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

Success…up my ass, as usual…

I feel like I’ve had one big orgasm and just exploded. You know when you suddenly stand there naked, all gates open? Obviously it’s a metaphor, but you know what I mean, right? Like you are you again. And I am a traveller, an adventurer who would love to share my stories with the world and work with helping people. It’s really that simple.

To some I’m sure it sounds absolutely retarded to give into your idea of being who you are, because let’s face it: I didn’t say that I want to work my way up a corporation and get a two bedroom flat overlooking the Thames. I more like said I wanna pack my life into a bag and hit the wilderness accompanied by my camera and my MacBook. Not what everyone deems success, but as I always say: success up my ass. Happiness…now that’s something.

I’m thinking I want to head to Africa in fall and then probably back to LA, or wherever else fancy takes me. I tried. I really did try to come back to the UK, set up a company and settle down. All it’s led to is headaches. Severe headaches. I don’t think settling down is for me. I always said I’d bring my baby with me in the bush. I’d love a proper home somewhere and one firm base, but to be entirely tied down…I can’t imagine it. Know why I love the film industry? You move from project to project and you live in trailers half of the time. No clue of how to break into the film industry, but I’ll figure that out. Firstly I’m focusing on my writing.

Found two jobs today – one customer service thing and one writing articles. Both greatly underpaid, but both movable. As in I can do them from anywhere. It’s a start.

I have no idea what will happen to be honest – maybe I’ll find a project here that means I’ll stay longer, or I’ll head to LA first, or France, or the Bahamas, but I think the point is that I feel like I’m awake because I focus on finding solutions that enable me to do what I love. I love the things I’ve previously mentioned. Just the thought of getting on a plane and heading for adventure – I’m suddenly wide awake and all heart. I thought I needed to have a proper job to afford that lifestyle, but instead I think I will make it my lifestyle to work like that. It’s like the story of the man who met a fisherman:

A few years ago, a very rich businessman decides to take a vacation to a small tropical island in the South Pacific. He has worked hard all his life and has decided that now is the time to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He is excited about visiting the island because he’s heard that there is incredible fishing there. He loved fishing as a young boy, but hasn’t gone in years because he has been so busy working to save for his retirement.

So on the first day, he has his breakfast and heads to the beach. It’s around 9:30 am. There he spots a fisherman coming in with a large bucket full of fish!

How long did you fish for? he asks. The fisherman looks at the businessman with a wide grin across his face and explains that the fishes for about three hours every day. The businessman then asks him why he returned so quickly.

Don’t worry, says the fisherman, There’s still plenty of fish out there.

Dumbfounded, the businessman asks the fisherman why he didn’t continue catching more fish. The fisherman patiently explains that what he caught is all he needs. I’ll spend the rest of the day playing with my family, talking with my friends and maybe drinking a little wine. After that I’ll relax on the beach.”

Now the rich businessman figures he needs to teach this peasant fisherman a thing or two. So he explains to him that he should stay out all day and catch more fish. Then he could save up the extra money he makes and buy even bigger boats to catch even more fish. The he could keep reinvesting his profits in even more boats and hire many other fisherman to work for him. If he works really hard, in 20 or 30 years he’ll be a very rich man indeed.

The businessman feels pleased that he’s helped teach this simple fellow how to become rich. Then the fisherman looks at the businessman with a puzzled look on his face and asks what he’ll do after he becomes very rich.

The businessman responds quickly You can spend time with your family, talk with your friends, and maybe drink a little wine. Or you could just relax on the beach.

Of course I’m scared too…because I didn’t choose the path of so-called security, but I need to live. I really need to live. I just have to figure out the wisest way of doing so, so that I don’t compromise things, but rather grow, both as a person and as a writer, director, producer and moneymaker. I am very hot-headed and love throwing myself into things, but this time: one step at a time.

Actions: found two job prospects and was offered another. Was offered more than one actually, but that was because someone headhunted me and I didn’t want that job. Looked into some publishing criteria for Harlequin. For some reason I’ve always aspired to write one of those extremely cheesy novels, but hopefully with better taste. I mean it’s like so tempting to take the piss out of the whole thing.

Negative Thoughts: OMG. I’m really doing this – legs shaking. It’s OK not to make much money to start off with, but I still want a house and a family by the end of the day, so somehow I need to figure it out, or let my heart take me there too. My hands get worn out from typing. I know no one in Africa. Bound to change, but still. It’s kind of…nervwrecking…

Positive Thoughts: I just feel so happy and content. I feel like I’m myself again. Used to feel like this in LA. Free. Happy. Like me you know.

