The silent orgasm…

How do you find the words when words evade you? We bury our treasures because they are so precious to us we fear others may steal them. If they are buried in the ground we can’t enjoy them ourselves either though. We have to learn to trust others with our treasures so that we can get to enjoy them openly and share the joy with others.

I’m scared right now. I’m scared because so many things are happening that I truly care about and I fear that if I speak about them maybe something happens and they will all just have been castles in the air and I’ll be left standing there with nothing. I don’t wanna talk, I wanna walk the talk. Yet not speaking about it isn’t what’s the thing to do – what to do is speaking about what’s happening without being attached to the outcome in a negative way. We all want our dream outcome, but we also have to know that life has its ways and the best we can do is to keep going for what we love, whilst also turning every present moment into a miracle.

First of all there are business and charity ventures that are starting to come together, whilst also working doing writing assignments for companies I enjoy writing for (that’s my day job). The first I’m scared of because you never know, the second because I feel like there’s always a deadline I’m running to catch up with and with life happening daily you never know what might throw you. With all this there’s time constraint and right now I’m working like crazy to try to downsize everything and make sure it all fits together. Believe it or not that’s a BIG job LOL.

Secondly, secondly there are the kids. As faithful readers know I work in a crèche in Hangberg, a township in Cape Town (that’s my passion project The Wandering Tales). It’s a crèche for kids whose parents can’t really afford to send them to a crèche, parents who are often abusive and/or substance misusers; some are in jail, some have died, others have HIV and so do some of the kids. Some of the kids suffer from malnutrition and drug and alcohol damages too.

I was making the kids “trolldeg” – you mix flour, water, salt and oil to make playdough…and I got a bit carried away and delivered it in different shapes…

The crèche is nothing fancy – it’s three small sheds (of which one is a storage room) for 63 kids, no proper toilets, no kitchen, no electricity, only one tap, no sinks, not enough bowls and spoons for the kids so they have to take turns, not enough money for lunch but at least breakfast, not enough classrooms…you get the picture. And at first you wanna cry because it’s so little – you want to give the kids more love, more education, more food…more everything good. Spending two weeks there your perspective changes and you wanna cry because it’s so much love and care and attention to kids that come from nothing given by teachers who get almost no payment yet show up every day.

So right now, apart from spending time with the kids and teaching drama, I’m helping put together a website, create a fundraising campaign for Little Angels and CARES, etc., which all ties into my own ventures and fuels my heart with love and passion. What’s more though, there are four kids that really spoke to my heart and one day I blurted this out to the principal and said I’d adopt them if I only could, the principal spoke to their parents (or relatives that step in to try and help them when parents don’t really do it) and it looks like I might end up being some kind of support for those four. Two twins – a boy and a girl, T & T, and two boys D & W.

Now this has thrown my world upside down. Apart from feeling like I’m finally living the life of my dreams doing what I love I suddenly have four little kids that might come to count on me. I don’t know how yet. I know that so long as we don’t have money for lunch at the crèche I have to bring lunch as theirs is sometimes lacking, I have to buy vitamins and twice a week or so I have to show up and take the kids somewhere to play. That’s all I have agreed to, all I can agree to and my heart is bursting with joy – I’m given a chance to give these kids something.

The principal is gonna meet with the parents again next week and talk about how they see this working and sort out things like “in the event of an accident.” I can’t guarantee someone won’t drive into my car. There are some legal aspects to this, even if it’s Hangberg and no one gives a damn. Then I’m gonna meet the parents. Then we will see. And that’s the practical bit, but then there’s the emotional bit.

The kids playing with the dough I gave them…

Maybe I will be a nanny of sorts, or an extra auntie, or a mentor…or a foster parent. Maybe I will spend more and more time with them, or maybe the parents will one day say no altogether. And there are other emotional aspects. I know one of them has HIV, two are beaten at home and all four are border line starving.

The principal is convinced I’m pretty much saving the life of these four and just “wait and see how they are going to blossom,” but truth is with the influence from home and friends anything could happen to those kids and after a while there might be the issue of them not wanting to go home, because home is not a nice place to be always and not to mention my feelings of sending them home. Then of course there’s the HIV positive one – I told the principal who is also feeding 120 kids in her spare time and being the whole community’s “go to” person for HIV care, plus of course running a crèche for 63 kids with no money – that she has to have a talk with his mom and ensure she makes sure he gets his meds, or I will. They cured the first kid in the States with HIV recently, the meds are getting better and life does not have to be compromised, but it’s still a stigma, it’s still dangerous if not looked after.

The principal a.k.a. the whole community’s pillar

I’ve also told the principal she has to be the go-between between the parents and I, and make sure no one shows up on my doorstep asking for money for drugs. That’s one money issue, but what happens in a few years time when I will want the kids to attend good schools? What happens if the parents decide to leave the kids on my doorstep? What happens if I don’t get a permanent visa? I’m gonna have to fly back and forth to Cape Town if I end up becoming close to the kids. I don’t know anything yet and that frightens me. I don’t even know if it all will work out and I will get to spend time with them yet and my heart is so attached to this outcome I wake up at 6am in the morning with a big grin on my face because somehow, miraculously, even without the money to adopt I have been given a chance to make a difference.

The thing is, I don’t know what I can do, but I will do what I can, if that makes sense? My heart is so full with happiness, joy and love it feels like it’s about to burst. This was always my dream. Living in Africa, helping kids, teaching, making movies, writing stories, dabbling with food and herbs…and it’s all slowly but surely coming together. But by Lord I need a visa and I need to make money from what I love rather than on top of that writing for people.

On Wednesday I was at the crèche briefly and for most of that time I was carrying around little D as he won’t let me out of sight when I’m there. Then I spent some time trying to comfort another little boy who got his thumb squeezed and for that matter whose father is in jail for murder. I also managed to lift up T & T and every other kid who wanted a hug and little Mr T was showing me he could dance like Michael Jackson. It’s perfect – we will just dance all the time! Little W was home sick – he suffers malnutrition and easily catches bugs.

The only pot we have for food, how food is served and how we wash our hands – there are no sinks, so it’s one bucket for all. We dream of a bathroom with a bathtub so we can clean the kids and brush their teeth. Many have rotting teeth. The step after that is getting a washing machine as many don’t have clean clothes, or no clothes so we also want a uniform for the kids, but first we need blankets, electricity and radiators for winter.

Yesterday was the first day I brought in vitamins. Only T & T were there as it was the start of the Easter Holiday. For them it was like Christmas morning – Miss T did not chew them up for fifteen minutes, she was too busy showing me she had them in her mouth and showing anyone else who cared. Mr T was showing me he would grow strong because of them. And as I was sitting waiting for the other teacher to get the last kids out of the loo (those portable loos you rent) and into the classroom to sleep and another teacher had just silenced them and gotten them to lie down, Mr T opened his eyes and asked if I will still be there later, as if frightened that when he wakes up I’m gone. I told him next week and he nodded, looking very wise. Then he broke the rules and ran up to ask for more vitamins.

Little Miss T on the other hand, after another teacher came in and silenced everyone once more, broke the rules to run up to place a big kiss on my cheek and tell me she loved me “so much.” Then chaos ensued as about five other girls tried to follow suite.

The principal told me that last year the kids got a present from some vitamin booster company and the next day someone’s relative came in to say the kids haven’t slept all night. Why? They were so excited they had been given a gift and couldn’t sleep because they were scared someone would take it away from them. So now the principal makes sure to host a party by the end of each month to celebrate everyone whose birthday it has been that month.

