Ask the Priestess

Structures make us feel good, grounded, certain, safe. They help us make decisions without having to really consider whether they are going to bring us beyond the limits of ourselves, or trap us within. Sadly, the latter is the most common. Structures come in all shapes and sizes. Sure, we all know the 'megastructures' of our physical world, including things such as buildings and houses, but also rules of behaviour set down by society/government: working hours, educational requirements, which side of the road to drive down, how to address each other, what's appropriate attire for a specific event, how to pray, etcetera. Then, there are the individual structures, those which we have built around ourselves in order to have a certain order in life: the people we spend time with, the kind of music we listen to, where we live, our jobs, how we evaluate others' actions and our moral code, what is a reasonable aspiration, and so on. The question is whether we need all, o...

Children have no real innate fear. We should learn from them. I was sitting on a hill in a park in Bristol, quite pleased with myself for being where few others were (most people were lying down on the flatter parts, enjoying the sun). Then, to my right, a young boy appeared. And then, his bother did too! They waited until their mother went around the hill and then, zooooom!! Ran right down the pretty steep slope. They had so much momentum, they would cross the path to partly climb the opposite hill before they could stop themselves. And there was my head going 'oh, dear, oh, dear, careful...' But then I realised that, if they had thought they had to be careful, they would not have been able to run so safely, surefooted and upright. How often do we heed the warning, and mess up as a result? Well, I don't know about you, but in my case, way too many. That's not to say I've spent my life as a hothouse plant, rather that sometimes I am aware I could have done so ...

Every thing must have its beginning celebrated. After all, it is a miracle – that which was not, now is, like the first ‘1’ of the Fibonacci sequence. So, I am celebrating the beginning of this computer, of this new period in my life, creation and all. Not all beginnings are auspicious, however. Some are downright disheartening. But if we had no moments to make us take stock and realise what is the real value of what we are facing, what we are interested in, well then, we would simply miss the chance to celebrate all those new chances! I am at a time where everything is a question mark, everything a chance, everything a celebration. And yes, I am riddled with anxiety at the prospect, plagued with doubts whether I am making the right choices, using up my chances wisely. I am also living through moments of excruciating pain, of grief, or sorrow for that which was, and now is not. Still, I keep going, aware of the goal, the focus of my heart, the reality of my Being. Letting go of...

We all have a 'Sunday Best' item. For some, it's that oh-so-special dress that makes us look (and feel) like a million dollars; for others, a particular scent; a common one is 'the good dishes' with the gold leaf border and delicate flower motif; or, in my case, a fountain pen.Whatever it is, we all have an item we keep for special occasions, for those particular days that deserve a detail of superiority, for those tasks where a simple plastic ballpen just won't do.    Funny, that. See, I have long had this 'Sunday Best' fountain pen. Now, I love fountain pens - they glide over the page; they are uniquely personal (don't share yours or the nib'll be ruined); and they reek of permanence, of times when things were built to last merely by changing the odd piece here and there. Whatever you write with a fountain pen, should be worth keeping for ever. My 'Sunday Best' pen was kept sorely for my diary writing. But today, when I tr...

The other day I was talking with one of my students (from all of whom I learn more than I can say) about the situation in South Korea regarding the conflict with the North. Among some of the things we mentioned was the contrast with Europe, which was torn asunder by the devastation of WWII only 8 years earlier, yet has still managed to reunify (in Germany) and put aside differences of opinion to create some sort of union (let's not delve into the economy now, though). It was then that the sentence came to me: Europe is old. It is old enough to remember to forget. When we are children, everything that happens is momentous and seems to deserve remembering. It is the older people, the ones who have learned the value of moments and feelings, that insist we have to 'let it go'. It's not that we are supposed to ignore problems, but rather that we are to be aware of what really matters to us. When we do so, we can make the conscious choice to simply turn our backs on those e...

We live in a beautiful, bountiful Cosmos, We see its surprising creations daily, miraculously, all around us: the glory of dawns and sunsets; the fantastic changes in the seasons; the astonishingly logical economy of the ecosystems - where everything has a role and nothing goes to waste; the awesomeness of life-generation, two half-cells combining to create a unique, complex, independent, sentient multicellular organism (be it krill or whale, plant or animal, snail or human); the mystery of planets, starts, galaxies far and similar and unlike our own;... It should be so easy to be aware of all that munificence at every life-giving breath, at every passing cloud spotted, at every thought. Why don't we? Because we have been taught to shy away from it all, which has in turn become too much to handle, and thus appears hostile, oppressive, scary. Instead of relishing the World around us, glorifying human kindness and creativity, respectful of the Gift they truly are, we aim to contr...

People often complain that 'life isn't fair', that 'shit happens', that 'they don't deserve it'... So when I insist that Life is, Always, Perfect, they think I am some deluded (or drugged) optimist, who has no real grasp on reality - or, worse still, who chooses to close her eyes to that same harsh reality. I used to think this lack of meeting ground stemmed from a different concept of the Universe, where I consider all (Natural or fortuitous) events as part of a wondrous Cosmic Balance Economy; while the others seemed to consider the Universe a hostile place, intent in making it hard for us. Then, this evening, sudden realisation!! It is not a matter of different universal perception, but rather of our own part in that Universe that makes such a divergence. In other words, people tend to spend time reacting to the world around them; I, on the other hand, would rather act and observe what my actions create. Now, when I say 'act and observe'...

