Castle Rigg stone circle, Cumbria. 4,200 year old sustainable architecture
You’re welcome to join our circle of souls doing a meditation together on Sunday, all at the same time, wherever we are. It’s rather special.
It’s all to bring relief, healing and forwardness to ourselves, people around us and the great wide world. Or perhaps to imitate a mountain for half an hour. Or just to sit there and give ourselves some time and space (go on, pamper yourself!).
In UK we do it at 8-8.30pm, in W Europe 21-21.30, in E Europe, Turkey and the Levant it’s 22-22.30, in Brazil and Argentina it’s 5-5.30pm, in EST USA and Canada, Cuba and Jamaica it’s 3-3.30pm and in West Coast USA and Canada it’s 12 noon-12.30pm.
Makes me feel a bit like Chronos himself when writing all that down!
No sign-up, no recipe, no strings – just turn up in inner space.
Would you believe, this is my hundredth blog. I started the blog just a few weeks before going down with cancer, with no idea it would quickly turn into a cancer blog. That says something about intuition: it has ways of knowing things in advance that we don’t. Consciously, at least.
This is a review of my cancer story, for those of you who are interested.
Cancer was a great surprise when it was diagnosed in November 2019. Looking back, signs were appearing nearly a year beforehand, but they weren’t recognisable. Something wasn’t right, as if I were in a downward spiral, getting tired of life and losing my spark. Neither my partner nor I could figure out what it was.
Then in August 2019, while working in her garden, my back cracked and four of the lowest vertebrae in my back collapsed. At the time it seemed I had an excruciating, immobilising back problem. The pain induced a kind of enforced spirituality, which I blogged about a month later: [1]
“It has been a remarkable initiation, a time of enforced stillness and interiority. Within myself I’ve been ‘back home’ with the star-nation people and have travelled the worlds in ways that ordinary life does not usually permit. Meditatively, I’ve stood alongside people around the world who experience deep suffering, supporting them with gifts of spirit I’m blessed with and finding a deep solidarity with them. I’ve dwelt on my life and what there is left to do with it…“.
A cranial osteopath recommended I get scanned in hospital – he felt something more was going on here (thanks, Simon Perks in Totnes). Getting to hospital was a long process. Eventually, in A&E, the junior doctor, in a quandary, called in a specialist, who entered, stood intently looking at me for a while, then said, “Test him for Myeloma”, and walked out. Brilliant. This man nailed it at first try. Within days I was having treatment. I had Multiple Myeloma or bone marrow cancer.
When the news of cancer hits you, it’s like a thunderbolt and soulquake. Yet it came with a strange element of relief, at last knowing what was actually happening after three months of spirit-wringing pain. For decades I had looked after myself, with a view to avoiding such things as cancer. Had I got things wrong? Seriously ill, if I had arrived in hospital a month later, I was unlikely to have survived. When cancer comes, it can come fast and strong, even if its buildup is long and slow.
After a few days I asked the specialist whether he had any clues about the causes of Myeloma. He looked at me straight and said, quite simply, “Radiation exposure”. The next day he brought a map in The Lancet showing the clustering of Myeloma cases within 40 miles of nuke stations. For 28 years I had lived 15 miles downwind of Hinckley Point nuke station, and I had had two instances of exposure in other contexts too.
Many doctors say the causes of Myeloma are unknown. Certain chemical neurotoxins may also be a cause for some. The reason for this perhaps deliberate unclarity could be the court cases and compensation claims that would erupt if such electronic or chemical toxicity became public knowledge.
The specialist’s opinion just went ‘ping’. I had known since 1975 that I was electrosensitive. This was largely not a problem until around year 2000, when mobile phones and wi-fi became commonplace.
That year I had a ‘dark night of the soul’ crisis and a long illness, going down into the Deep Dark, questioning all I had done over the previous three decades and wondering what value it had really brought. It was a deep honesty session, a struggle with Weltschmerz – the pain of the world. Aged fifty, I think my susceptibility to cancer started brewing around then.
As time went on the electrosensitivity got worse, especially after 4G and smartphones emerged around 2008. By 2014 periodic overdoses of radiation (in a restaurant, meeting, supermarket or train) were giving me rapid-onset flu symptoms, and by 2017 I was getting heart palpitations. It took until 2019 for cancer to show itself.
That year I was working on my prehistory research and mapmaking, in a rather urgent, driven way. Completing it in early August, just two weeks later my back suddenly went crack and my life changed. Well, the research was at least complete – perhaps a hidden hand of fate had known what was going to happen next.
When diagnosed in November I was now very much in the hands of doctors, my partner, my son and a few others – and way out of my depth, flat on my back. It was an exercise in surrender and acceptance.
Having been a health-conscious, vegetarian meditator for decades, and rarely getting ill, I had always assumed I would be exempt from cancer. Well, life has a way of teaching us other things! In our culture cancer is regarded as something going wrong, a failure, but it didn’t quite feel like that, to me. There was something strangely fitting about it, even though life was being hard on me. I decided to suspend all my foregoing beliefs and do my best to trust that, whatever happened, it would be alright. I did hold on to one belief though: that, whatever life presents, there is a gift in it.
Rigorous experiences as a humanitarian, mountaineer and camper had taught me energy-management, attitude-maintenance and steadfastness. Having got through plenty of crises and having survived thus far, I felt it was possible to do so now, whether that meant living or dying.
Trusting the doctors was my only option – and most were really good people. My experience of NHS treatment has largely been positive. I had done alternative medicine for decades, yet I did not have the knowhow, energy, facility, support, time or money to take such an approach now, and already it was too late. Chemotherapy was the only doable alternative. It contravened beliefs I’d held until that moment, yet it felt right to do my best with it. If the angels wanted me alive, they’d keep me alive, and if they didn’t, they’d take me out.
I’m pretty good at handling crises and, here was I, going through a test of spirit. I had to grasp life’s reins on a deep level, since healing means fully allowing healing, fundamentally handing ourselves over to the process. This goes as far as dropping any expectation of what ‘healing’ means – it doesn’t only mean ‘getting better’. Whether I am to live or die, may it be for the best, all round – this was my prayer.
