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
I’m sitting here, at my desk, on a dark cloudy November afternoon. Little Human is asleep and the dogs are sprawled out, wherever sprawling has lead them. The house, is otherwise empty. To the left of my computer, is a glass of vegetable broth and to my right, a tumbler of red wine. Read More
However, despite the initial persuasiveness of the wine, (it’ll be such fun! Drink!), it was a promise with a tepid life span. In fact, it collapsed quite soon after first emerging. In other words, when faced with wine or broth, I’m going with the broth...
Playing with Little Human the other day. A puzzle. 10 pieces. Not many, but enough.
Here’s the thing with puzzles. You spread all the pieces on the floor. They’re all there. You find the first piece, look for the second. So far: every things going well. The second piece and the first piece look made for each other. What could go wrong?
And so with an exuberant confidence, you glide the second piece to the first, you see how they’re going to fit and you feel that glee of joy at the inevitableness of that fit. And then it happens. The fit doesn’t happen. You try again, because hey, it’s so clear right? This piece and that piece, they’re made for each other. I mean the first even has the number ‘1’ on it, and the second ‘2.’ And this one has holes and this one has prongs and the prongs so clearly, go into these holes.
Except they don’t. Read More
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
There is a place in France, north of the Pyrenees. This area of the world has more beautiful villages clusters closely together then any other place in the world. Which is not too dissimilar to how boyfriend and I found ourselves this one weekend in October.
We arrived Thursday. Lateish. Greeted by Herve who owns the hotel that we're staying in with his wife Sophie. Supper is ham, thick chewy Serano ham.
I sit on the sofa eating this salty ham, thinking of pigs as I eat. I think of an article I read once that stated these animals have the intelligence of a 5 year old child. I hold the ham in both hands, silent and eating - my taste buds are weeping because it tastes so damn good. I'm starving. Famished. I eat slice after slice. Inwardly I'm rejoicing and apologising simultaneously. Not in shame but perhaps minor conflict. But it's not enough to detract from the great joy that comes with eating this incredible slice of meat.
I've a hippy mind perhaps, but a carnivores body. Read More
Sometimes we don't get far. At times, our front door doesn’t even open.
The back door does though and so out we go, into our garden; home to a re-wilding project that is ravaging in ernest. So that through our unmown lawn, roses have emerged from nowhere, which of course at some point must have been a somewhere, a wild orchid has come through, plumes of ragwort and tufts of ferns and dandelions and the white fluffy plant that you blow at to set the fairies free. The threshold of our garden is a thick boarder of blackberry bushes. The flies have got to most of the juciest first. We are not too disappointed.
But sometimes the neurotic mother in me spins out: we must go somewhere! She harps. We must do something! She shrills. And so dog and daughter are hoarded into the car and off we go to the land of something.
But sometimes Little Human sort of whistles at the neurotic mother and another part of me whispers: but what is wrong with here? Everyone is content where they are…And so Little Human and I pick up a bucket and head off with dog and go and look for blackberries. Finding ourselves climbing over the fence at the bottom of the garden and finding some worms instead.
Of course life isn’t a constant and so I don’t always feel at ease in our home environment. Sometimes the tiredness blows me so off centre that all I want is to be totally alone. A mother bear in her cave.
I learnt the worlds worst swear word when I was 8 years old.
“You promise that you won’t tell your mother I told you?” My mother’s linguistically generous friend asked me as we walked along by a field of corn at the top of the South Downs.
I shook my head, vigorously.
“It’s cunt.” She said.
I was in awe. It sounded a powerful word, an awesome word. I had to share it with my friends...
And so I did.
The following Monday morning back at school, huddled around a desk I said it out loud.
“Where did you hear that word?” The voice of our teacher roared. I looked up to see a pair of rouging cheeks, bulging eyes and an increasingly frozen body. The end of the world seemed near, although for her or me I wasn't quite sure.
“My mother’s friend told me it.”
And then... more silence.
This is my latest story:
"May my mind come alive today to the invisible geography that invites me to new frontiers, to break the dead shell of yesterdays, to risk being disturbed and changed. May I have the courage today to live the life that I would love, to postpone my dream no longer but do at last what I came here for and waste my heart on fear no more." John O`Donahue
There are those of us who are connected to our bodies and those of us who are not. If you, like me, are one of the ones who have to fight to be in our bodies, then this latest story is for you. Because life is precious and the more we drift and spiral out to join the cosmos, the more we miss of the moments happening now.
And now is where it's really happening... This is my latest story: 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!
What is with the eyes? We just can't look into them and if we do, we like our glances to be fleeting as can be. Last Sunday morning in Paris I went out to watch the city wake, walking with the sun on my face. I walked past a father walking his toddler, I smile. The man looks away.