My favorite photo from work – Leda by Ralph Gibson

Between love and sex…

I just came home after a night out. Not a long night out, I merely popped out with some people after a mentorship meeting and it turned out to be a really nice place to have a dance in. As I was walking home later I was pondering love. I do that a lot. Ponder love I mean.

I came to the realization last year that true love to me is wanting to spend time with someone every single day (well, we all need breaks, but you know what I mean, like longing to share life with them) without emotional, or sexual, addiction. I believe in a soul and heart connection that is fostered through genuine friendship.

When I looked around in the club today I saw so many men that are adorable, or attractive in one way or another, but I had no urge to go flirt with them. If I don’t sense there is a real connection, I’m just not interested. Sometimes though you meet someone and they are so fucking nice and attractive and it would be so easy, so easy just to date them for a while just to get that emotional support, that sex, that nice hormonal kick that makes you float on a cloud for a while…but by the end of the day, what have you gained? Another fling going nowhere? Because you could do all the things you dream of doing with them, all those adventures and lovely chilled out times and…everything, but without that genuine, mind-blowing connection…what do you have? It’s like eating dessert when you want a main. And it’s not right on them either if they genuinely like you. On the other hand, if you don’t allow yourself to just go out and have some fun, do you ever just open? Do you let people in, or do you just miss out? And if you don’t do that sex kitten thing anymore, will they ever see you? Like will you catch their attention from just being you without any games, any tricks, or seduction? Can that wait until they already love you?

I guess I feel sometimes that my fences are too high. I mean, especially since I decided I’m not going to do flings anymore. So be it if it turns out that way, because it wasn’t what you thought it would be so it just ends as a fling. That’s fine. I just don’t want to enter into anything that doesn’t feel real. I want a husband, I want babies, but I want that with my soul mate, not a comfortable substitute that always leaves me longing for more. That’s I guess the thing that I was thinking tonight – you can go out with all these people and by the end of the day you’d still be very happy to go out with all the rest of them. You’d never stop shopping for more. If I’m with someone who doesn’t fulfill me completely I just go haywire and flirt with everybody. It’s like this intense desire to just go to town with flirting. There are few people who make me go so bananas that I want them and only them. And when it happens it’s like Heaven, only it’d be nice if for a change Heaven loved me back.

It’s funny. There are so many areas in my life where I know I have to keep growing to get to a place where I wanna be, but I’m still fairly confident about it. I might never get paid to direct a play, but I know how to do it and do it well. Do I know if I can find my soulmate though? Do I know if anyone will ever love me, whom I love? No. And sometime I just wanna cry, because I don’t know. I do believe of course that if I am in a loving, open space, whatever is will come to be. Whatever is true to my heart will happen. It’s just so funny though, because it’s almost as if to get to that place of surrender, I have to get to the point where I’m so confused I give up. Otherwise the logical brain just takes over and tries to make decisions for me. Decisions based on what shoes he’s wearing.

It’s funny – I was actually looking at people’s shoes today. I have a thing for shoes. Shortly after someone asked me why the hell women care about shoes so much (their own shoes that it is, because I just spotted a pair of outrageous boots in a magazine that I really liked). It didn’t hit me until now, but it’s funny because I was literally contemplating men’s sense of style and how it is just irritating if you don’t like it. You want to date someone you’re attracted to on all levels right and if his wardrobe doesn’t turn you on, it’s a bit of a shame. Then I thought I was a superficial bitch and gave up on it. But I do love when you see someone and their style is just mwah. Mwah, mwah, mwah.

I’m learning to live with the fact that I’m vulnerable. That I’m fucking petrified no one I love will ever love me. And that I actually want romance. I went by the park today and it reminded me of fields in summer…that high grass, flowers whisking about in the wind, sun that warms you till you feel completely open and filled with energy…and sharing that with someone who makes you laugh, someone you can be close to who doesn’t suffocate you, because you feel free when you are around them. Someone whom you connect with, are one with, yet completely free. Someone who lets you be you and enjoys that you. Someone you can play with. Be creative with.

Yeah, I long for that. I may as well say it out loud – Maria is longing for love. (And tomorrow she will be tearing her hair out about this post wondering why the hell it seemed like a good idea to post it at midnight the night before, because surely she is totally in control over her life and never worries about it. Ever.)

