The Old Woman and the Old Man of Dreams

January 23, 2026 at 2:40 pm (Uncategorized)
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I am not a fan of ‘New Year; New Me’; it makes very little sense to me to be launching into new beginnings or acting on resolutions when all around us Nature is on the go slow. It is still mid-winter in the Northern Hemisphere, when the cycles of the land are in rest and recovery mode; this beautiful season offers us the opportunity to reflect and dream. All this frantic pushing to act and change can feel incredibly stressful when our bodies are lacking sunlight and energy. It is little wonder so many of our New Year’s resolutions cannot be sustained. Essentially the timing is wrong and out of synch with the natural environment.

How is your energy feeling at the moment? Mine is incredibly low. I am trying earnestly to put my trust in the mid-winter season to teach me how to slow down, to take stock, to allow myself to dream and heal. Our culture doesn’t make this an easy practice but we are lucky as Druids that this essential part in the natural cycle is honoured.

Exercise – that stalwart of the ‘New Year; New Me’ movement – is feeling frustratingly hard at the moment but it has encouraged me to scrutinize the modern need to ‘fix’ things and keep perpetual movement and development in our life, rather than simply allowing ourselves to be on occasion. Obviously, it is good to have a desire to grow but the expectation of unending growth or the constant pursuit of reshaping and perfecting, is unrealistic and ultimately unproductive. We all know, deep down, that we cannot thrive if we are constantly doing emotional shadow work but never giving ourselves the time to process and recover from it; equally, we can’t exercise continually and expect to reap the benefits without rest, for it is in rest that our muscles rebuild themselves back stronger and endurance is built; we cannot keep pushing through in life without taking stock, for it is in the review that experience is processed and wisdom gained.

Here in Scotland, the Cailleach has been shaking out her blankets: we have had snow, ice and freezing temperatures; we have had cold rain and dark, dark, gloomy days: all the weather that encourages a turning inward. However, in the wider political world, there is much chaos, conflict, violence and fear, all of which demand our witness and/or action. This push and pull between going inward to rest but feeling compelled to engage with so many stressful and alarming situations, has many of us feeling like our nervous systems are ragged and depleted. These are truly challenging times to be alive.

We cannot hide away, as much as we might like to; we are all being challenged to play our part in shaping our world in more loving and equitable ways, but we also need to step back at times, that we might envision those new ways to be in that still, dark place of rest; that we might have the space and silence to hear our intuition free from the clamour and din of fear, conflict and exhaustion. We desperately need new visions, but I don’t think they are shaped in the glare or when we are speeding forward at full pelt.

The wonderful Sharon Blackie writes of the Old Woman of dreams who lives in a cave with her husband, high up in the Cuillin Mountains on the Isle of Skye. The two of them are all knowing and all seeing and dream the world into being. A young girl loses her way on the mountain and is taken in by the old woman and man, becoming their apprentice. I think this folk tale echoes the Scottish tales of Cailleach and Bride, the latter residing in the Cailleach’s cave until spring. These tales also speak of the importance of going inward to dream and envision what might be – we are all apprentices to the Old Woman and Man of Dreams but we need to enter their cave – to  at times halt our normal lives and work – to afford ourselves the opportunity to ponder and carefully craft our visions. This is a crucial step that ensures that our dreams have a chance to take root out in the world and become real.

I am trying to remind myself to check in with my inner life, to meditate, to do breathwork and open to nature’s peace and beauty, really connecting to the fallowness of the season – its gifts and blessings. I am trying to keep my heart open that new, hopeful visions might take shape. Imbolc will soon be with us with its quickening, but for now, what actions or rituals do you take to feed your vision? How often do you check in with yourself and allow rest? Do please share your experiences in the comments below!

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Planting Bulbs In The Hope Of Spring

September 12, 2025 at 10:23 am (Uncategorized)
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The awful events happening in our world at the moment have me feeling a deep heaviness and grief; I have lead for bones.  My day-to-day reality is actually relatively peaceful, but it is impossible to ignore what is happening ‘out there’. I am sure I don’t need to remind anyone that there are distressing and ugly eruptions of our darkest collective shadow being given full rein in some places, and by some people. Although I might hope that this underbelly brought into the light potentially offers us an opportunity to collectively heal, I despair that this will not happen in time to avoid immense suffering and pain. The immense suffering and pain are already happening, and I have never felt so impotent. I have lived long enough to witness some pretty awful things that have happened in our world, but this feels different somehow and more akin to the dark times my own parents went through as the generation who were caught up in World War II.

I am not a fan of talking about ‘dark forces’ but I think certain personal and collective wounds, when unaddressed, can manifest in cruelty, and in a world that feels so uncertain for so many people, the simplified certainties of a politics of blame and scapegoating can have good people losing their moral compass and turning a blind eye to that cruelty.

