Author: Sarah Schützle

Meine Briefe an dich fangen schon seit einiger Zeit mit ‘Es sind nun schon x Monate vergangen…’. Erst waren es noch Stunden, dann Tage und Wochen. Bald werden es Jahre werden. Zeit. Unwirklich. Realität. Wenn möglich noch unwirklicher.

Und doch so wirklich wahr. Du, dieser Mensch, mein Papa, bist nicht mehr. Nicht mehr in der Form eines Körpers, den ich umarmen kann. Nicht mehr in der Form einer Stimme, mit der ich reden kann. Nicht mehr in der Form der Veränderung, die das älter werden mit sich bringt. Nicht mehr in der Form von neuen Ideen oder Fotos oder Briefen. Nicht mehr in der Form.

Ich habe ein Lied geschrieben über deinen Tod. Ja deinen Tod. So will ich das gerade schreiben. Nicht ‘Abschied’ oder ‘Übergang’. Der Tod. Du bist gestorben. Puh, Letzteres klingt definitiv und irgendwie hart. So erfahre ich den Tod bisher nicht. Oder nicht nur.

Das Lied, es kommt mir gerade in den Sinn. Ich bin dankbar für diese Zeilen und die Melodie, die sich in mir gefunden haben. Die stets wieder in Herz und Seele reichen, zeigen wo’s noch weh tut. Wo noch geweint und geheilt werden darf.

 

Soll ich es dann doch sagen? Ja. Es sind nun schon fast 6 Monate vergangen. Ein halbes Jahr. Ein halbes Jahr seit den letzten Worten und klaren Momenten am Telefon zu Heiligabend. Ein halbes Jahr seit Lena und ich am ersten Weihnachtstag den Anruf bekamen und eine Stunde später mit gepackter Tasche im Zug gen Norde saßen. Ein halbes Jahr seit wir in der Nacht zum zweiten Weihnachtstag deinen letzten Atemzug miterleben durften.

Bam!

Und auf einmal ist alles anders.

Ein Blick. Lachen. Weinen. Erleichterung. Trauer. Dankbarkeit. Erschöpfung.

Der Körper. Es ist direkt klar, dass ‘du’ nicht mehr dort bist. Gedanken. “Ich spüre tatsächlich keinen Puls mehr. Wie lange dauert es wohl, bis ein Körper abkühlt? Und erstarrt?”

Wir öffnen das Fenster. Frische Luft. Raum für alle Energie um sich frei zu bewegen.

Später verwandelt sich das Krankenbett in ein Totenbett, inklusiv Blütenblättern auf dem weißen Betttuch. Unwirklich. Echt.

Lena und ich bleiben diese Nacht auf der Palliativstation. Mit den ersten Sonnenstrahlen zeigt sich ein strahlender, eiskalter, frostüberzogen glitzernder neuer Tag. Mittags gehen wir spazieren, dort im Park bei euch zu Hause. Das erste Mal seit deinem Tod.

 

Heute.

Heute ist es Sommer. Die Vögel zwitschern. Die Natur ist auf dem Höhepunkt ihrer Entfaltung. Überschwänglicher Überfluss. Ich habe gestern den Mond fast voll strahlen und heute die Sonne aufgehen sehen.

Der Winter scheint weit weg. Manchmal vergesse ich beinahe, dass ich noch Trauer mit mir trage. Das Leben wartet nicht, es lebt weiter und das ist gut so. Doch neben machen, kreieren, zelebrieren ist auch die Trauer da und ich bin dankbar für alles was mich daran erinnert. Ein Gedanke, ein Gespräch, eine Frage, ein Datum… Mit der Zeit und steter Auseinandersetzung schreitet die Trauer voran, bewegt sich, nimmt andere Formen an, zeigt mir neue Landschaften und Schichten der Gefühle.

Danke für’s “Lesen” lieber Papa. Obwohl ich sollte mir vor allem auch selbst danken für’s Fühlen und Schreiben. Also danke, Sarah.

