Coming Home to Story

Notes from a journeyman writer, storyteller, and narrative consultant

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Triopetra

Posted by geoffmead on April 7, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: archetypal beauty, Numinous, Triopetra. Leave a comment

Tripetra reversed

The rock formation known as the Sleepy Dragon stretches along the seashore, from Agios Pavlos to the tip of its tail at Triopetra. This morning I left the hotel room at 7.00am, walked down to the beach, skirted the lapping water, climbed the steep steps onto the dragon’s neck, picked my way round the rocky headland and dropped down onto the next beach.

From there, it’s easy going with one or two short clambers from bay to bay until you get to the taverna at Triopetra. As my legs found their stride, my mind went back twelve years, to the first time I’d taken that route.

I’d noticed her in the distance, a solitary figure beside the sea making salutations to the morning sun. As I drew nearer, I could see that she was naked. She saw me approaching and continued her yoga unabashed. The beach was very narrow at that point and I realised that I could not avoid passing quite close to her. I considered turning round and going back but that in itself would have made an issue of her nakedness. I decided to carry on, with my gaze focused on the path I was taking, neither ignoring her presence nor looking straight at her.

As I got closer, I saw from the corner of my eye just how archetypally beautiful she was: early twenties, I guessed; small regular features; long slender limbs; glistening golden skin; thick blonde hair loosely caught up on top of her head; breasts firm and shapely; buttocks rounded like pebbles smoothed by the sea.

She moved slowly, confident in her lissome beauty. As I walked past, she simply put her hands over her eyes and turned to face the sea to preserve her modesty. I didn’t say anything and I didn’t look back. If she was human, she was a flower in perfect bloom. If divine, then I had been blessed by a vision of Aphrodite and somehow lived to tell the tale.

It was a numinous encounter with the feminine, wondrous and respectful. I’m quite sure that she has never given me a second thought but the memory of that meeting is still so vivid in my mind that I could sense her shimmering presence on the sand, as I have done every time I’ve walked along the beach to Triopetra.

Once seen, never forgotten.

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Amarion

Posted by geoffmead on April 5, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Amari Valley, Friends of Amari. Leave a comment

Amarion

I went walking today, in the Amari Valley in central Crete. I’ve been here many times, often on my own for several weeks, to read, write and wander the mountain tracks from village to village. It’s one of my favourite places on earth: rugged, unspoiled and primal.

This time, I’m here with Hedda and a few stalwart friends but chose to walk solo, partly to reacquaint myself with old haunts and partly to re-calibrate my level of fitness after a long winter plagued by aching joints and minor injuries. According to the FitBit on my wrist, I walked for 5 hours 19 minutes; took 34,976 steps; went 26.13 kilometers; climbed the equivalent of 196 flights of stairs; and burned 5,279 calories. Not too shabby!

Once I’d got my second wind it was a delight to swoop up and down the valley-sides, though it was pretty hard going in places. In particular, I’d forgotten just how steep the final stretch was, cross-country from Vryses to Amari. I ended the day back at our lodgings, tired but with renewed confidence in my body.

More importantly, walking in that mythic landscape also reawakened my sense of wonder. At the mundane level of the everyday world, not much happened: I was startled by a dog; buzzed by bees; saw an aeroplane above Psiloritis; was greeted by a young woman; and given some cherries preserved in honey when I stopped for lunch. But the old gods are legion here if we open our eyes and ears.

Cerberus leapt snarling from Hades,
chained to a stake by the roadside.
Someday you will be welcome here,
he seemed to say, but not today!

Good old Hermes swarmed around
and buzzed me back onto the path.

In Meronas I met a mountain nymph
who fed me fat smiles and oranges
as Icarus soared over the mountain,
streaming contrails from his wings.

Aphrodite sat me down for lunch:
an immortal’s portion of ambrosia.

Friendly Sisyphus took the strain
as the road climbed up and ever up
from the depths of the last valley
to the welcoming arms of Hestia.

 As I said before, not much happened on my walk today.

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B.A.L.L.S.

Posted by geoffmead on April 4, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Captain Midnight. Leave a comment

IMG_7227

Captain Midnight here, your long-suffering domestic correspondent.

We called in on one of Himself’s old friends to discover this enormous bouncy thing in the living room. Himself yelled Fetch! then collapsed into an armchair clutching his sides with laughter when I moseyed up and gave it a nudge.

Ha. Ha. Very funny!

I knew it wasn’t a ball but I couldn’t work out what on earth you’d use it for apart from the unedifying spectacle of dog-bothering. If you look carefully you might even spot the morsel of cheese on top, which was supposed to attract my attention.

Yes it worked. It was cheese!

Fortunately the hilarity subsided fairly quickly and we were soon on our way home again, where balls are the proper size and we all know our place.

Himself chucks and I fetch.

I later discovered that the bouncy thing is for “bad backs.” I can’t say I’m surprised. Throwing that thing around would give anyone a bad back. Humans really aren’t too bright sometimes.

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The Morning After

Posted by geoffmead on March 12, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Captain Midnight. Leave a comment

IMG_7175

Captain Midnight here nursing a hangover.

Well, nursing Himself actually. He’s the one who’s hanging.

We’ve had a bit of a weekend in Bonny Utrecht among the Scots and the Nederlanders: three days of drinking and feasting as the two halves of Herself’s family got together to celebrate something or other (they don’t seem to need much excuse). What were the highlights of the weekend for me, you ask?

