Ključna beseda: truth

Buttons

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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.

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Abracadabra

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I can feel my period approaching. My body just wants to rest because the lower back is in its monthly pain. My mind wants to lure me into mellow thoughts upon waking up in the middle of the night – furious – due to Svarun’s kicking; I was raging and since this is not my usual response, it is a clear sign of tension building up inside of me. But my soul, however, just wants to feel joyful. Both for no reason, and for a good reason.

Remember how I told you I had lost my wallet about a month ago? Well, today I went on my meadow to do my peace work. The barefoot walk alone woke me up and put a smile on my face, as it always does. I put down my yoga mat and looked at the serenity of the sea, when all of a sudden a thought hit me: “The wallet is in the couch.” You see, the sitting part of my blood red couch can be moved forward and thus offers a storage place within the framework. That’s about the only place I haven’t checked, and that’s exactly where my wallet was hiding from my sometimes splurging self. Joyful, joyful! But that’s not all I wanted to talk about today.

Lately, stuff has been happening. Good stuff, amazing stuff, actually. The Universe has sent me technological angels that help me round up my talents into what I’m here to offer to the world, while they do the “computer paperwork”. The latter used to bore me to tears and sucked out all of my zest for life and mission, so I call it a miracle that I now have two amazing business ladies, helping me out with my weak spot. I can now finally grasp a picture of the coming months, both in terms of my wellbeing and creation. I can now see where I’m going professionally, which from the plateau I had hit a few months ago, seemed highly utopic. Boy, oh boy, do I like this picture!

How did this happen? I set an intention.

I wholeheartedly intended that I wanted more clarity in my life, my business, and my relationships, and – viola – clarity came to me. That’s where these two angels came from: a clear vision of the brightest future that takes into account all of my values and needs (that are thus far known to me). Similarly, last Friday I intended that I shall find my wallet this week, and – violà – the wallet came back to me. It’s as though I had said the words that the so-called magicians performing tricks in front of children always say: “Abracadabra.” And while you may think that this is a nonsense word, let me suggest to you otherwise.

Abracadabra may come from old Arameic, the language that Jesus and Mary Magdalene spoke, where it translates as “I create as I speak” or “I create as the word”. In Hebrew, which belongs to the Canaanite language group alongside Arameic, the word translates as “it came to pass as it was spoken”. It was said to possess healing powers and was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics to invoke the help of beneficial spirits against misfortune.

Surprised? Not anymore, if we know that a word has more substance than a thought. This is the reason why it is advised to write down everything you desire on a piece of paper, instead of just thinking it through in your mind. The mind is airy, but the word is watery – it goes deeper than you may know. And although I may not have inspired you to use “abracadabra” when you are invoking something into your life – make sure you use words that are beneficial, flattering, positive, healing.

What shall I do about my back pain, then?

“Abracadabra, I will feel joyful all day long; and when my mind floats, and when my back pains, I will come back to the joy that I find in my breath, with my eyes closed.”

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Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abracadabra

Further reading: https://mosaicmagazine.com/observation/2015/07/are-the-origins-of-abracadabra-jewish/

I am Enough

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I’m sitting on Svarun’s bathroom step stool (you know the little steps they make for children to reach bathroom sink) while the computer is resting on our bamboo laundry hamper, dancing throughout my typing. I just washed my hair, something I was looking forward throughout the day, and I love how the water is freely dripping on my back and ass. I’m sitting here because I have nowhere else to go; namely, the floor in the rest of the flat is still wet from cleaning. I cleaned the entire flat because if there’s something I know about myself it’s that I like to return to a fresh and tidy home. So I decided to make myself happy. I’m the first one to take care of that. It’s just me after all.

During the day while I was preparing vegan treats to sell at a weekend festival here in Slovenia, I felt really good … but confused. I had this conversation in the morning with my friend and we were talking about running a business and making in happen and while it left me inspired for a while, it all melted down into these existential questions like “who am I” and “what is real” and “do I have to pick one thing to be, or can I immerse into everything that my heart desires”. I liked the existential nature of the questions I was asking myself because I think that once in a blue moon (or rather every moon) it’s good to redefine ourselves. Like, from head to toe. That’s one of the qualities of the darkness; of digging deep into oneself.

Who am I, then?

My friend Attila from Arambol’s jungle in India sums it up perfectly, when he says: “When we switch off the mobile and all the information and the news, suddenly it’s awakening by itself. It’s what we are all dreaming of, to be nobody again – it means ourselves, not this or that.” In the darkness, the etiquettes that we’ve attached to ourselves dissolve and what is left is what we really are.