Groetjes uit Langbroek,

Sarah

PS. Ich hörte heute Morgen, nachdem ich diesen Brief geschrieben habe, dass heute Vatertag ist in Holland! Was eine schöne Synchronizität. 🙂

 

PPS. Für alle anderen Leser, dies ist natürlich nur ein Bruchteil der Geschichte. Vlt folgt einandermal mehr. Wie auch immer, fühlt Euch frei in den Comments oder über die Kontaktseite Fragen, Gedanken, eigene Erfahrungen zu teilen! Ich finde, es ist wichtig, dass wir nicht nur das Leben, sondern auch den Tod und alles dazwischen und darüber hinaus mit einander besprechen und erleben können. Herzlich willkommen dazu! ❤

Let me be honest with you. I feel resistance against this human life on earth. Don’t get me wrong, I love and celebrate it, I’m fascinated by it and see its magic, too. Yet I also despise it, I’m repelled by its horrors. I know, pain is part of this journey, no mud no lotus, no shit no shine. I accept and embrace this today more than I ever did, and I’m committed to play my part, here.

Still, in surrendering to the fact that ‘this is it’ and in taking action to serve and create, I realise it’s also powerful and relieving to make space for that resistance. The parts that won’t accept the pain, heaviness, violence inside and around because they know another way is possible.

I have cried many tears about it. I grieved and longed for this pure realm of light and love ‘where we come from’. I rejoiced when I or others could bring heaven to earth, with gentle presence, with music, writings.

These days, however, something else is waking up. Fire! The past weeks, I have felt a lot of on-and-off resistance, anger, frustration, restlessness. Grrr. Fire that shows me when I’m pleasing or holding back, when something is unfair or not righteous. Fire that transforms. It’s such a powerful energy and I’m only beginning to tap into it.

Clearly, it’s time for me to kindle these flames and embody myself even more fully, unapologetically, maturely. Bringing this onto the path of the heart, too. I’m a little nervous, but above all curious and looking forward to this journey.

Deep in the wild woods of ancient magic a princess lived.

Strolling among the trees, it seemed the forest floor enchanted her with every step. ‘Follow your heart’ it whispered, ‘follow your heart’. Especially when the wavey winds played with the tree tops and sang songs of distant destinies, the princess could feel her heart ache for expansion. With every breath, a longing grew within her. A longing to live fully, to lovingly yet unapologetically walk her path of meaning, a longing to greet the ocean of Love.

Time passed and the earth made it’s journey around the sun repeatedly. There were days, when the princess was tired of holding back. Tired of pleasing the forest nimphs and goblins, tired of not speaking out or moving. In these moments, you could hear her roar from a distance. Her nails and teeth grew sharp, her eyes beamed with the spirit of a tiger. On other days, if one could find her at all, she looked like a little child, trembling with fear. Scared to be seen or heard, scared to live her potential. Scared of the vastness of her own light and of the unknown, she rather hid in narrow darkness, caught in unpleasant yet familiar entanglement.

As the moon made its full appearance for the third time that year, the princess listened to the wolves howl. Goosebumps of recognition covered her skin. Earlier that day, she had marvelled at the countless buds unfolding in the bushes, the first flowers mixing their colours with the browns and greens of the woods, the fresh greens sprouting everywhere. Her heart to, had felt as if unfolding with colourful freshness.

It was that night, that the princess joined the wolves in their howl for the first and last time in her life. Early in the next morning, she was on her way. She walked upon the damp grounds of foggy landscapes. She listened to the forest grounds. She breathed with the waving winds. She continued walking, listening, breathing for days in a row. Alternately, one could hear her tiger roars, her weeping as well as her heartsong. Through it all, she walked, listened, breathed.

Until she felt the sand underneath her feet, heard the waves of the ocean and tasted a salty breeze. Until she met the ocean of Love, within and without.

Vandaag eens in het Nederlands. (See English translation below)

Dwalen.

