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Acceptance and Rebellion

With every day that goes by I am learning that a successful life is one where we learn to live each day on the assumption, the knowledge that acceptance and rebellion are two sides of the very same process of existence. Suffering as a result of our limitations and triumph based on our unique potential go hand in hand. When Acceptance’s work is done in us, it gives way to the unimaginable possibilities of Rebellion, and on and on the cycle goes until we come to the end of our beating heart. It is hard for me to imagine however, or even accept that there can be so many visible and invisible mighty forces that come into place whilst we live, but it all ends when we die. Surely when the limitations of our finite body get the better of us, all the other forces which we can clearly sense but cannot see whilst alive, come into the fore. Indeed, it is our finite nature that dictates in us we choose acceptance, so once our fleshly bodies are no longer holding us back, what is stopping our spirit from literally soaring?

Amazing image captured 10m from our house by my talented budding photographer son.

Living is like a game of tug of war, a perpetual tension of pulling and simultaneously letting go almost involuntarily, because we subconsciously know that in order to gather the strength to keep going, we have to ease off every now and then; we have to pace ourselves and put the emphasis and energy in all the right places or else we burn out before we even get a chance to discover why we are here; we have to accept that we cannot control everything and that we have certainly no power or rule over the outcome of most unexpected challenges thrown our way.

And yet, there lies the glorious part of this journey: we know we have no choice but to succumb to the inevitability of our sorrow predicament, but it is in the very act of surrendering our will that we become unstoppable forces for change, for altering the very course of events we feared were already written in the stars. The blessing comes when we come to the end of ourselves; when we recognise our insignificance; when we know our place in the infinite scheme of reality. Even though we all know where there is a beginning there most certainly is an end, our end, with every passing moment we become more present, more fully aware of the importance of rebelling against that final chapter; of making our time here count; of sieving the clatter that blinds us and deters us from being the best we can be; of getting the furthest we possibly can in our gifting, our dreams, our humanity and above all our spirituality, that dimension none of us can see but we all know deep in our soul, is what underpins everything we are and do.  

I have had to confront some tough shit this week. My initial and immediate reaction was to panic, to crumble under the pressure, to be suffocated by negativity. Like I said, it is a process of pulling and tugging, of wanting to control what is way beyond our control, but then comes acceptance, surrender. Sometimes we get too big for our own shoes. We convince ourselves we are superheroes, mini Gods that go around solving every problem, creating magic for ourselves and others. In reality, we are weak, flawed, and far, far from supernatural.

Days passed and I began to pull myself together again. When acceptance comes, a huge weight is instantly removed from our shoulders. So much so, that the coin is at that very moment flipped and rebellion begins to dominate the picture. And by rebellion I mean, the fire in our belly, the ability to remind ourselves that though there is much adversity over which we have no power, the key to living is simply shifting the focus to the things we can actually do and then we move forward one step at a time, never paying attention to our limitations on any given adverse circumstance but only to our strengths or gifting, or in other words, take the good and run. Run and never look back.

Life is all about choices. It is foolish of us to choose to feel defeated about those things over which we have no real say or power. Instead, there is immense potential in positioning ourselves in such a place where our attention is only given to the things we can actually change and improve around us. At the same time, ugly stuff, evil, decay, pain and sorrow are all of our companions on this journey. We may travel together but that does not mean we have to hold hands for the duration. Rebellion is all about the fighting spirit in us, having the humility to know who we are and who we are not, but accepting the challenge and growing the courage to be of use and a catalyst for transformation in the things and areas we have been gifted with. I think each of us knows deep down what those areas are, because it is precisely when we exercise them that we feel most alive, most fulfilled and at peace with ourselves and the world.