My Druidry has always been spiritual and psychological. A key part of my Druid practice has been turning my own lens inward to see what needs to be healed and integrated in my own psyche. I do this so that I might take my place in this beautiful world in ways that are constructive and positive. I believe that Druidry is a path of compassion but it also requires we be fearless in calling out our own BS, when needed. That isn’t easy and it is not always clear when we are in the grip of our own shadow, acting out in ways that cause others pain. There seems to be a good deal of acting out from those unconscious wounds in our world at present. Trying to keep our footing in this troubling climate can feel exhausting at times.

As we move towards the Equinox, it is useful to explore where our balance lies. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we are slowing moving towards the darker months. The light is noticeably lessening, the mornings chillier. I have felt such resistance in me to the coming of autumn this year, fighting back the growing darkness –  the going inward – probably because in rest and introspection, I know that I can so often be confronted with painful and uncomfortable feelings.

In my own efforts to regain my equilibrium, I keep trying to bring myself back to my body, and to the body of the earth, to ground and dissipate the anxiety I feel, but also to allow myself to acknowledge the grief and to witness the horror without denial, without experiencing emotional paralysis in the face of the unspeakable. If we stop witnessing, if we stop calling out the injustice, we lose our humanity and we need our humanity more than ever. However, feeling the distress can be so tough if we cannot soothe our nervous systems on a regular basis and let those feelings move through and out of us. We all know the frazzle of overwhelm: exhaustion and burn out can be particularly intense if we are not able to act on our distress. Feeling like powerless bystanders can leave us drained and hopeless, so taking care of our well-being becomes doubly important. The world needs us to stay grounded in order to play our part in a much-needed collective healing. We can’t do that if we are exhausted and consumed with fear.

I have had a recurring image in my spiritual ponderings over the last couple of days. Whenever I feel that dread of the winter coming – or the world gets too much – something tells me to plant bulbs for spring. Every year autumn comes and I always forget to plant them, but when I think of the symbolic significance of this act, it fills me with hope. We bury our bulbs in the dark, cold soil; we can so easily forget they are there until suddenly after all the bitter, frozen, dark times, a miracle of emergence occurs; an explosion of life, heralding the greening of the world once more, with all the joy and renewed energy that this brings.

I will be asking myself this Equinox, which bulbs should I plant, both actually and psychologically.  What shall I offer over to the earth’s fertile darkness that She might birth a new hope, a new energy, a new healing, a new way to be? Perhaps we could all plant bulbs with magical intention – I still have faith in these simple acts that come from the heart.

If you are struggling, do please check out Philip Carr-Gomm’s wonderful new course: How to Stay Sane in an Insane World – all proceeds go to Doctor’s without Borders. And do please share you own coping strategies in the comments. /|\

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In A Bed Of Reeds I Find My Peace

September 12, 2025 at 10:12 am (Uncategorized)
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Ogham has never been a big part of my Druidry. I was never particularly drawn to it, finding Runes more appealing and accessible as a Divination system. However, my own relationship with the tree and plant world has been hugely helpful and inspiring for me along the way. I am so grateful for the healing experiences I have been blessed by with trees and plants, their wisdom and guidance helping me through some particularly difficult times. Rather than depending on traditional meanings, I try to pay attention to which plants and trees are drawing my attention, and then I attempt to remain open to the gifts of that particular plant, trying not to impose any previous magical meaning or association on them, but letting them speak; exploring their botanical nature and qualities as clues to their gifts but also tapping into the deeper spiritual significance that the plant holds for me personally, at that moment.

Building intimate relationships with the unique characters of plants, can, like human friendships, foster a deeper love and appreciation of that being. The same with the animal and mineral kingdom: the care and intention that we take to build and sustain relationships with both human and non-human beings is such a key practice in Druidry. It can do much to heal that sense of separation from Nature that has led to so much of the destruction of our environment, not to mention the emotional alienation that comes from not feeling ourselves a part of the Natural world; not feeling at home in it. I am so thankful for the help I have received from all of those non-human beings; it never fails to astound me of how generous Nature is; of how it’s rhythms and seasons deepen our understanding of our own peculiarities and cycles; of how a deeper sense of belonging so often starts in a connection with the non-human world.

Lately, I have been drawn to Reeds. My local park has a small lake that is edged by them. They are so tall and abundant at the moment, and the wind becomes a soothing hush as it moves through them; I find them incredibly calming. Coots, Moorhens and Ducks disappear into the tangle of stems and I can sense how safe a refuge it must feel in that watery forest.

Reeds have the most extraordinary ability to cleanse water; if there is sewage in water, given time, Reeds will purify and clear it, and because of this amazing gift of transformation, I have found them a brilliant plant to meditate upon when dealing with emotionally toxic situations. Like non-moving water, stuck emotions can become stagnant. We all know those moments when we realise we have held on a little too long to hurt, anger or grief without processing it, or we find ourselves carrying the anger and grief of another. It can poison our emotional waters and steal our joy and energy; our feelings becomes murky, making it hard to navigate; left unchecked, it can even make us physically unwell.

