Transition from Merthyr Vale to Kelowna

Even though I’ll be back in Merthyr at some point, the pre-goodbye goodbyes were important. First, there was the announcement dinner with Canadian Jacquie’s family about 2 weeks before departure. Then on Friday the 9th of March 2012, there was “The Last Supper” with my former employers, Peter and Paul.

Zoe was there, too. Good laugh, great company!

On Saturday, Darren, Toby dog and I went for a lovely walk in Trelewis park, where we happened to see some Canada geese.

On Sunday, Viv came over to the house for a couple of hours to chat and help sort out some stuff.

She took a family photo of Darren, me, and Toby the dog.

Train to Gatwick

On Tuesday the 13th of March 2012, Darren drove me to Cardiff Central train station for the 12:25pm train to Gatwick Airport, via Reading. I arrived at Gatwick around 3:50pm and went straight to the Hilton Hotel, where I met my Loughton friend, Jacqui. We talked into the wee hours, as per usual, about anything and everything… after a filling dinner and a couple of drinks at an airport restaurant, of course! We reminisced about our trips to Portugal, and how life has changed for us in the last year.

We got up at 5:30am on Wednesday the 14th of March and Jacqui saw me off at the airport gate. It was sad, but at the same time, a healthy and happy look toward a new chapter in life.

Flying to Calgary

I usually fly with Canadian Affair, and I’m pleased they’ve gone back to using Air Transat as an airline. Much better than Thomas Cook. The service is excellent, and you don’t have to pay for soft drinks! I watched movies most of the way, but kept an eye out for the views. It was mostly cloudy over the UK and the Atlantic, but when we got over Greenland, wow oh wow!

Just so beautiful!

Leaving the coast of Greenland, it looked like glaciers on the water.

I was surprised to see snow over Alberta. Somehow, I thought it would be as mild as it had been in the United Kingdom.

When we made the descent into Calgary airport I was relieved to see that there was no snow there.

I took the airport shuttle to the Travelodge hotel near Sunridge Blvd for a few hours rest. My room had a view in the direction of downtown Calgary with the rocky mountains as a backdrop.

At 5pm, I met up with Genny and Jeannette for drinks and dinner at Tony Roma’s in Calgary’s northeast. (Genny had a pina colada, I had a blue martini.)

Jeannette had a red wine.

The following day, Thursday the 15th of March 2012, I headed out on the 10:30am flight with Westjet to the rocky mountain interior.

Despite the clouds, I could see some of the dramatic interior rocky mountain landscape as we flew over the Okanagan Valley.

I was still a bit dubious about whether we’ll still be having snow.

We made the descent into Kelowna Airport.

And landed safely in Kelowna.

I got an airport shuttle straight to the new apartment downtown. The apartment is very spacious. Apparently it’s 1200 square feet. It has a second washroom as an ensuite to the master bedroom, which I didn’t even know about!

It has a mountain view in the distance. (Everywhere you look in Kelowna, there is a mountain view!)

There’s a family of mallards that hang out just down the street. They make me smile! I also saw a car with a British Columbia license plate and a Cymru Wales dragon flag bumper sticker on it!

Exploring Downtown

A few short blocks down Bernard Avenue is the lake. I took this picture today, Sunday the 25th of March. It was only 5 degrees celsius, but there were people out walking in their flip flops and sandals, and others sitting outside cafes drinking their coffees. Typically Canadian!

It looks like visitors can take a short cruise on the lake.

There are some historical information boards on Kelowna.

I encountered the infamous Ogopogo (aka Nessie to the Scots).

Walking back on Bernard Street, I popped into a few of the boutiques that were open for a lazy Sunday afternoon trade.

Starting my second week at work tomorrow!

Sandy Taught Me

Sandy is a lurcher that spent two weeks of his life at our house. Getting another dog was something we’d thought about over the years, but we never pursued the idea until I saw Sandy’s picture on the Evesham Greyhound and Lurcher Rescue website just over a month ago.

I admit, we didn’t entirely think it through. But something in Sandy’s face just drew me in. We took our 10+ year old lurcher, Toby, to meet Sandy, and all was well between them. So we arranged to pick up Sandy on the 19th of November 2011.

Sadly, as the days went on, I realized my breathing had become more and more laboured, with wheezing and coughing. Allergies didn’t occur to me until after several scary episodes. I realized that we couldn’t keep Sandy long term.

