Mother Archetype Sunday. ..

Another opportunity for commerce to sell flowers and cards and gifts to Mothers' children. This special day, always on a Sunday, reminds children to be grateful for being born, especially to the bearer or adoptive Mum. Emotions are evoked and children emote in various ways, depending on their feelings about how the Mother handled the sacred role of Archetypal Mother. The nurturer, the compassionate one, the deployer of soft power while the Father Archetype, hunts for food, protects the brood, chastises them when needed and generally bosses everyone around.

Of course the Archetypes represent mythical players in Human games, while exceptions abound in relative reality.

Since my Mum died years ago and the children's Mum is elsewhere, the old blogger is excused responsibility for ensuring Mothers are cared for on at least one day every year. It's not a lot to ask, even if the Mother has not quite matched up to the Archetype.

So, an early start and a decent walk is proposed, with Sunshine forecast ... reality produces high cloud and strong westerly breeze and heading steeply North only makes the breeze more windy and bitter cold ... a challenge offered and accepted, heading West into the wind for an hour or so on the old railway track ... bracing to say the least and essential to walk hard to stay warm; great training for a Camino some day ... as for humans, two in the village chat briefly, then another unexpectedly higher, sharing stories about freemasonry and its tendency to corrupt, then a couple on the Rookhope side, she Malay, he from near where your blogger spent his childood and interested in Camino ... back in Stanhope after passing three walkers on Mothers' Day duty (Mum, son and son's girlfriend), more subversion en route for late lunch, including deep deep conversation with local bloke suffering for good reason ... a brief friendly chat with neighbours from the last location and home, rather knackered and content ...picking up Frances Yates' book on Giordano Bruno, burnt alive in Rome for heresy, which looks like a must read offer for this week.

Anyway, that was yesterday ... today's the start of a brand new week with nothing in the diary except a reminder to wish the younger sister a Happy Birthday tomorrow ... the one who married a Breton farmer and lived her life in Brittany teaching French enfants English, bearing un garcon to take on the farm and une fille who ended up in Liverpool ... and the strong possibility of news of Daisy, the Chinese car which has been in Durham awaiting parts from China for some weeks with Brexit blamed ... given the tranquil life and local shops a car is a luxury only purchased when an American pilgrim, Patty, announced her desire to see most of England and Scotland in two weeks., and not on foot! These days she finds herself in the Land of the Free masked indoors and out by Presidential Decree ... another nation falling for the Plan of Gates and crew, supported by the geniuses of Silicon Valley, who set up shop pretty much on top of a major fault line where a rerun of the earthquake in San Francisco is long overdue ...

The plutocrats are funny like that, in love with money and fearing death, arranging the Planet to suit their needs ... cryogenic equipment in place to freeze their heads and bodies ready to assume immortality one day ... missing the point entirely that ongoing consciousness is not a function of brains or bodies at all ... or so it seems to me, though I could be wrong. Let's see!