It's not all routine

There is a beautiful footpath from The Barn retreat centre to Totnes. It flanks the River Dart, undulating in and out of tree cover and bringing you nose-to-nose with the local sheep, cows and ponies.

This is my second time walking into Totnes. The first time, I came out with a steak and stilton pasty. This time, I’m off to purchase more pasties for my parents—the golden treasure from the south of the south.

Walking into a busy town is an interesting exercise, mid-retreat, but it’s made all the easier when the town is this picturesque and bathed in the Spring sun. Cobbled high streets, endless independent shops and a river flowing into the centre. I could live here.

As a reward for surviving, I bought an almond & cherry bakewell croissant to eat on the way home. I’ve done my time with rationed retreat food. A few steps down the street, enjoying the rich marzipan sweetness, I felt pressure on my left shoulder and then the frenzied thrust of a beak trying to eat the croissant. I stayed remarkably calm, considering I had no idea what was happening, and managed to push the bird away. The croissant was unscathed. The seagull landed on the car next to me. I stared it down and it gave precisely zero fucks about what had transpired.

Later that day, I walked into The Barn for my shower and restock, whilst the retreatants were in meditation. Strangely, someone had slammed a door—a rarity in an otherwise serene, retreat setting. I heard the door slam a final time and someone stormed passed me with their suitcase in hand.

Shortly afterwards, a coordinator found me.

“Are you the hermit?”, she asked.

“Yes”, I replied, enjoying my new title.

“Just so you know, there is a situation here. Someone is quite angry”, she said.

“I saw”, I replied, chuckling.

I never found out what happened, but I heard another retreatant talk about the surprising benefits of equanimity as I left.

So it’s not all routine here.