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Museum

Today I went to the Tarbet Discovery Centre in Portmahomack. This is a museum that looks at the history of the Pictish settlement on that site, and the Christians that followed. Below you will see a picture of the crypt and a replica skeleton that is under the church. Whilst wandering around I heard a man remark to his wife that there was ‘a lot going on down there.’, meaning the crypt. I went down the steps and was wondering what he was going on about as there was literally nothing down there. That was until I had been down there for a couple of minutes. I felt suddenly very heavy. Almost like I had put on 10 pounds in 10 seconds. That was weird enough. Going back upstairs to leave, I stopped to chat to the lovely curator. I asked her why there was a partial skull at the feet of the skeleton in the grave. She expressed surprise at that and said she hadn’t noticed it before, so we went to look. Maybe, she said, they osteologist that they had asked to come and make sure the bones were in the place had done it. We went back to the shop, and as I turned to go, she said as a throwaway comment, ‘doesn’t matter, the bones move around all the time anyway.’
Despite this, I can’t recommend this museum enough. It is extraordinarily thorough, with an abundance of material. And for me all the creepiness is just a bonus.

 

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Today

Today I am sitting, listening to The Staves, to the birds, to the bustle of children. Listening to life wafting by. Knowing that it will come and go in the presence of sunlight and dust. In Starlight and clouds.

It does, come and go, breathe swift and slow, and we need to listen to it dreaming, and know that we have only this moment, this sunlight, this starlight and each other.

As I step back into my intuition and joy, I understand that home inside myself is the place to be.  Every second has its power, and every part of me knows what to do and where to go, if I just listen.

So, Today, I listen.


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Firefly

I want to be a firefly so that my bum can light up when I dance. Wouldn’t be awesome? Imagine if your soul lit up like that? That you could actually see someone’s soul in them, or surrounding them. What colour would yours be? Would it have patterns?

What if you could be like an Ood (see Dr Who) and carry it around with you in your hand?  At parties you could compare hand souls and see if anyone matched yours. Dating would be a doddle. ‘Well look! Your soul has the same blue streaks and red dots as mine, maybe we should go out?’

I am a particular soul, and don’t often meet souls that match mine, but I am lucky enough to have met a few. I especially like those trimmed with Gold. And souls that are constantly changing and moving.

Being alone with my soul is my favourite. It’s when I learn more about it, and how to love it. From now on I am going to imagine I am an Ood, hold it in my hand and look into the depths of it.  Cause I’m pretty sure that only there will you find what you are truly looking for, and you can see what beautiful colours you are.

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I love Thank You

Do you have a place where you can go inside yourself where you are grounded, balanced, you?  When I meditate I find that place.  That piece of me where no one else has sat.  Also where my own brain cannot interfere. All I am being is nothing. Just being.

It is so important to find that place within you. So important to get back to center.

Meditation is not about having a perfect mind, it’s not about getting into the nothing, it’s about focusing on just this second. Listening to your breath, feeling your heartbeat.

When you meditate the parts of your brain that don’t usually connect, do, and something magical happens.  It’s like steeping yourself in clarity and allowing your overthinking a holiday.

I find that Thank You has the same power.

Thank You seems to seek out the quiet and clear parts of my brain. It helps me…

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Doors

Door

Pressed into the grain of a wooden door is the memory of every hand that has pushed against it, every person that has stepped beneath it’s lintel, every couple that has leant against it for a lingering kiss.

The pressures of time are not the same for a timber portal.  For first it was a tree, and saw the forest grow up around it and with it. Seeing seasons come and go.  Till one day a man with an axe came and saw it could be something else. Once felled, it sat on a workbench, waiting to be carved into something new.  Shaped, cut and nailed together. Maybe painted? Maybe sanded and varnished?  Designed to be the perfect size to fill a void in a house, church, library, school, museum or castle.  To stand as a witness to all that happens within and without, of what its protecting.

To watch babies being born and the passing of souls. Observing meals around big tables, with laughter and companionship.  Looking upon arguments and reconciliation.  Providing warmth and guardianship.

And every person that touches it leaves a little part of themselves behind. Engrained into the wood. Turning a door into a temporal container of memories.

Above is a door that sits in the town of Pubol in Spain. In this town lived Salvador Dali and just maybe he touched that door.  But the door has been there much longer than his life, so what other wonders has it seen?  What secrets of history does it keep buried within it’s heart?

We can touch the doors of history and know that they have witnessed the passing of things we might like to see.  We can touch them and imagine we are in that moment.   That we are connecting with the past by laying our hands on doors that have many laid hands upon before.

To turn the handle on a wooden  door, lay your hands on it’s planks, and walk beneath it’s beams, is to add yourself to history and connect to the future.

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Four Words

Written into the history of the world is a lie, a lie that is entrenched in our nature, in our culture, even in the very way we talk to each other.   This lie is what fuels our need to have things, to be thinner, to be prettier, to even be somebody else.  It is simply this:  I am not good enough.

Advertisers and marketers would like this lie to remain the truth, but I say poo to that!  We can ignore the ‘done’ thing and do our own thing.  We can take back our lives, take back our love for ourselves and take back our world simply by doing this… I am not good enough.  

See how good that feels, crossing that one word out.  This is what that sentence should look like.   I AM GOOD ENOUGH!

So get out there and believe, believe that you are good enough, believe that your thoughts are good ones, that your choices are the right ones and that you, yes you, are taking your right place in the world! After all, no one else can.

Four words is all we need,  I AM GOOD ENOUGH!

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Memory Wipe

OK, that’s it! I am going to employ a large man to take a bat to my head! I’m hoping for full blown amnesia here.

Let me explain. I run a book group. I used to work in a bookshop and essentially books have been the biggest part of my life.   But lately I’ve noticed something sad. It’s very rare that I pick up a book now and think I’m reading something new. Something that causes an intake of breath. Makes me want to climb into the book and walk with the characters.

So bring on the man with the bat. I can go back to when I learnt to read and have the first moments of real pure joy at reading.

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