Homeland

Yeah, the thing about that piece of ocean is this: it's difficult to work out exactly when enough is enough. Here's a friend of mine to sit and watch with and ask, when was the last time you sat in a beautiful place just to watch, and truly, truly lost track of time? I mean, really lost it, with no idea at all for how long you had been captivated?


This afternoon I drove back across the country from east to west, into the sunset. I'd been with some beautiful folk on a retreat in the grounds of a large Sussex estate, letting the powerful messages soak through while we took in the tranquility of the grounds - hiding in a tiny wooden boathouse opening over the edge of a lake (which we swam in at midnight), sitting amongst lavender in a secret prayer garden, feeling and hearing the wind in trees of the thick wood and walking barefoot across blankets of lush green grass.

This is our homeland. It's our fabric and the ground that nourishes us by a sort of osmosis.

This land we live in is a beautiful place, and I can't take in enough of it. It leaves me amazed and transfixed. There's something soulfully inexplicable going on in the way it is appearing at the moment, and I'm finding it very difficult to take my eyes off it.

Hungry to be in the wide open spaces... and if it's okay I just need to go move out of range again and look for a little while longer, try to find something more directive in the mysterious draw of this place I happen to have been born in. Sorry therefore this means the lightbox is a little quiet, but I have a feeling you might understand.


{Today's soundtrack: Soweto Gospel Choir}