I’m extremely grateful that we had this chance to have Sandy in our lives. In two short weeks, he taught me so much!

Just Because You Love Someone, Doesn’t Mean You Have to Live With Them.

It doesn’t mean they can’t live without you, or they can’t have a good life with someone else.

So often we hang onto people that may not necessarily be good for us. They may be cute and beautiful and quite a character. They may be fun and great company. But if being together brings either person discomfort, resentment creeps in over time. Rather part in love, than be together in a way that is not good for either. Often, we can love people more with a bit of distance between.

If I Am Willing to Walk for the Dog’s Health, I Must Be Willing to Walk for My Own

Even though we’ve had Toby for 8 years, I used to go on a fraction of the walks he shared with Darren. When we got Sandy, it was essential that I go, too. I found I really enjoyed the walks and felt so much healthier. I decided that this is something I must continue to do for “me”. If I can find the discipline and motivation to get up at 6:30am daily for someone else, surely I must honour myself equally as much!

Stay Focused on What You Want

Forget everything else. Just keep your eye on the thing you want most! The goal, no matter how high, ideal, or lofty, is always achievable. And once you do acquire it…

Value Everything You’ve Got

Cherish it, delight in it, relish it!

Be Willing to Share… Even if it’s Your Final Crumbs

Even when we don’t know where our next meal is coming from, we must trust that our needs will be met. Meanwhile, it’s kindest to share what we have while we have it. It actually makes us both feel happy when we share.

Listen Intently

When you truly listen to instructions carefully, you are bound to be rewarded.

Be Polite

Be open to meeting new people and remember that good manners go a long way.

Share Your Perspective With Others

When you share your views and insights, you all learn something.

Looking for My Community

I’ve lived in three Canadian provinces, and six counties in the United Kingdom. I’ve had impulses (and calculated plans) to live in mainland Europe, Australia, and Arizona. This year was the first year I finally felt I was making a commitment to staying put in my local area for good.

And yet… suddenly, surprisingly out of nowhere, the same old nomadic thoughts resurged yet again.

Known among my friends for my wandering spirit, my latest waverings prompted a friend to ask me this probing question:

“What are you looking for?”

I sat with this question repeatedly reciting in my head for a good 24 hours. The consistent answer that kept coming back to me was:

“My people. My tribe.”

I want to be a part of a community where my creativity is encouraged, supported, valued, celebrated. Allowed. Desired. Wanted. Needed.

While I do spatterings of creativity here and there, I want to LIVE it. I am so weary now of battling the contradicting energies of the environment in which I currently live, among those who unwittingly (just by being who they are) seem to thwart my efforts and impede my creative flow. I need my own, unhindered space. A place I can really feel free to create and thrive. A community that wants me there for every drop of creativity that I can give.

I’m looking for My Community.

Perhaps we all are.

River Rapids Carry Me

Something very strange is a-brewing. This is my third day of feeling it. It’s like, on a very deep level, there is a whole lot of unseen stuff going on with me. It feels like I have left the shore; a river shore where (for years) I have been clinging to the crumbling roots of some tree. Now, the root has crumbled between my fingers. The rush of the river rapids has a power that I can no longer resist. I have to go with it. Kicking and screaming does not make an iota of difference. The force will take me to my destiny, whether I like it or not. So I choose to make my body go limp, and allow it to be thrashed forward. My mind, body and spirit feel like they are going through this kind of a journey. Where I will wind up, only time will tell.

Lucky Escape

In my previous post, I wrote about a job that arrived at virtually the same time that I was given the opportunity of free office space to test trial some new business ideas.

The old, fearful me, took the job with optimism, knowing that “in this economic climate” (yada, yada) I ought to have a secure stream of income. I shoved doubts to the back of my mind. I looked for only the bright side, and reminded myself constantly to focus on the essential money I’d be earning.

On my fourth day, after receiving a blatantly revealing (negative) email from my predecessor (about how the employer had not paid him for two months), I had severe doubts about the employer. It occurred to me that they may not pay me either. Since I did not have a contract, no letter of employment, not even a time sheet as evidence, I began to worry that this company was dodgy. It also began playing on my mind that I’d noticed the office girl bending the truth to people over the phone.

On my fifth day, I walk in, and sure enough, I’m told, “It’s not working out”.

The universe had presented me with two options: the old path of taking a job (that probably wasn’t really right for me), and support in starting a new venture (with the risk of the ‘unknown’ and all possibilities at my feet). I took the easy path as my priority.

