Today (1.9.03) I find myself packing for London, England. There is just so much happiness in my heart that I am certain I am going to float away in my chakra light.

(3.23.03)

London, Bath Spa, Farnbourough, Fleet, Stonehenge, Winchester, and that tiny no name village of thatched roofs, Phantom of the Opera, Texas Embassy Bar, Windsor, The Dreadful Tower, (filled with jewels), shopping and all things related are now captured in my camera, or retained in my memory or engraved upon my heart.

I wished my fingers into the glass cages to touch the gold, crowns and jewels; the parafinalia of royalty before me. Later, those who really know told me that the entire display of Tower jewels was fake, I refused to believe it. I could gaze upon it and not fear for my own head impaled upon a stake on the banks of the Thames in the morning in easy view of Sunday strollers and pecking palace Ravens.

I walked every path of Charing Cross and stood in the doorway of Rudyard Kipling where I left tears on his stoop. He lived, worked, slept, caroused and dreamed all within a section of London just a short walk down to the docks along the river, where he must have caught the spirit of Kim and taught the little boy to see. Rudyard could see the other side of the earth and smell the spices of India in his mind from his street front flat on the Thames.

Bath Spa found Paul and I in the bed of the Royal Crescent Hotel watching a video of Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility" written right down the street from where we staying. It could not have been better. I could shut my eyes and envision her in the room with us watching right along not the least bit awed by the technology and humbly surprised that people were still enjoying her work which she in her lifetime could hardly sell.

Paul was taken back thousands of years looking at Roman designed and built bath houses that were not appreciated by the thundering hoards of conquering Norsemen whose followers upon the fall and departure of Rome turned the baths into sheep pens, then let them crumble to be plowed over and under. Paul stared at the magnitude of the structure knowing that it once supported a covered dome not seen again in Europe until the Italian Renaissance Period.

One of the true centerfolds of the trip for me was Stonehenge. I have named it The Happy Place. It was a place for knowing that the sun truly would return and tell them when to plant for the following years food supply. It was so situated for the telling of harvest and storing of the food collected. It told of festivals of plenty that occurred there. The feelings were festivals of celebrations of births, the joining of two lovers, the death of a loved one. I felt that these people were a deeply ritualistic peoples who valued life in its simplest forms.

I was able to feel the pride of their spirits: We plant, we gather herds, we harvest and we live through the winter because of our good work in the summer. They felt strong and confident of their earthly power. Nouveau Pseudo Druids of the present day who purchase their food wrapped in saranwrap at the local supermarket do not have a clue. Dressed in polyester film to float like angels in gentle breezes would surely be angels indeed frozen in the frolic with nothing to sustain them through the long dark night of winter.

These are the feeling I experienced flowing over me accompanied by gentle waves of freedom and fortitude. A strong and basically happy people created this church of massive standing stones facing in strategic positions to catch the proper movement of sun, planets, and stars and meteor showers. The stones recreated their cyclical challenge to build, maintain and immortalize their strength, purpose and life.

The great round table of King Author was the beginning of planned conflict, self governed by a coalition of gallant fighters and lawyers gathered together to establish Right as they saw it from their short sighted perspective to increase the coffers of the kingdom that they deemed the center of world. For truly Time; The Clock and The World Bank began for the western world in London.

The basic stone structure of the Round Table is still a place in Winchester of lawyers, courts, with military close by. The feeling there was majesty and control and the building of a single eyed tradition. Self righteousness, personal grievances, infidelity, revenge, the un-forgiving heart and featherbedding manned by children who were second generation playboys rather than valiant single eyed knights caused it to fail due to a lack of qualified leaders. But the dream rose again as a linage of kings and queens and parliament and counselors. The magestic halls were soon filled with religious bigots and a few true saints; who were promptly executed in The Tower by a court appointed Lord High Executioner.

This form of execution was deemed efficient allowing community involvement and pleasurable entertainment, though little deterrence could be counted upon. It definitely need to be speeded up and France came through with the invention of the century. The killing machine Guillotine mass administered the capitol punishment of de-capitation. The masses we so caught up in the blood rush of killing they forgot to plant and clean their homes of rats and thus they died like flies on both sides of Waterloo.

In the aftermath, they returned to the principles of their beloved Stonehenge and for a time celebrated birth and planting and harvest once more. Starvation was a much more effective killing machine and the deterrence to rise up out of that condition was strong. These were very dark times where strength is hammered into steel.

Napoleon arose into the lime light of flamboyant success and the concept of small minded men with big thoughts of power began the practice of Roman World War again, which remains with us today in all countries. It was the proud Norse spirit which held Napoleon at bay, causing an ill advised tactical maneuver, which years later was Hitler's same down fall.

These were my thoughts in London.

Thank you, London. May all your clocks keep time in peace together.

Gaylee Malone: March 2003