The strong pharmaceuticals shocked my system, though clearly they might also save my life. I asked for inner help in handling whatever was to come. One profound message came through: use your feelings and intuitions to proceed. My brains were not working well – I couldn’t get my head around all the medical research – though my intuitive senses were quite easy to read off. They just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ – and then it’s up to us to figure out why, or to bear witness to how it comes to be true.
I went inside myself, connecting with the angels like never before. This might sound spurious to some readers but, believe me, when you’re in a situation like this, that’s what you tend to do, whatever your foregoing beliefs. I asked them to support my adaptation to a changed life. But when you ask, you also need to offer: I offered up my life, however it was to be. Whatever needed to happen, may it happen well and may I make it easy – that was my key prayer. I think this really helped, not just psycho-spiritually but medically too.
I used holistic supplements, CBD oil and good nutrition – judiciously, and careful not to mix them or create conflicts with the pharmaceuticals. Over time, various healers and healing circles weighed in – thank you everyone. Some of these interventions made a big difference – including, over time, an E-Lybra machine, radionics, homoeopathy, cranial osteopathy, herbs, chiropractic and prayer. And an old cat, Tomten, who would lie on my pelvis, the most painful place, giving me genuine pain-relief.
So, doctors saved my life and healers gave me a new life. I’ve written this before and it’s true.
I feel immense gratitude to my partner, who gave balm to my heart and helped me through the process – she was a true healer and a great soul. Her love, care and protection made a critical difference in a bleak time. I was a heavy weight for her to carry. There was no financial help for a ‘family carer’ like her, she had a business to keep going and a life already filled with issues and concerns. And I’m a tricky and complex character at the best of times. My son Tulki was a constant companion and support, though he could be present only sometimes. These two made a key difference.
So I followed an intuitive route through the cancer tunnel. I worked at getting the doctors on my side, showing them that I was not one of the awkward squad of ideologically rigid health-freaks, though I did have my own ways and preferences. Two things helped: they found me interesting, cooperative and lucidly descriptive of my symptoms, and, lo behold, as the weeks went by, my medical results were surprisingly good. This gave me leverage.
Still, I had to badger them about drug dosages. I didn’t need blasting with explosives. Eventually they got the message. One or two drugs were withdrawn and one was reduced – the steroid Dexamethasone, which had positive effects on my cancer and distressing behavioural side-effects, especially to people close to me. My dose was reduced and, lo behold, it started working better.
Initially I was supposed to have eight cycles of chemotherapy but they stopped treatment after five, saying I could go. Later on, one specialist said, “Mr Jenkins, I don’t know what you’re doing and I don’t want to know, but whatever you’re doing, keep doing it”.
Myeloma is a blood cancer that causes the bones to hollow out and weaken. It’s not as complex to treat as other cancers – there’s just chemo, with no radiation or surgery (since no tumours are involved). I responded well and quickly. I think the holistic practices, supplements and remedies helped greatly, together with an almost palpable influence from within, from my ‘inner doctors’. They scanned and treated me on an energy-level, and it worked. I think they worked through the hospital doctors as well, in mysterious ways.
I’ll add a few more things: walks on the hills and clifftops; a lovely place to live on a wildlife-rich farm with low EM radiation; unchlorinated springwater from just up the hill; a positive attitude; coming to peace over as many life-issues as possible, and working on the rest.
I’m on an immunotherapy maintenance treatment, Dara (Daratumamab), which flags up emergent cancer cells that my immune system then deals with itself. I have a Dara injection every four weeks – a nurse comes round to shoot me up. She takes my temperature, oxygen count and blood pressure, and every twelve weeks she takes a blood test and sends it off, and it’s from this that my condition is judged. With Myeloma, most people don’t get ‘remission’, just a ‘pause’ – some get a year of life and some get ten. In my fourth year, I’m still alive.
After decades of living a holistic life, your system evolves differently to ‘normal’ people. When you’re doing spiritual work and you have some pretty amazing healers as friends, normal medical rules get bent and broken. But still, there’s a deep karmic story that goes on underneath cancer, with a trajectory of its own. I did well at first but, after two years, I was ailing, hit a crisis and got ready for the possibility of dying within the year. Yes, more wading around in the deep dark!
Yet by summer I was reborn, even attending a week-long Oak Dragon camp, which itself was a healing boost, as much from the people and ambience as from the camping. By now I was in a state of positive shock, realising I was alive, kicking and that there was a future. And perhaps I needed to get a new coat for the winter.
I’m doing well with the cancer, but the side-effects are problematic and these might fell me in the end. It’s all about bones (in my astrological chart I have a strong Saturn). Four of the lowest vertebrae in my back collapsed – I must use sticks to stand and walk. Reducing my height, this squeezed my stomach, leading to digestive and eliminative difficulties. It also caused the outer gluteus muscles in my backside, which do the major pulling, to lose their tension, making long walks strenuous and painful. I have osteonecrosis of the jaw – a dying jawbone – stopped by medication, but an area of susceptibility. And if I break any bones, repair and revival is likely to be difficult. These side-issues affect my life more than cancer does.
Then there is chemo-brain. Chemotherapy chemicals destroy brain-cells and nerve-endings. It has had mixed effects, reducing my left-brained ‘executive’ thinking and memory for details, yet improving my right-brained intuitive-imaginative side. It has pushed me into the present moment – my sense of time, sequence and duration has dwindled. I’ll remember something that was said by someone, but not who it was or when. I screw up easily when things get complex. Yet my creativity – channelled through writing, podcasting and websites – has never been better.
At one stage I asked myself what I would be doing if I didn’t have cancer. “Just carrying on“, was the answer. Instead I have been given a new relationship with life on Earth, an experience-rich new chapter, however long or short it is to be – miraculously paid for by the government and taxpayers. Life is twice as difficult but in compensation it has changed in shape and content. I’m focused now on staying alive more than on life’s many complexities, diversions and tensions.
I’ve had some pretty amazing spiritual initiations in my life, and this has been the next in a sequence, as if it was meant to be that way all along. Well, perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t. Having twice come close to dying in the last four years, it has given me some training for the inevitable transitional journey that is yet to come.
So, did I go down with cancer, or did I go up?