What I learned today, is that I’m enough. I’m enough to do all the work that I need to do. I’m enough to go to a festival alone with my son. I’m enough to keep my son company. I’m enough to set up a tent, think of all we’re going to eat in the following days. I’m enough to do it all by myself.

Mind you, I didn’t know this before. I was always taught that a woman, let alone a mother, needs a man to help her out, so I gladly accepted the help that was lying around. I had been counting on it, so it always came. But with time I’ve learned that by accepting people’s help to do just about everything, I was disempowering myself. When I would break up with my boyfriend for the hundredth time, I’d call a friend because I couldn’t handle my emotions; when I would need to pay a bill, I’d call my father to do it for me because I couldn’t do it via the internet but didn’t feel like going to the post office to do it physically. The list goes on. And while I’m not saying it’s bad to ask for help or accept it when offered, I am saying: don’t count on it. The only person I can count on is myself. And this I’m not saying with my a mouth full of bitter ash of disappointment, but with pride and a full heart that knows – I am enough.

It’s always just me … which I mean in the most empowering way possible.

Go girl!

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A Sense of Worthiness

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When was the last time you asked yourself a couple of questions:

*What do I consider worthy?

*What is my worth?

I got to thinking about worth because I’m digging deep into my perception of abundance, and the two appear to be inherently linked, so let’s see.

I was talking to my grandmother the other day, when she suddenly asked me a question: “How worthy am I if your sister didn’t even come and say hi when she went away for her holiday?” My sister lives next door from her, so my grandmother expected her to come and greet before she set off.  She didn’t come, my grandmother felt hurt. Of course you’re not allowed to say out loud that you’re feeling hurt, because that would imply you’re vulnerable, which is totally unacceptable, so she asked me the above question to camouflage it. I told her that she was feeling hurt because she expected Jana to come and say hi and that Jana didn’t have anything to do with her worth; or rather, her sense of worthiness. That is something we decide for ourselves. You get to choose your worth by everything you do or say, every moment of every day.

She didn’t follow my lead. She couldn’t grasp the concept I was trying to feed her: “Me determining my own worth?! Bollocks.” I can understand that. She has after all been taught throughout her whole life that one’s worth is estimated by others given their attitude. External verification of one’s light is a domain that the patriarchal society and church have bestowed upon us.

In an attempt to change the subject, my grandmother went on to say she should have really cut her fingernails, but ran out of time because she prioritized doing everything else for everybody else instead. I exclaimed, eppur-si-muove-dly: “See, this is it! That’s the reason Jana never came to say goodbye! She doesn’t know your worth because you never affirmed it yourself.” Not only did she not affirm her worth, my grandma demeans it on every occasion. Whenever she invites us for lunch, she starts of my belittling herself and her work with: “oh, it’s not salty enough”, or “it’s too watery” and “this is only good to flush your bowels”. One can’t feel worthy when one says that. It’s just not possible. And when we thank her for the meal before leacing, she never says: “You’re welcome”. By that she would acknowledge her service and affirm her worth. Instead she always says: “Thank you? For that poverty?”

It breaks my heart to witness the suffocated feminine. But it’s us, it’s our generation who must change that; on behalf of our mothers, grandmothers and all of the generations of women who came before us. Only after we determine that we are the most important person in our lives, we start feeling worthy. And when we live out of that kind of worthy, others can see it and respect it, cherish it, monitor it, copy it. When we feel worthy, people around us can feel it, too, and therefore give us all the respect we want and need. But it is ourselves who must initiate it!

*What’s my worth?

To answer that, we need to get naked, both physically and spiritually, and ask ourselves: WHAT AM I …

… without my job

… without my flat

… without my family and friends

… without my money

… without my kids

… without the expressions of self, be it writing, singing, dance, macramé, yoga, ceramics, clothes or whatever way you find to bring the essence of self into something you can see and hold in your hands?

Worthiness is a big topic. It’s huge, actually. We’re not nearly done yet, for the more I am willing to open up and unveil the parts of me I didn’t know existed, the more vulnerable I feel. The more vulnerable I feel, the readier I become to shed off the shades. The more shades I disarm myself of, the stronger I stand in what’s remained.

And that is my worth, today.

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Commitment Yes, Commitment No?

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Svarun is finally home! Boy, oh boy, did I ever miss that golden, fiery, talkative boy. Today we had an amazing day together; long and full, but amazing.

