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I might be bad, but I’m perfectly good at it… (a.k.a. the tiger inside)

As faithful readers will know I’ve kept this blog dormant for a while. Why? Apart from a lack of time, I got scared. I got scared of perception. You see, I have a knack for Carrie Bradshaw (OK, Miranda) style headlines (sexual metaphors) and the sense of humor to go with it. A lot of people enjoyed that with my writing, others got confused and thought my life was all about sex, when in reality I was usually working or, you know, cleaning up the house after the kids. The sex was in the headlines, metaphors and jokes. In other words: it was for entertainment purposes, not a reflection of my life, though I may at times vent my opinions surrounding the topic of sex.

Other people got offended by the headlines and the metaphors; people who view sex in an entirely different way than I do. I have had men touch me up and give me indecent proposals over the years when traveling the world, so trust me, I know that not all associations with sex are pleasant. Yet, I’ve been spared from the really bad stuff and for that I’m grateful and I’m very happy about the current #metoo campaign because awareness is important, but Confessions isn’t about sexual abuse. It’s about playfulness and having a twinkle in the eye.

With sex some people also think that because you speak about sex you have no morals. To me morals are about honesty, ethics, etc. and I have been acused more than once of being stuck up with my morals as I won’t cut corners, but I can write a joke about Jesus and threesomes without feeling the least bad about it. It’s a joke. I’m not degrading the teachings of Jesus, I’m cracking a joke. Likewise, cracking a joke about a toe is one thing, a vagina another, apparently. Yet, why is a part of our body taboo?

Here’s a not so big secret for you: I was the most inhibitied person as a child. I was so shy I didn’t speak unless spoken to. I was scared of what people thought of me no matter what I did (usually they were only thinking of themselves, of course) and I fought like a tiger to break free of my self-imposed prison (or well it wasn’t entirely self-imposed, it arose as a result of mental abuse, where my reaction was to create a prison to keep the bad out, but also keep the good in so no one could take it away from; no one could bully me for the real me if I didn’t show it). Not being able to be yourself out of fear is hell. Truly. I want everyone to be able to break free and I want to talk about the shit people consider taboo. Because not having the confidence to be you makes for a nightmarish life. And usually one filled with resentment as you will resent people if you think they’ll judge you for who you are.

When it comes to this blog, some people also fell in love with my writing and didn’t realize that my writing is like 3% of who I am. Sure, I’m very honest in my blogs, but it’s still a very small part of my life and I didn’t necessarily like some of the attentions I got. Nor did I like when people read something and completely misunderstood it. It was very annoying to have my thoughts turned upside down. Whatever you say truly can be turned against you.

Then there were the people who said I degraded myself by having this blog. I, an intellectual, goody-good girl who works with children and charity, couldn’t possibly put my reputation on the line by writing about sex. And of course, I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea. As I want to adopt kids, this scared me maybe more than anything else.

Lastly, there was me. While I loved expressing myself and loved hearing the comments I got about how my blog helped and inspired people over the years, I also knew that some of the headlines I came up with were taking things too far. I got numb. You do after writing over 900 posts, of which more than half have some sort of sexual connotation. I mean I can make anything sound like sex, trust me. Really. Give me something to talk about and I’ll turn it into a sexual metaphor, which usually cracks me up, but there is a point when you take it too far simply because you want to sell something. You want to come up with something more sensational just to get the views. Your ego is now running the show, not your twinkle in the eye, or sense of humor.

Of course, as you can see, there was more ego in the mix, because I was thinking about what people were thinking about me. Cue my childhood.

Ego is a bitch. Seriously.

Now my point, dear readers (as you know, it always comes…eventually), is that I miss this blog. I miss it terribly. It was the place where I used to gather my thoughts and laugh till I cried over my own jokes (I know, I know…). So if Caitlyn Moran and Bridget Jones can talk sex and swear like true Londoners, then so can I.  It’s OK to be me, so long as it comes from the heart, not the ego.