This morning I went on my daily walk with Jakey, our gorgeous black Labrador. I flipped the coin and instead of using that time to sink further into my problems and limitations, I homed in on the goodness that flows from acceptance and surrender. I became a rebel and drew incredible positive energy from the equilibrium, vibrancy and sheer extravagance of nature. Lord knows, I am no super-hero, but I sure felt like one by the time I got back home filled with hope and the loud echoes of the still small voice quietening my soul. There are so many forces at play in the universe. Some we see, some we don’t, but the greatest strength of all will never be dwelling in our limitations, but rather in knowing exactly where our transformative power lies and owning it fiercely and unashamedly.

Here are some of the moments I fed on during my walk.

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Diana Krall is just what the Dr ordered!

Listening to the velvety tones of Diana Krall’s suggestive voice is most certainly the tonic I need today to rescue me from the mundanity of family life.

Covid seems to be gathering strength for round two of contagion and devastation, at least in Europe, and because of it, we are all battening down the hatches, regrouping and stocking up for what is promising to be a very interesting or rather challenging Autumn and Winter.

Despite governments trying their best efforts to reassure the population about the measures in place to prevent the chaos that ensued the first time round, there is a real sense in the air of the despair that comes when you realise you are about to fall into a deep hole. No one really knows what is coming, but everyone agrees that the next few months are going to be incredibly difficult.

New rules of social distancing, new curfews in bars and pubs, new limits about who you can meet up with, where and when. The prospect of having to wait endlessly for medical appointments, the loneliness, the anxiety about businesses closing down for good, but above all, the fear and suspicion abounding wherever you go; the restlessness and gloominess that is depleting the air we breathe from oxygen, and turning it instead into a poisonous dread that will get to us even if Covid doesn’t.

It is so damn easy to get caught up in all this darkness. I am not perfect. God no. I am as wretched as the next person, but the Leo spirit definitely bursts out alive within me every time adversity swallows me up like sand does water. Like a lioness, I instinctively put on my invisible armour and I fight; I fight to the death whatever is coming against me. I sometimes surprise myself about some of the ways in which I have coped with some very challenging circumstances; how I have fought to give the best I can to those whom I love when they themselves have come under attack, scrutiny or discrimination of any kind.

I feel we are about to enter one of those big black clouds of adversity. I am all geared up for the fight. I am standing at the gate doing my watch night and day waiting for that enemy to approach. I remain fully aware however that the biggest enemy I will ever have to face and have already faced on many occasions is despair, fear, negativity. There are many ways one could define life but right now for me life is that overrated journey everyone keeps raving about but most forget to mention about the amount of unimaginable shit that you have to face along the way.

All that said, it is down to each of us how we navigate those turbulent waters, and turbulent they will become more often than we care to endure. So as for me and my house, we will sail through it with perspective, taking one day at a time, not focusing on the unknowns of the future or becoming bitter for the resentments of our past. We will live in the moment, glad that we are alive for as long as we are.

Well, that and for me personally, a big dose of soul-builders like Diana Krall and heart warmers like this delicious glass of Tempranillo Tinto I am having with my dinner tonight.

If you are reading this, I send you my warmest wishes for the part of the journey we are all about to embark on. From the greatest adversity births and flourishes the most beautiful refinement that makes us shine and stand out; that makes us be of good use and support to someone else. Here’s to us all embracing what is yet to come; here’s to us all looking out for that one person nobody sees who needs protecting, encouraging or helping along the way.

As a side note, my 19-year-old just stepped into the kitchen as I am writing this and asked what I was doing. I told him I am writing on my blog. He asked what about. So I told him the gist of it to which he replied: ‘God mum, you sound like Winston Churchill’. I’ll take it!

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To love or to be loved

It is weird to think this was me less than two months ago. I am not talking about the physical appearance but my mental state; how I felt when I took that photo. The Menorcan vibe; its energy had the desire effect on me, and I felt so positive, so empowered, so healthy and most importantly, so at peace.

Move forward a few weeks. I am now back in Blighty and though there have not been significant challenges thrown my way, I feel so rattled, so caged again, so left behind. It is difficult to explain without sounding spoilt or entitled. From the outside, it looks like I have it all and why should I complain? And yes, I often ask myself that very question too. And yet, I know that this is not how I am supposed to live: always settling, always having to jump in the gap.

