Letting Go




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Listen......

we are taught we must be authorized,qualified and sanctioned by someone else.We search for support and acceptance of others. We question what we know unless we can identify someone who taught us.We forget we have a built-in mechanism of information, protection and guidance - Iyanla Vanzant I knew it, my gut feeling told me, this was it, it made no logical sense and so I ignored my gut, then shit hit the fan How many of you can identify? Looking for the validation to do something that your inner guidance said, well, shouted, "go ahead, I got ya!" you wait, you ask others, you procrastinate - procrastination I have learnt is the denial of self, a type of self sabotage, it is not allowing yourself to give birth to something new There are somethings that you just know and the action is simply to obey! It usually is illogical, people call you crazy., some even laugh at you, talk you out of it. They have not heard your intuition speaking to you did they? They are not you, ar...
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Listen

it was amazing to feel myself becoming more me than ever. But in-between those power-moments was some ugly terror and resentment. Bones into soup. Comfort into chaos. Commitments into dissolution. This is what healing looks like . Danielle La Porte Have you ever listened to yourself tell a story or answer a question from someone who asked something which you really didn't like or felt slight discomfort in answering? I have been paying attention to the words I utter in those situations. I started paying attention to remind myself that words have power and how I express myself can and usually does show up in my world, whether I am taking responsibility or outsourcing it. I have learnt that ,Listening is an art, it starts with listening to yourself, it gives you the practice to listen to others and to listen to what is around you. Listening promotes awareness and learning, two key qualities in living a full authentic life.  When you listen, you discover. You explore...
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Reading Alice Walker, Remembering Myself

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 I’ve been sitting with Alice Walker’s journals these days — not her novels, not her essays, not even the works the world praises her for. Her daily journals. The private pages she never wrote for applause, only for truth. And I must admit something: I have never read an entire Alice Walker book. I’ve seen The Color Purple, yes. I’ve read the interviews, the articles, the commentary. But the books themselves? No. And yet — she has always pulled me. There is something about a woman who writes boldly about the world’s wounds and still insists on living on her own terms. Something about a woman who refuses to shrink her voice, her politics, her tenderness, her rage, her softness, her desire, her sensuality. Something about a woman who chooses herself, again and again, even when the world would prefer her quiet. That is what drew me to her journals. And now that I’m in them, I understand why. Her vulnerability is not performative. Her authenticity is not curated. Her openness is not a ...
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