Quoting then retelling a tale of womanity

A piece written by Jill Kiefer from a book gifted to me by a friend, entitled 'The Spirit That Wants Me A New Mexico Anthology'.

The paths I now follow in my life and work invite me to explore that spree of felings, frolic and ideas which serves to continually remind me of what else is out there.  It's a DETOUR from the present ROUTE of so many which, though often impressive, does get backed up with traffic and is heavily controlled.  While there is, undoubtedly, potential to cover many miles in the traditions of FULL SPEED AHEAD and EXPRESS LANES ONLY, interstates also impose the rules of NO CHANGING LANES, NO STOPPING and NO PASSING.  Their language is established and impersonal their construction, inflexible.  The EXITS from those choices are few and far between.  For all of the expediency which those ROUTES attempt to provide, I can only move forward in certain areas by taking back roads.  Perhaps it is the difference between travel and journey.  The journey may take a bit longer but the occasional CURVEIN the road leads to the adventures which, when added up, result in life.  My life is articulated here in New Mexico--the Land of Back Roads.

I was following my own back roads which lead me to a group meditation in Manchester and a building called Francis Gorton Monastery.  How I got there is the journey from Spain to Birmingham airport and a walk of a dozen miles or so with backpack and all my belongings into the city entre.   Roaming around to see at 4am the revellers passing back home from a night out because like so many towns and cities there is a large population of students living and possibly studying there ;) So I find myself alone as so often in life amongst many strangers in a strange place adventurng finding new sights and sounds to be exciting despite the tiredness the aches and pains the feeling of being alone is an Energy of creation and exploration for me.  New experiences drive me to leave behind the familiar the habits and routines if a life lived within television schedules or the Monday to Friday nine to five that so many need to earn themselves a place to live and shelter and feel safe.  The security of that way of being is obvious but anathma to my spirit.

I saw a lot of the town from the architecture to the mass of building work being undertaken to the fact that as usual everything I would like to have visited or taken advantage of like the mseum or library were closed at least until 11am long after I wished to be much further north and far too long to stay in one place for.

I worked out a plan to go to the services at Frankley and headed in the general direction by following the path of the sun what I hoped was south and west havin come from the south and east of the city.  So a long way to walk as there was another seven miles of trudging to do yet along the canal path past industrial and university campuses and old and new places along the way.  Asking for directions from people who are unused to walking anywhere.

They find it hard to believe that I might choose to walk a few miles.  "Oh you're a long way from there that's your general direction'.  Ask the lad in the white helmet he's from that area.

He isn't or doesn't and only says a few words encouraging at least and the canal beckons me.

Dropping down away from roads to follow waterways and relax and try not to rush on.

Relax as much as you can.  Your speed is good speed comes to mind which I saw as a yellow graffiti on a concrete pillar somewhere in spain whilst on the road to Santiago de Compostela.  Tiredness is a choice physically mentally you can usually achieve much more than you think you can and just keep on going.

Eventually I reach a village and directions for the services.  It seems a lot more than seven miles and snow on the side of getting road soothes my by now hot and blistered feet.

Swollen and sore wet bottoms allowing the rot to set in as the skin seems more like its been in a bath for days underwater socks stinking.

So I stand barefoot in the last snow and collect some in the box of the chips I bought back there.  Finally managing to painfully walk the last few hundred yards to Frankley service station by going south when I mean to arrive north and Manchester as my final destination.

Charging my phone resting my feet all whilst trying not to offend with my look of tramp and homeless person torn trousers where badly patched holes have been rerevealed and coat that once was almost brand new saved from  bonfire with only a tiny hole in the lining of one pocket repaired made it a welcome addition to my wardrobe faithful trusty fluffy Duffy duffle coat with furry hood intact with slightly ragged edges to the cuffs from wear.

So I fill my water bottle even though I'm more used to having a car and the freedom that brings to go and collect sprig water regularly and grateful for at least a little while to sit in a coffee shop plugged into their power outlet with WiFi to reconnect with the world at large.

They refill my bottle again before I leave even though I've made no purchase and I leave to go and hitchhike for the first time ever in my life.

It goes well considering I'm stood there with a sign that says FREE HUGS for only a few minutes and what must be the twentieth vehicle only too.  Bemused car drivers and passengers listning to advce about which side of the road to stand and how near or far from the junction my ride is a woman from Poland who lives here and has only been driving on the left for six months who works for the food industry by cutting open meat animals to see if they are fit for human consumption officially.