WE ARE NEVER COMPLETELY ALONE

I teach mindfulness meditation, not because I'm a guru (pause for derisive laughter from my pals) or a calm and kindly person (OK, that's enough of the cackle) but because I'm a screwed up mess of a person and it helps me survive.

For all sorts of reasons - genetics, a depressive parent, sexual abuse, hellfire religion - I have been on the morose, ruminating, depressive side of the scales on and off since childhood. While all sorts of things helped - friends , family, talking therapies and pills - it was mindfulness that broke the cycle and helped me recover.

I teach mindfulness in the manner it works for me. That means that while I have no objections to using cushions, sitting in contortions, lighting candles , breathing incense and ringing bells, I prefer the simplicity of practicing anywhere, everywhere, without special equipment or positions. The house was not a peaceful place for me today, so I took off on my favourite woodland walk and just sat at the foot of a mighty sequoia for a while, with huge raindrops bouncing off my hood, snug in my waterproofs, inhaling the smell of damp leaves and fungi. I thought I was all alone until I heard this ripping and snorting and had to investigate. A different, healthier kind of ruminant.