If you are struggling with your own toxic emotions, or the difficult feelings or behaviours of others have gotten beneath your skin, or if the world’s injustices has you consumed with rage and sorrow, I recommend exploring the magic of Reeds as a self-care practice. I have watched swans sitting on their stunning nests built amongst enclosures of Reeds. This inspired me to recently construct – in my imagination – my own bed amongst the reeds, a place in my meditation that I can go to, to rest, recover and let the Reeds perform their cleansing magic. This cosy nest amongst the Reeds has become my safe place; a place of Sanctuary where I can choose to surrender over the burden of those murky waters to something greater and wiser, trusting in Reeds’ ability to cleanse, whilst feeling held and protected by the mesh of their stems, soothed by the breeze in their leaves. Remember always to give a little prayer of thanks for the support you have received from these amazing beings!

Working with Reeds in this way, doesn’t necessarily mean that those feeling will not return – we are human, life can be challenging and the process of healing can be lengthy and meandering – but I hope this offers a small practice of self-care that can help when times are tough.

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Tending the Hearth

May 7, 2025 at 11:46 am (Uncategorized)
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 When you think of your inner fire, what comes to mind? Is it an intense blaze of passion, a wildfire of rage or a sustaining hearth? For the longest time, mine has felt like the faintest glow of an ember buried under a ton of ash. My reserves have felt so low; my enthusiasm for all those creative things that feed me, has fluctuated in an annoyingly unproductive way. At times, I have experiences little spurts of ‘get up and go’, and then almost as soon as ‘I get up and go’, I am gone – no gas in the tank.

The truth is, I have been managing my energy really poorly over many years. With feeble boundaries comes the danger that all our precious vitality leaks out – or is sucked out by others’ demands for our time and attention. However, it would be incredibly disingenuous of me not to acknowledge that it has also been impacted by where I choose to focus my energy. It has been difficult to admit to myself that I have wasted a good deal of time – years in fact – fretting and fueling my own anxiety with countless ‘what ifs’. There have been some good reasons to feel not entirely ok over the last few years, but if I am truly honest, I would also have to hold my hands up to obsessively lazering in on my worst fears, at the expense of getting on with the things I love. There can be a weird comfort in this negative, narrow focus; it can feel like a talisman that holds the very worst at bay, but in reality, it drains the joy out of life.

When difficult or traumatic things happen, we go into survival mode, our nervous systems switch to red alert. At the time of any crisis, this is an understandably reaction – it serves to protect us – but it is extremely exhausting, if, when the battle is over, we are still fighting the war; still hyper- vigilant; still fearful; still grieving but never truly ‘still’ in mind, body or emotion.

I am someone who has used exercise over the years to cope with difficult times. When my mother died during my teens, it was ballet and yoga that were my saviours. Movement kept me afloat and eventually pulled me out of a very dark place and I have turned to it, in many different forms, again and again in my life.

In recent years it has been running that has been my ally in crisis. When I was so stressed and overwhelmed with grief, that I really didn’t know what to do with myself, it was running that calmed and soothed me. The longer the run, the better. Running taught me to be comfortable with physical discomfort and I couldn’t fail to register that this was also working on a deeper emotional level too: I found it impossible to be truly still without being flooded by awful feelings and emotions. Running was the only thing that stilled the anxiety, fear and anger. In the initial stages, it was a godsend, but I soon became burnt out. Even then, it became nearly impossible to let go of this newly found friend in my time of need, so I pushed on through.

I am learning now that being stuck in fight or flight can lead to a vicious cycle of not being able to relax, and the more I can’t relax, the more stressed and strung out I become, and then the less I can relax…and on and on in an exhausting circle.

For the first time in years, I have begun to actually listen to my energy; to what the state of that inner fire is, because I have learned the hard way that literally, physically running away from stress as a long-term strategy, only works if we give ourselves adequate rest and recovery, and even then, running away in fear is a poor substitute for joyfully running towards.

Those in battle cannot let their guard down: rest is the enemy, because when you rest, the big, bad things will catch you unawares and you will be defenseless. But of course, that lack of rest and recovery ironically becomes the big, bad thing that actually blind-sides you. 

My post-menopausal body has been an extremely good friend; it has placed limits on me that I just haven’t been able to ignore. My lack of energy has been my instructor on this slow journey to regulate my energy. It is guiding me towards approaches that truly support me and bring me joy. I have consistently resisted this wise teacher of mine; fought it with punishing exercise schedules in a desperate attempt to maintain my defenses against the unexpected in life – as a bolster against all my fears – but my very patient body was having none of it. No one could ever have accused me of not being motivated or disciplined to exercise; I could never understand how anyone lacked motivation, but then fear can be an irresistible cattle prod into action, one that overrides any apathy or fatigue.

I am now choosing to embrace some rest and recovery. I have drastically (for me at least) reduced my exercise. I have rest days of gentle yoga and walks. My runs have come down from two and half hours to 20 mins, and they are walk/run intervals and only twice a week. I do enjoyable strength and body weight training for only 20 mins, three times a week; yoga remains a daily support but only short, mindful sessions. And with all of this, if my body needs me to adjust this schedule further from week to week, then I am choosing to listen.