Today, the universe just slapped me in the face and said: “Wrong choice. But we’re giving you another chance.” This time, I have to make it work. I have this office space. I have support. I have to do this.

I guess it really does matter that you do what’s really right for you. Because if it isn’t right for you, it isn’t right for them, either.

In mild desperation, I pulled one of Cheryl Richardson‘s grace cards. I got Patience: “Trust in Divine timing. Your future holds something far greater than your past.”

I’m considering this “job loss” a lucky escape. Watch now, as I leap into the unknown Abyss!

Highest Good for All Concerned

For about 4 months, I’ve been pounding the pavement daily, looking for an income opportunity. With few jobs in my area (much less any that relate to my field of expertise) I was pretty much open to anything. I’m not adverse to starting at the bottom to learn a new trade. I actually did 9 courses in this time, all relevant to the hospitality industry. I did a work trial at a popular coffee shop chain. I was especially keen to get into community work and applied for anything and everything I felt capable of doing.

Nothing. Nada. There were quite a few jobs, too, further afield, that my skills and experience completely fit. No go. This left me very confused. What do employers want?

Secretly, I did believe that the Universe knows best. That, in its own time, it would find the perfect role for me. No matter what it looked like, what the tasks were, where it was located, or what the job title was, I would trust that the Universe would orchestrate the right meeting at the right time, for all those involved.

A series of coincidences led to me find out about a job I may not otherwise have spotted, or even applied for if I had spotted it. It was one I thought, sounds okay, may as well apply. (This was in contrast to others where I thought: “Yah! I want this!”) I didn’t hear back for a while, and forgot about it. Some weeks passed. Got an email for an interview. Was very excited all of a sudden. By the day of the interview, though, I let go of any attachment to the outcome. I figured, what happens, happens. Instead of dressing to impress, I wore what reflected ‘me’. I went in thinking: I’m just meeting some new people, learning about their company, and what happens, well, I trust it will be for the best.

The interview flowed fantastically. I got really excited about the prospects. I left with my mind racing about all the wonderful things I could do at this company. I felt 99.9% certain that the job was mine. They said they’d call within the next few days. I was on pins and needles.

No call. Weeks passed. I was now certain I didn’t get the job, and perplexed why not. Every now and again, I’d have to air my confusion to people. “I just don’t get it?!”

Then, almost a month later, I was invited for a second interview, and straight away, offered the job. On reflection, I realize there were reasons for the delay, on both sides, but not ones that made clear sense at the time.

For example, several days before this, I was given the privilege of using an office space for the purpose of developing my own business ideas. Had I got the job sooner, I may not have pursued the office space. Now, I have both opportunities on a part-time basis!

This truly is for the highest good of all concerned. In the coming months (and in future posts), I will be writing more that is bound to confirm this!

Twists and Turns

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

– John Lennon

I’ve never been one to plan. I like to do things spontaneously, by whim or whatever feels right at the time. I know that this is not practical, and often not feasible. To be a responsible adult in our society seems to require setting down roots and partaking in pension schemes. It’s building a nest egg, it’s having a life plan.

In my life, it seems that whenever I made some kind of decision to settle in a place or commit to a project, a spanner would be thrown in the works. The result would find me in a new country, an alternate life, so far removed from the direction I was headed in. It has made me tend to float around, indecisive, and keeping options open.

It was only a few short months ago when I was convinced I would live for a few months travelling around Europe. And now, nothing could be further from my desires. Suddenly, Merthyr is the place for me to be, on so many levels. I’ve found my place, my people, and more and more, I sense my niche is slowly kneading out a groove here. While the outcome remains to be seen, it just feels right to be here now. It took 9 years and a willingness to leave forever, to get to this point.

Following a straight path to a well-defined goal rarely runs smoothly. Life has a way of throwing us unexpected twists and hidden turns. Funny thing, I do believe it’s far more fun and interesting in the long run, to just ride the tide. We may not predict where we’ll wind up, but in latter years, I’m convinced we’ll look back (with a youthful mischievous expression) on the many surprising adventures we encountered.

Art Instead of Advertising

I’m becoming increasingly aware of the growing disdain for advertising. Understandable. We’re bombarded with it constantly. The consumerism propoganda has us buying brands (often unconsciously and hypnotically). We support product lines like sports team fans. When you really think about it, it’s rather sad.