Even as I write these words, and though I have not written anything for nearly two months, I am constantly interrupted by WhatsApps, knocks on the front door, phone calls demanding my attention, my help, my opinion, my counsel, my advice, my actioning something that is not to do with me but with someone else’s happiness. And that’s all great and yes, I feel grateful to be able to help others in any way I can, but I am human, and I often wonder: and what about me and my needs? Who is that person that puts my needs before their own? All my family are over in Spain, so the only contact I have with my parents is weekly by phone. My father has Alzheimer’s and my mum’s life is consumed looking after his every need, so I do not expect her to spare a thought for one of her five children who lives thousands of miles away by choice. Each of my siblings is occupied with their own responsibilities and families. I get that. I also get that I live in a different country, but I often wonder if they think about me as much as I think about them.

I also wreck my brains often wondering if I am just too needy. I mean, isn’t this how everybody feels? Neglected, unappreciated, taken for granted?

I was having a bit of a moan on a tweet this morning and I quote:

How are my tweeps today? I don’t even have time to come up for air these days. Work, home, my kids, business, correspondence, and on and on the roller coaster goes. It never stops and I feel dizzy with it. There must be more than this…”

To which one of my followers replied:

“Sounds like a full life…Be careful what you wish for…”

My immediate reaction was one of shame and guilt for complaining when I have so much in my life. But then as the minutes went by, I could feel righteous anger bubbling up inside. Anger that one is expected to settle; anger that a busy life is perceived as a happy life; anger that people assume that if you have a family and are married, you have got it made and have no right to expect anything more. Yes, I am fully aware that I have more than most, but I am also painfully aware that having much does not equate having much of the right kind of stuff; the kind that gives you peace, joy and a sense of contentment, acceptance.

I guess my time away in Menorca filled my spirit with light and hope, but the intensity of that light was such that it blinded me from my problems, my insufficiency, my needs instead of obliterating them. It acted like a plaster on a raging wound; it stopped the bleeding for a time, but it did not heal the root cause of the wound. I don’t think those around me will change their ways and so I am left faced with the impossible question: is it me who needs to make that radical change?

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Thousands of luminous stares

Spending all this time in the idyllic island of Menorca is really helping me to recognise things about myself which I choose to ignore when I am back at home in the UK, as I am constantly caught up in the frenzy of what is next to be ticked off on my ‘Must do’ list. It is undeniable that this little floating piece of land in the Mediterranean is a precious gem, with its turquoise secret coves, its magnificent sunsets and starry skies, its dramatic storms and fierce winds, its quietude and palpable spirituality; its glorious seafood and the laissez faire attitude of its amiable and accommodating people. I love coming here. I have travelled extensively to very beautiful, awe inspiring places over the years, but I do not feel the same sense of renewal and self-discovery anywhere else as I do whilst I am here.

It is that holiday feel, you may think, but the reality is that I am not really on holiday. We have an office in our house here and we work as hard as we do in the UK. There is no getting away from it when you have your own business. You never really switch off. What is different is that here my soul, my spirit is able to disconnect from the Self much more easily. What I mean by that is that I am one of those people who is constantly battling that negative voice in our head that makes us feel guilty and fearful about everything that is out of our control. It is exhausting; it depletes me of energy, and it robs me of joy every single day. And yet, the moment I set foot on this island, I literally feel like a heavy layer falls off me. When I am at home in England, I am dragging an invisible chain of self-doubt and fear. The very instant I land in Menorca the chains break loose and I get to feel and see not who I am but who I am meant to be. I guess one could call it a near religious experience. It’s addictive, life-affirming, healing and redemptive. It is the epiphany this world needs to experience on a daily basis to rid us from all the external agents we become dependent on to bring us relief from pain and anxiety; agents that like wolves in sheeps clothing bring temporary respite but drive us to a permanent whirlwind of misery and despair.