It took everything in me to trust taking these steps. I have felt incredibly vulnerable. I had to sit with feelings of emotional discomfort without giving in to the urge to move. Over time, I am beginning to feel a change. It hasn’t happened overnight, but it is real and is making a tangible difference. I have more energy to do other things, to re-engage with my creativity. I am beginning to sleep better, although this is still a work in progress. Most noticeably, my gut is much improved (although I know that dietary changes have helped this too) – it is clear to me that anxiety has an enormous impact on our digestive health.

Don’t get me wrong, movement can be a wonderfully healing tool for our bodies and our mental health – more of us should be taking advantage of its life-enhancing benefits – but I had to acknowledge that my own relationship with it had become toxic and counter-productive.

Today, I have this weirdly calm feeling. It is weird to me because I have become so accustomed to that wired, fizzing, strung-out state, that its absence almost feels like a kind of numbing. I realized, with some shock, that I have entirely forgotten what it is like to be relaxed, and now I am starting to feel this, it’s almost alien and strange. And yet, I can also feel my joy increasing and my relief too, that I can just be in the moment, doing nothing, feeling happy and chilled. What bliss!

There is such a lot of noise out there about exercise and diet, particularly in the sphere of perimenopause/menopause and beyond – so much of it conflicting and with huge undertones of fear-mongering in order to sell you a panacea. It is hard to judge what we should do, and what we shouldn’t do for our health as we age.

Honestly, I think a good starting place would be prioritizing rest and recovery and doing things that bring us joy: being creative; smelling the roses. These should be the core foundation that our movement is built upon. If we start with a base-line of fear and angst and let this drive our exercise regimes and diets, true well-being eludes us, it seems. With so many voices, it takes a little bravery to really listen to ourselves; to check in with our own gut and intuition, that we might keep in touch with what is happening with our inner fire, to gauge what truly works for us. Of course, it can be useful to get professional advice; to explore the amazing science and studies out there about human well-being, but not at the expense of our connection to our very loyal, faithful and amazing bodies who are constantly communicating to us, if we take a moment to be still and listen.

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Sacred Space, Holy Grove and Learning to Say No!

January 22, 2025 at 5:21 pm (Uncategorized)
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I have always been pretty poor with keeping healthy boundaries. As a sensitive kid, who hated upsetting anyone or causing conflict, I became a people pleaser. It is a role that has, over a lifetime, worn incredibly thin. I knew I had to make changes when emotional burnout and some hard-core resentment began to seep in. This felt awful because I am a person who genuinely wants everyone to be happy. I also believe it is important to be kind and considerate, but I started to discover that beneath affable, pleasant Maria, a snappy other me, fizzing with rage was emerging.

I started to feel angry. Really, REALLY angry! Angry at anyone who needed anything from me. Angry at anyone who wasn’t taking responsibility for their own ‘stuff’. The shadow side of nice Maria felt very transgressive and alarming (in fact, it still feels a little transgressive to write about it here: it triggers a very icky sense of shame) but I obviously needed to recognize that there was a part of me that felt incredibly pissed off, tired and in need of some peace. This threw me into a total tizz. I struggled to accept how harsh I felt on the inside, and how guilty I felt that I was harbouring such unsympathetic feelings towards others who were in need. Being a classic people pleaser, such uncharacteristically hateful emotions immediately led to some crippling guilt! What was happening to me??

Sooner or later, I think all chronic people pleasers encounter burnout, or simmering fury, or both! And I feel that they will also always wrestle with a massive amount of guilt for jumping the people pleasing ship. Rather than falling into a pit of shame, it can be helpful to see how necessary it is to embrace these rather shocking feelings, recognizing them for what they truly are: they are us, rescuing ourselves from ourselves!!! People pleasing is an unworkable and emotionally unsustainably way of being. Sometimes, we really do have to say an emphatic ‘NO!’ for our own mental, physical and emotionally well-being.

I find it interesting that my spirituality honours sacred boundaries. As a Pagan I worship, perform ritual and meditation in circles and groves. I create sacred space with edges that have the right amount of a certain energy to help me feel both safe and contained, whilst remaining connected and open. I have experienced many times how wonderful this sacred space can feel and find it strange that I would not also honour that balance between boundary and connection in my wider relationships. However, people pleasing is a  learned behaviour from childhood, which makes it so difficult to dismantle, that is until emotional necessity steps in and puts an end to the madness.

I have begun to sense that a particular blessing of menopause is that it can take a sledge hammer to people pleasing tendencies; it is as if when nature removes the estrogen, we no longer have a ‘nice girl’ filter; it is replaced with a deeper need to be more authentic. It makes me chuckle to think that so many of the traits of Crone Goddesses in modern Paganism, are feistiness, searing honesty and the possession of an acute bullshit radar.  And of course, those Crones also demand self-honesty and self-reflection, and the right to be protective of our need to go inward and rest; to not act like an inexhaustible source for others to constantly draw on. This gift of the Crone enables us to take responsibility for our own lives and decisions, to heal and grow as we age, and to discover who we truly are at this stage in our lives and what direction we now need to take.