And the moral lesson, or deep insight that I so love to share in my blogs? Today, well, today I was thinking that there is no greater strength than openness, vulnerability and honesty. It’s the only way of getting what we want, because we can only get what we want when we are true to ourselves. Just as I have to be sure not to use sexual metaphors and stilettoes as shields (esp. in my love life), we all have to make sure we open our hearts. Otherwise, first of all we attract the shield (ego), not our heart. Secondly, when we wear armor, we trap all the bad things inside as well. Face the hurt and let it go. Face the joy and allow it to fly, or it will only be you holding onto memories and not living in the present.

When our life is a reflection of who we are, we know we are living from the heart. Letting go of the shield to get us there is sometimes painful, but I do believe it’s worth it.

Right, that’s it. Confessions is back. (And for those who are wondering: yes, I made a lot of old posts private because…well “up the ass” was maybe not one of my finer headlines…but I will keep my Carrie Bradshaw jokes about the subject, as seen in the humor section. The Jesus jokes too.)


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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

The Vagina take-over…

Warning: extremely sexual content. A lot of piss-takes too. I may have gone on a rant. Sense of humor needed to read.

Hold your breaths guys – the vagina take-over is here. You must have heard about it? It’s been whispered about for generations and now it is finally in full bloom….and I find it blooming ridiculous.

I like cocks. Vaginas too. The two combined all the better. If we are to refrain from sexy metaphors: yin and yang baby. I think it was discovered thousands of years ago. It didn’t stop them from repressing women though, which really meant they were suppressing their own theory. And then there was Mao and then things really went tits up (they needed more tits, let’s face it…). Some countries are still behind when it comes to equal rights. Equal opportunties. That’s not cool. Equal’s great. It’s when people talk about superiority and not superiority within one field (let’s face it: men have more muscles and women are more emotional), but overall superiority, I find it weird.

If you think about it: no woman is a woman without a man and no man a man without a woman. And in that I believe lies an ancient truth. Together we create life. It is when we are in balance with one another that magic is created.

In general in life it is when our energies are out of balance that trouble is created. When we are unaligned with our own energies we are out of whack. When one power tries to outrule another there is conflict. And sometimes we abuse our power. Don’t tell me you can’t manipulate men with sex – you can. And those men that haven’t learnt to control themselves…they fall foul for their own want of female energy (sex). In cities like Los Angeles there is plenty of proof of men getting ass and no happiness. They can’t hear their own heart for all the shagging.

As a woman I’m no better than most men – I have been floored (quite literally) by male force several times. As I need an incredibly high dose, it’s not so easy to floor me, but when I get floored, I get floored. I tend to date A type personalities that have enough energy to floor half the world and usually do too. And that’s my weakness. I didn’t always listen to my heart. Not until this year did I start listening to my heart. And oh boy was that different. I value heart connections over getting floored these days…but I’d like to get floored by my heart connections…

It’s the same as a need for power – people chase material power (a very male energy) because it’s a strong force, just like sexual energy is a strong force, but as with so many strong forces it’s often mis-used and abused. Balance is what is needed. You can find your own inner power, as well as your masculinity or femininity (and remember: one always contains a drop of the other) – that is huge, but that comes from being in tune, not by trying to overtake someone (basically: not from ego). And when you turn all your male or female charm on someone, that’s by design. You aren’t using your power on everyone, only the one person your heart belongs to. In the same way you will use your own inner power for the greater good, not to conquer the world for the sake of power alone. Because you can. Most people get floored by power, in whatever form.

For years male energy ruled the world and that wasn’t too cool. Then came the female revolt and it seems it’s still happening, but as with so many other things they stroke back by trying to turn the cards in their favor: by becoming the leading force of the world (or in plain English: they want to prove they are now better than men, superior. Sometimes they try to do it by becoming men though, which gets even more confusing.). Now I don’t know about you, but it would scare me if women alone ruled the world. Too much nailpolish.

To me this battle between the sexes is becoming ridiculous. We are different. The beauty lies in learning to understand one another and co-creating a world which suits us all and to stop abusing our powers. You may be able to reach various positions by use of sexual energy alone, but I doubt you will be happy there. I doubt you will be happy abusing any kind of power. An overdose of anything can only go to create trouble. Balance is the key.

We need one another. And I doubt that you will tell your son or your daughter that one is superior to the other. Balderdash.

