There is nothing to drive my family more crazy than when I say the words “Did I ever tell you about the time Patrick Swayze winked at me?”
The thing about this wink was that it was epic.
It was an acknowledgement of a magical conspiracy.
And there was more to it than meets the eye…..
A number of years ago when our kids were still quite young but old enough to take care of themselves for a few days, Alan and I decided to treat ourselves to a London trip.
I wanted to visit Kensington Palace and the Victoria & Albert Museum. Alan wanted to have dinner in Rules Restaurant and take in an Art Gallery or two.
And there was one other thing. I’d seen Patrick Swayze on TV and he was talking about about Dirty Dancing the show, coming to the West End. I didn’t catch all the interview but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to see Patrick Swayze, my absolute hero, on stage on this trip to London.
I was only just getting the hang of online bookings and had managed the hotel, flights and train bookings but getting two tickets to see this legend couldn’t be too difficult could it?
I called on all my angels, dear departed loved ones, saints and the abundant universe to yield two tickets to see Patrick Swayze on stage in the West End on this upcoming trip.
I checked out tickets for Dirty Dancing and there were indeed two. I clicked all the right buttons and links and filled in all the requested information and pressed SUBMIT. Nothing happened. The little coloured wheel spun and spun and spun. Then a message appeared on screen - You Have Timed Out. I tried again, this time with two different seats and once again I had timed out as the slow speed internet of the day held up each purchase.
The next morning I set about the ticket hunt again. I tried another booking site and this time – oh boy, the ticket prices seemed to have jumped from £55 each to £95. And this time there were no two seats together.
I phoned Alan and I knew when he responded that he’d have been just as happy for me to book one seat but that’s not what he said. "Would you need to try another booking agent"? he asked. And once again, I went down into that hole that searching online leads to. Ever further down, down, down, following the thread, further and further until yessssss! It finally delivers what you’ve been searching for. At least that’s what you’re led to believe.
I was now looking at a booking website that was showing me the availability of two practically front row seats for the evening performance of Dirty Dancing. For £200 each!!!!
I phoned Alan.
I could hear the patience in his voice. "Trina check at the top of the screen that there’s a lock symbol." Indeed there was. Still good. We decided to go budget on the rest of our trip and purchase the ‘once in a lifetime’ tickets instead.
But just as I completed the form, I decided to check out the website and there I found complaint after complaint about double booking and rip off prices. And what’s more, when I went back into the site, the original tickets were no longer available but two even more expensive ones were. This wasn’t working out and I didn’t like the feeling that the ticket prices seemed to increase along with my desperation. It was time to take back control. It was time to let it go.
My prayer to see Patrick Swayze on stage in the West End was not to be. So be it.
Later that evening as I packed for our upcoming trip, Alan suggested we see a show anyway. We both love Musical Theatre and neither of us had seen Guys and Dolls, so we decided on that. Quickly and easily I found two tickets available at a reasonable price and I booked them. Easy peasy, nothing to it.
The following evening we had arrived in the heart of the West End. We enjoyed a plate of pasta and a glass of wine and set off for the theatre to collect our tickets at the booking office. Once in the theatre we followed the directions of the ushers and found ourselves with centre aisle seating, sixth row from the front. Fantastic seats with a clear view of the entire stage.
As we made ourselves comfortable and the lights went down, I breathed deeply and took a moment to savour the feeling of giving myself over to the pleasure of being transported by the performance ahead and deep appreciation for everyone involved in making it all possible. It was then I heard the words I will never forget.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, The Piccadilly Theatre is delighted to announce that the role of Nathan Detroit will from tonight be played by Mister Patrick Swayze."
Truly in my wildest dreams I could never have imagined a prayer so sweetly answered or the universe more perfectly aligned than this.
I was about to see the Patrick Swayze, on stage, in the West End – exactly as I had asked.