Mmm…yes. Love would be very nice. True love. The kind that lasts forever. The kind that gives meaning. The kind that adds beauty to each other’s lives. The kind that is a true soul connection between open hearts.

“The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” – Rumi

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…

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.

 

 

Sexy charity work…

No, I’m not talking about stuffing your partner’s stocking with sex toys, or lingerie, or a key to a hotel room somewhere, but there’s an idea for next year, or Valentine’s…nope, I’m talking another kind of sexy charity… 

 

It’s still the holiday season, the holiday cheer is still going strong and those of us fortunate enough to have a family we get along with (more or less) have probably been surrounded by love in various shapes and sizes, fed too much food and pondered about family affairs. And if you, like myself, are a traveller, you have probably sent messages to people all around the globe, sending your love and well wishes. Maybe we have, as many do, also been involved in charity, whether buying a Christmas gift that aids others, or spent time feeding the homeless, or simply made a new years resolution to work more with charity. Christmas is, after all, about the spirit of giving. Not the commercial affair it sometimes becomes.

 

Whilst pondering my own desire to work with street children and those less fortunate in general, which is a massive goal for my future, I happened to also ponder the meaning of true charity. Whereas I’ve always felt a calling to work with and for people (before switching to filmmaker I wanted to become a doctor of medicine to go work in Africa, then it switched to having a boarding school in Africa once I got my mind set on filmmaking), sometimes I forget to be charitable to the people in my own life.

 

Being charitable to those around us is not always as easy. For starters they are unlikely to be starving, or close to death for most of it. They aren’t the helpless kid in Africa that all your instincts tell you to look after. They are grown people, filled with quirks, miseries, happy moments and hideous habits. We may admire them for some traits, loathe them for others and more than anything: have to put up with them through it all.

 

To be charitable to those around us is, in a sense, as great an achievement as being charitable to those unknown, starving faces in countries far, far away. Whereas our friends and family may have the bare essentials they, as much as anyone, need your love and support. All the little indifferences you have are not all that important in the end, but often they get in the way.

 

It may take up a couple of extra minutes of your day to send a message to someone in your life. To pop by for tea. To send an unexpected gift. It may take a bit more effort to let go of disagreements and other hick-ups in our relationships, so as to allow them to grow. Often we disagree with people simply because our idea of what will make them, us, or the world happier is not the same and it’s easy to get stuck arguing about these things (anyone else tried being a teenager?). At other times we feel pressurized to live up to our expectations of us, or fearful that they wouldn’t love us if they truly knew what was going on inside. And sometimes we are plain pissed off because we feel they don’t care enough about us, whether because of the way they are, or because they just can’t be fucked.

 

We often talk about charity and peace for the world, especially at Christmas, and I think that’s the perfect time to start being charitable and find peace in our own relationships.

 

Love is not for perfect days and perfect people. Love is for all of us. Usually it makes a big difference in someone’s life as well if they receive it. Love transforms. The most stagnant relationships come alive if we step away from whatever is and start pouring in love….and even if one relationship doesn’t change, the day you start pouring love into everything, surely your life will and that of many around you.

 

Love is magical and as true a charity as anything money can buy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pleasure in all its measure…

As I was walking home just now something hit me. To be precise it was a drop of water. Cold, it splashed against my skin. The sensation was so unexpected, the tingling on my forehead so intense, that I couldn’t help but giggle. It was like life was playing with me in the same manner I would play with an unsuspecting friend, walking next to me.

Life is so filled with sensations, small and large – from the tiniest raindrop to the most enormous wave….personally I believe in still being three years old and seeing everything with very big eyes, feeling it out and allowing it to tickle my imagination and set my senses on fire. I believe in playing with it. I love running into the water and have big waves push me over, I love dancing in the streets and balancing on fences, I love running barefoot through fields covered in dew and catching the first rays of morning. I love the sensation of water against my skin and when a salt breeze from the ocean tickles my nose. I love using my body in a most beautiful dance. I love the coolness of a snowflake and the heat of a fire. I love life.

I just adore the playfulness of Mother Nature, I mean she even invented sex…

You gotta play with it…

Lovemaking should truly burn like chili in your heart…anything less and you aren’t living…

My whole life I’ve tried to be strong, which makes you weak. When you are weak and realize your strength, is when true power rules. All you have to do is relax and allow your natural strength to glow.

