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“It takes courage to move out into the new, the unknown.”
Viola Spolin

The girls were blossoming, full of joy and mischief; they sensed the difficulties that existed between myself and Michael. There were many friends in their lives, young and older as well as their peer group friends and families and they often spent a night or a weekend at theirs.

Ruby, Gwendy, Amber, Yolande with hair curler and choir mistress Debbie

Debbie, a remarkable musician from Arizona started a children’s choir and the girls began to do a lot of rehearsing and performance work becoming confident and accomplished in front of an audience, performing too in local venues, the care home, the local hospital; their lives were woven into the fabric of the community; they would stop by the candle studio sometimes and make a candle, help me cook supper in the big kitchens, sit in at our rehearsals; their lives were certainly rich and varied.

Ruby Gretchen

Our final show was written by Michael and directed by Ike, for an autumn conference [1]. The key speakers were highly acclaimed in the field of ecology/earth science and hundreds were attending. The show entitled “A Head of our Times”, dealt with our own inner ecology, the imbalances and conflicts of the egoic mind that have resulted in our corresponding abuse and ignorance of our true nature, one another and the natural world; inspired by psychosynthesis it portrayed the warring aspects of the self with a small s! The head and reason against the heart, imagination; a journey into dialogue myth and story resolving with the help of the higher self, imagination. It was insightful, humorous and moving with live music and some stunning visual effects. It was well received and we were unexpectedly invited to take it to “The Roundhouse” in London; we were of course delighted to receive such an offer but it would have required a substantial amount of finance that we had no access to and it didn’t happen. What did happen around this time were a number of things that would shape the future of our little family.

Community Spiral Dance photo Findhorn Foundation

Michael left for a trip to California where a friend had arranged for him to give some theatre workshops; he was going to visit Ed Maxcy, our good theatre friend who had returned to his home state two years previously.

Ruby

Meanwhile I lived in our wee cottage with my lovely girls and tried to imagine life as a single parent; working hard creating lovely candles to help alleviate the community’s debt which seemed to be growing into a dark cloud hovering over us. There was talk of closing the studios and many of the artists were being asked to leave and pursue their careers in the larger community. Without Peter’s support and enthusiasm as ‘Patron of the Arts’, the studios and performing arts were being given a hard time, there was no budget in place for any further work and it seemed to be an ‘all hands on deck’ situation with people being asked to work in the essential areas which were now known as ‘work departments’

We were nearing the end of the halcyon years of the 70s and everything that was seen as nonessential, extraneous, frivolous, was being dismantled – as in any recession – the arts were the first to suffer.

I was about to experience two of the most extraordinary travel experiences of my life though. I had made a great friend during one of the theatre workshops, and out of the blue she invited me to give a week-long workshop in Cadaques in Spain, where she was living. After my initial self-doubt and with the encouragement of friends I consented. Apart from the whirlwind tour of Europe I’d hardly ever travelled and over the nine years I had lived in community I had lost touch in many respects with the changes in the world. Not the world of the village or the small town of Forres, but with things like superstores, highways, shopping malls, everything seemed to move so fast, so much traffic and things built so big. I had never been on a plane. Catherine a world traveller, full of optimism and enthusiasm was always an inspiration. Singer, songwriter, free thinker, forever sharing her radical insights she opened up a new world of ideas and living for me.

This was my first taste of a Mediterranean lifestyle; Catherine’s lover Paco owned a restaurant on the harbour front, we ate lunch at three and supper after nine and sleeping under the eaves I could hear revellers still dining at midnight in the warm sultry spring night.

My concern was whether I would have enough material to occupy us for a week; Michael was always the driving force behind the drama aspect, effortlessly embodying the ‘skills’, helping others to locate their hidden talents, in that area.

Simone

There were 18 people in the group and everyone brought their own playfulness and creativity, I was simply a catalyst. People gave a donation to cover my expenses and the rental of the very nice studio space; Catherine had wanted her friends to experience a taste of community life, a sense of connectedness and working together – unlike the usual solitary life of the artist, and we did – cooking as a group in the evenings and sharing in play and imagination each day. Everyone was looking for something meaningful and together we went deeply into techniques, exercises and the unexpected gifts I was able to offer.

