Ribollita

(for Enligsh version swipe down)

RIBOLLITA

Toskanska enolončnica iz daljnega spomina

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V Toskano sem se kakih deset let tega odpravila z dvema prijateljicama. Mateja, ki je študirala arhitekturo, je morala za določen predmet nabrati kar nekaj skic zanimivih stavb, in v iskanju le-teh sva se ji z Niko pridružili na poti v Firence. Zares smo se imele lepo, uživale smo italijanski gellato, pile Chianti in raziskovale starodavno mesto. Kaj je bilo moje največje odkritje? Ribollita, nedvomno. Nekega dne smo se usedle v oštarijo, kjer za vegetarijance niso imeli popolnoma ničesar na meniju, razen te goste enolončnice s kruhom, fižolom, paradižnikom in sirom. Prva žlica me je dobesedno popeljala v nebesa. V nebesa, o katerih sem sanjala zadnjih deset let in vse dokler se nisem odločila, da naredim svojo verzijo ribolitte. Nekaj dni tega sem namreč gledala Corellijevo mandolino, in ob gledanju tistih prepevajočih, zabavnih, sproščenih italijanskih vojakih sem vedela, da je prišel čas za malo Italije na krožniku. Ker, saj veste, če ne gre Tamara v Toskano, pride Toskana na Kozino.

5 žlic oljčnega olja

7 lovorovih listov

velik ščep timijana

1 velika čebula

4 stroki česna

¼ srednje velike gomoljne zelene (ali ½ stebelne)

3 večji korenčki

3 krompirji

1 srednje velika bučka

5 listov ohrovta (ali špinača ali blitva)

3 šalice belega fižola (tradicionalno uporabljajo sorto Canellini)

1 namočen datelj

1 konzerva (400g) paradižnikove mezge ali pelatov

sol in poper po okusu

1 rezina suhega kruha ali prepečenca

Ko postrežemo:

pinjole

sir/ kvasni kosmiči

kruh, na kocke narezan in popečen

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Fižol namočimo večer poprej in skuhamo do mehkega preden se lotimo ribollite. Lahko seveda uporabite samo beli fižol, kot to storijo v Toskani, jaz pa sem poleg njega zavoljo barvitosti uporabila še adzuki fižol in čičeriko.

Na srednjem ognju segrejemo oljčno olje in na njem popražimo začimbe. Dodamo narezano čebulo in čez kako minuto ali dve še česen. Zeleno, korenček, krompir in bučko narežemo na drobne kocke in dodamo v kozico. Nato na drobne trakce narežemo ohrovt, datelj pa na drobno nasekljamo, ter oba dodamo zelenjavi. Dušimo med konstantnim mešanjem. Če namesto ohrovta uporabimo špinačo ali blitvo, ju dodamo čisto na koncu preden postrežemo. Ko je zelenjava dodobra podušena, zalijemo z jušno osnovo ali vodo ter kuhamo do mehkega. Šele nato juhi dodamo paradižnikovo mezgo ali pelate (poleti lahko uporabimo tudi svež paradižnik, ki ga pa dodamo šele potem, ko je krompir kuhan) in približno tretjino mase zmešamo z ročnim mešalnikom. Enolončnici dodamo odcejen fižol po izbiri in v drobtine mleti suh kruh, ter pustimo, da se kruh napije. Po potrebi dodamo še jušne osnove ali vode, sicer pa je ribollita izvorno precej gosta.

Popražimo pinjole, naribamo sir, če ga bomo uporabili (jaz sem uporabila veganskega) in nakockamo ter popečemo kruh. Vse troje potresemo po ribolliti, ki smo jo naložili v skledice. Nato stisnemo še malce limoninega soka, polijemo z nekaj oljčnega olja, ter uživamo v tej slastni iznajdbi srednjeveških kmetov, ko so svojim mineštram od prejšnjega dne za malo drugačno jed dodajali kruh.

