Aim high, ride easy, trust the Universe

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You died.

It’s taken me four months to say those words and even now it’s just breathtaking to admit it.

I walked to your stable before you left, left to be made better, I saw you in your agony, sweat and tears, your head hanging into your knees begging us to make it better. So we did, or so we thought.

Into the box you staggered all believing, loving and hoping that you’d be back in no time, as always, into your bravado and home. But it wasn’t to be and the box came home empty.

It’s months later; your ashes are planted and life grows around you but every day, EVERY day Huffy, I walk up to the stables and I see your face, hear your voice and see your face. It seems impossible that moments are just that, moments.

In retrospect you told me days before this - my camera tells me so - every day you reminded me to see you, be with you, love you. As if we could ever do anything other than love you. Thank you for making me aware.

I don’t understand life and I surely don’t understand why we fought so hard to meet you only to have you taken away so soon but I do know this, you will remain perfect (well done you) and immortalised in memories far beyond your imagination.

I don’t know what I gave you to, if anything, but what you did was awake my soul and you, my brightest boy, will live forever in it.

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Our hearts kept it simple.

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. I don’t really know when it exactly happened, but somewhere in between our intense eye contact and wiping my tears away as my walls came down that I spent years crafting, I crashed into you fully and never looked back.

My heart was unguarded, and I gave you all of me. We didn’t just hang out. We played. Our souls were alive – we were like two little kids again seeing the world for the first time – being with you multiplied all the good in life and changed me forever.

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“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.” - Roald Dahl -

When I look back on 2015, the more I read, listen, learn, watch and experience, the more I’m immeasurably grateful for the trip and fall that I took this year, the fall down, the staying down, that made me take stock. Take stock of me - who I’d created - and who I really was. As Brene Brown says in Daring Greatly ‘What we know matters but who we are matters more. Being rather than knowing requires showing up and letting ourselves be seen’. In the absence of any other coping skills I started to allow myself to be seen, mostly by myself.

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A while ago we lost one of our horses. Not in the careless 'where did she go' loss but in the sense that she went to the big paddock in the sky type of loss.

I felt big, sad, heavy pangs of regret when I found out (because it's all about me of course!) for many reasons not least of which was because my Mum, in all her wisdom, had asked me for months to record her well-being on camera for her US-based owners. But of course the photos weren't forthcoming for varying reasons not least of which was because I didn't make the time. A plethora of excuses fell forward in an endless conversation about forgetting, being too busy and the light not being right.

The fact was that I didn't make the time because I thought she'd be here longer and there would be more time and at the weekend the light would be better and and and. But the weekend didn't come and the light certainly wasn't better. She was there and then she wasn't and I deeply regret not making the time.

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I’m not sure if I’m waiting to finally have it all together or if I think everyone else is in on a secret that I’ve just not got yet but every day I have a variation on the theme of ‘ Well, this is it. Today’s the day, I can feel it, I know it, it’s going to be kick arse and I’m ready’. Today’s the day for what I wonder?
 
I was listening to a song that goes something along the lines ‘one day baby we’ll be old.. and think of all the stories that we could have told’ and I thought ‘well I must be old because do I have some stories!’
 
In those stories I know what I’d want to tell you; that I slayed the dragon, swallowed my demons whilst laughing in the face of my nightmares before finally finding my way to living happily ever after but the truth is much more ordinary.
 
The truth is that I breathe through the fear and, at times, pain, even on the days that it doesn’t feel possible because, it’s always possible. So here’s to our stories and, perhaps, one day even telling them.
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This evening, over supper and soft light my soul friend, ultimate mirror and true guide caught up. We’ve been missing things - each other mostly - and it was time. Time to find our way back.

But in truth I never wanted to go back, I wanted to find another path and that was probably where we missed each other. I had to find that - or am finding that - all on my own. It’s been the strangest thing and truthfully I never thought, of all the people in my life, the one person who really sees me, would be the one casualty of this experience.

