Category Archives: Story

Maybe that night we make love till morning…

Sometimes we feel small and insignificant. Much like a tiny girl, walking up a massive mountain. We aren’t quite sure of where we are, or where we will end up. We have an idea of where we want to go – to the top – but the path is winding and we can’t always see the top – there is fog, trees and sometimes fires blocking the sight.

There are nights, when we are curled up by the fire watching a starry sky, and we feel calm and serene, and the path we are walking feels like the loveliest thing ever. Our muscles are tired after a day’s worth of climbing, in fact we are feeling tired through and through, but a good tired – we lived. We lived to the full and we are still buzzing, still filled with life and life force. We are almost giddy with excitement of all the wonders we have seen and are yet to see. Our eyes are still glazed with the beauty of butterflies catching the morning breeze underneath their wings, or the glorious sight of rainbows and waterfalls. Maybe a sudden thunderstorm filled us with power, with lust and then a gentle drizzle calmed our spirits shortly after, only to be followed by sunshine that made us laugh.

We may be sharing our camp fire with some exhilarating stranger we have met whose faces tell tales of faraway countries and adventures more fearful, more wild than we could ever imagine…or maybe adventures so sweet and lustful we can only dream of….and maybe, maybe one day achieve. Or maybe we are sharing the fire with gorgeous loved ones who are accompanying us on our journey and feel as familiar as our favorite spice.

Maybe the night is filled with laughter and excited whispers and tender words. Maybe children are playing and grown-ups smiling. And maybe, long after the kids have gone to bed, everyone is sharing tales that make our heart sing. Maybe we have found a boy whose eyes are sparkling in the moonlight and seemingly reflecting not just the moon, but our own soul, making us feel understood. Maybe for that moment it all makes sense – the search, the climb, the path that we are now on. Maybe that night we make love till  the morning.

At other times we are utterly lost – it’s raining, our knees are aching, we can’t see the top of the mountain – we are walking upwards, but we have no idea if we will ever reach the top, or at least find enough treasure to buy a fire that is always burning, a bottle that is always full, a bed that is always protected and love that is always tender. We are fearful, tired and soaked to our bones. We seek the light in our soul, the inner warmth, the love we know is hidden there, but the fear is overwhelming and the panic seemingly real as the night closes in on us and we shiver.

We  think about friends we have lost, lovers that crossed our path. We think about the chances we never took and those we should never have taken. We think about our own death and wonder where we will be then? Will we have reached the top? Or will we still be fearful and lonely?

We try to fight it, to be strong, but we only get angrier and angrier with ourselves when we do – because we are meant to be strong, right? We are meant to conquer the rain and walk with joy in our heart. We are meant to have learnt enough to find our way by the stars. We aren’t supposed to be lost, or lonely, or tired, or hungry. We are supposed to know better, be better.

Then, we give up. We remember what being truly tiny meant – what it was like being a child. When the world felt large and scary and we jumped up into our parents, or siblings laps and cried, or were just held tight. We were stil told that we were beautiful, that we were loved. No one gave up on us because we slipped and fell. They just hugged us better. We remember that it was OK then. OK to be lost and frightened and sooner, or later we found our way – whether by ourselves, or with the help of others. We felt tiny back then too. We felt scared back then too. But we weren’t angry with ourselves. We just were. We just allowed ourselves to be and somehow, somewhere, we always found the love we needed to find, the light to lit up the deepest night.

Then we take a moment to rest. We sink down, our back towards a cold fir-tree. The cold, suddenly intense against our back, awakens us. We look around. We see a tiny hare, followed by another tiny hare, looking out at us from underneath the bushes. We slowly reach out our hand. We are in desolate parts where man rarely walks and the hares have not yet learnt to fear us. We slowly look at them, as they are looking at us. In their eyes we see our own fear and trepidation reflected. We see curiosity and hope. We see warmth and love.

One of the hares slowly, slowly moves over, seeing whether to trust us. And then, with a final jump it is by our hand, sniffing it. Its nose feels warm against our cold skin. It keeps sniffing around, then suddenly jumps up, into our lap, and looks at us with big eyes. The other hare now follows, carefully, but bravely, seeing the success of its fellow friend. And then, you have them both in your lap, sharing their warmth, their lives with you.

