Brynmawr Cemetery

“I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”
Isaac Newton
Spent the morning in the garden, cutting back and thinning some of the glorious luxuriant foliage that is our garden.
Decided on a return visit to the Healer Centre at Brynmawr to see if it was business as usual yet after my abortive visit last week. I learned years ago not to expect things to be as they were after an absence of years, and so it was on this visit, much different.
B mentioned the Buddhist Centre, rather ruefully I thought, just up the hill from the centre, I’d visited there several years ago and decided on a wander past, maybe for inspiration. I’d seen the brightly painted walls from the centre, such a contrast to the other rather drab houses around; the front door was closed so I’d assumed unexpected visitors weren’t exactly encouraged.
After getting a few snaps from the roadside, I turned to admire the view across the valley. Someone came up from the car park below, laden with shopping, and disappeared indoors. As I was photographing the valley below she returned, so I asked whether the centre was open – yes, come and have a look around?
She explained they’d bought the old Baptist Chapel in 2009, renovating it for use as a spiritual centre for Tibetan Buddhist teaching. They were in some disarray as they prepared for a major celebration that evening she explained, introducing me to their spiritual teacher in the main temple, the old chapel. I was rather flattered that despite all this obviously important preparation he took time to chat, enquiring with interest about my background etc. After several minutes I excused myself (he had plenty to attend to) and retired to the rear of the temple for my spiritual practice, while they continued their preparations. About half an hour later I had a wander around the centre, and eventually thanked them and took my leave.
While deciding on my next move I was accosted by a passer-by (shades of the Ancient Mariner about all this) who’d spotted my camera and told me something of the history of the town, pointing out where the slaughter houses had been, the Jewish community (before the riots) and synagogue and explained where the cemetery was – then went on his way. So obviously the Jewish cemetery was the next stop on my tour of the town.
Only a relatively short uphill walk to the cemetery but by the time I arrived the clouds were moving in for the evening. I walked the perimeter in the hope of locating the cemetery but without success, but on returning to the entrance noticed a narrow pathway to an adjacent burial area, which I’d missed before. There was a separate enclosure for the Jewish burials, reminding me of the exclusion visited on ‘outsiders’, even Quakers and other nonconformist Christian traditions. On my return to the main burial area I noticed two rounded black stones, or pebbles, on the ground nearby, which seemed to have been displaced from a nearby grave. They seemed somehow ‘relevant’ to this part of my journey today, so I returned them to the grave.