She sits leaning over a desk, a VDU screen staring blankly back at her. Her whole body language says, 'Tired' and 'Tense'. Then two warm hands rest gently on her shoulders, one brushes her long blonde mane to one side and moist lips kiss the nape of her neck, lightly. 'Relax', a soft deep English voice whispers in her ear and then the hands begin to firmly massage those locked muscles at the base of her neck. After a while, as the slow rhythm of the massage starts to kick in and she begins to relax, two thumbs find the uppermost tsubos to either side of her spine and apply a deep pressure. 'Breathe in slowly', the voice says and the pressure is released. 'Now breathe out', and the pressure is renewed, this time a little deeper. 'I can feel the chi connection now, darling one', and she feels it too. Some more breaths and the next tsubos are energised, and so on down her spine. She's feeling good, better than she has for a while, it's good to relax deeply. A hint of humour enters the voice, 'Of course, Dale Cooper's advice holds good - every day give yourself a little treat: that extra double espresso, a quick catnap at your desk when you should be doing something else, something different and unexpected just because you want to ...'


'She's magic ...', she mused, looking at the henna tattoos on her long pale hands as she slowly, gently kissed each finger tip (*smile)



I had a dream last night and woke with the certainty that I should write to you. I can only remember the tiniest fragment of the dream but what I remember makes it significant and, perhaps, timely.

My old Jungian therapist is calling to me, telling me to get up, go somewhere, do something. We are in a room in a house, not unlike my own. She is behind the large sofa on which I am pretending to sleep. I have covers and as she speaks I pull these up around my head, hiding. I know that she stands in front of the large French doors to the garden, bathed in light. She becomes impatient, telling me that I cannot hide and that I need to go.

As you can imagine, I woke up thinking that this was where I am in a nutshell. On the other hand I am moving within again and my sense of the magical in everyday life has never been stronger. Not the magic of ‘Abracadabra’ but the magick* of signs and portents, of seeing. Carlos Castanada’s Don Juan says at the very beginning that the first step for the sorcerer, the brujo, is to learn to see. Much the same could be said of the artist, or for that matter the landscape architect*. Whether ‘seeing’ significance is magick or psychology or marketing 101 is a matter of personal mindset – but for me the world has always been magical. My weakness is that I have been ambivalent about this for most of my life, believing deep inside me but denying on the surface. I guess my early experience with belief was not good, but I need to have more faith and I definitely must learn not to be afraid of expressing who I really am in terms of belief. I have been spiritual all my life and have run shy of shouting that fact out in this material age.

It feels good – each kiss landing on my fingertips like a butterfly. I look at the henna patterns that grow like rippling vines across the backs of my hands. I smile, closing my hand, still looking at the back of my left hand. I slowly rotate my wrist, my fingers now upward, visible. Wrapped around something. My hand opens and in my palm a stone, a pebble from a very distant beach somewhere. Smooth, polished by the sea, like a flattened ovoid. Lapis. ‘This is for you to keep, *****, guard it well.’ I put one finger to your forehead, lightly, in that special place just above and between your eyes. ‘You can always see me here’. I smile, and fade from sight.