Edinburgh Blog Appreciations.

I was in Edinburgh for three and a half weeks and I don't think I can count the blessings I experienced but I would like to mention some people, places and things which brought me such joy.

Anne-Marie Birch, whom I met about six years ago when I did a prosperity workshop in Edinburgh and whom I contacted on the off-chance to see if she knew of anywhere I could stay for the Fringe. She lets out two rooms on AirBnB and one, the little Serenity room was free. That was such grace because it became my sanctuary with its blue walls and white metal and brass single bed both of which reminded me so much of my childhood bedroom. The walls and mantlepiece were covered with messages of love, the view from the window was of green garden with butterflies covering the Buddleia and the forest around the Water of Leith behind.

Through the window came only the noise of the waters, birdsont and the kee-kee-kee of the buzzards overhead.

Not only that, but Anne-Marie is so kind and so full of the joy of life. Not for one moment did I feel wrong or out of place or in the way (even though I broke a glass and damaged a covering with a dropped match). Anita too was lovely, chatty, wore the most glorious 1960s-style pale lipstick that inspired me to think about something similar for me and who was constantly good-humoured and covered with dogs which all accepted a cuddle graciously and repaid it with random and unexpected face-washing at times when I was lying on the lawn having a quiet meditate or think.

Emma, Anne-Marie's daughter who, I think is one of the most beautiful young women I've seen in a long time. She almost certainly doesn't think so because she is 18 and, as Georgette Heyer would put it 'not in the common way.' I wasn't 'in the common way' either when I was 18 and I thought I was fat and ugly and all that crap. Now I look back on the photographs of me then and see a really beautiful girl with a lovely figure who simply couldn't see through the spectacles of 'size eight, blonde and into all the right pop stars.'

Emma came to the show on the last night and at the meal afterwards, with a little wine inside her, she became so beautifully animated, slightly flushed of face and I thought what a joy it was to be sitting with that vibrant potentiality that Dundee University is so lucky to be sharing next week.

Sam, Anne-Marie's son who is (I think) about sixteen? He has that handsome young man glamour and style but unlike many his age was courteous, helpful, funny and didn't for a moment seem to minding sharing a house with, at times, up to six women.

Kaylin and Stephanie, from Washington State, USA, first-time visitors to 'Yurp' who lived next door to me for the entire three weeks and who were obviously having a whale of a time in Edinburgh. They shared food, chats, laughter and suggestions and laughed at the idea that the bus into the city took a while, given that anywhere — anywhere – is about two hours from Spokane.

The staff at Ryries who found us all a blasted nuisance to start with but, when treated like real human beings (some comedians are so daft...) turned out to be — surprise! — normal, really nice and helpful people. It got so that they just had to see me come in to fetch my equipment for me from the cellar and pour me a pint of lime-and-soda with ice and a wedge of lime.

Adam, for coming up for three days to enjoy the Fringe, for pushing me into shows I wouldn't have seen, dinners I wouldn't have eaten, frozen yoghurt I wouldn't even have considered and the National Museum of Scotland which, I think, is my favourite museum (so far) in all the world. And for his love, advice, companionship, true belief that I am a Master Kabbalist (I've just got to believe that myself), support and laughter.

All the people who directed me, advised me, sat on benches and chatted to me, sold stuff to me, smiled at me and performed for me.

And Edinburgh ... you beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking city. Wow. Thank you so much.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 26 — Endings and Beginnings.

St. Mary's Catholic Cathedral.

The last day. How perfectly it works out because now I am ready and eager to go home. But how very strange it will be not to go out and perform every night.

I had a last, lovely, lingering walk by the Water of Leith which has a selection of such lovely fairy islands: rocks about 18" or so square covered with moss and lichen with plants here and there as trees. You can almost see the spirit folk sitting with their feet in the water and imagine their tiny houses at the top of the rocky hill.

Most of the day I was packing and very relieved to find that everything would fit in my suitcase (just). There have been a few visits to charity shops here and there... But apart from that it was listening to inspirational tapes or reading and relaxing before heading into town for the very last gig.

I enjoyed the last bus ride in, looking at the now-familiar road and houses, the hills and the view of Edinburgh castle and the towers of the cathedrals. Not sure if I mentioned that I got locked into St. Mary's Catholic Cathedral a week or so ago. I had a lovely wander, looking at the amazing Scottish Diaspora tapestries and then spent about half an hour sitting right up near the high altar in the choir having a quiet chat with God and the angels.

Then the lights all went off. Politely, I finished my prayer and got up just to hear a big door go slam-click.

Luckily, the verger had a few things to do backstage, as it were, so some respectful hello!ing brought him back after about five minutes but he was not best pleased. 'Where were you?' 'Up at the high altar?' 'Why?' 'Um. Praying...?'