Maybe I’m crazy for agreeing to help those kids as much as I can, but it’s been the happiest moments of my life getting to do this. This was my dream growing up. All I wanted was my Dr Quinn – Angelina Jolie life. My Colorado Springs became Hangberg.

I’m scared people will look down on me for what I’m doing because I’m not a millionaire – I’m giving them lunch and a few hours of my time for now. The reason I feel confident doing it still is because life here is different. You have to understand that the crèche has 63 kids not because it wouldn’t run better if there were only 30, but because if they left the other 33 out, they’d be roaming the streets with no one raising them and not even getting their daily porridge and fruit. The little you can do for every child counts. You have to try to educate them. That’s what will make a difference. It’s not about providing label clothes, or trips to Spain. It’s about a bowl of rice, a hug and teaching values that will hopefully inspire them to turn Hangberg into a beautiful town and prevent them from going down the path of drugs, theft, prostitution and HIV.

Together with improving the crèche and setting up more educational centres and structures for youth in Hangberg I hope that we can create a sustainable future for some of the kids out there. You can’t think you are going to save them all, not even the kids you get to look after, but you can put as many structures in place as possible to ensure that the moral support, love and basic means are met to give the kids a chance. Together with CARES, Little Angels, The Wandering Tales and Naughty Magique I hope to instill change. I hope to do something. Just as I hope that a couple of hours a week of my time and some food will give something to my four little ones. It’s a hope. It’s not a given, but if you pray and move your butt sometimes you create miracles. Those four are a miracle in my life. I’m not blind – this is gonna be the ride of a lifetime, but it’s the ride I asked for, dreamed of and pray will be infused with as much love and happiness as possible. Or to explain it differently: many people tell me my work must be hard and depressing. I find it life affirming and joyous. Sure I know the kids have a hard time at home, but I see the joy in their eyes every day. I get run down with hugs and I love yous and I missed you every day. I see opportunity. Chance. Possibility. I see kids that are great, not wounded. It amazes me how these kids function so well. It astounds me. And it gives me hope that together we can make a difference.

This is not poetry; it’s the poetry of my life and it’s precious. Very precious.

If these kids inspire you as much as they do me, feel free to get in touch, even if just to talk. If you want to find out more, or help us spread the word on social media once we start our business and fundraising initiatives, we’d love to hear from you. Or if you want to donate an old camera, laptop, blankets, toys, another pot for food, or an hour a month to come down and teach them whatever you can…you name it. Our page is The Wandering Tales and there you can send us message!

Sensual awakenings and magical stories…

The gentle, yet razor sharp sunbeams that used to light up the first spring days back home in Sweden were always some of the most welcome for me. I could feel spring within me. The light changed, the air felt different. Something magical was happening. It was as if I could feel life within me. For some reason Easter became my favorite holiday because of this. Not because of the actual celebrations, but because I could feel this enchanted life force play inside of me. It was like a bud in the pit of my stomach, tickling me, waiting to explode into a flower in full bloom.

Today it’s the autumn equinox here in South Africa, but in Europe it’s the spring equinox. Day equals night. For me the spring equinox always brings me to France and a few years back I wrote a story around that time; it’s a story I still treasure today. It has my heart written all over it. I’ve been working on the second chapter ever since and ever so often I do finish one, but then later scrap it. Maybe I will publish the next attempt here some day. For now, enjoy my favorite spring equinox piece. It all begins at dawn, just as the celebration of the equinox is the celebration of dawn, re-birth, a new awakening…

The Jester

For those readers that know me well, you also know the story I’m about to tell. Not because it ever happened, but because it was always part of me. You know how I longed to find it, at the same time as it was in me. I guess what I was seeking was an understanding from someone…someone like me that wasn’t me. I have cursed this story many times, because I did not feel like I controlled it, but rather that it controlled me. Yet, it is the most beautiful story I ever came across, because the story is about me. This is all that I am.

It was a town that you could get lost in. Alley after alley swirled in a mesmerizing pattern on the hill. The river passing through was a landmark, but even that twirled. Twirled around the little town and twirled in and of itself as the water was playing… It was a town that could play, that was for sure. Carnivales would light the streets, bring out the townsfolk and bring in strangers. Carnivales are designed for that – for openness. For something extraordinary to happen. You can almost taste it in the air – change has arrived.

People liked this town. It was quaint. Old fashioned, yet open. At least during the Carnivale. It was one of those weird Carnivales that no one knew of through advertisement. It was only the people that came across other people that had been there that knew. And those people often felt propelled to go. Because something, something captured them when listening to the stories of those that had been. It was almost like magic. You could taste the smell of gunpowder, spice and soft vanilla in the air. It was a strangely alluring smell. It smelled of adventure, of danger, yet of comfort and warmth. It was a two sided coin and you were drawn in to see both sides.

The town was, of course, made up of cobble stone streets and medieval sand colored houses. Flower pots decorated entrances and balconies. The sound of life echoed through the streets during the day and lovers’ whispers sneaked around the corners at night – if you listened carefully enough you could hear them. The wind carried them around.

The wind liked caressing this town. Rarely was there ever a storm, yet everyone knew that when the Carnivale arrived there was a different wind. Not the one that caressed the houses, but rather a wind created by something inexplicable. A wind one could feel within, not without. Although you could almost taste it in the air. So strong was the sensation.

In Carnivale time there was also a sweet taste to the air, because every other woman was preparing treats. Chocolates made with secret ingredients, teas made from exotic spices, cakes that looked more inviting than a hot tub in spring, desserts so overpoweringly indulgent that people had been known to become mesmerized by them and candy so supremely sweet, yet so mild that it melted your tongue and your senses.

If you can imagine this town – so sweet, so quaint, yet for one week a year covered in forces so strange, so delicious and so powerful and tantalizing it was almost as if they ruled you rather than you ruled them. Still, you knew, on some level or other, that if you were there it was only because those forces were part of you. Just like the joker is part of the deck. For some, of course, these forces were stronger and they were used to living with them. For others it was only once a year, or once in a lifetime, that they truly let them rule them and that was during the Carnivale.

At dawn, of course, most people and forces were asleep. Instead freshness was in the air. The smell of flowers, water and country air overtook everything else. It was only ever so often that the wind would bring you a taste of the undertones, those that would get stronger as the day moved along.

During one such Carnivale, at one such dawn, sat a man atop a bridge, overlooking the town. The sun was painting the sky a dusky peach, mixed with blues, greens and yellows. It was the colors that made this man arise so early. The colors and the need to see things for what they were. Come night he would become part of the dance of the living and if he did not watch out, he would forget. Forget who he truly was. Forget to see life.

He liked living though, he just didn’t want to entirely fall into the dance because he knew that then it would never stop. He would never step aside to watch. He would just play his part like all the others. Be swept off his feet rather than walking his way. He would always know what people thought, but he would not think it. He would be too mesmerized by their colors, their faces, the sensation of their hands against his…he would dance, but he would no longer be the one choosing which dance, which tune to follow, he would instead be led by the music, the people, the steps…

No, the jester preferred this life, this life where he walked on his own road. The road of course belonged to everyone, but few others walked it. When he did meet someone on the same road they would instantly become friends even though they did not come from the same place. They became friends because they were going in the same direction. They were few though and he had gotten used to being on his own. He had a life. He knew where he was going, even though that was a matter of a constantly changing heart. He knew he just had to follow it and that made him secure. He was comfortable within his own skin.