 I have found this transformation takes a bit of an adjustment. With my own experience it felt that the pendulum had swung to the other extreme, from keeping people happy to full on resentment This is undoubtedly the shadow side of feeling that I must be kind in all situations. I can’t count how many times I have not stood up for myself when I should have, in the name of trying to be understanding and accommodating of someone else’s feelings, or even worse, excusing bad behaviour. Sometimes anger is needed for not only our healthy boundaries but also to communicate to another that they have caused hurt or crossed a line. I was never taught how to assert a healthy boundary calmly and without guilt. I think that there were critical times in the past when I tried to set boundaries but was told I was selfish to do so, or an emotional screw was turned. For a people pleaser, being labelled as selfish is a powerful emotional kryptonite that will render any healthy boundary porous and weak.

I am still learning to adjust to this new way of being. I have moments when I completely doubt my judgement and it all feels very uncomfortable to push back, but I am increasingly experiencing more moments of heady freedom; that saying ‘no’ can actually be a vitally useful tool when it comes to self -care.

Sometimes – for all the right reasons – it is necessary to put ourselves out for another, or to compromise our own desires and needs, but people pleasers can find it notoriously tricky to discern between what is the right reason, and what is simply being at the mercy of other people’s wants and demands.

How interesting life is, that after so many years it can reveal a new lesson; that it can open a door to a long-silenced voice; to a room where a more authentic self waits to be acknowledged and welcomed.


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Rewiring the Script

January 8, 2025 at 4:41 pm (Uncategorized)
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Happy New Year! /|\

I listened to a great podcast of Rangan Chatterjee interviewing Dr Bruce Lipton about changing our subconscious scripts. He spoke about how when we try to make positive changes in our lives, this can often fail because our subconscious programming can contradict our new intentions. Until we reprogram the subconscious script, we can find ourselves unwittingly sabotaging our plans. Part of the work in bringing about positive change and transformation is becoming aware of these hidden narratives – those stories we are given by our care-givers, society, or others, that powerfully shape our expectation of what we, and our life, can and should be.

Uncovering these deeply unhelpful stories can be initially painful but ultimately liberating: no one wants to be trapped in psychological loops that undermine our best intentions for ourselves. Bruce Lipton emphasized how once a script is embedded in our subconscious, it is habitual – we have done it for so long, we no longer have to think about it – it is automatic. Because of this, it becomes clear how difficult it is to remove these inner narratives; it can’t be done over-night; it takes ongoing awareness and practice to rewire and build a new habit of belief that will eventually become like riding a bike, psychologically speaking.

I have come to recognize the signs in myself when my intentions for positive change rub up against a subconscious belief or storyline. I initially get a surge of excitement that change is possible, but this is quickly followed by a sinking feeling, the true nature of which I find really hard to define, but it is clear that the inner script is signaling that it doesn’t really believe that my intention is possible, or even desirable.

It takes self-reflection and compassion for self (and for those who have helped to embed those scripts or even plant them deliberately – that is a whole other blog post!!); it takes patience, commitment and understanding…but if we are to give ourselves the chance of living a life that fits us more comfortably, then it is worth the initial discomfort and effort.

Of course, because these things are subconscious, such scripts can be in our blind spot: others often see them more clearly than we. We have probably all known people who inflict their inner script on others as if that narrative were an absolute truth of reality; they become a prisoner of those thoughts and beliefs, and shape their whole life by them, insisting that others also accept that narrative as their own – regardless of how much damage that can do to all involved. I have had family members with the most messed up inner scripts who have wielded them like weapons with the kind of righteous insistence and certainty, that betrays an underlying fear and vulnerability. It can be awful to watch a loved one’s inner script wreak havoc on their own lives and the lives of others. Of course, we do this collectively too with even greater devastation.

I am trying to unpick my own inner script. I know I need to do a whole lot of work around money. My dad saw it as the root of all evil; my mum never felt there was enough, fearing the arrival of ‘rainy days’, so much so, she kept a box of tinned food behind her dressing table, ‘just in case’ the worst happened. My mum and my dad’s approach to money was really two sides of the same coin (excuse the pun); different responses to dealing with the fear of the lack of it, which ultimately is a fear of not being safe, of not being able to survive and have your basic needs met. My dad came to deal with this by parring down his need for possessions; my mum with her food box, but both were still locked in a fearful inner script, understandably born of their very real experiences with poverty but perpetuated by the limited perspective that such inner scripts burden us with.

We can become loyal to our parent’s narratives and make them our own, partly because we love our parents and it feels like a betrayal not to, partly because those narratives become hardwired, instilled in us from an early age as deeply held values. This is a double whammy and can feel very tricky to unpick. We might go the opposite route and rebel, but rebellion doesn’t necessarily signify that we are any freer from the power and hold of those script…

There is hope. Always hope.  When we can reflect; when we bring something unconscious into the light of understanding; that is really the first big step. Even if there are a million steps that come after, that’s ok; we keep taking them; we honour our own agency; we accept the things that we cannot change, and do the work on the things we can.