  1. Sitting under the table on Friday evening while They stuffed themselves on Boeuf Bourguignon.
  2. Sitting under the table on Saturday evening while They stuffed themselves on Lasagna.
  3. Sitting under the table on Sunday evening while They stuffed themselves on five courses of Haute Cuisine.

You get the general idea. Lots of fun for them, dog biscuits for me.

I did however enjoy the frisson in the room when Himself was the only person who cheered for Ireland in the Six Nations Rugby Match against Scotland. Fortunately, general good humour and my own robust physical presence prevented an outbreak of fisticuffs.

It was also a good moment when the conductor on the night train from Amsterdam told us that we needed to buy a ticket for “the dog” and Himself explained that unfortunately “the dog” didn’t have any money. The conductor was less than impressed and insisted that I sat on Himself’s lap for the rest of the journey to avoid paying a penalty fare. Humph!

Anyway, I managed to make lots of new Caledonian friends in between the drinking and feasting and have decided that next time around I’m going to come back as something Scottish.

A Deerhound maybe?

 

 

 

 

 

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The White Stuff

Posted by geoffmead on March 3, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Captain Midnight. Leave a comment

Wgite Stuff

Captain Midnight here reporting from Siberia.

Well Kingscote, actually. But judging by the temperature you’d think it was the outskirts of Novosibirsk. Himself snapped this picture of me braving the Beast from the East. As you can see, my built-in fur coat and earmuffs enabled me to prance around quite comfortably au naturel, as I believe they say in Russia.

French, you say?

Are you telling me no-one speaks French in Russia?

As I was saying, my manteau de fourrure was more than adequate insulation to deal with the white stuff. Himself, on the other hand wasn’t really up to the job without props. He ransacked his wardrobe for hats unworn since the last ice age and tried them out in turn. I won’t say he’s vain but there was no one else to take selfies, if you know what I mean?

Four Hats

He was planning to wear yet another hat but it was so hideous that I sneaked it under the table and gave it a bit of a chewing to emphasize my disapproval of the impending sartorial embarrassment.

Hat too far

Mercifully, Himself took the hint. The offending item remained unworn and I was able to hold my head up reasonably high as we enjoyed a walk in the woods, this afternoon. It’s not easy being a gentleman’s gentleman when your gentleman has such questionable taste!

On the other hand, I do love the white stuff. It’s amazing for prinking and pouncing and sticking your nose in.

You should try it!

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Year of the Dog

Posted by geoffmead on February 22, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Captain Midnight. 1 Comment

year of the dog

Captain Midnight here with fantastic news.

Chinese New Year 2018 and it’s the Year of the Dog!

I thought every year was the year of the dog. I had no idea that we canines are only acknowledged in the calendar once every 12 years. That probably explains why Himself has been feeding me on dog biscuits and keeping the good stuff for himself up to now. Maybe this year I’ll get to see a bit of chicken now and again.

But what if Himself hasn’t heard about Chinese New Year? He’s a bit dopey about stuff like that. I must make sure that he knows the score.

Dear Licky-Face

Time’s up!

It’s the Year of the Dog. That means I’m officially in charge for the next 12 months and we’re all going to follow the rules of the pack. So…

  1. No swanning off on foreign holidays without me
  2. You can still share the bed but I get the middle
  3. I also get to choose my place on the sofa
  4. I like to be tickled and scratched behind both ears
  5. We go out for a walk whenever I want, and..
  6. We chase pheasants in the fields everyday
  7. All postmen are banned from the house
  8. Cats are not welcome in the vicinity
  9. Barking is my birthright, get used to it
  10. Either we both get chicken or neither of us eats

Your loving friend

Captain Midnight

PS: The Hydegate Pet Resort isn’t a hotel for dogs, it’s a kennel.
PPS: Sitting at your desk pretending to write isn’t real work.

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Four legs good, three legs better

Posted by geoffmead on February 9, 2018
Posted in: Uncategorized. Tagged: Captain Midnight. Leave a comment

IMG_3077

Captain Midnight here in pensive mood.

This life alone with Himself is not one I asked for but here we are, two hairy mutts under the same roof. We might as well be married. We sleep in the same bed, argue over who’s going to get the last bit of chicken, and I sit beside him bored out of my skull when he’s driving.

He’s always complaining about something. Yesterday he told me off for smelling of fox poo. What a cheek; I’m the one with superior olfactory equipment!

Don’t knock it, I said. It’s cheap and it lasts all day. A bit like your gentleman’s cologne from Penhaligon.

That costs a fortune, he said.

Yeah, but it smells cheap, I said.

I do think about D.I.V.O.R.C.E. sometimes when he goes on at me for barking at the postman or for eating a whole organic goat cheese which was clearly left on the dining room table for my delight, or when he holds me back as I launch myself at another dog on the lead. Even worse is hanging around while he tries to write. Take this morning for example: I’m stretched out on the sofa still waiting for breakfast and he’s sitting up in bed pecking at the keyboard. Neither of us has a thought in his head.

After all these years, we know each other’s quirks pretty well. For example, he seems to enjoy having a bath, which is very strange and I only use three legs for a controlled descent going downstairs.

Why only three, I hear you ask?

Because, with my amazing canine strength and agility I don’t need to use all four. I simply lift my right hind leg like an aeroplane raising its undercarriage, tuck it up under my belly and tripod down the entire flight of stairs. You should try it.

On second thoughts, Pogo-ing downstairs is probably not a good idea.

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