***

Pazljivo, ker se zavedam, da Svarun ne mara packastih, kašastih, predvsem pa »zblojenih« jedi, ga vprašam, ko predano pospravlja s svojega krožnika: »Svarun, a ti je všeč ta juha?«

»Ja, ful mi je dobra,« pove in me niti ne pogleda, tako je zaposlen z zajemanjem nove kruhove kocke.

Tudi vam bo, boste videli. Ker je zelo žlahtna – in hkrati tako preprosta.

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RIBOLLITA

Tuscan stew from a distant memory

About ten years ago me and my two best friends went to Tuscany. Mateja, who was a student of architecture, needed to come up with quite some schetches of interesting building, while Nika and I always needed a break from the hardships of a student life, so the three of us packed our bags and took the train to Florence. We had a really nice time. We ate gellato, drank Chianti and found ourselves lost all the time in the tiny streets of the old town. My biggest find, though? Ribollita, without a doubt. I was literally forced to order this bread, beans, potato and cheese stew one day at a restaurant that didn’t serve any other vegetarian dish. The first spoonfool then paved my way to heaven, a heaven I would be dreaming about for the next decade, but never really taking the fuss to recreate it. But then a few days ago, as I watched the opera-singing italian soldiers in Capitain Corelli’s mandolin, I felt the urge to have some Italy on my plate – and in my belly.  

5 Tbsp olive oil

7 bay leaves

1 tsp thyme

1 big onion

4 cloves of garlic

¼ big celery root (or ½ stalk)

3 big carrots

3 potatoes

1 zucchini

5 leaves kale (or spinach or chard)

3 cups white beans (Canellini beans are used traditionally)

1 soaked date

1 can (400g) tomato sauce

salt and pepper to taste

1 slice of dry bread, crumbled

To serve:

pine nuts

cheese or nutritional yeast

Bread, cubed and toasted

lemon

Soak beans overnight, rinse in the morning and cook until done. You can only use white beans, as they do in Tuscany, or you could replace part of the beans with pulse of your choice. The sky is the limit. I, for example, replaced one cup of white beans with half cup chickpeas and half cup adzuki beans.

Heat olive oil on low temperature and fry the spices. Add chopped oninos, and in a minute’s time, chopped garlic. Cube celery, carrots, potatoes and zucchini and add to pot. Add salt and pepper. Cut the kale leaves into thin slices and chop the date, and add them to pot. If you use spinach or chard instead of kale, don’t add now, but rather just before serving. Simmer over medium heat while stirring. When the vegetables are soft, add broth or water and cook until done. Add tomatoes (in the summer you can use fresh tomatoes insted, but don’t forget to add them when the potatoes are done) and blend about a third of the soup. Add beans and crumbled bread and let it soak. If you need to, add more broth or water, but ribollita is supposed to be quite thick.

Roast pine nuts, grate the cheese, if you’re using (I used vegan cheese), cube and toast bread. Place the soup in pots, sprinkle all of the toppings upon, and add a squeeze of lemon juice and a dash of olive oil. Oh, and enjoy in this delicious invention of the peasants from the middle ages, who decided to put some bread into their day-old minestrone soup, you know, for a twist.

***

Carefully, because I am aware of the fact the he detests sloppy and all mix-everything-together dishes, I ask: »Svarun, do you like this soup?«

»Yes, I love it,« he says without looking at me, so consumed is he into positioning the next bread cube onto his spoon.

You will like it too, you’ll see. Because its easiness goes along well with its richness.

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(Svarun took this last photo + I like the shades)

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On Showing up For Our Part

I was on the phone with a certain very wise sir the other day. We were talking about this and that when I cracked up open, telling him all my ferocious plans for the next year that really light my fire. What he responded I carry with me.

“Yes, well. The plans sound amazing, but then you have to let Life happen for you.”

His reply really provoked my deep, unsatiable need to control things. It provoked my once-knowledge that us humans only co-create this amazing, full, joyous, our life. We co-create it with all that is (which we are also part of). All that is can translate as god, Universe, Inteligence, Pachamama. And this highly compassionate Presence is aware of all our wishes and continues to readily fulfill them under the condition that it serves as the highest good for all. And ourselves as beings that dig to learn our lessons and deepen our connection to ourselves and life itself, practice acceptance along the way.