He was an entertainer, that was his profession. He would tell people what they thought – read them like an open book. Of course he only saw that which was obvious, but they thought it was hidden and that he had cracked them open. Like any good entertainer he would also talk of the news of the day, only he would tell them for what they truly were, not what they were portrayed to be. There was a lot of humor in the truth. He would tell the audience that everything was a lie, but then that was the truth. He could juggle and do tricks with cards, he could play the flute and stand on the one hand. He was, to everyone else, a mystery, but to him he was quite open. He spoke the truth so everyone thought he was lying. He showed everyone a trick, but they could not see it, so they got tricked.

The woman was standing in her shop grinding spices in her mortar. She could have bought them ground, but they were more potent when fresh. The woman knew spices very well – she had studied the use of each one, but when she made potions she did not think. She let her subconscious decide – it had gotten all the information it needed through her studies and it was more trustworthy than her logical brain.

She was up early as her mind tended to be clearer and her instincts purer. That way her potions became even stronger. Besides, she liked seeing people in the morning – the few that managed to crawl out of bed. It was as if their minds, too, were clearer and it made it easier for her to determine what they had come there for. To treat themselves, of course, but what for? You’d think they’d come for celebration, but most came because they needed comfort. No sorrow felt as bad when indulging in something pleasurable and light, or sensual and musty, or simply tantalizing and warm. As the customers entered the shop she would serve them accordingly with wit and charms, but also with the right spices, cakes and drinks. As she saw it that was her job. That and the joy she got from playing with the ingredients, always creating something new. She also created potions for her own sake. Joyous little things that matched her mood. Sunshine food for the soul or tantra for the night time. Kiss me quick cupcakes. Turn me on chocolates. Take me out fudge. Make me laugh cookies. Soothe my soul tea. Bring it on truffles. Sleep well mints. Dream of love candy.

The wind suddenly swept by, swirling in underneath the crack in the door. A second later, whilst the wind was still playing outside, the woman heard a bell gently playing somewhere far away. She smiled. So he was coming. Whoever he was. The wind and the bells always let her know. It had started on a square in Avignon during their Festival. Since then it always happened.

The woman was used to reading signs, just as she was used to reading thoughts. To her it was simple, so long as her mind was clear. As soon as she wanted something the messages got mumbled up – the signs were still there, but she misread them.

The spices she had chosen today were warm – cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, chili… It suited the spirit of the Carnivale. It was made of such animal instincts. Of pleasure. Of the need for transformation. Liberty. Love. Laughter. Beauty. Truth. It was a bohemian revolution according to some, but mainly human if you knew nature. It was what every man dreamt of, but few dared to pursue. The total freedom of being without the need to be. It brought out your hidden desires. Those that were meant to be played with, not suppressed. People had left the Carnivale changed. People had left not knowing what had just happened. People had left pretending to be what they used to pretend to be. It depended on how strong the forces within them were to be free. Some felt more comfortable returning to their old shell.

The scent of the spices twirled up into her face as the door was opened. She didn’t have to look up to know that it was a man, but she was surprised at the lightness of his step. It was not an intrusive one she thought. He was humble, yet with force. He was strong but he cared to be light. Light on those whose path he crossed. She was sure he made an impression, but he didn’t change them by crushing their defenses. He changed them by softly showing them what was there.

“Bonjour monsieur, que c’est que vous voulez?” she asked and looked up as yet another waft of the spices entered her nostrils. So these were his spices she thought. Deep, yet with a playfulness and warmth. Warm, yet with a zest.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his eyes following her body. “I would like breakfast, but why don’t you tell me what’s the best in this café to eat?” She nodded. “Please, have a seat.”

He sat down and opened his bag – a worn out, yet sturdy backpack made of leather. It looked handmade. He picked out a wooden flute. “Would you mind if I play?” he asked. “I will keep it quiet so that the neighbors won’t complain.” “Not at all,” she said. “In fact I’d be curious to hear that which only you can play.” He looked up at her in some surprise. So she knew that each song was different to each man. He had already studied her. He knew that she could read people, yet she seemed somewhat confused by his presence. He too felt that there was something about her that he couldn’t explain, yet knew that he somewhere knew. It was something…

He played and she became mesmerized. In the song she could hear his journeys. She could see the grass fields and the towns. She could taste the food and drink the water. He played with feeling so everything was there in sight.

She placed a plate in front of him and a large cup of hot chocolate, gently spiced with cardamom. “You think I need to be soothed, do you?” he asked, somewhat surprised. “You think you are strong, and you are, but you have walked far. You have given your energy to the hearts of strangers, helping them. You have recovered in the fields and in the valleys, but not many send their energy to you. There was a woman in a town once, but she is but a memory to you now. It brings a smile to your face, but it no longer brings you warmth. It is rare that you find someone you like. Sometimes you encounter fellow travelers, and you share a laugh. You get giddy and happy through talking to someone who knows, but it is not love, it is only sharing. You understand each other. You do not love one another. Yes, the chocolate will soothe you and the food heal you.”

She walked back into the kitchen, knowing that she had said much more to him than she had to any customer in her whole life. To others she had to talk in fairytales. She had to tell stories to make them understand. If she spoke her mind they would be frightened, but he was like her. He read them too.

The jester bit into the muffin, which indeed made him feel an instant warmth, a comfort, throughout his body. Now he knew what he had seen in her before that he had not been able to understand. They did the same job. She through patisseries, he through cards. They played tricks on people. They entertained people, through their taste buds or their minds. Both, of course, leading to the heart. They saw people for who they were and then showed it to them in ways they understood. They opened them, healed them and let them move towards where they needed to go. The people never knew. At least very few. Often they just felt entertained and lighthearted, excited and thrilled, turned on or high, comforted or blessed with joy. They didn’t realize that someone had just gone in and rearranged the pieces of their puzzle. It was a lonely job, yet a very sociable job. It was a heartwarming job, but it did drink some of your energy, like the woman said, because all your energy went to them. You then had to sit and recover in nature – gain energy from somewhere else. He did not question his path, he just sometimes wished that someone would understand it. Not just understand it, but travel along the same path as him, stretching out her warmth to him. Because of course, the warmth of a woman was different from the warmth of a man – both needed but in different ways.

As she came back out to continue grinding her spices for the cake she was baking he asked her: “So you are the magical witch of this town?” She laughed. “Some like to think that. There is nothing as exciting as spells, but there is nothing magical about my food. I make people believe in a message. And I add the spice to enforce it and the intention to go with it. People would understand if you explained, but they prefer life’s little mysteries to remain intact. They’d rather think they were saved by a spell than by nature itself. Such is life.” “They’d rather be fed health than told to get healthy, you mean?” “Something like that.”

The woman’s body swayed as she was grinding the spices. It was as if she was dancing when she moved. She played with nature. He played with minds.

“Can I hold my show here tonight?” he asked. She nodded.

That night the Carnivale atmosphere once again swept across the little town. The air got musky and hot. Desires were lived out, laughters shared. Performances brought joy, fire eaters brought light. Sweets brought freshness and dancers brought lust. The spices became intense, the people open up and played.

As dusk fell the jester performed his tricks. People were baffled. He would tell them little things. Things they didn’t quite understand. He would also gently whisper the desires of their heart. The woman fed them desserts and cakes that suited their mood – gave them what they needed to get; took them from where they were to where they needed to be. There were many laughters, a lot of confusion and finally dancing until dawn. People forgot to think beyond that night. They were swept away by the moment. By the passion. By pure joy.

