Fifth Day

Yes I think I am refreshed. I am more mentally put together after my psychological crisis Perhaps sometime away near the lakes was what the doctor ordered after all that.

Yes, apparently it was easier for the early Quakers in the north, to maintain their 'thee's and thous', their equality. It was harder in the south for this to continue to be the case.

What does equality mean these days for Quakers in meeting?

I hope as I return south, the same can not be said for me.

Thee and thou to thee, too!

Fifth Day

I am an hour from London now. Not is not so bad. I am feeling refreshed, I suppose, despite the difficulties of 1652 country. I like this new idea of potentially venturing north to live, having been a southerner all my life.

Not an easy decision.

My family were northern non conformists on grandfather's side, but Christadelphians. It would be interesting to look into them again, such a rare sect.

But just because I have northern blood, doesn't make me northern. My mother's people were Portsmouth, Cornwall, and London, so I suppose, London is as much a ancestral home as Cumbria and Lancashire.

Indeed..

Anyway, only musing, I am, nothing confirmed as yet. 

Fifth Day

Here we are...at the end, the end of it all. At least in terms of the 1652 retreat. On the train, I am, heading south. I was sad to leave the north and it's people. There was something that came naturally to be there.

We had a very quiet morning. After some worship sharing, we went out to a Quaker grave yard, with no marked graves. This is the site, there abouts, where Margaret Fell was buried. Completely natural. No institutions lining you up like little boys and girls, marking you off after death, as though school never really ended.

Does school ever end?

The sheep were allowed to roam free, leaving behind the evidences. Fellow Quakers found momentos of leaves to be pressed and dried and treasured. I observed a tree, with a curved trunk. I didn't try to make out the stone inscription, beyond reading through so many winters.

To consider that you might be remembered after death, was for early friends, not humble. After the graveyard, we stood within a stone circle, and looked out to the sands. Yes, the sands. When there was no other way to pass, people walked over the bay at low tide, I imagine, and many people died, drowned in quick sand. Death is never far away, or stories of death, or just the pale trail of such a dangerous by pass. But this was the way to Swarthmore Hall, and George Fox made it through, though his companions thought him dead.

It was silver in the distance. A Friend said how they wished to go out on the sands. Brave.

I knew my friend and his mother once made it across the water between the Isle of Wright and Portsmouth at low tide. I know of no one else.

And onto the local Buddhist temple, which somehow is built in the grounds of a grade one listed building. I wasn't too enthusiastic about the temple, but it was still a peaceful moment to conclude the pilgrimage.

After lunch back at the hall, a few of us went on a walk to Ulverston, and had a wonder around the shops, before I disappeared to catch the train. I was amazed by everything. Perhaps that is living in London for you. I was amazed by the little shops, and the quietness, the 19th century train station. Everything. Everything was amazing. Maybe from absence. Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I hadn't left the rest of the country behind to live in China or London.

It was even more amazing when the sun came out, but apparently that is not very spiritual of me. I am meant to be appreciating the countryside, even when it left me soaking through, or with a nearly broken hand.

It is tempting to consider moving north, and leave London far behind. Return to the ancestral lands.

I am eating the last of the Kendal mint cake. I had hoped it would last until London, but no chance.

Fourth Day

This blog did put me in mind of the blog I kept whilst travelling with the Thich Nhat Hanh monks and nuns in Thailand...Perhaps a part of me misses those very early spiritual experiences at 23 or 22, or maybe I was just reminded.

We talked a lot about our spiritual journeys, and I found myself speaking about the previous psychological crisis, being forgiven, and mystical experiences I had when I was younger.

I think it is hard to talk about mystical experiences, I don't think many people can understand unless they had those experiences also. It is easy to find yourself judging it or trying to rationalise or explain it with science.

It is harder to accept you probably won't ever understand exactly what happened and what it was about. 

Fourth Day

Today, I also had my photo taken. I was holding a mirror which was reflecting the image of an object. An object which represented what was in my heart.

In my heart....

Fourth Day

I had hoped this blog would be like my previous spiritual travel blogs...sadly I think missing two epilogues, and ending up in A&E for a period of time, made that a little difficult. I have not updated as much as I would like, or written as much as I would like. But such is the way of things. Perhaps it all feels like an anti climax. I am not as rested as I hoped I would be, still struggling with sleep issues, broken hands and coffee addiction.

Apparent coffee addiction.

I have to pack up this little room, now, and it feels like I only just arrived.

No, I don't want to leave. It is too wonderful here.

As for the pilgrimage, I think I learnt a lot about the history of Quakerism, and I wondered if part of the attraction for me had been something to do with Quakerism inheriting some of the culture of Lancashire. I wonder.