There is so much unspoilt beauty on this island, so much positive energy. Every sense is empowered, enhanced reminding us with every instant of our beating heart and the fluttering pulse of blood flowing through our veins, that life is not the dark mental labyrinth we get lost in, but every reality we have been gifted with to perceive with our senses when we shut our minds. The taste of the salty sea stinging my lips, the silky warm feel of the water on my skin, the deep colours of the flowers, the metallic glistening of the waters, the blessed miracle of such succulent food on my plate; the feel of the far away Saharan sand brought across with the storms which is a constant reminder that, despite vast distances and expanses, land, sea and life are all desperately connected and interdependent. The delightful scent of ripening fruits becomes a meal in itself; the overpowering presence of fresh rain evaporating no sooner it heats the ground, the incredible moisture in the air alerting us with every breath to how precious water truly is; to how we choose to forget at our own peril that we are the water that we breathe; the sensual perfume of tourists walking past enjoying those fleeting moments of lightness as if walking on endless clouds of freedom before they have to return to their golden cages. The commanding sounds of different sea birds telling us that this island belongs to them, contrasted by the sound of silence, makes me feel connected to whatever is out there, to the universe; to humankind; to what has been before and even what is yet to come. I feel anchored, safe, looked after, rooted and above all guided by forces that run far beyond anything we could ever hope or dare to imagine. As I gorge on all those wonders, Master Fear ebbs away until I feel blessedly weightless.

When I am here, I get to clearly see how truly fearful I am. Little me sat in our terrace on a starry night looking up to that infinitely populated firmament is the quick fix I need when that negative voice begins to whisper in my ear. One quick glance upwards and I forget myself as I see thousands of sparkly lights signalling back at me that it is going to be OK; that everything is already taken care of whether I fret or not; whether I do more or less; whether I beat myself up or not. Thousands of luminous otherworldly stares filling me with awe and the echoes of the supernatural, the beyond, the unknown, telling me to stop wrestling needlessly and to start enjoying the undecipherable and extraordinary gift that life is.

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The only present under my Christmas tree

The morning after is always an interesting one. It feels like Christmas morning when I was child. You get up full of adrenaline and excitement at the prospect of finding something wonderful and unexpected to remind you that you are loved and understood; you jump off the bed with just one urgent thought in mind: What’s under the tree? Yes, I admit it. What others think about me is of vital importance to me; what others think about me as a writer, that is. As with any craft and its master, I live to discover how my writing is received and interpreted by others; how it makes them feel; what emotions stirs within and thought processes it triggers, and consequently what changes in attitude or behaviour it brings about, if any. Does my writing act as a mirror to others inciting identification and change, or as the mirror they run a mile from, because the honesty it echoes is too raw, too vivid to handle?

The only Christmas present I long to find under my tree is simply a parcel. It does not matter to me whether that parcel contains coal, the rejection or criticism of my thoughts, my writing style or gold dust and precious jewels in the form of adulation and praise. It is the symbolic act of placing a parcel under my tree that fills my soul with a sense of purpose and achievement. It confirms for me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and that, is like manna in the desert in a world where with every news piece, the sense of our sacred, untouchable habitats spiraling out of control is becoming more and more undeniable; and our souls subsequently dying by slow drought, the one and only verifiable experts’ prognosis.

A parcel under my tree tells me irrefutably that another human soul made the conscious effort, the choice, which today is no insignificant feat seeing as everyone has something to say, to visit my blog, click on the link and open the door to my life, to my soul, to the secrets hidden in the depths and the crevices of my innermost being, bubbling up incessantly at the epicentre of my soul.

That beautifully humble, empathetic, understated parcel under my tree whose gift within I am still unaware of, is for me the gift itself. I don’t need to know or care much for what’s inside. The parcel itself is the best of gifts a writer could ever hope for; it’s a moment of magical, supernatural ignition between, more often than not, two strangers whose souls have connected in an invisible dimension, even though they are ignorant of each other’s past, present and future. The fusion between the two minds is of such magnitude at that prolonged instant when the words were written by one and soon after read by the other, that it forces the two human beings like two stars thousands of miles apart in outer space, to make a meteoric journey in order to acknowledge, reach out to each other. They cannot see each other and yet at that very moment of contact, despite the emotional distance of two lives so apart, they clearly see, hear and understand what lies deep beneath their facades.