Everywhere the rain is drizzling, turning the wood into a hazy, almost surreal place. The raindrops glisten in the final hour of dusk and the sun is making one last effort to shine through, turning everything golden. You feel a little warmth from it against your skin and the hares’ body heat radiating through your clothes, into your stiff, frozen bones. For a moment you are sharing your life with two other creatures, like yourself, trying to stay warm, find food, love and happiness. You are helping each other, understanding one another. Suddenly life has conquered and you once again feel calm – inside a new dawn has awoken.

You feel fresh. Every part of you has been shaken – you have been lost and you are still lost, but inside you have found the light. You know that as night comes rolling in you will eat some food that strengthen your body and find peace in your dreams. You will then awaken with the sun and move towards new horizons. Maybe with some furry friends by your side.

It is impossible to know if we will ever reach the top of any mountain. Life is an adventure and as such, we know that there will be struggle, there will be loss, but what will always save us is our own life force, our own love of that which surrounds us, that which we do and those whom we love, including ourselves.

We will continue to get lost and we will continue to get found. Storms will shake us and events move us. We will lose what we have found and move on to find love in unexpected places.

The best we can do is find our own heart, our own peace. We can never know what storm is coming next, or how far we will get the next day. We can only continue to move with a purpose in our heart, which gives meaning to our journey. We can continue to build love in our heart, which will strengthen us and keep us calm in the eye of the storm. We can surround ourselves by love, by doing what we love and taking time to build friendships with those we love, or those we think we will come to love. We can give of what we have, as well as our gifts, our talents, and share our lives with others.

We can love and with love always comes a treasure.

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Filed under Fairytale, Fear, Freedom, Friendship, Goals, Heart, Inspiration, Joy, Life, Love, Magic, Motivation, People, Personal Development, Psychology, Self, Self-help, Spirituality, Stories, Story, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing

An old boyfriend in my closet…

I just remembered something…for a blonde that’s extraordinary, right?! Well, what I remembered was that I once wrote to Izzie Darling (fab blogger!!!) that I was going to tell a story about a candle, but then I never did tell the story about the candle. So hey…here we go.

An almost burnt-down lit candle on a candle ho...

Mmm...

 

I once walked into a shop in Long Beach and as any sane person would do I started sniffing the candles…because you know, they hopefully provide surprisingly nice scent. As I was sniffing along I suddenly came across a candle that smelled like…well, note this one down ladies…an old boyfriend. I can’t really explain it better than that. It smelled like a man. A man you once liked. Not a certain man…just like a man. Old boyfriend. The smell, for some non-understandable reason (men don’t make sense), was very…addictive. I wanted that candle. Badly.

So, a tad sheepishly, hoping no one could read my thoughts I took the candle to the cashier to pay. The cashier smiled, sniffed the candle and laughed. “You know, doesn’t this smell like an old boyfriend or something?” The other cashier agreed. I lost my ability to speak properly. I vaguely smiled and croaked “Really?!!” I mean you can’t possibly confess to something like that AND be the one buying the candle.

So now, clearly, as always, my confession stays safe and well hidden on the world wide web…fab place to keep secrets, don’t you think???…

(…ahh, I knew you want the brand name…it’s Archipelago Botanicals, and Côtes Du Rhône is the enchanting scent…)

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Another love story to tantalize your taste buds…

Avignon, France

As you may know I wrote a love story last year. In my mind the story continued and there were chapters I wanted to add, stories I wanted to write. Yet, the time never seemed right. I never managed to just…write. Until today. Today the “pen” once again got hold of the “paper” and the words flowed. You see, I never feel like I write until I edit. Sometimes it can be challenging, but if I feel like I have to force the words out, the words are not the right ones. I’m not in the right mindset to write. Today the words came. So here’s the story…a part of the story…enjoy! (P.S. If you didn’t read the first part, this won’t make much sense…go here to read it…)

The Journey

Chapter Two

The night sky melted away to leave room for dawn – the first streaks of husky peach appeared, then golden lines glowing in the still dusky gray morning. It was as if a little kid was licking a pot of chocolate, she thought, showing more and more of the shining red pot underneath the chocolate, but then she was bound to think about food… One streak at a time the colors underneath revealed themselves in a beautiful symphony. She thought about the jester. It was his colors, the dawn…this inexplicable symphony of life. So easy, yet so hard to comprehend. She sighed.