Most of my career has been marketing-related. After years in print, I began feeling sorry for the trees being cut down for the stupidity of flyers and coupons that were resented by so many as “junk mail”. More recently, actions like the Clean City law in Sao Paulo, and the Street Advertising Takeover (TOSAT) in Toronto, billboards and other signage is being seen as “visual polution”. It’s getting to be quite a growing movement.

“Art not Ads” recently caught my eye. Many blogs that were formerly drowning in affiliate advertising have decided enough is enough. Art is a statement that creates a two-way thought-provoking dialogue. Ads, on the other hand, are the one-way slamming of images intent on implanting biased commands into our unaware and unconsciously vulnerable heads. Now Art is becoming preferable and appreciated. The pennies these ads may casually generate no longer compensate for the annoyance, frustration and site exits they prompt.

What would our towns and cities be like, if every ad and sign was Art instead of advertising? Seems like a cause well worth pursuing.

Why Merthyr Vale?

I’ve lived in Merthyr Vale since 2002 (save for a year in Penarth, and 7 months in Cardiff). People I meet here frequently ask, “Why did you come to Merthyr Vale?” There is no short answer, so here is the long one.

In November 2001, my then partner, Darren, and I decided to get away on one of our “magical mystery tours”. Just point the car in a direction, and go wherever it takes us. We aimed west, and as we got to the Severn Bridge, the sign for Tintern caught our attention. We veered left and followed the winding road to this beautiful place. Exploring Tintern Abbey, I had this very deep sense that this was my ‘home’, a place I longed to return. It was intense, committed, beyond my control. (The previous post, Closing the Door on Tintern Abbey, further describes that whole story separately.) We spent 1 night at The Wye Valley Hotel. I remember visiting the castle at Chepstow, and staying in a hotel in Barry for 1 night.

I was completely obsessed with the idea of moving to Wales after that. I just could not settle. Finally, in August, Darren agreed to go on another weekend away there. In my mind, it was to get clear whether Wales was where I wanted to be, or not. We went to Tintern again, stayed at the same hotel. Then drove on to Caerphilly. I loved Caerphilly. To me, it was the perfect place to live: a modern town, with an ancient castle in the centre, and beautiful countryside surrounding. Even Darren seemed to warm to the idea of this town as a new place to live. We ended up in Malvern for 1 night before driving back to Essex.

The Decision to Move to Wales

During the drive home, I remember playing a John Denver CD. When the song Country Roads came on, the words: “Country roads take me home to the place I belong…” triggered such emotion, tears streamed down my face and I knew I had to go back to Wales. As soon as we got back, Darren, who had previously vowed he’d never leave Essex, made the necessary phone calls to his employer and arranged a job transfer to the Cardiff branch within 4 hours. We had 5 weeks to move!

It worked out well, as our house lease was just coming to an end. I tried to work with letting agents by phone and email to arrange a place, ANY place, in Caerphilly to live. No help. We decided to widen the search to Cardiff. We even took another trip and viewed a few places. We settled on a flat, an agreement was approved, and then shortly thereafter, the owner decided not to let. Getting desperate, Darren said to find a place anywhere, just not Merthyr Tydfil. I meditated, and every time I did, all that ever came up was “Merthyr”, “Merthyr”. It whispered, it haunted.

I had an acquaintance in Wales, so I called on him for advice. John said, “You should try the valleys”. Turned out, he’d been living in Bedlinog for about a year, just over the mountain from Merthyr Vale. I can’t quite remember how it happened, but I recall seeing a tiny advert for a house to rent in Merthyr Vale. I asked John to preview it for me. He did, it was fine. I got on a coach to Cardiff, and the landlord picked me up from Cardiff bus station to drive me all the way up to Merthyr Vale to view the house. (When I think about it now, that was quite a thing to do, pick up and drop off someone, 45 minute drive each way, to view a house.)

The house was a Victorian mid-terrace on the side of the valley, with a high wall in front. It had a massive living room, high ceilings, and very old fashioned carpet, golden brown bathroom fixtures. The house on the left was derelict and boarded up. The house on the right was owned by a kind widower named Glynn and his terrier. (Coincidentally, the house we left in Essex, next door was a kind widower named Joe with the same breed of terrier!) The rent was £300 a month (less than half the £650 we paid for a smaller place in Essex). A bit nervous, I signed the lease on 47 Brynteg Terrace. We moved the day before Darren was due to start his first shift in Cardiff.