Ik werd vandaag herinnerd aan deze hobby van mij. Dwalen. Door de natuur. Door de stad. Zonder doel. Of mét een doel dat ik dan gaandeweg loslaat. Of het dwalen als doel op zich. Vandaag bijvoorbeeld in Utrecht. Met het idee om een stuk taart te eten in een café en te schrijven, te lezen.

Ik loop en ik loop. Door een zachte mist van regen loop ik alsmaar verder. Geen café waar ik langskom voelt goed. Te groot, te druk, te commercieel, te duur, geen lekker aanbod, geen fijne sfeer. Langzaamaan wordt ik ontevreden. “Wat doe ik nou? Alsmaar rennen, zoeken. Straks ren en zoek ik over een uur alsnog, zijn alle cafés dicht en ga ik moe en gefrustreerd naar huis.”

Totdat ik merk waar ik mee bezig ben. Ik merk dat dit alsmaar blijven lopen wellicht precies is wat ik nu nodig heb. Beweging, de regen op mijn gezicht voelen, door de straten en steegjes van de stad dwalen. Geen doel, geen nut of efficiëntie. Zucht. Alle ontevredenheid en frustratie verliegt. Met kinderlijk plezier loop ik verder, mijn nieuwsgierigheid volgend.

Dwalen.

Een paar jaar geleden was ik hier nog veel vaker mee bezig. Ik bedacht zelfs om een workshop ‘Dwalen’ te gaan organiseren. Ik wilde mensen uitnodigen om los te laten, om te vertrouwen, te ontdekken en zich te verwonderen. Gewoon naar buiten stappen en gaan. Mensen observeren, nieuwe hoeken van de stad leren kennen of gaandeweg je netwerk van bekende wegen voelen uitbreiden. Het hoeft natuurlijk niet in de stad. In het bos, de duinen, op het platteland… dwalen kan je overal.

Ook op de fiets is het lekker dwalen. Toen ik in 2012 naar Rotterdam verhuisde, werd dit een van mijn favoriete bezigheden. Aanvankelijk was mijn zoektocht naar groen in en om de stad mijn belangrijkste drijfveer. Ik zocht en vond parken, de rivier, het idyllische stukje Quarantainestrand bij Heijplaat, maar ook de mooie route langs de Rotte of de weg naar zee. Op een vergelijkbare manier ontdekte ik ook de culturele kant van de stad. Ik volgde mijn nieuwsgierigheid naar diverse musea, festivals, cafés, buurtmarktjes, podia, nieuwe initiatieven…

Vandaag wordt ik herinnerd aan deze en andere dwaaltochten. Op een waddeneiland. In het bos. In Spijkenisse en omliggende natuur toen ik met mijn community tijdelijk daar neerstreek. Rondom Nijbroek waar ik afgelopen herfst nog woonde.

Dwalen als manier om te landen. Op deze plek. In jezelf.
Dwalen als manier om wortelen. Op deze plek. In dit moment.
Dwalen als meditatie in beweging.

Tot slot een tip voor mede dwaal-enthousiastelingen. Neem voor de zekerheid altijd wat eten en water mee. Met name als je op de fiets de stad uit gaat. Ik herinner me te veel momenten dat ik de kracht van het dwalen onderschat heb. Als je dan in plaats van het geplande rondje toch in eens een prachtige (maar ook vaak veel langere) tocht maakt, is het fijn om daar ook aan het einde van het avontuur nog energiek en gehydrateerd van kan genieten.

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Wandering

Today I was reminded of this hobby of mine. Wandering. Through nature. Through the city. Without a destination. Or with a destination in mind that I slowly let go of along the way. Wandering as the destination. Today, I did so in Utrecht with the idea to have some cake in a café, to write and read.

I walk and I walk. Through a soft fog of rain I keep on walking. None of the cafés I pass feels rights. Too big, too busy, too commercial, too expensive, nothing tasty, not a nice atmosphere. Slowly but surely I feel discontent showing up. “What am I doing? Constantly running, searching. In the end I will run and search for another hour until the cafés are closed and I’m going home tired and frustrated.”

