02 December 2007
"The Boggle Hole is a cove tucked beneath cliffs, where a beck runs down across sand to the sea, from an old mill which is now a youth hostel. They walked down through flowering lanes...Here was abundance, here was growth, here were banks of gleaming scented life."
Writing yesterday about Possession made me think about my own travels through England, to places that my peers missed in their quests to "do Europe." I loved Yorkshire. I loved the people, their friendliness and lack of wariness about strangers. I loved the moors and the cliffs. I loved the mulled wine served by every pub, the rough accents, the mist that pervaded the air. I took several trips up there, and it is because of Possession that I made a trip to the tiny cliffside community of Robin Hood's Bay. Something about the place breathed life-- the water, the eroded cliff, the tidal pools. I walked along the road from my tiny bed and breakfast on one cliff to the next nearby cliff, then down an incline, to the Boggle Hole itself.
I loved going off by myself. Now I try to keep myself busy, because too much thinking is a bad thing. I'm still very much in recovery mode, much to my dismay. I think my problem is that once I make my mind up to move on from "the cracks" and the many different forms of broken hearts out in the world, I have no idea how to proceed. It makes me think of this quote I once saw, although I have no clue where it's from: "When your heart gets broken, you start to see the cracks in everything. It's my belief that the world is out to harden us, and it's our mission never to let it."