She was standing in her kitchen in the shop, getting it ready for the day ahead. The kitchen, in fact, was partly open so that customers could see what she was doing. Only the wood fired oven and the sink with a wall behind it were blocking the view in the far corner. It was a place she felt so comfortable in. It was who she was. She had designed every inch of it, from the stone oven to the cupboards. It looked as homemade as, well, as it was. Even the wood had been cut directly from tree trunks, leaving the shelves that were surrounding her with uneven edges – smoothly they followed the shape that the tree once had. The shelves still had the warm scent of wood, which blended nicely with the smell of the fire and the spices.

It was a magical kitchen filled with light and warmth, not to mention hundreds of herbs and spices that added color and a certain sense of mysticism…although of course there was nothing mystical about them. They were nature’s extended hand. It always surprised her that not more people cared to learn about them. Almost every plant, if used correctly, could bring something amazing to the human body and mind. To her getting to know each plant and its properties was always a unique experience. She felt thankful that this planet was providing her with everything she would ever need and for each herb she picked she said her thanks. After all she picked a life out of the ground to eat it. A life, which had taken time to grow, a life so beautifully provided for her.

Behind her was also a drapery, covering the door frame leading to the stairs that would take you up to her apartment above. The drapery was made of different fabrics and shone in some of the most amazing colors. Her mother always used to say she dressed and decorated like a gypsy.

If she climbed those stairs now they would lead her to the jester. He was probably getting dressed, getting ready for the day ahead. He too enjoyed the first moments of the day. He had told her that when everyone else was asleep he had peace to think about himself and his own life. He could also  focus better and therefore practice a really advanced magical trick, or juggling. It was the very same reason she got up before dawn. She smiled. It did indeed seem like they spoke the same language. As if they operated according to the same manual, yet with widely different lives.

He was sleeping in her house and because of it there was a different smell in the house, a different energy radiating everywhere, yet she felt the last couple of days as if she had arrived home. She laughed. She had been at home for a lifetime. She had always known in her heart what she wanted to do; what her gifts were. When others had asked what she would do if she could do anything her answer had, for as long as she could remember, been the same: I’m already doing it. In her heart she knew she was aligned with who she was. And this little town was her home. Of course she had traveled to see, to learn and to find answers, but always to return…home. The feeling of home she felt inside now though was different.

Her mind floated away as she took out her cakes from the cold cupboard where they had rested over night, put them in the oven and started grinding spices to sprinkle on top. Different blends for different people. Soft vanilla and cinnamon for those in need of warmth. Sweet chili and mandarin for those in need of spice. Soothing cardamom and lavender for those in need of calm. The combinations were endless.

There were other men she had shared good times with, hard times with and glorious moments with. Yet, even though she had met hundreds and hundreds of people passing through her little bakery and felt unique connections with so many of them, sympathy for others and a heartfelt love for some, she had never before felt at home with them. They were exciting. They all had gifts to share, stories she would could learn from. Things that made her laugh for hours, or cry, or just feel happy, or excited…yet none of them had understood her. Bits of her, but not all of her. And for the first time in her life she felt that her whole heart was open to someone. As if…as if she could truly be together with someone, not just next to someone. As if they could share a moment to which they were both present and both understood. As if she wasn’t alone.

It was liberating being able to play with someone who understands the game you are playing. Not just the rules, but the intentions behind it and the emotions going through you whilst playing it. It was a special feeling.

She put down a jar of herbs on the work bench and picked out a bunch of dried leaves. This specific herb reminded her of a specific man…

Once upon a blue moon there had been a man she had fallen madly in love with. In fact, whereas the jester had entered her life at dawn, this man had entered her life during a full moon, around midnight. Like the jester he was a traveler, a sailor. So different from her… She was small and slender, he was tall and rough. His weather worn face told tales one could not easily forget. His blue eyes, always squinting in the sunlight, glittered like waves in the ocean.,,,dark and mesmerizing. His hands were calloused, his skin tanned and scarred in places. His whole being exuded strength and power, but also warmth. He had been a man of nature; of seeing things for what they were in the natural world. He could navigate by the stars and survive storms out at sea. This, to her, was very attractive. Yet, he had only seen the obvious. He could only see that which was material, real. For her the world consisted both of the physical matter you could see and feel and the matter which you could only sense. She had always known what others were thinking. He could not phantom this. Although she knew that her mind could travel too much and be too unstable, his robustness, if refreshing and lovely as a counteractive force, crushed her at times. They were, in a sense, mysteries to one another. They understood each other on one level, but they did not see things in the same light.

