To the Lake District for Enlightenment. Suitcase Mood
Lucy, get ready! Were off to the Lake District!
Kate burst into the library as if shed just unearthed a treasure. Lucy looked up from the form she was filling and stared at her friend. Kate was in her elementred windbreaker, jeans with fraying knees, backpack slung over one shoulder. An endless bundle of energy.
The Lake District? Lucy repeated. When?
In August, in a weeks time! Ive sorted everything. A yoga retreat, meditation, tents, the fells, mindfulness circles. A proper group of spiritual sorts, the advanced kind. I want enlightenment, Lucy! And you could do with some as well.
Enlightenment? Lucy laughed. Kate, Im a librarian. Enlightenments practically in the job description.
Not this sort, it isnt! Kate plopped down opposite, pulling a sheaf of print-outs from her bag. Look: the Lake Districta place of power. Druids, rituals, mountain streams, air crisp as apples. Tents for lodging, vegetarian food, yoga and meditation daily, workshops, trips to sacred sites.
Lucy leafed through the glossy leaflets. Fells, rivers, tents on the waters edge, people in white meditating at dusk. Beautiful, but… tents? Vegetarian food? She eyed Kates sparkling eyes and saw there was little point in protest.
Who else is going?
A group of about ten. All locals, from Cumbria and the villages. The organisers are seasoned, been leading these for years now. Ive rung them already. Lucy, its a chance! Youve always liked an adventure. And this is something newfells, yoga, the whole vibe?
Ive never even tried yoga, Lucy admitted hesitantly.
Youll learn! Tons of beginners go. All you need is curiosity.
And Henry? Lucy thought of him, and her heart pricked. Werent we planning on going away together?
Is he coming? Kate asked.
Doubt it, Lucy sighed. He prefers fishing, woods, camping. Not spiritual stuff or meditation…
Thats settled, then! Kate clapped her hands. He can await you at home. Youll go, find enlightenment and come back a new woman. Hell only be pleased.
That evening Lucy telephoned Henry. She explained Kates offer, described the trip, the tents, the yoga. He listened quietly before saying,
The Lakes are lovely. Never been, but the stories are always something.
Would you want to come? Lucy asked, though she knew the answer.
Its not for me, he replied. All that spirituality and retreating… Id rather go fishing. But you go. It suits you.
Youre not worried? she asked, not sure herself if she was joking or serious.
Whats to worry about? Henry laughed. Youre the adventurer in us. Ill be here. Just come back enlightened.
Its a deal, Lucy replied.
She put the receiver down and watched the brochures Kate had left. She wasnt entirely certain she needed enlightenmentbut shed wanted to see the Lake District for some time. New adventures were calling, and Henry would wait. That mattered most.
Well then, my friend, she told Kate the next day, pack the tent. Im in. Were off to the Lakes.
To be enlightened! Kate laughed.
To be enlightened, Lucy echoed.
She didnt yet know what awaited her in that mysterious landwhat encounters, what discoveries. But she sensed it would be an unusual journey. And she was nearly ready.
***
The coach pulled out of Kendal station in the early morning light, and Lucy realised straight awaythis trip would not be like the rest. The group was a mixed assortment, to put it mildly. Opposite sat two young girls in flowing linen dresses, bead bracelets jangling, their long hair loose down their backs. Beside them perched a lady, about fifty, in a vivid orange kaftan with enormous earrings which chimed at every twitch. Behind, across the aisle, sat a man in a white shirt embroidered at the neck, holding a staffa real, wooden staff, adorned with ribbons and little bells.
What is this, a travelling circus? Lucy whispered to Kate as they took the window seats.
Not a circus, Kate whispered back, eyes shining. Seekers of truth. I read online these kinds head to the Lakes for enlightenment.
For enlightenmentwith a staff? Lucy stifled a grin.
Dont mock, Kate nudged her. Each to their own path.
The coach cleared the town and soon fields, woods and tiny villages drifted by. The chatter inside never ceased. The lady in orange was relating her last trip to the Lakes, when shed apparently had a revelation and left her banking job behind.