Until I realise what I am up to. I notice that possibly this constant walking is exactly what I need right now. Movement, feeling the rain on my face, wandering the streets and alleys of the city. No destination, no utility or efficiency. Sigh. All discontent and frustration dissolve. With childlike joy I continue walking, following my curiousity.

Wandering

A few years ago, I was quite active in this practice. I even thought about organising a workshop ‘Wandering’. I wanted to invite people to let go, to trust, to discover and to marvel. Just step outside and go. Observe other people, get to know other corners of the city or sense how your network of familiar paths is growing. Of course it’s not necessary to do so only in the city. In the forest, the dunes, on the countryside… you can wander anywhere you like.

It’s nice to wander by bike, too. When I moved to Rotterdam in 2012, this was one of my favourite activities. Initially, my search for green in the city was my foremost motivation. I searched for and found parks, the river, the idyllic piece of ‘Quarantaine’beach at Heijplaat, but also the beautiful tour along the Rotte or to the sea. In a similar manner, I also discovered the cultural and creative parts of the city. I followed my curiosity to museums, festivals, cafés, neighbourhood markets, stages, new intiatives…

Today I am reminded of these and other wanderings. On one of the Dutch islands. In the forest. In Spijkenisse and its surrounding landscape when I settled there temporarily with my community. Around Nijbroek where I lived last autumn.

Wandering as a way to land. In this location. In yourself.
Wandering as a way to get rooted. In this location. In this moment.
Wandering as meditation in movement.

Last but not least, a piece of advice for fellow wander-enthusiastics. Always take some food and water just in case. Especially when you leave the city by bike. I remember too many moments of underestimating the power of wandering. When you end up making an amazing (but also much longer than anticipated) tour, it is nice to be able to enjoy it hydraded and well until the end.

Throughout the last months I sang during gatherings with friends and strangers, for children and adults, around the campfire and during events. Time and again, the still knowing grows that this is part of my path. This wants to grow and expand, this wants to be heard and felt.

A few weeks ago, I followed a webinar about entrepreneurship with the intention to generate an income. In my mind, this meant that I would compromise a little by focussing on work in translation or fundraising (instead of creative expression) in order to cover my basic costs. Halfway into the webinar, I was surprised and slightly shaken. All ideas in the above mentioned direction had evaporated. Instead, I was visualising myself offering concerts and ceremonies, facilitating retreats and workshops, writing and illustrating children’s books… In short, making a living with what I love to do. I want to integrate love and money instead of reproducing a schizophrenic view on work/life.

Soon life showed me that this is possible indeed. I offered a concert performing purely my own songs, I shared music during a plant medicine ceremony, and I received money for both. Moreover, the responses of audience and participants are still amazing and encouraging to me, as is my own experience of singing, being present on stage or in the circle. ‘YES’ every cell of my body seems to shout, ‘Yes, this is it, this is your work, go for it, dive deeper, show yoursoul!’

So I do. I make space for the divine to move me, for words and sounds to flow. I utter my dreams and practice relaxing in not-knowingness. I open to the world. I withdraw into silence and nature. I trust that I continue to be supported and that I reach the hearts that my work speaks to.

And oh there are so many ideas*! Writing new songs, finding more opportunities to sing and sound (for a living), recording a videoclip, finding a studio or person to do more professional recordings, creating a CD, developing programmes around voice- and bodywork, creating baby/children concerts, deepening my skills and wisdom in trainings… Now, at the moment of writing, I feel thrilled and curious about this abundance, I can sense a calm trust that all unfolds organically and with perfect timing.

Despite or sometimes due to the abundance of possibilities and inspiration, however, I also experience moments (or periods) of feeling stuck, heavy and full of doubt. Where to start? Can I really do it? This strong current can feel overwhelming. Time and again, I am invited to relax and surrender. No need to control this river. I don’t need to know how it’ll work out, I need to trust that it does (or lovingly ‘attend and befriend’ the fear of failure or/and success). It’s my task to be present. To take responsibility and action or to let go and let life unfold itself, according to what the moment asks for. To dance that wild, majestic yet delicate, gentle and effortless dance.