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One Small Step

December 4, 2024 at 12:59 pm (Uncategorized)
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Overwhelm seems to be a condition that many of us encounter regularly in our modern lives. I don’t know whether it is a sign of the times, or a symptom of my declining hormones post- menopause, but my window of resilience appears to have severely narrowed. It doesn’t take long these days for any prolonged ball-juggling to raise my anxiety. The filing cabinet in my brain goes from ordered to chaos in an instant; pushing through just doesn’t work anymore. I have come to recognize that a change in approach is needed.

Inspired by the success of my daily 10 minutes of body scan meditation, I set myself the task of thinking about other 10-minute actions I could take in my day, particularly around tasks where I have been experiencing paralysis.

The 10-minute idea came from a suggestion for runners I discovered online.  This sage advice recommended that at those times when we feel total apathy, to simply commit to only a short ten-minute jog; if you still don’t want to continue after that time, you give yourself permission to stop. With experience, the promise of only tens mins is a leg up over the motivation hump: what tends to happen, is you run further and end up very pleased with yourself!

So far, I have been using this technique with my writing; with housework; with any difficult work issues that I find myself procrastinating over. I am including a daily ten-minute walk and am hoping to introduce 10 mins of singing, and 10 of dancing. I have also adopted the mantra ‘It doesn’t have to be perfect’ for practically every task –  this helps to bypass my inner-critic and her impossibly high standards.

Ten minutes is such a tiny amount of time to invest; it is achievable and unthreatening when you are feeling particularly unmotivated; it also allows you to offer a little grace to yourself, if indeed you find that 10 minutes is all you can manage. Rather than feeling a sense of failure, it always feels like a personal win; and if 10 mins turns into 20, an hour or even more, then this is a wonderful bonus. Either way, you are celebrating your gains!

We humans can become so hooked on an end goal without appreciating the power and effectiveness of gentle consistency. For myself, I tend to run to extremes: my inner bootcamp Sergeant Major demands that I clean the whole house in one go; run all the miles; write the entire book; achieve perfect Zen every meditation…the list goes on…he is an appalling bully. I think he is partly a wider cultural creation in a society that expects so much from us, that we might consider ourselves worthy and lovable. He is also, for me, a creation from times past when I have fallen apart emotional and mentally; depression can lead to a cessation of everything both practical and creative; I think he remembers me sat amid the disarray of unwashed dishes and an unexpressed life, and desperately doesn’t want me to return to that dismal place. I think he is a bit mean because he is both afraid and protective.

Despite this, what recovery from depression has taught me over the years, is the value of the smallest of gains in any day and how over time, such tiny steps add up. Getting out of bed and showered: give that girl a medal for bravery! Cooking and eating a nourishing meal: total win! I came to recognize in my darkest moments, that small, consistent steps cover a vast distance, if we allow ourselves patience and time.

I have also been pondering ‘Life Purpose’, of how the very phrase conjures up the all-encompassing and the epic. I used to think of ‘life purpose’ in this grandiose way, which led to a great deal of disappointment and a gnawing grief left by unfulfilled goals. It has started to become clear that my overinflated dreams had totally crowded out the simple, everydayness that are the true building blocks of our Life Purpose. I am now coming to understand that my life purpose is unrolling my yoga mat; walking and running in nature; scribbling down my thoughts; singing my little heart out for the joy of it; taking pleasure in my work and the people I love, and all the many things that add up to the totality of who I am and how I live my life.

This ‘small is beautiful’ approach and the simple consistency of engaging with the all the elements of our life – both the loved and not-so-loved, even for the briefest of 10 minute moments – helps to crack open the mundane, revealing the nucleus of shining magic at its heart.  

If you are struggling with a loss of meaning in your life; if the white noise of overwhelm has frozen out the frequency of joy…take heart; take one small step…



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The Waters of Life

November 29, 2024 at 4:56 pm (Uncategorized)
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What we put into the waters of life go everywhere. ~ Phyllis Curott

I heard this great quote from Phyllis Curott on her Instagram account this morning and it really got me thinking about my own emotional hygiene; how well – or badly – I tend my emotions. I have been setting aside ten minutes every day to do a body scan exercise, simply focusing my attention briefly on every part of my body in turn, from my toes to the top of my head, in an attempt to help regulate my nervous system and shift me away from spending so much time in fight or flight. I have also been performing a yoga breath technique every day too.

Both have been enormously helpful exercises – I have turned to them many times in my life but I had gotten out of the habit, and re-engaging has illustrated, yet again, the value of engaging with our para-sympathetic nervous system on the daily. After three weeks of these practices, I can feel the change in my body; that background anxiety – like an idling engine pumping out toxic emotional fumes – is less present in my day, and my body feels so much more comfortable and safe.

Phyllis’s quote made me think of how our emotional state not only impacts on our own health and well-being, but of how it can also breech the boundary of our inner life like unwelcome and destructive flood waters, seeping out into the lives of others. I have been guilty of this in my own life many times, I am sorry to say. I am currently around it in the actions of a person close to me, and this has been a valuable lesson for me in reminding myself of the importance of regularly checking in with the way I am handling my emotions.

