The Pilton Festival (or ‘Glastonbury’ as non-locals call it) is fast approaching. This is evidenced by huge flotillas of lorries carrying banks of portable toilets and other necessities past my little cottage, which lies on the main route to Worthy Farm.
The passing of portaloos is not the only effect this event is having on my cottage. The scaffolders refuse to attempt erecting scaffolding during Pilton week – quite understandable, given the time it would take to get there, with the whole area gridlocked, and the disruption the work would cause to the already choked road.
It makes little difference – my roofers are all off to the festival in any case.
Unless the weather changes dramatically over the next week or so, mud shouldn’t be a problem at the festival this year, but my preparations for moving into Lime Cottage have seemed, over the last few weeks, to be mired in lashings of the stuff.
This is supposed to be an uplifting tale of small but significant miracles. I’d grown so used to everything magically manifesting as I needed it that the petty delays, crossed wires and minor problems that – in fairness – thwart just about every house renovation took me rather by surprise.
Had my LIME (Life Is Miracles Expected) magic deserted me?
Was I losing my boundless optimism?
It all reached a peak on the day I’d redoubled my efforts to make the place habitable and put my back out in the process. I crawled back to my comfortable, weatherproof, rented haven in town feeling grim and miserable and decided it was time to take stock.
What would Louise Hay say about that?
Lack of support.
Tell me about it.
Luckily, I soon came to my senses. I realised that however heroic it felt to be attempting everything single handed, it was time I enlisted some help.
As if by magic, my rented house was sold that day, and the landlord happily agreed to release me from the contract that could have had me paying rent here until December.
I decided to use the money I’d save employing a firm to deep clean the cottage, an old friend who is a decorator to finish stripping the wallpaper and paying extra to the removal company to pack all my gear before they move it. What luxury!
Peace, harmony and balance were restored.
The next day my new copy of Cygnus Review arrived through the letter box, with a beautiful photo of a lotus flower on the cover.
The picture linked to an extract from a featured book: Practising Peace of Mind by Thich Nhat Nahn.
The article started by talking about bodily pain – a subject I could relate to very well, still being in considerable discomfort with my back. This section caught my eye:
…when we look deeply we see that suffering and happiness inter-are, just as the mud and the lotus interpenetrate each other. A lotus can only grow in mud. If there were no mud, there would be no lotus flower.
What very wise words.
Now I’m happy (well, y’know, relatively happy) to wade through the mud for a few weeks longer, knowing that I’ll be able to appreciate the perfection of the lotus flower when it surfaces.
Any remaining challenges are simply Life working out the way ‘I’ – at some level – have chosen, to prove to myself that I can play this game and have this particular adventure.