A haiku travel journal
27/06/2014 at 5:41 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 5 CommentsTags: Guan yin, Guidance, inspiration, meditation, parenting, poetry, self-development, special needs, Spirituality, travel, wellbeing
On the plane between London and Hong Kong, I thought I’d write a travel journal with a difference. Each day, I would write a haiku poem. My understanding of haiku is that it distils nature and our own true nature in a few short lines. In the English version, that most often means 5 syllables, then 7, then another 5. I wanted to do this for fun, and also to see if it brought me new insights.
The writing began as soon as we reached the refuge of our comfortable hotel.
Guan yin tea and bath
Fragrant lilies scent the dark
Harbour lights beyond.
Haiku traditionally loves contrast. Intuitively, I love the space between contrasts. During our days in Hong Kong, I was beginning to notice a very human trait: in the act of concealing, we end up revealing.
Incense and Man Mo
Tiny shrines by shops of jade
Bird song on the Peak.
We were travelling as a family, which included my 18-year-old son Tim, who has learning difficulties and uses a wheelchair. Quickly we discovered that the streets were empty of others like Tim. It dawned on us that were connecting with a culture which believed that young people with special needs should stay at home.
An owl stares at us
in the Museum of Art
Kowloon’s rich treasure.
Most people simply, politely, ignored Tim, as they might ignore anything embarrassing, though we noticed plenty of covert glances. However, one day a taxi driver became visibly upset when he spotted Tim, and hissed at us while he drove erratically to our destination. We brushed off his crazy behaviour. But we wondered about it. We were beginning to feel that Tim – and we – were intrepid simply by being there. Mad taxi rides aside, we felt rather pleased with ourselves.
Wow! Dim sum Tim Tim
at the old Luk Yu Tea House
Fountains and Flowers.
Someone told us one evening that the Buddhist belief in reincarnation was often interpreted to mean that handicapped children and young people must have done something wrong in a previous lifetime. Therefore, their presence brought shame to their families. They were hidden away. Sometimes neglected, sometimes worse. Unwittingly, we were challenging that tradition.
After the sampans
barefoot in a sandy bay
Gods gaze at the sea.
Maybe all that scrutiny had something to do with it, but Tim’s wheel chair slipped on the sandy steps by the watchful concrete sculpted gods on the sea shore and he bruised his foot. Moments before the accident, I had been searching for Guan Yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy, among the seaside statues, but only found a rather overblown version of her, stripped of any spiritual truths.
However, I did experience peace each morning as I meditated in our high-up hotel room. I witnessed night turn to day. And in that quietness the insights emerged.
Morning mist makes clear:
we came to see, and be seen.
Each of us is loved.
That then was the truth we were exemplifying as a family. Sometimes it seems to me that the four of us (including Tim’s able younger sister) are four corners of a square. Each corner is equally important to create the whole. Each of us is equally valued within the family. This is normal for us, and perhaps also for our culture.
And then I wondered if perhaps families like us might tacitly encourage other families to take their disabled members out and about a bit more.
I noticed that I had begun my haiku travel journal with reference to Guan Yin – or, at any rate, the green tea named in her honour. And now I was ending my journal with the same sacred name.
Love and compassion
are divine gifts from Guan Yin
May all feel both here.
Can calm thoughts create a calmer life?
28/05/2014 at 5:59 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 7 CommentsTags: gratitude, healing, life skills, meditation, mindfulness, personal growth, Spirituality, wellbeing
In a couple of weeks’ time, I’m running a meditation workshop on The Healing Power of Calm. A few months back, I decided to be rather organised. I decided to meditate regularly on the word ‘calm’ for 30 days. There was a question I wanted to answer. Could meditating on the word ‘calm’ actually create a calmer life for oneself? Here are some extracts from my diary.
Day 1. There begins to be a sense, with every out breath, of every cell in the body releasing stuff it has been hanging on to: letting it go. No longer trying to control, hold on or sit on top of stuff. Just letting it go… Outside, wood doves coo and blackbirds sing, and the mild winter air feels fresh and sweet.
