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 And the book that remains unpublished is saying ‘it’s time’.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.
