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.