It had been a nice experience. He had grounded her. Moved her with his somewhat brutal force. It had been plus meeting minus and the whole affair had been explosive. As most explosions it had also been memorable. Something which moves you that greatly is often hard to forget.

The jester was not like the sailor, even though they had traits in common. The jester, although he was different from her in so many ways, in the core center of his heart, seemed the same. As if they had been made of the same piece of clay. Of course everyone is…if you think about it. Yet, with the sailor it has been as if he was made of the clay from the north pole and she of the clay from the south pole. An instant attraction. Like fire meeting dynamite – something happens. Something significant at that. However, explosions are…explosive. With the jester on the other hand it was as if they both had a plus and a minus within them, but they were made from clay from the same region of the world. They fit. They blended together. There were still sparks, but no fire.

She loved him, in a way, because she could feel him within her heart. She didn’t know him yet. She didn’t know the things that would move her, drive her insane with lust or make her want to close the door and be left to her own devices…if so only for a moment. It was a bizarre feeling, but she knew she could share life with him. That’s why she felt at home. And his scent…that of musky spices with some exotic twang has a deliriously calming effect on her spirits. She didn’t know how it could make her delirious and calm at the same time, but it did.

The sky was now a fiery orange. The day was breaking and the birds had started chirping away. Soon there would be footsteps on the pavement and old Mme. Legrand would pop by for her morning tea. Sweet, but not too sweet. Mme. Legrand didn’t know it, but she would need something light to take away the heaviness that often hung within her. Young Monsieur Marseille would then casually walk in and demand his espresso and croissant. What he didn’t know was that behind his slick exterior he needed comfort and joy to feel more confident in his ways. Her flower scented water would do just the thing. She smiled to herself – she had a whole town to look after.

The jester would probably soon be practicing his tricks in the alleyways and attract random children and curios passersby as his audience. His green blue eyes would be glittering with joy as he would bring his audience smiles, laughter and some poignant truths. His light brown hair would be tousled as he’d run his hand through it too many times. Yes, she did love that man in some way…maybe because of what he brought to others and his understanding of them. He was an entertainer, an entertainer of the heart.

…To Be Cont…

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The wind is blowing…

They come like whirlwinds, or breezes at night. They sneak in, or they arrive with a storm. Some twirl around for a while, creating patterns, or disruptions. Others gently stroke one’s skin with tenderness. It happens they stay for an hour, a day, a year, or a lifetime. Whatever their role, you find out as you go along…twirl along.

With the years I’ve come to expect the disruptions, the tenderness, the patterns and the storms…when the wind blows and the bell chimes I know that there will be change, I just don’t know which kind.

When I was younger I always thought that the change would be the best ever. That this time it was “It.” The wind would stay, it wouldn’t suddenly move away, or cause havoc. Now I only expect change. One kind, or another.

I’ve learnt that some winds just don’t move in the same direction. You have to follow your heart, they have to follow theirs. When the hearts speak the same language, that’s when you can actually talk…fly together in a dance.

I’ve never been able to predict the winds, yet they have been very predictable because of the ways I’m blowing myself…always moving, always changing, always craving more, better, higher… Only when I’m constantly striving do I feel satisfied. Constantly moving along.

The most surprising thing is that it’s not the winds one think one will, that one ends up remembering. It’s the most unlikely of winds that actually made you change direction…change course and left an imprint on your heart…

It takes a lot of courage to fully engage with a wind, because you never know where it will take you…in which direction it will blow you…but when you let yourself go entirely you are swept off your feet in the most marvelous adventure. You experience yourself through them, with them, and you see life in a different way. You get a new pair of eyes to lend you their sights.

