Considering the importance to me of creating and living in a ‘sacred space’, I have moved more times than I care to remember since my 50th birthday ‘awakening’, and most of those moves have been in the last 9 years or so: since the move south to Devon in 2015 and then back north to Yorkshire in 2020.
Some of those moves have had rational explanations, but many seem to have no apparent reason for moving to, or away from, a particular set of four walls. Each time, though, I have had a (reducing) level of hope that here might become ‘home’, rather than simply somewhere to live for now.
This time, however, I’m speaking out and writing about a high level of hope. In part, it’s founded in practicalities most folk would understand: moving is stressful for physical, mental and financial health and my birthdays are going up in number, whilst my savings are going down!
More importantly, though, is my need to feel I am making a useful contribution, and helping myself, others, and the planet to the extent I am able. Whilst so much practical and psychic energy is taken up with repeated moving, I am not serving as well as I might. Surely, at best, I have a maximum (if very fortunate) of 20 years of useful contribution: I want to feel I’m working from a safe and secure base to give that. When I was 30 something, 20 years seemed a long time. Now, at 70 something, that same period of time feels very different. I believe there is some AFR (actual, factual, rational) explanation of this, but I operate primarily on a feeling level…
Although to credit the AFR, another part of the explanation for having more hope-of-home this time, is that this move has taken me into housing association accommodation, rather than private rented, which gives me security of tenure not available in the private sector, beyond whatever the current contract - usually six months. At least twice in my housing peregrinations have I had to move because the owner wanted their property back. This time, as long as I pay the rent and remain ASBO free, I can live here as long as I want. Perhaps, then, it can be home until that very last home: the return to source. (Of course, it then might all begin again, but that’s beyond the reach of this blog post!)
So, here I am in Harrogate… less of a deep-time geological sense of where I am than I had for my previous two moves (although the Old Norse name likely translates as 'road to the cairn': and cairn might refer to the nearby Brimham Rocks, more than 300 million years old) but more of a recent socio-cultural history - not least the importance to the developing 17th century settlement as somewhere to ‘take the waters’ (ie, hydrothermal bathing). There’ll be more of this in a later post when I’ve taken the waters a few times myself!
For now, still unpacking boxes and arranging my sacred paraphernalia - establishing the nemeton - I’m focusing on my immediate surroundings.
But it’s just been Imbolc - that wonderful ancient Celtic/Gaelic recognition of the beginning of Spring, and I couldn’t resist a visit to Harlow Carr Gardens… a mere ten minutes drive up the road. And a new addition to my personal favourites list of outdoor nemeta. There will be more of this too in later posts.