Acceptance of what is in trust that all is good, because life itself is good, and because we are deeply loved and guided, is the very essence of the female energy.

“And it harm none, so mote it be.”

Today seems like a good day to let go of my plans.

*Sure, I’ll have desires … but they won’t make me clench my teeth when not fulfilled the minute I want them too.

*And I’ll have wishes still … but never so big so as to prioritize them over my feelings or feelings of loved ones nearby.

*And I’ll continue to dream my dreams … ever so vast, ever so huge, ever so blue-skied and free.

I will show up for my part of the deal, and trust that the Universe will show up for its part of the deal, as it always does. I will rest assured that it will lead me – directly or over a few turns – to the Woman I Have Yet To Be.

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Femininity and Masculinity

All human beings posses both, the masculine and the feminine aspect – two contrasting forces that are drawn towards each other. The feminine aspect is charged with negative polarity, yin, that welcomes, draws towards herself all that she desires, whereas the masculine aspect is overflowing with positive polarity, yang, that righteously fuels a man to take action towards achieving his goals. The feminine aspect is bound to be more abundant in women, but present in men as well, while the masculine should prevail in men, but should also be found in women.

One look at the western societies tells us that the aforementioned structure has been shattered, since most people – both men and women – predominantly live in their masculine essence of action, action, action. This should not come as a surprise if you take into account our education, our upbringing and the values that were passed on from a few generations back. We have all been taught since very early on that striving, pushing it and making it happen is the way to get things done around here. Having no other model to look up to, us women took up the masculine dynamic, went out into the world, achieved … and got back home exhausted and needing to take care of the kids, home, and our partner.

While the masculine approach may well serve men in initiating and igniting their desires, it will only drain, wear out and bring women to their last legs. Funnily enough, as I was checking the synonyms for “exhausted” on the internet, the dictionary’s first example sentence for the word “tired” said: “She came home tired from work.” You don’t really believe it was a coincidence that she was tired, not him? If even dictionaries, written by men and women in our society, say that women are bound to come home tired from work, it must also be written in our collective consciousness that the feminine aspect was not designed to fit the masculine society’s tight schedule. Indeed, women are not meant to use up much energy and force in order to achieve, because we excel at attracting and accepting the energy that we have pulled towards us. And yes, we accept everything that comes our way, including the energies and outcomes we might not want. For instance, did you know that during a sexual intercourse the woman accepts into her literal body not only the man’s penis, but his emotional state with all the baggage as well? Everything we as women accept into our own energy field, into our own being keeps piling up in our wombs until our creative centre is brimming with feelings and beliefs that not necessarily serve us.

If we know that as women we will accept everything that comes our way, we can start now to be the judge of what’s coming. To be the judges of what’s coming, the magnificent creators of our own life experiences, we must learn how to live from the feminine.

But how?

By listening, not speaking. Now shhh; open your inner ear.

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The Feminine Essence

Friday was a very busy day since I had to prepare all of the al-Iksir vegan goods that I would later that evening sell at a lovely event called Swap. Whenever my work involves kitchen magic, I put on inspiring talks, interviews or music on YouTube and turn on my receptive mode to make the time most enjoyable. I was just past my moon cycles and felt like I needed a feminine balm so I decided to look for my inspiration in Tami Lynn Kent, who guides women to reclaim the wild in themselves.

Most of my day was spent in the »I have to« mode, which is how I was used to get things done.

Not even close to being all set and done, I looked at the time and saw I was running late. »So what’s new,« the inner critic, who wants to live up to my father’s discipline, said. I let her words sting and flooded aimlessly around the flat, being more or less disappointed in myself because I had already predicted I would be late, mad at myself for wasting what I thought was too much time replying the messages on social media (though business-oriented) and anxious because I believed I wouldn’t manage to go hug and kiss Svarun, who was with my parents and my grandmother until after the event. I felt the familiar feeling of being drowned by my own unfinished chores and just as I was getting ready to take my last breath of sanity, I heard the echo of all of the interviews I had listened throughout the day. Immediately I hung myself onto the only arm, reaching out to my rescue from the very core of the Feminine. I resurfaced and hesitantly looked her in the eye.