I don’t know what made me lose my way. No that’s not the truth I know exactly what happened, bit by bit everything about me was chipped away until the last pebble dropped the brick wall I had built and nothing, nothing, was left. I took it for granted. The wall I mean. I thought it was a wishing well of sorts, a place I went to pull another defensive brick from in order to throw it at the blows life kept dealing me - you know that ‘attack is the best form of defence' mentality. Keep throwing those bricks and surely the attacks will be defected?

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My mother told me that when I meet someone I like, I had to ask them three questions:
 

  1. What are you afraid of?
  2. Do you like dogs?
  3. What do you do when it rains?


...of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They've got to be scared of something, everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right after the concert, one look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door.

On our second date, I asked you what you were afraid of. “Spiders, mostly. Being alone. Little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. Oh and space. holy shit, space.”

I asked you if you liked dogs. "I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “Sleep, mostly. Sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain drops race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my back garden for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

He smiled like he knew. Like his mum told him the same thing. “How about you?”

Me?

I’m scared of so many things. Of forgetting. Of people not knowing the true me. Of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, of not knowing enough, or knowing too much and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us.

I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

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Not much else to add to this fabulous talk by Brene Brown when she talks of showing up. Here's to my fellow arena go-ers because "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyhow" ....

 

 

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It’s a funny thing - this internal divide between intellect and emotion, like a dance between two enemies which is mildly erotic but something that you feel, ever so slightly, embarrassed to be witnessing.
 
It’s taken me to middle age to realise that this journey is, I think, never ending. I have waxed the intellect side of things - consciously understanding and allocating experiences into little tick boxes - something learned - tick; something experienced - tick; something to do - tick; some more work to do on myself - double tick. The emotional side of things is far less chartered territory and much rockier too. But recently - this year mostly I admit - its been an arena that I’ve had to be in, I gave myself no other option - there really is only so long that you can happy away a burning topic and frankly, when you decide to live life authentically it doesn’t really make any sense to turn away, although admittedly its easier to do so.
 
I believe that life offers us the opportunity to lean into and learn from the changes and, when I’m being brave I do that, lean in that is.
 
And so this journey, this recent interlude has led me to feeling a deep sadness that has underpinned so much. For someone who can happy away most days and deeds this is a tough path to tread. You see intellectually and on paper my life is just all that - smiles and freedom, choice and happiness, luck and laughter - and it is, for the most part. There’s not a moment I’m not grateful for everything that my life choices come to show - even now when its so hard and treading water seems more like manovering through molasses. I know it will pass, things will shift and lightness will return but in the meantime do I just sit here - with a mouth full of teeth - without words on my lips? Because that’s what it feels like. It feels like if I open my mouth the tears come out and whilst I’m never adverse to a good cry practically prevails and work must be done!
 
I saw someone earlier this week …. I had no idea why I was seeing her, again I was led in that direction by a deep sense that I needed her. I’m not someone who asks for help and it’s deeply uncomfortable for me to do so but it didn’t seem like help at the time. I sat down, she held my hand and I let it go. The deep sense of sadness and loneliness, oh the loneliness seems crippling. How can someone, me, who has so much love and so much attention and so much so much so much feel so lonely …. all the time - even when I don’t really feel it, does that make any sense at all?
 
Writing has, for me, always been an outlet but recently the words don’t come - the intention is there but the words are stuck in the space between what I know and how I feel. And even now writing these words I feel like someone elses' hands are typing the letters - I can see them moving, I can hear me breathing, I can see myself sitting here but it all just seems like a version of me?
 
And in all of that, in all of the sadness, I still have a deep sense that everything will be ok. I’ll go home, I'll park the car, the dogs will welcome me like their very breath comes from me, I'll take in the garden and her generous beauty, I'll know I'm safe and loved, my house will share her small sweet smile, wrap her arms around me and say, again ‘"everything will be ok in the end, if its not ok, it’s not the end."
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Do you ever just react? Not a moment passes before you’re into the swing of things. Everything is happening and you only catch up with yourself sometime later?