What can I say? Love-make it forward? That must be the ultimate balance between the energies right? Lovemaking. Not sex, but lovemaking. Yummy world baby, yummy indeed.

If this ever became the norm again it would be high time for a vagina revolution…


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If you’ve never seen me naked – now’s your chance…

“My mother’s dead.” The words just didn’t come out of my mouth. I was paralyzed, not able to speak. I was looking straight ahead, searching for a way out, for a way not to utter the words, but I didn’t find one. Instead hundreds of memories of similar situations flooded my mind. “It’s OK a voice was telling me, it’s OK, you’re older now. It’s alright, they won’t freak out.”  The silence grew louder. I knew someone would have to speak, but I just didn’t find the words.

I was at a “flatmate interview.” I was back for a second one in fact – I had met two of the flatmates the day before and now I was being introduced to the third. We were talking about food, somehow I always end up talking about food.

The guy joked and said he was the master chef of the household. I laughed and said that’s what my dad always says. They asked me if my dad really is good at cooking and I said yes. Then they jokingly asked if he is better than my mom and everything froze.

I didn’t want to kill the light atmosphere by saying that actually, yeah my mom has been dead for so long I have forgotten what her cooking tasted like, but I believe she was quite good as I have memories of cooking and baking with her and my dad doing the same. On the other hand, I couldn’t lie as if I ended up living with those people, sooner or later they would realize she’s dead. Besides, I told myself: at this age, surely more people must have lost their parents. It’s quite normal, right?

Yet, flashbacks from my childhood clouded my mind – back then the whole room would go silent and mumble some apologies and you’d have to smile and say “no, really, it’s fine” and all you wanted was to avoid their embarrassment for thinking they had caused you pain by having asked a completely normal question, only to find out they had said something “wrong.” You wanted to avoid the staring eyes, the pity. You desperately tried to ease the situation by smiling and hoping everyone could just keep talking and joking. All you wanted, all you longed for, was to be normal. Just like everyone else.

So the voice inside my head told me I was older, it should be fine to say it (after all I had said it a hundred times before and in recent years, not thinking much about saying it at all), and there must be a way of keeping the conversation light – breeze it over and keep talking – but as I had gone paralyzed I couldn’t think. Me. I can talk my way out of anything and I had absolutely no clue of what to say. I just stared straight ahead, panic slowly creeping into every corner of my mind. I was twelve again – judging my every word before I uttered it, finding each word unsuitable and ending up saying nothing.

The guy broke the silence by cracking a joke about me not wanting to put my dad ahead of my mom. I finally croaked out that my mom’s dead, but haha, step-moms, yes hahaha. And suddenly I was hit by another flash from my past: fear of being judged for the abnormal family. In the instance I uttered “step-mom” I seriously thought that my chance of getting the room was gone. Bye-bye confident young lady, hello Cinderella. Hello someone whom no one wants to be associated with. I think it took me a whole minute to recover from this idea; realizing it was nonsense. I was no longer the geek, with two popular step-sisters and a step-mom whom everyone detested. I wasn’t the girl with the fucked-up family relations, I was just me.

As I walked out of that house the other night it was the most bizarre sensation – it was as I had just experienced my twelve year old self again. All her fears, insecurities, everything had just come over me with a power I wasn’t prepared for. I simply relived what it was like to feel “abnormal” and I guess that’s the root of most my fears – of being disliked for some part of me I can’t really control. A shame so deep I hid in a corner for years and once I came out of the corner I would cover it up trying to be perfect, at least on the outside.

A few weeks ago I had a conversation with my dad – I was telling him about how my somewhat chaotic past has made me who I am today and how grateful I am for that. I haven’t had an easy ride. I have suffered more mental anguish than I hope to see anyone ever do. I have been depressed twice….it just hasn’t been easy. Normally I don’t speak of it like that. I don’t tell people of the paranoias I have been through because…well, I see it as madness and, quite frankly, I’ve been ashamed of it. My own self-image growing up was twisted and it took me years to overcome it; years of anguish and pain.

