Feel Good List

– Cold showers in the middle of a lethargic day

– Cold showers after a sweat at the end of a hot day 

– Lychees and Mangos and cold fruits in general 

– Cooking a meal 

– Watery porridge with coconut milk 

– Reading books that resonate 

– Diffusing the room with Rose and/or Ylang Ylang 

– Burning Palo Santo 

– Moving through Vinyasa Flows 

– Meditating 

– Working up a sweat somewhere 

– Writing about things that feel good 

– Driving long distances with the radio on 

– Taking a workshop 

– Learning from someone that inspires you 

– Listening to your body

– Making lists that feel good 

– Intuition 

– Following the impulses 

– Clearing the space 

– Buying re-usable beeswax foodwraps 

– Listening to electronic ambient music on repeat 

– Listening to mantra music when the mood strikes 

– Taking a nap when the body just wants to crash 

– Going to bed on time to be up early 

– Watching the sun dip up from the horizon 

– Yellow light on the wall at dawn 

– Yellow morning bathed rooms

– Morning air 

– Setting up new intentions for the day 

– Anything that tickles with excitement 

– Saying yes to life

– Dancing with someone and sharing a moments connection 

– Deciding that forgiveness feels better than resentment 

– Deciding that this is gonna be a new moment 

– Deciding that integrity matters the most 

– Setting into motion new habits of thought 

– Pressing play on life 

– Paying forward appreciation 

– Enjoying a buskers music 

– Remembering the moments that felt beautiful 

– Letting go of the rest 

Summer, January 2020

~*~

A part of something is only something that began within

I don’t want to be a part of anything that makes right something by making wrong another. 

I want to be a part of something that embraces growth, movement, holistic approaches to life. I want to be a part of something that takes a moment to question, a deep breath, a moment to ask… will saying this help anything? I want to be a part of something that takes that breath… holds that space… and remains deeply rooted in compassion and strength. 

I want to be a part of something that embraces the shadow as well as the light. 

I want to be a part of something that orients towards growth… that takes a breath and moves inwards towards personal growth… that expands and breathes out excitement, flow and clarity. 

~*~

You have a life that is yours to live

I like deep dives into anything and an open mind.

I like personal stories that touch the universe in us. I love humanness that I can relate to.

I admit… being in the trenches of life is what it’s about. I have lived so little of life and yet I feel like my caverns are deep, unmoored and ungrounded. 

I light up at the light pouring through the crack in the doorway. I like the idea that when one door closes, another door opens. 

I light up at the discussion of ideas… but more so… I light up when goosebumps ripple across my skin. When the only thing going for me is intuition and that intense body-mind connection. I know then… we’re on the same wavelength.

I light up when the dreamers scatter the night sky and resonance hums through me. 

I light up on the dance floor… dancing a dance from within and I light up at the little girl marching to the beat of her own drum.

I light up… at sheer honesty, radical honesty and strength. 

I’m inspired by strength and integrity, wool that is black, sessions on my yoga mat moving through vinyassa flows. 

I’m inspired by meditation and the awareness that I’ve felt, lists that don’t follow any particular rules, structure acting as support. 

I’m inspired by the concept of co-creation, nuance, sublety and detail along with the big picture. I love the process of expansion and I love the Winter cycles of renewal and root work. 

I love the idea of waking up every morning, purpose filled and ready to begin… and I love the idea of being gentle when I am not.

I love the way this gives rise to a new page, a new sentence, a new line… a new beginning, a new moment, a new lets try again right now. 

I love a new idea and I love a re-shaping of the old. 

I love the way life seems to flow with each rivulet moving me closer into the river and the center of the spiral. 

I love the thought of becoming. I love the thought that becoming happens to us when we allow ourselves space to grow. I love that allowing ourselves space to grow entails invitation. The new leaf of my orchid grows towards the sun as the old leaf at the bottom yellows. I love that the process of renewal and death can happen in tandem. I love that the new root of my orchid has sprouted on the side next to where I placed a rose quartz months ago. Pure delight to my inner child.

