Sleep was not happening and the light streaming in through the window tortured my eyeballs. I had to get up. There was a lot of my mind that shouldnt be – Australian banks and their filthy ways, unhealthy eating habits and what time the owner of this house would be home.
I opened the door that held us captive in the ice box bedrooms and felt an oozing sensation between my toes. I had only vacuumed the carpets yesterday so had no idea what that moist substance could be. Then I smelt it. Dog shit.
We had been looking after Otis a wired 1-year-old pointer for someone in the southern parts of England as a way of making our travels affordable. House sitting is a great way to share bit of animal love and see new places but here I was, toe deep in shit at 6 in the morning, wondering where I had gone wrong.
He had been on his late night walk, eaten the right foods and looked perfectly fine in his favourite spot on the lounge last night. The joys of house sitting. I felt sorry him, missing his owner but more so, felt like I needed a good worming and warm shower. Dogs in England spend many days inside and I too was starting to crave the freshness of the wilds. I opened the windows.
Its been 2 weeks in the UK now after a whirlwind three months on the road with my family through out South East Asia. From 40 degrees plus and all the noodles and rice we could manage, we now find ourselves in chilly Bristol looking for a new home. Something that can accommodate two young girls aged 9 and 12 and another couple of creative individuals. We require enough space for meditation, yoga, music, eating, sleeping and the occasional meet with friends on rainy days and we definitely need to be able to explore as slowly as possible, at will, across many countries.
We manifested a bus. A blue bus called ‘The Gentle Revolution’. It is fast becoming our little bus of wonders that takes us on amazing adventures. It is a collective force of one families journey and dreams that allows us to live in the world and not just view it.
I returned my thoughts and actions to clearing away the mess and scrubbing carpets for the next hour or so allowing the occasional bus design to mask the smell wafting through my nostrils. I envisioned bunk beds, strewn with cotton fibre quilts or duvey as they say in the UK. My mind filled with colours and textures, drop down curtains and little shelves of organic dried foods to fill our bellies on cool days. I dreamed and cleaned.
Coming from a remote Australian rainforest property I was used to being resourceful and had become accustomed to eating all that we had grown – organic fruits and veggies, eggs and what the land provided or neighbours shared. Here though, in this new cool country, I didn’t know what berries I could eat, where the best mushrooms could be found or who my neighbours were but I did know it was bloody cold. Our bus needed warmth. I imagined blankets, cushions and wraps piled around me as I sat sipping a warm cup of lemon balm by the small pot belly. Newly composed music from my creative husband spilled out into the crisp morning air of Cornwell’s sacred grounds as the girls watched little birds and rabbits on their morning rituals.
Looking at the clock I realised I had to get the house finished for inspection. No amount of dreaming will deliver something we want – somewhere along the line action follows the thought, even on an energetic level. One step at a time. The bus would need to wait.