Firstly, may I wish you all the most magical and precious Winter Solstice. Today is a precious day. May it cause all our hearts to open courageously.
Secondly... I am so grateful that you subscribe to this blog. Your support means so much to me! THANK YOU!
And so, here's my latest story, if you like it, please do share with friends and family.
Here's to a joyful Christmas for everyone. And may 2016 be our bravest most kindest year yet.
I once lived in an apartment, on Ladbroke Grove in London.
There were 3 rooms, 4 if you counted the small loo by the front door, the seat of which was permanently broken. It was cosy. It was warm; it was a good home. I slept some of my deepest sleeps there, meditated with friends there, danced alone in the sitting room there and set up a company that lasted a year there.
It was also the place that Monday Meditations were born, which meant that every Sunday, I’d send out an email to anyone I knew, who either already meditated, had definitely mentioned an interest in it, or was perhaps, potentially thinking about it saying tomorrow: my door’s open, please come. Lets meditate. Read More
If I had a home, I'd invite you all to come.
We'd go outside, light a fire, around which we'd stand, sit and lie. Some of us, would hold hands and some of us would not. But their hearts would burn, as if they were.
And we'd watch as the fire grew bigger, its flame flickering upwards. Our eyes would shine, glistening with the flame and slowly, slowly, we'd start moving. Our feet would be first. Stomping, stamping, our hands would tingle as we stood close to one another and as our hearts came alight, more of us would stand and reach out for another hand.
And the flame would grow taller, warming the chill of the night and the stars would come out from the clouds and the rain would start to fall. So that as the earth started to weep, we'd continue. Standing, sitting, perhaps lying. Some of us holding hands and some of us, if hand holding isn't our thing, being brave enough to let our hearts roar all the same. Read More
If I had a home, I'd say bring your children, bring your husband, wife, lover, partner, guru, sister, uncle, everyone. Bring everyone.
And the more that would come, the larger the flame that would burn. Every skin and every colour and every age and every tradition and every inclination would be there and more and more hands would be holding; because why not?
And as skin touches skin the cure would burn. And as the fire burned we'd begin to sing.
There's nothing like thinking you're the only one, only to have this wonderful thought quickly rebuffed.
"You drive me mad." I say to boyfriend.
"You drive me madder." He replies.
But the thing is, as far as life and the people in it are teaching me, when we struggle with something in another, we're really struggling with what it reminds us of what we've repressed in ourselves.
In other words, the part in me that is being driven mad by boyfriend, could just be a messenger wanting to tell me something, but my ego is a bit worried an’ all, so instead of welcoming it in and making it a cup of tea saying, well then: tell me ALL. It’s sort of hissing at it:
Go…I'm fine, just as I am. Don't need no changing!
And then it does this sort of mad merry dance:
I am what I am! It declares. And I’ll stay as I stay! Feeling very pleased with itself that it’s sent away whatever it felt threatened by.
The only thing about that, is that it’s a very lonely place to be… Read More
n 2010 I went to meditate for 3 months in northern India. As enlightenment seemed an awfully long away, I started visiting the library at the centre where I was staying for inspiration. One of the books I picked up told a story of a monk who took himself away from everyone to meditate. And the others mentioned this to Buddha and Buddha invited the monk to come and see him. Of course the monk went (imagine Buddha requesting you to come and see him!) and their conversation went something like this:
you’ve taken yourself away?
meditation is easier now?
there is another way.
And Buddha explains how meditation is not about sitting in a quiet, dark room and shushing at anyone who might sneeze or blow their nose, nor taking ourselves far away so that we can concentrate instead it has the potential to happen wherever we are, with whatever is going on. As a friend said to me: it’s not only something we do on our cushions.
This is my latest story...
When my daughter was born I was fascinated to see for myself if it was true: are babies love? But as I sat with and watched and observed Little Human I felt her to be something else and it was very different to the feelings that I had come to think of as love. This is my latest post.
In 2010 I went to India to meditate and whilst there I met a man who became a friend and who I really enjoyed chatting with him about meditation and life and so on. And I remember on one walk he said Laura what is thing love you talk about. And I was kind of stumped because it became immediately obvious in the way I answered him that I had absolutely no idea. Love is… everything? Read More
A question I struggle with, is when do we say yes thank you so much, when people want to help, your support right now is invaluable. May I have lots of it please! And when is it time to say you know what, I've got this one, but thank you...
Often it is my mother who bears the brunt of this confusion. So mum, this piece is for you x
"I want to know if you know how to melt into that fierce heat of living falling toward the centre of your longing." David Whyte
Under Pressure: Keeping It Simple
Last September my partner and I decided to separate. And in many ways that period last year was the most potent experience I have yet had of feeling like I was falling apart. That the builders came in after my ex moved out to do some work to the house and so turned my home to a thing of dust felt apt. My mother however, sensing that our home of debris was not the calmest of places to be living offered us the spare room, my old room, in her home in battersea. And so Little Human and I relocated from North London to South London. 9 months later we are still here!
Fill in the next 8 years with a lot of yoga, a bit of dancing here, a bit of dancing there, some travel and one striptease lesson and my body & my mind were relaxing a little. So that that tenacious hold on my clothes, started to get a little looser. Read More
I once met a friend of my father's who looked at me a little quizzically and then with a big smile pointed to the belt he was wearing and said, “He gave me this, your father.” I stared at it not knowing what to say. Part of me wanted to touch the belt, know the belt and hear more about the belt for have only 4 possessions left of my father’s: a chess set and a small sculptor made out of whale bone that Inuit clients of his gave to him after he represented them when he was a lawyer working in Alaska, a pink Hawaiian shirt and a book of Oscar Wilde’s stories that he gave me, with the inscription: “For when my imagination runs dry, love Daddy.” So anything else that may have been his takes on a slightly awesome quality should someone say your dad did this. Stories and memories included. Read More
As a child I would fall asleep listening to the sound of the waves pummelling the shore but 20metres away from my bedroom window. Opening the window at night, so that I could hear those waves was a ritual that made my heart soar. Read More
I often wonder how in the lack of a life lived as a community, we as women are asking of men roles traditionally filled by other women? We expect our men to listen to us, emote with and often parent as we parent: "No! do it like this!" Read More