CLOSE TO THE EDGE (I get up, I get down)

Anybody who was invited along on today’s walk and chose not to go missed a real doozy.

I left the flat at noon and boarded a number 13 bus north up Finchley Road. Destination: Golder’s Green, London, NW11 location of my old 1978 flat and a particularly fine park that is connected to Hampstead Heath. The weather forecasters had predicted a fine, sunny day, with temperatures slated to reach all the way to 19! I don’t know what that is in Fahrenheit, but suspect it is pretty warm.

A looooong hike was planned, in order to get me into shape for a scheduled, guided walk through the scenic bluebell woods of Buckinghamshire on May 6th. As I have been having foot and ankle problems ever since I fell flat on my face on the pavement in Feb, and then again after my flight over to the US created a severe case of shin splints, I thought I had better test out the old pins and see if I could really attempt a nine mile hike. The Heath is a good place to hike, and besides, if I had to bail out at any point, there is easy bus access back to NW8 from several locations around its perimeter.

I headed out-of-doors in my new hiking cropped-trousers, a long-sleeve cotton shirt, and a fleece. My backpack contained wallet, phone, water bottle, “oyster card” for bus fare, umbrella (although there was not a cloud in the sky, I’ve learned not to trust that particular sign) mp3-player, Proust’s Swann’s Way (see previous posting) a guide to walking tours of Hampstead Heath, my knitting, and my new sketchbook and charcoals.

As soon as I was on the bus I realized that I had forgotten to move my orthopedic arch-supporting insoles from the new sneakers into the old walking shoes. “No problem!” I thought. “I’ll just pop into the Boots the Chemist (think CVS) up in Golder’s Green and buy another pair of insoles. After about twelve minutes, we rolled into NW11 and I was disappointed to see that the interior of Boots was pretty dark. “Oh well,” I said to myself. I’ll just walk until the feet start to hurt and then sit and sketch/read/knit for a while.”

I went back “down” Finchley Road a few cross-streets, popping into the local Sainsbury’s Supermarket to see if they had the required foot-gear. They had a full complement of hosiery, but no insoles. I went up to West Heath Ave. and walked up the long drive into Golder’s Hill Park. After a minute, I saw a tantalizing wooden gate. Aha!! The secret back entrance I have been looking for since I moved to London a few months ago. I had remembered that there was a short-cut from my old flat which took me down a tiny path and into the park, and there it was. The path was bordered by a riot of Forget-me-Nots, looking up at me with their clear blue eyes, and lined with the fallen blooms of a red camellia-bush. Spring is in full force here!
I walked back out to the main road so I could find my way in next time, then retraced my steps into the Park. It was now 1 pm, and I started “the clock” on my walk.

The Park was teeming with hundreds of people, and thousands of blooms. Purple azalea, pink camellias, orange azalea, pink rhododendrons with white throats and crimson rims, beds of unknown purple flowers, and the first bees of the season were being admired by people and dogs alike. The tea café was absolutely loaded with people. I decided to make a preventive visit to the loo, and it was a good thing I did, as it allowed me to walk further than I ever have before.
Before taking off again, however, I decided to rest up on the grass. The sun felt so good warming the earth. I could feel its warmth on my skin, but it wasn’t too hot. It was just right for taking off the fleece and watching the tots for a few minutes. Then—onward and upward.

A helpful sign pointed the way out of Golder’s Hill Park and into the Heath proper. Another one pointed me in the direction of the Hill Garden and Pergola. I had seen this area in December when the St. John’s Wood Women’s Club did our walk of the Heath, when nothing was in bloom. I was looking forward to seeing it in its late April clothing. This is a garden that used to belong to the grand house nearby: a HUGE pergola with multiple terraces, steps, and hidden garden knots. It may be the most beautiful garden in London. Back in “the day” (1978) it was derelict and closed and one was advised to avoid the area. The corporation of the City of London renovated it in the 90’s and it was reopened in 1995, I was informed by a sign.

I had deliberately left my camera at home so that I would not waste precious walking time taking close-up photos of colorful blooms. Why then, you may ask, did I bring my sketchbook? There is no good answer to that question. A nice bench near a reflecting pool beckoned and I decided to sketch for a bit. I haven’t drawn in several decades and felt more than a little rusty, but enjoyed it thoroughly. My sketch of the area around the reflecting pool does not show the clumps of children who were attempting to scoop out tadpoles with their nets, and the toddlers who were vigorously whacking the surface of the water with long sticks. These activities held their attention for at least half an hour, so who can blame the parents for wanting a little down time? The pool was only four inches deep so no one was in any danger of much in case they fell in, unless it was a coating of green algae.

After a while, I decided to press on. I passed into some more familiar territory, recognizing the path I used to take to skirt around the formerly dangerous pergola area. Soon I was crossing North End Road near Jack Straw’s Castle (a pub) and stopping at an ice cream truck on Spaniard’s Road, where I learned that the proper name for sprinkles (i.e. “jimmies”) here is Hundreds and Thousands. My soft-serve vanilla cone (the only option) was pierced with a Cadbury’s Flake candy, dipped in the multicolored sprinkles, and drizzled with chocolate syrup. The only thing that could push me into a more fully ecstatic state would be my favorite music, so I whipped out my iPod and cranked up the Yes. (More on my musical ecstasy later)
Duly fortified, I entered the main part of Hampstead Heath on the bikeway. This is part of the route I used to take between Golder’s Green and Highgate back in the day. A brisk pace for about ten minutes, which I matched with brisk licks to my melting ice cream cone, brought me to the highest point in London, where a lovely view of the village of Highgate stretches out. The grass on that lawn was about eight inches high, and will not be mown all summer. I went to the fenced-in area that is apocryphally known as the burying place of Boudicca, ancient Queen of the Icenii in pre-Roman times. It now contains a grove of relatively young cypress trees. The entire fence is encircled by benches, and I was able to sit for a few minutes and “tune in” to the energy of the place. “A sacred grove” is what came to me, although evidence of recently charred wood in a fireplace means that my impression may have come from some modern-day Druids.