I gave up banking, she boomed, for all to hear. Went into Reiki. Now I help heal souls. All thanks to the Lakes!
In the Lakes I realised I should be a vet, chimed in one of the girls in linen. Im training now. Never even liked animals before.
Lucy listened, unsure whether to laugh or be amazed. She asked Kate,
So what do you expect to discover?
Me? Kate pondered. Start a business, maybe. Or have another child. But honestly, I just needed a break. And the views. Enlightenment comes if it must.
Thats the spirit, Lucy sighed. For a moment there I thought wed joined a cult.
Not a cult, Kate comforted her. Just a gathering of odd characters. Normal would be dull.
They travelled for nearly two days, overnighting at a roadside inn. Then the Lakeland mountains grew in the distance. At first gentle, green, tree-blanketed slopes. Then steeper, rougher, rockier. Lucy pressed her face to the glass, forgetting her fellow passengers. The coach snaked along winding roads, each turn unveiling another spectacle: cliffs overhanging the road, a river tumbling below, or misty summits fading into cloud.
Kate, look, she tugged her friends sleeve. Isnt it like the Alps? The real Alps!
Its the Lakes, Kate corrected. And not a jot worse. Maybe better.
They craned for photographs. Someone began a yoga chant behind, but Lucy was transfixed. Fells towered left, right, aheadvast silent guardians. Some looked like castles, others like beasts or ancient faces.
See, therelike a sleeping knight, Lucy pointed at a particular crag.
Place of power, the woman in orange said gravely, catching their discussion. Here, even the stones speak, if you learn to listen.
Lucy wanted to ask how one listened to stones, but let it pass. Let everyone seek their own kind of enlightenment.
The first real stop was at Kirkstone Pass. The coach pulled onto a lookout and Lucy stepped out, legs weak. The vista was astonishing: below, a river coiled its way along the valley, fells fading blue into distance, and abovean endless sky, unclouded and pure.
Its something else, she breathed.
Its the Lakes, said the man with the staff, who had drawn up beside her. Your soul spreads its wings here.
Lucy gazed in silence, drinking it in. On the promontory stood markers, perfectly set into the mountain view. She had Kate snap a photo of her at one, then another. Kate was already dashing around, camera shutter busy.
Come here! Kate called. Youll want to see this!
Kate had found a sheer face, threatening to topple onto the road below. Resting up against it, a stick propped a broadleaf plantsomeone had scribbled with a marker: Stone, stay well! Lucy found the sight wonderfully silly, snapped a photo for the memories.
Then onward again. The road wound deeper into the fells, towards other marvels. When the coach stopped at the meeting of the rivers Rothay and Brathay, Lucy climbed out and froze.
Two rivers ran side by side, but the waters did not blendone, a creamy brown, the other crystal clear and blue. They met at the bend, then flowed parallel for a while, only merging far downstream.
Because the waters have different densities and contents, the guide explained. Silt from one, pure source from the other. They travel together, yet apartlike two destinies.
Lucy lingered at the bank, watching the waters dance, pondering how its the same in life. Side by side, yet on your own path. Only time reveals where you merge.
By evening they reached their first campat the foot of Great Gable, by the river. Tents were up in no time. Lucy and Kate shared one, fumbling with poles and ropes until the man with the staff silently helped them assemble the thing in a minute flat. They watched attentively, determined to get it right next time. Inside, they rolled out the sleeping bags and made themselves at home.
So, how is it? Kate asked that evening by the campfire, warming their tea.
Im not sure, Lucy replied truthfully. Its another world. The fells, the rivers, these peoplechanting mantras. Im not used to it.
Youll adapt, Kate smiled. Were only here the week.
At night, Lucy struggled to sleep. The river roared so close, it drowned out all else. Lying in the tent, she felt something shifting withinnot enlightenment, not yeta realisation that she was here, seeing this beauty, living it.
You awake? Kate whispered.
No. You?
No. Its loud.