The show was wonderful and all my senses were filled to overflowing with appreciation of the wonderful talent and for the fabulous show and as the final song finished and the cast took their bow, I was catapulted by sheer joy, up out of my seat . It was then, at that very moment , that Patrick Swayze not six rows away from me, turned his head, looked me straight in the eye and gave me the most enormous wink. Applauding, grinning from ear to ear, I nodded my head in acknowledgement. I got it. ‘You see?’ said that wink. ‘We got here in the end’. Indeed we did - and I am forever grateful.
NOTE: I post this blog today as it came sharply to mind over the weekend when our beloved little companion Rocky passed on to the next world.
When I was growing up and at school in the 60’s and 70’s, the prospect of a school retreat was a most exciting affair. Of course they were religious retreats and involved a bit of prayer and breaking into groups of six to discuss ‘The Compassionate Heart’ or some such – but mine was a feather-head (or so I’d been told by many a stern-faced teacher) and these retreats were a place where I could unleash my curious soul allowing something within me rise up to explore the potential for a life that didn’t depend on the rigid structure of school - that place dedicated to achieving grades which deliver a career which secures a future and station in life thus guaranteeing happiness.
I wasn’t a rebel. Far from it. But from my earliest days I was convinced that happiness was an inside job.
I was a dreamy kid, not really religious but content with knowing that we are joined in this life to an unseen world and I embraced the rituals that were part of school and community life. I loved the arrival of May and would eagerly fill a vase with wallflowers picked from our front garden placing it on the May alter I had made in my bedroom. It held a little statue of the Blessed Virgin and a holy picture or two which we school children received every once in a while from the Bishop.
We’d been told we could talk to the saints in prayer but I preferred to have proper conversations. I’d ask ‘Mary-Mother-of-God’ questions each day and I hoped she’d divulge to me who really shot the sainted President John F. Kennedy or what kind of punishment did Hitler get for his terrible sins. One year I was very worried about poor Judas. How could Jesus fulfil his prophesy if Judas hadnt agreed to be the bad guy and betray him with a kiss in the garden of Gethsemane. However the question which preoccupied me most throughout my childhood was where do the animals go when they die. The Bible was very vague about dogs and cats and rabbits and things once the story about Noah and the Arc was out of the way.
Once a week, in the year leading up to our First Holy Communion my classroom at school was scrubbed clean, desks polished to a high shine and not a scrap of paper out of place in time to welcome the local clergyman whose task it was to prepare us for this most sacred of sacrements. We girls, hair brushed and neat as pins were the very model of virtue by the time the great man swept through the door. One of those days in particular will always stand out in my mind.
Father Dooley had just arrived and Sister Maria, our young teacher was neatening her habit pleats as she quietly took her seat at her desk. “As your priest,” said Father Dooley, “It is my job to explain to you what God wants you to know.” Perfect! I thought. I have something I want to know and this holy man can tell me. Before he could proceed any further, I waved my hand in the air and he turned smiling at me. “Father, do dogs and cats go to heaven?” I asked. The glint from the flash in Sister Maria’s eye slashed me from the far side of the room. Father Dooley took an enormous breath and seemed to grow by several feet. “Of course not.” he bellowed in response. “Havent I already told you that only those with the cleanest white souls can get through the gates of heaven. And dogs and cats do not have souls. Only the children of God have souls!!!"
Despite this loud and righteous response from the fine priest – it was something inside of me that registered loudest. A sensation that felt and sounded like the jarring claxon on a game show when a contestant gets the question wrong. NAH-HAH. WRONG!!!! As Father Dooley got his spiritual lesson underway, I pitied such clever and sincere people who had learned their catecism and bible so well but weren’t free to trust the wisdom of their own heart. They couldn’t dare to believe what I knew to be true. That of course all of God’s creatures go to heaven.
On that day, I couldn’t yet articulate it but I knew that although many learned and wise people will share their knowledge and experience of what they believe to be true, it’s only when a truth resonates positively within the depths of your being, you’ll recognise it as a pathway to your own sense of joy and purpose.
In his beautiful film, The Shift, the late Dr Wayne Dyer opens with a scene of him rising early and going quietly to his desk where he reads a short passage from a book and then moves into quiet meditation. His voice narrates this process which he would undertake every morning of his life. A kind of daily retreat where he would accesses the wisdom of his soul while connecting with Source.