Obviously a fairly outrageous and ill-advised thing to do at 6pm. I thought it best not to advise him of my day job.

I'm very blessed because I knew there would be an audience tonight — Anne-Marie, Anita and Emma from Colinton are coming with a couple of friends and I was also promised seven Interfaith ministers (although only three turned up). Still, it was a lovely audience of 18 of all ages and with one good-value atheist with the only respectable answer to the Atheist-orgasm joke I've ever got.

One of the Interfaith ministers in the front row didn't crack a smile which was slightly un-nerving but then I am as fierce on the spiritual wanky bollox as I am on the religious stuff and, as usual, it was hard to tell how much people were laughing. It's an odd thing but when you're behind the microphone only the loudest belly-laugh will reach you.

I remembered all the jokes in the right order, finished dot on time and then, that was it. The whole thing over and George Firehorse coming in to take over. I just picked up my things, said goodbye to the staff who were around and walked away.

...To an utterly delicious supper at The Vietnam House restaurant just around the corner with Anne-Marie and her friends and where the Interfaith ministers had also booked a table so I could flit back and forward between the two and chat to absolutely everyone. The stone-faced lady turned out to have enjoyed it very much (or be a very, very good fibber) and the other four turned up at about 8.45 with 'oh so sorry we missed yous.'

I'm not very good with those. You either really want to go somewhere or you don't. You either get there or you don't. It's absolutely your choice. There was an act I wanted to get to see, Tim Ralph's Rebranding Beelzebub, but in the end I didn't want it enough to stay out until 11pm on the two nights that I could have made it. My loss, not Tim's. The 'I'm sorrys' are good manners of course but we do usually get to places we want to be. It's like the people who don't come but want to see a video on YouTube immediately. No. If you don't come, you don't see it. I know that's terribly old-fashioned in this modern world and hopelessly bad marketing technique but maybe I'm just tired!

And then home and bed and up with the birds to be taken to the airport by beloved Anne-Marie and a last (for now) look at the beauties of Scotland as the big bird takes me safely home to Devon, my Lion and the beagles.

I did it. I did it. Well done me.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 25 — On Knowing What I Don't Want.

The angel font at St. Giles' Cathedral

Tonight Anne-Marie and I planned to go and listen to the Scottish National Youth Choir singing  Fauré's Requiem at St. Giles' Cathedral on the Royal Mile.

The programme started at 10pm which meant I had a couple of hours to fill after the gig. Shouldn't be a problem — there's plenty of comedy on, right?

But I spent a couple of hours on the Internet this morning trying to find something I fancied that started at 8pm and, frankly, there wasn't a lot. The two comedians I really fancied were all booked up so eventually I decided on Patrick Monahan, given that several Facebook friends have highly recommended him.

So it was a quiet day of rest, which I really needed, in Colinton, and I only went into town at 5pm. Lovely gig; smallish but very appreciative audience and both the Heavy Petting team before me and George after me were commenting on the end of the run, how tired they were and how it would be good to get home.

The Heavy Petting act is a lot of fun. Four of them are performing a series of sketches and sharing the somewhat sparse proceeds. They haven't been as popular as the Tickled Pigs and I'm going to sound like a boring old fart when I say it's probably because it's much more intelligent comedy. And they are lovely people too.

Happily I caught the no. 2 bus to the Guilded Balloon venue which was utterly stuffed with people (well it is Saturday night) and queued happily for Patrick Monahan and sat happily waiting for the show to start.

The first five minutes, all composed of Patrick and one audience member doing Zumba passed amusingly enough. Then it got onto men sitting down to wee on toilets ... and 20 minutes later, with lots of audience participation, it was still on men sitting down to wee on toilets. My face hadn't even cracked once.

I was totally in the minority; the audience loved it. It was all about them and they all had a drink. At least it wasn't profane — not a single swear word and children allowed in. But it was boring, trite, predicable. So I left.

Now that was a big decision but having been so very happy here, the feeling of boredom and being in the wrong place felt so much more powerful than it might have done; I actually started to feel distinctly off-colour and I simply wasn't prepared to allow that. Luckily for me, there was a little sketch about getting into a party when you're not invited where Patrick was focused on someone else so I could dive out without drawing attention to myself.

Instead, a walked in Edinburgh in the rain, trying to find something to eat. Tupiniquim had just closed down for the night but I found a lovely little cafe with Earl Grey tea and a piece of shortbread and just sat there in complete contentment until it was time to go to meet Anne-Marie. Again, there was absolutely no feeling of being odd or out of place alone.

St. Giles' is a lovely vaulted cathedral (do look at the website) with wonderful acoustics and it's really beautiful to sit in and appreciate to the sound of soaring, cascading music. The prelude was some modern choral music which was all about death and conflict and which really didn't please me although the singing was superb. I wondered if I were just having a very off day but actually I'm just knowing what I like and don't like and I don't want stories about murder or execution in my life, thank you.