You have to love this soft human life of yours if you are to make anything worthwhile… even a cup of tea. You have to love the frowns as well as the successes if you want to live a life that is balanced. And you have to throw everything (or something) out the window and jump out of a plane, do something on the edge of your comfort zone… be embarrassed… if you want to develop courage… compassion… and whatever it is that will carry you through to the work of your life… that is… the work of living. You have a life to live that is yours. 

~*~

Symbiosis

When you feel a connection to the land, it permeates every part of you.

Imagine this metaphor, of threads, entertwined to form a cord laced with hints of gold, connecting us to life, in this sense, what nourishes us.

What if it has begun to sever and you are tethering by a thread?

Imagine… that the land calls to you… that the leaves whisper in the wind and the voices of the people echo the wisdom of the earth. 

You sink into it. You let go of all the knives that have been embedded in your heart, clenched in perpetual tension. Everything dissolves… Everyones light is reverberating back to you, into you and through you. You are a light amidst all the other lights reveberating to the frequency you are tuning into.

You inhale and sink into your heart, you inhale and drop out of your mind, you inhale and you see the world from this place. Suddenly you notice it’s different. You’re seeing it differently. You inhale and you exhale and the land greets you, around every corner and in the eyes of people. You feel the land and you recognise this feeling of belonging for the first time. 

It feels new and it feels like coming home. 

Some time later it dawns on you, how soul replenishing that journey was, how the land reached right into you and threaded you home, how… a place is made by its people… and its people by their love for the land. Warmth buzzes in your heart and goosebumbs ripple across your skin. It is a truth that resonates from the core.

~*~

Sand

When you said yes

i. 

I love the moments of silence that are here, 

the trebles and the wobbles, 

the tipped toes and the high brows, 

with the skin stretched over bones, 

over years 

like a cathedral – 

one brick at a time. 

ii. 

over there in the temple of flowers,

the leaves whip by in the wind

and soar into the tipped outline of feathered wings – 

they do this every day,

somewhat cheekily as they tickle by your ears

and ask, are you my tree?

iii. 

today your otherness is meeting the dawn,

all the other ness’s too –

your highness, your lowness, your softness, your hardness –

today they’re all awash with skin, fingers, eyes and lips. 

iv. 

the world looks fiery with the light of every human being 

in every way of being

why did you said yes,

to the possibilities and the drama?

v. 

You laugh and say, exactly. 

~*~

Sand

An Evening of Delights

It is the sound of a warm evening that is dying softly, 

notes that whisper across your skin, 

satin soft and silky. 

It is the evening of the smoothest whisky 

and a dance that kisses the skin alive

along the column of your neck,

it is the dance of half drunken kisses 

and more than real delight,

love, 

be naked for me tonight,

leave your woes

by the door,

for dawn,

she will come…

Sand

When you’re unsure of who you are, take a breath and love where you are

I am sitting on the edge of the world, contemplating the stars. The Northern Lights dance just out of reach, between my fingers and the twinkling lights beneath me. The city is floating on light, gas and fiery desires. They look like butterflies, from my perch over here, a thousand li above the surface of the earth. 

I am thinking… of all the times I saw your shadow in the mist, between the trees and the flower kingdom… between new life and death, in every moment of transition, you never left the truth behind, you never promised more than you could be. I wonder where you are now, and the throbbing inside my chest, aches a little. Your whispers drift on the hazy shores, spiritous and windy and balmy. Soothing my soul with the melodies I wish I was better at writing. You said, you’d put the rainbow in the sky if I ever wanted to cry. You said, you’d soar through the skies, if I ever wanted to be free. You said… I could find you here.

I am thinking… life isn’t really a picnic. And you said that’s why you wanted to come. 

I laughed and you were like the ocean, calm and expansive, deep and sensual… meditative and ascetic. And behind your brown eyes, you adored the way humans wanted to change you, you said you didn’t mind. Losing those parts of you… because you were now us and we were you. 