»How many times did you realize that doing things the hard way was not okay, but you still go on pushing and battling against time and your body like they were the enemies?« I heard the critic again. I didn’t like her reproaching, but she was right. It was almost a year ago that I tiredly asked the Universe: »What must I do in order to be more effective with my work?« Against all of my expectations of being given a strategy, a fool-proof plan, I heard a few simple words: »You must deepen your spiritual practice.« After that I indeed deepened my spiritual practice of yoga and meditation, but solely on days when I didn’t actually have to get things done. Contrarily, on days like Friday I would still skip my morning yoga and meditation to save time and rush to get the real work done. Observant as I am, I would then notice later in the day that I was being distraught and impatient and would swear that I would never skip my peace work again, but when the next time came, I went the same old path. I still doubted that my spiritual practice was of much use in doing my business in real life because I still thought that real things had to be done the hard way, the masculine way. Things like life, raising up a kid, career, anything. I was still residing in my masculine and I did not trust my feminine to show me the way out of the stress and into the feminine essence.

On Friday she reached her hand out to save me from another exhausting day. She might have tried it before, but I didn’t see no hands before – I was too busy stressing out.  On Friday I was ready to see the hand, save myself and confront her. I had to look her in the eye, no matter how mad at me I thought she might be. As soon as our eyes met, though, I felt peace, I felt love, and I felt faith. I knew that she was in fact glad; glad I found my way home.

Such is the feminine essence.

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Photo courtesy of Teja Blatnik.

Thank you, my dearest, for being behind the camera and close to the heart.

On Being Real

If you have been following me at all up here, you know I’m taking this three-month course called Abundance Group, where we aim at developing our talents and gifts into abundance. It’s amazing. And it’s challenging to see that our acquired sense of self is often the jailer for all that we could be. That’s what I want to talk about today.

What I’ve come to notice is that I didn’t have any problems stating who I was. This is the question I’ve been dealing with fort he past decade:“Who am I, really?” And I’ve come to definitions and I’ve come to conclusions and I’ve come to internalize a set of beliefs about me that I hold dear to my heart and that make me feel right. For example, ever since I came to know the hippie movement from the late 1960’s in my early teens, I just knew: “Mom, I’m a hippie.” What got me about the hippies was their FREEDOM, but what made me stay was the prison that kept my mind believing: “It’s alright if I’m penniless, at least I’m free.” Excuse me, mind, but having a child and being penniless is no fun. Even the freedom, which was the reason that I signed up in the first place, turns to anxiety and rage when my son needs winter boots and I am in no way capable of buying a pair. I wasn’t, but luckily I always had family and friends who were. 

And then I started asking myself whether this was really who I was supposed to be? “Honestly, I’m here to be broke?”, I asked myself and paused.

The voice of the wise answered for me: “Well, if you’re buying this, I’m certainly not.” It was time to acquire a new sense of self. This sense of self made me describe myself as I did a few days ago.

I’m a woman and a mother who is aiming at balance of body, mind and soul. I am a researcher of life whose job is to find pleasure in every little step on the way. I am here to tell the truth about the way and I am here to be REAL.

Seeing the world that is fake and the people who fake in order to please or reach some sort of standards,  lights the fire on my way, because I’m here to question: “Whose standards?”. If you know the answer to this, right you are; if not, go deep inside and look for them for the answers always await until you come inside. We are our own standards and once we’ve caught a glimpse of ourselves, of our true light in being … that light is loyal enough to never let us go. Whatever we sense, or see, or feel, or hear, or touch inside – it’s all good. And if your mind can’t categorize that as good yet, know that that exact thing is a call for love; your love.

