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.

Tamara_web_size_2

Photo courtesy of Teja Blatnik.

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

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.

22643155_10155525611577819_1502846722_o.jpg

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.

22641703_10155521048482819_862774976_o.jpg

I am RICH

The past ten days were quite intense. I know, I am fully aware of the fact that I often say this. It’s because I often feel this, too. And I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the decision that I made many a year ago: I will never be bored in this life. And although I still agree with this, I reject the notion that if’m not bored, I have to feel the exact opposite of »bored«. I reject the notion that we live in a boring, linear, either-or reality, because the world that I want to experience is jucier, richer, vaster, deeper, more abundant than that.

I have felt the need to dig deeper for as long as I can remember. The »why’s« seemed to have no end. And although I looked for answers in many places, I was more often than not – dissasitsfied. I didn’t conceptually know the answers to my questions, but the answers I was getting didn’t seem right; they didn’t click. They were what was know nor accepted within this linear society, but they weren’t the answers to my questions. In this society we are taught to see things white or black, good or bad, light or dark, up or down, and we are taught to favour only one: the white, the good, the light, the up. We are taught, many would argue, right, while wrong would mean … seeing things for what they really are?

Shakespeare said: »Nothing is either good or bad but thinking makes it so.«

It is time to learn ourselves subjectivity. Things are what they are, it’s just that. Yes, they stir emotions inside of us. Yes, we are here to feel all of the feels … but we are not here to dwell in them. We are here to use them as guidelines. If something stirs a feeling within us, let it come, for it’s here for us to gain from it.

No, I will never be bored in this live, I’m a single mother after all. What I will be is RICH with all of the abundant feelings that a powerful, creative, passionate woman’s life can be.

oktober2

Taking Responsibility

The past week has been a roller-coaster.

Do you know the feeling when you know you’re doing the right thing, but everything you keep bumping into are obstacles upon obstacles upon obstacles? I sure do. I sure know how to feel sorry for myself. My mantra used to be: »I knew something was gonna go wrong.« I really liked that mantra. For a long time, it served me, because it saved me from responsibility. I hated responsibility and I never learned how to take responsibility … for my life. What does that even mean?

I liked my mantra, although the statement wasn’t actually true. I didn’t literally know what was going to happen, but I did always happily consider everything that could go wrong before everything that could go right. I was in the state of mind that Sara, my dear teacher, calls »God’s mercy«: when you think about the obstacle and you realize you really don’t want it to happen, but you feel like there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. You feel like somebody else is navigating your boat, while you sit silently under the deck; you’re small, yet you’re safe. And if the going gets rough, it’s not your fault.

I fell into that state a few times this week. I just stopped something and launched something new. I oh-so-know that what I started is the right thing. I can feel it in my body; I feel twinkles of excitement whenever I think about this project, and rushes of excitement when new ideas unfold and upgrade and reveal. It’s so right that it scares me.

So I go on … showing up late, not handling things, manifesting Svarun’s one-night-stand diseases, spilling chamomile tea all over the car, forgetting my laptop, forgetting the essentials, buying the wrong camera that the program doesn’t accept. There were approximately a million things why I could give up. But strangely my insistence seems to override my resistance. There have been a million instances when I could simply say: »The Universe is testing my persistence.« But I know that’s not the case. And another thing I know … I am responsible for my life. I take full responsibility for my life by always being in tune with what I feel. And I know that the obstacles I created are just my inability to accept … abundance. Abundance does not have one face alone. All that happened and nearly made me cry but in the end made me crack up open, is colorful and varied and very abundant. Oh, yeah.

jesen2

Buttons

Svarun has the ability to press all of my premenstrual self’s buttons. If anyone, he has a gift of finding those hidden ones that catapult me into a wretch. One such button that really opens up my head is obeying. Or rather, disobeying, his tendency to do the exact opposite of what I tell him to. Of course I can thus conceptually understand that what I should do is tell him to do the opposite of what I want him to do and make a joke out of it, but it’s like this non-behaving thing puts my roof on fire. I know I should invite more easiness into this situation, but it still has me in its claws. I don’t believe in punishment as a way to cease the unwanted behaviour. I don’t believe there is anything about Svarun that is to be fixed; he’s perfect as he is and a perfect mirror of what he sees most. Me.

I mean, how can I expect my child to do what I tell him to if he’s never seen me do anything anyone else told or even advised me? How can I expect him to trust me if he’s spent his life watching me “fight” my parents for what I believe in? How could he even know how to obey without struggle if the only thing he’s ever seen is me opposing the supposed authority?

I don’t believe in fixing the child. I believe in fixing me and fixating me upon peace in relationships.

IMG_20160101_083006.jpg

Indecisiveness

“What happened to you?” he asks me, munching on his dinner, while I’m holding the computer in my hands and letting myself be receptive to today’s story.

“What do you mean?” I ask, totally knowing what he meant.

“What happened so that you can finally be relaxed?”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten to the end of tonight’s story.” It so happens that I often realize things after I’ve written them down right here on this blog.

I have this ongoing story with somebody. He is a man and I love him. I never doubted that. What I do doubt, though, is the ability of the two of us to make a life together. Being with him always feels like I’m stealing sweet moments from my real life; the life of money and work and bills to pay. The part of life I haven’t been willing to observe in detail yet, but I really feel I ought to now. And because I have had the abovementioned fear (and many others), I have been indecisive with him. It’s a severe degree of indecisiveness that borders on bipolarity. I love you – I love you not – I want to be with you – I want to be with you not. Except from my personal experience of a fundamental deep-seated restlessness, I didn’t know what this must feel like from a perspective outside of me. I wondered and the answer was given. Ask, and you shall be given, right?

Remember when I said parenting is the spiritual practice for the bold? My son has once again shown me the mirror. I knew I could count on him.

The day we left home, I gave him a choice of either staying at home with my father or going with me to our dearest Soča river valley, where we’ve had our second home for the past year and a half. I was O.K. with both outcomes, so I thought making a decision might be a good practice for a weighing libra. This turned out to be a bad idea in terms of practice, but a good one for me to see what indecisiveness looks like in action. Whoa! Svarun couldn’t decide. Not only could he not decide, he would make up his mind ten times in a minute then break up, change and repeat. This went on for more than half an hour, including me already taking him over to my parents’ and saying goodbye for a dozen times. Every time we’d said goodbye and I sat in the car, he would stop me to climb in, and when I’d try to help him put on the seat belt, he would start climbing back down, telling me he has changed his mind. I was looking at him, but could only see myself in him. And every time I thought must be the last time to bounce, he would bounce again and again. The bouncing was unstoppable.

Such is therefore our indecisiveness, when we are unstoppably bouncing from fear to love, and back?

We are here to recognize that each and every little thing we do holds sponsorship from either love or fear. Once we conceptually know this, the rest of the world seems easy peasy. Is easy peasy. If we know where we stand, and we know that everything we create we in fact cocreate with the Universe, we can take care of our part, right?

So, yeah … indecisiveness. It’s time to fear the fears and surrender them to love. Mmmm, took any decisions lately? The one decision I have made so far is to ask myself every single time before undertaking any kind of task or emotional endeavour:

Am I acting out of love, or out of fear?

I ask and the answer is given.

soča2