Fortune and distemper. Prosût and sir. Krka and Crka

Another noise breaking the natural silence - construction work. In nations where the siesta is a daily accepted occurrence "the weary" carry on from dawn unto dusk. It uses the cool of the early evening so that a whole day is less available for the discovering of the Truth amidst lies, lies and sadistics. The manic clanking of their "pile driver" mingles with a distant church bell across the bay telling eight. Closer by birds sing and dogs bark while butterflies chase the final rays of the sun shimmering on the languidly rolling water beyond the heavy weep of pines. It will be utterly silent and pitch dark once the hard hatters go home for their supper.

The other monk brought me dinner. Soup - chicken broth with pasta shapes - and beef pizza slices. It is enough. Now into the shower. It took me all afternoon to figure out where the switch for the heater was ... And it was staring me in the face literally at eye level from the bed. Its not that it is archaic, far from it, the three cells that have been built above the shrine to the virgin are modern, clean and comfortable. This is usually the case - very rarely does the clergy have to rough it (but it is only somewhere to sleep) then I clock a mosquito and put it outside using a drinking glass - it vanishes into the night There are fly screens on the windows you pull down and fix to the base. Windows open now fearlessly as the noise of supine waves and chattering blackbirds, vocal into the dusk, increase. The other monk brings me milk for the morning (as I spotted oats on a shelf) when he returned to collect my cleaned plates and utensils. My plan is to put lights out the moment the sun hits the horizon, blackbirds are sleeping and then drift upon a raft free of doubts. I've a number of mozzie bites but it's no big deal we're on't road tomorrow - they always find me.

...

It was a relief to discover a shower and bed at the end of such a long day yesterday; I got lost and had to climb through olive trees, scrub, vegetation, spiders - trying not to destroy too many webs, turkeys, pheasants and step over a snake until I trisected another path up to the hill top - crossing from the north island to the south. I missed the summit! I was short of water, food and it was bloody hot - I am not walking short. The monastery I had set out for at eight am, in Kraj (Kry), was vacant of monks so there wasn't a chance I would be sleeping there and the one priest would not allow me there regardless of my dirty feet - his expression was dower, sullen and almost contemptible. Such a change of fortune in 30 kilometres; we didn't connect at all - and I think Jesus' True message is not heard by the healers who themselves remain unhealed. To forget we are essentially One; you, I and every being, what must you see to be aware thus? But I don't trust an unhealed healer. We truly don't walk through life with the same purpose. Being inside a cloister can be a prison for the egress of the mind. Love can't reside if it isn't openly shared.

Next I visited the Saint Francis monastery in Sibenik, but Ivan asked me if I am Catholic so I was judged by a concept which is not of Christ. It must be asked if the man who attended beggars and lepers - Francis of Assisi - was a either humane individual or a Catholic (everyone was either a Catholic or heretic then)? Actually wasn't he a man who had a revelation and became a caring person where once he had been a "jack the lad" and a soldier - he turned back after a dream about a Truth he was missing, went a little insane and, before he sought to be "anointed" by the Pope, he was already doing the work of the message of Christ.

Last night I slept well, above Bar Ga-Ga, but was awake by 6. I didn't hang about in Tkon but caught the ferry back to to the mainland Beograd and then an instant bus south. Now I am in at Hostel Indigo at 119 (inc tourist tax) kuna per nigh, but I have a room to my self, in a very quiet corner of the upper old town of Sibenik, preseason.

Vino, Plavaç and a white, Trapist cheese from Pag and the remainder of the spicy Salami, a quarter of a loave to sleep until five. I stepped outside and there was another backpacking tourist waiting to come into the hostel - a guy from Meanwood, Leeds (Nick - English Language Trainer) - I left him to enquire at Vino-Ino - a wine bar I had noticed next a church which had become a gallery - tried two whites and two reds both local and excellent - especially Gracin Babiç dark fruity leathery thought provockingly complex and boldy Croatian. Came back after a pizza calzone at recommended KikKik, spoke with Nick, from Meanwood, about the meanings of life and the routes into Being - Taoism, Buddhism and the teachings of Christ, stuff and things.

