Ask the Priestess

There are many signs spring is on its way: longer days, warmer temperatures, blooming flowers and green leaves popping up on trees.  But nothing beats leaving work on an afternoon and seeing boats upon boats of relaxed Dutchies in sunglasses, shirtsleeves, and smiles along canals and rivers alike.  More often than not, there will be drinks involved:  Wine is for the more elegant boats, those whose wood is polished, whose metals are burnished. Usually, there will be expats who're either in the process of, or have already completed, immersing themselves in the social traditions. Wine is also for the gastrotours, organised to bolster company identity, to promote staff gatherings. Every sip is an attempt at closeness, at letting guards down. Beer, on the other hand, is for the scruffier vessels, owned by generations who've been in the city since before it became cool and desirable. They now hold between 5 and 6 people, often young men, raucous but not poisonous, not a jacket ...

I often go out for a meal with some friends. In fact, that's our main activity together out of work. True, we do live in other cities and we all work hard. They, in addition, are married / in a partnership, so they have other priorities during their time off. So, we try go grab dinner after work once in a while, before we all go in different directions. Anastasia is the true leader, and she is also the one with the impressive reference list on places to eat and/or drink. She will suggest a place, and we will invariably agree. We know we will always enjoy the food, and, oftentimes, the atmosphere too. My favourites so far are Beyrouth and Portugalia , but I also really like all the others we've been to. I often recommend these places, feeling certain those who follow my suggestions will be pleased. However, I wonder whether I am a good referent. The thing is, I realised something a couple of months ago. I realised, and here I confess, that I don't really care about how uniq...

If I say "the green man", what do you think of? As I was standing by a traffic light, waiting for it to change, I was struck by how varied "the green man" can be. Not only is it a symbol for traffic, but the words also bring to mind Tom Bombadil , the Green Giant, aliens, leprechauns, and these are off the top of my head. There is something special about this connection that does not happen with its counterpart, the red man. When you look at the light, do you call it "the red man", even? I always hear parents say 'look, it's red. We must wait for the green man.'. That's it, just red.  I truly have to push myself to bring up connections. The red man could be the devil, perhaps. Or, of course, it used to be a term to mention First Nations in North America. I'm surprised it's never caught on to identify northern-European tourists on the beaches around the Mediterranean, though it could be rather fitting. But no, there really is no imm...

Sometimes, I am all worded out.  I speak, I listen, all day long as part of my profession. I leave the school building with headset on. Sometimes, I don't even switch on any sound - no radio, no YouTube, no podcast. I just need the space they provide. However, I also often dedicate much of my commute to communicating with friends and family. How to balance that? On the one hand, I don't want to talk to anyone; on the other hand, I want to keep in touch. It is a dilemma, apparently, but there really is quite a simple solution:  I send photos.  Photos are captures of moments I'm struck by a thought. Oftentimes, I'm awed by the strange odds of nature proving its will over that of mankind. In many occasions, it is the marvel of transient beauty: the overwhelming volume of layered clouds; the play of light and darkness, a reflection on a pond... Rarely do I take a photo of an animal, but it can happen: a rabbit near a parking lot; a cat sunning itself on a windowsill; a cran...

I don't work on Saturdays. Actually, I don't work Friday evenings and Saturdays. I keep my version of Shabbat. It started because of my ethno-cultural background, a connection I wanted to reinforce. The Shabbat is the time we ensure we remark upon, celebrate, empower the spiritual and divine in our lives. The idea (in a veeerryyyyy light overview) is not to engage in daily "non divine" activities. Thus, no work, no shopping, no mindless entertainment, ... and, in this modern world, a big key to this is the use of computers.  Again, religious people won't even use electricity, cook, or any of hundreds of rules. From a secular person such as myself, however, I just choose to restrict certain activities rather than completely do away with standard comfort. As I said, I don't work on the Shabbat. I don't use money either. I don't travel (unless I've promised to be there for someone else). I don't use Social Media. I don't watch films and/or ser...

When I was growing up, my name was a bane in my life. Still, I have never wanted a different one. When I read Romeo and Juliet wishing to ignore their names, I could not grasp it. Our names are very important, I believe. Even naming our pets requires a special connection, so how can naming our offspring not matter? Every quirk in our names opens a window into the lives and values of our family, our heritage, the expectations for our future. My name, Deborah, was a difficult one to carry as a child.  To begin with, the registrar decided it was "improper" since it was the name of a woman who went to war. He then proceeded to fill in my birth certificate with a name of his own choosing (Concepción, in case you're wondering). This was towards the end of the ultra-Christian Opus Dei -led Franco dictatorship, thus many may have given in. Not my parents, though, who went to court to have my name legally changed to Deborah, with that specific spelling (instead of the Spanish ...

