Rootless

For the first time in my life I no longer have to run away to be able to cope – I can run towards something instead. It is a shift…

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For a few days I couldn’t ground myself to write. Rather than punishing myself I try to reflect;

If I am careless with my routines – especially those grounding me and caring for myself – then I am easier swept away by other’s agendas and influence.

In a situation where you restart beyond zero – the vulnerability is genuinely on the outside. The pain from what seems irrelevant small issues goes right through and there is no protection. And feelings are energy. And afterwards it happens I feel like a wet spot on the ground, desperately trying to rise rather than vanishing down, through the earth, into another world down under.

As a child my references for security was places and not people. My mother had a house, which she mismanaged so much I had to live with my grandmother. We kept the house as a summer and weekend house. It was my whole world. Maybe because it was where I could flee from violence and harsh words in to the world of the nature and the animals. I know those forests like my own pocket.

Eventually my mother let someone else sell it. Someone bought it for a bargain price and burned it down…Every time I do a vision board or something similar there is always a house there. A house where people can come and go, but I am always at home there. With my children and my animals.

For the first time in my life I no longer have to run away to be able to cope – I can run towards something instead. It is a shift that I can literally feel through my whole system – not fully established yet, but on its way – I am rootless-ly flying through my own universe like a pulled up plant looking for a place to settle.

Without my parents I suddenly look for my own culture again. The language, the songs, the views and the smells. Is there a home in me I can not deny no matter how far I travelled? Re-connecting.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t hurry it to be over.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t go back.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t stop it.

I am in the air – on my way home…

321 signals to go.

Creative overflow striking

When we create we can laugh at our mistakes – we can see the trying meaning so much more than the to-be-or-not-to-be of a certain result. I don’t really…

So I used to have this label on me as the business strategist, but the more I am putting it to the side, the more feelings (which some days are really overwhelming) are flowing and, in the moments of renounced internal peace, big chunks of creativity.

It makes me happy. Creativity make me happy. Not just because I loose a bit connection with all worldly problems, but because it is fun. It is a space I love to be in.

When we are in that flow we are directly communicating with Universe and not always to conventional way. But who cares? It makes you feel energized, have faith and hope and problem solving becomes something funny and entertaining.

For me a lot of creative work has been associated with mastery. However as much as I love the satisfaction of mastering a particular skill or appreciate someone else’s ability and performance, I have come to see the gold in the process. And not just for professionals – for any one. What healing power it has. Mood changer it is. Initiator.

The best is – when we create we can laugh at our mistakes – we can see the trying meaning so much more than the to-be-or-not-to-be of a certain result. I don’t really get what happens between school and adulthood, but somehow everything tends to become very stale and stiff.

The big good or bad of a dualistic world. Being born Christian and raised accordingly it is sad to say that I have a feeling our so called Christian interpretations have been so misinterpreted and had such a horrible effect on society. Yes, I know there is a lot of good too, but this – about the good and the bad – the sinner and the saint – that is a misinterpretation that is man made up and only used to install power positions and separation.

It is inevitable to be thinking of the massacre in USA saying this… It is not just justice and fairness that comes to mind, but what do we actually do when, in reality, when law (or whatever legal threat is applicable in the related state) is out of the game?

I mean when people don’t care if they will die – nothing will stop them but changes in the consciousness – and how do we really genuinely have those?

In creativity we are equal. We may have different resources and be differently prepared, but in the moment we are all equal and we can all co-create for the better.

So maybe break the ice of separation by simply smiling – works even when we don’t speak the same language?

346 signals of joy to go.

Sad strokes

Crying on the inside. Crying over the known. The unknown. The old and the new. And just tired in the now. And then…

Today is the first day, of a week of tests, that my oldest is doing to enter University. All set and she is looking at schools abroad. At the same time the next one is planning a life in Asia…and what am I doing?

Me and the dogs. I get this is the time when my creativity is to blossom and I will have all time in the world doing all those things I never could as a young adult, but what were those things?

All I can remember was that I wanted my own family [and not anything like the one I had]. An international life, speaking several languages, learn film, politics and business…

…but the sad strokes of the upcoming solitude are already hitting me. How much fun we have had. Crazy stupid messy situations, that has become funny memories now.

I think of my mother too. How much of all this she is missing, when she didn’t have to. How scared and sad she must have been. How few of the things she planned we never did. Conversations never had.

But before that we have one more year all together and then me and the little one have at least another 4-5 years to camp together and do more crazy, messy, funny things.

Feelings are friends Doreen Virtue says. I am like a very old bottle starting to crack up, with the liquid zippering slowly down its sides. Still feeling primarily blocked and locked in.

Crying on the inside. Crying over the known. The unknown. The old and the new. And just tired in the now. And then on the feet again doing all my little things, such as being the school drive, the consultant, the house made, the animal manager… I smile.

Life’s contradictions and sarcastic ironies. Maybe God does think we don’t have enough humour?

Cracks let the light in, so let the light be love and the love happiness.

Happy and sad – sappy – and grateful.

348 signals left to come home.

Image courtesy of rakratchada torsap at FreeDigitalPhotos.net