As dawn came the jester and the woman sat on the bridge. “These are the colors of the jester,” she said, as she pointed to the sky. “I know.” “You play with the colors like you play with the people. You jest, but in your jest lies the truth.” He laughed. “And you bake, but in your baking lies the truth.” She smiled. “It’s an easy disguise.” He countered: “And so is the jest, the magic, the entertainment.”

From that moment, or even before that, they knew that their lives were intertwined, as was the spice with the batter and the cards with the deck.

Sometimes an Ocean meets a Wind. The Wind stirs the Ocean to move and the Ocean sprinkles its mist on the Wind. They fly together, but they will always be apart. Sometimes a Fire encounters a Wind. The Fire burns brighter and the Wind gets warm. They gather strength from each other, but they know they will forever be apart. Sometimes the Earth has a rendezvous with the Wind. The Wind brushes the Earth and makes it come alive and the Earth throws itself into the wind in a game. They twirl together, but they know they will part. Then, once in a while as destiny says, a Wind comes upon another Wind. They match each others’ strengths. They intertwine with one another to see if they can play. They swirl and twirl in patterns to see if there is a rhythm they both like. Maybe sometimes they fly rather quickly, maybe sometimes rather slow. If two such Winds meet and they find a rhythm and enjoy to play, if they are both flying in the same direction, even though only their hearts can tell where to next, then they have found their true partner in life. Because as we know, they know each other inside out. They were born the same, only life moved them apart. They know different notes, but they belong to the same symphony. And together they play.

Written by Maria Montgomery

Red for passion, pain and priumph…

Very first time sex, first time biking, first time skating…they pretty much all end up with…blood. First time swimming…you sank like a stone, didn’t you? I don’t know about you but I have found with the years that many first time things, such as first time dates, first days at work and first time sex don’t always give the right impression. First impressions last…well, I’m not so sure.

Do you think you have good judgement? I think I have excellent judgement. In my 30 years I have, maybe once, liked someone from day one that I then ended up falling for. Once. Oftentimes I’ve wanted to punch them in the face for no reason. Then again, maybe I was right, because nothing lasted…but then the one I fell for immediately didn’t either. What I am trying to say is that first impressions are often like an apple: it can look shiny on the outside, but be rotten on the inside. Your intuition may be able to tell you so, or some small, small sign of warning, but it’s unlikely you pick up on it if you are excited, hungry, busy, stressed, tired, over joyed, or any other anything that disrupts an empty mind. Similarly, an apple with bit of a brown patch on the skin, can be utterly scrumptiously delicious.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: slow down. Empty your mind before you make decisions. And once you’ve made them, give it time. How long does it take to become an athlete? How long does it take to compose music like Mozart? How long did it take before you could bike, or swim? I remember learning to bike – I was black, blue and my knees were in a state of red mess, but it took me an evening and I was biking. In blissful joy. My bruises made me proud. Keeping it up, when I had fallen over so many times, made me proud. I took pride in putting in the effort to reach my desired result. Be smart – learn how to do things the easiest way (intuition and knowledge), but realize that to get up a hill…you gonna have to climb it…like you climb any good man, or woman.

I’m sure that you check your mobile apps, eat a sandwich and walk to work at the same time, whilst avoiding any traffic hazard you encounter…let’s face it: you are used to multi-tasking and living in what can only be called an ADD culture, but some things take time. And they deserve time. People set up companies, fall in love and enrol in difficult courses at uni thinking it will be a breeze. They hit one obstacle, or get one bad feeling and they are gone. It’s uncomfortable, so they leave. They don’t slow down, check what’s truly going on inside (i.e. what unconscious thoughts and feelings have gotten triggered – if you fail one thing and feel worthless, you may decide to stop at whatever you are doing to stop feeling worthless…but in reality you just failed a test, you aren’t worthless, that’s something you made up), empty their mind and let their intuition guide them. Nor do they realize that it may take a few attempts before the discomfort disappears and they are sailing full speed ahead.

Have you ever heard any of your friends (well, maybe men don’t talk like this, no clue, but women talk sex) say: “OMG I have been dating this guy for about three weeks now, I really like him, he totally turns me on in every way and then we had sex for the first time yesterday and it was appalling, so I can’t wait to do it again and again, until we become orgasmic sexperts!!! I’m so excited!” Or “We’ve been in a four year relationship, things are starting to slow down a bit, you know. Get a bit routine, boring. I’m soooo excited because this is just the wake up call I needed to add some spice both into my life AND the relationship.” Didn’t hear that? Me neither. Nor have I heard of many people going on a bad first date and being excited about giving it a second go. Especially not myself. I’m the one date queen. What’s more, I haven’t really heard of many people having first time sex, or going on a first date thinking they weren’t excited, anxious, or wanting to impress, but rather totally grounded and intuitive, living their greatness. In other words: they weren’t really in the best state of mind for making decisions…but they probably made one, or two (I’ll see you again/I’ll have sex with you again OR I won’t see you again/I won’t have sex with you again).

I’m sure we have all encountered situations where it’s pretty damn obvious that we will, under no circumstance date, or have sex with someone again, or whatever it is we did (some mistakes you truly only wanna make once and sometimes you do truly know with your heart you don’t want it again), all I’m saying is: slow down, take your time, explore and use your intuition to make your decisions. And remember that learning to swim takes time and learning to bike even gives you bruises. Just like that great sex you had the other day…  (Have you ever had that awkward moment when someone asked you what a very awkward positioned bruise was all about? Mmmm, awkwardly great, aren’t they?)

Red hot…

A love story…

I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for this. Chapter two of my love story. I wrote the first chapter two years ago and I have, erm, been thinking about writing the next one for two years. I just never found the time and the inspiration at the same time (I made an attempt once that didn’t turn out too well, bloody awful if I remember it right). I find it truly marvellous how a story can live in your mind for two years. I can’t really believe it was two years ago though, but it was. It was around Easter and there were flowers in the Canyon, I was doing yoga there in the mornings…my darling LA…well, this story is from my heart, not from the city…but then, that city too, is in my heart…

The Journey, Chapter II

He played her like a violin. Soft, penetrating notes echoing in the first light of morning. Like dew they were crystal clear, the notes, as they flew through the skies, the echo softly fading into eternity. She could feel him. As he moved something moved within her.

He wasn’t there. He was away in travels. He hadn’t been there since they met. That first whirlwind couple of weeks when they got to know each other. He had already known her, as she had known him, as souls know each other, recognize each other, but they had to get to know each other on a day-to-day basis. He found out what hours during the morning she ground her spices. She found out what hours of day he spent rehearsing tricks for his shows. He watched her as she came up with recipes, baked…tasted new tastes as she created them. She watched him as he learnt to make something disappear only to reappear unexpectedly, or six juggling balls fly in endless patterns across the skies.

It was funny she thought, how she felt she knew him, without knowing a single thing about him. He kept surprising her with the small things he did. Whether he suddenly showed up with the perfect present at the most unexpected hour, or told a funny story to a stranger, there was always this element of surprise – of making things appear out of thin air (which he was very good at quite literally). Still, even if he told someone a story she had never heard before, or suddenly showed up with all the neighbors for a spur of the moment picnic, which no one in the town had thought to do for the last 100 years or so, she was certain that she knew him. Her soul knew his soul, as his soul knew hers. Whether they recognized each other because of centuries past, or because they were made of the same stuff…she didn’t know. It was as if their essence was the same, or completely complimentary. Yet, there was nothing complimentary about him loving coriander and she loving mint, him traveling and she having a bakery, him staying out late to perform and she waking early to bake, but it felt right. As if they shouldn’t be copies of each other. As if they were different, yet the same. Complimentary, she thought. They fit without having to fit.