Its the Lakes, Lucy murmured. Theyre speaking to me.
Kate chuckled softly.
You sound like themall mantras and wonder.
Im just… feeling it. This place is special.
Lucy closed her eyes, and the river sang its song. Somewhere over the fells the wind howled; stars shone through the canvas, and Lucy knew her journey had properly begun. To a land where the mountains speak, rivers touch but do not merge. Where anyone, even a librarian from Windermere, might find her own.
***
The first day in the Lake District began with the gentle ringing of bells. Lucy roused, unsurewhere was she, what was the sound, why did it smell of pine and smoke? Tent, sleeping bag, Kate snoring nearby, and, beyond the canvas, someone was singing in a high voice,
Rise and shine, mindfulness! The sun is upcome, time for mats!
What? Lucy groaned, sensing a night in a tent had left her with an aching back.
Yoga, Kate whispered, pulling on her sports trousers. Told you so. Upno shame now.
Lucy crawled from the tent, squinting at the sun-soaked clearing. Yoga mats already dotted the grass. The orange-clad ladyno longer a bank worker but a healersat lotus-style, calm as stone. The linen girls stretched gracefully. The staff man was standing on his head.
On his head? Lucy blinked. Is that healthy?
For them, yes, Kate unrolled her mat. Dont lag behind.
The instructora slim woman in white robes, long plait, blissful smilewalked among them, correcting, encouraging.
Breathe in deeply! Fill yourself with sunshines energy!
Lucy inhaled deeply, trying to follow. Downward dog, the instructor said. Lucy triedhands forward, hips up, legs straight.
Aghh, she whimpered as long-forgotten muscles screamed. Im a prawn, not a dog.
No talking, just breathe, Kate hissed, surprisingly able to keep up.
How do you know all this? Lucy panted.
The telly. And I did some with Alice. Come ontree pose now.
Lucy balanced on one leg for about three seconds, toppled into Kate, and they crashed onto the mat.
You two are like children! laughed the orange lady, unshaken in lotus.
Is it that obvious? Lucy asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
Youll get used to it. The heart rejoices, even if the body rebels.
By the end, Lucy felt like driftwood forced to dance. She couldnt touch her toes, couldnt balance, couldnt twist as the others did. But despite the exertion, she felt light-hearted.
I feel like a log, she confessed over breakfast.
But an enlightened one. Kate grinned.
After breakfast, the organiser announced a detour from the main road to the Hardknott Pass.
One of the wildest, most beautiful spots in the District, he explained. And the road is, lets say, not for the faint-hearted.
The bus bumped along stony ruts. Lucy was jolted madly in her seat, gripping the handle in both hands.
Hold tight! Kate yelled at a particularly sharp bump.
I am! Are you sure this isnt the road to heaven?
Lets hope not literally! Kate laughed.
Soon, through the ravine known as the Red Screeshigh, brick-red cliffs arching above the trackLucy forgot the rattling. The views were breath-taking. Patches of turquoise, emerald, and milky lakes lay in the valleys. The water was pure, but, they said, no fish swam therein.
Hallowed waters, the orange lady explained. No one swims, no fishing. Sacred place.
Why no fish? Lucy asked.
They arent needed here, came the mysterious answer.
The guide explained: Highland tarns have little lifecold and clear, not enough for fish.
The path twisted ever higher. Snow lingered on the crags, ancient barrows darkening the slopesthousands of years ago, maybe, chieftains were buried there, rites performed, the old ways observed.
Do you feel it? questioned the staff man. Time flows differently.
I feel rather queasy, if truth be told, Lucy admitted.
Kate laughed, but kindly.
At a wayside spot called Georges Placea base more open-air museum than guesthousestood relics of recent history: battered motorbikes, old Labour posters, school scarves, records of folk singers.
Exhibition? Lucy asked, inspecting a portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth.
No, home, replied their hosta white-haired, moustachioed gentleman straight out of a 1950s film. And a welcome for you. Fancy a mug of herb tea?