These rare moments of human love being unconditionally, freely exchanged are beautiful, extraordinary things, in a day and age of tribalism and so much hatred for anything that falls outside the perimeters of what makes up our own identity. It is bordering the supernatural in today’s existence to encounter those elusive moments of inexplicable connection, empathy and in essence exchanges of human love, where there is no need to establish who is right or wrong, who knows more than the other, who is better than the other. They are simply put instants of unconditional, divinely inspired love which act as the miraculous cure to the wounds of a very sick world.

Yesterday, I wrote an extract of what one day could turn into a novel. Every now and then I like to test the waters, feel the temperature, and see who is out there, if anyone. My comfort zone in terms of writing is philosophical reflections, personal ramblings. My writing does not get the exposure that I would like. I am not digitally competent, and so this humble blog is at present my only creative outlet competing with millions of voices out there which like mine, are desperate to be heard or at least seen.

I have attempted writing a brief chapter of an imaginary work of fiction before, but the response or lack of it is always equally devastating. Whilst my reflective posts get on occasion considerable notice within my small circle of influence, the fictional attempts painfully bounce back in my creative echo chamber. And what is most painful to the soul than finding a present under the tree that tells one that the giver put no thought or consideration when choosing it; that they gave us the gift out of a sense of obligation or in return for a gift we gave them? What’s more painful than a meaningless, thoughtless gift? Well, the most gut-wrenchingly aching moment, so much more than finding the wrong gift under the tree, is for me the total absence of parcels under that tree.

No parcels equates indifference and indifference is to the writer like the invisible virus that gains ground and devours the creative soul of joy and hope one ephemeral day at a time.

I am genuinely intrigued as to why so many identify me as a writer and give me such wonderful feedback with regards to what I write on my reflective posts, and yet even though it is that same soul and spirit that is behind the fictional pieces; even though it is that same human being with whom they had an extraordinary connection, a sense of oneness, no moment of magical fusion, of mutual recognition and acceptance takes place as a result of my fictional pieces. It baffles me.

I would gladly receive at this stage a parcel that contains a gift I don’t like. A bad gift is better than no gift. It shows at least that your creation caused some kind of reaction. The silence, however, I cannot process or comprehend. I am still the same writing voice. It is still the same spirit behind the reflective and the fictional posts, so if I am the same, everything points to the fact that at least some of those magical moments of connection that trigger a new parcel being left under my tree were disingenuous, forced, or simply given with ulterior motive. It is at that moment that I come face to face with the stark realisation that perhaps the absence of parcels under my tree is in the long run better for me as a writer.

I am all about authenticity. Anything and anyone that falls outside of that realm is like a thorn in my flesh, like a stone in my sandals that slows me down on the all important quest of getting to the place where I get to find out who I am and what I am here for. Like a prophet who has heard God’s voice and has been given a promise that will surely come to pass, I blindly and unwaveringly trust and believe that the day will come when the most cherished of gifts will be left under my tree, because it will be the one gift that has been exclusively designed to delight me, to encourage me, to let me know that the giver not only saw me through my writing but saw also the promise of everything I am destined to be and capable of becoming and overcoming.