It was a splendid dawn today, just as the day three months ago when he had entered her little cafe well before the rest of the town had stirred. When the air was still fresh and clean – desires, agonies, pains, hopes and passions, still sleeping. It was the purest hour of the day. It felt much the same as the tones of the violin – clear cutting and raw, beautiful and light, yet forceful and demanding.

He had entered at dawn. It was his colours, his aura, the feel of him…a man who was wide awake, making things happen. A man who preferred to rise whilst the rest of the world was still sleeping. Yet, he was a man of the night; an entertainer. As everyone know – people like to be entertained at night, when they have time for such indulgent pleasures and their minds let lose and their hearts play. He could sneak in the shadows and appear in the light, he was filled with contradictions like that.

As any good entertainer, he could make anyone feel at ease instantly. People were drawn to him and she imagined the women in his life must have been plenty, yet he was a loner. He was always there, present in the moment with people, open, warm…still she could see he didn’t feel connected to everyone. He was present to them, they touched him inside, as he touched them, but he wasn’t connected to them on every level. As if they were different from him. Few people could get to the core that she had imagined she had touched.

His exterior was so light, always jesting, but underneath was something else. He could spend hours thinking up a story, coming up with the deeper meaning, the sublime messages….then hiding them in word plays, tricks and jokes. He appeared light, but he had a depth she’d rarely seen before. He was a man who knew the truth and conveyed it in jest. He saw far beyond what eyes can see. He saw into people’s hearts and minds and slightly altered them during his performances. A true jester, an alchemist at heart. She knew that was the path of jesters in ancient history. Apparently some lived on.

It was hard to pin him down. Just as he could see through the facades of most men, straight into their hearts, it was hard to see straight into his. From all the people he had met he seemed to have picked something up…it was as if he was everyone, yet, he was so distinctively himself. And when he let go, when he wasn’t entertaining, or analyzing, when he was just him, without doing anything, he was beautiful.

She remembered one day….the sun just starting to move from the very top of the skies towards the horizon, his voice – that soft, deep melodic tone – floating effortlessly into the air around him, a smile covering his face. A small group of people had gathered around him, like colorful dots, as he stood on his red mat.

Given his audience that day was filled with children, he told them a fairy tale. The woman smiled, as she remembered the story – it had been about an Easter egg hunt.

He had told the children that in one town, a small town much like their own, only instead of always basking in sunlight, it was placed on the mist swept hillsides in what appeared to be a magical place, the tradition was that every year on Easter Sunday the adults would go out early in the morning to hide beautiful eggs for the children who turned ten that year. The eggs were large, made out of wood and beautifully painted in bright colors, gold and silver. Intricate patterns, sometimes even images making up stories, covered the eggs. They said the tradition was as old as the town itself and in fact you could buy these eggs all year round to bring with you back to your own town. The eggs were very expensive, the accomplishment of a long tradition of craftmanship. For the children though, the eggs were free and filled with wonderful toys and fantastical sweets and every child longed to turn ten, just so they could be the ones participating in the Easter egg hunt that year.

According to tales from the town it was said that if someone really needed something the spirit of Oestre, of dawn and new beginnings, would bring it as a gift and hide it within the egg. Most people didn’t believe in this tale though, as it was old and filled with superstition, but as tales go it was still told over and over again. It was as much part of the town as the cobblestones themselves.

One year during the traditional Easter egg hunt, a girl found an egg that was much smaller and uglier than all the other eggs and when she opened it inside was a small bag of seeds, a needle and one piece of chocolate. Nothing like the endless amount of sweets, toy trains, games and other beautiful toys the other children found.

The girl who had found the ugly egg felt very disappointed at first. This was something she had been looking forward to for years and something her friends had talked about for weeks now. Even the adults looked at her funnily as everyone swore that the egg hadn’t been placed by them and there was another egg, one like the ones the other kids had, that had gone missing. They believed someone was playing a trick on them, but they thought it must be a stranger as everyone in town at the time got along really well. As there was no other egg – every egg in town had been sold before Easter – the little girl had to make do with the one she found.

As all the other boys and girls were gathering around to show each other their eggs and eat their sweets the little girl felt angry, thinking it unfair she couldn’t do the same. The other children offered her sweets but it didn’t feel as nice eating them when she couldn’t offer any in return, or swap around for favorites, like the others did. Nor could she play with her new toys, as she didn’t have any. After sulking for a while, she gave up, simply because it was too boring to sit and be miserable and decided to go home. After all she thought, maybe there was something special with her egg? Maybe it was a magical somehow? She would have a closer look at it when she got home.

Once at home she opened the egg again and sat steering at the contents for a while, waiting for something to happen – magic is supposed to make things fly, or play music out of nothing, isn’t it? Nothing did happen though, so she decided to put the contents of the egg to use – there wasn’t much else she could do. She took the seeds and planted them in their garden and once she was done she sat down and had the piece of chocolate she had been given. The chocolate was truly delicious and as it was the only piece she got, she took her time and ate it very slowly, enjoying every bite. She thought the other children probably didn’t enjoy their sweets as much, because they ate so many in one go. When she got sweets in the future, she would take her time to enjoy each one. Once she had finished her chocolate she hurried inside to try the last thing in the egg – the needle. As she sat down with a piece of fabric, needle and thread in hand she immediately managed to prick herself with the needle. Not a great start to an enjoyable gift she thought, but she realized she didn’t actually know how to saw very well, so she took the needle and walked over to her neighbor, who happened to be a seamstress.

As it turned out the little girl really enjoyed sewing once she got the hang of it. It took hard work and a lot of patience, but as she started enjoying what she was doing she learnt fast and soon she was making dresses for her dolls and shortly thereafter clothes for both herself and her family.

That summer her father got very ill for a couple of months and as the family didn’t have much money the girl made some extra money from her sewing and was delighted to find that she now had a garden filled with vegetables they could eat. Later in life she became a very accomplished seamstress and made dresses that created happiness for all that wore them. So the little girl who got the smallest egg, after all got the largest treasure. And she learnt that things that are valuable continue to generate joy for years and magic truly is a gift you have to make happen yourself.

After ending the tale the jester magically pulled out an egg from various places to each one of the children, each egg containing her homemade sweets and a gift that could be used for many years to come, something that needed to be used to create something else. That way, he explained later, they would carry the magic with them. She had asked him how he knew what gift to give to each child, whether a set of paints, or a mini-carpenting kit. He had smiled when she asked him this. “I know a little bit,” he said, “but I do not know everything. I was hoping chance would play it to my favor. I prayed each gift I chose would be the right one, using my intuition if you so like, but life after all will happen as it chooses and we all have to deal with what comes. Sometimes a gift today can seem worthless, that in years to come becomes precious. Just as in the story I told.”

