Paisley, Scotland
June 13, 2015

Sitting at the airport, waiting for boarding (in about 20 minutes).  My heart is so full from the past week, from an abundance of meetings, moments, things I learned, songs, shared vulnerability, puppets and of course the usual package of community issues including but not limited to teacups left unwashed, the hot tub full of slightly squiffy women, snoring, don’t eat my lunch out of the ‘fridge and the mystery of footprints in the butter that hilariously came up in a writing exercise we did, where many animals claimed credit for that. There was one serious meltdown, but friends surrounded him and he was soon sleeping it off. It is noted that in spite of the plethora of chopping axes left helpfully stuck in wood about the grounds for easy chopping, these were ignored with the only incident being someone once waving a hairbrush in anger.  I didn’t film anything for my thesis project, but the week was recorded in my bones.

I have to issue a disclaimer: this is in no way a full report of everything from camp so I can’t take responsibility at this point for leaving bits out that were important to others. This is just a gist, since we are just now getting back. I’m sure more will unfold as time goes on.

One of my favourite moments, just because, was being introduced to our camp cooking staff by the head cook, Pam: “I’m Pam, that’s Val, and that there is our man slave Crian.” She gleefully said. Crian grinning all over. He is a student, working at the camp for the summer. He can get down the hill in 10 minutes, he says, and up it in 20. We walk it in a sedate 28 minutes and we don’t bother timing the descent as we use it to unwind, decompress, look at the wild poppies and bluebells and wonder suspiciously about the secret messages being passed among the sheep as we go by.

The camp was the project of Ron Coleman and Karen Taylor, two Scottish game changers in the world of hearing voices. Both of them seethe with intelligence, kindness and passion for change, tilting at the windmills of the mental health system, with the deep vehemence and conviction of the just. You could accuse me at this point of hyperbole. I get that way around revolution. So when they invited us to come over to this camp, we just said, “Yes,” and booked the week off.

We regularly do what we call ‘Healing Camp’. For that, we invite all comers, those who need some healing and those who like to offer it, and we gather for a few days to work on each other. We take over a space (once an ashram, once a town community centre) and all muck in together. We do lodge during the week. Of course, by day 2, it is impossible to tell who is which and only possible to see beautiful exchanges at work.

This camp took place in the Marthrown of Mabie, (http://www.marthrownofmabie.com/) a hostel site in one of the 7Stanes mountain bike parks in Scotland. The 17^th Century manor house is a pub/hotel, and the trails spread out for 20 miles around. In the centre is a collection of shelters set up as a hostel, sleeping spaces/workshop spaces. Each comes equipped with log fireplace, some kind of nearby toilet and some kind of light. We had been warned to bring wooly sweaters and raincoats against the highland chill, but instead had a week of the most glorious weather, which led to outside workshops, lounging, strolling, a certain amount of playing hookey. The theme was recovery outside the mental health system, in the context of mental illness that includes the experience of psychosis. It included workshops, music nights, and a focus on voice hearing and psychosis, and the possibility of reclaiming lives long thought to be lost. We had ‘Big Tent’ discussions, where we gathered under the shelter, small groups and workshops in the yurt, the tepee and the iron-age replica round house. The cook shack and men’s and women’s bunk houses are earth ships.   Those with lived experience led workshops as well as a few of those whose practices seemed compatible. Rufus May and Elizabeth Svanholmer presented on nonviolent communication and on having dialogue with voices. Ron and Karen presented on recovery, the need for projects outside the medical model, and steps to prepare for recovery. We had a jazz singing workshop, a presentation on the Soteria House in Bradford, poetry (the best kept secret in camp) open mic performances and an arts table run by Helen. We presented on narrative work and ways of engaging with voices, as well as a writing workshop, a mask making afternoon, a brief spontaneous session on nutrition and helping with ceremony. We bracketed with songs and invitations to the spirits to join us and on the last day we burned offerings and sent them in smoke to ask the universe for input and assistance (not denying agency and accountability of our own, just asking for a little help by the by). The camp had a beautiful rhythm to it, between socializing, meals, performances, and Wednesday, which involved escapes to the beach, lying in, sitting in sunshine and generally playing vagabond. A large group of people went into town shopping, others to the pub in Dumfries and the Soteria House folks went to the beach.