In recent months I’ve found that I see no future ahead of me. I’m drawing a blank, and my customary faith in life is not that bright. What does that mean? We shall see. In our time, we are all faced with so many unknowns. Most people can however safely assume they will be alive next year or later in life. Having that assumption removed has a strangely spiritualising effect – and that’s another strange gift that cancer has given. It’s what the psychedelic guru Alan Watts used to call the wisdom of insecurity. Earlier in life I knew it was good to appreciate life and all that it gives us, but cancer has taught me what that means in far more real-life terms.
It’s funny how things go.
With love, Palden
PS. My soul-brother Alan suggests my blogs are too long, and he’s right. But this is how they come out. I wish I had an editor – that might help. I’ll try to do shorter ones. Problem is, I’m a time-rich person writing for readers who are mostly time-poor. But then, if you read this far, well done, you did it!
Disclosure: the apparent paintings were done by me using a graphics program (Corel Painter Essentials 8) – they aren’t paintings. The photos they are based on are by me. The bottom photo is by Lynne Speight.
I thought this article was interesting, and am inclined this way myself. Current values in society tend to believe we should avoid and be free of pain and difficulty as much as possible, but this keeps us in the same place. It’s a growth-less position to take.
I was summarily dumped last year and, while it was really painful and I’m still left hanging and unresolved, it has been a remarkable gift and learning experience too, forcing me to master those things I felt I needed from my partner. It gets a bit complex when you have something like cancer and you rely on them, but even there, it’s possible to do your best with the situation as it is. So I became stronger as a result. It was a struggle, but also, seen from another viewpoint, it was a gift of love. It’s okay to let it bleed.
Some people have called me brave, for things I’ve done. But it’s not really like that. As this article mentions, you get to master life and its challenges by taking it on and going into it – the author uses the analogy of weight training and increasing the weights you lift. Former challenges become easier because you get used to bigger ones. And this is what hones the soul.
Once you’ve had a gun pointing at you, it gets easier when someone else points a gun at you again, and you realise you can get through the situation, even with a smile. That’s not really bravery – it’s just getting used to life and wading a bit deeper in. A bit like Brits’ attitudes toward British weather, or Yemenis’ or Ukrainians’ approach to life in their countries – and some people choose to go into the fray rather than to run. Or a bit like the work (‘labour’) a woman goes through to give birth – if you run from it, though that’s understandable, you might miss something, something about life itself.
In a sense, life is a preparation for the moment of our death. Death is not usually painful, but it does involve facing stuff – not least facing our incapacity to do anything much about the situation or to change anything, which is a choiceless choice to face. But even so, we have a choice to take what comes, or we can try fighting it.
Therein lies the choice. In the end, that’s where freedom resides. Because if you’ve grappled with something, you don’t have to carry the pain and fear of the prospect of having that something come at you and stop you in your tracks. That’s a kind of pain that comes even when you’re not experiencing it. It’s rooted in fear. A comfortable, safe life is not necessarily the best kind of life to have.
The author of the article provides a good strategy for dealing with the difficulties we face – about the incremental drawing of lines, and about facing the reason we’re in such a situation, rather than either letting it oppress us or running from it.
Summer solstice sunset, as seen from Trencrom Hill, Cornwall
One thing I like about doing a regular, weekly, ‘booked’ meditation is that I do it regardless of whatever is happening or how I am feeling. I just do it – no question, no struggle. Over time this has created a parallel space in my life with a life of its own, and it has a tremendously steadying effect. It pulls me back on track, helping me step outside the ‘wheel of life’ a bit, to remind me of the main issue or the heart of the matter.
So, whatever’s happening, and however I’m doing, I just do it anyway. That’s a bit different from doing meditation by choice, or doing it daily. Doing it daily is a distinct choice and, certainly at some stages of life, it can be really good, if life allows it. And sometimes it can be made to fit in with life: I often used to go into meditation while sitting with my kids as they went to sleep – and we’d all mutually benefit from the vibe-change. It was a moment of special closeness.
The weekly meditation is very doable. It’s not a relentless habit and it doesn’t require a disciplined or diligent attitude. At minimum it’s a half-hour deeper-relaxation space, once a week, and at best it can sometimes be a game-changing shift, or a blast of insight, or a healing, or an inner journey.
At times I get into some really remarkable inner experiences – for example, when visiting a disaster zone or a world situation, or when communing with people dealing with life. Other times, I just have a quiet meditation. Or I have two or three parts to it, one of which might involve letting my inner doctors scan and work on me, or inwardly being with a friend who needs standing alongside, or simply working over the events of the time, to release them or lift the clamps they’ve put on me.
It varies a lot. It’s a kind of extra dimension in life that goes on anyway, whatever else is happening.
It has certainly been valuable to me as a cancer patient – especially getting involved with ‘inner doctors’. When I had a lot of fatigue a few years ago I found I progressed a long way in meditation. I didn’t have a lot of available focus, but I had time, allowing myself to float and glide, to let be. If you have Longcovid or disability or something similar, I suggest taking a positive approach inwardly and looking for the gift that is available in fatigue or immobilisation.
It’s currently at 8-8.30pm UK time (other times elsewhere – see link below), and quite a few of us are doing it, including people who aren’t aware of these postings – they started doing this ages ago, or because they read the Nine book, or through other connections.
It’s especially good for folks who are doing it on their own, perhaps because of geographical or social isolation, or just because they can and do do it that way. It’s not complex, you don’t have to go anywhere or do anything for it, it’s free and it’s a gift of the present and The Presence.
When I was diagnosed with cancer in late 2019 it was at first like receiving a death sentence. I was indeed close. This has a way of changing and reorienting everything inside – or it did so for me.
When it looks like your life really could be ending, it makes you reassess everything, where everything stands, what can be dropped, what means a lot to you, and what is unresolved, regretted and incomplete. It’s a rapid, factual acceptance process, prompted by a loss of ability to act on life, owing to serious illness and malfunction.
So I looked at my life. Some things I could let go of easily, some needed attention, some presented hurdles to cross and some looked impossible. This process went on over a period of weeks while I was flat on my back, struggling to stay alive. As it happened, I made it through, with the loving help of my then partner and the ministrations of the staff at Torbay hospital.
