Memoirs of the Brightside of the Moon

by Ginger Gilmour

  There were several incidents that intensified it all, which came Out of the BLUE. On the last tour, our Pyro-technician stored the explosives in a farmer's barn in the States. The intent was to save the costs of carting it all back to the UK, as they would be used later. It came to pass that the barn caught on fire. As the firemen drew closer to extinguish the flames, the farmer came running towards them shouting, waving his arms, his words disappearing as he said, "DON'T!" ... Kaboom! His words were too late. The barn blew up taking the firemen with it. The wives, of course, sought every option to sue someone and get compensation, including the Floyd. I don't remember how it turned out, but the Floyd were absolved of any responsibility. One day David returned home, white as a sheet and in deep remorse. One of his childhood friends from Cambridge committed suicide in the London Underground that day. He jumped in front of the train. His name was Ponji and I knew him well. Out of all the Cambridge gang, he was the only one that took up the white robes of spirituality. He followed the teachings of Charan Singh who became his spiritual master. Charan Singh was also the guru of Emo and many others that had come into my life living with David.

  At one time, I had seriously considered becoming initiated, for all the disciples were of such tender hearts and full of light. I was so comfortable being with them, they were more than family to me. Visits to their houses were a joy for me as they were vegetarian. Often they came to our home where I could prepare dinner with the highest intention, without judgment or pretence and would be well received with appreciation. Emo said to me that David was not too happy with his influence upon me regarding Sant Mat. Emo said to him, "David, Ginger is a grown woman and can make her own decisions, surely? Besides, it is about learning to Love more. And that means you will benefit." This tragedy really threw another cloud over our lives. David seemed to be lost within a very hurt heart. At home, in Gilmour land, the story was a closed book, but the suffering worked its way subtly, making a very poisonous cocktail with all the rest. The Floyd story was obvious and huge. This took it deeper. To compound Ponji's passing over, I knew David was having issues with my spiritual awakening as well. I am sure it was difficult as I withdrew from the more negative aspects of a Rock 'n' Roll life, i.e., drugs, drinking, late nights, etc... Initially due to illness. I know his logical mind tried to understand and go with it. But it added to the pressure, especially when Ponji committed suicide.

  I recently spoke with Emo and Matthew Scurfield, Ponji's brother, to understand more. Matthew shared with me David and Emo's adoration of Ponji, who was three years their senior in Cambridge. He was the big boy they looked up to as little boys. He was the one who dared to build a bridge between two trees, fell and walked away smiling. David grew up with many friends who all stayed connected with him throughout life's journey, but Ponji dared to question the status quo.

  Cambridge was a place for the young to grow and develop. The Gilmour family and many others were highly academically and creatively focused. The community was that way, producing many great minds. However, unfortunately, it did not include spiritual paths that led to God Realization, which were not Church of England. Throughout his life, Ponji always stood out from the crowd daring to question the norm. I think that was one of the qualities, which inspired the younger boys to dare, to be courageous during their adolescence.

  Then one day Ponji discovered the teachings of Sant Mat. In 1967, he went to the Punjab to be with the Master, which is in the North of India in Mariza. Emo said that when Ponji returned, he was full of such light and love. He was glowing! I know what that looks like for Emo was like that when he returned in 1979. Ponji shared stories of such beauty that Emo said, "It was like listening to a fairy tale." They were unbelievable, yet true, because the living example of the person telling the story was before us. It was Ponji, a person we loved and respected. In fact adored. Apparently, David sat on the floor spellbound, mouth open, listening, captivated. After three hours had passed, they were teleported to another possible reality of what life could be. It wasn't just a story but a reality. David commented, Emo recalled, "If I had the money I would jump on a plane now and go be with the Master!" But he didn't. From what Emo said, that evening left a deep impression on all of them. Part of the teachings of Sant Mat, requires each person to go back into the ordinary world. The master takes his disciples up to the Light and Audible Sound of God then says, "You must go back home and share it with others." Unfortunately, Ponji was up against social condemnation most of the time when he returned. That seems to be the struggle for many on a more conscious spiritual path. The sixties opened a doorway, but we had to walk the talk, we had to manifest Heaven on Earth. It didn't come on a golden platter - most did not believe. The churches were falling to the side and Eastern culture was considered threatening (despite the Beatles). "The Times They Are A-Changing,"but we had far to go.