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The butterfly that never was

Her ship had sailed once again. “Lord, why do I keep doing this to myself? When will you give me enough courage?”, she desperately asked out loud. The walls of her house so downcast, so worn with always hearing the same lament echoing through them. Verity stood on that achingly familiar imaginary dock as she sat round the kitchen table, gazing at the intensely alluring horizon with a choking lump on her throat at the crucifying realisation that for the hundredth time she had come in touching distance of embarking on the trip of a lifetime to her promised Shangri-La. Once again, however, she had also boycotted her own free pass to a new life; a new birth; a fresh journey of discovery through which there would be for the very first time in ages, no baggage, no plans or expectations, neither resentment nor unforgiveness, no limits, just a glimmer of hope with every sunset; a nugget of opportunity to soar with every breath taken in aided by the sea breeze. She had once again subconsciously but without fail, aligned every detail of her life in such a way that yes, she would allow herself to play the game of abiding by the fire of longing, like a moth round a flame, but always with the paralyzing certainty that this ‘Odyssey of Freedom’ game she had invented, would, as it always did, come to a sore end, and that she would lose and she would lose big.

She had already resigned herself years ago to be denied a life free of duty and expectation; a life that exponentially gains momentum when not lived just for others, owed to others, shaped by others. She had given up on that a long time ago. What really buried her soul like a ton of granite and wilted it one depth further at a time; what truly permanently anchored her feet, was the painful admission that there was nothing and no one really standing in her way to entering the God-inspired life she felt so inexplicably drawn to. The only thing stopping Verity from living her unique and undeniable truth was simply herself, her paralising fear and inexcusable lack of courage.

Like an addiction, she repeatedly enjoyed embarking on that imaginary trip of the what ifs and the maybes, pushing the boundaries of acceptable possibilities and controlled risks; reaching her ecstasy but always knowing that no matter how far she pushed, how far she ventured out, when the hybrid game of fusing day dreaming and reality came to its end, she would always find herself firmly stood on that dock, defeated, ashamed, frustrated, but at least loved and validated by those whose own illusory Shangri-La depended on Verity never truly taking that final step forward from the punishing dock toward the unequaled promised land of self-discovery and self-fulfillment. A land which she had convinced herself was only destined for the truly great.

Here I am, for a lifetime!

Nobody tells you this, because getting older is not the kind of subject most people find all that interesting or engaging, but I wish somebody had spoken to me about the pluses of ageing, and trust me, there are a few and they are not to be underestimated.

Yes, it is quite depressing to see one’s body becoming less able, less willing, easing off into the undignified deterioration that silently takes place each day and creeps up on you all of a sudden one fine morning when you look in the mirror. Yes, it is also rather demoralising to lose intellectual ability, concentration skills and that eagerness of your youth to absorb all the knowledge at your reach. Gosh, I remember how in my teens I used to be able to memorise entire books of subjects I was not even that much into, like History of Art. My goal was to get the best grades and apart from the sacrifice of endless hours invested, intellectually my learning was seamless, thriving, limitless. Now, my willingness to learn, my thirst for keeping up with the world is just as eager and sharp, but the in-built tools to do so are somewhat rusty and worn out, saturated from so much use in the past; from firing all cylinders as if my ability to make any kind of impact, to matter would expire by the age of 30.

The pain of feeling the younger generation ‘pushing you aside’ to make way for their own discoveries, trends, ethos, and understanding of how to navigate relationships, the economy, professional pursuits and the meaning of life in general, also rubs salt in the wound of the ageing process. Lord knows, for those of us who have children, the older they become, the more redundant we begin to feel both to them and to the world in general. Their confidence, know-how and freshness is enough to make one forget how much we have achieved in our own life and the fact that like them, we were once young too, full of light, hope, energy, influence and limitless possibilities. Like us too, they will one day, if they are lucky to make it, ponder this very same realisation.

I read something on twitter two days ago which really made me sad. A lady, who said was about to become 65, was pleading with her audience to be liked or retweeted in order to, for once in her life, before either dying or developing Alzheimer’s, become noticed or have any kind of impact on a large scale; to somehow be one amongst the millions of grains of sand which successfully makes an indelible impression on the beach before being washed away by the waves.

It made me very sad, because there is that overwhelmingly dominant and influential opinion around that once you reach a certain age, you are good for nothing, you mean nothing, you add nothing, you offer nothing. We are an intelligent species but we can be so shockingly blind too with the elementary stuff. We are all in this together. We all go through the same cycle of life. It is in our own interest to highly value, nurture and treasure the later years of our life, because just like we all have a beginning, we all have an end. And yet, the moment we begin to age, we are the first ones to throw in the towel, to step aside, cower and hide, giving licence to the rest of the world to ignore and trample on us.