But then the organ and choir melted into Fauré's Requiem ... and I am not kidding, the angels and the spirits of the cathedral emerged from the walls to listen. The whole timbre of the cathedral changed and it became alive with sentience. Beautiful, glorious, perfect.

Oh and it was just lovely to be driven home too!

Edinburgh Fringe Day 24 — The Beginning of the End

Tupiniquim. Yummy gluten-free crêpes

I think the most profound thing about this whole Edinburgh trip is the level of happiness I have experienced. Why? Maybe because I have finally been able to get out of my own way.

For the last year I've been working on this happiness lark. To be fair, I thought I was happy and in fact, my homeopath told me that often life-enhancing dis-eases do turn up when you've just got everything sorted and relax. Your soul says 'okay, now we can get something deep sorted.'

I remember thinking, as I walked on the moor last summer, 'why? Why when I'm so happy here?' and the answer was simple, 'You're in the right place to regain that happiness once the fear has gone. You are away from pressures that might make you make decisions that aren't right for you; you are safe.'

Fear is a huge component in a l-e-d. I reckon it takes a good three months to deal with that aspect (which is why I so often want to beg people who I can see might be going towards the slippery slope to their own l-e-d to deal with the issues now, before they also have to deal with the fear).

Edinburgh was a big goal for me. At times I honestly didn't know if I would make it — which make asking people for financial support to cover the cost once my original backer had gone AWOL a huge prosperity challenge. But once I got here, the sense of contentment was palpable. The focus was entirely on learning to get around Edinburgh and to perform; nothing else. There was no time to think about how I was, whether I was better or worse, whether I was up to it. I was here. Time to just get on with it.

As the teachings of Abraham say, 'In the absence of the struggle, the Vortex takes you in.' But I think what has really happened is that the emptying of my ego's resistances, the work I've done on dissolving old issues has blossomed. There is no longer that almost indiscernible feeling of a slight, grumbling lack of ease that has been present in my subconscious since I was about three years old. Now, my default position is a kind of peaceful joy. That is very, very good to know.

Anyway, today was the start of the process of saying goodbye in a way. I was going in early to see Plumbing the Depths with Hattie Hasan and after that went and got myself an utterly yummy goat's cheese, sundried tomato and spinach wrap from Tupiniquim, a family-owned business in a kind of tardis at the corner of Lauriston Place and Forrest Road. They offer a healthier alternative to the usual street food — gluten-free crêpes with all sorts of vegetarian and vegan options as well as meaty treats and juices and smoothies.

Just sitting on a tree stump in Greyfriars' chuchyard ingesting this simple, culinary delight was wonderful. Not once on this adventure have I felt for one moment that it was odd or 'wrong' to be alone. All through my solo travelling days when I was young I used to feel that people judged me for being single or alone. So that bit of stupidity is over then! When I had supper at Dante's in Colinton a couple of weeks back and the waitress said, 'just one?' I corrected her with 'entirely one.' There's no 'just' about it.

The rest of the afternoon was spent back to the National Museum of Scotland because I wanted to take a more thorough look around. There was a whole series of galleries that I had missed when I came the other day with Adam so I browsed and pottered and enjoyed and let God look through my eyes at things that I myself would simply not have noticed. S/He is very fond of blue and white plates, it would appear — we always have to spend a good 20 minutes looking — really looking — at those. Then I had a cup of tea and read Florence Scovel Shinn for an hour and treated myself to a Chinese mug with its own strainer for green tea in the shop together with one of those lovely browses where you say, 'I have unlimited money; what shall I buy?' and select all the things you would like.

Good crowd again at Ryries, including two men in their 30s who arrived solo. That may mean two more reviews which is both good and scary. And, to my complete astonishment, three of the suited young men who came more than a week ago, came for a second helping! That was certainly another 'unexpected that happens to surprise and delight me.' They laughed at it all again and almost forgave me for thinking they were older than they were; the youngest being 18 when I thought he was about 24.

It's nearly over; that's fine. I'm having a ball but the year has turned and I'm now looking forward to going home.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 22 — On Happiness and Adventure.

I've been very happy since I've been here. That's not a problem (how could it be?) but it's interesting to examine why I've been so happy when I'm away from the man, the beagles and the land that I love.

It has been ... and still is ... a marked, deep happiness. One that I did not know that I had been missing.

I think it's partly the newness of the experience of performing every night and partly the time I am spending on my own rediscovering myself. Or perhaps rediscovering the part of me that, for so many years, lived alone and looked after herself. She is the one that loves me best because we have had so many adventures together and got through so much. At the time a lot of it was frightening or at least very challenging and I thought, mistakenly, that it was a good idea that those times were over. But the need for adventure is in my blood. And that is exactly where the dis-ease manifested.