They drank from a gleaming samovar, ate honey from the comb, and gazed over the hills. Lucy felt half like she was visiting her own grandfather, half a player in an old tale.
Did you collect all this yourself? she asked.
Aye. Travelled the villages and bought what I could. Its all worth rememberingtodays youth, they know neither past nor present. Always their heads in those blasted phones.
Lucy thought of her library, and the books she tended, the readers seeking memory. Suddenly, she felt they were kindred spirits.
Climbing Hardknott Pass, Lucy stepped from the bus and was speechless. The valley plunged beneath, a river snaked far below, people mere ants on the distant shore. Fells soared to the sky, and over the abyss, eagles wheeled.
Theyre below us! Lucy cried.
What? Kate asked.
The eagles… we’re above them!
She watched from the cliff, as the eagles swept below, and felt time itself had pausedthere was only this moment, atop the world.
Enlightenment? Kate asked, drawing up.
I dont know, Lucy said. Just happiness.
That evening, they camped at the foot of the northern peaks, the Wanderers site in the little village of Chapel. Silence was so deep, Lucys ears throbbed. The skya black velvet cloth, densely starry, as if you could reach out and touch.
By the campfire, everyone gathered. The orange lady fetched out a jews-harp, and played a haunting, ancient tune. Someones son tapped a Mongolian drum, the primeval rhythm weaving with the fires crackle, the winds sigh, and the hushed fells.
Its another world, Lucy murmured.
Its the one weve forgotten, Kate replied. Here we remember.
Lucy listened, gazing at the stars, thinking tomorrow would bring new fells, new roads, new discoveries. She was ready, even if her body ached and her head spun. Because this journey wasnt about the poses or the right answers. It was about living. Here and now. In this miraculous land where the mountains speak and the stars dazzle the heart.
***
MorningCamp at Hardknotts base, shrouded in mist. Lucy emerged and stood transfixedthick white enveloped the dale, hiding river and slopes, leaving just the snowy crags adrift overhead like castle ships in a dream.
Distant cows, their bells tolling mournfully, added a strange beauty to the chill air.
Looks like something from a film, Lucy said.
Its the Lakes, love! Kate grinned. Cinemas got nothing on this.
The mornings yoga didnt daunt Lucya littleshe now knew what to expect. Sore, yes, but determined. The instructor in white glided among the mats, soothing, adjusting.
Breathe deep! Feel the earths energy rise through your feet, into your body, out to the sky.
Is she for real? Lucy whispered to Kate.
Absolutely. Play alongwere still seeking enlightenment.
Lucy shut her eyes, picturing earth energy swirling upwards. She only felt the cold, missing her sleeping bag. But it didnt sour her mood. There she stood, breathing, feeling the sun rise, mist fade, the world stir itself to life.
I think Im starting to get it, she said afterwards to Kate.
Get what?
Why they do thisyoga, meditation, rising at dawn.
Why then?
To feel alive.
Breakfastthey had porridge, herbal tea, and honeyed bread. For country-bred Lucy, used to hearty fare, it felt sparse. But after yoga, in the fresh air, with the fells outside the window, it was delicious.
You know, she mused, I could get used to this.
Whatporridge for breakfast? Kate teased.
No, to waking up and seeing mountains outside.
After, the organiser announced a meeting with a local wise man, a sort of druid. Lucy shivered with suspense. This was straight from books, from filmsthe stuff other people called folklore.
He was an older man, long silver hair tied back, a beard, eyes so dark she felt they peered into her. In a long embroidered tunic, bells and amulets round his neck, he carried an old drum.
Sit round, he said softly, voice drawing everyone in.
They sat in the grass, encircling the fire. The druid lit the fire, tossed in herbs, and a sweet, pungent smoke drifted.
The Lakes hold power, he began. Here, the veil between worlds thins. Here, you can hear what cant be caught in towns.
He struck the drum; the sound soared, echoing from cliff to cliff. For Lucy it was alive, calling out, its rhythm whirling.