And yeah, there are moments that do not even feel close to majestic yet delicate, let alone gentle or effortless. And that’s okay. They’ll too shall pass (as I’m happily and repeatedly rediscovering).

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*Do you feel inspired or called to contribute in some way? Maybe you know of an audience or space where I’m welcome to share my music, a studio to record my CD or a place to organise retreats or workshops? Do you have another idea or a useful hint? I love to hear and read from you!

My dear soulsister came to visit the other day. Her presence in and reaction to my current home reminded me of the fact, that neither words nor photo’s may be sufficient to describe the wonderful experience of living here. At the same time, they motivated me to give it a try nonetheless. Here’s an impression of life at the Mommenhoeve so far.

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About a year ago, when the first leaves and autumn rains were falling, I longed for a home where I could step out of the door into the mud. This longing to live closer to nature finally caused me to move out into the unknown, to follow that calling.

Today, I’m oh so grateful to experience the beginning of this season in a beautiful pipowagen (trailer) at the Mommenhoeve. Writing this now, I just came back inside. I hear the soft raindrops on the roof. Looking out of the window I see a sea of green with some yellow and brown. The walnut trees moving gently in the wind. When I open my door, I’m outside. The fresh air never fails to wake me up to the present moment. The scenery makes me sigh and relax spontaneously.

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Earlier this year, I spent spring and summer in beautiful places in the Netherlands and abroad. On returning to the Netherlands in the end of the summer, I felt it was time to settle here. Just across the Dutch border I stopped the car in the middle of the countryside. Standing there I saw the flat land, breathed in the air, heard some sheep and felt relieved: ‘yes, I can feel at home here’. It was the last confirmation I needed to focus my journey for the months to come on the Netherlands. I was to discover the beautiful spots in this country, including that spot in nature where I would be able to settle together with a community. In the meantime, I landed at the Mommenhoeve.

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The Mommenhoeve is home to a young family with two children. The long stretched piece of land is full of apple and peer trees, there is a fire-place, a swing and trampoline. The further you move away from the house and towards the walnut orchard in the back of the garden, the more you drop into silence. There, looking out on the trees, the neighbouring two horses to the right and two sheep to the left, standing behind the bushes and underneath the sweet chestnut tree is where I live right now: a white with light blue pipowagen with cosy and practical interior.

After weeks of travelling and sleepover at friends and family, I had finally found a place to call my (temporary) home. A private space with room to store my food, a spot for my clothes, shelves to put a few books and watercolours in. My mobile altar gets some rest. Wow, I had not foreseen how such a simple thing could be so meaningful to me. This homey feeling encouraged me to really land – inside myself, in the trailer, on the land and in the wider surroundings. I decorate my space with elements from nature and inspirational quotes or own drawings, I dry herbs for tea or and cooking, I help harvest and enjoy the fruits of nature’s abundance, I explore the surrounding villages, nature and Deventer by bike or walking.

So living here has proven to be a wonderful decision and opportunity. Being indulged in this green environment nourishes me greatly. It’s so fulfilling to be able to contribute to the harvest of apples, peers and nuts, collecting herbs from the garden, as well as doing simple tasks like raking leaves. The weather, the season, the moon, the earth, the animals and plants… We are always one with them, yet living outside I feel their presence and our relationship so much stronger. I enjoy it a lot, even now that, after such a generous spring, summer and beginning of autumn,  the first chilly days and nights have made their entry.

What’s more, this location turned out to be very practical in order to visit other interesting and inspiring places and people. In the last weeks, I had the chance to visit among others De Dieken, Casa de la Luz, and Earth Awareness Teuge. I also discovered more places to visit soon, like Landgoed Algoed.