After three months, I was gradually reviving. After six months I was more or less on my feet and functioning – enough to be able to go home to Cornwall and look after myself, with a little help from my friends – and the staff at Royal Cornwall hospital at Treliske. Lucky me. I survived.
Being a writer and communicator, there were still things I could do, and it became part of my cancer therapy. If I were younger, with a job and family, or if I were in engineering or farming, I’d have been in a catastrophic situation. But as a freelance writer and broadcaster, I could carry on. My brains and the creative process changed, and my fingers weren’t as keyboard-accurate as they once were, but it worked.
Even so, part of me was left hanging – the humanitarian part. So were the people in other countries who were affected by my loss of functionality. I could no longer travel long distances and my capacity to get through such a rigorous life had collapsed. If I went to Palestine or Mali now, it might well be a one-way journey. That remains an option, though I’d also be happy for my ashes to be buried under a tree on Botrea Hill.
I made a prayer for clues suggesting how to resolve this question. Three issues came up.
One was the growing needs of the people I’d been working with. This included Hope Flowers School in Bethlehem, all sorts of individuals in Palestine and Syria and in the Tuareg village of Tinzibitane, Mali. In the 2020s, need and crisis levels were rising, and this was vexing.
The second issue was me, since doing such work had meant so much. These people, whom I had grown so close to, were some of the most valuable people in my life – I had learned so much and become so much more of a real human as a result of working with them and finding my place amongst them.
The third was finding people to take over from me. That was the biggest question.
As my old friend Sheikh Bukhari once put it, “God has a staff shortage, with plenty of eligible employees who for some reason prefer to stay unemployed“. A kind of Sufi bishop with a deep Muslim heritage, he had emigrated from Jerusalem to America, landing up flipping burgers in a California burger joint. He returned home after a decade, back into the frying pan that is Jerusalem, to become a leader in a community of spiritual peacemakers in Israel-Palestine – then called Jerusalem Peacemakers, and now called the Abrahamic Reunion.
“I finally accepted Allah’s job offer“, he said. A good man, he was. He’s now in heaven, carrying on up there, and his widow Hala carries on down here. His son Izzedin Naqshband runs a Palestinian vegan restaurant in East Jerusalem, if you’re ever over that way.
Finding people to take over helping Tinzibitane has been a challenge. The Tuareg don’t have as much PR power and experience as Palestinians do. However, they make amazing hand-made, trademark-free, talismanic jewellery and other crafts, and that’s their tradeable USP or ‘unique selling point’. Many Palestinians are educated, literate, competent, urbanised people, while the Tuareg live a simple life out in the desert, without being highly engaged in the modern world.
They are not tempted by modernity, tending to hold it at bay. From a humanitarian networking viewpoint, this is a good marketing tag to use – the Tuareg have a genuine mystique that charms and fascinates people. If it were lost, it would be a loss to the world. They don’t beg and bleat either.
The modern world comes at them anyway. In 2016 I managed to save the life of a baby, Zeinabou, whose mother died in childbirth. I helped with other survival issues by making Facebook appeals and raising a few hundred quid to help.
Mercifully, I was joined by two others, Eve and Jane, and we were able to fund social-reconstruction projects going into the thousands. Over a few years we restocked their camels and goats, sank a well and funded the building of a small village school, helping them regain confidence as a village after a devastating war and drought around 2011-12.
They hadn’t actively participated in the war, but it had affected them and they had been attacked by both sides – the Malian army and Al Qa’eda-related Jihadi militias spilling over into the Sahel from Libya and Syria. The Jihadis tried to establish an Islamic caliphate to lord it over the independent-minded Tuareg, and they’re still at it. I think they will blow out, get tired and go home eventually, but not anytime soon.
Testosterone does wear out after a while – and this is how many wars come to an end. Eventually, people just want to go home and sleep in a proper bed.
The Chief
The desert village, some way west of Timbuktu, started coming together again. People returned from refugee camps in neighbouring Mauretania and new people joined from other villages, seeing how they were getting organised and taking life back into their own hands. The chief, a thoughtful man in his early seventies, with good intentions for his people, strengthened the social fabric of the village and gave it new hope, with our help.
The Tuareg are a consensual people with deep traditions going way back before the arrival of Islam in medieval times. They are independent people, with significant gender equality and a strong sense of collective solidarity. I liked working with them, and they did the right things to help us help them.
They are a desert people. For centuries they have been the camel-truckers of the Sahara, carrying goods between south and north, inhabiting the southern edge of the desert, the Sahel. Gold, salt and high-value goods were their main cargoes, plus, in medieval times, slaves to Algeria and Egypt, which they stopped doing later. These goods and people were sold in the souks of the Arab world and forwarded to Europe, Ottoman Turkey and the Middle East.
One thing I like about them is their integrity, honesty and lack of corruption, and this makes it easier to work with them. They don’t like asking for help, and they budget and spend well, and money sent for a particular purpose is usually spent on that purpose, as arranged.
Home-made mud bricks for the school
In many crisis zones, money just gets spent on whatever urgent need comes up next – it’s understandable, a ‘firefighting’ approach, and that’s life there, but from a fundraising viewpoint in the rich world it’s difficult, because of our issues around accountability. Accountability is a polite word for post-Protestant tight-fisted control-freakery, a key quality that has made us whiteskins rich.
We communicated through Anim al Husseini, who first contacted me in 2015. It was his wife who had died in childbirth, and Zeinabou is now growing up in the village. Anim speaks Tamashek (the Tuareg language), Arabic, French and English, and he’s good at staying in touch and supplying information and photos – without these, support work gets difficult.
The chief has nominated Anim to be the next chief – though, whenever that happens, he will need the consensus of the villagers to step into that role. That’s the way it works amongst the Tuareg: their traditional systems of governance are consultative and confederal. As desert individualists with a self-help survival ethic, any family or tribe may take their leave and join other villages if they feel the need. Nominally the men make the decisions but, if the women disapprove, it simply doesn’t happen, and that’s that. So the women set the norms and the men do the business.
The school in construction
The village has hit new political difficulties. It’s a long story, going back to the 1880s-90s when the French took over the Sahara, dividing it into what are now Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Morocco, Algeria and Libya. They took the Tuaregs’ camels, goats and best lands, oppressing, conscripting and enslaving them and discouraging their nomadic lifestyle. Over time there were a few Tuareg revolts against this.