Well I do and it happened today. I really don’t know where it came from, I still can’t explain what triggered the outburst but it was right there under the surface, it’s the only way I can explain that, within a nano second I was in pieces watching myself as pure emotion charged the situation.


As with anything, I guess, once the moment has passed, and invariably it is just a moment, I withdraw to lick my wounds and wonder what I was thinking; well clearly I wasn’t thinking! I’m not big on those type of moments - I’m far too measured and controlled to feel comfortable in the centre of crazy but there it is - there I was.


I think these moments just feel too raw; being in control and calm (sometimes even only on the outside) is safe-ville, a far cry from crazy-central! But what I do know is that it’s also just not always real.


This quote, from The Velveteen Rabbit, came into my stream of consciousness the other day and it made me stop to take in again.


“He said, “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand”


I like the concept that as we grow into ourselves the pretty exteriors or the facades are no longer of any consequence - it seems kind and gentle to believe that, as we grow we leave behind the nonsense and take only that which grows us. Becoming real is taking me a long time.

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I have loved an addict for many years now and this article (Johann Hari, author of 'Chasing the scream, the first and last days of the war on drugs) really resonated with me. I’ve spent hours of my life trying to understand - when I chose to stay with him I chose to understand him which, considering we often don’t know ourselves too well, is a big task to undertake.


I’ve read and written, cried and begged, cursed and prayed and that was just one morning of one day. But it’s been worth it. It’s been worth every tear shed and letter written. Every night I’ve cried myself to sleep and every morning I’ve sworn that I couldn’t do it anymore. Its been worth it because we’ve both grown. We’ve understood how much we’ve hurt each other, and ourselves, but we held hands anyway.

And now, it’s quiet, calm and ever-so-excitingly promising and I even dare to believe that it’s going to just get better. Why? Because it does.

When you sink your teeth into a hard task you feel, when you start, that you’re just never going to make it. Your muscles ache and wobble and cry out in pain but - as long as you don’t give in - those muscles strengthen, the crying abates and where there was despair you find hope.

The Johann Hari article is beautiful - long but so daringly and caringly written it can only make you stop and think about your own life. Because whether we care to admit, or not, we’re all addicts in some form or another.

Some of our addictions are accepted by society - those who work 14 hour days are revered as successful; people who nip and tuck the barest sense of a wrinkle are poster-children for what we should all look like; stressed children are paraded around as examples of what happens when hard work starts early. Call it what you like but, as this article, says "The rise of addiction is a symptom of a deeper sickness in the way we live -- constantly directing our gaze towards the next shiny object we should buy, rather than the human beings all around us."

We were the lucky ones - we had an addiction that wasn’t accepted by society so we had to make a decision - let that become our life story or embrace the journey but journey on. We chose the later and it has made all the difference.

"Loving an addict is really hard. When I looked at the addicts I love, it was always tempting to follow the tough love advice doled out by reality shows like Intervention -- tell the addict to shape up, or cut them off. Their message is that an addict who won't stop should be shunned. It's the logic of the drug war, imported into our private lives. But in fact, I learned, that will only deepen their addiction -- and you may lose them altogether. I came home determined to tie the addicts in my life closer to me than ever -- to let them know I love them unconditionally, whether they stop, or whether they can’t."

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The truth is that part of me was resisting doing what I knew had to be done. You have to be the change you want to see and I’m finally seeing that in one of the key areas of my life.

You see I fought against him for months in fact it was really the only thing that we argued over - me blaming his excessive drinking on my anxiety but frankly I wasn’t prepared to put my money where my mouth was. I was expecting him to be the change but it had to be me, it always does.

I made a commitment to myself that I would give up drinking from the beginning of January until my sisters wedding towards the end of February and that is what I’ve done - am doing - and it feels utterly liberating. Utterly liberating - it has to be said twice it’s that powerful.

Even as I’m writing this there is a smile that has formed on my face and a depth of emotion deep inside me that feels like I’ve released a flock of white pigeons into their freedom. But it’s me whose been released.