It was a beautiful morning – the sun was shining, I had my lunch packed, I was on time, I was wearing nice clothes. I was tired, as October was a long month, but I was calm, smiling with the rays of the sun. On the first bus I was sitting down, thinking about blog posts, not quite finding a topic worth blogging about. The second bus was too full for me to sit, so I stood. The bus driver started the bus as people were still finding their spots and then hit the brakes. I thought some unkind thoughts about London bus drivers. Then he started off again and 30 seconds later, or so, hit the brakes full on, resulting in kids and some adults flying out of their seats and pretty much everyone standing up falling over, landing on top of each other, faces smeared with panic. I could feel the pressure of moving bodies against me and my only thoughts were that I had to remain standing, but knowing if the pressure would intensify, I would fall and this could be the end – I didn’t yet know if we were going to crash into something.

Somehow I didn’t fall and we didn’t crash into anything else. I became aware that I had injured my arm, but not badly. People were helping each other up, limping, kids were crying, someone upstairs was bleeding, I was trying to get out-of-the-way to give people space to stand up. The bus driver, didn’t get out of his seat. When he saw that most people were upright again, he just drove. As he started driving again and mothers were complaining and mumbling to their kids to be brave, I felt tears welling up inside.

This month I’ve had two friends being diagnosed with various things and due to work being hectic I have just kept running, being stressed about my career as well. I haven’t been too good at looking after myself, as I have prioritized other things. Yesterday a cab driver told me I looked upset and had I had a bad day? I was quite surprised because I thought I was having a good day and almost told him “No, so far, I haven’t heard of anyone being in mortal danger today,” with the usual humor I apply to life – you gotta laugh, even when you’re crying. Of course I realize though that the last month has made traces on my face. I don’t exactly look my best and I am tired, missing the Cali sunshine and beauty, which used to invigorate me, as well as our house – having a home that felt like home. Today, as I was fearing for my own life for a few seconds, I think it all hit me – I no longer had the strength to fight it. It was like a dam broke and I just couldn’t stop crying – like the shock about my friends finally hit me. I went to the office and I just cried. Hell, I’m still crying.

For the first time in my life I’m allowing others to see my pain, confusion, whatever it is. Maybe because I’m not unhappy as such anymore, or maybe because I’ve learnt that the only way to deal with emotions is to face them. As I was in the office, finally having calmed down, my co-worker came in and asked me what was up and as I tried to utter the words I just burst out crying and couldn’t speak. I felt like a right fool, but there is nothing foolish about being in shock, or feeling some pain. If I stay feeling sorry for myself forever, then yes, very foolish. If nothing else for wasting my own life, but also for becoming a burden on others and wasting theirs.

Before I would run and hide, feeling like a failure, feeling weak if I showed any other emotions than joy and happiness. Now, I try to open up. I try to call people and ask to talk, to get support. I was always clamped up, wanting to be perfect, feeling lonely and angry, when I was younger. Now I know I will be fine, but I would be happy to get a hug and if I don’t ask for it, no one will guess I want it. There is nothing weak about asking for a hug, so long as you don’t put your entire life in other people’s hands. You have to find the love in you, but some extra coming your way is sometimes very helpful. I’m basically learning to show emotions, without leaning my life on others.

The people who cause the most havoc are the ones that are broken that pretend they aren’t and living their egos out loud. They aren’t healing, they are digging their wounds deeper, causing anger and pain inside, and those wounds will at some stage affect others. They pretend they can take on the world, when in fact they can’t handle themselves alone without distraction for an hour. They will mess up relationships and cause unhappiness, mainly for themselves but sometimes also for others. Some become alcoholics, shopoholics, sexoholics, workoholics…the list goes on. The difference between enjoying something and using something as a drug is that if you use it as a drug you do it to try to forget something else. Personally I used to get lost in work, art and beauty, but as I was pointing out the beauty and magic of life to everyone else, I still felt empty and lonely inside, because I was so clamped up, always fighting my own emotions. Not until about 2 years ago did I start to truly live the magic myself and maybe in the last month I’ve learnt to live it a bit more.

Right now I’m hurting, apart from my head, my hand and my arm that are all throbbing, I’m hurting. I’m petrified. I’m decidedly confused. But I don’t feel like I used to feel when I was younger. I’m not unhappy. In a weird sense I am very happy, because my core is happy and I feel like I awoke today – like the true beauty of life is not just there in front of me, but in me and I can finally feel it. I’m no longer a spectator in life, instead I’m living life, because I’m open. Things will come and go and I will be as open as humanly possible to the good things and allow the bad things to blow straight through me. Non-attachment as they say, but unlike I used to think it’s not about numbing yourself, it’s about opening yourself.