He smiled again as his mind seemed to wander. “My granddad had a flute, which he had never played for more than an hour in total his entire life. It had been a gift to him from his father in law, who, as an established musician, hoped that his new son would learn to play and carry the traditions of the family forward. As it were grandpa never really got used to producing his own music – he preferred listening to others, like his beautiful wife, whom used to sing to him. So the flute gathered dust in a corner of their house, until some 35 years later I found it and learned to play. Much thanks to grandma. To this day, that’s the flute I play. It’s made of some incredibly hard wood and seems to never wear out. Magical, really. It’s my favorite toy, my most precious belonging. Apart from you, of course.” He laughed and winked at her. “I don’t belong to you,” she objected. She could never get used to people talking about each other as belongings. She was a free spirit, not jailed to anyone, or anything. “No, but you are part of me. Sort of the same, don’t you think?”

She didn’t, but she knew what he meant. It was what she had been trying to explain to herself for the last couple of days as she felt him much stronger than before. As if the notes of his flute were playing within her, opening her to the sudden feeling that he was present in the room. She wondered if she was insane as at the same time as she knew she wasn’t. It was the same as she feeling exactly what someone needed to eat to alter their state of mind. It was knowing something that travelled through you, without you knowing exactly how, or why. It was a feeling, an impression – something as tangible as it was inexplicable.

She thought about the flute. Notes, playing her, caressing her…maybe life is like that she thought? Like a million melodies playing at the same time, some harmonizing with each other. Those where the people you felt you belonged to, were part of. Maybe the whole universe was made up of sounds, of notes echoing out into eternity, never really disappearing, just reappearing in another melody. And when you met melodies you harmonized with, you felt stronger, as two voices sing louder than one. You felt at home, understood – as if the spices finally matched up, creating the perfect harmony, the perfect cake. And maybe, just maybe, you heard the melody before it entered? You were drawn, as if by magic, to the people and the places that would harmonize with you?

She felt a wind swirling in from underneath the doors and the spices twirled up into her face. His spices. She looked up in wonder.

The doors opened. “Hi,” he said.

Some melodies enter our life for a little while. They belong to one verse. Others stay forever as they are part of our refrain, if not every verse. They suit a part of us, as we suit a part of them. We play together, sing together to find strength. Together we move mountains. Others are part of our entire melody, whether they play near you, or far away. As their notes echo out into eternity, they touch you, caress you, alert you, warn you, love you…they are always there for you. Their music grows stronger when they are closer in their minds and hearts, but the music never stops. As one, you will always play together, whether you know it or not. You are in this life together. Without each other you wouldn’t be. Yet, you may never meet each other. Your hands may never touch, your smiles never be recognized, but should you, you will know. On some level or another you will always hear the music.

THE END (…of Chapter II…)

To the notes I play with, the winds I fly with. You are me, my life and every verse of it.

Magic…

When the wind is blowing in the opposite direction…

Nothing’s ever perfect. I keep being reminded of the part in The Alchemist where the boy arrives in Africa and loses his money on the first night. He’s on a quest to get to Egypt and he has just lost all his savings, he can’t even return to Spain. He realizes he has a choice – he can either see it as a complete failure, or as the beginning of an even more daring adventure than he could ever have dreamed of. The boy chooses to see it as an adventure. He then proceeds to get a job polishing glass and he helps the shop owner by introducing serving tea to the customers. He spends years polishing glass. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, but we all have a choice: greet the sun with a smile in the morning, or proceed to look at the sun with envy as we ourselves hide in the shadows.

You can shift your mind about almost anything and you can choose to accept that your adventure is now. That doesn’t stop some things from being difficult to the point where you’re almost completely depleted. The point is, if you keep looking to the sun as part of you, sooner, rather than later, it will return.

Last fall was not a happy time for me. I had left what I felt were some of the most joyous, secure parts of my life – my two best friends, the city I loved and the first home I’d ever had that felt like a home – our gorgeous chalet in the Hollywood Hills. I no longer fell asleep watching the stars and the twinkling lights of Los Angeles. I no longer drove to Malibu in the weekends to jump through the waves. The sun that I so adored, seemed far, far away. There was one point when I was struggling at work (and given I work for my business partner, who is also the investor for my dream company, that was not easy), I had a rash from the cold and felt about as sexy as a burnt toast (I’m not made for winter, pointe blanc), I had found out some friends were potentially ill (and I don’t mean with the flu), I had absolutely no desire to date anyone, my social life was a mess as I was still new in town, my back was as my back is – aching and causing headaches, I felt drained, tired…I lost weight (not for lack of eating, but because my body was just drained), I looked like hell. I knew though, I knew that in LA I had been on top of my game, so there was a place inside where everything was well. It was just a matter of transforming that to the outside.

It took all my strength to turn things around, because let’s face it: when shit hits the fan it’s not like your energy levels are on top and you are ready to play the game of your life, but that’s exactly when you have to play the game of your life. That’s part of the adventure; the trials of the hero.

For me the most difficult part was probably worrying about a friend, but what completely drained me was work, because every day I’d make a new mistake, fret about my future and be completely exhausted by the end of it. It’s easy to say let go of your worries, but when nothing seems to be going your way and you feel like each day you get a new bucket of ice water thrown in your face and you’re not sure how to reach any of your goals, it doesn’t come across as all that easy. I was lucky. I had a fucking strong spiritual core that I kept returning to – a place of love – but whereas in LA that would take me five minutes to get to, here it could take me five hours and last for five seconds (great sex right there…).

Today when I look at my life I look at a smiling boss and business partner who has finally agreed the go-ahead of our company (I mean it was already incorporated, but that means very little without the dough) – once they find a replacement for me in his other company it’s go (well, part-time go…my salary from my company isn’t exactly erm, high). I look at my social life and I feel joy and peace. I look at working with a project that supports kids in London and South Africa and I feel like walking on clouds…a twelve year dream finally starting to materialize. I look at potential dates and I smile. I look at someone in the mirror who’s dancing and twirling forwards with dimples in her cheeks.

Today, you see at a woman who is living her dream, feeling sexier, sassier and happier than ever…but she was living her dream a couple of months ago too. It just wasn’t the pretty stuff…but it was the stuff that makes for a good story, a good adventure. And maybe it could have been different, maybe it could have been easier if I had been on a higher level of spirituality, or higher up the mountain, what have you, but we all start from somewhere and then we climb. I got furious at myself at times thinking I was making the same mistakes all over again, but clearly I hadn’t yet learnt how not to make them. You have to be nice to yourself.

What turns things around in life? In stories of great adventure it’s usually a dashing Prince, or Princess (or Jester, I stick by that one, LOL) isn’t it? Or it’s the ticket that flies in through the window and you realize that you are soon to be jetting off to Africa… Or it’s winning the lottery…or getting the dream job as if by magic.

In life I think the real turning point is love. It’s a place of love in your heart, where you allow for the magic to happen. It’s the desire to change things around, coming from that place and acting from that place. If you live in that space of free flow, of intuition and love…life does change bit, by bit, by bit. Sometimes over night, but often after many small steps of love. That doesn’t fool-proof you from storms, it just teaches you how to fly a bit better and a bit higher than before on a day-to-day basis.

So once again: love peeps. May it flow in abundance and may you have the strength to find it when life is rough and the dream of tomorrow seems far away. Even when you cry, may you love so that gates are opened for more love to enter, to heal you and move you to safe harbours.