Day 2. I realise that the cells as I visualise them are faithfully taking on the colour of the air outside. Today it is that time just before dawn, so my cells are night-dark, with early glimmerings of light.
Day 4. It seems to me that each day is like a mandala: a circular or perhaps spherical pattern. The mandala begins at the very centre of me with a seed thought: ‘calm’. And as the day and the mandala expand, the seed’s qualities of calm permeate and manifest. This happens in ways that perfectly reflect my seed intention.
Day 5. Now I understand that what has stood between ‘calm’ and me is a need to control. I have been trying to control life itself by building a house of cards, to protect those I love, and myself, from the inchoate chaos that lies beyond all things. Yet there is only one thing that can save me: I need to surrender. I cannot hold back chaos. That is impossible. Instead, I need to step into the abyss, with a sense of trust. As I realise this, my whole body relaxes. A tingling makes itself felt at the top of my head. I feel myself beginning to grow, like a flower. But not too far, not yet. And the moment of growing passes, and is gone. But I have glimpsed it.
Day 6. After yesterday’s brief sensation of surrender, today’s meditation brings sadness – a sense of regret, of what might have been. It feels good to let the emotions flow. I realise that is all I need to do: let it flow, let it go. I understand that to experience calm, we do need to travel through our bottled-up emotions. There is no other way. Beneath, beyond and through the sadness lies that deep, infinite calm.
Day 13. Things have been busy lately. My son turned 18 (true cause to celebrate: it was never a given). A party. Many overnight guests. A welcome time of celebration and gratitude. I notice, unsurprisingly, that my meditation sessions have been patchy: ten minutes here, five minutes there. When I do succeed in calming my mind, I learn that it is necessary to value oneself in order to maintain one’s calm. If I am constantly available to all, I am present for none, least of all myself. I need to reconnect with the stillness within me in order to make sense of a busy world.
Day 24. I have been able to reach a point where my days do not feel pressured. Many of my commitments seem to have melted away. For example, out of the blue, the school run is now being handled largely by others. This liberates extra hours in my days. Life has become more spacious – a beautiful word. I feel as though I haven’t experienced this since becoming a mother, 18 years ago.
Day 30. I notice that I have become more ordered in my life. I am better at completing one project before starting the next. There continues to be more space in my days, and in the ‘to do’ list in my mind.
For the first time in many years I feel as though I am one with the rhythms of my life and of the wider world – not all the time, but more often.
Conclusion:
In one month, the outer world around me did seem to rearrange itself to reflect the calm that I was focusing on. Some of the changes were initiated by me. But many, such as the lighter school run commitment, were initiated by changes in the outer world. And that change made a big difference!
I notice from the diary entries that just as I was beginning to get real breakthroughs – expressed through the sadness flowing – I got busy. On some level it seems to me that I decided that I had dealt with enough bottled-up emotions for the time being. After that point, the practice felt like more a consolidation of new habits. It felt ok to do that. But I wonder what would have happened if I had, for example, gone on a longer retreat and effectively forced myself to go into the subject more fully. However, the beauty of this daily system was that I could make changes at a comfortable pace. Over all, I liked it a lot. I will do it again, perhaps soon.
PS The pebbles photographed above were three that I picked up on Brey Beach on the Island of Alderney last summer, and placed on a window sill. I have discovered that calm lies in such simple, sunlit moments.
Base chakra meditation: red shimmer
02/05/2014 at 6:00 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: chakras, inspiration, meditation, Spirituality, wellbeing
I am sitting in a small group meditating on the colour red. This is a challenging subject, because as Jennie will point out during the chat session afterwards, there is a duality around the colour red, as far as we humans are concerned.
On the one hand, red is about life and passion. It’s the colour of Valentine’s Day roses, a symbol of romantic love. On the other hand, red is about danger and anger. When we ‘see red’ in our minds, we are said to be furious. And when, in real life, we see red blood, it often means that someone has been injured or worse.
Red is also the colour associated with the base chakra, or root chakra. We can view this chakra as a concentration of spinning energy at the base of the spine, an energetic interface between the individual human and the wider world.
