STORM PETREL
Old Willie Dawson, with his puckered cheeks, inch-long bristly eyebrows and his shock of grey hair topped by a battered leather trilby, was the character of the caravan park. He had lived there well before
A Gift Dangled in Perfect Timing
Along with twenty-six others I began my Orientation* on November 17th 1977, the Findhorn Foundation’s fifteenth birthday, in Cluny. So many people wanted to join that there was another group living and meeting at the
The Transformation Game
The Transformation Game One Thursday in June 1978, as part of the Art of Synthesis workshop, 24 people gathered in the Cluny Ballroom around a large make-shift ‘path’ of A3-sized paper ‘squares’. There were five
Thank you for hosting my childhood so generously
Thank you for hosting my childhood so generously. Thank you for hosting my childhood so generously. Thank you for the freedom to run around your gardens and pathways stripping for every sprinkler, nose in every
Mothers in the 70s
Mothers in the 70s Mothering, or parenting, was not seen as work in the 70s, so we took our babies with us to work, as I did to Publications in 1975. Two years later 11
Work is Love in Action
IN PETER CADDY'S WORDS Work is Love in Action The first insight card drawn during the 2012 Internal Conference expressed, You do what’s needed. Talking to John Willoner, one of the first people to join
Coming to Findhorn on my way to India to find a Guru
I trained as a Secondary School teacher and loved the 3 years I taught English and History at the Christian Brothers College in Cape Town, and one year in Salisbury, Rhodesia at Allan Wilson High
Erraid is an Island
ERRAID IS AN ISLAND Erraid is a small island off the west coast of Scotland, in view of Iona. From the 1870s it was a home to lighthouse keepers and their families till
Erraid
ERRAID There was a certain magic in the idea that we might expand our community to include Erraid. The seed had been planted in the excitement of the Van der Sluis family about
“You’re going to Erraid” !
“You’re going to Erraid” ! In December 1977 my wife Alice Rigan and I were reaching the end of our five-month work exchange programme at the Findhorn Foundation. One morning I heard the words,