We are here to do pure magic, get it?

We are pure magic! From head to toe.

But in order to let the magic shine through, we must love and accept ourselves first. We have to come to terms with all of our pieces because none are better then others. None! Sure, we have come to accept the light and the dark, the up and the down, the left and the right, and yes, even the right and the wrong. But we have only come to know these because we live in a dualistic reality, where it’s easier to understand our different pieces as contrasts. There is no harm in that – as long as we also keep in mind that all of these contrasts can only apply to our particular viewpoints (that are unavoidably the products of our upbringing, education and experiences).

Try not to label your contrasts as right or wrong. If you do that, you will show the world only the pieces in you that you think are right and hide the rest. And that’s fake. And not only is it not REAL, but it will make the unloved, unappreciated pieces of you either sink in and hold a grudge – or (if you’re anything like me) rebel.

All of our pieces are right, because they are ours and because they are real and thus make us REAL. And if they’re showing you a part of yourself that you don’t like or try to ignore or deprive of love or starve to death … they are here because of that alone: to point the finger.

Today bathe the parts that you don’t accept in yourself with love. And let them be.

They make you REAL.

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Gotta Love Him, the Scorpio

Do you feel the Scorpio’s rule this year? It seems highly unlikely but this year, I felt immediately when the happy-go-lucky Libra set off and king of the shadow, Scorpio, took over. I know that because I started to feel more tension running through my veins than normally. That, and more visits to my shadows than usual.

My shadow emotion has got to be anger. It’s the first feeling I would get when something doesn’t go according to the plan. I’m not a particularly fearful human being, and I don’t get gloomy all that often – but I will get angry in no time. Anger is the one that’s using up the fire of my bright spirit – when I’m not tuned in. Into myself. Into my body and mind. When my head is calculating the earnings, the to-do list, the people I have to call, the articles I have to write … instead of noticing what’s here and now.

And what’s been here and now is my beautiful son, figuring out this world. This past week he didn’t go to kindergarten so we spent all of our days together all the time. For the first couple of days I didn’t even do my yoga or meditation, but when I saw where this has brought me (and consequently us) I quickly called a halt to the absence of inner-goddess-time. I need this time as I do my oxygen to stay alive – and I took that time as I do my oxygen … even if he regularly uses my downward dog for a bridge to climb under, and even if I use a non-harming cartoon with no commercials to relax into a meditation. Well, it’s called life!

So yeah, it’s been wackadoodle around here. But I chose it because I wanted to see how far along am I in managing my roles as a woman, mother, mompreneur, single parent and constant teacher and student thingy – at the same time. What?! I’m getting better, though. My technique?  Try to remember as often as I can that:

  1. Life is not as serious as I tend to think of it. So laugh a little. Or a lot. Actually … don’t ever stop.
  2. All is good because I’m exactly where I need to be … I just need to come out of my head and notice where I’m being.

So even though I have had to try much harder to accept life’s situations with laughter, rather then with anger, I’m still here, bolder and brighter. And you know what?

There is nowhere else I’d rather be because

there is no skin that would better fit me.

I walking the feminine journey a step at a time

never forgetting that whatever is here to chew –

it’s fine, because it’s mine.

I’m focused on not forgetting that I’m here to shine,

and to turn all of the worldly things into my shrine.

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You’re Already There

Today was a good reminder that I don’t have to get anywhere – because I’m already there. I used to live in a very conditional state of mind where I would have to be thinner in order to go out in high school, wiser in order to start exposing my truth and my beliefs, older in order to feel better in my own skin or even calmer in order to call my attempts at trance – meditation. Who said that?

Isn’t it time to expose my truth when I feel that aching feeling in my chest and I know the words are going to rip me open if I don’t speak or write or sing them out immediately? Isn’t meditation supposed to be about accepting the state I’m in, no matter what that might be?

Yesterday me and Svarun went for a lovely autumn walk with my best friend and her baby boy. After a while of walking, Svarun starts asking when we are going get “there”. My friend answers: “Don’t worry, we’re already there.”