Today we went to Sedbergh Church, the place of one of Fox's earliest ministries and disputations, and Firbank Fell. The weather was dreadful most the day, until the afternoon, when it cleared and suddenly brilliant sunlight shone through. I had been reflecting that my ancestors were right to leave this part of the world, I have never seen such terrible weather in August, but once the sun came out, the landscape was the best this land has to offer...

That of course is a judgement made in my small estimation.

We saw the Quaker Tapestry at Kendal, and that is where I was rejoined with my precious Kendal mint cake. Oh so many years we have been apart, Oh Love!

After we returned from a tour of Windermere, that most lovely lake, I went for a wonder in the garden and communed with nature for a while. I am still endlessly thinking of Wales.

And George Fox...

I have thought more about George Fox and Margaret Fell than I had done previously.

I have been chosen to report back to my meeting about the trip. I was the obvious choice, apparently, but I think others are better qualified.

Anyway, I will do as commanded. 

Fourth Day

We are in Kendal, looking at the Quaker Tapestry there. I bought my first Kendal mint cake for probably fifteen years. It was a good moment.

Nothing better than Kendal mint cake. 

Third Day

So, we got through the third day. There was so much I wanted to write about the second day here, but my time was taken up trying to find out how seriously injured my hand was. Indeed, I missed the end of the programme sitting in Borrow A&E with my companion entertaining one another with funny stories and 'Good Housekeeping.'

The hospital was good and the x-ray straight forward, and the signal that there were no broken bones was loud and clear. Not much to be done, but to wait for my hand to get better and take pain killers.

As soon as I got home to my little cupboard room, I fell asleep. The pain from my hand didn't wake me in the night. No, I rested peacefully after such an eventful day.

Yesterday is fading in my memory a little. I shall start with some news from today, before doing to epilogue. Today, in brief, we toured Swathmore Hall, and talked more about how Margaret Fell and her husband lived here. Afterwards we walked to the local meeting house to worship, and met with kind hospitality. I had a conversation with a much older woman about staying true to your heart, and not forcing children into careers they do not desire. I took heart.

After lunch we went to the area surrounding Margaret Fell's childhood home, and walked up to the beach. Another blast from the past. The beach was reminded me of guess where...beaches in Pembroke, Wales. Yesterday, at Pendal Hill, I thought we were in the Brecon Beacons...this strange ghost of my childhood holidays in Wales is still haunting me.

I followed another pilgrim, wordlessly, to the beach, to take off our shoes, and paddle. How I have missed such places. The freedom in salt water. The wind, the curiosity, the daring of water. The little waves of sand under my feet, watching out for stones.

Nothing is much better than open water and a few sand dunes.

I figured, with arms spread wide, and feet immersed, I must have picked up an interest in rocks and geology from wondering beaches and collecting 'things'. I collected rat bones, and rocks, and pestered my father for their names and what they were. This was when I was in childhood, about five or six, I imagine. We spent a lot of time at Fresh Water West.

There is more to write about today, and yesterday. Time to go.

Second Day

We decided it was important I took the spiritual meaning out of my fall and damaged finger.

Don't stray from the path, and life is harder with only one hand.  

Second Day

So George Fox went up Pendal Hill with much a do, and I came down it equally, with much ado.

The finger is not broken...soft tissue damage.

Tomorrow I will get coloured heart shaped ice cubes for the swelling. Good times!!

Second Day

As I related on the Blog of Days... We climbed Pendal hill in terrible weather, and everything was great until I strayed from the path and potentially dislocated my finger. 

Second Day

Today we head to Pendal Hill, where George Fox saw his vision and the witches used to gather (and a few were killed). 

First Day

I am staying in the house where the founding mother of Quakerism lived. I am very close to where it all began, if this is not quite the place.

This is the place Quakerism began.

This is where it all begins.

And this is close to where half of me originates. I did not begin here. My grandparents began near here. They lived in the same village, went to the same school, and eventually married.

And so the lakes are important to Quakers, and they are important to my family. 

First Day

Things are still going well in the north, in the land of the Quaker ancestors, and my own paternal ancestors.

This is a pilgrimage..... I don't know what I want from this pilgrimage. I don't know what will happen. Considering I have been through so much psychological upheaval, where the spirit will take me, I just do not know...

.....

George Fox was a troubled young man. He found that Oxford and Cambridge did not fit one to become a minister of the Lord. He spent time in London and spoke to many different people. He did not know quite what life was about.  He moved towards the non conformists and dissenters.

.....

Being here reminds me a lot of my grandparent's house in Wales.

I will tell you where I am in following posts.

Dog sister...we were puppies together. Another traumatic memory I can not remember. My grandfather's dog, then a puppy, chasing me, nipping me, and trying to play with me like I was a little puppy, but I was a human toddler, and I would wail and cry and drive my grandfather to the pub.

We were puppies together...puppy love.