When we try to express 'great' without using words, we tend to use our hands, to create an expansive arm movement, as if to encompass an outburst of whatever. We also tend to finish in a certain double-shake, as if implying gravity, a solid weight, were part and parcel of greatness. But Greatness is so much more, how can we limit it to size, to stature, to weight, to dimension? Take, for example, the phrase 'a great person'. Does a great person need to be tall, heavy, and generally imposing? Nah, not really. If that were the case, people such as Mahatma Gandhi would not deserve the adjective. Same goes for people like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Jesus Christ, or Socrates, to mention but a few. Another example: what do you have to do to have 'a great time'? Little, really. Mostly it's a matter of spending time with people you love, doing things you enjoy despite the economic or social impact they may have, and generally enjoying life for and as it is. Yo...

We all know what 'to feel at home' means. What is less clear is what 'home' really is. For some, home is where the heart is; for others, wherever they lay their hats; of maybe it's sweet Alabama; for Jack, it's probably the house he built; and so on. What, and/or where, is your home? And mine? I've just spent a few days back in the city where I grew up, back in the flats where, all in all, I've lived most of my life - or for the longest stretches, at least. It was thus bittersweet to realise that, at no point in that visit, did I feel 'home'. I certainly felt loved, welcome, comfortable, all the while happy not to suffer the pangs of homesickness. I knew where things were, and the people and animals showed their love (if in my family/friends circle) or kindness (if not in it). Still, I felt 'alien', a mere tourist to those spaces. Why? For one thing, it's become obvious that, for me, home is not a matter of people. As I...

I do not believe in capitalism. In fact, although I understand the logic behind using money, we have made such a horror off it, than I would rather see it disappear so we could try and manage without it. Tough, but fair - real need for real need, and all within our means. Now, one of the things that put me on the trail of the horror of money is the concept of meanness, and of showing love. And, as any horror, it could be a story... Once upon a time, people realised they had different gifts and values. Of course, there was the lordship and the church, but they were not people. People were the ones who worked, who produced, who knew the value of things: one bushel of barley = x hours of backbreaking work in the fields; one dress = y hours of blinding weaving and sewing; and so on. Most of all, they knew the value of family, of children, of neighbour. These people were not necessarily nice,  mind you. Sometimes they fought, they hurt each other, they could be violent and criminal...

I am staring into a dark place, and its unresisting pull scares me. I know it of old, and I wonder why I have to come back again. I left it behind, glad to do so, way way back. Yet now, when the days are getting longer, lighter, warmer, inside I shrink, shiver, cower. Why do we have to revisit the dark places? The most interesting thing, for me, is the fact that I am fully aware of the gap, the step I teeter on but mustn't take, the abyss I dip into one day, look at from the shore the next. I guess that's the part I have already learned, and for it I'm grateful. I am now trying to relearn how to raise my gaze, to reacquaint myself with the stars, with the creatures that wait for me up high. So I call out, awaiting for an echo of inspiration, a breath of help, a hand to hold on to while I steady my legs, while I walk away. Dark places are not bad: we all have them, because we all need them, so we all can learn from them. It doesn't matter how 'strong' you a...

We all live together on this planet, we huddle close is cities, we cram into popular pubs, and yet... Are we together, or are we alone? And I'm not talking about aliens. I have had for quite some time a feeling of contradiction: I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I commute daily with a few other millions of people - a few thousands at the same time as me, I cross an incredible number of individuals wherever I turn, and yet...I find that people are starved for human contact, for human recognition, for human kindness. Seriously, the more people you find together, the less acknowledgement you'll observe. And I talk from lengthy observation. Take, for example, a rural community we visited at around New Year's. We stayed in a secluded cottage, in a remote farm at the bottom of a valley. There was no internet connection, no mobile phone signal and, being the darkest time of winter, the short days meant we'd be back 'home' in the afternoon, not to ge...

There is something beyond, something I cannot see. I know it is there, because others have gone before me. There is a perfect symetry to the Universe, and nothing goes to waste: energy begets energy; matter begets matter; and they both create and destroy each other. However, there are questions that remain, the shadows of what was, of what we miss, of what we cry for and let go off all at the same time. There are memories of joys and sorrows, which day by day seem further away until, upon a number on a calendar, come rushing back. Then there's wonder at how fresh it all feels, at how long it's been, at how little we notice the vanishing, the going, the was and is no more, creeping up like a monster upon a sleeping child. There is something  beyond, I know. It's just that, sometimes, when the here is too empty, when I miss too much, I wish I could see through for a moment, a smile, a wave. One year is all the time there is, yet it is not nearly enough.

Once upon a time, not quite so long ago, people travelled only rarely and only for specific reasons. Back then, the focus of travelling was divided into two according to the travellers' social and economic status: rich people travelled for the joy of travelling itself, whereas the poor travelled in order to arrive somewhere. The love of travelling as a leisurely activity has left us tales of sumptuous trains and ships – think Orient Express and Titanic; tales of mystery and romance – Agatha Christie, for example, or the homonymous film about the sinking goliath; tales of artistic and courageous development – the Romantics travelling to sing to Etruscan urns, or the Arthurian legends; tales, oh so many tales! Stories we love, we envy, and which we cannot really give up. They are stories of lives unlike our own, of people so decadent in their daily existence they could spend time in a suspended state between here and there. They are stories that tell us that what matters is not whe...