Dr. Dyer (in the film), says that everyone has a destiny, a calling of the soul. Every bird, every tree, every person comes into the world with something it is destined to do or deliver to the world. “It is only we humans who tend to get confused and we slip into identifying ourselves with our outer symbols of success and achievement and loose touch with the extra-ordinaryness with which we were born.” Watching that film for the first time and hearing these words, I experienced a spiritual ah-ha! moment. I knew then that all living things other than we humans, can only be what they are. A daffodil does not try to be a rose or a bird try to be a spider. Neither does each think the other is better than, or less important than itself. Of course there’s no issue of these going to heaven. For they are so pure they are already living expressions of the grace of God!
A few years back I experienced my own shift or calling of the soul. I was experiencing a number of the markers of the midlife transition - empty nest, the passing on of the parents of both my husband and myself, and of course the inevitable menopause. Overtime, life had got in the way of that early childhood conviction that I’d know the great truths of the universe when I’d hear them and that I could be anything at all in the world I wished to be. I had come across Dr Dyer’s film on Youtube and as I watched the story unfold I felt that sense of absolute truth that we are spiritual beings inhabiting the many bodies of our lifetime. Each of us through our lifetime have the possibility of inhabiting many forms, that of a child, a teenager, a young mother, a mature woman - and here I was transitioning once again. I have since come to know that it’s no accident that as a woman moves beyond her reproductive years she inhabits the body of a Wise & Ageless Goddess who begins to understand her powerful connectedness to Source, the Universe, the Divine or God.
My spirit was here to experience an extraordinary life and it was time to return and reclaim the wholeness with which I was born.
The poet T.S. Eliot said, “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” I was arriving at where I started.
Since then I, like Wayne Dyer and many others all over the world, set about preparing a ritual of early morning retreat. A little journalling, some affirmations and expressions of gratitude, a short meditation etc. and bit by bit over time, I was learning to pay attention to the inner wisdom and spiritual connection which every day opens or points to the pathway of the endless potential of all of God’s creatures. And in this I found a healing connectedness to every living thing.
Over the years I have been the proud owner/ parent of many waggy-tailed companions who’ve shared my world and when I return to the spiritual realms, I very much look forward to watching them run freely through sunlit meadows, ears flapping behind them in the way they would when they’d stick their head out of a moving car window. I’m looking forward to meeting up with Father Dooley again and I’ll thank him for his wisdom that day in the school classroom as it woke a desire to remain curious on my own spiritual quest. I may also ask him a very cheeky question and risk causing him to blush. How had he reacted as he reached the pearly gates and found himself sharing the queue with none other than the presbytery cat!
On the 31st of October (Halloween in fact!) four years ago, a psychic redhead named Dots McGuire handed me a parcel and said "Open it. Your magical life awaits."
Let me take you back……….
…to an ordinary, everyday, average kind of day. At lunchtime I punched cappuccino on the coffee-to-go vending machine and grabbed a cellophane sandwich from the chill cabinet in a busy city newsagent. I played a couple of games on my smartphone while I made my lunch disappear.
….as I drove through evening traffic, I felt the familiar pinching of my jeans about my waist and wondered if I'd anything more comfortable in the fresh laundry basket to climb into when I got home.
And that reminded me.
I'd better get a bottle of Rioja and spend the evening with the ironing. I comforted myself that a glass or two of wine and a few episodes of ‘The Good Wife’ would see me through the hours of being a good wife.
It was as I stopped at traffic lights that the funny little psychic redheaded nurse made her re-appearance.
Dots McGuire was back!
Oh how I adored this character I had dreamed up for the 'musical' I'd been writing for..... how long? I didn't write everyday. Or even every weekend. It was months sometimes before I'd take out the pages of my script for 'Come Back To Stay' and allowed the characters play themselves onto the pages. I'd tell myself that I’d
finish it One Day when .......
I'll write it once I ..............
I'll just finish this first, then I can ............