I spent some extra days enjoying the many charms of this lovely town, getting to know some unique gifted individuals who had moved here from less hospitable climes – as well as the local Spanish people; it seemed like a well-integrated community.

I stood in front of a giant canvas and was in no doubt that it radiated light; Bob painted Angels! Spirits of nature, shamanic icons; all manner of birds and beasts of mythic fantasy; an easy going likeable American with a substantial beard – who’s art would become famously iconic – he offered us a smoke of “excellent Moroccan sticky black”. Having been isolated from the usual contemporary trends of my culture, such indulgence only induced nausea, recreational drugs were seriously outlawed in the community in those days.

Salvador Dali lived around the next coastal headland and every so often held a soiree, serving pink champagne and mingling freely with the local artists. Catherine said he was quite a force of encouragement, always interested in the work of young artists, and there would be a gathering that weekend and we were invited – sadly, his wife Gala was unwell and the soiree was cancelled, I would have liked to have met him and Gala, I could have used some creative inspiration from a ‘Maestro’.

Debbie Ruby

On my return to Scotland I was scheduled to give a week long theatre workshop in a large space converted for the purpose at Station House. A cost cutting measure I helped implement in order to continue the work of Theatre Arts, creating the possibility of Station House becoming a centre for the arts. It didn’t work, the space was too confining, with one small window, inadequately lit. I was beginning to realise that I no longer wanted to give workshops alone and how well Michael and I had worked as a team, the joy of it.

The artistic tides were withdrawing, the Craft Studios closing and the Performing Arts Group (P.A.) dispersing. Michael was included in this feedback from the core group which wasn’t so hard to comprehend; recognised by everyone who knew him as being gifted and charismatic as a writer and wctor, people saw him with every potential to becoming recognised in the larger world of comedy and theatre.

In most every respect, it seemed all we had worked for as a theatre company of nine years duration was slipping away; later and on a more transcendent level I saw how we, and all those who had loved and served the arts had contributed to earthing a very significant creative energy and presence that was well anchored in the etheric body of this centre. It would act as a magnet in the decades to come, blossoming and bearing fruit, unfettered by human assumptions, freely available to all who resonated with it.

Michael Ruby

On his return from the States Michael took care of the girls while I had my adventure in Spain; this phase in our lives would have felt exciting and a real unfoldment of our work, but everything felt precarious and unreal as we acknowledged the need for divorce and the heart of the community – the core group – was literally pulling the rug from under our feet with their policy of austerity, dismantling everything we had worked for.

The reasoning behind the closing of the studios seemed faulty though I can see in retrospect with the onset of globalisation the markets were about to be flooded with quite lovely crafts and exotica from India and the East; people were no longer willing to pay a lot of money for a hand woven blanket or wall hanging, made in Scotland, when they could buy something bright and unusual at less than half the price; the same went for pottery and later, for candles. Quite simply they were not paying for themselves – except for the candles.

Candles by Simone and Jan

A friend, who was in the Core Group started to work with us, learning the making of our most marketable range; I thought he was trying to keep us afloat as we were doing well still and finding it hard to keep up with the orders, wax was still inexpensive in those days and our prices very reasonable. I discovered after leaving the community that the candle business was moved to Erraid, a small outpost of the community on the West coast, gifted to the community for eleven months of the year by a wealthy Dutch family, the place consisting of a number of cottages, vegetable gardens, spaces for workshops; it was an ideal venue for a craft studio but it was the fact that Jan and I were not told – that hurt. Then again it may not have been decided till later, and not as underhand as it seemed… just insensitive, as I said earlier, there was a certain amount of mismanagement and there were casualties.

Simone, Irena, Jan, Inger

Lennie, my rebirther, was a good friend and after many months, it seemed inevitable that we became lovers. That last summer of the 70s he invited me to California to share an adventure in his home state, a place I had felt drawn to since meeting my first Californian. Michael was happy to be house husband for a few weeks, I had the address of a few good friends and some money left from the sale of the caravan; I wanted to meet Leonard Orre and spend some time at his rebirthing centre at Campbell Hot Springs in the Sierras; I was excited to be stepping out into the unknown.