Primal survival
The base chakra is intimately concerned with survival, at the primal level. It’s about the building of the blood and bones of a being from the clay and water of Mother Earth. It’s about the creation and maintenance of the earthly vessel that contains our spirit.
And here’s the thing: the vessel, your human body, is fragile. Every day there are at least a thousand ways in which it could crash and die. And yet, most of the time, it doesn’t. It keeps going. Somehow, it contains the cellular wherewithal to grow and mend itself again and again. It is a spectacular example of self-regeneration.
Of course our bodies are vital to us. At this period in our evolution, we couldn’t function for long on this planet without them. And most of us grow very attached to the personality that goes with our own individual body, though sometimes it’s a love/hate relationship. We may or may not believe that our spirit endures. But we can be sure that the personality that occupies the body will never be quite the same without it.
Given the miracle of our bodies, it’s ironic that so many of us look at them with criticism. Why would we do that?
However, at this moment, while I am meditating, only fragments of those thoughts come through. They will be developed in the conversation afterwards. Meanwhile, I am trying to focus on the deep, velvety red colour of a flower petal. I am becoming that colour. I am imagining all the cells of my body are that same velvety red. I am an embodiment of the colour red. It is a good feeling, and I am enjoying it.
Roller coaster journey
Still meditating, I become, briefly, a blood cell, travelling through the amazing branched corridors of my body’s circulatory system. I am surprised and delighted to see that the blood cells all around me as I travel the roller coaster corridors are shimmering. They are vibrant with life and vitality.
And then comes a new insight: the blood we invariably see is not living blood. It is always injured blood: stressed, altered and either dead or dying. We can never see blood in its living, vibrant state, because it is in a closed system, away from our view.
Yes, we might see it through the lens of an endoscope. But that’s not real. It’s a digitised representation. It does not, and cannot shimmer like the real thing.
As I am marvelling over this insight, I hear a voice. Its tone is reassuring and calming.
“You can never see all of the shimmer,” says the voice, confirming my thoughts. Then it adds something else, totally unexpected:
“You can never see all of the angels.”
And suddenly I am suffused with a feeling of happiness, laced with tears. I am touched, immeasurably, by the wonder and mystery of our physical existence. It is such a mystery, such a miracle, so magical. Our physical lives, yours and mine, are unbelievable treasures. How did we get to be so lucky to step into these vessels?
And then I am travelling through vast, endless, complex tunnels. They branch and rejoin and keep on going. This isn’t my blood system any more. It’s immeasurably bigger than that.
It feels like I’m in a cosmic circulatory system of which we are all part. Forget evasive politicians and corrupt bankers: their actions are smaller than dust particles. These are the real corridors of power. We are each of us part of the cosmic system. It’s breathtaking, elegant and immense.
You can read more about the themes we’re meditating on this term here.
Who do you choose to be?
28/12/2013 at 6:12 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 3 CommentsTags: affirmation, Health, meditation, personal growth
I was waiting to buy some items in a local pharmacy. In front of me were two women. The one who had her purse out was elderly. The other was there to help her. The process was taking a while. I found myself studying the elderly woman. I noticed that her skin was a uniform, pale colour. I noticed that her legs in their tan-coloured tights were thin and lacked muscle tone. Her ankles were swollen. There seemed to be no sense of fire or animation about her. If I focused with my inner eye I could see the English rose she used to be. But today she was child-like and obedient, simply doing what the carer instructed her to do. The carer used simple language, as if she was talking to a child. The older lady smiled sweetly, took money out of her purse, and passed it to the cashier.
Something about the scene unsettled me. The older lady was being spoken to as if she were simple, or senile. Perhaps she was. That was certainly the assumption. Yet it would have been so easy for the carer to choose her words differently. What if the carer spoke to the older woman as though she were a wise elder, a treasure house of experiences? Would the older lady have been different as a result? I believe she would have been.
And what of the older lady herself? Was there a moment in her life when she began to say to herself: “I am old. I am not as able as I used to be.” What if she had never said that – never believed it? What if she had decided to keep herself in tip-top shape with a few gentle stretches and a walk every day? What if she’d developed a taste for nutritious daily smoothies, or loaded her plate with fresh fruit and vegetables? What if she had, as Louise Hay (87 years old) recommends, gazed at herself in the mirror every morning and said: “I really, really love you.”