I tasted my salty tears. Staring in the night sky, into the infinite darkness, you smiled and faded. 

#pictureofamood

Sand

When you let go of who you think you are… you might discover who you really are

She weaved her way through the throng of bodies, all undulating, in motion, swaying, some with their eyes closed, some with their eyes open… alert, soft, keen, curious, kind, intense, probing, stiff, present, childlike… the whole array.

She passed him in her periphery and smiled… not at him… but at the presence of him. Tonight eye contact eluded her. 

What was it about eyes? 

Her arm arched over shoulder, momentarily, fingers leading her dance before her hips spun and her feet found the next step, toes grounding into the floor, the muscles in her thigh dutifully supporting her weight. 

They say everything. Everything is sometimes too much. 

She breathed out a sigh, eyes closed, a breath followed by the release of the tension she’d been holding. Tonight her dance resided in the interior of her inner self.

Between bodies, her feet swept the floor and time passed as they danced themselves alive, their sorrows and their joys, their fears and their hopes, their pain and their catharsis, their shadow and their light… into the space of transmutation.

The music brought out the delight of her inner child, as though she was a child jumping on a trampoline in sheer joy… the sheer joy of knowing that feeling again. Her eyes opened for a moment to see bodies in unison… in staccato, in contrary motion. The music brought out the stillness from within, as though time slowed and the space grew silent in prayer and her wounds and her tears crept up to meet her again. The music moved the erotic through her, playful and uninhibited, sweeping into the center of her desire, spinning her like a spiral. The music moved through her intensity with its ferociousness and her body weaved the language it spoke, carrying it through the space. And as the night drew to a graceful close… the music brought the lyrical melody of the infinite and she followed its arc.

Turning, she suddenly found herself eye to eye with him and the shadow of a smile on his face.  

Surprise pulled her lips into a smile before her thoughts could assemble and he returned it with the same grace. As though that was an invitation, they moved together, energy sweeping around their bodies as whatever dance they began to co-create… weaved itself through them and in the space between them. They were the dance and the dancers, lyrical and languid, slow turns and graceful motions… drifting yet energetically intertwined until the music came to a gentle landing and whatever had been created… was in the uncountable depth of his eyes accompanied by his smile.

When you let go of who you think you are… you might discover who you really are. 

It was joy and love and the beauty of connection that she felt. Did her smile and her eyes, too, hold joy, love and the beauty of their connection? She bowed.

Joy continued to uncoil from her belly, rising its way into her heart, into the feeling that was unfurling there and buoyed her for the rest of the evening.

What was it?

She mused as she drove home. The way he moved and connected with her. How curious, that a connection like that created the joy and fulfilment she was feeling.

Respect.

The answer reverberated back to her.

Worthiness, platonic love and respect. 

Sand

Letter to Sixteen: Dear Numbness, Dear Suicide, Dear Depression

Hey… N.S.D. … if you were a character, I’d give you black bangs along one side of your face… you would look pale to me… a little ghostly and gothic. All black and white with drooped devil may care shoulders.

You would have a little of the rebel in you… after all… that’s what you are… inadvertently… quietly in your own way, unable to fit in… deeply unwilling yet unconscious entirely about your unwillingness except for how sad you are, how numb… and how little you care. 

You’re stuck… forever in this late phase of adolescence… to me. You haven’t matured enough to know how beautiful the world can be… you haven’t experienced enough to know… what pain and suffering feel like… except in this little world of yours… with the colours turned way down… nothing feels good and nothing is good and nothing looks good… and nothing is nothing is nothing is nothing is nothing. 

Actually, you know, that’s what I love about you. You don’t care… and in your lax mischievousness, there’s no malicious intent… only a numb state of being. 