Well, I am not going to silently just step aside and let society, governments or ruthless individuals, men and women, treat me like I am done in this world. You come at me with your youth and your arrogance, and I will serve you a huge dose of perspective and a wake up call, because where I am is where you are also going, so you’ll do well to listen to the pilgrims who have traversed before you that very same road you are now on and are convinced is unique and exclusively paved for you and your own gain and enjoyment.

We can see things that you can’t yet see and have solutions for challenges that you have not yet endured. Our foot, unlike yours, is off the accelerator and we have successfully learnt how to marinade in the spices of all that life has to offer; to relish the traits in others that in our youth we foolishly rejected as irrelevant or unattractive. We have learnt to savour the moment; to discard the prejudices and hang-ups that forced us to live life through someone else’s eyes. If you come at me with your naive understanding and fake manufactured self, telling me I ‘aint no longer got it’, I will tell you that no quality is more alluring, more seductive than being comfortable in your skin and loving yourself, all of yourself; your achy body, crinkly skin and scarred soul. It is only when you accept yourself as you are; when you truly know yourself, that your life acquires the ultimate level of authenticity and freedom which is elusive in our youth. It is only then, in the later part of our lives that we ditch the baggage and learn to soar to the heights we were destined for, and trust me, I would never trade the view and full-on sensory and spiritual presence from up here for the shortsightedness, blind spots and restraining presumptions of my youth.

The ugly truth

This is not going to be my usual post deep in reflection but rather more of a diary entry where I get to vent out in my own safe ‘private’ space. Life is strange these days. We are in a kind of Covid limbo where we are neither in motion again nor stationary. What is that state? How does one acclimatise to an undefined existence where it is risky to get going but equally dangerous to stay put?

Work is picking up for us in the office which is great, but it just means that we are falling into the old patterns of our daily existence being driven by the frenzy of new orders. The daily walk which was so therapeutic and refreshing has now reverted back to a chore that needs to be gotten out of the way so that we can spend more time doing the real meaningless chores and be more (or rather less) productive at work.

Throughout the day I often go to twitter for a bit of respite. I encounter fantastic humour there, really interesting people too and I love how most feel they have the freedom to say what they are really thinking and not the measured responses that we often give face to face, because we feel we need to restrain ourselves or else we may come across as human. Perish the thought! Having said that, sometimes that very same veil which gives others a mask to hide behind, can be the sword that cuts both ways. If you are observant enough, if you are patient enough and look closely enough, you realise that whilst some can use that veil of anonymity to propel them into sincerity, there are others who abuse the freedom that such invisible curtain gives them and choose to give an impression of being who they are not in order to gain your trust, use you and discard you afterwards.

I am a sucker for honesty and transparency. Deception on the other hand curdles my blood and turns me inside out. People who give compliments because they want something from you and as soon as they realise they are not getting it, forget you even exist, are for me subhuman, if I am honest. Trusting another human being is completely exhausting, but what really wears my soul down is when you believe someone has a genuine interest in who you are as a person only to discover soon after it was all an act. They don’t offer friendship to see what they can do for you but rather they understand friendship only in terms of what you can do for them. It is the new shopping trend. Do what you have to do, use whichever tactic you need to successfully shop for more followers or individuals you can use to satisfy your own needs. Be all things to all people and lose your soul and your heart in the process seems to be today’s new mantra. At what point did the notion of integrity become obsolete, unfashionable, unnecessary?

I used to believe in the kindness of strangers but I am becoming increasingly disillusioned with such prospect. We are so blinded by a culture of consumerism, we stop at nothing in our frenzy and greed, not even other human beings. We chew them, suck up the life out of them and we spit them back out when there’s nothing left for us! We change our alliances and whom we give favour to like we change clothes everyday. The dehumanization of the human species is not far ahead if you ask me.