The final pointer (although I've known this instinctively for a few weeks) was when I took one of those silly 'Which famous film star would play you in a movie of your life?' quizzes on Facebook. Four times I did the quiz; four times I clicked on 'female' in answer to the first question; four times I answered all the questions about my life and personal tastes. Four times I got the answer 'Jason Statham.'

Who is a bloke. And an actor who does movies about wild, violent adventure stuff and killing people.

Not sure about the violence or the killing people (though there are times...) but I believe that God sends messages and this one seems pretty clear. Adventure, adventure, adventure.

In the past, my inner adventurer and I have travelled abroad together many times, solo, and faced situations as wide-ranging as an attacking barracuda off the coast of Cairns, Australia; being 'the Princess Diana of Changchun' in Manchuria, China; wandering among the windmills of Crete; eating alone in fabulous restaurants in Paris; drinking hot chocolate in St. Mark's Square, Venice; sitting, dreaming in the sunshine at a railway station in Uruguay; riding quarter horses and watching the eagles fly in Montana and bringing the first dog in the world from the USA to the UK on Passports for Pets.

But this part of me has been dormant for a long while now. She has become lost in the happily-married, stay-at-home Maggy who occasionally does workshops and who became somewhat of a hermit because being with Lion and the beagles is so lovely.

I think it was she who became hurt in the terrible time when my former spiritual teacher was angry with me for 'stealing' his work — the intention had always been to write primers for his work so that more people would come to it but it was really a lesson in doing my work, not his. She already had collateral damage from Henry's death and the post-effects of Montana including divorce and, slowly, she began to die inside.

Comedy woke her up again although it was hard to uncurl from that tightly-wound deep hibernation. She knew that this was the time to speak her pain and loss out loud and manifested a dis-ease.

But now, in Edinburgh, having the biggest adventure I've had for fifteen years, she is in bliss; she is wandering the streets of Edinburgh doing exactly what she wants. She is standing up on stage and performing just for the sheer joy of it. She is knowing that what she is doing is absolutely right and wonderful and tremendous fun (if a bit scary at times).

So, the lesson is simple: I have to have adventures. No matter how much I love Lion and my home, this vital part of me who is the explorer, the entrepreneur, the lone traveller, must have a say in my life.

And thank God Lion understands. He would; he's my heart and soul mate. He's enjoyed this time on his own too — pottering at his own pace, free of the stress of the last year, sorting out again how he used to live when he was alone instead of walking at my pace with my timing and, with his great love and generosity, being the rock in my life.

We've had lovely travels together — and worked together abroad too — but, obviously, those still don't count as the adventures that the inner me wants.

Lion and I had the perfect lovers' conversation two weeks ago when we discussed whether we missed each other. Not really. And we were quite content with that.

But this week, as the time for homecoming comes closer, we are glad that we will be together again. This separation has done us both a great deal of good.

It will be so lovely to see him on Monday; lovely to be cuddled and to chat and to potter; lovely to be covered with beagles; lovely to walk on the moors. And it will be lovely to plan further excursions on my next expedition because If I want to be able to keep on coming home to my dear ones, I must not let my friend and companion, the adventurer, slip away again.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 21 — the Inner Work.

So... No audience last night. It happens. As George Firehorse, who follows me at Ryrie's, said 'there's no rhyme or reason.'

But maybe there is. Did I take my eye off the ball, having fun with Adam all day? But surely, having fun is part of the deal when you're working with this law of attraction. Was this a bit of resistance coming up to 'punish' me for having so much fun? Good old 'chemicalisation' as Catherine Ponder of Unity would put it?

I haven't been racing around handing out flyers, for sure. But this was an interesting departure that wanted my attention. So I gave it some. In the morning I listened to some Abraham-Hicks recordings and when I left for town I tucked Florence Scovel Shinn's The Game of Life and How to Play It into my bag and told the horrid little doubts that were trying to tell me that it was all downhill from here to go hang until I could deal with them later.

Adam and I were due to meet at lunchtime to go to Daniel Cainer's Jewish Chronicles. I didn't want to eat first because I was still full from last night. Full, that is, in the strange Chinese food wanting more in the middle of the night but knowing you'd eaten quite enough in reality. So we met at Underbelly and went into this dark cave of blackness for Daniel's show.

Which was not entirely to my taste at first but won me round. I'm a very odd Jewish (very ish) hybrid, having spent eight years married to a Jewish guy and knowing quite a lot about the culture and loving it. So I was slightly irritated by Daniel's explanations of Jewish stuff for us Goys although I knew it was necessary. Interestingly, Adam (who's Jewish) wasn't. As he explained, Jewish folk have to explain those things all the time so it was the norm for him.