So many times, daily even, I remind myself that the only person I have any control over, and even that control is limited at times, is myself. And yet a thousand more times I shouted words of displeasure about a situation that was really mine to control - as least my involvement in that situation. it seems utterly ludicrous that I paddled around in that quagmire of despair for so long when all it really took was the decision, by me, to change it.

I can hardly believe the simplicity of that decision but I know it’s never that simple - the decision is the hardest part really and I’m experiencing that now. The months I agonised over where I seemed stuck - acting in victimhood of the situation refusing to see that everything is a choice.

I don’t know what kept me stuck but I do know that, now the decision has been made everything has shifted and I’m eternally grateful for that. It reminds me that at times my mind becomes attached to limitation rather than seeing it simply as a distorted version of reality. What wonderful innovations could I create if I surrendered my preconceptions?

If we remain committed to letting every thought, word and action come from their perspective I know that everything unfolds as it should.

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And just like that it’s another year; the planning, shopping and mania giving way to the calmness, excitement and the peaceful energy of the festive season all of which is now being drowned out by retail sales, building work pressures, resolutions, goals and a general surge in the direction of the new year.

Don’t get me wrong I’m one of those pushing into the New Year but this year I’m trying to do it on my terms.

Every year seems to be a watershed year - some basked in only good memories others smothered in anxiety and stress. 2014 had, for me, some desperate lows (losing people who are marvellously loved is going to leave a blip on anyone’s radar) but ultimately it’s coming out in the wash as a great year.

Perhaps as we get older we learn the innate task of remembering only the things that please us and plastering over those that don’t (and no, Jo, this isn’t a spongey moment for me … there’s plenty of time for that!). I just can’t see the point in holding on to things that don’t serve us - negative thoughts, unkind people, bad experiences, lost ideas, misplaced words, unfilled ideas or general dissatisfaction.

My sister donned a phrase when we were younger (when the quantity of friends was may more important than the quality) and that was a ‘friendship audit’. It sounds mercenary (and coming from a lawyer perhaps could have been deemed as such) but really the aim was simply to learn to choose, keep, and be the type of friend who pushes you to be the best version of you, always. 

In some goal-setting and planning for 2015 I’ve come to realise that there’s not a single soul in my life whose not an absolute God-send and, for a moment it seemed quite startling to me - who knew i could have become that good at auditing!! In actual fact it’s nothing as well-planned as that it’s simply just being conscious, deciding - finally, who I wanted to be and being that. The rest just seems to fall into place.

So beautifully put ‘ the future belongs to whose who believe in the beauty of their dreams’ (Eleanore Roosevelt) so here’s to dreaming.

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Cliched as it may be but this rainy Jozi afternoon has got me thinking about another watershed year. 2014 has been, for me, about getting real with myself and those I choose to have in my life. I passed the 40 mark last year and with it I shed the need to please … which is hard for a people pleaser like me! But in shedding something I'm faced with the ‘ what now’ and ‘is this it’. If you leave something behind then doesn’t the ‘what am I without my story’ resonate?


We all play many roles in our life and mine include, amongst others, friend, girlfriend, daughter, sister, student, teacher, helper, listener, learner, provider but I think our true role has to be pioneer into the unknown. We need to lift the veil for each other, be courageous and heroic, push out our own boundaries. I’ve said this before, so this is a reminder to me, that we need to give beyond reason, to care beyond hope, to love without limit, to reach, stretch and dream - in spite of our fears.


I’m tremendously conscious that as I clock up the years it’s all too easy to get comfortable and I’m not going there, into a comfort zone that is. So I’m surrounding myself with people who will remind me that we need to push ourselves, be more, give more, to illuminate the darkened paths, lift broken spirits and change the course of our history. So, together, let’s do that?


I read somewhere that 'A joyful life isn’t about others; it’s about the brightness that is associated with being alive. Your path to it is through anything that replaces thinking with pure flight, pure joy.’ As 2015 rolls around I wish you, and me, the clarity that comes with knowing we can choose our path and in that choosing life becomes the meaning and measurement that we’ve craved all along. Life is good. I wish you that, and more. Onwards friends.

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I think it will always be like this. 