When I was twelve I thought anyone who hugged me or patted my shoulder did so in sympathy – no one really liked me, it was just some sort of big cover up to be nice and truly, there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t normal. My mom had died, my step-mom detested me, the boys rejected me and the bullies…well, they bullied me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I was sure it was something, I just couldn’t see it myself. For a while I thought maybe I was mentally retarded somehow, I just couldn’t figure out how. And love, wasn’t love, it was pity. It was a conspiracy to make me feel good. That, my dears, is how messed up I was. I couldn’t see love so if you shoved it in my face. What’s more: I had no idea of how to behave, I just did anything to please, hoping somehow I’d be liked. Of course I was petrified of people though as I thought they didn’t like me, so I can only begin to imagine how I behaved. I never had anything to say because I went through in my mind all the possible objections, ridicule and what have you before I opened my mouth and if I, after that, deemed it safe to speak it usually came out the wrong way anyhow.

I guess I spent one Friday night too many alone in my room when I was fourteen, with no other excuse than the one friend I really had didn’t enjoy partying. And when my dad asked because he wanted me to be happy, I felt judged. When the cool kids talked about their amazing weekends, I felt judged. I wasn’t sitting in my room on a Friday night out of choice – I was there because I didn’t have friends. I didn’t feel too hot about that. Who wants to state out loud that no one likes you enough to spend their free time with you? To make matters worse my step-sisters were two of the coolest girls in school.

When I turned fourteen, fueled by stories I found in books, about the idea that life had to change as I became a grown-up, I made a promise to change; to stand up for myself and the fire I’ve always had inside started burning brighter. My dad raised me to believe in my own strength and to fight, but it’s still taken me two depressions and a lot of work on my spine to stand up for myself, not just for the professional me, but for the personal me. The professional me was never a problem – even when I was hiding behind glasses the size of UFOs I argued to get people to listen to my ideas.

It’s taken me endless Friday nights of partying, endless friendships, endless amounts of love for me to now say: you know what: it’s Friday night, it’s my birthday in fact, I’m not out partying and that’s OK. There’s simply nothing going on tonight that I know of (that’s what the former me would have judged as social failure) and I am celebrating with my friends tomorrow and even if I had no friends I would know I am OK. I am good. I love me. I wouldn’t hate myself if no one else liked me. I would like love, in fact I would really love love and that’s something I have never confessed to either, but I wouldn’t turn against myself if I didn’t get it. Because that was the end result in the past: self-hatred, or self-loathing. I didn’t dislike anything much about me, I just thought the core must be wrong somehow – I deserved punishment as no one loved me.

So the point…well the point my dears is this: when I spoke to my dad I said I was thankful. Why? Because the demons I had as a child could not be ignored. I had to fight to feel like a normal, happy person. I went on a journey most people don’t have to undertake and therefore never do. I have a huge amount of sympathy for everyone who has fucked up in life, because I know what it feels like. I know what it feels like when you try to fight back – when you suddenly go from the one being abused to the one saying to everyone you don’t care about anyone’s bloody opinion, still hiding behind an attitude, scared senseless of ever becoming vulnerable again. Of ever becoming that kid sitting in a corner of the classroom crying your eyes out hysterically because your mom just died. But that’s just it – you have to face that inner child. You have to let it be. You have to say it’s OK. The fears, the shame, the humiliation, the anger…it’s all OK. It’s OK that you were fucked up by what happened. It’s OK because you came through. It’s OK to be who you are. Only then can you open up and love others. And, as I was telling my dad, I have been blessed by the love of more friends than I could ever have dreamed of. I’m also blessed to know that people come to me for love and support – because of what happened to me and because I came through, I can now help others and that’s a gift worth more than a million sparkling diamonds. More than anything though, I have finally been blessed by the love of me; the lack of that was the root of all my problems. To love myself is the greatest gift I have ever known.

If anything ever happened to you that you are ashamed of – if you were beaten, molested, bullied…if you had anorexia, depression…if you ever did something “bad”…forgive yourself. You can be loved even if your mother left you and your father beat you, even if everyone detested you, including yourself. You can be loved. Love yourself. And allow the world to see the gift that is you. You are amazing. Your light will light the way for others. You are simply beautiful.