Now it dawned on me with a shock that it had been five years since the quirky Dots first muscled her way into a starring role in my story.
Always it was 'One Day' wasn't it?
Boy was that day going to be a very full day indeed. But in the meantime we say -
"I'll bide my time. I'll just fall in / pass through / put in the hours like everyone else and get on with my life. Not a unique life, just an average one - following the lead and playing it safe."
In truth I was tired, all-out in fact and the well worn path through the comfort zone was soooo easy. I'd let every day drift by, each just like the one before it and the one following it.
And that's when Dots McGuire came back! Flashing her fiery red hair and yelling "When are you going to get out of your dozy head and start living your life?"
Now you might think this strange, but my response to her - was to respond to her.
These characters in my musical script were my joy.
Within the words they spoke were my words.
Their voice was my voice, my vision and my story.
And now here was my Dots McGuire asking me when I was going to start living my life!
I thought I'd pacify her. Maybe Christmastime I'll have a few days…
"That's not going to happen miss so-called writer" she snapped.
I did mention she's psychic didn't I?
Jesus, I thought. I'm never going to do this am I? I'm going to spend my whole life saying (sarcastic voice here) “I'm writing a musical about a supernatural episode that brings together the eurovision song contest and a star of the Irish showband scene. And 'one day' I'm going to finish it!"
But the truth is, it was more likely that I'd depart this world with a few sad pages of handwritten script of a beautiful idea, filled with mad, wonderful characters that never broke loose from those pages. Now Dots McGuire, the orphaned, redheaded, psychic nurse will never get to save the day.
It was then that she handed me the parcel of magic.
"I predict something" she said. "I predict that at the end of the next thirty days you will have discovered how to find the 'One Day' in everyday."
Something shifted. Aligned. And settled home on its axis. As though the bodies of the idea in my head, the truth in my gut and the longing in my heart found their groove and slotted sweetly together . Suddenly, somehow, my ONE DAY had arrived.
And so, I did go home and I did stop off on the way to pick up a bottle of Rioja. And in fact, I did do the ironing. But instead of watching 'The Good Wife', I had a notebook and pen beside me and I made notes as all the delicious 'one day things' I promised myself I'd do, came to mind. For the gift inside the parcel that Dots McGuire had handed me was a gift of 30 days - the whole of November in fact, to step off the well worn track and to take one day at a time.
I gifted myself these precious days (for indeed we all know, don't we, that Dots speaks for me).
And guess what?
November was lush and mellow and blissful.
And by December 1st I felt flamin' freakin' gloriously fabulous!
So I packaged it up and wrapped it beautifully and renamed this gift November Bliss - 30 days of tenderness.
That halloween night was the beginning of the discovery of my own super-natural, magical life. I learned in the days that followed that each and every day had the potential to be the best day of my life. Now my 30 day programme (titled November Bliss - 30 days of soulful self nurture) is part of my Wise & Ageless Goddess guide to Living Magically and is available for everyone who wants to slow down and spend time on self care and tenderness. It can be done alone – or register to join the group November Bliss with Trina Keane here and we’ll bliss buddy together for a truly sweet November 2019 experience. (Some may choose to make it a NoVino November© although it’s not mandatory). Along with finding magic, I managed to change some tired old habits and even shed a half stone last year!
Oh and, I finished the musical! Where is it now? It's with the gods but I wouldn't worry about it.
Dots McGuire knows a magic spell or two..................
Two years ago I was visiting with my daughter in London. It was a hot September afternoon and as we sipped coffee in her sunny flat, we began to talk about when she would next come home to visit us in Dublin. It looked like it was going to be Christmas before we’d be together again that year.
“You know mum, I look forward to the” ……… and then it sounded like she said hug “I get everytime I come home.” My confused look promted her to explain. “It’s Hygge” she said. “My friend from Denmark says it’s a Danish expression for a kind of hearth-cosy comfort.”
Little did I know how much more I was going to hear about this word Hygge, pronounced like a combination of huge and hug ‘hue-gah’ the Danish way of living which is about atmosphere and experience rathar than about things or wealth. That Christmas the shelves in bookstores were full of cute little books teaching us all how to be Hygge.