I love it when they sort of whistle your name, because they are so you…the pure sight of them makes you dance and twirl and…fly. Fly so high and so fast and so wonderfully deliriously exhilaratingly crazy. They are the rough, unexpected winds that leave you smiling for a long time after…or forever dancing…

Ride like the Wind

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Love and my gran’s clogs…

Chanel

Image via Wikipedia

Yeah, I know…the headline doesn’t start with “Let’s do the doggie, do, do, dah-dam tralalala…” or some other sexy thing. Give it a go though. You don’t always have to enter the backdoor to have a good time, or what do you think?

I went to see my gran a few weeks ago, she is in a ward for senile people. I was trying to read a book to her, a book that I once bought her, called “Home, Sweet Home.” In it there are quotes about home and pictures of cute animals to accompany them. It’s hard to have any kind of conversation with her, as her attention span is very, very short. The quotes were usually short enough to get her to listen though. Some she still struggled to understand, but as I said “Home is a place where you can say anything, as no one will listen anyway,” she shone up, laughed and said “That’s kinda true.” To see a reaction was beautiful – to find that a tiny bit of her is still there.

My gran said a few other things – usually relating to things that have nothing to do with her current life, constantly asking about my granddad, talking about the household chores she has done, or is yet to do, long dead relatives, etc. From time to time though, she would get something we said and reply as she would have when she was well. One thing she said was “We get along kinda well, you and I.” That, too, was such a “her” thing to say back in the day – stating the obvious with a dash of irony and a smile. One of her favorite things to tell me and my sister were: “You are like my daughters. Do you know how I know it? I can yell at you.” She had a great sense of humor, amongst other things.

My gran keep teaching me about love and life, even when she is in a state of oblivion. To cope with the fact that in front of you sits one of the people that mean the most to you, but she’s no longer fully there…is….well, it’s a journey from complete despair to understanding/acceptance. It’s also an interesting journey into questioning what a human being truly is? I loved my gran for her personality. Who I am today, is probably partly a mirror of whom my grandma once were, which I have never truly thought of that much before. I mean, sure I knew she inspired me and taught me things, but I never quite got how much like her I turned out to become – from my greatest traits to my insecurities. (Nor did I realize how much I became like my adopted TV mom…Dr Michaela Quinn, until I re-watched the series last summer. I was laughing and cringing at her, as she did well…what I would have done in her position.) Yet, whom my grandma is today is…a broken record player and one that can’t add any new tracks at all. It has made me question how much of us are a manifestation of our soul, our true center and how much is icing on the cake. I mentioned it the other day, but it seems to me most of us are record players, playing the tunes we have been taught, and very few of our own original tunes come out. It’s one thing to believe we have a soul when we are alive and well, but when someone’s whole personality falls apart, you wonder what happened to the soul? Is it trapped inside us, not being able to live fully?

I have talked before about how my gran’s disease taught me that what she always gave me and that I forgot to give myself, was unconditional love. Apart from baking pancakes and gingerbread cookies, doing my hair up and conjugating French verbs, cracking witty jokes and wearing mini-skirts, what she really taught me was just to love. She may have made me into a household Goddess with a taste for business and adventure, but above and beyond all she taught me what it means to have someone who always listen and supports you through it all. I believe we need that. When we have good love around us, when we are taught to love and respect ourselves, we won’t go running after all the other crazy things in this life that really don’t matter much.

As I sit here in NYC, I wonder partly if I’m crazy? I have set out on this journey to conquer the world with my businesses and movies, but what matters most to me is people. Of course, my everything is always about people, for people, but I keep traveling the world, being away from people. I don’t have a kitchen that is mine forever. A kitchen that is filled with spices, teas, crooked china, the smell of gingerbread and most importantly: people. As with everything else though: one without the other wouldn’t make me happy. I love America. I love France. I love business. I love movies. I love traveling. I love home life. I am what I am. A funny mix. What matters most to me now is to be all that I am in a way that honors it. That honors me.

The day after visiting my gran I was visiting my granddad. I put on my gran’s clogs and walked to the beach. For the first time I wasn’t sad. I knew I was OK. I knew she had taught me all I needed to know. I was wearing her clogs. It is time to wear them not just when I visit, but all the time. Wear the trust and love she felt for me.