But after he’s gone to bed, the things that challenged me throughout the day surfaced. The things were many. I’m in the midst of my period. My mind is scattered all over, trying to figure a way out of what I would call “a mess”. I feel cranky and tired. I feel like there are things happening against my will. And I feel everything would be just fine if there were someone here to pat me on back. If there were someone here to say “there, there” or grab the reins when I need a nap.

Basically, what I’m feeling is very sorry for myself and just realizing it now. Whoa! Hello again, you, feeling. Feeling sorry for myself used to be my dominant way of feeling. It’s what I was brought up with. It goes something like this: I’ll take it if I get to complain about it. If I get to complain, I’m not happy. Not being happy is normal, so I’m in my comfort zone. All is well.

Being in the “poor me” is the easiest thing you could do, but it brings the least joy, if any at all. As my dear teacher Sara always says: “When nothing depends upon you, you needn’t take any responsibility for your life.”  Easy? Sure. Happy? Doubt it.

For example, me and Sara were talking for quite some time today. In the meantime Svarun found a two cups’ worth of oat flakes and got the inspiration to bake something on his own. He gathered oat flakes, organic baking powder, rice syrup, and water and came asking for permission to use each of the ingredients. I was like “yeah, yeah”, trying to divide my attention between the phone call and my son. Now, this may not have been the first time he decided to bake something, but it was the first time he committed to it. His commitment to pull it off, find a baking tray, put it into the oven and wait patiently for it to be done resulted in the very first time we got to eat his cake and, more importantly, a very excited and proud young man! It’s entirely edible and beyond – it’s delicious. But for me to see that took some strength. I could have stayed in the “poor me” and stick to my moth cashew tragedy, I could. But if I did, I wouldn’t realize how big this moment was for him. Seeing the victimhood game for what it was, I could shift the focus to the present moment and commit to being happy for my son’s rite of passage.

How do we take responsibility for our lives, then? By committing.

The other day somebody was asking me about my constant frequent updates here on the blog. I was asked about commitment and I remember using physics to explain my feelings. Now, I’m not a physicist or a left-brainer per se (two of my best friends are, though), but I swear I couldn’t find a more understandable explanation of what it feels like to commit than using centrifugal and centripetal forces to illustrate. Before you commit to your calling, you’re further away from the centre of the curve. You’re in the outskirts of the curve and don’t take responsibility for your life and your being. You have a job that doesn’t fulfil you and you complain about it, but feel you can’t do anything to change it. You don’t live your life, your life lives you. Then, once you realize you can’t afford such mediocre existence in this astonishing time-space reality, you commit to do whatever it takes to feel good and be the boss of your own life. You are then stepping on a whole new frequency, my friend. You’re coming closer to the centre of the circle, the rolling circle being you, your path and your calling. The closer you get to the centre, the more centripetal force you feel. The centripetal force stands for good feelings in the inertia that result from your decision to commit: fulfilment, calmness, happiness, feeling of being taken care of, and feeling of a cooperative Universe. Once you’ve had a sip of the fulfilment that you get when you carry out your soul’s desire, you want more and more of it because it just feels good. However, the more centripetal force you feel, the more centrifugal force there is. The latter is said to result from inertia and is “the tendency of an object to resist any change in its state of rest or motion”. There we have it, the perfect explanation of … fear. Right? The more you’re giving yourself in, the more fear you are feeling. Fear accompanies every creative venture, pushing us to either give in and commit, or give up and go back to the outskirts until we decide it’s time to commit to the inertia.

What will we do? What will ye do? Can you find something to commit to?

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On Our True Essence

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I held the Universe in my hands.

It was looking back at me, curiously.

I was touched by the Eternity and the Now when I held a newborn in my hands yesterday.

My best friend gave birth to Eon Vitan a week ago and upon losing my wallet, I decided to hitchhike there. I was in that “baby mood” all day yesterday and finally, when I saw him in Nika’s hands, all helpless and profound and breastfeeding, I bursted into tears. The same way I’m bursting into tears now just thinking about it. He made me think of the Universe that I had in my hands almost four years ago; the Universe that’s been in my life ever since, but my vision gets blurred so I sometimes don’t recognize it as such. It made me see how much I’ve grown over the last years. And it made me grateful for it all.

As I was holding Eon and supporting his tiny black-haired head, I remembered the oneness. I remembered we were all once as fragile as he is now. I remembered. I remembered that we were all just these shining examples of pure light and goodness, making this world a better place. We were? Excuse me, we are. Present Tense. But somehow most of us forgot along the way.