I’ve come to the conclusion, in the time since then, that hygge is where the heart is. And isn’t it interesting that the words heart and hearth are so similar sounding and of course, we expect something similar from each – we expect warmth.
On that day in my daughter’s flat, her expression of ‘hearth-cosy comfort’ brought me back to that place where we go when we desire to frame something new, into something familiar - in this case, a Christmas of my childhood.
On Christmas mornings, my family would pack up our car and set off on what was a long journey in those days, to my Grandmother’s cottage in the country. We’d be wrapped up warm for the journey and whatever new toy or present which had arrived under the tree, would have pride of place on the seat beside us. At a particular point in the journey, my dad would suggest we search the distance for the lights of Granny’s cottage through the trees and the excitement as I spotted the smoke rise from her chimney, filled me with the absolute knowledge that we were welcome to this place.
To this day, we grandchildren talk of Granny’s hugs. They were enormous and as she wrapped you in her arms and held you to her bosom, there was no other more perfect place in the world. Then holding you away at arms length and cupping your chin in her hands, her beautiful soft brown eyes would scan your face as she satisfied herself that all was well. We felt precious indeed to her as she addressed us with the Irish term of affection, a stór, meaning ‘my treasure’.
It’s easy for me to slip into that scene again now as I remember how each of my senses were filled up with pure pleasure on those Chrsitmas day afternoons in the cottage. The enormous fire in the inglenook-like fireplace where boiling pots rested on the hearth and kettles hung from the hook over the flames. Oil lamps were glowing and candles lit and over by the window, the table was set and prepared for the feast to follow. As we waited for all to be ready, we children sat up close to the fire and petted ‘Silver’ the spaniel of the same colour who lay comfortably under the big sofa, nose curiously sniffing the air.
There was pleasure for me too in knowing my parents were enjoying being together and for a time, nothing to distract them from the world of everyday life - of work and home-making and mending and keeping our lives ticking over in their fashion. Here we simply bathed in the warmth of a family Christmas.
In the evening after we dozed by the fire, the table returned to its place by the wall, leftovers safely stored away, my aunts and uncles and cousins arrived bringing blasts of freezing air through the open door to cheer us wide awake and ready for merryment, laughter and good humoured banter. And this is where the real magic began…….
Pots of tea in festive tea-cosies would be left to brew and Granny’s Christmas cake proudly revealed and admired. And while small hands would steal the little silver balls from the cake decorations, adult eyes were busy finding a comfortable place to sit for the evening of song and storytelling which inevitably came to pass on an occasion such as this. Dad would pour stout and small whiskey chasers for the men and Mum offered to share her once-a-year babycham to aunties Sally and Gretta. Kitty, my Grandmother’s neighbour would call and take up the place reserved for honoured guests – beside the fireplace. No one questioned it. Kitty was old and we children suspected that she was actually a witch. Poor lady was old and she lived alone and that was enough in those days to give creedence to the suspicion.
We children, taking our new dolls and our dinky cars to the stairway, would place ourselves, one seated below the other down the steps, peeking through the banister rails while we carefully sipped lemonade and quietly opened sweets from their jewel coloured wrappers, never chewing or crunching and making each last forever.
In the flickering flame from the hearth and the soft glow of light from the oil lamps, I can still see the contentment sit comfortably on Granny’s face. He home and her heart filled with love - her treasure all around her. There were songs and recitations and recalling of loved ones long gone. A glass raised in memory and blessings sent forth until the time came to wish ‘God bless’ as the family began to ribbon back out into the night and my sister and I turned upward on the stair to the attic bedroom prepared for us above.
As we slid into the enormous, creaky bed, prewarmed by hot water bottles and a mountain of cosy blankets, my sister and I would murmer sleepy words of contentment to each other. And as we drifted off to sleep we knew without a shadow of doubt that within the thick walls of this ancient cottage, lay the centre of the universe. People came and they went and they shared stories and played music around the fire in the room below, but what we felt that night, was that no matter where we would go in the world or who we would give our hearts to, the feeling of warmth and belonging we felt as we snuggled down to sleep was the measure by which all other riches would forever be measured.