Let’s conquer the world. In a pair of clogs and with gingerbread cookies. In a Chanel suit and with pancakes. In me and with love.

My gran always gathered newspaper clippings of Jöback for me…he has the most beautiful voice! God knows how many times I listened to his songs dreaming about making musicals….dreaming about living life. Dreaming of America…



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The girl and the ocean…

The morning sun was stretching its first rays up into the air and it created a streak of orange by the line of the horizon. It was a calm morning. The ship was moving slowly and the young man felt a twinge of impatience, at the same time as he knew it was ridiculous – you can’t change the pace of a ship.

The young man was acutely aware of the power of the sea, the winds and everything else which his world evolved around. It was not he that was in control, all he could do was to learn to cope within what was there. If he was in charge of the winds, they’d always blow in the direction in which he was going. If he was in charge of the clouds, they would only be there when the sun was too hot to muster. He wasn’t in charge though, and he knew it. He knew it because he had spent enough time at sea to know. He had been shown the powers of nature time and time again. The more he saw, the more in awe he became of nature, yet, the more he learnt to play within her games. When a storm broke loose, he would look up into the skies and ask what he needed to learn from this one, or if it was just a joke she was playing on them all. A tease. Something to make them work for their ride. They had, after all, been given her planet to play upon. If it could be called playing.

As they would reach harbor today the hull would be washed; everything polished to look nice, including themselves. They had been gone for twelve full moons. It was a long time.

The sun was slowly climbing its way up the sky and the warm rays caressed his face, making him feel relaxed. He needed to sleep. He had been on duty the last five hours. It had been a calm night, nothing much had happened, but he was still getting tired now. He wish he could sleep outside in the sun, but he knew he would have to go downstairs. He yawned.

The ship was his home. Maybe more so than the old cottage in which his parents lived. The smell of salt, seaweed, tar and wood felt more familiar than earth and grass. He had been at sea for six years. It had taught him a lot and it had kept him calm. On land he always felt restless and agitated. At least he had done. Now, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to keep moving around always, but the thought of staying in just one place…what was there left to discover after some time? What colors and smells would wake him up, resurrect him? He didn’t know. He had never managed to find them before. As a kid, all that ever interested him was when the ships arrived in the harbor and he got to come down and see what they had brought with them from afar – the colors, smells and sensations of different worlds from his own. Discovery awakened him. Routines made him fall asleep. They were nice for a while. They were like resting – one could switch off, sleepwalk. After a while the body had rested enough and longed to once again discover something new. Something different.

There was one thing he didn’t want to be apart from though and that was her. She had moved to their little town when he was gone in travels. Her family came from afar. She was different; she had seen some of the world out there and she wasn’t sleepwalking like the rest. Her eyes were always open in wonder, she studied, she asked questions…

They would talk for hours. They would walk through the fields together. She would ask him questions about the nature around there, questions he, himself, who had lived there all his life, could not answer. She made him wonder about the meaning of things. About how a seed can become a plant. How some men love what others hate. Everything he had taken for granted she questioned. She was like him, but what he questioned was different.

He had always questioned why people chose to live as they did; day in and day out the same routines. Once he travelled and saw how people lived differently in different places he would question even more – why couldn’t they take the best from different places and merge it together? Would he ever find a place where he would feel like their way of living suited his dreams?

He had been used to feeling different; like no one else understood him. Until she came along. They saw the world, so differently, but they understood each other’s differences. Of course there was also the Captain of this ship. He understood him quite well too. They didn’t share the whole world though, they just sailed together. He would miss him if he stayed ashore – she had asked him when they would settle down together and he had promised that when he returned this time they would get married and he would stay. Use his savings to buy a boat and become a fisherman. The idea of seeing her every day excited him, yet the idea of staying ashore did not. He knew in his heart that he had chosen her, but part of his heart died as he thought of living in a cottage always. There’d be nothing new to see apart from when the ships arrived. She found something new in every flower; every spring she’d be amazed by the wonders of nature. As the ice melted and flowed down the mountains, the flowers burst into bloom and the animals gave birth to their little ones. She praised it all. To him, it was the same as the year before.