I read recently that our DNA is altered by our beliefs – i.e. the physical structure of your body and mine is altered by what we believe. And these beliefs go very deep. An estimated 95% of these beliefs are unconscious. So it’s not really enough to keep telling ourselves to ‘think positive’ (although affirmations can be helpful). That approach is like trying to put a layer of sugar icing over a deep, deep ocean – it just won’t stick.
A better solution, it seems, is to access our unconscious. Luckily, there are many paths to this strange, deep place within the psyche.
Writing a journal, especially a dream journal, is one good path. It’s therapeutic to allow the intuitive insights to emerge, and listen to their wisdom.
Spending regular time in nature is also such a good idea. Most weeks, I spend a morning in the garden. Recently that involved digging up roots – elecampane and marshmallow (pictured above) – then shredding and drying them for herbal teas. The process helped me to connect with rich, dark earth; the stored up, vibrant, healing power of plants; and also my own roots.
And then, of course, there is meditation. The sort I share with others is what I sometimes call ‘Intuitive Meditation’. As a group, we enjoy the deep personal insights that emerge when we are sitting still, focusing on a single word that changes by the week.
But ultimately it’s not about following any method in order to achieve a result. Ultimately, it’s about having fun, and learning. On the deepest level, it’s about letting go of all outdated programming, and choosing to be ourselves.
Teachings from a faun on inner vision
26/11/2013 at 10:48 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: Dreams
Last night, I was in a simply furnished, rustic room with a faun. The faun was reclining on a couch. Despite the restful pose, he looked alert and full of pure, woodland-fresh energy. He was smaller than me, and lean.
I was sitting in a chair a little way across the room, learning a new skill. The faun was directing me to go to a faraway place. Immediately, I found myself there. I could see landscape, people, and events. Just as quickly, I found myself back in the room with the faun. I understood, to my surprise, that I had never left the room. I also couldn’t remember any details of the place I had seen, but the faun said I would once I’d done the exercise a few more times. The faun was teaching me far-seeing. This process was repeated again and again. Each time, I saw a different place as though I was actually there. Each time, when my consciousness returned to the faun’s room I couldn’t remember what I’d seen. However, I was beginning to get fragments of images.
My visit with the faun was a dream, albeit a vivid and interesting one.
What preceded the dream? What might have helped to create it?
Visions with a message
Yesterday, a friend who works with elderly people came to the house. She told me about a conference she’d attended recently, about visual impairment. “Did you know,” she said, “people who lose their vision may hallucinate?”
She told me about one woman who regularly ‘saw’ a child in her kitchen. And she told me about another woman who ‘saw’ jungle all around her.
These hallucinations were described by the conference speaker as frightening. However, reading between the lines, it sounded to me as though the first woman, at least, positively enjoyed the company of the child in her kitchen.
I wonder, now, if the visions experienced by these two visually impaired people were being ‘medicalised’ and thus automatically viewed as something negative? It may be that their visions, like my dream of the faun, were a form of far-seeing – or at the least a vivid imagining. And this is not a bad thing per se. It’s just a thing.
The images that those women saw with their inner eyes may have carried insights for them, just as dream images can bring insights. During an important time of change in my life, I dreamt a lot about jungles. For me, the message was clear: I was re-connnecting with my own true, wild self. That was a good thing. Maybe the lady who hallucinates a jungle is doing something similar. Maybe if someone said to her, “How interesting, what a beautiful thing for you to see”, she would start to enjoy and value her inner vision more.
The world is a lot more expansive, beautiful and interesting than we generally allow ourselves to see. It’s okay to be a little wild. As long as we harm no-one, including ourselves, it’s okay to see fauns and jungles with our mind’s eye. We might even learn something from them.
Recipe: elderberry cordial
15/09/2013 at 10:01 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 50 CommentsTags: nature recipes, naturecraft
If you’re looking for a reason to love autumn, I give you… elderberry cordial. Imagine a sublime concentration of juicy, fruity, fresh and vibrant flavours. Picture the deepest, richest ruby red colour. And did I mention that it’s backed with health benefits? It’s full of antioxidants and bioflavanoids. Rich in vitamins A, B6 and C, it also has good amounts of iron and potassium, making it a healthy drink all winter long. Okay, it contains sugar. But you do dilute it. Elderberry cordial is just beautiful.