Except you chose that. You like it that way. Because when the colour returns… when the blood comes back… when all the feelings come back… it’s too much, when the sun kisses your cheeks warm… you won’t be able to hold back the tears. You won’t be able to hold the heaves in… you won’t be able to hold the cries in… you won’t be able to move through this world like a ghost… pale like a shadow… half here… because numbness is how you keep the pain out. 

Numbness. 

When you choose to feel numb… did you choose it because it was acceptable? That numbness was more acceptable than the messiness of feeling everything? 

I think… it’s better to feel everything… than to feel numb. And if everything is too much and you feel like suicide is your only recourse… I want you to love yourself. I want you to believe that you can teach yourself how to love. 

How to love. 

It’s easy to love all the good things in life. It’s easy… to love what others love about you… it’s easy… to confuse what is good and what is the opposite… it’s easy… to forget that love is really nothing but everything. Love is how you become real… and how you step onto the gentle winds of fate and let them sweep you halfway across the sky, following the stars to the center of the universe… love is nothing… but… everything. The emptiness between your sighs and the spaces between your words… the breathes in and the breaths out… the beginning and the ending… love is your favourite colour… and love is also… someone elses favourite colour. 

Love… is a metaphor for forgiveness. Love… is a metaphor for how the world became the world… and a metaphor for how we all died. Love is the absence of love… and the presence of knowing it because you couldn’t see it. Love was the heaves coming from your body… the sound of an angel singing you to life… the voice of an angel on the shores of fate. Every cliche and every rebel… began in the seeds planted… love is the only way it could’ve grown… could’ve bloomed… if the sun never kissed the earth… if the leaves never breathed… if the sea never washed us out… if the mothers never cared for their young… if fathers never protected, if the winds never whispered and the leaves never changed colour… if the world never spun and the stars never died… how could this human mind… fathom such a concept as love? 

Then… judgement is just… a confusion. Passion misplaced… thoughts… in disarray… and judgement… is the truth of living in a world that is dualistic. Judgement… is inescapable. Judgement is the result of freewill… of choice… of choosing one way of being over another… of choosing one way of thinking over another… of choosing one colour… over another… of choosing one race… over another… of choosing one place… over another… of choosing one person… over another… of choosing… because that’s the strangest dichotomy to exist. Choice. 

Judgement… is the presence of choice. 

Choice is dualistic… and freedom for chaos… is frightening. What do we know of chaos? What do I know of chaos? What do I know… of our histories and all unexamined truths? Is it possible… to live in a dualistic world and never choose? To live in a dualistic world and choose everything? To honour paradox may feel like an invitation to chaos. A departure from order. A departure from structure. A departure from the known. 

How could we not love the darkness equally? How could I not love the night sky… that has shown me the beauty of the stars? How could I not love the darkness… that has taught me to appreciate the beauty of the dawn? How could I not love the total darkness… that has taught me fear… and the beauty of the light falling through the trees? 

How could I not love the parts of me… struggling with this duality. How could I not love the parts of me… living this story as though I am it entirely… and not also the observer… the creator… and the character? 

How could I not love you… playing the embodiment of fear… so I could know courage? How could I not love you… playing the embodiment of cruelty… so I could know compassion… how could I not love you… playing the embodiment of pride… so I could know humility… how could I not love you… playing the embodiment of authority… so I could know my own. How could I not love you… playing humility… and yet… it is through the pain and the contrast, that I have learned the most. How could I not love you… playing compassion? Because I know cruelty, because I have played cruelty, I weep at your compassion. Because I have known fear… I value the strength it takes to be courageous… I value the sweat, blood and desires that were spilled in the knowing of this. I weep at your kindness… I smile at your candour… I smile at the truth, as naked to me as the stars in the sky. 

I have desires, and there are desires that have me. Everytime I feel this pinch, it’s the middle way I want to walk. I want there to be more happiness. To be more freedom for happiness. To be more freedom for love. To be more freedom for courage. Freedom for truth. Freedom for kindness. Freedom to love the darkness as well as the peachy things in life. To watch the duality unfold and sit back, laugh a little or a lot and enjoy the ride.