He looks at me, puzzled, and I confirm. Sure, we’re already there.

We’re right in this moment where we need to have this exact experience we’re having. And yes, we might feel tense, we might be overflowed with chores and calls, and we might need a lot of energy to squeeze that smile out instead of a hiss, but we’re here for a reason. The reason is to remember what keeps us going at all times and always act with respect upon it.

In that split second that you have, choose respect. Embrace your tension, your sadness, your anger, your fear, your disappointment, your impatience … but choose respect.

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Sadness

Two days ago I woke up feeling sad. I had had a very busy menstrual week that led to an exhausting weekend, and Monday when I didn’t take care of my spiritual needs but rather cleaned the after-party house. I got up, snuggled with Svarun, and went to the bathroom, where I found Her in the mirror.

»What are you doing here?« I asked Her. She didn’t say anything but I knew that she’s here for a reason. Sadness never came without one.

I tried to waltz her out: »Listen, I think you got it wrong. I’m having a great time, you see. And for the first time in history, I can feel that my life is going in the right direction. I can smell it and sense it and nearly touch it. And I can feel it’s good. It’s real good. So you can just leave because I’m doing alright. Besides,  I don’t have time to lay around and cry all day. I mean, why should I if I know everything is fine and I’m just a little tired, that’s all?«

»It’s not me who got it wrong. You did,« said She.

This made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to hang out with Sadness, I had huge plans for myself that day. So I started again, a little less patient, a little less calm: »Please leave, I’m busy.«

Svarun crawled into the bathroom to pee. We were late, really late, so I told him to hurry up and dress himself: »Nona will be here any minute now and it’s not fair to leave her waiting.«

My mum picks Svarun up every morning and takes him to his daycare because she works a few hundred meters away.

»I won’t be bothering you. I’ll just sit down and wait until you’re not busy anymore, ok?« she said, swinging herself on my red sofa and making herself very comfortable.

My mom came, and because we weren’t ready, I told her – barely sucking it up – that I will take Svarun to kindergarten.

»Look, I’m not going to be not busy anytime soon, so maybe we can agree to meet some other time. I have to take Svarun to kindergarten now and then I have a bunch of things to do because I’m going to be late anyway, this ride is going to take me at least an hour and …«

»I’ll go with you,« she reasoned and sneaked into the car.

I cried. And cried. And cried. And as I escorted Svarun to his daycare, I cried some more.

I cried for the past few years, when I related more with DOING than with BEING. I cried for that. I cried for all of us who got caught up in this patriarchal wound. When did doing become more important than being? When did our achievements become more important than how loving we are towards each other?

The more I cried, the better I felt. Me and Sadness were both very quiet, and yet we knew exactly what the other meant.

She was saying: »You’ve been ignoring me.«

I was saying, »I don’t want to be Sad.«

She was saying: »You’re making me feel like I’m bad or something.«

I was saying: »Well, you make me feel bad.«

She was saying: »That’s yours to deal with, not mine.«

I was saying »What do you mean? I’m not supposed to feel sad if I’m conscious of my path.«

She said: »Whoever told you that, hasn’t got it all figured out.«

I stopped my thoughts. I stopped crying. She was right. Whoever told us Sadness was bad? Whoever told us to stop being sad, because we should have thought before about it, when our favourite toy broke? Whoever told us that we’re not supposed to think about sad things because then sad things will happen?

Well, only Everybody.

And now it’s enough.

Feel your Sadness, she’s here to guide you somewhere.

Accept your Sadness, because she’s a part of your equation.

Rethink your relationship to your Sadness, because she’s not the bad that you need to steer clear of. She part of the story, your story. And it’s a real story, where positive and the negative live together in harmony. She is not here to lure you down into depression; she’s here to remind you of all the reasons that you have to feel good. She’s here with you all the time, to help you be the best you you can be at this point in time. She is you and you are her.  