I was pleased that at least I knew 1 person in Wales. The day we moved in, John phoned me to say he was moving to Cornwall… the very next day! It felt as though, on some level, his job in Wales was done. I was now there, to ‘take over’.

Melancholy

We loved the house, despite its melancholy feel. Through the huge living room window, we looked across the valley to a cemetary. It took me 2 weeks to understand that the cemetary we faced was where the children of the 1966 Aberfan disaster were buried. I soon began a job as a casual library assistant and attempted to ask people about the incident. I quickly learned that there was still so much intense emotion about it, that people were unwilling to discuss it.

Those who know me well, know that I sense the energy of places and 47 Brynteg Terrace had quite a history of family life. Although I could not verify it, I sensed in more recent times there was a woman guardian of a young man who had mental health issues resulting from a feeling of guilt around the deaths of his young relatives in that disaster. The woman had issues of her own. She had never visited the cemetary to grieve.

When John returned to the area on a visit, he insisted we walk up to Aberfan cemetary. A spiritual person (we had mused in the past that we had known each other in a previous life as monks of the same order), John was certain that I had come to Merthyr to perform energy healing of the area. That is why we were in a house that had residue of guilt over Aberfan; that is why we now had to visit the cemetary. I was reluctant, but I knew that if John didn’t drag me there, I might procrastinate forever.

I don’t mind cemetaries at all. I find them rather calm and peaceful. I’ve never hesitated to walk into any. I’ve never felt anything bad in one. The second I saw the first child’s grave, such an intense grieving emotion flooded through me, like I have never experienced in my life! The strange thing was that it was completely impersonal. They were not my feelings. I was like a conduit for previously unexpressed, suppressed emotions. I felt like I was a vehicle through which the entire village was crying for their lost loved ones. I had no connection to any of these people, and yet I was processing their loss through my uncontrollable weeping.

I took photos of every grave. I thought I could commemorate these lives somehow; ensure they were remembered, immortalized. But I later decided it was not my place or duty, in fact very much not for me to do. John was really good about this. He just stepped aside and let me do my thing, somehow knowing that this was part of my purpose for being in Merthyr. He later affirmed that this was a tremendous release for the area. That now, it could ‘move on’ in a more positive light.

Interesting how coinciding with this, housing prices began to climb, doubling in one year, and now around 5 times the price they were. A derelict house now is rare. Building has been rampant. More people have moved to the area as it has become more desirable.

A part of the renewal schemes involved a row of houses, including 47 Brynteg Terrace, being torn down. This is how we were then moved to 42 Mount View in June 2002.

Not Quite Done

When I left my partner early 2008 and moved to Penarth and then Cardiff, I thought I was done with Merthyr Vale. Not so. It felt right to return in January 2010, though I could not entirely pinpoint why.

The Spitfire

If you read my previous post, Closing the Door on Wales, you will come to a part where it mentions seeing a spitfire flying very low, straight towards me. It seemed to come out of nowhere. I took a quick photo as it came towards me, and one when it was directly above. It was so loud, so close, that it filled the entire photo frame. It then disappeared behind me. I thought nothing more of it, until a few days later. I was driving through Mount Pleasant, and just as I drove past the space between some houses, it suddenly hit me: “Oh my God! Oh my God! The spitfire photos are missing!” The 2 shots of the spitfire did not appear among my photos. The gap between houses is where 2 Canadian piloted spitfires crashed in 1941, and underneath the wall on the other side is where the memorial mural is.

When I returned to the house, I looked in the sequence of my photos where the spitfire photos should be. There was only 1 shot, and it was white. Pure white. Empty. Nothing. No data whatsoever. I have never, in the 10 years or so that I have owned this camera, have this happen.

I was told that some modern planes can interfere with cameras. But as a spitfire is very old, this is unlikely. Also, there are only 18 flight-worthy spitfires in all of UK, and the nearest I could find listed on the internet were in south of England. About a week later, I did see a news clip that there had been a 75th anniversary of the spitfire flight from Folkestone, Kent (200 miles away, on the east coast of England) on the 5th of March (the following day). I suppose the spitfire I saw may have been from a private collection, or on its way to Kent? I could find no reports of it. It remains a mystery how it could fly so low in a valley over the abbey.

In any case, it raised my attention to this mural and its history. I remember some years ago when my next door neighbour, Jeff, told me about this commission and its unveiling, urging me to attend. I meant to go, but, well, I didn’t feel comfortable, for some reason. In the back of my mind, I did think I should look into the story, what with it being about Canadians and all.