She was sitting in the seers room, feeling a bit nervous and ridiculous. Most people did not believe in such things as the planets ruling the minds of men in this little town. In the big city where she was from some people did. Here it was frowned upon; your fate rested entirely in the hands of God. The seer entered the room with a smile; her large red and golden robe making swishing sounds as she moved. Her brown hair was hanging loosely; the curls seemingly playing with one other. Her eyes were green like jade and emeralds. She was a stunning exotic beauty and she had a warmth about her that had a calming effect on people who were close. Even the decoration in the little room was warm – red colors and wooden furniture. She sat down, still with a smile and took her hand. “Don’t worry, God created the planets too. This is not a crime, you are just checking out what God created for you.” “How can you know that already?” she asked, confused. The seer smiled. “You see, he left traces. Like the planets. The lines on your hands. The energy that radiates from your heart and soul. It’s like learning to read, but it’s not the alphabet you are deciphering, it’s people. You cannot predict the entire future – God gave you free will, but unless you break free, your path is written.” She felt a tad calmed down by this. It didn’t sound too bad.

The seer looked her in the eye. “You have a beautiful soul and you will travel far. Much further than you could ever imagine. You are worried right now that the man you are marrying will leave you. He will never leave you. He loves you. No matter where he is he will love you. You see, love is funny like that – you do not have to be in the same room to love someone.” She felt anxious – the idea of being away from him still hurt her. How much time did you need to spend away from loved ones? Since they met, two years ago, he had been gone for 18 months out of 24. She did not want to live like that, but she loved him. Other men made her smile, bought her roses, sang to her…he just had to look at her, but it was difficult when he wasn’t there.

The seer smiled at her anxiety. “He hasn’t forgotten you, nor never will he. You are special to him. So if the world separated you and he was forced to be apart from you forever, no matter who else he loved, he’d still love you. Such is true love. You don’t have to worry though. Your stars tell of different tales. Before I tell you what they are, I need you to understand him though.” She nodded. “You see, like you love spring…the excitement to you of the rebirth of nature, so he loves to travel. If you imagine an eternal winter, life would not be much fun. Everything around you would seem dead and it wasn’t just there to make you appreciate spring, it was there forever. Sure you would enjoy the snow, the occasional sunny day when you go skiing, tea by the fireplace, Christmas candles and spicy treats…you would love that, but you would still mourn the spring. To him traveling is like spring – it awakens him, makes him acutely aware of his surroundings, makes him alive, smiling. You see, to him you are the world, but without spring in it, he won’t be happy.” She looked at the seer in amazement. “I think I can understand that, but are you telling me he will always be traveling? That he will always be gone for more time than he will be with me? I would have to accept that, because I couldn’t leave him and I couldn’t let him live without spring.”

The seer offered her some mint tea and she accepted, still, in her mind, trying to accept the idea of being away from him so much. The seer slowly stirred her cup. “It’s nice, you accepted it. So it’s true that you love him. However, it’s not what you think. For him, the world without you is potentially even worse than a world without spring. It would be like a world without summer.” She smiled and so did the seer. “You will wander far together. Soon a party of travelers will pass through town and you will go with them. They will not mind women on their journey, in fact they will like having you there. Your gifts are valuable to them. You heal people. What you know of herbs and spices will help them. You will help them trade with teas as well. You are truly gifted you know.”

She had always loved the sea, just like him. Somehow she felt that it could tell her the truth – for hours she would stand and stare at it as a child. It had brought her him. It had taught her that she could not tame it – she could play with it – jump in its waves and splash it around, but it would forever be what it was. It was not hers, but she could enjoy it. It would take her places, but she had to be willing to go.

The young man awoke with a smile on his face – he had had a nice sleep and now he was ready to enter the harbor. He just needed to wash first.

He could not only see land now – he could smell it in the air. It had earthy undertones and some vague nuances of burning wood – fireplaces. It always excited him to reach harbor. It was for the sake of harbors that he traveled – new places and sights. This one was, however, familiar. It always looked a tad different every time he returned though, because he saw it with new eyes. Eyes that had seen more of the world. He had changed and therefore his perspective. What he longed to see today though was not the harbor, but her. He knew she was well – he could always sense if something was wrong, but today everything felt right.

She stood there. Skirts gently rustling in the wind, a smile on her face. She was beautiful. To him she looked different than any other woman around. It was as if she stood out – everyone else looked a bit blurred, out of focus, but she was crystal clear.

