I don't know.

Today I want to write about what happens when we don't know what to say or what to write, but we just write anyway and be a channel for what wants to come.  I think so much of our resistance to bringing our wisdom or our creativity to the world starts with all the ways we convince ourselves of not being good enough, not being clever enough, not having anything to add or to contribute.  

And what if the path to bringing ourselves is simply to start, to put one foot in front of the other, without thinking big picture, without considering the destination even, but just letting our hearts onto paper, showing something of ourselves in this very moment ?  In this moment I am sitting on the stairs writing on my iPad with no agenda of what to write, no topic, nothing really that qualifies in my personality's mind as me 'having something to say'.  But I have started, and I am writing, and I am sharing myself.  And of course my blog is as much for me as anything else, so I am grateful for this newly discovered part of me that's willing to step forward, start typing, start saying something, even when I don't know what it's going to be.  

And then I see where it goes, where it gets to when I become a stream or a vehicle for the imagination that lives through this human body each day.  To be honest it's a relief that my relentless thinking has a place to go, a place to land.  And that's what I think journalling is really about - one way we can process our lives, integrate all that happens to us in our inner and outer worlds is to write down our lives, pour them onto the page so we can see what kind of picture this life creates in the world through our precious use of language. 

The quality that writing holds for me is that it shows up on the page as something slightly different to how I experience myself - I often write and then re-read what I have typed and and it doesn't feel like me - but cognitively I know I have done it.  And then the mystery starts about who is writing, who is here - because writing shows me that there's something else here than my personality, something else gets to shine it's way through to this little stairway in my cottage where I live.  

I really get the phrase 'writing for our lives' all of a sudden.  

Night night lovely ones.  

Stepping into the unknown.

As I settle in to the place where I am opened into the unknown, the step I know I am meant to take, I thank the moment that even had me consider this. I know I can find that knowing again and reconnect with why I was pulled by my heart into venturing forth in the first place.

There was a beautiful, alive and juicy tug that had me wanting. A gorgeous flavour of life that appealed to me and was enticing enough that I would bravely lift a foot to make the tentative move towards it.

What was that beating of my heart that told me something about life? How did it touch my heart and how did it happen that I let the wanting land in me ? 


With each fearful thought that inevitably comes, how do I bring this initial pull of the heart back into my world, back into my eyes, that I may see the path open up before me ? Even if I turn around and look at the the reasoning, the sensible list of things that would stop me from going any further, even if I am seduced by it for a while, may grace reel me back into the truth of my life, and throw me off the cliff.

What Tantrums can Teach us.

A dear friend of mine has asked me to write about tantrums.  She said that at the weekend she had a huge reaction to something and it made her feel like a child again, like she did when she was having a 'tantrum' as a young girl.  This came to her as a friend of hers is having difficulties with her little girl who is also having 'tantrums' at the moment.

Firstly, I think the word 'tantrum' is really interesting - here is a definition from Wikipedia:

"A tantrum or temper tantrum is an emotional outbreak, usually associated with children or those in emotional distress, that is typically characterized by stubbornness, crying, screaming, defiance, angry ranting, a resistance to attempts at pacification and, in some cases, hitting. Physical control may be lost, the person may be unable to remain still, and even if the "goal" of the person is met he or she may not be calmed."

I don't know about you, but I often have an emotional 'outbreak', I cry, I'm stubborn, sometimes I scream and I get angry.  And it takes a wise eye to see what's truly going on with me when I'm in this way.  When I'm feeling rageful or angry, it's often hard to accept the truth from whoever is with me at the time.  And I know I'm doing it, I know I'm behaving in a way that feels awful to me, but sometimes I just can't help it.  So I totally get why little children have these feelings, these huge bodily sensations - and it feels like they have control.  

For me the first step towards a way to work with this is through awareness.  The awareness that as adults, we do not have to 'act out' our huge feelings - that they can be experienced, communicated and felt with maturity and responsibility. 

Just like with any other part of our personality that plays out, reacts and runs the show for however long, I think it all comes down to a question of identity.  

When we take ourselves to be separate, small, insignificant.  When we believe we are our thoughts, our emotions, our bodies.  We will always feel like our ego reactions in this moment are everything.  It feels this way in the moment of anger or rage.  And yet it's not who we are.  

I believe that cultivating a practice of presence, growing into the space around us and intimately, simultaneously inhabiting our bodies will support us no end in watching these 'tantrums' happen.  We find a space where the possibility of allowing them to be what they are arises, and we take responsibility for our 'stuff'.  We get the option of not putting it on to our partners, our children, our friends and family.  I believe that the more deeply we experience our true presence, our essential nature, the clearer it is to us that we are something way more expanded, way deeper than our every day experience of ourselves. 