When independence came in the 1960s, power went to the Mandinka and Bambara majorities in the southern, greener part of Mali, who continued discriminating against the Tuareg, regarding them as a threat. Yes, there is black racism too, and the Tuareg are only partly black – they derive from ancient Saharan, Berber, Arabic, Nubian and West African stock.
The school in completion
By the 1990s some Tuareg wanted their own independent country of Azawad in the northern half of Mali – the desert region. The government wouldn’t have it and fought back. There were also frictions with other peoples in the area – the Dogon, Fulani, Songhai, Bambara, Soninka – as populations grew and the region became more desertified.
Recently, Anim Touareg wrote to me, and this is the first time he has ever expressed true fear over the future. This is what he wrote:
Salam Aleykoum dear Palden How are you ? All the people of the village greet you We are very scared about the situation and yes we hope everyone will be safe A lot of people already flee to Mauritania But in the village we discussed about it and we decided to stay in the village Because travelling will cost a lot of money and the last time we went to [refugee camps in] Mauritania, everybody get sick Here now the biggest problem we have is the provision [food] Things are getting very very expensive because of the war However if we get food for the people, we will stay in the village and continue education for the children The chief of the village is sending his worry and ask you to tell to your friends Because this is very emergency and we hope everything is gonna be alright Thank you so much for everything dear Palden Please receive greetings and prayers from all the village Ma’Assalam
And later he added this:
We don’t have access to a good and reliable internet connection these days I am happy to tell you we sent some families to the refugee camps In Mauritania We evacuated elder people first because they have a lot of health issues and can’t support big pressure For me I am still in the village with my family and some other families We will work hard to continue running the school so our children get educated It’s very important for us We are trying our best I know about your health issue dear friend and I don’t want you to work a lot also So take your time and share some Infos when you can Thank you so much for everything dear Palden Please take good care of you and keep in touch Maasalam Anim ❤🙏🙏🙏
Anim is a Capricorn in his early thirties – a Tuareg Millennial and single father, with camel.
The well in construction
I’m telling you this story partially for your interest and information, but also I’m sniffing around. We need about three people with a good mix of skills who would be happy and willing to work with this and – this is the important bit – stick with it. The good news is that this project is not a big one – it’s human-sized. The turnover of the Hope Flowers School in Bethlehem was over a million dollars a year, with which I could only tinker around the edges and do specific bits of hassle-busting but, with this village, our input has made a total, marked difference.
The well, completed
It’s a smaller-scale project, involving real people. We have no offices or international development degrees, though we’ve lived round campfires in tents and tipis. The involvement of an enlightened NGO might be welcome, yet there’s something special here about people-to-people, ground-to-ground connections – and not just handing it over to the charitable sector.
It feels best for there to be something like a small group of (say) three proactive energy-holders with 2-3 helpers. But it will take the shape it takes, around the people who turn up.
This isn’t about aid and development in the standard model. This is about helping the Tuareg stay Tuareg, and helping them interact constructively with the encroaching 21st Century world – and its guns, troublemakers, competing interests and geopolitics. A friend in Cornwall, Kellie Odgers-Brown, has come forward to market their jewellery here in Britain, and that’s a first step – the Tuareg want to generate their own income.
Now we need:
a good networker experienced in social media, crowdfunding and handling payments,
someone who understands cultural sensitivities and the politics of the region (who has also travelled outside the rich world without staying in hotels),
someone who is good at hustling, writing and organising,
plus a couple of people who are happy to pitch in when needed and handle special issues (such as cultivating a funder, running a website, starting a branch in another country or even going to Mali).
There’s a crisis going on in the Sahel and it is unlikely to end quickly. So this is not an easy mission, but it is doable by keeping an eye to the future. These people are a potential shining light in the post-conflict revival of the area. They stay politically neutral, focusing on their village and raising its game. By setting an example they give a model for other villages and tribes to emulate – this is a multiplier factor that is worth considering, and it’s already ‘case proven’.
But it needs resolute perseverance. It’s not full-time – it’s a spare-time thing that will go in waves and bursts. It might be good if there is one person in their 50s-60s, one in their 30s-40s and one in their teens-twenties, since each generation has its virtues. But those who turn up and make a difference are those who will run it and decide.
My dilemma is that I am no longer able to head this up and I have only a few years to live. The best I can do is advise, support and stand behind you. I no longer have what it takes to shoulder this operation. Think in terms of a minimum three-year commitment, with an added duty of finding someone to replace you if you wish to go.
If there is a gap in your life, if you seek engagement with something meaningful and out of the ordinary, and if it fits your ethical values to the extent that you can focus on it and become a trusty friend to these people, then this might be of interest to you.
If so, think about it for a few days, do some research, take a look at Anim’s Facebook page, contact him if you wish, and write to me with your thoughts (just a few paragraphs at first, please!). We’ll go on from there. Consider your realistically available time-space and your capacity to carry things through, and be clear about where your limits lie.
This is teamwork and others will rely on you to do whatever you take on. It’s unpaid, voluntary work, and it might or might not benefit your CV or resume, but it could benefit your mana – your standing as a soul. At the end of my life, I am so thankful for having been involved in this kind of work – it has been enriching in heart and soul.
That’s what this is about. To fulfil our missions on Earth, we need to get engaged with specific issues, activities and projects. We need to test ourselves with some gritty stuff, bringing light into the darkness. While this world has no shortage of crises and issues to worry about, getting involved with one thing like this is doable, and it can have wider implications longterm. It’s something where you as an individual can make an impact.
You form relationships with these people, and it’s about giving them some hope and backup, to make their lives better. They live in a very different world to us and, in our time, we need to learn to avoid imposing our ways on them and getting them to suck up to us. Instead we need to help them be themselves, stay themselves and develop themselves in their own way.
This is the way of the 21st Century. Leaders in this are the Palestinians – they are advising the Ukrainians in non-violent social survival and resistance skills. This is the stuff of the future – human, spirited aid.
It’s about building resilience, ecological, cultural and societal, about helping people face modern times, and bridgebuilding between cultures while honouring diversity. It isn’t only about helping them: it’s about an energy-exchange where they give what they are strong in, and we give what we are strong in, and it connects up, and everybody benefits.
