- Jul 1 4:29 AMDear Maurice,
You really lightened my day with that Lily the Pink post. I bet others found it
useful too. I am known in my family as a mad person who eats only veggie organics
and never touches orthodox medicine, relying on herbs, homeopathic remedies,
drinking water and the very effective remedy, clay. Clay, I suppose because of the
suctional force of the life ether, is quite amazing, drawing toxicity selflessly into
itself. The Christ truly penetrates the earth. One is reminded of Him mixing earth
and spittle in healing. The point is, I am not allowed to give my Mother anything, and
do not like to do so surreptitiously, because my brother lives with her and has final
responsibility, and he would not like it. I can only pray for her.
Lily the Pink sounds amazing. I had no idea that she was a real person, and such a
wonderful one, whom I would have loved to meet. Mallow is a plant very dear to my
heart, and oddly enough this is the first summer for years that the nature spirits have
failed to bring one into my garden. As children we called the fruits fairy cheeses.
Comfrey is a plant full of life force and vigour. IIt comes up everywhere around here.
Bees love both plants, and that is good enough for me. I shall certainly try that
remedy. Thank you very much.
The mention of Lily made me laugh because I remembered the song, and how a
boyfriend of mine used to drive a group of friends everywhere in a van so rusty that
we called it?s ceiling the starry roof. We used to sing that song, altering the verses
to suit different friends and their various peculiarities, until we broke down or, more
usually, were stopped by the police, who once grew very excited about a stick of
conte crayon carefully wrapped in tin foil (because it was precious to a young artist)
and a New Testament ? Ere, wot you doing with this?
The van finally fell apart, but when I was seventeen, having polio, I was given an
In-valid car, and I mean invalid. They were appropriately called Tippins after the
manufacturer, and being tall and narrow and three wheeled, they tipped over
constantly. They had pram type roofs, and motorbike engines, with a kind of
handlebar, and were terribly dangerous.
My father taught me to drive with the memorable maxim, ?Treat it like a Churchill
tank and go like a bat out of hell.? Which I did and never got hurt. I did get chased
by the police once, however, with my husband of several days crouched illegally on
the floor, eyes closed in terrified prayer, speeding along in the early hours of the
morning at full throttle. I did hear the sirens, but couldn?t believe they were after me.
The policeman?s first words were, ? we?ve been trying to catch you all through Notting
Hill Gate? the only thing that saved me from being charged was how ridiculous it
would have made him sound, chasing an invalid car.
I am fascinated by your life on the oil rig, so different to mine, which is one thing I
am growing to love about these postings. Bradford?s wedding was wonderful, and I
would never have seen anything so amazing in England. I loved it. We really get to
share in things that we would otherwise never know.
Your honesty saved the day when you oiled everything so liberally. You reminded
me of my father, who refused ever to lie, even when my sister and I begged him to
tell some ex boyfriend that we were not in. He used to say that a man should scorn
to tell a lie.
He was wild and wonderful, and happily tossed us children into freezing seas and
rivers, which we loved, made me struggle up Arthur?s Seat (the easy side) knew every
bird and plant by its Latin and common name, could work wood, and metals, make
anything out of anything and recite long narrative poems such as How Horatio kept
?And those at the back cried forward,
and those at the front cried back!?
They would, wouldn?t they? He loved that line. Hated war, armies and anything
uniform. He never accepted that policemen, for instance had the right to tell him
where he could park, and we wived in dread of his being arrested. We shall not see
the like of that generation again.
Thinking of the etherising type of oil makes me think of Steiner?s statement that Paul
walked the lands of the Olive Tree.
Here is something I wrote about a very special plant my father showed me.
A day came when my father said,
Come! Something wonderful to see!
Lifted me upon his shoulders.
I rode as a queen
Whose realm was green and gold and green.
Brambles were spiteful to his boots
Bracken fell broken before leather leggins
Stained with sap
While I swayed precious and safe and free,
Tree high, pulling at leaves
Pulling at leaves and branches and leaves
His accented voice sang
Wedded the day and warmed the air
That was strung with bees.
This his element
This gentle man whose boyhood days
Had roamed the Scottish hills
Had walked the hills and truly knew the hills
Whose lore and love of birds
Had spread his fame from glen to glen
Ye ken, they said, the Laddie Farquharson
He'll know this plant, this bird, this tree -
And we, on a day become a memory
We came upon an ancient mound
Where something wonderful waited
Where my own sword was to be
Fitted to my hand forever -
And there he set me down
Amid the springing green and gold and green
Tall firs flung themselves like spears
At the sun for utter love.
Above, birds piped and chanted
And something wonderful grew in long grass
Grew and arched and spread
Taking space into new shapes and signs and shapes
Green leaves paired
And bees gatherred gold in secret
From the white toothed hanging flowers
And hours passed, or seemed like hours -
Backlit, a greenfly walked a blade of grass
Passed into emerald
Passed into the day and into my heart
Stamped, imprinted and sealed
With Solomans Seal.
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