So what is hygge?
Hygge is where the heart and hearth is.
Hygge is when you are made to feel treasured.
Hygge is seeing those you love being shown love by those they love.
Hygge is a better understanding of who you are in the world no matter where you are in the world.
Hygge is created with words and warmth and affection.
Hygge is created when it tends to the comfort of all the senses.
Hygge is a feeling that you are treasure beyond measure and rich beyond your wildest dreams!
It’s blankets and flickering light, and hugs and snoozing and cake and shared festive cheer and chimneys through trees. It’s cousins and old neighbours and blasts of cold air as they come through the door. It’s loving eyes reflecting the sparkle of treasure they see before them…..
My daughter returns home to us for her Christmas visit this weekend. She’s looking forward to the hugs. At least I think that’s what she said. I think she said hugs………
What's not to love about being a Goddess? According to Dr. Christiane Northrup, Goddesses Never Age. I've downloaded her book of the same name on the Audible app and I listen to it (read by the author) in my car as I drive to the gym. I listen to it on other journeys too but somehow I feel I'm contributing more powerfully to the goddess image on gym trips and Dr. Christiane's words get to carry greater impact. Let's be honest, driving about getting sweaty about getting sweaty isn't inspiring in the least and my mind is more likely to drift into the mundane lane than to elevate my sense of higher purpose but from time to time, some juicy goddess guidance hits home nicely.
ABANDON YOUR AGE
Dr. Christiane has done all the research on the science of ageing and it seems to me that the two main components of ageing are chemical and mental and the connection to, and effect on, each one to the other. Put super-simply, 'we think, therefore we are'. Our bodies believe every word we say. So - tell it some superpowered steroid pumped new truths. Now dear UpStarts, I'm assuming you are one of our over 50's (but the earlier you start the following practice the better ) - so - When asked how old you are, check in with your body and assess how old you feel. Then answer with sincere conviction "I'm 33 today" or "42 today" or - go for it - "22 today". It doesn't matter what the enquirer thinks but your body will love you for it. "Thank you" it will say. "I like that look on you". Everything will fall into place so much more easily when you assume the age you feel 'today'. And skipping to the park to take in a couple of laps will seem so much sweeter. Go Goddess!
Today is Yellow Tuesday. And how do I know this? Well, from my earliest memory, I could see days of the week in colour. And each colour, gave each day it's own particular energy. Synesthesia, meaning sensory-fusion is a condition which fuses two senses, generally that of colour concept, to days of the week, months of the year and to numbers and letters of the alphabet. Imagine my surprise to discover that some wise-wordy academics had actually studied this and written whole books on the subject! I took for granted that Monday is brown. What else would the first day of the working/school week be? Tuesday, as I said is Yellow. Wednesday is a vibrant sky-blue, hopeful and curious. Thursday is a silver-grey, steady and strong and Friday is grassy green, lush and rewarding. Saturday is reddish orange, active and alive and Sunday is a crisp and clean, white. Sunday changes however as the day progresses. Starting out white, it develops flecks of silver-grey towards evening time. It never dawned on me that others could not see these colours too and when I read that Synesthesia is a fairly rare condition, I wondered could it not simply be that those with it, took it for granted that others see colours of the week too and wouldn't consider bringing it up in conversation. "I love your dress" someone could say. "Well thank you." the Synesthesiast might respond. " I thought it would match the blue of the day just perfectly".
Is there something in Yellow (and all its sunny hues) that is so uplifting and energising? I get most work done on a tuesday. I make my best plans, feel more creative, am at my most sociable and in my very best mood.......all on a tuesday. My friend and guru, Shaughna Whelan http://www.shaughnawhelan.com runs The Creative Rainbow workshops (and her highly accurate tarot card readings offer positive guidance and enlightenment). Shaughna tells us that colours carry vibrational energies which can improve our creativity and wellbeing. Today we are becoming more aware of the knowledge that the ancients of other cultures took for granted. That we have centres of energy located down through the midline of our body called chakras - and each chakra, when open and unblocked contributes to the wellbeing and physical health of specific areas of our body and spirit. The chakra is depicted in colour and each of the seven responds vibrationally to the energy of a specific colour. Yellow, for instance, corresponds to the navel or solar plexus and is associated with our self-esteem and personal power. Maybe that's why, when my mind is in a state of Yellow Tuesday, I feel so optimistic and in control.