“Well, when did it go wrong? What happened?” you might be asking yourself. Life happened. The life we ourselves chose had built layers and layers of conditions upon us. Why? So that we could get to the point where we are now and look back and unlearn and unleash everything that’s not serving us. And go on happily ever after, always aware of our light, always aware of the light of others, and always shining our light into the world.

For example, I had these two guys pull over when I was hitchhiking to Nika’s place. I could see they had probably downed one or two pints and they were heading to a local fair. And I could see the way the driver was looking at me, as though the pints had unleashed the beast. He wanted me to come along to the fair, but all I ever said was: “I’m going to see a baby. Thanks, but no thanks.” We got to talking about the music that they played rather loud in the car, and the co-pilot said: “I really like Rihanna. She’s my favourite.” And I said, for the sake of curiosity: “I see. Well, I think she’s pretty, too.” The driver then said: “I could use her up. And I could use you up, too. ” He looked at me expectantly and all I could think was: “Well, that’s too bad. Whenever did the men forget how to talk to a woman?”

“I’m a lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said and we all shared a laugh.

And the air in the car didn’t get thicker.

And the moods didn’t get tenser.

And the road didn’t get longer.

We moved on. The reason we could move on was in my ability not to play his chauvinistic game. That ability I got from yesterday’s “baby mood”. When he said he “could use me up”, I could think to myself “what a bastard, he thinks he has the power over me to do anything” and it could lead me into saying something like: “Oh, yeah? Who do you think you are? I don’t think so”. In that case I would be fighting him and what fighting ever does is exhaust the ones who are fighting. There are much better ways to avoid conflict, but the best way must be to “love your neighbour as thyself”.

Because I love myself I was very well aware who I am, where I stand and who gets closer to me, regardless of his remark. I didn’t have to fight to show the driver that; I just rested in my knowing, while the latter made him realize it, too, the minute I replied. And because I love my neighbour, in this case the driver, I nurtured him with my complete loving understanding of why he said what he said. I didn’t hold the grudge for I knew he didn’t mean any harm – he just ddidn’t have the ability to say things in a nicer, more sensitive, more appealing way. I could see he was a good man, but even more so, I could see the harmless little baby that he was once was, that he still is … although shadowed by layers and layers of conditions.

Thank you, dear Eon, for reminding me of our true essence yesterday.

Thank you, dear Svarun, for teaching me how to cultivate that essence on a daily basis.

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Things to Say

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Do you know the feeling that what you are doing makes no sense? Do you ever think that nobody wants to listen to what you’re saying or look at what you’re painting or marvel at how you’re dancing? I used to feel that way a lot.

Today I was talking on the phone with someone, whom I respect greatly; actually, I will go so far as to call her my teacher. She knows my visions and my path, and she told me that what I have to say matters greatly to the world. She also told me that there are numerous ears that need to listen to my words, while I had a hard time believing that. I always thought I was going to have things to say only once my soul wears a fifty-something grayish grandma outfit. But I turned thirty in March and it seems that all my soul wants to do is express itself and inspire others to do the same. However, all that my mind wants to do is prevent it from doing so, scowling: “Who are you to talk about anything? You are not yet perfect.”

Wait a minute. What does that even mean? I may not know a lot of things, but what I do know is that in this moment, I am exactly what I need to be. I dig the journey, not the destination. Perfect seems like a destination to me, and a pretty boring one at that, for it doesn’t offer any chance to grow. Do I really want to be perfect before I start writing full time? Do I really want to wait until my English is perfect, until my limiting expectations are being met, until I have enough time – if there is such a thing? Or do I take off my masks and be completely honest with you? I am warning you, it might not always be pretty, although girls are taught to always be pretty. But I promise you, it will be real.

I choose real. I choose raw. I choose genuine. I choose to speak up because I know I have things to say. Just as everybody else. I have things to say as a result of this other thing that I have, which is called life. It has been blessing me with experiences that cause my personal growth, just as yours has. But because I know that we must first see the reflection of the thing to be able to ever see the thing we’re looking for, I am here to be your mirror. I have had many mirrors along the way and now it’s time to keep up the good work. I have things to say because I know my journey is not just mine. My journey is the journey of everybody, because we are all rising up to the highest versions of ourselves. I have things to say right now and I will no longer wait for my words to mature and ripen beyond recognition.

In this moment, I thank my perfectly imperfect thoughts about myself for being here. Thank you for the contrast, from which I realize that I am perfectly perfect in all that I am right now.

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