took the scenic route into Taunton to meet up with Frood and finally get a look at his shop.
Things I learned:
- Leave plenty of time - it's easy to be disappointed
- Sustrans paths suck chunky goat vomit unless you enjoy hanging on for grim death on a narrow strip of stoney gravel in between two stretches of water in the dark
- A map trap is great, but remember to keep your eyes on the road or else you might wrap your face over the bonnet of a shiny new toyota sports car
- My hella dynamo front lamp sucks almost as much chunky goat vomit as Sustrans paths when it comes to actually seeing where you are going in the dark
- I need a computer I can see in the dark
- I am capable of enjoying myself even when I'm on my own
- I think I want to do it again and make it to Glastonbury this time
- I definitely want to try the ride from Bristol to Stanton Drew
- I can ride more than 50 miles in a day and not feel terribly knackered
- The thought of being out on my own for more than a day just because I want to be still makes me feel sick.
Still, it's a start.
I've also increased my water intake from around 0.5 - 1 litre a day to 2 - 4 litres a day. I've gone back on the CalMag, the multivit and the Gamma Marine oil, and have instituted a regime of coating myself first in E45 cream and then baby oil after I shower. The rash seems to have gone down a bit, although I confess it's itchy today like there's some sort of chemical on my skin. I have only been using the stuff the doctor gave me on my arms, especially as the first time I used it I got chemical burns, but the rash is looking better all over. Not sure what has caused that, but I suspect it's the water. It occurred to me that I haven't changed my water intake in years, even though I'm now cycling 20 miles a day and going to the gym some nights.
Oh, aye, and I've booked a session with an instructor at the gym on Saturday. I have decided that my physical goals are to increase core strength and endurance, and to try to improve my completely hopeless recovery time (5 days??! Ridiculous!)
T'ai Chi tonight. Wonder what we'll do this week?
Monday, March 04, 2002
12:36
Interlude
Talk to me. Talk to me of balls and candles and pussy cats and bright things with mittens. Talk to me of starlit skies awash with purple aprons, thunder gleaming. Speak to me of the little things, the pretty things, blue things and red. Talk to me of the hounds.
Sky bright, shifting. Wreaths of moorland caught in dim and distant golden glow. Clouds smeared, dark shadows croaking. A haze hums, sparking on skin, candy on teeth. Prickles on back; a groan, a sigh, a noise of contentment. Warm depressions in grass, follow me true.
She gasps in awe at the splendour, clapping her hands in delight, a child ethereal in the oneness of being, existence taking pleasure in itself. The warmth pervasive, all scents intoxicating.
I leaned over, cradling my head onto the Jackal's naked chest and feeling his hair on my skin. He grumbled peacefully, right arm thrown up behind his head. His left hand stroked my lower back unconsciously. I could feel his sleepy, purely physical, simple pleasure in the texture of my skin under his fingers. His energies flickered and trembled minutely, reminding me of those other energies but more subtle. Too much intensity for one aslumber. Yet it was only natural for him. I traced a finger along the line between his sternum and navel, entranced by the way his surface pattern responded. Ripples on glass. Vortices and currents of energy sucked and pulled at the very edges of my sensitivity. The metal in him was bright, sharp and hot like ice. It hurt to look too closely and yet I could not find it ugly. I thought then that an angel's skeleton might look like that, too bright to view but beautiful inside the eyes. His power was exhilarating, wild and dazzling even as he slept. With nothing but mindfulness my finger trace became my whole hand, fingers pushing out, smoothing across his stomach, his pattern sparkling and liquid like oil.
Talk to me. Talk to me of goodness, of the good things, the joyful things. Talk to me of silken textures brought home from dreaming. Talk to me of shimmering shoals shattering darkness. Talk to me of the deep breath. Tell me true.
I breathed softly, not moving, lips almost but not quite touching him, enjoying the sensation of the desire to kiss, to be kissed. My fingers, my hand, shifted, merging, the physical feeling of touch fading to sinking.
Speak. All is one. The brightness sings. We meet, we touch. Islands in a storm.
He moved, right hand coming round, drawing me closer. His nose brushed my head, breathing deep. Strong arms pulled me tighter. I couldn't resist the intermingling of my pattern with his. I could feel him in my eyes, deep within my ears, in the ends of my collar bones, my sternum, the tips of my pelvis, my pubis. I could no longer tell if he were waking or I were falling asleep. The smell of him, oh Gods the smell of him. Musk and cedar, something mineral, browns shredded with bronze and silver, texture of dusty chocolate on the tongue.
Speak. You are the glimmer in the dark. Breathe
We breathed.
His hand drifted up, tilted my chin towards his face. He kissed me. The amber motes in his eyes drifted dreamily.
Back to back we stand in love and trust. A pillar of strength in the wilderness.
"You are beautiful," he murmured.
"We both are," I whispered, heart aching in the perfection of the moment.
We breathed.
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