My friend Jacqui asked me for the recipe, and I realised I don’t have one, not really. It’s flung together according to what fruits are available. I have been known to throw blackberries and plums into the mix, and any number of citrus fruits.
But this year, for the first time, I have written it down, just for Jacqui… and also for you, if you are passing a harvest-ready hedgerow any time soon.
Please note: measurements do not have to be exact.
Collect bunches of ripe elderberries (Sambucus nigra), as many as you can find. Pick them, put them in a basket, and carry them home.
At home, remove the berries from their stalks, discarding any that are past their best. The easiest way is to run a fork down the stalks. Put all the berries in a big bowl of water and swill around to remove any dust and bugs. Please note that the leaves and stems of this plant are considered toxic in the long-term, so don’t add them to your brew! A few tiny floret stems are fine, however.
Place the berries in a large pan and add just enough water to cover comfortably. Bring slowly to the boil, then simmer gently for 15 minutes. Stir from time to time.
Strain into a large bowl through a colander with a muslin cloth draped over it. Press the cloth with the back of a large spoon to get as much of the juice out as possible. Be careful about spills: this liquid stains!
Measure the amount of liquid you have and put it back in the rinsed out pan. Add half a kilo (1 lb) granulated sugar for each generous litre (1.5 pints) of liquid.
Heat gently until all the sugar is dissolved. While you are doing this, you might like to add the juice of a couple of mandarins (or an orange or lemon) per litre (1.5 pints) of liquid.
Pour the liquid into sterilized bottles (putting them through the dishwasher beforehand is fine).
Put caps on the bottles, making sure they are well sealed.
Label and put in the fridge. (You can also freeze your cordial, but make sure you use plastic bottles and leave enough room in each bottle for the juice to expand when it freezes).
Your elderberry cordial will keep all through the winter, until early spring, in the fridge (actually, mine can keep for up to a year, in a cool cupboard).
Dilute with water to drink – a ratio of 1 juice to around 5 or 6 water depending on your taste. You can also drink it with sparkling water, or white wine, or even champagne. And it’s wonderful diluted with hot water to chase away winter chills.
There is something magical about gathering Mother Nature’s wild fruits, preserving them, and drinking them. You will find nothing so vibrant, in any shop. You’re connecting with nature, and your true nature. The medicine is in the making. And the finished product has a healing quality all of its own.
Avebury vision: gateway to the Universe
01/09/2013 at 9:56 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 10 CommentsTags: Guidance, healing, Intuition, meditation, psychic development, sacred site, Spirituality
John Wilding lives with his family in the centre of Avebury Stone Circle. It must be a little like living in a fairy tale, full of myth and magic. Do you know Avebury? It’s a picturesque Wiltshire village which contains the largest stone circle in the world. (Or maybe, even, the stone circle contains the village).
John runs the Henge Shop, which is full of delightful mystic gems and esoteric books. It’s a hub for spiritual travellers from all around the world.
To help the visitors, John is setting up a new website, to be called Visit Avebury. Last week he asked me to write 200 words on sacred sites and meditation for the new website. “I’d love to,” I emailed back.
It then occurred to me that I can’t remember the last time I meditated at Avebury. How can that be? I only live 15 minutes’ drive away. So I decided to get up early at the weekend and do my usual morning meditation there, within the circle…
First, I share a quick breakfast with my nine-year-old daughter, who usually loves a trip. She wants to know why I am going to Avebury. She doesn’t look impressed when I explain.
“Are you definitely going to meditate at the stones?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Then I’m definitely not coming,” she decides.
I smile. It appears that my daughter has just started to understand that parents can be Seriously Embarrassing.
As I walk down to the garage, I happen to glance into our front yard. I see the words ‘hope’, ‘joy’ and ‘love’ chalked onto the stone slabs in a childish hand. I smile again. Maybe she and I are not so different after all.
