Authoritarians and Libertarians

redicecreations.com/radio/2013/10/RIR-131004.php

A very interesting discussion, looking at some Pale Green Vortex-type topics from a fresh viewpoint. Well worth an hour of our precious human life, I'd say (or two hours, if you are a Red Ice member).

Sunny Isle

The Isle Of Skye,with its mountain range of the Cuillins, lies off the coast of western Scotland, and has the reputation for being a rainy, windy, misty place. These photos from a mountain walk last week illustrate that it is not always the case.

Migraines, Moons, and Mountains

                On Migraine Mountain

I wrote about my personal experience of migraines in a post on October 26th, 2010, 'The Bad Trip: Migraine'. Since then, I have continued to undergo their intermittent pain, albeit less frequently (I actually went for four months without an attack), and with generally less severity. When they have arrived, the migraines have tended to go on for a long time, however.

Migraines are, I conclude, little understood by the medical orthodoxy. This is evidenced by the large number of bewildered sufferers whose tortures can be readily accessed online, plus the equally bewildering profusion of causal theories and proposed palliatives and remedies that haunt the relevant websites. For me, there is, with little doubt, a supernatural element to the phenomenon. I once tracked the timing of my attacks against the phases of the moon. I discovered that the migraines have a strong tendency to cluster around the time of the full moon, to a degree that is statistically almost impossible to occur randomly. I also read on one website (which I unfortunately did not make a note of) that migraines typically occur thirteen times a year. This information was relayed without comment - but thirteen, annual cycles of the moon: any connection, maybe??? Some people find the apogee and perigee of the moon (respectively its furthest and closest proximity to the Earth) to be significant factors in the timing of their migraines.

The other bane of my physical life is chronic sinus problems. I may write more about this at some future time, but it started about five years ago. Since it is a condition that is focused around the same areas of the body and its energy systems as migraine - the brow/temple region and the intestines - it is reasonable to consider that both migraine and sinusitis manifest a similar problem. At this point, however, you leave the mainstream medical profession well and truly behind......

A few weeks ago I set off from home with the intention of climbing a fairly large mountain in western Scotland. I awoke to that familiar pressure around the brow and behind the eyes which is characteristic of sinus disturbance. Such a common experience was insufficient to cause me any real concern, however. It was only when I was on the coach and well on my way that the pain began to intensify and to migrate to the right side of my head. Accompanying this was a growing nausea, and it began to dawn on me that this was not simply sinusitis, but impending migraine.

It is one of the nightmares of a migraine person: to be stuck on some form of transport far from home with excruciating pains in the head and the uncontrollable urge to vomit viciously all over everybody and everything. Being stranded while in the throes of a migraine is one of the worst things around. What was I going to do? I could ask the driver to let me off at the next stop and somehow make my way home. I could ask him to take me on further than my intended destination, to at least a village where I might be able to find some respite. As it was, I decided to breathe deeply, try to relax, and continue with my original plan.

I stumbled off the bus in the middle of nowhere. To the east runs a long loch, and to the west the road snakes down a glen cut like a gash into the hills. Lines of steep-sided mountains stretch north and southwards as far as the eye can see. I was standing outside the only habitation for miles - literally - a lonely hotel with a solitary petrol pump. In my enfeebled condition, the mountain I originally intended to climb had taken on Himalayan proportions. Out of the question. Yet I felt strangely happy to be among the mountains with a skull about to split and intestines threatening to evacuate across the peat and heather. I would not go to the big mountain, but instead opt for a small mountain close at hand. I could take my time, walk as much or as little as I wished, and generally follow my fancy.

Am Bathach is the name of the little mountain, the one normally reserved for a half day out. I began to climb, very slowly, stopping for long and frequent rests, surveying the gradually unfolding landscape from a large variety of rocky vantage points. Halfway up the southern brow of Am Bathach I succumbed to some deep retching, following which I felt slightly better. Continuing with this stop - start routine, I eventually reached the summit ridge, where I was confronted by its three peaks. Normally, they present themselves as mere protuberances on the ridge, but on this day they manifested as enormous walls of mountain to be climbed. I lay down to rest in the silence of the middle peak. Suddenly I was jarred into wakefulness by a racket above me. A bird of prey - my rudimentary knowledge of wildlife suggests it was a buzzard - was hovering close to the ground,  but was being harassed by three noisy crows, which followed closely in its wake as it swooped then hung in the air, apparently trying to get close to the ground. The persistence of the crows paid off, and the buzzard eventually swung off across the valley and into the distance. The drama over, I closed my eyes again and drifted into sleep.

The descent off the far end of Am Bathach is slightly steep, over heather and slippery peat. As I was coming down, it occurred to me that, despite my physical frailty, I did not feel the slightest bit worried or intimidated. In fact I had felt fully confident during the entire little adventure. I knew myself  - my abilities and limitations - and had made appropriate decisions for the day. I had never been be-migrained in the hills before, but I was very much at home here. I respected the mountains, and they lent their support to me. My  own love of the wild would be reciprocated, provided I acted appropriately and with common sense. Going to the mountains was what I did.

I arrived back outside the hotel with an hour to spare. I could have taken refuge inside. Instead, I lay down on a rock, closed my eyes again, and felt the caress of the wind on my face. It had been a mild migraine by my standards, allowing me the unique opportunity to spend a day of ill-health outdoors among the mountains. I felt curiously satisfied.