  It was obvious to me that many from their Cambridge group, including David, held a high regard for Ponji's decision to take up the white robes, even if it was not their path. This, David kept very silent to himself. I understand more of the inner process of this story as I ponder its background. Matthew, Ponji's brother, shared moments of their past with me. He watched them grow up and years later used to visit us as well. I felt they were family. Matthew felt David teetered between resistance, regret and believing. He said to me that during one of David's phone calls many years ago, David said, "Oh, I am really tired of this spiritual stuff." Personally, I wonder if within the corners of his heart he thought... if it works for you perhaps it would for me. Show me.

  What added to David and Ponji's challenge regarding spiritual matters was that their parents did not believe in God. They were not religious in the traditional sense. Perhaps they believed in a greater power, but daily life and academia was their inspiration, their God. That was their way to touch the Beauty of life.

  To compound the situation, David now had a wife, me, who brought the subject closer to home. He could not escape having this concept around. Our home became a magnet for spiritual concepts and many people with a similar vision. Sorry David, I felt it was a way to happiness, joy and a healthier life. God put the path before me to follow, I was shown the way, I had to go. I thought it was for the best. I did not question it for what we lived was the way of Kindness, Love, Goodness, and Charity. This made Peace and Hope possible in a dying world of conflict. It was the Bright Side for me. Then it happened, Ponji gave up living. Apparently, John Lennon's death in December of 1980 really affected him. He lost his reason to live even with having a spiritual master. He was finding the chaos of the modern world of dog eat dog too grueling. He ran out of the strength to continue. His light was growing dim. We all found it difficult that he was gone and to reconcile the reason and the way. Perhaps his time had come, to return to God. I wish he could have found the strength and insight to continue his courageous journey with us as a child of God. Who am I to question, I suppose.

  I feel certain that this cycle really had a strong influence of what was to come into our lives. Finally, the accountants came up with a sum that we owed. It was a very dark cloud needing the sun. We needed a miracle. Looking back from the perspective I have now, God was looking after us and created a miracle for one day the postman arrived with a letter. Hook End had an inner back courtyard where the little red mail truck, would arrive each morning. David was in the courtyard and was opening a letter when I approached. As he read it, his face lit up with a smile that I loved so much, I had not seen it for ages.

  We received a royalty check down to the penny that matched the amount we owed the Internal Revenue. And I mean down to the penny. Looking back, I know that Miracles do happen. We so often forget to see them when faced with the difficulties of life. Needless to say, we were still walking on eggshells emotionally and financially, but at least there was some slight relief for a while.

  CHAPTER 40

  ISN'T SHE LOVELY

  WALL CONCERTS EARLS COURT

  1981

  The Wall
concerts at Earls Court were about to begin. The month was June and I was pregnant, not faraway from the day our next baby would be with us. The countryside was a bit warm and muggy, the air rather close so I stayed in the coolness of our home drinking homemade ice tea. David was rehearsing during the day and sometimes into the night.

  One evening, "Happy Birthday" by Stevie Wonder was playing on the radio as I prepared dinner. That song always gets me dancing. It is such a happy song. I never knew that Stevie had written it as part of his campaign to have Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday become a national holiday. In fact, he was one of the main organizers and decided to create this single to make the cause known. The holiday, he proposed, would facilitate the realization of Dr. King's dreams of "integration, love and unity for all of God's children." An interview with Stevie took place that evening on the news. He was in the UK to promote his new album Hotter than July, on which was "Happy Birthday." It was a great interview. He has such heart, joy and a sense of humor. The interviewer asked him, "Stevie, how does it feel being blind?" He responded, "I don't mind so much being blind. I probably would mind if I were black!" Then he laughed. The facetious twist held our laughter in thought. "Wonder,"what he really meant? There were six concerts. I was rather big, so I didn't go to all of them. Furthermore, the atmosphere amongst the band had reached an all-time high; to such a degree, we each had separate Portakabins (modular building) back stage. To compound the dividing wall of separation, Roger and Rick had theirs turned away from the center of the hospitality circle. Long gone were the days we shared dressing rooms together, greeting friends and family. Unbeknownst to the waiting people, it would be the last time the Floyd would play together again for nearly twenty-five years. It would be at Live 8.

