Mandala House

Coming home from my second visit to visit Alison Pilling in her Greek villa on the magical island of Corfu. When she said she was moving out here, it was a bit of a surprise. Now, after my second visit, it looks so clearly like an absolute no-brainer. 

I came out here feeling a bit depressed and am returning home brown as a berry, feeling deeply enriched by my time in this exceptionally beautiful place. It’s hard to think of somewhere else that so seems to ‘personify’ abundance. Giant wisteria the size of trees ornament houses and roadsides everywhere. Purple judas trees dot the hillsides in full bloom, lush green trees and hillsides speckled with colourful houses a small pretty villages, nasturtiums and jasmine, roses and lavender, red hot pokers, bird of paradise flowers, crimson bougainvillea, elegant peace lillies, fig and olive and orange and lemon trees, lizards, wild cats, sonambulent dogs who scare no one, not even me, old folk wandering about the villages greeting us ‘Yassass’ as we walk through. (Hello). 

Restaurants are starting to open but mostly lavish Greek salads on the patio by the olive press for breakfast in Ali’s garden, radicchio, fennel, creamy feta, local olive oil and freshly crumbled oregano, and eggs. 

A gently revolving door of curious smiling characters arriving; new friends to make who already live here, friends from home coming to stay. Cool water morning swims from the shallow sandy beach, emerging bright and invigorated. Sunday morning ecstatic dance at Soundgarden, a wooden temple in the olive groves with indoor and outdoor dance spaces with a Swiss then a Finnish teacher doing amazing sets for the two times I visited. Dancing outside in the sun, rejoining the group inside for the cauldron. Paradise. Then down to the beach for fresh orange juice and lunch with others before an afternoon nap in my blue shuttered bedroom with it’s views of village, mountains and sea. 

Every day more. More rest, more rest. But also walking, starting to discover parts of the Corfu trails. Paths through olive groves that feel like hobbits should be walking through them on some great pilgrimage, or maybe they already have… the sense of centuries of quiet footsteps and devoted care of these lands. Sparkling bays with bright yellow beaches and azure seas. Restaurants, restaurants… salads and spicy baked feta, fresh fried sardines, calamari, stews, peppers, aubergines, courgettes, taramasalata, tzatziki, olives ad infinitum, moussaka, amazing apple pies, perfectly passable wine… 

The delight of being welcomed into other people’s homes, people from all over the world who have gravitated to this place to make it their place… getting to discover their tucked away little paradises, down tracks, their renovations, the red sunsets from their gardens over the islands, the red dawn from my window at Ali’s as the sun rises over the mountains of Albania just across the Ionian sea beams its first rays into the Corfiot valleys. 

The old Venetian capital of Corfu town, with its elegant Italianate style, well Venetian, winding pedestrian streets, conscientiously avoided ice cream shops and fine museums. Bags of history. 

Wildflowers everywhere. A landscape of walking trails not yet enough discovered. Searing heat and fresh mornings. Cloudy days and cool evenings. Alison graciously welcoming all who visit and quietly noticing what they need; rest usually at first. Then connections. Meditation in the old olive press. 

Invites to saunas and yoga and singing, community farms, foraging walks, dinners on the decking in spectacular settings. Sensitive, welcoming people, each gently bubbling with vulnerability and generosity. The promise of hot summer festivals. 

Can’t imagine I’ll be back, or what on earth possessed Alison to move to this awful place! Joking. As each day has passed, I have grown to love this place more and more.

Report from Greco. It’s gentle and sunny in my first winter in Corfu. I’m quiet and reflective, the house to myself at last. I have enough here to not need to join everything, I thought I might. I may make a women’s circle one week but for now, ecstatic dance and family constellations are drawing me. And the occasional walk. Last week I discovered Porto Timoni which is jaw-dropping in January and rammed in July.

The blue skies, warm temperatures and sunshine make me happy, simply happy.  As it's warmer outside than in, I sit and work at the big table in the garden. With its near views of the avocado tree and spiky palm, and the greenery and noise of the neighbouring houses and returning birds, it is peaceful. The upstairs bedrooms and Namaste studio are empty for a while. Knowing that guests and friends will come soon enough, that I’m here for at least a decade, instils a calm to the original feeling of “I Must Do Something”, make a website, sort out groups, attract deposits to buy a sofa and fridge.

Yet there’s a natural rhythm that must have overtaken me, a quiet voice letting me know that house paint & shopping can wait till March and a working party will happen in April. It’s quite something to know that this house was built in 1776 so even if I do nothing this year, it’ll be alright. Probably. Though the alarming dripping from the heater under the sink caused a flurry of concern and water for the un-rained on garden each morning. Another thing for the fixing list. I’m not a naturally chilled person, so is this what letting go feels like? Who knows? I’m the wrong person to ask. 