At Avebury, I walk over to my favourite part of the circle, the quieter north semi-circle. There are no people here, just sheep. I go up to several of the stones and place the palms of my hands against their rough surface. It feels like a form of greeting, a ‘signing in’ as it were. I study the patterns of rock and lichen. I am tuning in.
I notice that I am feeling distinctly light-headed, and the feeling persists.
Carefully, I choose a stone in the outer circle to sit by – then walk to an entirely different one. I sit on the ground and lean back. The stone supports my back so well, it almost feels soft.
The sun is warm in front of me. The stone is cool behind me.
A gentle wind brushes a few hairs against my face. I hear wood pigeons cooing placidly high in the trees.
I decide to do a listening meditation. Simply breathe, and listen, and feel, and listen.
Meanwhile, my mind has decided to do its bit to unlock the mysteries of the circle. No one really knows why Avebury Stone Circle is here, and there are countless theories. My mind is intrigued by the fact that there are two smaller inner circles within the outer circle. Within the best surviving inner circle, near where I’m sitting, there are two giant stones which many people call a female and a male stone. Guess which is which…
And then I remember that I am here to meditate. I am here to breathe, listen and feel…
Maybe, my mind points out, the stone circle is a Neolithic depiction of Yin and Yang? All physical matter is composed of binary opposites: sun and moon, male and female, hot and cold and so on… surely Avebury is a beautiful representation of that?
And then I remember, once more, that I am here to meditate…
The area around my heart begins to feel warm: a spreading, pleasant glow.
It’s then that I notice that a particular, unusual word keeps popping up in my mind:
“Locus. The circle is a locus.”
Just in case there is any doubt, the voice repeats itself.
“Locus.”
And then… it happens.
I hear these words:
“It is not the stones themselves that matter. It’s the spaces in between. “
Without any warning, there is a whoosh!
I see a gateway to the All That Is. The stones are the gateway. Through them, I can see the Universe.
And on my right side, between the stones, laughing, I can see women, very like those I have seen before. Maybe they are the same. Natural, lean and bare-limbed, they are laughing at me, though not unkindly.
“At least you are beginning to get it,” they are saying.
And then I am through the gateway and I am dancing between the particles of matter.
I am bigger than the stars and smaller than the atoms.
My previous light-headed feeling has gone, because I am now in the space in which I am meant to be. This is my normal state of being, I realise. The rest is just a crammed up, box-like dream.
This is real life. This is reality.
I am in bliss.
I am bliss.
There is only bliss… bliss stretching out to infinity….
Gradually, as if from above, I become aware of the pattern of the stones again. I understand now how they act as a locus. The circular structure is helpful for returning back to your body.
We can think it, perhaps, as a Neolithic landing pad for the soul.
And then I am back again, sitting on baked bare earth, the sun on my face, cool stone behind my back. My heart area still feels pleasantly warm and glowing.
I am happy.
I return home via Silbury Hill, the tallest prehistoric human-made mound in Europe.
In my psychically open state, I can see a man directing others in front of a younger and smaller mound. A wise woman, well-regarded, is behind him. She is in the light. Younger men are asking why they are building up the sky.
The old man says, “It will remind them.
“The time of forgetting will come.
“The time of forgetting is necessary.
But then, the time of remembering will come. “
This is fascinating, and I want to stay, to learn more. But I am feeling a growing pressure. At home, my family are waiting for my return. So Silbury must be a story for another day.
A walk to the compost
02/08/2013 at 10:30 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 6 CommentsTags: happiness, inspiration, meditation, nature, positive thinking, wellbeing
It’s time to take the peelings out, to the compost bin at the end of the garden. My body is weary. It’s the end of such a busy day. In the kitchen, I pick up the dark green caddy. It’s full of richly odorous vegetation.
At this moment right now, I have two choices. I can do this task resentfully, feeling my tiredness every step of the way. Or I can choose to enjoy the experience, choose to be fully present and notice my short walk to the compost bin with all my senses.
Today, I choose to be present.