  The center of the hospitality area was carpeted, had tables with white garden umbrellas and flowers, as though we were backstage at Ascot without the woman wearing hats. Many people were congregating around one of the tables. I wandered over to see who was sitting there. It was Stevie Wonder. He came to the gig and was a magnet for everyone.

  Somehow, someone offered me a chair to sit down next to him. Maybe it was because I was rather pregnant and needed to sit down. Many were envious for we chatted for quite a while. Can you guess the subject? Babies. He put his hand on my tummy, bending closer and quietly sang, "Isn't She Lovely" fora few bars. My tummy tingled. Did he know it was a girl? We didn't. Now every time I hear that song I remember the night Stevie Wonder blessed my baby. Isn't she Lovely? Yes, she is our Sara.

  CHAPTER 41

  SARA IS BORN

  June 1981

  Then there were three. During most of my pregnancy, as I mentioned previously, I had to be careful with everything.

  While one is creating a baby, their kidneys go through changes and need close attention. Mine especially. Consequently, I was tired most evenings. David hung out with Mick Ralph's when he was not involved with the filming.

  By my third pregnancy, I was more and more inspired by how important it was to create an environment of Peace. I wanted to allow quiet to penetrate my baby in the womb. I had a little room at the back of our suite where I would meditate each day. Again I had nausea. I remember always having a bowl of fennel seeds and cardamom on our bedside table to ease any indigestion in the night. It was in many ways an easy pregnancy. I loved being pregnant. I always felt at one with Life with a baby inside.

  I had found another local midwife named Melony. We shared many hours together in the last few months insuring we were on the same page. She seemed totally at one with my vision of natural childbirth. It was on midsummer's night eve that our third baby called for it was time to enter the world. It was just around 8:30 p.m. on 20 June, when we had another girl whom we named Sara. I remember the time because there was a program I wanted to watch about Krishnamurti. I was interested in his teachings and had read many of his books.

  I watched the program as the golden sun set with me having contractions. When I close my eyes, I still feel its rays filling the room through our leadlight windows. This delivery was very different from the previous two. It was faster. As I recall, I could not stand anyone touching me except on my feet. I am sure David was at a loss after his helpfulness with gently rubbing baby powder on my tummy before. It was such a surprise, especially for me. It was so fast and intense that all I could do was to breathe and stay focused.

  There was no time to educate anyone on how to approach me. Even I was at a loss. It was so intense. There was no space to speak except do my breathing and go with the birthing of our child. I just wanted to say, "Melony, Please, you are so kind hearted, but don't touch me,"as she continued to stroke my forehead. Somehow, I don't think it would have come out that way. Therefore, I just grinned and bore the irritation. Herand David's feelings were more important to me.

  Actually, it did go smoothly and we had a perfect little baby girl. The rays of the setting sun filled the room with golden light along with the smiles in our hearts. David was wonderful as always with our wee ones. He was and is a natural born father. I adored watching them together. Their hearts uniting in Love.

  In those moments, we were so happy. The birth of a new soul to one's care is wonderful. Unfortunately, the afterbirth pains weren't so wonderful. With each subsequent pregnancy, they got stronger and stronger as the womb sought to contract. They were awful! When it came time to put her to the breast they intensified. I knew that was part of the purpose, to contract the womb, but it was painful. The delivery contractions seemed far easier in comparison. Dr. Sharma said to take Magnesium Phosphate and Arnica, but it didn't help much this time as with Clare. Michael Skipwith came to see me and gave me a Shiatsu treatment, which was the only thing that alleviated it a bit. I cried a lot each time I put Sara to the breast for that is when it was the worse. Breast-feeding brings things back into shape. It creates contractions of the uterus, but I often wonder, maybe it was also something to do with my kidneys? Dr. Sharma did say that pregnancy does tax all the filtering organs. Maybe giving birth and contracting of the womb did too. Fortunately, it was over in a few days. Phew! Family life went on. I remember the early mornings in the kitchen next to the Aga preparing the kids breakfast and packed lunches. The House had not awakened yet. I would be up very early with the sunrise, listening to the early morning chorus of the birds with Sara. I would feed her and then sit her in her little reclining bouncer on the floor next to me warmed by the heat of the Aga. It was special times together in the stillness of the dawn.