What do you know? What was meant as a diary entry has turned into another heavy rant. Well, this is me, warts and all! Come back at your own peril.

Our life is what our thoughts make it

This morning I found another short but devastatingly profound quote. This one is by Marcus Aurelius. ‘Our life is what our thoughts make it’. When I read these words the immediate thought that springs to mind is the realisation that amidst a global pandemic that has already claimed so many lives, the real monsters I see devouring people in society are anxiety and depression. I have never suffered from depression or at least I don’t think I have. I have certainly felt depressed on many occasions and have been close to that cliff edge of darkness often enough, but have been providentially lucky to have never actually fallen. Anxiety is the demon I battle regularly. The battles rage in frequency and intensity but I am always fighting that war. Much of it is down to how I am wired, to my genes, but a lot of it is to do with the environment I find myself in and the external agents I choose to put around me or feed from.

Marcus Aurelius statement is so simple yet it encompasses such power, one wonders how so many of us inherently know this to be the truth and yet, we choose to feed our minds with all the wrong things, the very things that are triggers for our thoughts to go on a downward spiral of negativity and self-destruction. We spend so much time of our lives watching tv, feeding our brain with all kinds of images, thoughts, behaviours, responses and attitudes. We spend even more countless hours on social media gulping down negativity, hatred, vileness, insults, threats, misinformation, sheer aggression, scaremongering and endless other sources of fear and hopelessness.

And further still, what about the people that we choose to hang around with, invest our energy in or after whom we mould our psyche, our soul, our behaviour? Why are we all so easily influenced by others? Is it because it is easier to follow than to lead by example? Why do we care so much what others think and in doing so we train our minds to suit the needs of others, when in reality the golden key to an anxiety-free life lies within each of us? If we don’t put our bodies at risk by jumping in a car with someone whose driving skills are decidedly doubtful, why do we allow others’ flawed, damaging reasoning and pathological patterns of behaviour and logic to shape our own?

I have never been a social animal. Quite the opposite: the awkward child who struggled in large social gatherings; who always felt like I didn’t fit in. But why is it so excruciatingly vital to us that we fit in in the first place? I have punished myself mentally for most of my life for being that person that always stood out for hiding in the background in awkwardness. Growing up I didn’t have the ‘know-how’ of how to get out of that rut, but over the years I have been on this path to freedom from ‘outside influences’. Medical staff wear protective equipment when fighting a virus so that the assailant does not enter their bodies. And yet, we are perilous and irreparably careless with neglecting to put a protective shield round our minds everyday. We open up the gates and let all kinds of enemies trample in and rob us of our joy, our peace, our security.

Apart from my family, I have become a bit of an island in my later years. Disillusioned and disenchanted from the very sources of hope, guidance and encouragement most of us entrust our lives and our minds to: religion, the system, politics and even friends. I have learnt to wear that mental shield every single day; to filter carefully what I feed my mind with; who I listen to and whose truth I abide by. I am not lonely, though I choose to be alone in this process of soul-building. The power to overrule the thoughts that determine my quality of mental life resides within me and me alone, so solitude is for me the biggest blessing and not a curse as I have always been pushed to believe.

You are not a loser

Dedicated to Rainey

My friend, you are not a loser

You just lost and you lost big

But you never lost yourself in that engulfing darkness

You wore your dignity and your integrity through it all like a diamond harness.

My friend, you are not a loser

You have been dealt a rough card in the game of life

A game over which you have no control or might

You took a chance, gave it your best shot

But through it all give up on yourself you did not.

My friend, you are not a loser

Losers lack courage to endure self-introspection

They cannot bear to look at their own reflection

You are the overcomer who fights on for Day and night

Riding the waves of adversity driven by the allure of a new hope in sight.

Like the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies to bear a harvest

So has your spirit been pierced so that it is fully equipped to sail yet furthest.

The vessel is ready, its captain fully trained.

Sail on, my friend

And let the new adventures commence.