For we, in the rich world, we need aid too. It’s just that we don’t fully know it yet. These people know a lot about survival and self-sufficiency. They understand the magic of life. They have a deep-rooted culture. They need friends, and so do we.
If this says something to you, or if you know someone who might be interested, or if you’d simply like to donate a tenner to the kitty (details from me), or rustle together tenners from your friends, or even take over the kitty, or make a prayer for protection of the village and the departed villagers, then please do. It would be great to give them some encouragement right now.
I’ve given you another long read, haven’t I? Well, congratulations in getting to the end. Happy newmoon. And Happy Birthday to Lynne too!
I’m up on Botrea Barrows in West Penwith, Cornwall, recounting why they’re there, and what life was like 5,500-3,500 years ago in the megalithic era, in the neolithic and bronze ages, when they were built.
St Michael’s Mount
It’s also about the reasons why the ancient people of Britain went to so much trouble to build sites like this.
They weren’t fools, and they did it to create practical benefits, and they were onto something that is relevant to our day.
It has something to do with building a sustainable civilisation – one that works more or less in harmony with nature. Although it did come to an end, megalithic bronze age civilisation lasted around 1,200 years – pretty good.
Cape Cornwall
Introduced by a Cornish chough and outroduced by oystercatchers and a raven, and the Atlantic waves at Carn Les Boel, a cliff sanctuary just south of Land’s End, at the furthest end of Cornwall.
This being Britain, as soon as the tourists went home, the sun came out. It seems to be a law of British meteorology. My wooden cabin, with its big windows, gets quite hot when it’s sunny. I sat outside today, soaking it up. One of the very best cancer medicines is sunshine – and it’s free. I need to rest, because I’m shagged out – my legs in particular. Yesterday – pat me on the back, please – I did it. And it well and truly did me.
View from near Pordenack Point
A friend, Kellie, came round and we did the hike from Land’s End to Carn Lês Boel [map here]. For me this was rather special – a personal pilgrimage to a special place. It’s the place where, if I could, I would dance my last dance. I go there whenever I need to say prayers and come home to my soul.
But it’s a long haul, for me in my condition – my walking sticks, serving as legs three and four, get tired too. It’s two miles each way, with a lot of up and down, but it feels like four. I was not at all sure I would make it, but part of me realised that this was my last chance – now or never. There’s a shorter route from Porthgwarra, but this route is special, and I wanted to do it while I could.
Pordenack Point (see the people on top?)
Heading south from the car park at Land’s End, first you come to Pordenack Point, a high cliff bastion which, from the first time I went there fourteen years ago, I knew to be a major clifftop sacred site. But back then there was little evidence of that – to local archaeologists it was just one more of Palden’s crazy, rather left-field ideas. That evidence has appeared since then. It’s a friendly, strangely homely place where you can sense happy gatherings, unions and reunions, even choral singing. The panorama over the sea is spectacular.
One of the simulacra at Pordenack Point
Pordenack has a prominently-placed chambered cairn, which would have been used 4,000 years ago as an initiatory chamber for deep retreats in this definitely cosmickle place. Also it would probably have been used for dying – it’s a great place for disincarnation, an esoteric spaceport for soul-takeoff toward the Western Heaven. Or it would have been a repository for relics and revered personages put there, at least for a while, to bless the landscape – rather like charismatic saints’ relics in medieval times.
The new discovery was that of a circular enclosure at Pordenack Point, perched on the edge of a near-vertical cliff. That changed things. It was found using LIDAR, a brilliant new form of aerial radar mapping that can pick up hidden remains under the earth’s surface.
Here comes the interesting bit: the enclosure is lined up exactly with two other circular enclosures inland – Castle an Dinas and Caer Brân (pronounced ‘Care Brain’). Both of these enclosures are large enough to host gatherings of a few hundred people, though at Pordenack the enclosure might hold twentyish people. These were all concerned with the coming together of people.
By my reckoning, Caer Brân – it’s just over the valley from the farm where I live – was the parliament and moot site for the tribes of Penwith in the bronze and iron ages. Archaeologists are far more cagey. It is right at the centre of the peninsula, at the intersection of two major trackways. One goes west-east from Sennen (for the Scillies) to Madron and upcountry, and the other, NE-SW, links all of Penwith’s stone circles, from the Nine Maidens and Tregeseal to Boscawen-ûn and the Merry Maidens. This trackway goes past four bronze age platform barrows at the top of Botrea Hill on our farm and over the valley to Caer Brân – I made a podcast about this trackway two years ago.
Castle an Dinas was a further gathering site further east, probably for the meetings of tin traders and for fairs and celebrations at Beltane and Lammas. This is deduced from two astronomical alignments emanating from the enclosure, aligned to the rising and setting points of the sun at those times – the sun rises over Trencrom Hill and sets over Conquer Cairn.
Caer Bran
My feeling is that Caer Brân was rather more for formal and jurisdictional assemblies, while Castle an Dinas was more of a marketplace and social gathering site. Just up the hill from Caer Brân is Bartinney Castle, a hilltop circular enclosure with cairns inside it, which has a distinctly spiritual-religious character and a remarkable panorama. Legend has it that the Devil can never get at you inside the enclosure on Bartinney.
But, get this, three of these circular enclosures – Pordenack, Caer Brân and Castle an Dinas – are exactly aligned along a summer solstice sunrise orientation. Gatherings and festivals were really important to ancient peoples, and the people of the tribes of Penwith would come together at these enclosures at special times of the year.
In those days, folks weren’t as peopled-out and time-pressed as we are – there weren’t so many people around and, if you went anywhere, you walked. Much of the land was wooded, which gives a different space-perception to the open farmed landscapes we’re used to nowadays. Jumping in the car to visit friends wasn’t an option, so you met with them periodically, when you could, at gatherings like these, particularly at the solstices and cross-quarters.
You’d meet your relatives, distant friends, old acquaintances and new people too – at Castle an Dinas there would be interesting people from abroad, even in ancient times. There would be discussions, decisions, the making of deals and the settling of disputes. There would be trading, flirting, celebration, partying and morning-after hanging out, with moments of invocation, spectacle and holiness. They’d troop there from their living places around the peninsula, stay for 2-3 nights and troop back home again.