Daniel mostly sings his own songs about Jewish life. He started with his Ashkenazi heritage — Russia, Lithuania, Poland — and stories of his family after immigration into Britain. Again, that wasn't for me because it's a/ not my heritage and b/ I'd heard much similar stuff before. But for Adam it was very moving.

After that, I was engaged fully with Daniel's tales of bad rabbis, love and passion and life and I felt gently nostalgic for some aspects of my past Jewish life.

We had a snackish lunch at Underbelly and then Adam went off to see James II by Rona Munro at the Festival Theatre and I went to the Edinburgh Fringe Central for a cup of tea and a long, thoughtful and affirmative read of Florence.

I've read The Game of Life and How to Play It a dozen times before but hadn't picked it up for a couple of years. However I'd known I had to bring it to Edinburgh. I read and worked and read and worked for two hours, dissolving resistance and allowing wonderful surprises. One of my favourite of Florence's quotations is:

My seemingly impossible good now comes to pass. The unexpected now happens to surprise and delight me.

For most people it seems very weird when there is no one in the audience to sit down and read a book. Surely I should be out there handing out flyers. Nope. If I create my own reality then I must go within first. Then I will be led to inspired action.

I took a rush-hour bus to Ryries and I was almost late for the first time ever but I knew I had to do a little flyering around the tables before going up even so. Two different groups, one of four and one of six people were already looking at my flyer and engaged me in conversation about Independent Catholicism so I only went upstairs to the event room at pretty much the last minute.

There was my unexpected surprise! Daphne, the lady who ran the volunteer section when I worked as a chaplain at at St. Mary's Hospice in Birmingham was sitting in the front row and had brought three friends with her. I haven't heard nor seen anything of Daphne since I left more than two years ago. It was amazing and fabulous.

What's more, the room just filled up, and filled up with people, including Kaylin and Stephanie from my digs in Colinton, Facebook friends Mica and Hattie and six members of one of the groups I'd been speaking to downstairs. They told me that they had all met up to go to the funeral of their 92-year-old father the next day just in case I might have any jokes that would be a bit of a challenge for them. But they'd liked the leaflet, and talking to me had clinched it, and they thought they could do with cheering up.

It was a good night. Nearly all the audience older people and they knew both about The Mary Whitehouse Experience and the real Mary Whitehouse. They laughed and laughed. And when a drunken Scots guy came in and tried to heckle, they unceremoniously told him to shut up because they were listening and then threw him out. I hardly had to say a word to him.

Afterwards there was a queue of people to talk to me including two of the funeral group. One was a retired religious education teacher in a Catholic school who said he'd never been to a comedy show where he understood all the jokes before and that it was incredible and refreshing comedy. His brother was a retired headmaster at a Catholic school who wanted my card and to know whether I'd be willing to come back to Scotland to talk to schools and perform more comedy. Well yes!

Hugs and happiness with Daphne, Mica and Hattie ... and a complete turnaround of an evening. Good old Florence.

Supper with Adam was the other side of the city — a Southern Indian restaurant. All vegetarian tonight and delicious. And with the generosity of the donations from my lovely crowd tonight, it could be a taxi home.

Thank you God.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 20 — Nom, nom, nom.

At least I think it's day 20. It gets a bit confusing sometimes, probably because Adam has been here and my carefully thought out daily routine went completely to pot.

I'm pretty careful with my diet — it hasn't been perfect up here by any means but I've been doing what I can to eat healthily with some holiday treats. But today, that went right out of the window. Fabulous.

We met up for lunch and chomped our way through a pretty amazing Japanese meal at Koyama in Forrest Road, just by all the major Fringe venues like the BBC and Underbelly. Pork ramen, seaweed, pickled vegetables and loads of green tea.

And then we went to the National Museum of Scotland for the afternoon. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous. It's a really eclectic mix of things with an old-fashioned mini next to a 19th century grand piano next to pots and jars. The building itself is worth visiting just for its beauty.

We looked at their Egyptian section with the mummified queen (or at least very high-ranking lady) with

her baby, the Natural history section with the skeleton of the pre-historic giant sloth that was nearly as big as their Tyrannosaurus Rex, Jackie Stewart's championship-winning race car, Dolly the sheep—the first cloned sheep, looking manic and bemused as only a sheep can. She was bigger than I expected, certainly bigger than our Dartmoor sheep, but not any less bemused.

We looked at statues of Buddha and a whole section on Hindu Gods and at Roman statues and ceremonial costumes and watched the six minute show that was about how the Universe began. The Chinese girl next to me spent all six minutes checking her messages on her phone and then wandered off having seen nothing, but that's really her business, I guess. It was a good, simple presentation and Adam and I agreed that it was entirely Kabbalah—the breath or word of God working its way down through the four worlds of creation.