As I sit quietly at home this morning - in the wake of his rage and drama I just feel quiet and tired and simply exhausted by it all. I am grateful he’s broken another promise - I need a break from the mumbling harsh words under his breath juxtaposed with the accusations and threats - I am pleased for the quiet. 

I get stuck in my home and in my head. You see I think I'm easy on him now - I take the path of least resistance and we mostly just live separate, like college room mates who - at times - sit over individually prepared suppers and idly comment on the tv.

How do you know when it’s enough?

I don’t know if it’s another broken promise or sheer exhaustion on my part but something has clicked this morning - as I write these words I don’t think I even trust myself anymore which is the saddest part for me. I’ve begged, pleaded, prayed and promised and that’s just with myself. There have been so many times that I’ve talked myself off this ledge promising him just one more chance but what about me? When do I get a look in here?

Last night I dreamt that I received a call - this guy was on the end of the phone asking me if I understood what he was saying correctly because he’d been accused of not being clear before - he asked if I could hear / see a helicopter in which was someone who was going to come and take care of my life. He kept asking me these three questions:

Do you know who you are?
Do you know what's happened to you?
Do you want to live this way?

I hung up - perplexed of course. The very next minute I heard then saw this chopper, in no time it had landed - right outside my sitting room door in my tiny garden. I was immediately nervous - I forced myself awake long before my alarm fearing that this meant something was wrong. But the longer I am awake the more this all made sense to me.

Do you know who you are?
Do you know what's happened to you?
Do you want to live this way?

Yes I know who I am. Yes I know what’s happened to me and no I don’t want to live this way - not any more.
 
Like a helicopter I can rise above this situation, this relationship. Like my garden I can cultivate new life, new energy.  This is my life

A love for almost 15 years isn’t something easy to question or let go of but I feel like I’m the one whose been holding on so tight, I’m the one whose been fighting here and if I’m truthful to myself I think if I stop the fighting he’ll just let us go.

This morning the first email I receive has the heading ‘Today is the best day of your life’ and I thought why not. Let’s see where this takes us.

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Our housekeeper is a good news story in a bad news tale - so far that is - but getting here hasn’t been an easy journey. She noticed a lump in her neck and took herself off to the clinic - after hours of sitting and being ignored she was seen by someone who said she needed to be admitted.

I received a panicked call from my hysterical housekeeper who, having been pushed around from pillar to post prior to being diagnosed with HIV, she had spent weeks in Baragwaneth and memories of that experience linger just under the service. I suggested she come to me and we visited my local doctor for their opinion.

This has led us to spending, over the next couple of months, endless hours at the Helen Joseph trying to make our way through the chaotic and seemingly broken system. The system is so clearly represented in the misery of the buildings, a place that meant to be healing or at the very least helping people. The Helen Joseph is, I believe, one of the better government healthcare facilities which is shocking to the nth degree.

Determined that Lindiwe not fall through the cracks of this broken system I’ve held her hand and asked the questions that, out of fear and perhaps a degree of unsophistication, needed to be asked. In the hours we spent at the hospital I looked around at the seemingly hopelessness of it. There are literally hundreds of people lost in those corridors some so sick they can barely raise a voice to ask a question that may just get them seen.

But through it all and just when I wanted to tear my hear out we would always find someone to help us take the next step up. Once you finally get in front of a person who isn’t just there to push papers you get the help that is so desperately needed and I was buoyed by the belief that they do actually care. There are just too few trying to help just too many.

But if you ask the right questions, if you put in the time, if you refuse to be pushed on without getting the right help then the help is there - it’s not hopeless and there are good news stories, so far my beloved Lindiwe is one of them.

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We might be in the dark, literally (for us South Africans) and figuratively (for the rest of us) but it’s upon is - the silly season that is. I’m one of those who relishes this time of the year - decking our house with Christmas decorations (much to the chagrin of the grinch I live with!) and generally donning a jolly attitude about life.

 

That said you’d have to be plank not to realise what’s going on. I read in our local papers this weekend how so many have been drastically affected by the insanity that is the power(less) situation - businesses halted, homes brought to a standstill and the lack of any obvious action by the people who should be responsible.