Pordenack Point is special not just for the above reasons. It hosts what must be one of the world’s largest collections of rock simulacra – natural rock shapes resembling ancient beings. There are whole gaggles and convocations of them – guardian rock-beings who face the vastness of the Atlantic at the far end of the Isles of Britain, holding the winds and waves at bay and protecting these isles from the storms, currents and weather gods. Some of the simulacra stand there chatting, and some are watchers, peering toward the far horizon. Some are Keepers of the Law, some are the Chanters of Intonations, and some are grumbly earth beings who resent the dwarvish bane they carry.
Carn Boel
Then you head onwards to Carn Boel, the next headland along the coast. Carn Boel (‘headland of the axe’) and Carn Lês Boel (‘headland of the court of the axe’) form the bounding headlands of Porth Nanjizal (Nanjizal Bay, pronounced ‘Nanjizzle’). Carn Boel has a big outcrop with a hooked nose, on top of which is a rather magical stone and sitting place, looking out to sea. Perhaps a place for consulting ancient seers and soothsayers.
Then you follow a cliffside path – a bit challenging if you have vertigo – alongside Porth Nanjizal, past a fascinating granite outcrop called Carn Cravah. We had a good sit and a round of tea there – I was already having to pace myself because, since I got cancer four years ago, I have few energy reserves to draw on. So it’s an exercise in prana-management, energy-management, pushing myself but not pushing too much. Often there are seals hanging out in the water below, but they weren’t around yesterday, possibly because of all the humans frolicking happily in the water.
Nanjizal Bay
Then you get to Nanjizal, a lovely sandy cove. It lost all its sand in the storms of 2014, but the sand has returned now. It was quite busy. It was lovely to see children getting lost in the magic of the place and playing in the waves, without a care. At least half of the people present seemed to have foreign accents – central Europeans, accustomed to being landlocked, love Cornwall and its wide-open, oceanic coastline. Since Covid we’ve had a new wave of non-white, second-generation Brits coming to Cornwall, laying claim to the extremities of their homeland, to plant their hearts in the landscape and tune in to its roots, and I really like that – they’re welcome.
Then it’s a steep climb up endless steps to the top of Carn Lês Boel, a few hundred feet above the sea. This was a killer and I had to take it slowly, step by step, with two pauses and one sit. An old dog came puffing up the steps like a steam engine, gave me some friendly slobber and continuing on its way, followed by a puffing human, smiling as he passed at this old hippy sat there in his Arabic jalabiya.
The path onto the carn is on the right of the propped menhir
But I got up there. It was painful, but the Carn makes the price worth paying. Its energy-field is strong and uplifting. It’s a place of transformation and healing, with a lightening (levitational) and enlightening (uplifting) effect. You can feel it as you approach. There’s an ancient ditch crossing the neck of the Carn, marking the boundary of its sacred space – I stop there to ask permission to enter but the answer is always ‘Yes, welcome back‘.
The propped menhir
Then there’s a gateway marked by two menhirs, one now fallen. At times, before cancer, I had a sneaky urge to come here one night with a few friends to re-erect it, but it never happened. The other gateway stone is a rare propped, crystalline granite menhir – raised up on small stones so that there’s a gap underneath, so that the menhir doesn’t itself touch the ground. The purpose of this is difficult to tell, but there’s quite a concentrated energy-field in the gap underneath. A similar thing happens at two other such stones: one at Trevean, half a mile away and probably built by the same builders at the same time, and the other a few miles up the coast at Carn Creis, amongst the Boscregan Cairns.
At the top of the carn is a rock platform with an energy-vortex that makes my body sway involuntarily when I stand on it. A nearby tipped-over stone probably stood on this vortex in former days. There’s another energy-centre further along the carn – a natural rock pile with a vortex emerging from the top – and, yesterday, over this and the first energy centre there were swarms of flying ants, swirling around psychedelically in the heat, following the flow of the energy-vortices.
When I’m there I settle and eventually lie down, finding myself drawn deep inside the carn. Esoterically it feels hollow. It does have seal caves in it, but this is a different kind of hollowness, as if there is an enormous atrium of vastness and voidness underneath, Tardis-like and bigger than the already enormous carn itself. There’s a feeling of very ancient beings here – geological beings who were here long before humans were ever thought of. There’s also a wide-open, upwards-and-outwards, infinite-space feeling to the carn, with its oceanic vista. The next stop across the ocean, thousands of miles away, is the Yucatán peninsula in Mexico, the Mayalands.
Carn Lês Boel marks the western end of the Michael Line, a line stretching across southern Britain along its widest axis, crossing Glastonbury Tor, Avebury and other major sites along the way. That’s one reason why this site seems to me to be working at a higher level than many other sites around Penwith – the carn is on a global great circle energy-line.
I needed to come here because I feel I’m at a junction point. I’m drawing a blank on where the roads lead from here. Unusually for me, at present I see no future – no sense of where I’m going or what happens next, or even what I want or need. I’m not sure how to interpret this, but I see three possibilities. One is that I’m just plain blank and need to feel alright about that. One is that I am on the edge of something, a new chapter, the form of which I should not even try to pin down at this stage, in order to allow it the space and freedom to develop. Or the third possibility is that my life might end quite soon, and that I see no future in life because there isn’t one – the path leads through a threshold to another, less physical world.
I can accept any of these, for although I turn 73 on my birthday (Tuesday 5th September), and I’m not that old, I feel like a hundred years. Life has been an uphill grind in recent years and I feel rather worn out. Tired of pushing hard to get through life, tired of all the palaver and complexity. But I’m not set on that either. I’ll be wherever it is most useful for me to be.
I’m rather a mission-driven kind of chap, and if there is something meaningful and manageable for me to do here on Earth, then I’m up for it. But my life has developed a kind of emptiness. I miss my family, my partner and her family. In the wider world I am well liked but not greatly included. Regarding will-to-live, it does make a difference when there’s someone to live for, and perhaps I haven’t appreciated this sufficiently, earlier in life. I’m not good at doing nothing, staying alive just to stay alive, and I’m uninterested in watching TV, entertaining myself, feeding my face and living in glorious isolation. There’s more to life than this, and if there isn’t, then perhaps I’ll be better off going back home.