Love, even the parts of you that are broken, love, even the parts of you that are hurting, love, even the parts of you that are lonely, love, even the parts of you that are ugly, love, love all of you until all of you is love. Love. Love is beautiful. You are love. You are beautiful. Love.


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Romantic ramblings about life…or just a rosy smile…

I believe it’s rose season – happy little dots of color are to be found everywhere…and I am to be found sniffing them… I have been caught once or twice by wondering eyes as I stick my head (or nose, if the whole head doesn’t fit) in a flower, but hell, it’s only summer once a year and if we only live once…I am on a mission to make the most out of it. Bloody blooming marvelous!

Being back in London I have spent a few hours wandering the streets with a smile on my face, even on the tube you may have caught me smiling, looking at the variety of people in amazement (I try not to do it on the tube though, as I’m scared of being arrested for suspicious behavior). I also look at doors painted in gay colors, surrounded by blooming flowers and sometimes catch a glimpse of a cute little cat perched on the doorstep and…I smile. I imagine that the house belongs to a happy family that live a romanticized life a la Enid Blyton, or a bunch of flatmates that are living the bohemian dream, or just simply living life the awesome way!

I remember a few years back, walking the streets of Knightsbridge at night. I used to live in that neck of the woods and I have a certain love of that area with its old fashioned red brick houses and alleyways. This particular night I saw one window through which light was streaming out. It was that yellowish sort of light that doesn’t intrude on the darkness, but rather brightens the night with just the right amount of light. It looked cozy and welcoming. Letting my mind wander I imagined that inside someone was reading bed time stories to their children. I don’t know why, but till this day this memory stays with me. I guess because it was always my dream to have that romanticized family of my own when I grew up.

I’m probably one of the craziest romantics you’ll ever come across (but I’ve got a twisted idea about Prince Charming – I think he should be a Jester instead…don’t ask me why, but the beloved Jester is in every story I write) and apart from my love of technology, I have an insane desire to have everything organic, handmade (I’m sure you could make wooden MacBooks???) and…imaginative…I often think life is like a movie, so it’s up to you to create it – why not live in a castle? Why not create a fairytale garden? Or a playground for your kids? Or travel the world on a dime? Simply: why not strive to create your kind of utopia? Hell knows too few of us are trying. How many people really take care of this planet? Strive to make it more functionable, safe, beautiful and playful? Really…who dares to play? Who pours love into their everyday surroundings? Who puts plants on their balcony for the enjoyment of everyone who walk past? Who wears a tie and is very serious about impressing people and who sits back with a smile? We all go to visit Venice, but who, these days, build cities like that? Who is having some imaginative fun when they go about things? And who smiles at their fellow neighbors in the tube? At the shop keeper? And…hold your breaths Londoners….at the busdriver? (I know, s/he will speed up just before every stop and hit the breaks with full power, but maybe if we smile more they’ll driver better???)

I’ve never been a realist….so now I’m gonna be unrealistic and wish that everyone else turn into soppy romantics too…romantics that smile at everyone for a day…just imagine: a sunny London!!!!

London roses in full bloom…

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Do you like whips and chains, or strawberry champagne???

Pastiersky bič's one big cocktail...

Did you ever think you were whips and chains to find out you are strawberry champagne? Or the other way around? Or maybe both? Did you ever doubt your desires, longings, passions, heart, intuition, love…and search in vain for an answer in the skies? In signs around you? In the treetops? In people’s dear opinions? In travels? In teachings? Only to find that the answer rested within your soul and your heart gently whispered it in your ear? But maybe you were too busy looking at some confusing fact, or telling yourself what should be right, or maybe staring yourself blind at the pretty sunset not daring to leave in search of the dawn you always dreamt of, or listening to some story (or five) you had already made up a year, or ten years ago?