I’m focusing on writing for February.  And the book that remains unpublished is saying ‘it’s time’. Time to withdraw for a while, to say sweetly “ask me again in March” and to hear the same from others. Thank you for your No. There’s a steady group in the 29 days of writing, our words and word counts, poems and practice, building connection, columns and momentum.  It’s sweet when an idea comes together when creativity pops up above the ‘no one’s interested in what you think’ parapet.  It's day 8 and I’ve written 8631 words according to the spreadsheet that I'd be quite willing to Domme me, yet life and to-do lists and things like water heaters are interfering with the afternoon pitching plan. Bah. Maybe that's March then.  

All roads lead to writing. A friend gave me some wild archetype cards for my 60th birthday and we sit together on Zoom sometimes and do reads with each other. I pulled The Vow last week and felt a shudder of a shift. The Vow is about a pact made. What did I bargain for the heart of Mandala? Creativity and following a divine intelligence. The focus on ‘sex ‘in the last decade is quieted, yet still remains humming along, a low beat in the background that pops up in a warm hug, Sexological Bodywork training, a sensual bliss descending in ecstatic dance, or the reveries of turning a bend and the light in the olive trees. 

A gasp of noticing beauty. This month has been a quiet delight of blue skies and sunshine. Most days I still get the gratitude of ‘I live here now’ especially driving alongside the harbour on the route into Corfu Town, the big skies and far horizon.  

It’s ok to be quiet and reflective. It’s what I needed. To wait, to respond to life and to what comes.  I’m busy enough, still looking into screens, to-do lists, writing, and occasionally making a proposal for a summer group.  It’s enough. Knowing that life happens when it happens, that others too are gently stirring to action. That the diary will fill. Maybe there is no rush to tie things down immediately. It’s enough. Life is long. 

Where do we begin? Here.

I like it here. This first winter is filled with weekly ecstatic dance followed by coffee at the beach, walks in nature on the cliffs and beaches, and discovering places I’ve hitherto not had time for. Porto Timoni in January is stunning and spacious though I’m not much of a swimmer or sailor, I’m dreaming of little boats in bays like this. At home the fire is cosy, and on sunny days there’s warm watery beauty between the thunderstorms. And some days it's astonishingly 15 degrees heat alongside the cool winds from the snowtopped mountains in Albania we see from the garden. Driving in my cute little lease car is a joy, I’m easily awed by the sunlight filtering the olive trees and the fading red and ochre-painted Corfiot villas with ancient doorways, and tiny village paths. There are breathtaking views around each bend. I only drove in Corfu for the first time last year so that was another satisfying accomplishment of a fear overcome.  I love occasional trips to Corfu town to buy bits and pieces of homewares, discover shops and restaurants off-season and do ordinary things like getting a haircut or buying a fuse, crossing the threshold of hardware stores gradually. I see Ben and Sacha around and it feels good to keep connection and possibility. 

These end-of-January days are the first I’ve had the place and time to myself. A time to reflect and plan, rest and hide. I love that there’s nowhere much to go and a limit on what to do. I haven’t moved much beyond the Arrillas Magoulades border yet as I settle; bonding with the house as we welcome each other into this new long-term relationship based on commitment, creativity, freedom and appreciation. Appreciation for what I’ve been given and for what I hope to create. 

I’ve always had a sense of creating an arty, writerly, connecting, gathering place so I’m wondering how to do that. The heart of Mandala is dedicated to creativity and love and that’s the head-scratching next step, of translating everyday destiny into a lived reality. Somehow in small glimmers, new ideas and possibilities are emerging. Interesting people are asking to come and stay, I want to stack the house in favour of friends, and people coming to Buddha Hall, Evolve or Agape Zoe.

I do ask myself if I can really run a business like this. Why not? Who else is going to decide? I figure if I have at least a decade here, Mandala will be a journey over time. A contrast to the 90 days parcels I lived during Covid times, in Italy, Albania, Corfu, Mexico and Colombia. I liked those times, writing in beautiful places, mostly in solitude and quiet. It was restful the second month, once I settled. So I wonder how my wandering soul feels about staying here for a while. I’m glad I chose the peace of this time. 

And in November 2023, my house in Hebden Bridge finally sold to a wonderful buyer. So with that small sigh of relief comes a big wave of appreciation for the patience, shared vision and trust in the process. I felt and feel the love and belief of so many. It was a daunting process at times, a lot of nerves were held. 

And now I’m minding the gap between what is still owed and the luxury of creative freedom. What’s clear is what worked isn’t going to come close to being what’s needed for the future. 'Tis big to buy a house in a foreign country, leave a life of 15 years behind, and begin anew, and yet on some levels, I don’t feel scared by destiny, though I’m sometimes overwhelmed by buildings and business structures. That’s natural. Who wouldn’t be? 

I can’t do this alone. I could never do this alone. What’s obvious Mandala needs a team - co-owners, fixers, gardeners, cooks, paying guests, bean-counters, painters, cleaners and creators if it’s going to be a refuge, intentional community, healing, holiday and events space. I watched Swimmers while I was back in the UK in November, a deeply moving film, so I’m aware of how privileged I’ve been to land in Greece with a wad of cash (not mine) and be given access to sun, beauty and comfort. While magic undoubtedly happened, it’s humbling. I ask myself and the guides who brought me here regularly, “How am I to use this privilege wisely?”