He was even more tanned than before. His brown locks were slightly blonder and if possible even more tousled than she could remember. His teeth, when he smiled, looked as white as stars in his tanned face and his blue-green eyes shone like emeralds with glints of turquoise. His rough hands, would soon hold hers in them – trace her lines, make her remember that she was alive. This was what she loved about him – how he made her feel more alive when he was around – he looked as if he was part of nature, rather than separate from it. He didn’t live within a house, he lived within the world. She had never liked walls, confinements; she too belonged to nature. Together they felt freer than when apart.

The sailor returned home that night, but home was merely a harbor in her heart.

In each individual there is an individual, yet we are all made from the same materials, so inside each person is a part of who we are. Our bodies are made up of the same earth. We feed off what lived here a thousand years ago. In our genes rest the beginning of man. Our lives, as Leonardo said, are made of the deaths of others. To gain you must also lose. To grow you must, therefore, give. It is only by giving that something is returned.

It seems like some people compliment us; bring out the best in us and help us see what we did not see before. We are a team. It is true that you should be able to live on your own and feel whole in you. It is equally true that to build a house you may need one person who can visualize what it will look like and another to build it. It is true that some like to lead, whilst other like to be led.

In other people we find someone who sees the world like us. From that day on, we are never alone, no matter where we are, because our minds are connected, our hearts beat like one.

In each person is a world. How they live, how they see, how they feel might be light years from our own. When they share their world, we discover a new world and ours, as a result shifts.

There is a reaction when we meet someone, but we cannot control their reaction, as little as we can control the ocean.

We love ourselves in others and others in ourselves. We love the new worlds others bring us because they compliment our own. We love and it is through love anything worthwhile is created. We sail, but it is in harbors that we belong.

Maybe I will always write stories of entertainers, sailors, healers and seers – travelers that seek truth and joy in life, whilst creating something of their own. I cannot escape myself when I write, just as little as I can escape myself when I do anything. To me those figures are beautiful, because they are my harbors in this life. They are me and I am them.


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Sins you cannot miss out on…

I have a confession to make…I stole this post….from Paulo Coelho…if you have to steal – steal from the people who know what they are doing. Since I have read The Alchemist about five times, I believe this man knows what he’s doing. I don’t agree with all his works and ideas, but most of them are profound. As I took a photo today of the seven sins, I thought this post suitable.

Needing to adapt to the new times, Satan decided to get rid of a whole lot of his stock of temptations. He placed an ad in the newspaper and attended his customers all day in his workshop.

It was a fantastic stock: stones for the virtuous to stumble over, mirrors for increasing one’s self-importance, and spectacles that reduced the importance of others. Some objects hanging on the wall drew a lot of attention: a dagger with a curved blade to be used on someone’s back, and tape-recorders that registered only gossip and lies.

– Don’t worry about the price! – shouted old Satan to the potential customers. – Take it home today and pay for it whenever you can!

One of the visitors noticed three tools lying in a corner that seemed to be quite worn and attracted little attention. But they were very expensive. Curious, he wanted to know the reason for that apparent discrepancy.

– They are worn because they are the ones that I use most of all – answered Satan with a laugh. – If they drew a lot of attention, people would know how to protect themselves.

– However, they are both worth the price I am asking for them: one is Doubt, the other is the Inferiority Complex, the third is Bitterness. All the other temptations can sometimes fail, but these three always work.

-Paulo Coelho http://ht.ly/1OXJQ

In The Alchemist the boy follows his dream, follows his heart. For years I have tried to achieve success. I followed my ideas, my dreams, if you so like, but I was set on success. My heart was in love with what I did, but my mind was always elsewhere: fretting, worrying, obsessing, feeling inferior. The day I gave up on success my life became successful, because I enjoyed what I had, not what I strove for. My focus was once again on what I was doing, what I love doing. I began to live without fear. I can’t say I do that 100% all of the time, but now at least I have a taster of what being fully alive truly means. Coelho has a point. When you let go of doubt, bitterness and inferiority, when you live instead of judge, when you follow your heart…the journey becomes blissful. Carpe Diem!

If you are gonna sin…make it a naughty one, not a deadly one!

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