It is suggested that a pregnant woman visualise breathing-in certain colours and to measure the changes in the baby's movement. Breathing in blue calms the baby, and the mother. Pink wraps it in womb-like love, red encourages movement and exercising and yellow is nurturing. Sometimes the mother is drawn to eat foods or drink in particular colours, depending on their urges or needs. Red counters anaemia for example. Visualising wrapping mother and baby in gold, keeps them protected and it is good for the mother to concentrate on this, coming close to delivery and even during the birth. Practicing breathing-in of colours in waves is a useful tool for the birth itself as it's a great distraction to add colour to the rhythm during contractions. For those of a spiritual mind, it's preparing baby's chakras along with keeping mother's chakras energised at the time when she is most in her Goddess state.
Shaughna tells us that wearing a particular colour will attract the energy associated with it. We all feel stronger and more visible wearing red which relates to the root or base chakra. That lady in red, will get more glances. The purple robes of the priest is to signify heightened spirituality and relates to the crown chakra and connectedness to a higher source. Personally, my preference till now is to wear black or grey. I wouldn't choose to decorate my home in those colours - but perhaps I think these dark colours suit my blonde highlights so much better (so speaks my higher self!) I think though that I like colour to surprise me in my outer world rather than to show up in colour myself but I do think I'll be more in tune with colour and the possibility that wearing it may offer me a new perspective, opportunity or even health benefit on any given day. Definitely worth exploring.
Kahlil Gibran writes:
"Let me, oh let me bathe my soul in colours. Let me swallow the sunset and drink in
That reminds me of the current advertisement on TV for Skittles sweets. A giraffe is happily munching a candy-floss rainbow and a smiling Jamaican chap is 'milking' skittles from the giraffe into a bucket.
Chakras. Kahlil Gibran. Skittles. Doesn't matter.................it's Yellow Tuesday.
Most of us reach a stage in life where we realise we have less years ahead of us than behind us. I have a little trick where I imagine the number of years I can reasonably expect to have ahead of me, and then check back to where I was in life the same number of years in the past. I convince myself that I was a mere youngster at that stage and so it seems, I have a fairly reasonable length of time to…… what? Fulfil my destiny? Write the novel? Move to Fiji and sip cocktails forever? Recently, I found myself asking the question, Do I want to live thirty five more years? Or do I want to live one year, thirty five more times?
The actress Jane Fonda describes life, not as a bridge-like arch with the rise of youth, the plateau of nurturing and the decent of old age, but instead, an ascending stairway. Taking each stage and building upon it, rising all the time. So where does that put those who choose to live the same year over and over again?
About two years ago, I came across Danielle LaPorte’s “The Desire Map - A guide to creating goals with soul”. Already an enormous fan of Julia Cameron’s “Artist’s Way” and a daily Morning Pages* writer, The Desire Map is a self-development programme with a sassy, funky attitude and its reflections and guidance, offers an inspirational and lit-up application to life. I made the decision to award myself a three day retreat and hit a delicious spa resort where I worked my way through those shiny-bright pages. Powered by my Core Desired Feelings and with a road map to my soul, I was transformed and rejuvenated. I departed that resort with the firm conviction that there would be no contented decent into old age for me. From my elevated position on Jane Fonda’s ascending stairway, I would make a new start. I was an UpStart.
A New Dawn
Some of you will identify with the following excerpt from my Morning Pages* from over a year ago, dated Thursday February 19th (4.35am). My mother had passed away after a long illness just a few weeks earlier.