You are always a heartbeat from anywhere: open your heart and be ready to fly when the right wind sweeps by…and it always will, you just have to have patience for it to come round and make the wind chimes chime…

A dragon, or a fierce lover??? You choose…

Today I’m going to talk about dragons and fairy tales, but bear (I always write bare…it’s the nature of the blog…baring ones soul, or else I just talk about sex too much, but I prefer the first explanation…) with me as there is a point and I haven’t just lost my head to a Prince Charming…

So about dragons: Sometimes I think the fairy tales about women in towers guarded by dragons are simply women guarded by their own dragon, trained to keep evil at bay, but by now mistaking everything for evil. Hence, only the man who silences the dragon wins the heart. Sadly if this is the case, anyone with force can enter. A real woman controls her own dragon – opening the gates to the man who will respect her heart and whose heart she respects. Of course any man wanting to enter will have to fight the dragon though, if so just for a while to prove himself worthy of the heart. Men sometimes get confused and start fighting for any heart they can’t have, so you have to make sure he’s really fighting for you. In other words: give him a run for his money.

We all have dragons in our heart in one way or another – they sit there moaning about the bad, fearing the good in case it isn’t good enough and generally trying to protect us from everything by warning us about one hundred and one different things at the same time. They are the what ifs and the watch outs and the buts (I could have that hot butt, but…). They distract us from everything and stop us from enjoying what could have been, had we allowed it.

It’s so easy to think what if? When you aren’t involved in something you think what if that would have been the solution? When you are involved in something you think what if things go wrong? And when things go wrong, because they always do to some extent, you have to know you really want to be there and happily work to sort it out. This is where many people get lost – they move from one thing to another, because as soon as they hit a wall, they leave. Or they simply never get involved enough in the first place to stay – they never allow themselves to love and let go, so they never feel a deep attachment and the glorious happiness that comes when you love like a fool. And “like a fool” simply because you have given up every reservation and completely dedicated your heart…only it feels more like you opened it and magic happened.

A healthy, happy person knows that if something crashes and burns, they will rise from the ashes. They are willing though, after looking at something with an open heart listening to the wisdom of the heart, to invest their all should the investment be wise. They know that they have the go ahead from their heart, not from an over excited state of mind, so they are at peace investing themselves.

When wise people immerse themselves in something, they do so without losing their head and their footing in the world. They are not a teenager in love, but they love as fiercely as a teenager would, with the heart and soul of an adult. They know things can go wrong and they will come out OK should that be the case, but their focus, once invested, is on the good and how to continuously build that.

To let go and fully enjoy something; to learn to build the positive aspects of whatever it is, is a true gift and it means that you fully embrace what you have. You start enjoying it. You start putting in a positive effort to make it even better. You get excited when there is a problem, because there will be a thrill solving it. Things may still go wrong to the point where you know it’s time to quit and hell, it’s 2012 – the whole world might go under, but to know if it could work, you have to give your all.

Commitment sounds boring. I think it sounds terribly boring in fact. To me it sounds much better to say: I have a dream. If you have a dream to set up a company, to have great loving passionate relationship, to build a house, to do whatever it is you want to do…then you have to give your all for it to work. You decide that’s what it is you are going to do, then you leave the reservations somewhere else and give your heart and soul to the project at hand. It will grow exponentially because all of you and all your love is invested in it. If you say you’re gonna give it a go and stir it with your pinkie whilst thinking about everything that could go wrong and all the other things you could be doing, all the other wo/men you could be shagging…it won’t have a chance. You will never feel the joy of it overtaking your heart. Of it building until it becomes the most fabulous thing. Of it making you extraordinarily happy.

It’s really quite weird, because to go for anything is a sacrifice, because you leave everything else, at the same time, without making that sacrifice you will never achieve the greatness of love.

For anything in your life to happen, unless it’s something you are forced into, you have to allow it. In fact, even if you are forced into something, it will never make you happy, unless your heart and soul accepts it. Sometimes, a bit of a force though, shocks the system and you open the gates involuntarily, but you can’t hope that someone will steal your heart, or force you to build your dream. If you want something, you tame your own dragon and get ready to fight all the other people’s dragons you will meet along the way. There’s a thrill in fighting for your dream, you just have to decide it’s worth the fight and be open enough to know when it’s time to quit, should it not be the right fight you’re fighting.

Go on gladiators….attack!!!!!

I think I choose the fierce lover over the dragon…don’t you?

About that kind of sex you like…

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.

- Rumi

I think this is so important I decided to dedicate a whole blog to it. What is that field? Where is it? I don’t know.

I believe in a sense that there is a right and wrong, as we all have our own interpretation of reality based on what we have been through and how our biological make-up looks. We like different smells, tastes, sounds and what have you. What feels right to you, may feel wrong to me. Does that make it right or wrong though or is there an ultimate truth beyond our senses? I believe in an ultimate truth, or I think I do…but I also appreciate individual experiences. An apple is an apple, but we experience it differently through our senses.

I once at a rather young age had the epiphany that what I had been taught looks like blue may not look like blue to others as we don’t know what it looks like to them. I know it’s blue because that’s what I’ve been told and all the blues are the same nuance, but for all that I know to you they may look like what I see when I see the color green (this may not scientifically be true as we may be able to know this somehow, but there might still be a slight difference in how we perceive colors). I.e. our senses may vary (the thing itself doesn’t vary…but maybe it does according to quantum physics???) and my epiphany wasn’t really about just the color blue, it was about all things perceived through our senses. If you think about it – many things to us are very different to what other animals perceive them as. Animals with good hearing can hear sounds that sound like silence to you.

I also believe there are some things that are wrong in the sense that they inflict harm on others. At the same time I believe there is no right and wrong for the same reason as we are individuals with a different sense of perceiving the world. Whereas I think it wrong to kill a man, a wolf will consider a man food and see it as right to kill the man, just as the hunter consider it right to kill a wolf.

And then, beyond all that, I think there is love and if you live attuned to that, that’s a place where all is allowed as all actions will spring from love and thereby serve the world at large. A place where there is no judgment, as all is good. Where the neighbors will not pick on what colors you choose to paint your walls in, or how you live your life in general, because that’s of no importance. The only thing of importance is you living in love. I believe it is this field that sprung to mind when I read the words – a society free of judgment of things that are of no importance. For me societal pressure, or “judgment,” has bugged me many times and still does. A society that I myself judge as many times being “wrong.”He who hath notsinned cast the first stone…

I guess for me, freedom would be to act in accordance with my heart and having everyone else act in accordance with their hearts, without judging each other.

When I hear the words by Rumi I simply imagine myself next to someone, on a field, exploring life. Where there is no right, or wrong, only truth, life, love and exploration…maybe even naked exploration…

The divine sexlife…

A bit of a pretentious headline mayhaps? But then again I guess I always saw the divine and everything else as one, or at least the possibility to experience the divine as part of life on Earth. Follow the divine in your heart and miracles will follow. That’s how I feel about it.

I also believe that the carnal enables the divine, rather than the opposite way around, if and only if, you are driven by love. We have been blessed by five very physical senses and those enable us to feel the pleasure of life on a carnal plane. I believe that’s divine.

If, on the other hand, carnal desires rule you, they will destroy your pleasure because it will be filled with guilt. If I eat chocolate because I love it, I will eat just enough to feel satisfied. If I eat it to suppress something else, I won’t enjoy it as something else is bugging me and the likelihood is that I will overeat and feel guilt as it isn’t serving my body, my temple on Earth. If I want sex and just sex it’s like having sex with only five of a hundred emotions possible, whereas if you look for the divine in sex and the person you are with, if there is love, so for a stranger, that’s very, very different. If you see the divine within it I mean.