I step barefoot into the yard. Above me, I hear the tall poplars whispering in the breeze. I feel the warmth of stone beneath my feet, a spa-like sensation. Then, I step onto cool lush grass. The soles of my feet are thrilled. It feels like ancient reflexology for body and soul. My tiredness has vanished – so fast!
I walk by small trees laden with young apples, bursting with life and vitality.
Beyond, on the hill, I see cows grazing in the sunlight. 
I reach the compost bin. I tip the contents of the green kitchen caddy into it: onion and garlic peelings tumble with tomato stalks and marshmallow leaves into the pungent abyss below. The odour of vegetation returning to nature is unmistakable. In a year’s time, it will all be rich, brown earth.
And then I turn back, treading over that lush, cool green grass, my bare feet still revelling in the sensation. I look skywards, at towering clouds just masking the sun. My daughter, as a small child, used to say that unicorns played in the white cloud light of the evening sun. I can and do imagine them there, invisible in the brightness.
Can you see them?
That, then was my walk to the compost. It could have been awful. It was idyllic. The choice was only ever mine to make.
What choices did you make today?
What did you do today?
07/07/2013 at 10:36 pm | Posted in Happiness, Inspiration, Nature, Uncategorized | 11 CommentsTags: happiness, healing, inspiration, meditation, nature, positive thinking, Spirituality, wellbeing
“What did you do today?”
I breathed. I lived. I put my bare feet on the earth.
“Yes, but what did you do?”
I’ve just told you what I did.
“What else did you do?”
I had a laugh with ones I love. I ate almonds under a wild cherry tree. I breathed the sweet scent of a pure white rose.
“Sounds nice. Anything else?”
Yes, now that you come to mention it, I gathered yarrow under a cloudless sky. I touched a silver birch whose leaves were shimmering in the breeze. And I watched the red sun go down, while a handsome man held me close…
That’s what I did today. And what about you; what did you do? Don’t tell me the stuff you didn’t really care about. Tell me what mattered to you.
The healing power of swimming
16/03/2013 at 4:49 pm | Posted in Exercise, Happiness, Inspiration, Uncategorized, Wellbeing | 6 CommentsTags: affirmation, healing, inspiration, positive thinking, self-development, visualization, wellbeing
A few days ago I went back to my local pool after a long absence. As I glided through the water, reflections of blue sky danced over the surface. I could feel myself relaxing, letting the water support me. And I remembered the joy of swimming.
We know that water can be kind to the human body: whatever the level of fitness, water provides a small but significant resistance that increases the overall benefit.
Less talked about, it does something equally interesting to the psyche: it connects us an earlier, more aquatic stage of life: the womb… and even, more distantly, our evolutionary past.
When I am in water, I feel different. The hard angular surfaces of modern life give way to a fluid world in which I feel safe, held, and simply more inclined to go with the flow. There is something inherently fun about the experience, and I feel zingy and cleansed.
As I swam, I started an internal chant, and this is how it went:
“I am beautiful… I am one… I am beautiful”… I am one…”
Each phrase corresponded to a swimming stroke. When I reached the end of the pool and turned around, the chant had become: “I am beautiful… I am two… I am beautiful… I am two…”
With each new length, the number went up. I was counting lengths, and throwing in an affirmation too.
And then I realized I was actually imagining myself at the age of one, two, and so on. Not only that, I was feeling the dominant emotions of that age, in connection with beauty and self-worth. As I continued to swim up and down the pool, the happy self-belief of young childhood gave way to the huge, wobbly uncertainty of my teens, and a growing feeling of confidence in adulthood. As I remembered sad times, it felt as though the water was washing the pain away.
Effectively, I was healing each stage of my life’s journey with the help of water, and affirmations. My adult self was sending love and support back through the years to all my younger selves who were still there, it seemed to me, in the memories held within my body. The process felt deeply restorative and I recommend it to you.
Next time you’re in the pool, you might like to affirm “I am beautiful… I am one” and so on, all the way through your teens, twenties – all the way up to your present age. You can spread the exercise over more than one swim session, if you choose. But when you have swum a length for every year you’ve lived, you can start all over again with a new word. “I am strong”, and “I am well” both have great healing potential. What affirmation would you choose?
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Suzanne Askham 