It was inspiring to hear people’s stories, to hear so many stories of people thriving – against medical advice.

So just now, I’m in an uncritical blissed-out state, unable to parse the effectiveness of what I witnessed and participated in, but just basking in the joy of possibility.  Here are a few images – more to come.

Karen Taylor with Morning Announcements

Lewis and Karen and I at the airport.

The big tent.

Ron Coleman Morning Announcements

Helen and Barb with our first customer, young Francesca.

Morning Assembly

Lewis and I under a big old tree.

Transferring to the new hard drive. It started out saying 17 days.

Well, the good news is that I am beginning the work of finishing my thesis film. In the next post I’ll tell the story of how this came about, how I began and things radically changed when my friend suicided and my dad was diagnosed with dementia.  I dove into another world and when I returned, after my dad died, I was a mental health counselor (creative arts therapist), a practitioner (and now a teacher) of narrative work, and married. A long slow road brings me back here.

But here I am. Starting with technological changes. We are embarking on a two-week trip and I need to take my hard drives with me. I have 2 tb hard drives, one 500 gb and a 250.  Now, I have a new 4tb drive with thunderbolt so I can put everything on it. It ways about a third of what the old tb hard drives do and it takes up a lot less space. Today is spent packing and transferring. We leave on Friday for two very different places. First, psychosis camp, in the Mithrah of Mabie, a forest south of Glasgow. A retreat for those who experience psychosis from time to time and those who work with them. Weather there is chillier and rainier than here. After that, North and South Dakota. Bismark for language school and Eagle Butte for some dancing.

We moved out of our beautiful lake house on Monday, and into our temporary location, the Senator Inn, which is our staging ground for all the projects we have going on and the packing we have to do for the next two weeks. We leave on Friday, so we have to have everything in storage or packed by Thursday night. Most of our things are in storage, as our new place is not ready until July 1. The room is crammed full of things for the journey and the miscellany of last minute, impulsive, ideas about what material goods we couldn’t possibly live without.  Now we have to sort through this pile with sober second thought. How will we realistically make plaster masks in the middle of a forest in Scotland?  We won’t. We can make masks from found objects in nature.  How many books of stories will I really reference?  (Kindle editions). Could I get prayer tie cloth when we get there? (very expensive).  How many outfits is minimum for a week?  My suitcase is taken up with warm clothing, stout boots, a hat and gloves. In June. You never know in the Dakotas. There is also life. We want to get Lewis’s mum an exercise bicycle (recumbent, easy to use, with a nice variety of settings including an easy one), plus get her some reflexology on her feet. We still need to get some paper to the mortgage broker and we had to make last minute changes to the book that we only got finished last night. Etc.  We were hoping to get to the Great Mother Conference (http://greatmotherconference.org/) which is down the road in Portland, to do lodge with our friend Miguel Rivera, but the conspiracy of time and weather is making that look increasingly unlikely.  Miguel is from California and he had no idea it could rain this hard.

Plus, this morning is staccato. It wasn’t meant to be. We woke up, had a leisurely coffee and intended to go to our favourite gym down the road, except we got outside to discover that we have a flat tire. AAA came and inflated it, but now a trip to the auto shop is part of our day so we are ramped up in a different way, trying to reroute schedules, cancel appointments that can no longer be accommodated. Everything gets pushed. So, I’m up here, transferring footage to the new hard drive. Lewis is downstairs, trying to get a fast workout in (I’ll go down the road later today), and I am planning luggage, imagining myself in the prairie, watching birds, and realizing that we could just leave it all here and everything would work out just fine.