 

This isn’t really news to me though because I live in an the area forgotten by City Power (Or Eskom or any municipality in South Africa for that matter). The glorious open spaces around us have sprung complexes and now we hide in obscurity and relative peace (well a LOT of peace nowadays). Increasingly our power has diminished - what were monthly outages became weekly then daily and over this time we all became increasingly voiceless. I’ve been raised to take action - don’t talk about it, do something. So I’ve done something … well mostly just logged complaints in any forum possible (Twitter rules!)

 

The collective rebuff seems to fall on stoney ground and it’s that which riles us. We get that there are problems, we understand that everything takes time but don’t treat us like idiots. As a stalwart for and with South Africa I refuse to be defeated by stupidity or idle frivolity and, as Jodi Foster said in her 2013 Cecil DeMille award speech, "we need to be heard, we need to be understood - deeply - and to be not so very lonely...

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This week hasn’t been good when you count up the tally of the fallen. Sadness engulfs and words, songs, platitudes do nothing but fill the space where the person we’re grieving for should be. Losing another family friend did nothing more than reinforce the fact that we’re just not present. I was shocked to hear of her passing and it rang way too close to home to clock it in as ‘just one of those things’.

In standing, again, listening to the life of one person been spoken about by another, made me think that I guess that’s what it all comes down to - our legacy - what we stand and stood for.

We’re remembered for what we did, who we were and how we’re remembered.

Our friend sure did leave a legacy - her family, love, beauty, talent, commitment, laughter, concern, care, love, generosity, integrity, authenticity, boldness and individuality. We stood in her bountiful garden listening to the words and the wood and the birds who live there because she gave that to them. We creaked and cried and wished we’d be more of ourselves whilst she left us her flowers, love and the slight breeze of her smile. 

One of the speakers mentioned how she would welcome us ‘Hello my dear, how are you?’ and I heard her voice echoed in that breeze. I looked up, I could feel her, the speaker continued. 

We gathered, drank water or wine, mingled and smiled at each other when all we wanted to do was withdraw and lick our wounds for what we really know to be true. We miss so much and our fallen friends remind us of that. 

I would try and remind us all to wake up but we know that. I’d remind us to be present but we know that. I’d remind us to take the picture but we know that. I guess that all that is left is to remember to smell the flowers. 

I got home today, after this blessing and, after busying myself with nothingness, I sat down at my desk and dropped my head, a small flower dropped out and I realised that, from her garden, a small flower had carried its way to me. It didn’t seem much but it was everything. Call me sentimental but what I felt was she had wrapped her arms around me, in her selfless way, and sent me home, safely with the love and care of a mother, friend, companion, confident that will be missed and loved, forever.
 
"We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time. When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy. It’s like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable." Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening
 

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My sister moved house today and in a way we all moved on. It was a melting pot of people all armed with much love, good intentions, manic mayhem and sporadic bursts of ‘what now’. But I think that’s life, well I guess it is.

In the quiet moments I looked around with sincere appreciation for who and what my family is - a complicated bunch of people who are just doing the best we can and loving each other along the way.

My sister and I sat, whilst the men went off and did more chest beating (I think they would like it referred to as work), and put the world right over wine (is there any other way) and what we figured out today (perhaps we’re slow learners) is that actually none of us have this life figured out. We’re all just making it up along the way, but we are making it up together.

And that’s what matters, I think,  is that we’re together. Life might be a mess (guaranteed) and we'll get it wrong (probably) but we will learn (hopefully) to do it better tomorrow. Here’s to tomorrow.

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Get out of your own head and ego.

You have gifts, talents, skills and abilities that are unique and specific to you. Stop questioning the Divine.

It’s like a bird with powerful wings walking in circles wondering if it deserves to fly - nonsense!

It’s not about deserving, it’s about fulfilling your purpose and honouring the Divine showing up as you. Get out of the way.

It’s not about you! It’s about life expressing through you.

Cynthia Ocelli

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