Most of us are quite numb to love and the divine as we are busy surviving, our focus entirely on the plane of the carnal. Society teaches us a path that is often very harsh, very numbing. Life seems hard, unfair and very frightening. Moving forward together in love and light…well that sounds like a hippie phrase, not based in reality. Co-operation across the globe for a better tomorrow seems far fledged when people debate the size of cucumbers allowed across borders and shoot others because 2000 years ago there was a division of the land. People are brought up with a mentality that doesn’t necessarily focus on worshipping the divine in life and each other.

I came across this article today, which inspired this post. I didn’t really come across it. It was more like shoved in my face by my best friend. It’s about worshipping the divine in women, the feminine. Although you probably all know by now that I can’t stand the talk that the feminine is superior to the masculine, as we all have superior qualities and balance between the two is my personal theory of superiority (yin and yang), I do love this article. It’s a bit long and winding, but it has a few points, the main being that within a woman there is the sacred feminine. in her core. For a man to reach there, there are a few gates he has to pass through. He has to have the patience and the willingness to get there. In the same way I believe there is a way to the masculine divinity within a man.

I also believe the article touches upon another great point, namely that in each thing, each being, there is a teacher, or a source of wisdom, if you are only willing to learn. A tree will speak to me if I study it, as will a man. And I don’t mean speak in words, but by observing we will learn. We will learn what makes a tree strong. We will learn what makes a man strong. In the same way we will learn what will break a tree and what will break a man. Sometimes it’s good to be like the tree, sometimes it’s good to be like the man. And maybe, just maybe, if you listen to your own heart it will tell you the same tales through your sixth sense if you are open and loving. I believe love protects you and guides you.

To have the patience to enter the divine in each being, in each thing, is a blessing. It’s a blessing because you will discover a world of beauty and magic. It takes a lot of patience though. A lot of silent belief in each and everything. Personally, whether I am trying to get to know a dog, a child, or a man I just sit down and wait. I put myself in a state of calm and openness and I wait. Sooner or later most animals and humans sense the calm and they open up in a positive way. Sometimes this leads to telepathy as well as you become open to their feelings and thoughts, for better or worse you become a channel through which their energy passes.

Who a person is in their heart, unless they are very attuned with themselves and open, is not who they will act out at all times. This is why it takes time to get to the divine of a person – ideally it would be seen easily by all, because everyone would be living it.

And divine sex….uhm…welll, I think it is heart to heart, soul to soul, feeling love and compassion in your heart whilst making love. All gates open whilst making love and appreciating the sex and the feelings it brings to your body and to your partner. To feel thankful for the divine in the carnal.

 

 

Mmm…I’m thinking love…

I’m thinking love, I’m thinking Christmas. I’m thinking about true hospitality, kindness and love. I’m thinking about desires and what you do to fulfill others’. I’m thinking how easy it is to see and praise a sports car and how long it may take to discover someone’s genuine kindness. How great heroes are praised and small ones rarely seen. How we all affect each other. How each act of kindness changes someone’s life.

Every word we say, every act we do, every role we play makes an impact. If we know we have a choice, and many do…then we truly do have a choice. A choice to affect ourselves and those we meet positively.

We choose what we give to this world, every second, every day. Temporarily we will all suffer defeat. We will all run dry. We will have to find confidence, not in events, but in ourselves to find a fire that burns in the midst of darkness. We will have to satisfy our own desire for happiness, true, inner happiness, to find continuous strength. And when we have found love inside ourselves, we’ve found it all. When we give love, we give it all.

May you all be the heroes of tomorrow.

Merry Christmas!

May you find much love under the tree this year – a very merry Christmas to you all!!!

When I met you, I was naked…

I have met a few people this year. Some which passed by without a stir and some which have shocked me greatly. I believe though, above and beyond anything, I have shocked myself greatly, because I showed up naked at times and at other times I would have been happy to be naked. No my darlings, I did not show up in the nude. I was just bare to my soul and happy to be so. Much more tantalizing, don’t you think? Nudity is an over exploited part of Hollywood and I abuse it in my headlines…

So anyhow…in all my nakedness I met a lot of people. Now the fascinating thing is I met famous people, I met rich people, I met personal development gurus and I met, let’s say, rivals in love (although I don’t really think you can have rivals in love…love is what it is and will be what it already is….the rest is just confusion – ego, thoughts, behaviors…whatever….but you may have to sort out the ego, thoughts and behaviors…). And as I stood there naked to the core, sometimes shocked beyond belief, my thoughts were: “I’m happy to be me.”

That I was happy to be me is the really, really incredible bit. I did not want to become like them, even if they had things I desired. I wasn’t floored and awed either. Me, little me that usually gape at successful people in awe, was not floored. Nor did I want to suck up to them in any way. Because I was happy I was no longer desperate to have what they had – i.e. I had no need to suck up to them – if I was going to get it, it would be on my terms and if that wouldn’t work…then I’d rather be single, penniless and unknown. Of course, I rather think it’s up to me to change all that, but I don’t feel inferior without it, or like I need it to be happy. To me that’s massive because I have spent a lifetime sucking up to others, wanting their approval, or wanting what they had, thinking “it would make me happy.”

I guess it was the realization that people who I have always looked up to, may not be that happy after all. They may have succeeded in one way or another, but their interiors are still a mess. And I wouldn’t want to exchange my new-found happiness for any of that. Nor would I want anything that isn’t in harmony, or resonating with that.

I still want to find fame (i.e. outreach), fortune (to be able to realize various pursuits) and love (dah), but it will be on my terms….or well – all things are two, or more energies coming together to form a third, so there will be co-operation. I’m just no longer a slave to where I want to go in life, or what I want out of life. The difference is simple. Say I’m in love with a man. I love this man. I 100% wanna be with him, but what he offers me in the form of a relationship is not what I want – whether he wants an open relationship, isn’t prepared to be honest with me, or just isn’t that into me (or whatever, we all have different wants). Then I won’t have it. I doubt I will be in love with a man who doesn’t offer me roses if I’m offering myself roses because of resonance, but you get what I’m on about. Either we settle on terms that are good for all, or we both sort out our internal roses and then talk about it, or we don’t settle at all.

In the past I would have gotten frustrated if I didn’t get what I want, now I look to myself, because I believe in resonance. If life isn’t offering me what I want, then what is it I’m not giving myself? Love perhaps? I simply believe if you love yourself and your heart is open, what resonates with you will come to be – in life, in business, in love. And I’ve never been at that point before because when I want something I want something and I’ve sacrificed myself to get it which has led to disaster after disaster, because obviously it wasn’t right, it wasn’t resonating with me. As my friend says: “Learn to use your hands and you won’t be desperate for a man. If a man ain’t treating royal P like royal P, he ain’t gonna get royal P.” This makes me laugh till I cry, but she has a point…

When I want something I give all of me – believe me neither man, nor business opportunity will pass me by without me giving my all (and maybe for the first time I am giving my all, not just my energy and determination, because I’m fine with who I am so I don’t feel a need to protect myself…or well, there are a few areas left…), but that’s it. That’s all I can do. I can’t manipulate events in my favor. I don’t want to. I want what’s true to my core to be part of my life. The rest is not gonna make me one ounce happier anyway. That doesn’t mean I don’t get angry, frustrated, or upset when things don’t go my way -  I can swear and sometimes for a long time, but it means I return to my core, to my calm, to love and to letting things flow. I go back to me and look at if I have to let go of ego, thoughts and behaviors. And I feel calm because I have faith that if I set myself free and I love, it will all be fine. When the time is right, the right things will enter. And in the meantime I’m just jumping around naked, happy to be me. You should join me – it’s like being a toddler again – total freedom.