Time Travel


My Pitbull boy, Taranis, huffling by my side of the bed just before midnight caused me to get up,wander through the dark house to the kitchen and open the door to let him out.
The back garden was lit in that specific way that lets you know the Moon is high, so I could see the fur-boy casting back and forth along the grass near the washing line.
The air was chill but not as freezing as we’d been promised, so I stood in the door waiting for him to finish.

It was then that I moved in Time and Space.

I am 15 and just about to step out onto the flagstoned patio at my Garlands Ride home in Salisbury, Rhodesia.
The time is somewhere between midnight and dawn.
Two telescopes stand waiting for me – a 3″ refractor and a 6″ reflector named “Slubbitygullion”.
More importantly, the deep space galactic clouds and star clusters are up there, waiting forever.
The Yugoslavian-printed book of constellations crackles open in my hands, I feel the slick cover and well-thumbed pages under my fingers and thumbs as I bend the spine of the little book back at the place I need tonight.
I smell the chilly night air. I see the patio illuminated only by starlight.
I breath into and out of a body 40 years back in time and a few thousand kilometeres away in space.
I was there.
And I am still, and can always be, there.

Internal Red Light – Disconnection


Today I felt sad.

A deeply emotional melancholy which pervaded my entire environment. My work, my relaxation breaks, my inter-office communications and my musings among the clouds covering Joburg.

I had heard, after 15 years, some words from my brother. We used to be close, but, like two trees sundered for years one from the other, we have little in common any more. This would make anyone sad. But the state of the country – the rabid self-serving pomposity of most of its politicians, the growing violent crime and the free-falling standards of living for all – and the horrendous state of the human world all had their say in my mood.

And “mood” it was, and all it was. I can feel deeply sad without losing my sense of being in the world, one with the life and energy of the web.

That is melancholia, and it’s human.


On the other hand, for about 2 weeks I have been dogged sporadically by something entirely different in magnitude and kind: depression.

I have felt it before, when I foolishly took an anti-inflammatory which was not prescribed for me. That was a nasty little episode, and it was undoubtedly chemical in origin.

But this, lately, has caught me completely off guard.

It’s a bit like being trapped in a box barely big enough for your body. You’re crouched, unable to move, and the only emotions which come through are bursts of rage.

If someone comes up to the box and tries to help you out of it, you feel like you want to rip their head off.

If someone so much as walks past the box, or comes into the vicinity of the box, you also feel like ripping their head off.


And all the time, your sense of being a part of this magical, awesome universe of Life and the becoming of Life is..gone.

Like a network from yourself to the rest of the cosmos has been summarily and totally severed. No sense of Being. No sense of the Love which infuses all things. No real sense at all.

It’s horrible beyond the telling of it. And this is Depression, I am given to understand.


I have, by the grace of the Great Spirit, been able to lift and clear these symptoms to a large degree, through the blessed help of our plant allies. I am so grateful to these unselfish beings for sharing their beneficence with humans, for without them I would have still been trapped in that box.

I cannot make this connection through any of the usual religious methodologies. This has long been a problem for me, although I can empathise with those for whom they do work.

For me, it’s possible to re-connect (or re-ligate) the soul connection through other living beings giving of their spirit to infuse into mine.

I’m getting better. But I beseech, with all my being, the Great Living Spirit that I never have to go there again; into the box, with no connections and only a spiraling, raging, internal red light of rage and despair to keep me breathing.


One Can Only Hope

Mercury retrograde was, as ever, a wild ride.

This last one, taking place over most of my 4th House – my Natal Moon’s House – had a couple of extra surprises for me, though.

My son turned 30 in this time. And I found out, almost at the same time, that his father (my second husband) had died, in California, of liver cancer, over 14 years ago. And I had never known.


Mercury retrograde’s enabling of retrospective helped me in this case, as I was able to navigate the inevitable flooding of guilt with only a little pain.

In this period, too, we sent the Fabled Bakkie into the clutch and brake shop and drove a rental car for a week. And at the end of it I was kicked off Facebook for not using my “real name”, and we were all treated to the edifying spectacle of our government revealing its full-Wetiko face at last.

Going forward, one can only hope….



Really feeling the dream-like nature of this plane last night – in part probably because of my illness and the medication I’m taking for it – I paused in a life review and sat up in bed.

(Here I’d just like to urge anyone following a conscious path to start thorough life reviews right now, and not to wait for the death-transition for it to take you unaware)

I sat up in bed, as I was saying, and looked around.

Warren coughing in his sleep and both dogs sleeping on the carpet at the end of the bed; their preferred sleeping arrangement despite a brand new mattress. Dogs really like the institution of Family. It’s their natural place in the world, as part of a semi-formal gang.

I got up then and watched the gods-damned-idiot-box for a couple of hours. Interestingly, both programs focused around people in packs: Sons of Anarchy and The Sopranos.

Humans, too, seem to need to feel they are a part of something larger than themselves. A family, a bike gang…a religion.

For myself, I’ve never before now felt that call too strongly. I seem to have wandered around the fringes of groups all my life;  sometimes agreeing with them, sometimes not, but never joining. I have never really seen the need. The Universe and all of Life has seemed enough for me to “belong” to. Humans? You can have them.

But feeling that family bond around my little human and canine  group last night cast this way of living into doubt .

Synchronistically,while thinking over the apparently inborn need of (most) humans to connect with others, I came across this article , which references this need in relation to human addiction.

Briefly, the article goes through the reasons why our current models of addiction may be wrong. It looks at the addicted-rat studies of years gone by, war vets’ addiction rates, Portugal’s recent drug addiction experiment, as well as the mystery of why surgical patients treated with heroin don’t hit the streets immediately after their release in search of a fix.

There’s perhaps not enough data yet for us to draw conclusions, but the theory posited is extremely interesting – not least, to me, because I am an addict – and does deserve some serious thought.

Could, in brief, the mechanism behind addiction not be so much the “hijacked brain” but more the addict’s own sense of connection – or lack of it – with his or her environment?

I’m inclined to think the idea has great merit, from personal experience with my own lack of community membership, but it’s probably much more nuanced and complicated than just the one factor.