Monthly Archives: May 2017

On joy and laughter


Sometimes your joy just literally disappears out of site and mind. It’s generally called depression and recognising it can be super difficult especially recognising it in yourself. More and more common these days and surely not surprising as we just demand way too much of ourselves.

Classically having a baby first time around is an adjustment and requires some great mind shifting and postnatal depression is also way more common due to similar reasons. Moms having to go back to work and the pressure of the right off the back after delivering a baby.

Wind back a few 100 years ago (or even 50) confinement (pregnancy) confined you to your home to nest, rest and get ready. That’s actually what you need in the horrid state called pregnancy.

Then you would stay in hospital with loving nurses for around 10 days. Then you would come home and have endless help – so that you could sleep and catch up.

These days most moms work until delivery day. Get home and have to keep it all going and then rush back to work around 4 months or even sooner.

Its a wonder we are not all in the luny bin.

How the heck is one supposed to be super mom AND sane?

And is it any wonder joy and laughter leave us and a gloomy dog takes up residence in our mind and homes?

Think on this today – as a society we are voluntarily intoxicating our very society.

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The wounded healer


For Jung, “a good half of every treatment that probes at all deeply consists in the doctor’s examining himself… it is his own hurt that gives a measure of his power to heal. This, and nothing else, is the meaning of the Greek myth of the wounded physician.

I have just read a great article about depression and doctors and how poorly it is managed amongst doctors. But the concept of a wounded healer has always fascinated me. As has healing. As have healers.

I am intrigued that is takes wounding to heal. And yet I guess in a karma kind of way it makes sense.

Indeed intriguing that there is power to heal. Frightening on some level.

History also confounds me and implores me to explore it. Ancient texts and characters of the past beckon to me to learn from them. Long before modern medicine existed healing existed. Long before the dawn of todays many western ideas ancient cultures treated dis ease successfully. We are here after all and did not die out as a species.

I respect deeply the ancients. I respect suffering and wounding. In a sense it is a teacher.

Grappling with self, wrestling with self is possibly also a part of this?

Wounded. In a process of healing.

The blooming of a womb


I am privileged to watch womb’s bloom. From a tiny teeny little bud of a being to filling up the whole womb with no space to move. From a dot of a heart beat with unfolded heart to a racing raging beating beast of a heart from which the life force flows.

It is a miracle before my eyes and plays out in different ways each time. The fusion of an egg and a sperm that happens so easily sometimes and with so much pain and difficulty at other times.

Life unfolds literally. It starts as and egg and a sperm which merge and then divide and divide and divide until the trophoblast bursts forth a little heart (unfolded) which then takes up the fold. The embryo tucked into itself almost like a little sea horse which then spirals in on itself to further divide and subdivide until by 12 weeks all the organs are formed. Poetry in motion.  A privilege to witness. An 8mm miracle at 7 weeks that grows steadily and miraculously until the birth thereof.

Life, the life force, the presence or absence of a new life. It is a strange beautiful mystery of a miracle and it gets me every time.

To love or not to love


I wonder upon love today. It is to me a great enigma. A very odd journey that seems confused a very great majority of the time.

Inborn, inbreed a deep hole of desire that reaches out like tendrils in an almost constant fashion and is either requited or unrequited. If only the majority of cups were full I think the world would be a better place.

Understanding each other, men and women, is all at once extremely complicated and sublimely simple. A choice really. A dying to self. Some are not capable.

The love of another seems something no man (or woman) can do without and yet so few have their innermost deep yearning fulfilled.

Some of us choose wrong, some of us make very big mistakes that can’t be undone. Some of us are just too strong willed. Sad really. Intimacy makes for greater inner strength if the sum of two parts is greater than themselves on their own and also makes a way stronger soul fly much higher on another plane.

Loving is indeed dying in many ways. Some just can not or will not die and so will never fly. Not on earth in this finite body.

And yet dying to self can be so freeing.

Love is certainly not only physical, it is so much more.

Love is strong, in it resides the greatest power there is in this world. So few are able to access it – a good thing in a sense.

So, love, reserved only for a few. Some only experience it in the twilight zone of their lives once life has ground away the rot that must go. Some are born lights of love and it shines out of every pore from day one and grows steadily in a selfless way for all to see it unmistakably.

Requited love oh what a thing, can move mountains. Unrequited seems to turn into a horrible monster that destroys much both physical and spiritual. Oh that it could all be requited.