Once looking suicide in the eye because I lacked understanding. Now truly confused yet happier, but I am not sure I can find what it is I thought I was looking for. Unless I collapse into the social "I will" then I could sit at the bar and see this is a stones throw from the cemetery at the top of the hill, but below the guns blazing citadel, in Sibenik. I feel bad bed eyes. Perhaps sharing a shuttle to the national park tomorrow; tomorrow never knows.

Being told that the monk was afraid of me, because of all the treasures in his monastery; are you looking Francis - what value is in a stone, be it gold, frankincense or myrrh. This body true and bold is not interested in your gold unless your gold is in your soul. Don't judge. I won't judge. It just frustrates me. Why is a man of God fearful of his death? That makes zero sense. Every day I may die. Acceptance.

...

Hotfoot out of Hostel to catch the 9am to Skradin and ten minutes into the journey we're parked up next to the kerb side as the bus is dead. I was not in a rush, but the mentality of speed momentarily heaved its presence. Will they send a replacement bus or will we wait for a tow? Ten kilometres suddenly is too far if I let the ego win.

Another bus comes quickly enough - one tour guide was making it the bus drivers personal fault. Bitch faced rep dressed to dazzle but full of venom: she'll secretly hate every single moment she lies and lies how charmed she must be and I hope she gets run over. Reverse very slowly driver make sure she bursts intensively!

Walk and walk without expectations, but arrived at the destination helped by another monk and a guide. There are those who doubt and there are those who a freed.

Sitting in the shade cast by an olive tree, feeding a mate free swan and waiting for a boat returning at five is better than sitting at the end of the bar. Look I did it all by myself! No the universe and everything else; the whole of existence, does step in True.

The most amazing fortune: at the end of a torturous trek towards the stage for boats to Vicovac, being bitten by a wicked Horse Fly, finding a stunning view down into the canyon, running low on energy, food, water, crashing out under a cypress, finding a house where wine and gallons of sweet mineral water, a village where it was possible to sit in shads and consume all the fig rolls, another arduous trek down off the plateau, walking across meadow feeling I had taken a wrong turn, hearing voices (not in my head), finding a monk and two national park attendants heading back to the island, jumping into the boat, appreciating the reedy languid blue waters as we head to the monastery. The boat enters a subterranean quay and the monk very helpfully takes me to an unhurried faucet and asks me to rest a while. A free tour of the cloister, church, cistern, feeding a very friendly swan and getting a free lift back to the waterfalls, being stunned at their power and eye popping beauty, smiling heading down the last five kilometres, finding two Dutch tourist who bought me dinner, wine and gave me a warm hug, relaxing in the 100 kuna apartment, with it's menagerie of birds and dogs, switching off. A wonderful place Krka National Park.

The door scrooped for the final time as I left and descended to the menagerie - should I free all those birds in cages? Controlling a species for personal comfort is the human disaster. Omelette and back to Sibenik - to head south towards Dubrovnik, Hvar, Brac - I await the return of broken unbroken bus.

...

The weather is changing - there is that dominant northerly that I was told comes off the Alps to Istria and creates quite a stir. But I am OK. There is an 8am coach down to Dubrovnik with my arse booked for my meat hooked, not fokked, dangling (171 kuna). I made a decision to hang about in Sibernik because of its mediæval walls and alleys, with don't piss here suggestions, that are required viewing. Back to Indigo, Nina gave me a 10% discount for being a good boy (100 kuna exc. tax). One eighth of me wishes to wash my dirties and the remainder thinks find just find cavalier pantaloons.

Med/Mel/Honig/Honey/Mead free as a welcome drink, the boss says it is only for girls: he is correct if your sole purpose is a means into an arsehole. Not for me as I mean not to be an arsehole; eventually (life is a work in progress).