It’s 3.59pm. I’ve been sitting here all day attempting to write. Something. Anything. Surely, it’s a simple process? Some days it is – it just flows – but those days are the exception. Most weeks, this is what it’s like …
Each photo reminds me that often I don’t even need to walk out the door to experience the wonder of life.
The world is such a better place when voices like Laurie Penny’s rise above the cacophony and actively engage with the meaning and politics of the intimately personal.
You see, in trying to understand this Valentine’s Day thing a little better, I’ve been doing a bit of scratching around on the identity of the martyr who lends his name to the day-of-love. All I’ve found is myth and inconsistency. I’ve discovered that, thanks to the Catholic Church, some chancy Chaucer, Esther Howland and capitalism, Valentine’s Day is a sham. So, I’ve decided to cancel Valentine’s Day this year.
Inner peace for me is a state of mental stillness. It coincides with emotional calm – an opening of my heart to love and equanimity. There’s also an acceptance of how things are – that no matter what is going on around me, it’s all okay.
I’ve practised. I’ve taught. I’ve lead. I’ve followed. I’ve sat. I’ve facilitated.
And yet, right now, I feel like a beginner.
I was at a gathering on the weekend and as conversation moved to the topic of books and how powerfully life-changing they are, the question was posed, “So what is the best ever self-help book?” One Book? Best Ever?
I really liked this Jack Kornfield quote I saw this morning but couldn’t find any pretty versions of it … so created one myself.
Ahh, December 31st. It’s that time of year when reflection runs rampant. The 365 days have been assessed and judgement has been issued: Well, I won’t do that again.