Last and surely not least, I am very grateful to the family as a whole. Besides their individual (creative) endeavors and family life, Lars and Saskia organise events in which they share this natural environment and their love for wood oven pizza, fire, silence and conscious connection. Apart from that, I’m grateful to the boys and their wisdom, play and fresh presence. Grateful to Lars and his practical support and gentle, joyful conversations. Grateful to the words and silence I share with Saskia in which I found much support and inspiration to continue dreaming and walking my path (I share more on these dreams and my path in blogpost Sarah Sounds).

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Shortly before my initial moving-out date, there was one weekend when the pipowagen was already rented to a guest. So I moved out and in again. As this particular weekend approached, I packed my stuff, cleaned the pipowagen, and surrendered to the feelings that washed over me in the process. My system was shaky, restless, emotional. It showed me the deeply rooted desire to find a home in nature and community. A place where I could truly settle and build something.

From the beginning, my nomadic life style hasn’t been a choice in itself. It was rather a means to find a place to settle and in the meantime already experience living in the countryside. Knowing what you desire is such a powerful thing! Firstly, it enabled me to share this desire with Saskia which created the opening to stay at the Mommenhoeve a little longer. What a relieve and joy! Secondly, it showed me and dear friend Mirjam that we both still have this same desire and it may be time to take a couple of steps towards realising this shared dream.

Ever since we’ve met a couple of years ago, we dream about living together in community and green environment. In a place where we can share our love for nature, silence, singing, dancing and more by simply living it as well as by organising retreats and other programmes. Soon after (and until I moved out for a quest for nature) we moved together with other beautiful beings as The Monkies. So we know how nourishing, healthy, inspiring we are for each other at home and as colleagues. As of today, we are looking for a spacious home in natural surroundings (in NL) where we can further realise our shared and individual potentials from January 2019 onwards.

We’re looking for a light and spacious house, with a piece of land or big garden, in or close to nature, reachable by public transport, with space for friends to stay over as well as to organise day programmes and longer retreats. I see us walking among the (fruit) trees, gathering and singing around the fire, jumping into the natural water closeby, reading or dancing in the living room, harvesting our herbs and vegetables, welcoming friends, creating a loving, gentle, healthy space for ourselves and others to feel at home in.

This is our first sharing of this news online. A Facebook post is in the making. Already we’re happy to hear your suggestions, offers, questions, ideas 🙂

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You can read here about my previous pipowagen experience

Looking for a place to retreat for a weekend and enjoy solitude, silence and nature next year? You can rent the pipowagen from spring to early autumn and I can only recommend this experience!

Oh and do check out Saskia’s book ‘Nieuwe Paden Banen‘ with personal stories of people who create something from nothing and walk their new, own paths and with beautiful photographs and poems created during her stay at Schiermonnikoog.

We all have our part to play. We all have a choice to step into life, to be present and take our responsibility. We can choose to feel and express, notice and act.

There are these moments when it is very clear to us that we have choice. Often these moments entail situations we’ve stumbled upon before repeatedly in some form or another. Something dooms in us. Maybe there is a different way to deal with it. Maybe there is a possibility beyond tired toleration or anxious avoidance. Maybe we can finally step into life to play our part.

Let’s play it. Let’s get onto that stage and experiment, try out, fail, fall, and get a little better at our performance called presence and authenticity. Let’s call it a dance, an improvisation, anything that encourages us to stay there, to keep on going and growing.

Birds and bread

I’ll give you an example from my experience. There are moments when I stumble upon people who happily feed ducks and other birds with bread. It pains me, this paradox of a family or an individual finding joy in (unconsciously) poisoning other species. Bread is no healthy food for ducks. They become obese, aggressive and die sooner. They eat less of that green stuff making whole ponds overgrow. Again and again, these situations appear. Again and again, I feel the sadness of how we treat our fellow beings and the earth. Again and again, I avoid walking up to someone and starting about my concerns around bread and birds.

Why? Because I’m scared. My words might cause hurt in the people I’m talking to, I might have got it wrong after all, I might make a total fool of myself not finding words or courage… So nothing changes.