Sometimes we fall in love with the person next door, because they happen to be the person next door. Sometimes we set up a lumber business because our neighbor happened to have a lumber business. Sometimes we, on the contrary, go all the way around the world only to realize that the person next door was the one we wanted and the lumber business was always our true passion…the rest was just a dream, an attraction set up because we ourselves were not fulfilled…basically: the fulfillment we sought in others needed to be found in ourselves for us to be able to see the gift that was always there, right in front of us, or next to us…or somewhere close by…

If we do not fulfill ourselves first, no kick outside of ourselves will ever be fulfilling, but we will keep wanting them (as the last one didn’t solve the problem either…we move onto the next…then the next…the bigger car, the prettier girlfriend…or just the different girlfriend…something new…something else…maybe then…) unless we first find satisfaction in our own heart and soul: then we can find the real deal. The passion, the person, the place…the whatever that complements us, rather than replaces something broken inside.

I believe that it is only when we set ourselves free – when we allow our minds (and sometimes our bodies) to travel all around the world, without fear, completely free of whatever it is we have been telling ourselves, or have been told by others – that we can know what we want.

It’s comfortable for us to know that the person that makes our cup of tea when we get home, cuddles us when we are lovesick, laughs at our jokes and talk to us every day is there every day. It’s uncomfortable knowing it’s not them you have felt the greatest love and respect for, or connected the most with.

It’s equally uncomfortable knowing that the adventure for which you left the person who loved you, was nothing more than a castle in the sand – the real deal, the one made of stone, was the one you had. The one you took for granted. The one that was built on love, rather than excitement. The one that you did not believe in as you did not know yourself – you were the one not ready for the real deal. You were the one still searching for the broken piece of you to get fixed…the one thinking that lay outside you. This was the relationship you should have put the excitement into by being present, loving and wild.

Some invest years in education, or working their way to the top of a company, only to realize that their true passion is something else…something which leads them to start all over from scratch. To finally go on the adventure they always kept locked in their heart. To finally be free. Be who they are.

Yet others leave a company only to find out that it was them, not the company that lacked passion. They needed to rekindle their soul, their love, their passion and come back with a different outlook – a different tactic for dealing with things.

Sometimes things, people, events, businesses are right for a period, sometimes for forever. Life is not at standstill – if we stand still things evolve and we get left to start over on our own and if we evolve, well then things either evolve with us, or we move ahead to new pastures. Even if we fucked up the best ever deal, the best ever relationship, the best ever whatever: if we evolve, soon the best ever will be that much better!!!

It happens ever so often we come to a crossroad – we have been forced to choose. We can choose to ignore the new path that has crossed our way, or we can follow it. And sometimes, the new path is the old path. I had to make that choice in LA – to stay, or to leave – and let me tell you: it was scary. I have no greencard. I have no ticket back. I had to choose. I had to follow my heart. It took me six months to make that choice, even if friends tell me I made it way before then…if so it took me six months to dare to follow that choice. Maybe I needed that. Maybe that was just the preparation to be had. Life threw me a few events that helped solidify my decision. Who knows? All I know is first I had to get to know myself (my stories) and separate heart from illusions…different pulls, different wants, different needs…from that core intuition. And maybe I was wrong…I cannot judge…but it feels right. And that feeling of right makes me feel at peace….free….calm. Makes me…happy.

Home is where the heart is, so is love, business and life. First we find our heart, then we find our home.

Champagne, anyone???…

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Being a frightened little bunny and a brave bear…

In Sweden there is a cartoon about the world strongest bear, Bamse, and one of his friends is Lille Skutt (Little Jump), who is a rabbit. Often shaking with fear as he is a frightened little bunny, he always does what he knows he must, even if it scares him. This  makes him very brave, because he conquers his own fears. To others what he does may not seem brave, but because he is so scared of it, it is very brave.

To others our fears often seem irrational, because we all come from different backgrounds – some people are brought up walking on tight ropes, whereas others are taught that high heights are really dangerous. To the tight rope walker who knows that the security net will catch them if they fall, the fear of heights seem irrational. The person scared of heights, yet forced to walk a tight-rope won’t think of security nets, their mind will just simply have such a strong association between heights and fear that no matter what they won’t really grasp that they are safe.

Sometimes we just have to realize that our fear of relationships, work tasks, places, people…what have you, are simply negative associations which have nothing to do with reality and truly, if we can just see it, there is a safety net!

I guess we all just have to allow ourself to be frightened bunnies at times, it’s OK…we are still brave bears if we conquer…

Lille Skutt and his loved one…

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