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I am Awake

I’m awake on the eve of 19th of October, just as I was awake exactly four years ago. Back then, I had just been awakened by labor contractions, fortelling my son was about to come earthside. I went to bed really late because I went on a late night walk to watch the starts, selected the music that would sway our forcoming birth, took a long hot bath and a cup of cocoa afterwards. I went to bed peaceful. After about half an hour of so-called sleep, I woke up in the midst of what I would only later realize was a full blown contraction. In a haze I recalled waking up with contractions many times that night, so I decided it was no use to pursue lying in bed. I sat on the ball and started circling with my hips, being as present as I could, every time I would sense the familiar rushes at the bottom of my henna-tattoo-ed belly.

I could swear I felt the exact same contraction in my womb just as I thought about those rushes four years ago. Sure, it’s the first day of my period, but now again I have found myself to be birthing something into this world yet again; I’m baking a cake for my son’s kindergarten birthday celebration. It’s the second one I’m making because the first one turned out watery enough to be called – a pudding.

Now, I really don’t like late nights. They get me every time, honestly. It was late when I started, but when I realized the pudding thingy was not going to cut it, I almost felt the need to cry. Wait, I wholly truly did. And the need to feel sorry for myself kept creeping in: »Oh, man. It’s the first day of my period, the time when I should be resting, and I’m not even going to get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow I’m going to be out and about the whole day and why do I always do this to myself on my period, it’s always the same …«

But then I realized what I was doing. I stood up. I thought about my son. I thought about how much I wanted him to have a surprise cake for his birthday. So I looked up, and prayed. I prayed to the goddess to give me the strenght to pull this off. And I sat down in my car, started it and drove to my parent’s house a few miles away to pick up the eggs that I need to make the cake (try one was a vegan experiment that failed).

I came back, bursting with energy and commitment. And I noticed it. And I thanked it. And I meant it. And I trusted her when she said I had made the right decision. And I trust her when she says that this is only the start of the best day ever.

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Discipline

I have long decided to invite more discipline into my life. Correction: I have long decided to invite more discipline into my working life. Being a mother, that means those five to six hours in the morning and early afternoon while Svarun is in kindergarten. Being a mompreneur (a mother who is an entrepreneur), that has meant: all day every day.

It’s utopian to think that I’m going to be able to do all that I want/ should/ must/ desire in a mere few hours, especially because … well, I’m a woman. I don’t do things linear; I do a little bit of this here, and a little bit of that there, and then return to this, and then continue that bit over there. Just as I’m typing this, the granola is in the oven and washed clothes can’t wait to hang out in the balcony in this hot, orange, autumn sun. But being a woman, I also posses a lot of creativity that just wants to see the light of the day. However, being a woman alone does not make me highly chaotic; what makes me such is thinking that discipline would bore me to tears.

I’m willing to shift this now.

I’m willing to see things differently.

If we take a look at the word discipline, it shares the root with the word disciple. I’m not going to go into some religious lagacy, but just consider the meaning of the word disciple or bhakta, which is how the same person is called in Hare Krishna tradition. A disciple is someone who has surrendered his will to the coach.

For me, the coach is myself … or rather the part of myself I have yet not named, but it’s a she. She is the divine feminine that is waking up inside of me. She is my primal nature; she is Nature itself. Her gift is to find wisdom within her cycles; her gift is to descend and ascend, and give to the world all the love and beauty and softness she has gathered along the way. And what she needs in order to do all of that is … inspiration.

My idea of discipline? Surrendering to the inner guidance and feed it well with a lot of inspiration.

Again, my idea of discipline? Every day I take time for things that inspire me; I take time form y yoga and meditation, I take time form my barefoot walk, I take time to spend in Nature, and as of today … I take time for my kitchen playtime. That means I take time for the new app I’ve created, called Igralnica Kuhalnica in Slovene (but coming in English as well) and for sheer plain experimenting in the kitchen. When I’m throwing things together I fill like a kid again, wide eyed, barely managing to wait what’s going to … become.

That way, I’m becoming anew every second of every day. And that, my friends, is a gift.

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