Sleep has been and gone and the mellow smooth jazz on my iPad is deliciously comforting as I write these pages. The music slips over me like the softest cashmere and I know that in this darkest hour, I am not alone. The start of my day now, so utterly different in its cool simplicity to those other mornings not long gone. I think of all the mad, frustrated, delightful, anxious, rewarding mornings over the years when my primary role was that of mother. I could never, in those days, have contemplated the serene scenario my morning rituals have become. The haven my beautiful old writing desk affords me with my scented candle lit, my pens and paper at the ready, and the barely audible ambient music. My coffee aroma wafts and I not only catch my breath, but I breathe it all in.
I’ve been thinking about it all a lot lately though. How the mother-life dynamism fades. All those head-spinning super fast decisions made, opinions offered, aid administered, kindness extended, explanations demanded and corners fought. The kisses-better, lunch boxes filled, waffles toasted and sharp pleats ironed. Trainers found, keys lost, fees“chequed” , car defrosted, traffic negotiated, school, school, school! And then all over again. Pick-ups, homework, food, food, homework, grocery shopping, dinner, sports wear washed, ironing, more decisions, lectures, permission slips and rules enforced. This life was not for the fainthearted! It was a ride we dreamily climbed into and then hung onto for dear life as it spun faster and higher. Terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.
It’s come back to earth time for me now… and I find myself on a whole new ride. I’m neither daily mom or daughter now. Nothing would go terribly wrong if I took to my bed for a week or packed myself off somewhere. Heavens!!! We got them safely here. Mum has gone and thoughts of her comfort and care no longer fill my waking moment mind-scan. Those days are over. And so………I find myself on stand-down now. The trick of course is to accept that today I’m a tall building and no longer a bouncy-castle. A bouncy-castle is inflated for a purpose. It’s perfectly adequate as a means of entertaining and occupying its inhabitants for a period of time. When the occupants leave, it is deflated and no longer useful. No! Now I must remember I’m a tall, majestic, sky-scraper. Each day I’ve added bricks and mortar, interesting corners and viewpoints, levels of support and areas of comfort, warmth and security. A community has developed within it and my sky-scraper grows taller still. It’s very walls are the structure of our world. My girls can come and stand at the top with Alan and me anytime they like. They can take shelter, sleep peacefully, protected and safe and then spot something in the distance which sings to their soul. Waiving as they run into the sunlit street below, they joyfully begin the construction of their own world.
My role is not diminished. My role is to maintain that beacon atop my sky-scraper. We have built majesty together and I sit comfortably upon my throne.
A New Day
Today I am a Licensed Desire Map Facilitator and I run workshops and retreats for women and UpStarts of all ages. At the heart of the programme is the excavation of our innermost desires, our unique and profound calling in this life. How we want to feel and bringing those feelings into the light, making them central to our choices and most importantly, finding opportunities for their expression in our daily lives.
“Knowing how you actually want to feel is the most potent form of clarity
that you can have. And generating those feelings is the most powerfully
creative thing that you can do with your life.” Danielle LaPorte
My Core Desired Feelings are Beauty, Freedom, Inspiration and Shine and I find these at the heart of every choice I make and everything I do. It is my delight to share this map and these tools for a liberated and transformed life. The life you were meant to live.
The day I decided to leave the descending arch of the bridge and step onto Jane Fonda’s ascending stairway, I found opportunities for growth and expansion presenting themselves in every direction. Ms. Fonda, uses the language of an actor in the discussion of her theory on aging. She calls that post-nurturing phase, “the third act”. I believe that Act one is lived with the permission of others. Act two is lived in the consideration of others. But Act three? That’s for me!! Act three is when it’s time to write your own script and claim centre stage of your own life.
For UpStarts…………….magic happens…
*Morning Pages is one of the twelve step exercises to reclaiming your artistic self in the hugely popular, Julia Cameron’s 'Artist Way' books. It is the practice of writing longhand in stream of consciousness, shortly after waking - about three pages. It is not intended as a diary or journal but more a thought depot and a safe space for nudges and niggles to struggle to the surface. This is where a thought can be examined and discarded or indeed to spark an idea to life.