We had tea. We looked at the Scottish galleries with claymores the size of a house and the Lewis chess set made of wales' teeth and walrus ivory. We pottered round the shop We had a wonderful time.

Then we went to a frozen yoghurt shop and had yummy rubbish, synthetic stuff covered with fruit and sprinkles and I felt about eight years old and very happy.

So, off to Ryrie's we go, to meet Jonathan Hipkiss, the lovely and talented comedian who is opening for me for three nights before the end of the festival. And no one else turned up. No one at all. That was a first for me and it's very un-nerving. Jonathan, who's gigging everywhere, did a bit of his act for us (and I'm looking forward to seeing the rest) and then pottered off and I did three-quarters of an hour, just for Adam, on what it was like working at the BBC in the 1980s in radio and TV and about encounters (safe ones) with Jimmy Savile, Rolf Harris and their ilk, including my infamous Paul Daniels and Jeffery Archer stories which had better remain safely un-written-down. The greater the truth, and all that...

I managed to put thoughts about the zero showing away to deal with later and we had a cheery and yummy Chinese supper at Chop Chop just down the road from Ryries with pickled cucumber, beans in chilli sauce, deep fried beef, prawn dumplings, sticky chicken wings and prawn crackers and talked life, the universe and everything and how I have to get back into teaching Kabbalah and get off my backside and get out of Devon more frequently. Adam, who doesn't pull punches, said 'you are a Master Kabbalist. Start acting like it.'

That was more food in one day than I generally eat in two ... maybe three ... but bless her, my stomach manned-up and took it and only quietly explained the following morning that a little less excess would be a very good idea, thank you.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 19: The Law of Attraction.

Many of you who read this blog know about the Law of Attraction. It's also karma or 'what goes around comes around' or 'thoughts create things.' I'm really good at it.

Most of you also know about my three missing socks which vanished in Anne-Marie's washing machine last week. I've made a lot of jokes about them on Facebook and there's a running gag here in the house about the hi-jinks that they're up to out there at the Fringe. It's possible, if they lay off the whisky a bit, that they may win the new act comedy award.

Yesterday I used the washing machine again. It had only my clothes in it. I put them in; I took them out. And another sock vanished. Yes, I know that all washing machines have parallel universes inside them and sock-holes where innocent, unsuspecting socks are whirled away to another dimension. But it doesn't happen at home. It happened again here because I kept on talking about it.

And now I'm writing about it so it's actually unlikely that I'll get home with any socks at all (unless people coming to the last few days of the show make their donations in socks—as my friend Dee did last week).

Another cute little Law of Attraction thing showed up yesterday ... Lion's and my friend Adam is up for a few days and came to last night's show. He's a good laugher is Adam if he thinks something's funny. And he did think the show was funny — as did the rest of last night's crowd.

We went out to supper and in the taxi on the way, we were discussing a section in the show where I talk about things being 'very good' (nowadays meaning average) as opposed to brilliant or stunning. We arrived at Howie's on Waterloo Place, sat down happily, both ordered the venison and found that, at 7.45pm, they had run out. The other meals we chose were exactly what we had talked about — 'very good.' In fact everything was 'very good.' But it wasn't brilliant or stunning. Still, it gave us a laugh.

So tonight, in the act, I think I shall focus a little more on the fact that the world is fabulous, amazing and awesome, and hope that while I'm out the rest of my socks don't make a run for it.

And today I will stop the rogue little thoughts that have been coming up along the lines of 'It's nearly over; what do I do next?' What if ... what if ... where do I go from here...? How do I...? Because Edinburgh has been such a major focus for so many months, there's a temptation to let the energy drop.

But if my guardians are letting me know so clearly how powerful (or sockfull) I am then that must end now.

So this morning I have emailed out to several places suggesting workshops and I am beginning to make plans for the next few months. The joy I have had (and am still having) here in Edinburgh must, and shall continue. That's my task; to remain delighted and to move only in the directions that inspire me. So often we carry these little, un-noticed, habits of unhappiness or just low energy and they will manifest slowly but surely in ways that we don't like.

It's true that we need to speak only of that which we desire and only of that which brings us joy to create the life that we want. But I love my sock jokes and they make me feel good so they are never going to cause me any genuine harm. And after all, I have spent most of the summer at home barefoot so my socks were probably feeling very unappreciated.

Still, the autumn is on its way and there will be plenty of months for my socks to feel loved and cherished. Who knows, by Christmas (after a world tour and a sell-out show at Wembley Stadium where Michael McKintyre opens for them) I may find the runaways neatly folded and looking very innocent at the back of my sock drawer.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 18 Part Two "But the greatest of these is charity."