I suspect we have all known folks who dominate a room with their emotional stuff: the angry complainers; the emotional manipulators; the gossips; the litanies of ills and grievances, those weirdly one-way conversations where we get the sense that someone is talking at us, not with us. It can feel very draining. I also suspect that this way of communicating is fueled by a deeper, more hidden need. Sometimes this is a desire for love and attention that can so often prove counterproductive: most folks dread being on the receiving end of this kind of psychological dumping.  

We all need love when we are going through tough times; we all need a supportive listening ear to bear witness to our pain and struggle; we all need good advice from a valued friend –  but, we also have a responsibility to ourselves, to recognize when we are not tending our own emotions in healthy and self-loving ways, and how this – if we do it habitually – can poison the waters for others. What we put out into the world impacts the whole, and so being mindful of the style and content of what, and how, we communicate can be one of our greatest life-lessons. I certainly think it has been one of mine.

Emotional self-reflection and self-awareness are not easy practices because we all have our own infuriating blind-spots; looking straight into the face of our foibles can feel like being caught in Medusa’s gaze – and because of this, we can spend a lot of energy avoiding it. For me, so much of my spiritual journey has been a psychological one: I want to know and understand myself more deeply that I might be a contributing factor in the world becoming a better place for all. I tend to think that if we all did the work on ourselves, then the collective condition might improve immeasurably. It’s worth a go at least. However, it takes a lot of self-compassion; and empathy and patience with others, especially when our waters get muddied by their untended and unrecognized issues. When this happens, some good old-fashioned healthy boundaries are a must.

And so, for the good of all who know me, and for those who don’t, I am going to keep asking myself ‘what am I currently placing in the waters of life?’ I am looking to my own well, to clear those weeds that any stagnant waters might run clear and fresh again; I am treating those waters like a sacred sacrament.


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The Sweet Spot

November 27, 2024 at 2:06 pm (Uncategorized)
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Recently, I stood on the railway bridge that crosses the river, watching a family of swans. One swan was further up stream with four younger swans, their grey plummage beginning to show white. They were positioned close to the bank where calm pools had formed amongst the reeds. The partner swan was way back and much further away from the bank, paddling hard in the strong current. I could clearly see how powerfully the swan pushed its webbed feet to propel itself, however, the current was so strong it could barely tread water. If it stopped pushing for a second, it would be swiftly carried backwards. I wondered why it wasn’t moving into the still pools to join its family, but it continued to struggle against the resistance of the water, occasionally launching itself deeper into the rapid flow closer to the centre of the river. As it launched itself deeper into the fast moving current, it dipped its head and long neck beneath the surface and I realised that all this immense effort was obviously worth it for whatever tasty nourishment lay beneath.

Later on in my walk along the river, I saw the swan family again, now fully reunited and resting on a small beach revealed by the low tide. I was comforted that they were together again.

It made me think of my own spiritual journey up river to the source; the sheer effort of the push to move forward; the need to paddle out a little further from safety; to dive and be rewarded by whatever nourishment or wisdom I discovered. The easiest thing would be to stay close to shore, or even just to sit on the bank and watch the river continually pass, but I suspect I would only be happy to do this for a while.

The swan was canny enough to reach just enough outside the safety of the pools, to reap the rewards whilst not getting swept away. It seemed to know that if this ‘sweet spot’ got too tiring, it could shift just a little closer to the bank and find respite and rest.

This is the lesson I am trying to learn at this point in my life: it is not about taking it too easy and missing out on the rewards; it is also not about pushing hard to exhaustion and being carried down stream against my volition. The sweet spot is an art that I am seeking to achieve in practically all areas of my life as I move closer to my sixties – in my approach to exercise, my diet, my emotional and spiritual life, my family and relationships, my work and creativity – it is not an easy task.

As we age, it can feel like the goal posts are constantly shifting: things that worked at other points in our life, now fail to get results. I have found myself, more and more, grieving the person I once was and finding it hard to let her go. I have found myself comparing the me of now, to the me of past times, and feeling that loss as a heart-wrenching decline. I guess on one level, I am indeed in decline – as we all are when we age – but lately I have come to realise, that this constant comparison to my old self, and the feeling of lack that accompanies it, is holding me back: it is stopping me from becoming the person I am now and fully knowing and enjoying that person.

As the year wanes towards midwinter; as the season of Samhain sighs its outward breathe of release into the cold air, I have been letting go of the old me, not once, but daily, because once is not enough to expel this ghost of my forming self. And so, I practice diligently a wistfull and melancholy goodbye, reaching for a greater acceptance; waiting for my new shape to form and inhabit the space that remains.

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The Seal Skin and the Sea Within

March 21, 2024 at 3:22 pm (Uncategorized)
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It is always interesting to me how language shapes our understanding of reality. It fascinates me that in some languages there are words that cannot directly translate into English. This suggests that others can see or perceive something in life and in our world, that we just don’t have the words for, and therefore, it isn’t a reality for us. It’s a mind-blowing thought and illustrates that  language can not only be a key to opening our understanding of the world, it can also be a limitation.

