Horses galloped through my grandfather’s heart
Marked in newspapers by jockey’s blazers
Almost passing out on a stone tile floor had left me a little shaken and I was considering asking to go to hospital but I couldn’t face getting on a small speedboat and crossing the sea to a tiny clinic where nobody spoke English and I would have to do the whole thing again coming back. Instead, I ate some medicine, tried to get some sleep and the next day, I felt a little better. This was perhaps ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’. My body and my mind were frail, in danger of collapse and suffering greatly. There may be nothing worse than being ill and feeling like you have nobody to care for you. I buried myself in my room for a few days and tried to keep my spirits up.
A big lesson I needed to learn/am still learning, is that when you turn 30 you start to notice subtle changes in the way your body looks. In other words, a battle with gravity is stirring in no mans land. Political dissent is brewing in your thighs and there’s an bingo wing armada on the horizon.
I went to bed that night hoping to meet someone to share some experiences with. There’s a great power in manifesting but there’s also another great power underlying your experiences. Sometimes what you need comes to you in a way that seems like it’s the complete opposite of what you wanted.
At the jetty, an arrival party of strangers who would eventually become my brothers and sisters, greeted me with aplomb. A flurry of unfamiliar names washed over me and I struggled to make any connection between names and faces in the dark.