With any significant new love comes the expectation of a new life and direction, especially when we are young and still naïve, later I learned how any expectations are an anathema to love or seeing clearly in the here and now.

Arriving in Sacramento at the hottest time of year after a decade of Scottish summers was truly a shock, but being a sun worshipper despite all the new research into skin cancer, I became my sun self, buying lovely inexpensive garments that exposed this ‘new’ me. We stayed in a big wooden house, belonging to a friend of Lennie’s, I was charmed by the warm friendly people on the sidewalks under the many shade trees, walking, talking, full of good humour; men would often introduce themselves, ask where I was from, invite me to the nearest restaurant for a coffee; later I wondered whether Americans were really that friendly or did they think I was a hooker! All those years in the community and I was “Candide” – lopsided and naïve – I realised later – no longer streetwise; yet when I told people I was from the community there was always curiosity and deep interest.

There was a ‘pulse’ in the land, a sort of electricity and vitality I’d never felt anywhere before; it was exhilarating and could erupt into a violent expression so easily; if I stood too closely to someone in a queue, or responded in an unguarded or unexpected way, and every day was very hot under a clear blue sky.

Simone

We did a lot of Californian sightseeing on the giant freeways in big cars that Lennie borrowed from his mum and dad. Lennie had a lot of old friends, women mostly, that he hadn’t seen for a long time and they were nice people but before too long I had to accept the fact that there was no real future for us; this was very hard and no doubt coloured what could have been a very happy time as I was in love with the man and quite needy with all the insecurity and facing up to the illusions in my life, but we had an easy companionship and we travelled to glorious Yosemite, camping under the giant redwood trees bathing under waterfalls, being eaten alive by mosquitos. We stayed in the Napa Valley at Lennie’s grandad’s place, up in the dry hills, sparsely wooded and full of wildlife, sleepy with ancient memory of an earlier time the ground full of arrowheads. We sampled the many Napa Valley wines and swam in the home grown swimming pools full of murky green water and frogs, taking long drives, losing our way in the vast stretches of land, real wilderness, scary. We fell more in love, before falling out in a dramatic unexpected fashion, then back again. A real rollercoaster romance that often seemed small and insignificant in the face of so much immensity, this land I was beginning to love. Even the car parks and shopping malls, big enough to get lost in – but of course it was the wilderness areas, the sense of ‘sacred’ spaces and what had been.

I spent some time at the Rebirthing Centre in Campbell Hot Springs; a wacky group held it together, it seemed that Leonard Orre and colleagues were away, leaving a skeleton crew. People were coming, Californians, and we rebirthed one another in the hot springs and swimming pool, cooking together and sleeping in the big wooden lodge that had previously been owned by some Mafia hotshot. It was a lovely location, the air full of the scent of pine resin, gentle hills, arable land green and verdant; at night we would head for the nearby town and drink margaritas, strawberry daiquiris after rebirthing all day under the hot sun and warm mineral waters that bubbled up from deep under the ground, then we’d lay out under the immense star lit sky and smoke some good grass. It was a heady intoxicating lifestyle and I was aware of the psychic shackles and restraints from the previous years of hard work and self-discipline fall away, as a new sense of liberation made itself felt in my heart and mind.

The guy who was running things was having a spiritual emergency – as they called it – and one night as he sat at the head of the long table trying to speak above the usual animated hubbub he lifted a small pistol and fired at the high ceiling then he pointed it at his head, needless to say, he had our silent attention.

Next morning Lennie came to pick me up, my days as a ‘lotus eater’ were over and I needed a more nourishing diet – a visit with old friends. I headed off to Los Angeles on a Greyhound bus – my funds running low now, I wore my new ‘Calistoga’ cow girl hat.