It is also fun when we discover words from other languages that do have a direct translation but actually help us to deepen our understanding of that word. To give an example, I recently watched a wonderful documentary called InnSaei: The Power in Intuition by Icelandic film maker Hrund Gunnsteinsdottir. Innsaei is an Icelandic word for intuition but Hrund points out in her movie that the word has several meanings:

  1. The Sea Within
  2. To See Within
  3. To See From The Inside Out

Hrund describes these meanings in a rather beautiful way,

The sea within is the borderless nature of our inner world. It is constantly moving; it goes beyond words; it is a world of vision, feelings and imagination. The sea within cannot be put into boxes because then it ceases to flow.
To see within is to know yourself; to know yourself well enough to be able to put yourself into other people’s shoes and to bring out the best in you.
And finally, InnSaei means to see from the inside out. To see from the inside out is to have a strong inner compass so you can navigate your way in our ever-changing world.

I feel you could probably take each one of these three phrases and use them as journal prompts to explore the nuances of each.

I find myself drawn to ‘The Sea Within’; it is a phrase that calls to me. It is very easy to perceive our inner life as an ocean, one that has unknowable depths, the compelling pull of tides, the ebb and flow of connection and disconnection. It can be an alarming place with unexpected eddies that threaten to pull us under, leading us to yearn for the shallows that offer respite and safety.  I have often dreamt of the sea and until recently have always lived by it.

About a year or so ago, I had one of those dreams that seem to yell at you, those dreams when you know with an undeniable certainty that the ‘sea within’ is communicating something vital to your well-being. I was in the ocean, desperately trying to rescue a dying seal from circling sharks. I wanted to help the seal into the shallows, so that it could die in peace, without being predated. I knew the sharks were only being true to their nature and were hungry, but I couldn’t bear the thought of this beautiful seal being ripped apart. Like Popeye, I was bopping leaping sharks on the nose, trying to deter them from coming to shore where the seal lay exhausted. Upon waking, I knew that the Seal represented a part of me, a vital part that was in danger of being no more, and that my inner world was letting me know that this had to be addressed.

Myths and Folk Tales about Seal people, or Selkies as they are known here in Scotland, are many. Both Clarissa Pinkola Estes and Sharon Blackie have written wonderfully about these tales, getting inside the mythic and psychological truths that these stories gift us with.

My favourite is the Seal Wife, the tale of a Selkie who comes to shore, slipping off her seal skin and dancing on the sands. She is seen by a human man who falls desperately in love with her and steals her seal skin, hiding it away so that he will never lose her to the sea again. He plans to keep her as his wife on land forever and she bears him two children but painfully missing her ocean home and her seal skin – her true, authentic being – she becomes further and further outside herself. Gradually, with the memory of her true home haunting her, she begins to decline, her skin growing dry and her being listless, until one day she rediscovers her hidden seal skin, tucked away in the eves and stepping into that magical skin, slips joyfully back into the ocean, only occasionally being seen as she swims close to shore to visit her children.

The seal skin is for all of us our true, authentic self; what that true self is only we can know. So many of us have our seal skins stolen, sometimes by our culture or our work, sometimes by our families or our partners, even by all of these. We have to keep checking in with that agile, soulful creature who so often symbolises our deepest passions and loves, our creativity and our life meaning and purpose. If we have our seal skins stolen, or if we give them away, we too can become dry and without joy, filled with a yearning for our true home and those that understand us.

In my dream, my own inner seal was in a pitiful state. Seals can spend long periods in the deep ocean but also need the shore to rest and recuperate. Difficult life circumstances over years can certainly make life feel like an unending deep dive in an unforgivingly dangerous sea. We all need rest and peace and life-giving oxygen. Since my dream, I have come to realise just how much I have neglected my creativity, and also my need to ponder and dream over recent years.

I have been watching some gorgeous videos by Michael Boyd. Michael takes some magical footage of Harbour Seals (do check him out on Instagram @michaelboyyd). I learned though his films that Harbour Seals, when they want a quick snooze, will lodge themselves between two rocks on the seabed, or wrap themselves in the strands of a kelp forest and float as they sleep. They need air and water and land too, and without these they could not survive.

Since my Seal dream, I have been thinking about that balance we all need to feel truly ourselves; about honoring all the elements that keep us well, truly alive and vibrantly connected to our life. I have also been thinking about the price we pay for bending ourselves out of our natural shape to fit in and be loved or accepted. The impact such self-denying  behaviour has on every level of our being can be devastating. In a world that demands so much of all of us, in lives where we are constantly pressured to let go of the things that truly matter in order to conform (or merely just to survive), remember to check in with your seal skin regularly. What condition is it in? Is it sleek and silky, or dry and cracked? Let your inner seal dive deep in that mysterious ‘sea within’, bringing back beautiful treasures that feed your soul and give you the courage to be true to yourself. Let it rest on dry land too, in sunny, sheltered coves – we were not made for everlasting storms.

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