Tag: hope

Front yard fairy-tales. Manifesting joy.

Hi beautiful souls,

How was your day? What you’ve been up to lately? I so rarely hear from you but you often hear from me. It would nice to hear from you. Who you are? Where you living now? What has awakened your heart recently? I am sending you a few photographs of our fairytale wonderland yard. They are still performing well against the darkness of the world. Making neighbours smile or wonder why they are still there. Wouldn’t it be lovely to get all our front yards’ decorations and place them all in our local park to make a magical fairytale land out of this world? Can you imagine children’s faces and all the wows exhaled with joys of laughter and fingers pointed: ‘Look at this!’ ‘Look at that?’ Maybe neighbours and local community centres would be up for it?

Sash Milne from Inked in Colour believed in the power of human connection and community. She planted a strong seed. Thank you for making the difference through your voice and writing, Sash. We can be resilient independently and we can be even more resilient together. Yes, we can.

And I was also thinking…

🙂

Sometimes magic is not readily available to everyone. Sometimes children cannot walk through the city or even ride through the city for various reasons. Sometimes it is because they have to stay at the hospital. And I think that they need magic too, so on the 24 December, trying to observe Polish tradition of having one more place at the table for a stranger I thought that no stranger would come really (they hardly ever come), but I thought to myself that I can be a stranger who makes someone feel better. And I think you can too. If you would like to.. so I wonder if you would like to manifest some hope and joy.. I have something in confidence to share or rather a recipe for joy to share. Good deeds are embarrassing to share but then The Gita for Children taught me this year that goodness leads to intelligence and it leads to knowledge. So perhaps you would like to do it too?

I bought these lovely aurora LED lights (click here to see) and I grabbed my second-hand copy of the book 100 Reasons to Hope. True stories of everyday heros (here) and I took them to our local hospital for the children on the inpatient ward to enjoy together with the nurses, doctors and other members of staff that were working during Christmas. The children’s team play coordinator was so moved. I felt I did the right thing and I’m feeling I am doing the right thing now too to share it with you. Maybe you would like to do the same for the children at your local hospital? Or others. Talk to your family and friends about it. Maybe they would like to do it together.

We have these lights at home too and we use them with my children of they are overly anxious or struggle to come down before going to sleep.

A bit of magic is so necessary when reality is too much to handle. Isn’t it?

Have a lovely week. X

The sweet cloud

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There is a very old poem written by a Polish author Julian Tuwim called ‘Dyzio Marzyciel’ – ‘Dyzio, the dreamer’. It is about a boy who imagines that clouds are different types of sweets and that he is able to reach for them while lying down on the grass. While I was reading it to my son the other day, he enthusistically exclaimed: ‘Mummy, I want to get inside this book!’ I laughed and I agreed with him that this would indeed be a pleasant state of affairs. I then forgot about this little conversation until I came across this thought put together by Barbara Kingsolver:

“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”

I really like this idea of ‘living inside our hope… under its roof’, about being surrounded with it. Perhaps, just like Dyzio was dreaming of clouds of sweets, we could imagine the clouds of hope that we could reach to just when the going gets a bit too hard. I know that clouds tend to signify oncoming gloom, but maybe they shouldn’t? Maybe next time when we look outside the window, when it will get darker, and cloudier, we could say ‘hope is coming.’

Hope is coming.

Impossible

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“Let’s consider your age to begin with — how old are you?’

‘I’m seven and a half exactly.’

‘You needn’t say “exactly,”’ the Queen remarked: ‘I can believe it without that. Now I’ll give you something to believe. I’m just one hundred and one, five months and a day.’

‘I can’t believe that!’ said Alice.

‘Can’t you?’ the Queen said in a pitying tone. ‘Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.’

Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’

‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
― Lewis Carroll

Christmas Mirror

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If you were standing in front of the mirror that shows the greatest desire of your heart, what would it reveal to you? Do you know yourself well enough to know what that would be?

If we discard the need/requirement/fad to be slimmer or wealthier, what would remain?

If we remove the musts and shoulds, is it possible that the mirror would show what we already have, who we already are? Is there any likelihood that it would reveal nothing but what exists already, that it would show you that you are already very very happy? Even though things are not picture-perfect, there is an aspect of your life that is making it what you’ve forever wanted it to be.

Is it possible that if you would look into that mirror today, you would gasp with awe as you would notice that what you experience contains the very happiness that you had once hoped for.  Isn’t that magical?

Happy Christmas season, my friend. You are a gift to the world.

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Making Space(s)

PolandI grew up in a village partially surrounded by wide stretches of open land. In a building that comfortably housed my grandparents, my parents, me and my sister. There was a large garden behind our house, with other farm buildings and a field where different things were grown depending on the year. My cousins’ house was on the same yard as ours and not a day passed by without us playing together and visiting each other. I grew up in a warm-hearted community surrounded by beautiful natural spaces.

It wasn’t until I started living in the UK that I realised how strongly my well-being is related to the open countryside and to kind-hearted interactions that come with communal living. I think that these two aspects of life are so strongly ingrained in our systems that without them we stop thriving. Of course, we thrive in some communities and in some spaces more than in others, but it is a task of an adult to figure out exactly where we thrive.

A while ago I listened to a wonderful conversation between Kirsta Tippet and Maria Popova. They discussed a different type of space to the physical and the communal that I mentioned above. They were talking about the moments in our day when our minds are least burdened, the moments when great ideas pop up in our heads, when we shower, for example. The moments of unburdened cognitive space.

I often think about questions related to good leadership. Partially because I think that a role of a mother has to do a lot with good leadership, but also because I would like to be a good leader for myself. (Who wouldn’t like to lead their life beautifully, eh?) I really feel now that in order to be a good leader in our overloaded times we need to be able to create for ourselves and others as much unburdened cognitive space as possible – sometimes that space comes with a reduction of tasks, sometimes with a reduction of judgment that we throw at ourselves and others, and other times just with holidays or a daily meditation. But the most space we get is when we practise all of those… with great quantities of love. The more we love ourselves and the people who we are with, the more we strive for balance (rather than praise or control). Only then can we become for others what we always hoped for: a delicate and energizing light.