I had called on an event which yet again, I had left everything unplanned to the last minute. From getting the websites loaded to sorting the invitations to then being up a ladder, painting walls like a wild woman for the art to be carefully hung.

The aftermath left me unable to move for two days.

Also, the weekend before I’d been on a walk again. I retraced the steps of my pilgrimage down to Silbury Hill. I shared my bananas once again with the giant that lay sleeping. This time I climbed the 40 feet high sacred mound. I’ve always been terribly afraid of heights but I wanted to get to the top, I had to confront my fear.

I climbed the sacred mound before many years ago with my old-time love. I was smashed out me nut on local cider at that time. Now I’m sober my fear of climbing the cliff-like incline… immobilised me a third of the way up. I did the stupid looking down thing. Twat. Plus I had a backpack on that weighed a ton. But I soldiered on… ahem. (It was more of a crawl on my knees, screaming and holding on to the grass and… stinging nettles for dear life). Ouch. Yes.

I made it to the top. I sang at the top of my voice. LOVE LOVE LOVE.

(I have a ‘thing’ about doing that. I’m reminded of many moons ago at the winter solstice at Stonehenge. I was off my nut on every kind of illegal substance known to mankind. I climbed one of the ancient stones in front of thousands of revellers and sang at the top of my voice LOVE LOVE LOVE. I sang Minnie Ripperton and Bruce Hornsby too. But that’s another story).

On this trip, however, I’d been carrying a stone around with me that I’d found on the sacred and ancient trail of The Ridgeway. The word ROSE came to my mind as I sat exhausted 40 feet high in the sky whilst embracing the magnificent vista. I engraved ROSE on the chalky white stone with a biro… (I’d like to say I used an ancient twig that an old monk spirit guided me to, but that would be fantasy right?)…and placed it on the alter that someone else, (another nut like me,) had so beautifully made for the Giants at some other time. I sat in prayer and then I humbly asked the Giants… if I could join their tribe? Or maybe they could join mine? My tribe is heavy too.

After reflection, I’m relieved to now know… me and the Giants are cool.

The Giants Rose came into my mind.

My big romantic heart deep inside of me, felt maybe, possibly that was the name of the Giants old-time love? The Giants Rose… Man, she would have had some big heart too. The heart of a Giant. Proper.
My rebellious warrior heart deep inside of me yearned. Maybe, possibly, now could be?, the perfect time… the Giants rose? Now, that really would be PROPER.

After leaving a further three stones as an offering for my very own, very sacred, and very secret Giant, I slid on my bottom all the way down. Phew. What an experience.

I found it tough to start writing my journal this week. I was wondering why I’m doing it. In the past, many people have questioned me about my journey and I’ve tended to just make things up. If I’ve never ever taken the time to ‘get it’ myself, how on earth will anyone else? I’ve never found it simple to explain my journey before now. Memories evoke emotions of bewilderment. The circumstances have always been hard for people to fathom. I’m baffled myself. Then I’m reminded why I’m writing these journals again. I’m documenting the next cycle of my life. Truthfully bit by bit. I want to remember my life. There’s always been so much to remember. There’s been so much I’ve forgotten. I’m sure it’ll be just as ‘bananas’ as the last cycle of my life, but thankfully… I love bananas.

Peace x