Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
Turns out, the last couple months were dappled in gold honey coated moments despite my unconscious commitment to a negativity bias. Remember to check your camera roll.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
The quiet out here. I clutch at it. I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. But I know that the quiet of each acreage I have slept on during this trip is not mine to hoard but borrow and wear like a coat I must give back. I know because every place I have stayed has loaned me a different texture of quiet. And you soon learn that quiet can have as many flavours as wines or types of fruit. More probably. And they are all fleeting. By its very nature, no matter what life I lead, the moment of quiet will always be fleeting. All of life is borrowed. So don’t clutch. Let it come. Leave. And come back again soon. I am reminded of the last day at a Vipassana retreat. I observed ten days of noble silence, with nine hours of meditation a day. It was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’d ever done. I sat opposite my meditation teacher, Susan, on my final day. I was crying again. I cried so much in that ten days I learnt how to cry and meditate concurrently. Zen Pro Plus. “How do I keep it?”, I asked her. Confused she looked at me “the Practice?”. “No, the peace. This feeling. The quiet that I have found”. She responded with the answer I wanted the least. “Just one hour – twice a day”. As if internal peace was a sourdough bread recipe, and not the making of de-identifying from every aspect of your life. Undoing stitches in my mind’s eye of fabrics I had been wearing since birth. Righto Susan. —- My friends, followers, countrymen, I am doing my second round of teacher training. I can’t wait to step into this world with anyone even remotely curious. I vow not to make meditation a place of woo woo magic or for only the blessed few who have ‘time’. I believe meditation should be reserved for absolutely everyone. As we all have a basic human right to sit with ourselves and simply be. Treasures lie here. If you hold any curiosity to deepen your relationship with yourself, your sleep, your loved ones, or make some small space for quiet – I’d love to sit beside you at some point. Have a chat. — Susan was right by the way. You can take it with you. Twice a day, in fact.
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
Home sweet home. . Waking up at 5:30am with no alarm, feeling energized and grounded. A revolution for this chronically fatigued woman. I think that’s what happens when you do the work of spending every waking minute saying What do I want now And now and now. Until your body starts to trust you to take care of it again. Communicates your needs & desires clearly because it knows you will do something about it. I didn’t call myself lazy, selfish, or boring for 9 days. I revolted against any shoulds, musts,or ought to’s. Some of whom were extremely tempting and provocative. Instead I listened very closely and found mostly she wanted the basics. The little things. “Start close in” says Mr David Whyte. So I did. I kept her well fed, let her rest, daydream, dance, and was very quickly summoned by childlike wonder. We talk so much of having trust broken with others. But what of our selves? What promises do you break with yourself daily? What boundaries do you cross? What would it feel like if you didn’t. What discomfort are you switching out for another? That, and also – let’s face it. Being in nature does a lot of the work. It fills the gaps, the aches, the voids. Rushes in like warm honey on buttered toast. Soft, nourishing, lovely loving thing. I’m going to jump off this space now. Cause I feel like journaling and creating on paper like a 4 year old mad with power and vitality. But thanks for all who’ve joined me these past 2 weeks. Socials get a bad wrap but the way you guys interact make it meaningful. For me this platform is flooded with very profound, wickedly funny and insightful humans and it makes all the difference. A bientôt 🤘🏼
People keep asking me if I get lonely on the road. If it ever feels dangerous. I get looks and questions of concern from most people I meet. A woman joyfully traveling alone can be somewhat confronting, it would seem. Something that just feels so easy to me has brought up words like brave, reckless, naive from others. And I appreciate the concern and care. Ive felt lonely in cities and relationships. But when traveling in places like this? How could one possibly feel alone with so much life around them. . Always a privelege to travel on Country.