I continued down the hill through an allee of beech trees, and over to Parliament Hill, from which a lovely panorama of the London skyline can be seen. There were about a dozen para-sail type kites being flown by children and adults, and the area teemed with hundreds of people and dozens of dogs. The Heath is certainly THE place to be on a fine Sunday afternoon.
By this time it was about half past three, and I decided to descend back into civilization via the Hampstead side of the open space. From there it would be easy to hop aboard the number 46 bus and be back at the flat in relatively short order. The music, however was communicating directly to my feet, and instead of going down Well Walk (NW3) toward Rosslyn Hill Road and a certain rendezvous with the number 46 bus, I kept on going.

Google Earth informs me that I took the following route:
South on Parliament Hill, passing Nassington Road, which jogged something in my memory bank, but I could not figure out why. Now I remember it is where NH-Sis-in-Law lived for a few weeks after her own Junior Year Abroad adventure at the University of Warwick in the year _____ please provide via a comment, Beth.
The next portion of the walk was designed to connect the dots in my mind between the locations I knew on EAST Heath Road with those on WEST Heath Road (not to be confused with West Heath AVE as traversed at the beginning of my hike.) I headed Northwest on EAST Heath Road, crossing Well Walk, Well Road, Squire’s Mount, and Heath Street. Next, west past Branch Hill, passing Hermitage Lane, Elm Walk, Westover Hill and Eden Close. At “the T” in the road, I turned South on WEST Heath Road, and followed it along until I got to Finchley Road. I figured I’d walk south on Finchley Road until my iPod ran out of juice or my feet gave out, whichever came first. I passed the Scuba-Diving store (really! In London, of all places!!) passed Burgess Hill, and decided to cut over to the 139 bus to Abbey Road via Fortune Green Road. I passed the Hampstead Cemetary (I never knew it was there) and shortly found myself on West End Lane, where I waited ten minutes for a bus the rest of the way.
The Google Earth “ruler” application allowed me to plot all these twists and turns in detail. From stepping off the 13 bus in NW11 to getting on the 139 in West Hampstead, I clocked 5.89 miles. From the throbbing in my right knee and foot, I’d have put it closer to 8 miles, but computers apparently don’t lie.

Why was I able to keep going after thinking I’d give in after about four miles? I’ll give the credit to the music of YES, my favorite music of all time and space (in this lifetime, at least, in addition to the Beethoven, Schuman, and Hildegard music on which I grooved in other lifetimes) Several years ago, I was interviewed by my mentor and friend Kurt Leland for his 2005 book Music and the Soul: A Listener’s Guide to Achieving Transcendent Musical Experiences. Kurt’s interest and experience was mostly in the realm of classical music and jazz, not the rock’n’roll that has been the soundtrack to much of my life, although he and I are about the same age. My goal was to expose him to music that I use deliberately to change my level of consciousness. He was able to describe in esoteric and energetic terms exactly how my favorite music moves through the levels of the energy centers. During today’s walk, I listened to Close to the Edge, which I have always used for “energetic smudging”, i.e. clearing out stale or stagnant “vibes” and moving up and down through wakefulness into transcendence, in which one feels connected to a higher state of consciousness than one’s own individual mind. Also on today’s playlist: “Awaken”, from Going for the One, which Kurt Leland describes as “beginning in the visionary realm…and soon cross(ing) over into the sublime realm. Most of the fifteen-and-a-half-minute song is a luminous macrorhythmic wave that gently undulated through each of the levels of the seventh (expanded consciousness) center, providing one of the longest periods of exposure to the expanded consciousness of this center that I’ve heard in rock music. In the yoga of listening, “Awaken” provides an excellent object of meditation to open the seventh center for those who are more attracted to the sounds of rock than classical music.”
The third piece of YES music that was propelling me forward on the final stretch was “The Gates of Delirium” from their 1974 album Relayer. Kurt Leland reports that “The remarkable thing about this song is that it not only moves through the crisis zone of irrationality, but eventually achieves the grace” of the energy center he refers to as “cosmic consciousness”, “one of the few examples…that I’ve so far encountered in nonclassical music.
So, I was in an altered state, you might say, of expanded consciousness, feeling both at one with the world and apart from my body, while feeling connected to my soul and the wisdom and energy of the universe. Kurt quotes me in his book as saying the following about the music of YES:

Marjie “ tells me that some Yes fans use drugs while listening to their music, but she has never done so. She emphasizes that the consciousness-altering aspects of Yes’s songs are in the music. Drugs are not required to become aware of or be affected by them.” (p. 251) Who needs drugs when you have musical ecstasy combined with movement through a mystical place on a sunny day?
And you thought I just went for a walk!! I was really attending a service in honor of the Divine Source while moving across that portion of the world we call “Hampstead Heath”.

You can read more about Kurt Leland's ideas about how music affects us at his Music and the Soul blog: www.musicandthesoul.blogspot.com