St. Paul's famous quotation from his first letter to the Corinthians is usually translated now as "love" rather than "charity" because charity has come to mean "helping or giving money to those in need." But charity's wider meaning is "love for humanity."

It's long been a special quotation for me (and for a lot of people). Part of it is engraved on my first husband Henry's gravestone.

It's been a day of both sorts of charity. After seeing the fabulous Arthur Smith and being deeply moved by his love for his mother in the midst of his anecdotes, I accidentally came across Nicholson Street, Edinburgh where I found nine charity shops in a row. Nine! Oh joy. I came away an hour later very happy with a blue leather jacket and a replacement for my much-missed denim shirt.

I am going to have to post some clothes home at this rate because my suitcase was already stuffed on the way up.

You may remember the Helpful Heckler of Day 14 ... a guy who appeared to be a little the worse for wear for drink and who was very interested in the laws in the Book of Leviticus. He asked me to write out for him the basis of my comments on those laws from the act, which I did.

Every day since then, he has waylaid me as soon as I have got to Ryrie's (no matter what time of the day it was) with questions and an overwhelming need to talk. He doesn't drink; he just acts as though he does. And he's one of those guys that people try to avoid because he's terribly intense and he doesn't have the antennae that spot when other people aren't interested or want to move away.

Anyway, I thought I'd done him a huge disservice with my writing out of the Leviticus stuff because I had written it to explain the act but he seemed to be taking it as God wishing to punish him for sins he had committed as a child. I'm not going to go into those but I've been trying to say, day after day, that wasn't my intention. That I believe that God just wants us to be happy; He is not there to be a punisher but to help us to learn to love and that what God would want this guy do, to most of all, would be to be true to himself and seek happiness. I haven't been getting the slightest clue that I was getting through to him and I wasn't even sure if I was meant to be doing so. But this man seems to have taken me as his temporary priest, which on the one hand is my job and on the other is a bit challenging because he's a Mormon and I'm not.

At least, he was a Mormon. Today he thrust a six page letter to his Bishop into my hand asking me to read it. I sat down, put on my specs and, with a slightly doubtful heart, began to read.

The Helpful Heckler has resigned from the church he has been in since he was 17 because he has now realised that he wants to have full and loving relationships (and lots of sex) with other men. He's known he was homosexual for a very long time but the church disapproves of it so he hasn't been sexually active. For some strange reason, a comedy act, which at first disturbed and shook him, has been the catalyst for his realising that he has to come out and start living the life that he wants.

I read the letter with a lump in my throat and that extraordinary feeling you get when you realise how responsible you are for every single word that you speak. Pray God this is the right move for him. Right in the middle of the letter he had quoted St. Paul's writings on love as part of his explanation to his Mormon Bishop on how he wanted to experience real love in his life through the love of other men.

Why had he done this? Because I had explained in the act that the Hebrew Testament's condemnation of homosexuality, and St. Paul's views on it had not been about loving one-to-one relationships between men but about male rape and prostitution and ritual humiliation.

The Helpful Heckler gave me two photographs of him as a young man in Red Square, Moscow. I'm not sure why, but he wanted me to have them. I told him as gently that I could that I thought it was an admirable letter and accepted the pictures with as good a grace as I could.

The gig tonight, was very far from my best. The audience were not particularly responsive but it's always hard to tell who has affected who. May not have helped that Elvis was in the audience...

In fact it wasn't the real Elvis (surprise?) but a friend of my FB friend, Hayley who came along tonight with a group of people who are raising funds for Birmingham Children's Hospital and the Queen Elizabeth Hospital by travelling with the amazing Gavin Sandford who is running 45 marathons in 45 days through major cities in the UK. This is a labour of love that Gavin truly wants to do so, keep your eyes peeled for him and his team. You can find out all about it here. If you feel moved to donate, please do.

So it's been a strange day of love and charity.

There's one more line to the Biblical poem which is not quoted on the beautiful sampler above, and that's 'Love will never come to an end.'

I believe that.

64. Blessing the Dust, a poem by Jan Richardson.

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

Jan Richardson

With thanks to Rev. Harriet Every.

To read more of the story, please click on 'newer post' or 'older post' in black below.

If you are new to this blog and would like to start at the beginning, please go to the side bar and click on 'January' to find post no. 1. Thank you.

60.Chemicalisation.

It's all been going pretty well really. The vitamin C has definitely had a good effect and, for all I know, may continue to do so. I've been zinging with energy, creating lovely healthy food that actually tastes nice—and my Shiatsu practitioner gave me a dehumidifyer for raw food on 'extended loan.' Haven't got very far with that yet apart from kale chips which are surprisingly good.

The horse is still scary—she's called Carrie and I've ridden her twice on my own now. The first time was not easy as she tested me out every step of the way, got away from me once and fly-bucked like crazy. Glad to know I'm still a good rider because I coped with it all.

