I like to start the day with a coffee in bed, and plenty of time to wake up, reflect, plan, be. 

Which means I usually get up a couple of hours before I am due to report for duty, in Nepal, Belgium or Australia. Where ever I am, really.

Also part of the ritual, a tarot card, or three, giving me an opportunity to, again, reflect and even ponder. 😁

Today, as I enjoyed my daily morning ritual, looking out on a gorgeous grey day from my new garden tent (luxury, a tent I can stand up in!) my intuitive life coaching card said: Celebrate..

Celebrate, that word which immediately brings to mind my favourite monk joke, which of course it is my duty to share with you.

Imagine a Roman Catholic monastery, the transporting chorus of Gregorian chanting, and monks, somewhere down in the damp womb of stone, diligently copying words that have been copied from the one original holy book, and their copies of copies transcribed again and again by generations of monks spread across the Land.

Now I see Rocamadour, a village I visited in winter on the way to caving in the Basque Country, one December, long ago. 

A tourist view of the main street. it was completely void of life as we walked it in 1976.

The Gregorian chant followed the three of us, my boyfriend, his friend, and me, as we wandered the empty streets towards the basilica and its siren song. 

Manly voices, reminding me of the Catholic tradition of chastity, the physical  and spiritual lives of able men dedicated to prayer and work, leaving behind the enlightenment of the pleasures of the flesh. (*)

But not making and drinking beer (LOL)

If I enjoyed the chanting, I did not subscribe to the idea of renouncing life's most earthy treasures. 

I lost my virginity on that trip,  a few days later, on Xmas Eve, in a stable somewhere in the Pyrenees. I was eighteen.

Back to my monk story. 

Imagine an erudite, middle age monk, white cotton gloves on, absorbed in the reading of the original book, splayed hands framing the ancient words. That same book that was copied and copied again, one letter, one teaching at the time over centuries and countries.

Then hear a strangled cry followed by sobs, loud echoing sobs, dismay howling through to reach the ears of the abbot. 

"What is it my son? "

A face, looking up, eyes red, sobs doubling in intensity. 

"Celebrate, Father! It said: CELEBRATE!" 


(*) well, for some, only in theory.

I am celebrating. By being in the moment, by writing, by discovering another Ben Stewart series on Gaia.com, by simply being, and allowing Now, and only Now, to matter.

And for you, my latest favourite app: Plum Village

Be well. 

Thank you my mob for your continued support and inspiration! Anne T, Anne C, Barbara, Cathy, Dorothy, Gwen, Iona, Julia, Jett, Margaret, Patricia, Milton, Sue, Heather, Tom, Valerie and Veronique, big hugs and love to each one of you! Just like when I climbed Everest, it is feeling the love behind me that keeps me going with this 'Adventures in Life' page! 

You can buy or gift my ebook "The Wind in my Hair" HERE 


Tom enjoying his complimentary mountain drawing in his office, Hobart, Tasmania. 🙂

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