He sang, throat-toned and strange, the sound vibrating deep from the earth. Rocking gently, bells chiming, the beat and chant filling the air until Lucy was losttime stopped, or sped up, or went in circles.
Hes summoning the spirits, isnt he? Kate whispered, but Lucy was beyond answering. The man came round, pausing at each, whispering something. When he reached Lucy, all the hairs on her arms stood up. His gazeblack, deep as night.
Youre still searching, he said, not as a question. Always searchingin books, in travels, in people.
Yes, Lucy whispered, though she hadnt planned to.
Youll find it. He nodded, eyes shifting to Kate. Youll find it together.
He fetched a bag of animal bones, rattled them onto the ground, peered intently.
You both have journeys ahead. Long, joyful. Youll see the world. Dont be afraid.
How do you know? Lucys voice was unsteady.
The druid smiled.
The Lakes tell me. Im just the messenger.
Afterwards, they drank tea in silence, each digesting their own thoughts and feelings. Lucy looked at the mountains, sensing now their presence, as if they breathed. Shed touched something old, real, mysteriousnot just a staged ritual, but a living thread.
How are you? Kate asked.
Still goosebumps, Lucy confessed. I dont know what that was. But it was… real.
Thats the Lakes, Kate nodded. Now you know why folk cant stay away.
Lucy did now. That meeting changed something in hermaybe the man was just a skilled listener. But his words struck home, exactly as shed needed. And the forests, the fells, the entire atmosphere of the Lakes had allowed her to feel it deeply.
*
The journey back was slower, unhurried. The oddest part overnow just to relish and remember. At a bubbling, turquoise tarn they paused; bubbles and whorls churned on the bed as if the land itself was breathing.
Geysers? Lucy asked, watching the water swirl.
Mini ones! said the guide. Groundwater seeps up, chilling and fizzing as it does. The pattern changes every visit. Natures own art.
Lucy stood on the wooden platform, watching water ripple and dancealive, mutable, living its hidden life.
Later they passed the shells of an old hydroelectric station. The guide narrated its birth, operation, and decline. Now it stood, a testament to the past. Lucy thought of George at his collection, and how time moves on but memory persists.
At the last stop on Kirkstone Pass, something brought the whole day into focus. A man of forty or so, quiet, always reading in the corner, produced a bicycle from the boot.
Whats this? Lucy asked.
My goal, he said. To descend the pass on two wheels. Its why I came.
Thats dangerous! Kate exclaimed.
Thats why its worth it, he smiled.
They watched as he rode out, vanishing down the winding road to the valley and the clouds.
Mad, that one, someone murmured.
Brave and beautiful, the orange lady replied. Everyone has their own road home.
Lucy watched the winding lane, thinking how everyone really did have their way: some seeking enlightenment in yoga, others in chanting, or by speeding down a fell on a bike. She herself sought it in books, on the road, in other people. And sometimes, she found it. Not always what shed meant, but always something valuable.
Back home in Windermere, Lucy felt the Lakes within her for weeks. She would wake thinking there should be mountains out the window, a gurgling river at night, the echo of a drum. But something had stayed. Something words could not quite capture.
Well, did you get enlightened? Henry asked on her return.
I cant say, Lucy answered. But Ive seen eagles from above, heard ancient singing, stood beside a living lake and felt the earth breathe.
Thats marvellous, he said seriously. Id like that as well.
Lets go then, she took his hand. Next time, together.
Next time, he agreed.
That evening Lucy opened her notebook and wrote: The Lakes. Ive been there. Seen their fells, their rivers, their sky. Touched their mystery. This may have been my first real journey in those lands, but wherever else I travel, the magical Lakes will stay in my heart.
She closed her book, looked out the windowthe wood outside hummed, the air smelled of earth and autumn. But she still heard the river, still saw summits in the mist, still smelt the campfires smoke.
The Lake District had stayed with her. Forever. That was the greatest journeynot to the hills or the sea, but into herself. To the one who seeks, who finds, who fears nothingand knows the world is vast and beautiful and open for her. For them. For all who are willing to go.
