4-11-2021: Day 147
I had my hood up – halo cracked, scratched, and broken for good – striding over the wild grasslands of Mill Hill. Rain was lashing down from the west, driving in sheets, swirling in huge gusts of wind. I was drenched to the bone marrow, but had a sense of purpose, a man on a mission to reach the summit, to break through this glass ceiling of this miserable godforsaken day.
Pulling the hood tighter, visibility was reduced to a few metres, as I trudged along the muddy clay-like path winding through the tunnelled bushes and hedgerows. Plugged in, I was listening to the War on Drugs latest offering, which was streaming through the headphones. The tunes were cutting through the inhospitable weather like beams of sunshine.
Arriving at the summit of Mill Hill, I turned to survey the landscape, reminded of fell walking as a child. As the rain clouds lifted, I gazed into the distance where the choppy sea waters kiss the ocean. And took a fleeting moment to breathe in and consider my own war on drugs and battle to wean myself off the hardcore psych drugs.
5-11-2021: Day 148
Hearing the jeers and booing of the Sri Lankan crowd in the cricket world cup on the box, I could feel a wave of paranoia descend. A dark night of the soul was hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles. A sense of dread, that old demons were coming home to rule incarnate.
As the long November night drew in, I watched the light squeezed out from the sky like a sponge. The clouds turned from white, to grey, to black shadows. The darkness mirrored the malaise of my soul. Wearing my heart on my sleeve, I realised I needed to roll them up and face down the black mists rolling in.
Suffering from a poisoning of the system from last night’s bender with an old mate, falling off the wagon for the first time since September. I was ruined. The hangover tapped me on the shoulder around 3.00 pm, pulled up a pew, and camped in for the long night ahead. And so, to ward off the old demons, I lit a white candle for a little hope, peace, and sanctuary.
7-11-2021: Day 150
I was feeding the fire, desperately trying to revive and resuscitate the magma stump of a red-hot burning log evaporating before my eyes. The clock ticked close to midnight. I had burned everything – charcoal, kindling, kiln dried logs – and everything had been thrown on the firepit, along with the affirmations of the soul. I was attempting to keep the elemental spark alive in the cold November night.
Earlier in the evening, as a family we had written up and read out our affirmations, then burned them on the blazing fire. A new tradition for the crazy times we inhabit. Out with the old, in with the new. My affirmation was simple: letting love, connections, and abundance through the front door. Better than the tradesman’s, I mused.
Gathered round the make-shift bonfire, we danced and drunk to techno trance as the night grew ever longer in the tooth. A little pipe of peace, too, as our ancestors might have partaken, till the fire finally died a slow-glow death.