Well, this is when I learned about that gap in the houses. Funny enough, from my front door, you can see that gap.

To read more about the incident, see http://www.alangeorge.co.uk/spitfirecrash.htm. To hear a first hand account on video, watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuuWilKFQU8.

Significance

So what does all this mean? I still don’t know! I’m still here, so I there is possibly still some purpose in my being here. I am making efforts to leave. Sometimes, we don’t fully know what the reason is for being in a certain place. At different times, I’ve been drawn to Australia, Arizona, and Iceland. I remember when I moved to Penarth, I thought I could seriously live there for the rest of my life. When I returned from my first holiday in Portugal, I remember looking out my Penarth window, smiling to myself, thinking: “I’ll be living in yet another country someday.” Three years hence, after another holiday in Portugal, I’ve thought of a temporary stint in London or Essex, then going to Europe. Can’t say why. It’s that gut feeling, all over again.

Closing the Door on Tintern Abbey

After a phenomenal spiritual experience in Portugal, I drove from Essex back ‘home’ to Wales.

I re-discovered how much I love driving long distances, alone. A driving journey is to me a metaphor of a life journey; it’s a time of introspection. My travel companion Jacqui’s husband prepared me a CD of some random favourite songs to entertain along the way. Funny how just the right song is heard at the right moment: words that were once neutral, suddenly shout inspiration.

It was just like this for me.  In my mind, I had made the absolute final decision: it was time for me to leave Wales for good. In the following minutes, as I approached the Mouth of the Severn just before the Severn bridge, Anastacia sang:

How many rivers must we cross before we learn
That the flood is rising high
And the bridges all have burned

I saw the sign for Tintern, and knew I had to go there.

The First Return to Tintern

This impulse happened once before. The very first time I went to Wales was a weekend away in November 2001. My then partner Darren and I occasionally do the “Magical Mystery Tours”. We just point the car in a direction, and go, trusting we’ll find something worthwhile. Deep in the Wye Valley, we encountered hidden Tintern Abbey.

I had a non-stop smile throughout the exploration of this place. It was Home. I knew it. Despite the dilapidation, I saw every inch of its original shape and use, and stated out loud what each area was used for, nearly a thousand years before. Darren, an utter skeptic, would confirm the truth of my statements by reading the historical information (which I avoided, feeling I knew better and in greater detail than did the historians). I saw where I had once lived, ate, shared with fellow monks. I sensed monks who still roamed and guarded this peaceful place. By the end of the visit, Darren’s face was rather white with shaken beliefs. I giggled in delight. As someone who senses the energy and history of places, this time, I had a personal connection. I still do not profess a belief in past lives, yet I knew I had lived here as a monk nearly a thousand years before. I had proof.

Returning to where we lived in Essex at that time, I frequently ’joked’ with Darren that I had brought back 5 monks with me. It was to deliberately tease, test, make him wonder. Said in jest, secretly, I did in fact sense 5 monks with me. The evidence of their presence manifested shortly after our return. Darren had poured himself a pint glass of cola. It ‘disappeared’. We hunted high and low in every room, even searching inside cupboards! A night and a day passed. Returning from work the second day, I asked Darren if he’d found the pint glass of cola yet. No. He’d looked that morning, too. In the kitchen, making one final round of checking, I challenged his skepticism. “If you find the glass now, will you become a believer?” Exasperated, he said, “Yes!”, but quickly, nervously laughed, unable to make that shift. He changed his answer to ”no”.

I walked into the the living room. There, plain and obvious as daylight, smack on eye level, was the intact pint glass full of cola. What can I say, but that this incident was the key to unlock the door to his closed mind.

I Forgot the Monks, But They Didn’t Forget Me

Wales nagged at me. I insisted we return for another weekend in August 2002. This confirmed to my gut where I needed to be. Darren, profusely resistent to ever living anywhere other than Essex, easily submitted. Four hours and a phone call after our return, destiny was set. Darren arranged a job transfer and I had 5 weeks to find a new residence in Wales.

We had our mind set on Caerphilly. It had the best of all worlds. Easy access to work in Cardiff. Small town with all amenities, a castle and countryside. An idyllic setting. But no one would rent us a place to live.