That’s why I went to Carn Lês Boel, to place myself before the Vastness, to make a ‘here I stand‘ life-statement, to ask a question and make a prayer. I chose the hard path to get there since it might be the last time I can do that route. It’s special to me because, this time in particular, I have to work at it, wear myself out, and that’s a quality that pilgrimages need to have. I needed to open myself up to whatever is to come. To ask for clues.
I didn’t get anything definite for an answer except for one thing: when leaving the carn I paused and asked, “Is this my last visit?” and the answer was definitely ‘No’. That perked me up. But instead of giving answers, this pilgrimage brought a change in me, a change of state. The questions started mattering less, and I came to a feeling that everything is alright, okay and perfectly in order.
Even so, I had to build myself up for getting back. Part of me didn’t want to leave. Another part of me knew that I had to start now, while I still had energy and before my body stiffened too much. Being on the carn had recharged and reconditioned me, and I knew I just had to apply mountaineer’s grittiness, persevering through the next bit to get myself home – well, back to Kellie’s car.
So I psyched myself up and went for it. My legs and back were hurting and my strength wasn’t great, but I just had to do it. At times like this, when I’m out in the wilds, I have a secret wish my dear son would winch me up into one of his helicopters and teleport me back to the farm. But this is Planet Earth, and he’s busy with other things.
This said, the whole trip was really worth it. Kellie was great company too – a right-on lady who’d been a road campaigner in the 1990s and who, I sense, stands on the edge of taking on a new mission of her own sometime soon. She’s one of those women whose kids are hitting twenty, who finds herself standing in front of a rather big, wide-open space. She was attentive to my needs, pace and timings, which was great, but she didn’t fuss over me, letting me stagger along at my own pace – and this old cripple likes that! She also seemed to like the Queen Mary’s Rose Garden tea that I brought in a flask. And I liked the lunch she had brought, which we had at Nanjizal Bay, just before climbing up to the carn. Thanks, Kellie – and I hope the trip was auspicious for you too.
Another person who came along, in spirit, was the Okomfo Akue Ayensuwaa – a new soul-sister I’ve never met, and queen priestess of the Ayensu River in the Gold Coast of West Africa. We have worked together on a shared mission for the last nine months and, while Kellie and I were doing this pilgrimage, Maa Ayensuwaa was at her shrine, accompanying us in spirit. This lady is deep, and if she so chooses she really is with you. There’s a Nepali seer who has also entered the equation, and we form a sparky triangle. I’ll tell you more about this and our story another time, when it’s safe and proper to do so.
Today, on the day following our walk, my legs ache, and I’m happy. Sometimes I have a question but it turns out that I don’t really need an answer. Sometimes it’s just a matter of changing my state. Something is reintegrating. What I love about visiting a power point like Carn Lês Boel is that it can transport me out of the confines and coordinates of my life and raise me to another level. I get more of a panoramic sense of life – a sense of context and meaning that seems to slot everything into place. It’s a shift of viewpoint that casts another light on things so that they look different – and this in turn leads to different outcomes.
On this walk something else came clear. There are advantages to being aged, especially if I accept it fully and completely. There’s no longer a need to hurry. It isn’t a time of goal-orientation but a time of allowing. The urge to get there, to achieve objectives, and to get on with the next thing, fades into the past – almost as if it was another life. As my physical powers have declined, my psyche has become more spacious since I’ve been obliged to drop many of the concerns, activities and preoccupations that used to fill it. It means that, with an undertaking such as walking to the Carn, I can take each stage, each footstep, as it comes. I just keep on going, step by step, neither pushing nor giving up, and I keep on going until, suddenly, I surprise myself by finding I’ve actually got there.
Life is nowadays more of a here-and-now thing – not least because the past is fading in memory, and there isn’t a lot of future ahead, and when I spend a lot of time alone, other people aren’t around me, keeping me attuned to the issues, struggles and woes they face. So I lose track of most people’s sense of reality, floating off in my own bubble. That makes the present time expand into more of a timeless zone. It has a beatific effect, adding an enlivening sparkle to life, giving a rather childlike sense of spontaneous discovery of every moment. The urge to get there, to reach the destination, to tick off everything on the list, is a compulsion that touches me much less than ever before.
Yet again, Carn Lês Boel gave a gift of time, out of time. At life’s junction-points it’s a good place to go, as if to clock in to the universe to renew my contract with the Great Wide and Wonderful, to go through a reassessment turnstile, to get worked over by the spirits of the ocean and vibrational field of this holy cliff sanctuary.
So that’s what I did on Saturday.
Lots of love from me, Palden
The photos here were taken on earlier trips – I wasn’t in a photographic mood yesterday.
Tregeseal stone circle here in Cornwall sometimes has a knockout effect!
It’s meditation time again on Sunday evening at 8-8.30pm UK time. Do it wherever you are, using methods you’re used to. No sign-up, no strings – it’s a sharing of inner space, with a view to raising the energy of the world. For full details, including the meditation times in different timezones, go here:
On a slightly different matter, I am creating an archive of my work and last week sorted out an astrologically-based talk I did in 1990, shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and Tienanmen Square and a massive shift in all and everything worldwide. This was a time when many new ideas born in the 1960s – environmental, gender, racial, human rights – came into mainstream awareness.
Neolithic longbarrow on Chapel Carn Brea, Cornwall – the last hill in Britain
Interestingly, I predicted several things at the time – that Gorbachev would not last long, that trouble would ensue from Western encroachment on Russia and that online networking would become a big thing. But there was one thing I got wrong: I reckoned the world would make the big and necessary decisions very soon, during the 1990s, and it took another 30 years and we’re only now entering a time, the late 2020s, when such decisions are really likely to be made. Well, better late than never.
This PodTalk is not required listening but some of you might find it interesting. It outlines the astrology and the underlying meaning of of those times, a major junction point of modern history that was only really equalled by the banking crisis of 2008 (when Western world hegemony lapsed) and the Covid crisis (the seeding and beginning of a major social change that is likely to unfold further during the coming 15ish years as Pluto chugs through Aquarius.
Notes from the Far Beyond 
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