 Dear Sixteen,

You haven’t experienced nearly all the things you want to experience yet. There is wisdom in the adage, This too, shall pass. 

It’s good… to make friends with Numbness… with Depression… with Suicide… and like all things in life… to remember that change is the only constant, what goes up will come down… what rises will fall as well. 

Learn to commit to the ideas you find worthy. Learn to commit to what excites you… and not what someone else suggests is right and proper if it doesn’t make your heart sing… Learn to develop and hone the quality of Discernment. Discernment… is judgement refined. Learn to admire the beauty of where you are… experiencing this blend, this flavour of life. Learn to commit to walking this path you chose… because choose it, you did… and choosing it… was your choice. 

Sand

Spirituality – you are, and beauty

There is this curious worldview that you’ll come across the moment you begin to explore spirituality… that is… that we have souls… that we are spirit first before we are matter… material and flesh… and that… we chose what we wanted to explore in this particular lifetime. Perhaps not from the perspective we hold as these conscious beings. 

It’s the morning after an evening of conscious dancing. And… as I’m dropping into my yoga mat more fully today… I’m realising… going through my Brahmihavara practice… and all that I am grateful for… I realised this funny, funny, thought. Last night as the session came to a close and I sat down to meditate through the ending… I practiced gratitude for everyone I met on the dance floor, for what they brought, what they triggered… and all that made them the way they are, as what made me the way I am… and this thought shifted something in me: I am grateful that you chose to come here. I am grateful that you chose to be here. I am grateful that you came to experience this human world with its chaotic messiness. 

It moved something in me.

Even if there were times that I pulled away, that I struggled to connect… that I didn’t want to… or that our energy connected us in the dance with no eye contact… that our energy spoke volumes, or our energies smiled before we did… by the end of that session, I was grateful. None of it happened in linear order.

On my mat, moving through my Vinyasa flow… I could feel this internal dilemma, processing last night, this internal dilemma about how I was going to respond… react… and whether I still wanted to respond and react that way, and why? I couldn’t put quite put my finger on it, but the feeling of this shifting quality was vaguely palpable to my mind and my being. 

And then as I leaned into it… a variation of this thought cropped up again, on a deeper level… that everything that happens… that could possibly happen… operating with this worldview of spirituality… was something, everyone that is experiencing life including myself… as spirit, knew… and came anyway. 

Without a doubt, I cannot know that for sure… but the moment this worldview envelops me… I want to cry. Last night after I came home, I found myself going through the tags on this blogging platform… and I come across so many people writing sad poetry, writing angsty poetry, writing about their lives, about their traumas… about all that is painful. And I see that in me too. I see that in me and I feel tired now, I feel tired, adding my voice to that. I wanted to see something else. I went and read a YA novel. 

(It was my first re-experience of YA… now that I am no longer a teenager and haven’t been for quite some time… there were moments that I couldn’t stay in the plot, in the simplicity of it, in the unlikely characterisation and dialogue. No longer ensconced in the world of that audience… I recognised the escapism for what it was… for the underlying desires the author was catering to and catered to successfully… hope, determination… friendship, bonds.)

In the world outside of imagination and books, our emotions and our experiences are valid too… they are more than valid, they are real and powerful, I just wish… we were better at loving ourselves… that we will take our experiences and bring something beautiful to our lives for having experienced them. 

And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.

And he answered: 

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? 

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? 

The aggrieved and the injured say, ‘Beauty is kind and gentle. ‘Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.’

And the passionate say, ‘Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.’

The tired and the weary say, ‘Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.’

But the restless say, ‘We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.’

At night the watchmen of the city say, ‘Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.’

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, ‘We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.’

In winter say the snow-bound, ’She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.

And in the summer heat the reapers says, ‘We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.’

All these things have you said of beauty,

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy,

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted,

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, 

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. 

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Khalil Gibran

Sand