  I would prepare the school lunch boxes. I made whole wheat bread sandwiches with cream cheese, cut into shapes of words. LOVE was my favorite. The "L" topped with a carrot, thinly sliced. The "O" was a slice of cucumber. The "V" might have Nori-Seaweed, but I have forgotten. The "E" was more of a challenge to cut any vegetable. I had to make little pieces. Each day I would spell a different word. Their lunch box would have fruit and cartons of apple juice.

  Then of course, was the story of the Homeopathic remedies they took to school. Apparently, someone revealed to me many years later that Alice would exchange them for sweets with the other children. She would give them a few pills for a piece of their Mars bar. Fortunately, this did not seem to affect them as much as the sugar did with Alice. So there we were Sara and I, each morning with me being creative by the dim light of the kitchen. Everything was an opportunity to be creative. Sometimes Sara was so quiet that I almost forgot that she was there. She would just sigh and giggle. She had and still has a very placid and deep meditative nature, which I treasure. All our girls were blonde beauties with pigtails and bows, still beautiful as their blonde locks have darkened. Their tender hearts remain precious to me despite the challenges that make them cry or angry.

  A few days ago, I was looking through all my photo albums for pictures to complement this book, when I came upon a blue folder, which said "Kids Menus." They were from 1981 during which time I was still pregnant with Sara. I had forgotten that I had written these menus to insure that they got a bal
anced diet. I had often told the kids, that there was a time I made sure they ate three raw vegetables and three cooked along with a variety of proteins and fruit.

  Our pantry was a health food paradise. I had to go to London to Neal's Yard regularly to get most of my vegetarian needs. Round jars lined the shelves filled with many staples including beans, nuts, rare seaweeds, mixture of grains and muesli (an oatmeal dish). We ate whole grain pasta and breads. Dr. Sharma said it would be better for us to use Butter than processed margarine, which was a relief, as English butter is so yummy.

  I had forgotten about these written menus. Alice and I had quite a laugh the other night as we read the reality of my family stories appearing before us. We went back in time. Alice could not believe its reality and exclaimed, "I really ate like that when I was five! God, Mom how super!" My Osteopath commented, "If I hadn't known you for the last 15 years, I would say you were a control freak! But I know this was born from inspiration and love." I just had to share them with another friend and she said, "OH my God! You did that in the 80s! - In England? - Goat's milk, Lecithin, Seaweed, Yeast Powder?" I must say, I knew that I was committed and inspired, but before finding the menus, I had forgotten to what degree.

  Some of the recipes and comments were such a giggle. One said, "NOTE: Let me know what Alice ate from her lunch box. If nothing, do not let her eat anything until dinner. Try to tell her how important it is to eat her lunch." Other comments were to let anyone who was cooking to know about the little things: Alice likes thin cut bread. Clare has to have Goats Milk. Wash Alice's hair today. Clare loves avocado in pieces. In addition, some pages had little Alice people drawn at the bottom.

  These menus certainly were like looking back into history of what I truly did for my children. Unfortunately, as our flock grew in numbers and we went on tour or holiday in foreign countries, nutrition at this level was difficult. I, at least, was gaining knowledge as those were the days of focusing on learning how to care for our physical bodies. It was like going to a university for a degree in nutrition, but a home course. I bought book after book. Upon reflection, life continuously gave me opportunities, which would help me to live What I was Born to BE! I have had cycles, which focused first on the health and maintenance of the physical body. Then there came a cycle, which stabilized my emotional body, followed by training to develop my mental focus. All laid the foundation to discover that we all hold a divine spark of God.