Healing.

Crawford came to do the not-hands-on healing. It was good to lie down for 30 minutes but even better to find that when I got up my eyes are focusing properly again. My breathing changed markedly at some point from really heavy to really quiet. I felt all tension leave my stomach area, my chest expanded, my lungs feel better. Fantastic! The most tangible effect is in the eyes.

He is very happy with it. Whatever 'it' is that this chap is spreading. Paradoxically the chap says there is no need to go to the workshops except to get some experience and to feel comfortable doing what they do. And what they do is NOT wear crystals, invoke angels, wash their hands, shake off bad energy into salt water, study for years, pay hugely for 'initiations' like the Reiki gig and so on. This all appeals muchly to Crawford who always was a good healer and is also a died-in-the -wool individualist who has never succumbed to the fear-driven tennets of the New Age. He's an interesting man and one I am very pleased to have included in my life. Born in the Gorbals with a very good brain but little education and no encouragement, he lgot an apprenticeship as an instrument maker which took him aboard ships and eventually, by devious paths, to South America where he became a millionaire doing the Fray Bentos thing, having a factory where as he puts it, they drove the cattle in one end and brought them out in a tin the other. He has ridden with the gauchos, speaks Spanish like a native, needed to carry a gun to deal with rustlers and internecine disputes between workers, had his back broken by a mule, (when he was told he would never walk again) and eventually given it all up to build his own log cabin in the woods. I've seen photos of it, it was really something. I also talked to his son Iain who told me lots of stories about his father's life. One in particular stuck in my mind because I can imagine it so well. They (the family I think, son, daughter, and wife) were sailing down the Amazon in a middling-sized yacht and Crawford toppled overboard. The current was strong and the river both very wide and very deep, the sides of the yacht slippery and sheer. Iain told me how they watched in horror as Crawford went down once then twice and fail to reappear. They were despairing when, like Triton, streaming water, he launched himself bellowing out of the river and leapt five feet into the air to catch the gunwhale. (I didn't ask where the lifebelt was - it would spoil the story!! ) I can imagine that he wasn't very easy to be married to. His Latvian wife made a visit back to Briton and moved all the money he had sent back into her own account, then sued for divorce. Crawford was returned to where he had started, with nothing but his wits. He came back to the UK and worked with big companies for a while, but his heart wasn't in it. He gave it up and opened a Complimentary Therapy clinic and never had any real money again! Larger than life and having a way with the ladies he hasn't been a saint, but he has never been a parasite either. (My mind turns to Mr Toad who is never anything but a parasite, depending on women to feed, shelter and bail him out at every turn in his path. They couldn't be more different.) At 76 Crawford finds it impossible to get regular work although he is very fit and still has more wits than most. He manages to earn a little here and there but it is a constant source of upset to him that his new wife, who is half his age, has now to be the main bread-winner whilst he can only teach Spanish and do odd jobs. They plan to move to Spain when they can accumulate enough money.