And I think this all comes from a daily practice - a practice of presence, stillness, awareness, self-observation and relaxation.  Through an intentional daily practice, we work the muscle of presence that determines our capacity for non-reaction, observing ourselves in the moment and finding that minuscule gap in ourselves, which opens the door to step out or through the tantrum - to make another choice.  

The Beginning is NOW, it always is.

London is pretty stunning on this ordinary Monday in November.  The sky is blue, the autumn colours are beaming - it's a crisp, wintery and sunny day.  As I walked through Richmond Park this morning, when my shadow was long from the rising sun and all snuggled up in my warm weather gear, it dawned on me that one of the deeply benevolent things about life is that it's always the beginning. 

Each new day, each sunrise, each breath create the space for us to start, to step in.  And all it takes is for us to become alive to this space, this invitation, moment by moment.  With no memory of the past, and and a simple availability that welcomes us, each breath invites us into our lives, our day, our evening, our morning.

There's a tree in Richmond Park which fell over long ago.  And it didn't die.  Somehow it began its new life as a tree that lies on the ground, growing roots to nourish and sustain it even though it's not upright like other trees.   It's flourishing, vibrant, beautiful and far from ordinary. 

And today this tree got me thinking.  All of us have fallen over, been broken, damaged or hurt in our lives.  All of us have experienced our own unique pain that has come from our life story, circumstances and history.  And because the world is born anew in every breath, in every heart beat, we have a choice to flower, to grow in each moment.  Whatever our story, this reality is always here - this opportunity to learn, to flourish and find out something else about life other than our current way of seeing, feeling or being. 

The world is in no way holding us back; on the contrary, it's inviting us in, renewing itself all the time, asking is to take our place and be ourselves.

This tree didn't give up and die, it took what it had, and made a life out of it.  It lives its glorious life proudly on top of a beautiful hill.  It has more worn out grass around it than any other tree I have seen in the park, it's inviting, imperfect and welcoming.

Maybe that's what our imperfection does in the world - maybe our vulnerability, our honesty and openness about our lives invites others to the party.  And because of life's invitation to renewal and aliveness, we have a brand new opportunity to do this each and every moment. 

'No' is the magic word.

I had lunch with a dear friend yesterday and we had a great conversation about the word 'no' and how difficult it is to use it cleanly, clearly and honestly. 

She told me the story of how a friend of hers was meant to come to her house with something to cook for dinner - they had agreed on the plan a while before.  And then on the day of the dinner, he called her and said that he'd agreed to meet a business associate that night and he'd forgotten about it but felt he had to go due to various complex reasons he couldn't really go in to.  He didn't really want to go to this other thing, but felt he had to.  In the end he turned up at my friend's house much later than he had promised and when he arrived, he did not have the food with him that he said he would bring because he hadn't had time to get to the shops en route.  And the rest of the story is about how everyone ended up losing - my friend was upset that they had to eat late, venture out and get food, he felt he'd had a rushed evening with most of his time spent traveling between places rather than spending quality time with the people he'd arranged to be with, the business colleague probably felt the time spent was too short and rushed - and as you can see, one 'no' may have solved all this difficulty.

In my childhood I don't remember many occasions where 'no' was an acceptable answer.  It seemed to cause trouble if I answered 'no' to something that my parents or teachers wanted me to do.  And that's where the relationship to 'no' begins - we learn that is causes difficulty, we see that when we use this word, the reaction from the trusted adults around us does not bring us the love and approval we are seeking, so we stop using it because we don't want to be seen as bad.  It may also have happened that we used it more and more because the attention we got from saying 'no' became accentuated and life became more interesting than if we just agreed and went along with things (maybe another topic for a blog!). 

When we are young, much of the time we are craving love and attention, we seek validation that we are OK, we are loved, seen and welcome.   And our unhealthy relationship to 'no' that develops in our early phases of life gets carried into our adulthood, where we cannot tolerate the reaction of another if we go against what they ask of us.  If you take a minute and imagine someone asking you for something and all you say is 'no', it's almost unbearable, it's too awkward and uncomfortable. 

In the fullness of our lives today, this relationship to the word 'no' leads to burn out and overwhelm at work (I have a 'can do' attitude, and I always say 'yes' to my manager), conflict in our relationships (an over filled diary that leaves no time for spontaneity and togetherness time), unhealthy busyness (a schedule that does not allow for rest or recovery) and many more things. 

And there's the subtlety of the word 'no' in action around technology, which means we HAVE to answer the phone when it rings, or we constantly check our emails on our mobile / cell phones because someone may have asked something of us.  The 'yes' culture supports that we are 100% switched on to technology because worked into this 'no' / 'yes' topic is the fear of missing out, of missing the boat.  If I do not respond immediately, if I do not take up opportunities whenever they are presented to me, I might miss out on something important.  But what's the cost to us of being unable to say no to things ? How do our bodies, our families, our relationships, our friends suffer because of it. 


Can you think of consequences that comes from a life without the word 'no'?