Today, after all this had happened, somewhere in between naps to try to heal my banging head, someone told me a love story and I felt my heart expanding, as I got all happy for this person. Life will keep moving, storms will come, storms will go and if you are lucky they will break you open, but in the end it all comes back to love.

I’m here, I’m alive. I will continue to use my imagination to make life a little bit sexier, a little bit more playful than the ordinary, continue to live my passions. I can feel love burning like chili in my heart. And whatever happens, I will live with love in my heart till the day I die.

My promise to my best friend, we tend to do monthly challenges: Hey, so here’s the November challenge pour moi: I’m going to do as much of what I love as I can, I will indulge in every moment, live with passion and zest, love you, myself and everyone else as much as is humanly possible (and some extra for the ghosts ;.) Whenever I go off on one I will think of cardamom and cinnamon, homebaked applepie and Doevington. And I will pray for love, peace and understanding. Oh, and whenever I am scared of something I will run right up to it and pinch it in the nose ;.) I think that sums it up – the P90sex, raw foods and everything else I will do as well. Loooooooooooove

The unusual life of a Swedish blonde…

Fall is approaching. It’s undeniable. I went out the other night in a short dress and swore rather loudly…in my mind. As I ran through the night, late, as always, I couldn’t help but feeling refreshed though. There is something about the cold that awakens you, refreshes you and the smell of burning wood that was filling the night air, made me feel very much at home.

View from our livingroom in LA…

In LA where I used to live, up in the Hollywood Hills, the fog often drifted in, thick and somehow magical, making you forget that the rest of Los Angeles really existed. You saw the dim lights, but they seemed so far, far away. The ocean was no longer visible – you were lucky if you could see the neighbor’s house. And where I was, in hippie canyon (Laurel Canyon) fires were always burning, always making you feel right at home. It was a magical little hill top. I knew I was going to leave though. I knew it the moment a British bloke entered our house on New Year’s Eve. “Right,” I thought “Britain is back.” And as I tried getting a paper plate filled with cake off his ass, I couldn’t help but ponder the irony. The irony of going back to the town I once left. Of wanting to go back to what I wanted to leave.

Fog drifting in…

I’m holding onto the lingering moments of summer, just as I was holding onto the lingering moments of LA. I soak up the sun, I sniff the flowers, but I know, in my heart, that summer is gone. There is nothing I can do about it. I feel as helpless as when I realised it was time to return home to Europe. Still, there is something magical about that sensation of foreboding. When you just know something is about to happen. It’s like standing in front of a man knowing you are about to fall, but it hasn’t happened quite yet. Your knees haven’t buckled, there is only a slight tremor and your heart gets filled with excitement, with fear, with hope, with joy…

I always used to dread fall. Only after two years in LA can I appreciate it. Mainly because I decided I was going to indulge. I was going to feel, to experience everything handed on my plate and make the most of it. As Rumi said – I was going to dance with it. In every moment, there is magic. For me it is often related to nature, to purity, to feeling, but we all have different things we ascribe as magical. As fall enters I’m getting more and more into my apple crumbles, I’m contemplating mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. Candle light and the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Always vanilla. It’s my favorite perfume.

Plum pie…

I associate all the treats of fall and winter to be those you share with others – of coziness and friendship, love and warmth. I think I’m obsessed with spoiling people; looking after people. That and performance, magic, mystery, witchcraft, pure indulgence and a naughty sense of play. Nothing gets me going quite like tales of lust and wonder, of tarot cards and wizards, of nature and traveling theaters. I’m like a gypsy with a flair for cooking and theatre. And soon I’m getting my cats. Now I only lack a kettle and a wand…watch out there will be real magic in the air… LOL!

Getting cozy…

Maybe one day I’ll have my house in France that I’ve always dreamt of – an herbal garden, a nearby chateau I run like a retreat, kids running around my feet, a gorgeous husband, time to travel, time to perform, to paint, to make movies…to make magic…but at least I live on Mary Poppins street in a Victorian mansion now, with a magical, ivy clad garden, soon two cats, the most gorgeous friends I could wish for, two companies almost up and running and I spend my spare time writing my stories, painting my canvases, abusing my cameras, preparing to set up a play and baking chocolate cake…life is good…and soon there will be mulled wine…

(And if you really want to find out about Sweden and all our sex-o-holic ideas and funky quirks, you will have to read I’m Swedish, blonde and in your bed??!?!?)