Dreamy Drumbeg

I’m plagued with symptoms of late, so I’m sticking close to home. I’m going through this “low” without drugs or therapy.  

I went to Drumbeg yesterday for some relief. The tide was extremely high, there was no one there and the light fog eliminated all the surrounding islands but let through the golden light of late afternoon. It was spooky gorgeous and the visit worked. Looking out over the flooded shoreline gave me the feeling of being alone at the end of the earth—and blissful.

I felt good—reallygood—to be there. I felt weight lift; I could breath with vigor. On part of the shoulder of the beach there’s very short dense grass growing as lush and splendid as a golf course green. Walking on it felt like receiving the sacrament. 

The only sound was a chorus of sea lions singing like sirens, invisible in the fog. Birds hopped from branch to branch in a huge seaside Arbutus; Herons stood silent sentinel in the mist. Acorns popping underfoot, Otters moving like knives through the water and the gentle smell of wood fire smoke added to my sensual pleasure. It all brought relief to my ticking time bomb of a soul.

Back home I had dinner and went to bed at seven I was so beat. Seizures exhaust me.

This morning I meet Jay for breakfast after Sheba and I go for a walk. Then, this afternoon Her Highness goes to the groomer.