But don't you love it when you get back to the stables and someone says 'did she buck?' No one had previously mentioned that little habit of hers at all...

Before ride number two I thought I'd try a bit of horse-whispering in the outside school at the stables where Carrie is kept. She's used to being lunged (going round in circles on the end of a long rein) and although I didn't do that, she trotted and cantered around me out of habit as I pushed her on for a full half hour.

It's not proper horse-whispering until you get what's called join-up. The horse lowers its head and starts licking its lips and that's a sign that it is becoming submissive to you. You have shown it that you are the herd leader. We didn't get that far but, the great thing was that the half hour took the edge off her freshness and when we went out together, she was as good as gold.

Both times there were no nasty side-effects from riding and I was thrilled. Back at Christmas time I couldn't even use a rebounder because the bouncing hurt so much. Yes, my legs were a bit stiff but that's hardly surprising since it's been about five years since I rode a horse.

So all was well. And then, on Wednesday I decided to do something I 'probably' should have done a long time ago: take down the whole strand of prosperity consciousness teaching that I used to do and have trained others to do. It was still up there on the website and, frankly, I was feeling a bit of a fraud. And, while I'm bearing my soul, I had had the sudden realisation that I had always felt a bit of a fraud with this teaching.

That's not because it's bad stuff—it's classic Law of Attraction even before we all knew what that was. And it's Biblically-based and I stand by all that. And even though my life has been one of adventures (and I wouldn't have missed them for the world) and it's always been a bit of a wing and a prayer financially, it's been an amazing life—and continues to be so. But it was all rather old—and there are thousands of people out there doing newer stuff.

It really should have been disposed of a long time ago. So I dumped it. It felt like I'd shed about three stone!

The next morning I woke up with severe pain under my left arm and it simply got worse and worse all day. By bedtime it had to be codeine even to lie down (and I really don't like taking any painkillers at all, preferring to let my body tell me to slow down or stop). I slept in the spare room because I didn't want to disturb Lion and I put my one-hour recording of the ho'oponopono chant on twice just to get me to relax.

For a while, earlier in that day, I was scared. Was this some new, horrible development that I wouldn't be able to deal with? If this level of pain continued I wouldn't be able to go to Cyprus, France or the Edinburgh Fringe. Then Seth's Blog arrived in my in-box. It was called The Rotten Fish Problem and it read like this:

On the first day, all the fish at the fish stall are fresh.

Some sell, some don't.

The second day, the sold fish are replaced by newer, fresher fish. The unsold fish remains, even though it isn't so attractive.

By the third day, of course, the unsold fish is noticably unfresh, and it doesn't take much effort to avoid them.

At this point, part of the fishmonger's stock is demonstrably unappealing, bringing down the quality of the entire counter.

Pretty soon, of course, the dropoff in business means that the owner can't afford to buy the freshest fish, even to replace his sold inventory, and the end is near.

The alternative? On day two, discard the unsold fish.

Obvious, but difficult. So difficult that we rarely do it. We'd rather lower the average and see if we can get away with it instead.

It was very clear. I'd filled my stall with unsold fish for far too long. And getting rid of it in one fell swoop had created what's known as chemicalisation. That's when you get a kick-back reaction from a major healing. Sometimes it's known as a healing crisis. I had a previous one when I first went to see Suzi the Shaman. A huge, hard lump appeared on my chest practically overnight. Utterly terrifying. I called Suzi at once and she was marvellous. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It's a healing crisis. It's a good sign.' It was completely gone in a week once I'd had a session with my healer, Cathy, and it has never returned.

Healing crises are never fun, but they do show that something good is happening. This time, to back up the healing theory, my hot flushes stopped at the same time that the pain arrived. Well, not stopped entirely but went down to about 5% of what they had been. That's amazing.

What's more, it made me talk to my homeopath and ask her for a Peter Chapel remedy that we had discussed many times previously. I said it was time to go for it; she agreed so it kicked me into some more action.

Once I realised what was happening, I was fine—happy even. I read some more Catherine Ponder work from The Dynamic Laws of Healing and, with perfect synchronicity, read of a woman with the same symptoms as me who had been healed after affirming that she was forgiven.

A lot of the time, a dis-ease is about the need to forgive, but this rang a lot of bells. I started affirming that I was forgiven, by everyone and everything that could possibly need to forgive me. I mixed that in with the ho'oponopono (I love you, I'm sorry, please forgive me, thank you), realising that the 'thank you' is for forgiveness received.

The next morning I woke up still in some pain but considerably less. And feeling so happy and confident and sure that all is very, very well.

To read more of the story, please click on 'newer post' or 'older post' in black below.

If you are new to this blog and would like to start at the beginning, please go to the side bar and click on 'January' to find post no. 1. Thank you.