Having witnessed my first crazy firearms episode I pondered on the deeper problems of an over permissive society where ease was the order of the day and the superficial was exalted. There was apparently a ‘sniper’ somewhere on the route into L.A. who was taking random ‘pot shots’ at the traffic and we had to take a secondary route. One of the passengers spoke of a robbery in their local store and how someone was badly wounded, before long everyone was airing a story that ended in gunshot and blood, there really was a powerful pulse in this land, capable of erupting any time into violent expression and thanks to old fashioned gun laws from the time of the ‘wild west’ when the land was full of outlaws and life and the rule of law was tenuous – it made for an often felt, sense of menace.

Nevertheless, under a constant blue sky, transport was inexpensive so was food, gas, rent, clothes; I filled a shopping trolley with the things we needed for a camping trip and a week’s provisions, Californian wines, masses of fresh produce grown in the fertile central valley, all for thirty dollars. People had lemon, orange and avocado trees growing in their gardens; I had a moment of sheer delight, harvesting my first exotic fruits from Lennie’s mother’s garden.

I was visiting an extraordinary family who all had connections with Findhorn and whom I’d grown to love. My good friend was expecting me in North Hollywood, she was staying at her mother’s, an apartment in a smart complex, with swimming pool, jacuzzi and a mirror lined gym; this was another world entirely – completed by the L.A palm trees, the fronds swaying in the hot breezes. We swam in the evening and sat in the violet night on the balcony overlooking the colourful lights of the sprawling city, talking about the direction the community was taking, friends we had known, our own journeys. The apartment was small so I was farmed out with the help of her family – happy to extend hospitality so I could have a taste of Southern California.

The older sister was a screenwriter and with her screenwriting partner was staying at the home of a celebrated movie star, at his spacious ranch house, built around a pool, hacienda style in Beverley Hills. I was fortunate indeed to spend a few days there, tasting the high life, meeting lots of colourful interesting people who worked in the industry. My one encounter with ‘himself’ was to pour him a coffee when he walked into his state of the art kitchen wearing a white bathrobe after his morning swim and sauna. He’d been away and asked who I was and why I was in his kitchen, he made the effort of some polite conversation, a courteous man.

My next invitation came from their cousin who lived on the beach at Malibu in a small chalet. We had worked together in P.A. on a few occasions as he was a wizard with sound and light; he kindly wined and dined me, sharing his favourite jazz clubs, introducing me to the beach culture where, standing in 18 inches of Pacific surf I was almost tugged into the ocean by the strong scary undertow. It was time for me to move on again when he went into a snit for the second time because I refused to sleep with him. It certainly was a culture of bed hopping which wasn’t my style being an old-fashioned girl but in other respects the lifestyle had turned my head. The general sense of wellbeing, despite the gun laws – the amazing quality of life, the low cost of living and abundance of so many good things. People openly smoked weed, mauiwow’y sense-a-million, home grown. Home grown wines, every kind of fruit and vegetable harvested nearby. The sun shone every day, hot and glorious and the young lived outside lives of surfing, street parties, yard parties, beach parties, barbecues. Parading, jogging, cruising, skating, posing, shiny, air brushed, blow dried glamorous and gorgeous in most every visual respect; it was a hard place to leave and return to the dour Scottish climate I had grown accustomed to, but for me, this was the ‘real’ world, where nothing was superficial and living was about growth and challenge – right now. I had Ruby and Amber to consider and their wellbeing, even if I didn’t have a clue about my future, our future. I returned to Findhorn with sun baked skin and a broken heart.

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Sir George Trevelyan, Geoffrey Ashe, Paul Solomon, Prof. Douglas Dean, Eileen Noakes, Luke Gatto, Francois Duquesne, Sister Jayanti Focaliser: Leona Aroha

Click here for a list of conferences.

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About the photos: Many individuals were involved in the performing arts during the 1970s at Findhorn. Much of the work was well documented by seriously talented photographers. As I only have access to my own album of the ’70s, many of the images above are of a more personal nature, and sadly I don’t know whom to credit for the photos.

A big Thank You to my grandson Ziggy for enhancing the appearance of many of my somewhat battered and ancient photos from the’70s.

Anniese Worth Giuntini

I live very simply in this land I love. On returning to the area with my daughter Jade, I found joy in volunteering in the life of the Community; until Covid, then everything changed.