My then friend, John, lived further up the valleys in Bedlinog. Our connection was very spiritual and we had had talks and visions of at one time living as monks in a same lifetime. John advised me to search for a place nearer to his area. Darren had been adamant, “anywhere but Merthyr”. Meanwhile, all my meditations shouted: “Merthyr!” John supportively previewed a house in Ynysowen (Merthyr Vale) and destiny made 47 Brynteg Terrace our home. (See more in Why Merthyr Vale?)

The Final Return to Tintern: Closure

All these years not realizing the energy of the 5 monks were still with me, I returned them to Tintern. On an intellectual level, I understand how bizarre this may sound. Even to me, believing things I believe, open to all possibilities, it seems astounding. Yet, every moment of this experience was as real as anything I know to be ‘real’.

Outside the Abbey, I started to take pictures. The batteries I had freshly inserted the day prior, failed. I returned to the car to get 6 more, just in case. Upon entering the Abbey, I knew, again, this was a return to a place I once called home. Near to the entrance, as I snapped photo after photo, my inner self kept excitedly repeating: “my home, my home, my home!”

I recall taking numerous shots, including one of a shadow casting of myself on these grounds. All of a sudden, I heard the thundering noise of a spitfire coming at me. I took 1 photo of it as it approached, and another as it was directly overhead. (More about this relevance in Why Merthyr Vale?).

On my approach to the main part of the Abbey itself, strange things began happening with my camera. It made clicking noises, and beeped in a way I’d never heard it do. It would spontaneously shut off without warning, even though the battery indicator showed 2 out of 3 bars.

Once inside the Abbey, the new set of batteries died. The camera continued to misbehave with the remaining 4. In fact, in some places, the camera simply would not register the shutter trigger. Pressing the button repeatedly, it refused to photograph, and very quickly, all 6 batteries were dead. Maybe it was a bad batch of batteries. But I interpreted this as the message that I was here, not to take pictures, but to perform closure on my ties to this place.

I’ve been fascinated by the idea of human life karma. Not sure what I believe surrounding this, even still. But here, it was my truth. I sensed connection with the 5 monks, my brothers whom with I returned to this place. Me, in this body, them, in ethereal body. They sat as I explained that they have committed their ‘lives’ to protecting this place; but I, the 6th monk, have chosen to ‘move on’. I have ‘reincarnated’. I have a new mission. They were reluctant to let me go, but finally accepted my decision. They bid me a fond farewell, waving as I turned to leave. I looked back briefly at them, but immediately turned away again, to avoid the temptation of staying in a place where I had been so happy, in a life that had fulfilled me.

I progressed to the open area where I ‘knew’ bodies were buried (though history appeared not to document) and acknowledged the unmarked graves of the 5 monks whose remains lay side by side. I, the sixth monk, had been exhumed. In my mind, the words repeated over and over: “I was exhumed, I was exhumed, I was exhumed…” as if I was trying to convince them of this fact. The exhumation was indication that my purpose at some point was no longer the same as the other 5.

Even if this entire experience is simply a metaphor for my life, it is profound. Whatever attached me to Wales, I was now cutting ties with. I was acknowledging my emancipation.

Novices

Moving to the next area, a place where the monks used to leisurely gather, I spotted a sign that drew out of me a frightened gasp: Novices. I sensed an anxious, frantic young male spirit, begging me to take him with me, to teach him what I know. I ignored his pleas and swiftly exited the ‘room’; but I ‘knew’ he was following. I tried to lose him, darting this way and that through ‘rooms’, to no avail. I realized that to ensure I was going to leave Tintern this time without any other spirit attachment, I’d have to return him to the Novices area. I re-entered where I had exited; he followed. I swiftly exited the other door of this room, guarded by the wisdom monks, leaving the novice in their capable hands. I slammed the ethereal door shut tight. I quickly cased my escape route, aware that the novice was still calling after me, shouting, reaching for me through windows. I ignored, and continued to dart toward the exit of the grounds in a random, untraceable way, energetically slamming and locking each doorway behind me.

“This Door Must Be Kept Locked At All Times”

Exiting the grounds of Tintern Abbey, I knew that I could never go back here, not in this life, not ever. My job is done. Using the washroom beyond the final gate, I saw 2 exit doors. The one through which I entered the washroom and was about to exit, and another right next to it at a perpendicular angle. On that second door was a long, blatant, warning sign saying: “This Door Must Be Kept Locked At All Times”.

Understood.

Thus, I have closed the door on Tintern Abbey.