There are many things one can do in life.  I teach languages; I have worked in offices; I've worked in shops; heck, I've even worked as a diamond grader! These are all great ways to earn a living. But I also have a "side gig" which brings me great joy. I'm a pet sitter.  It started as a favour. Someone with whom I'd worked together briefly asked me whether I'd be interested in looking after her friend's cat. It used to be her and her wife who did it, but they'd since had a child and could not help out. So I agreed. I got to spend a couple of weeks in a beautiful flat in old Amsterdam and look after a sweet older tabby boy, Primo (how very on the nose, that name).  Then, there was another favour, for another coworker's (from a different workplace) friend and her doggy. Then, it was my landlady's fish. Then, it was a colleague and their two cats. And then, it changed: Primo's mama was asked for a recommendation by her hairdresser, whose c...

I don't have children. I only ever desired them for a short few months, some time after moving to the UK. It was a sudden and surprising desire, but I assumed it was the proverbial "biological clock ticking" though it was not loud enough to change my lifestyle. Soon after, I read somewhere (I have lost the source, I'm sorry. I'll attach a link to a related study here ) that there is a suspected link between loneliness and wanting children. Children are perceived as gifts, as constant company, and knowing we have a being fully dependent on us makes us feel worthy. This makes perfect sense to me, and it explains why the craving was so short-lived as well as easily set aside: I simply didn't need them to boost my self-worth any more than I needed constant company. The thought came back a couple of times afterwards, either as a result of witnessing friends have their own offspring, or as symbols for a wish to create an impact. The weight of social belonging, where...

My friend had sent me a photo of a spot I recognised. It was where they hold static hot-air-balloon vertical "trips" in what used to be my local park. The photograph had been taken in the evening, thus the light was elegant; not completely dependent on the street lamps, yet mostly made up of their output. The grass and plants looked blue, rather than blatant green, due to the lighting. The path was orange, as though burnished gold pebbles had been scattered around.And there, in the slight depression in the middle, a definite cushion of cloud hung. Ghostly, haunting, and eerily calm. Even though it was a picture, you could look at it and believe you were hearing the dampened silence of nothingness. It was a scene of peace.  Elian (my friend) and I were sending voice messages back and forth, as we usually do. Talking about the image, the difference between "niebla" (fog) and "bruma" (mist) came up. Language wealth is a magnificent exeperience. The fact two s...

The little girl ran down the driveway, arms wide open. At the end, her father was waiting. He hugged and raised her up, both of them laughing. It's an amazing experience, when you're young and someone lifts you up, up, up, so high up your innocent self cannot fathom life from such perspective. You fly, arms and legs straight out without having to be prompted. You fly in circles, daring in your adventure, ready to touch the tops of trees, of mountains, of clouds. You fly, securely held in the warm grasp of the hands you trust. You fly, spinning around the axis of those hands. When young, flying takes a single leap of faith and unchallenged trust. It is all about the moment, the experience. It is round and circular, like the outline of an embrace. When you age, flying is very different. It becomes a long process, full of steps: planning, booking, packing, waiting, documents, usually uncomfortable spaces and/or unappetising food, more documents, more waiting, unpacking. And all th...

 It was a bit of lichen, but when I looked at it, it seemed to talk.  'HA!' it said. I stopped mid-sentence to my friend. And I smiled. To be honest, I don't really even recall what exactly we were talking about. We were doing some insight meditation, which we call a "tune-in". I know the gist of our conversations, but not the specifics. It's only been 24 hours, yet I have forgotten most of those small details. But the lichen? That I remember.  I often think about how insignificant my life is. It is nowhere as impressive as that of other people. I have few grand things to talk about. This blog, which I had long left aside, shows just that: it is a collection of small details, of snaps of thought. They are perceptions of life, my interpretation of the world around me. There are many amazing similar collections, though far more impressive, such as Marcus Aurelius' Meditations . They are small realisations, reminders, rules for a better life. I recognise the...

It was a bright point in the dark sky. Then, there were others. And the Moon, nearby. It turns out, we could see 4 planets shine together in our night sky a couple of days ago. I am certain I had read about it, but living in a northern country (yes, I've moved since my last entry. Welcome back!) I must have assumed it would be cloudy.  It wasn't. It was cold, and crisp, and beautifully clear. And the piercing lights stood out, stopping me in my tracks. Not even the Moon, filling up and shedding our shadow, could make them less conspicuous. I wanted to sit down on the grassy bank and just stare.  It is no wonder humans have long been fascinated by the changes in the heavens. I'm even curious whether we ever were not, or whether it was one of the earliest signs of a different mind to that of other hominids and apes. Whether it might also be another branch, a new step, in our evolution: homo habilis, homo erectus, homo sapiens, homo astralis. What I find particularly mesmerisi...