Had the inadvertent blooding of the book indeed been a ritual, I would have minded far less, as such would hark back to the oldest rites, continuing the thread of vicarious sacrifice reaching even into the heart of Christianity.
It was, however, nothing so symbolic… merely annoying and messy.
The book, however, is still readable, and the whole, sorry affair puts a new complexion on red ink…
Speaking of vicarious sacrifice… Ah, Ben… of course. Poor Ben, incarcerated now for the duration. I wonder if they provide tarts to the prisoners?… being Bakewell, of course, before you jump to any erroneous conclusions! Perhaps we could send one… with a file baked into it, do you think?
I do feel a tad responsible after all… Still, if he hadn’t insisted on going back… And I still maintain the thing is better in its original position… I wonder if they will leave it there now?
The ‘Ghaist Stanes’… it is another of those instances when we ‘knew’ without knowing, isn’t it? We have seen the Spirit Stone and the Ravenstone… we’ve even laughed with that smiling stone at Avebury and drawn our conclusions… you even wrote it into the books…yet once again we had failed to join the dots; missing the obvious just as surely as we missed the whole St Francis thing…until Chesterfield brought it home to you, squarely and incontrovertibly.
It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, just how many other such treasures of understanding are lurking somewhere between knowledge and the deeper levels of consciousness. I wonder if it really matters too how much we understand with the surface mind, as long as the inner being moves in accordance with what is learned.
I had a wonderful moment or two on the way home today… five kites diving to the ground near that new housing development by the station. I pulled over…of course… having the camera to hand. Not the in-flight shot, but some good ones. Did me good just to watch them… obviously feeding as I got a few shots of them lifting food to their beaks as they flew… like the shot we got ages ago.
The Beast would not have been pleased to see my attention caught by anything feathered, of course. The current heat means I have a black, furry rug with a lolling tongue… covering, for a small dog, quite a large area of floor… with brief excursions to warn off passing helicopters and pigeons of course.
The tennis ball situation is a little dire though, most having been eaten by our visiting hound.
Not that this lets me off the hook, I merely have to throw the remaining fragments; the Beast, as you know all too well, is obsessed…
Wen and Anu x