Alright. I hear myself, I see. And I assure myself that instead of making this next encounter with people, ducks and bread not about perfection, but about presence. Let me hop on that stage and play my part, one tiny gentle move at a time. Let me share my concern instead of declaring my opinion or saying nothing at all. Let me breathe and be honest (to myself and possibly the other person) about the adventurous step I am taking here. Let me play my part in authenticity. Without the expectation to formulate everything clearly in one go. With the risk of confusing or even hurting others. With the risk of ridicule and aggression. Let me move from merely witnessing to taking action. So life can move and flow more freely and freshly again. Both for me and for the person feeding the birds.

Group dynamics

Another example may sound familiar to many of you. It is about moments in my childhood, when I really didn’t feel at home in some peer groups. Depending on the situation there were a few coping mechanisms: Trying to adopt to behaviour, characteristics or looks of others to fit in. Literally leaving, in the conviction that there was no space for me. Finding refuge in daydreaming to not feel the discomfort at hand (thus also leaving). In short and hindsight: limited ways to deal with friction.

Today, however, I and we have the power, right and even responsibility to choose a different way. One that creates movement instead of stagnation. We can step in, instead of sneaking out. We can stay present with feelings of displacement or loneliness. We can voice our discomfort, our fear, as much as our love and admiration. We can be open, vulnerable and thus strong, courageous. We can share our desires, discomforts, needs. Only then do others get the chance to hear and see us. Only then can the collective adjust, and the universe respond to us in a supportive way.

Take stage and enjoy the show

Imagine life is a stage. Let us not only sit in the audience and observe it from a distance. Life wants to experience (through us). Experiences want to be lived (by us). Fully. Not only the heroic, pleasant, joyful ones. The embarrassing, painful, uncomfortable ones just as much. And everything in between and beyond.

So here we are. All unique expressions of life that’s so eager to experience itself in all these unique ways. Let us be audience and performances at the same instant. Let us play our parts and experience in full awareness. No one can do it for us. But we can inspire each other. Remind and support each other to be present and true to ourselves, our deepest needs and values. Whatever form that might take.

Listening. Observing. And then playing our part. Not any part, not every part, our part. You’ll know it’s yours when the universe seems to gather in that one moment, your heart starts beating a little faster in a mix of fear and enthusiasm, and somewhere deep inside you know there’s no way back. This is your moment, step in, take stage, play your part and enjoy the show.

 

Note: I wrote this blog post a few weeks ago. Now, on finishing it for publication, I am very much reminded of a wonderful book I just finished reading yesterday: Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone by Brené Brown. What a delicious read (I went through it in less than a day time) and such an encouragement to live boldly, authentically and to find true belonging in yourself.

One of the questions that accompanied me on the 21 Day Retreat 2018 in Plum Village was: ‘What place does the practice have in my life right now?’ Motivated by my recent experiences with tantra and other interests and inspirations in my life. I wasn’t sure whether this practice would still nourish me enough and somehow felt that there was a choice to make, either this (practice) or that (practice). The below is an account of the difficulties and frictions I experienced as well as the nourishing elements of the practice I (re)discovered.

Frustration and friction, hope and healing

This month I stayed in ‘Upper Hamlet’ where usually only male monastics, male lay friends and couples stay. For this retreat’s cooking team Plum Village made an exception, welcoming me and a couple of other ‘single women’ in Upper Hamlet. Partially due to this setting, the first days I had difficulties being and expressing myself freely. I observed myself feeling overly aware of my body’s feminine shapes and how visible they were which influenced the way I dressed and moved. I covered myself in layers of clothes too hot for the weather, and for dancing, breathwork or even yoga practice I banned myself to some place unseen. I related to other people with shorter eye contact and little to no physical contact. Even while singing, in the first days, I felt reluctant at times to really let my voice flow freely.

It didn’t take long before discomfort and frustration grew. First I looked outside myself, I blamed the practice, the collective energy of the monastery, other people… until I realised they were merely mirrors. Nobody had told me to behave like this. I was the one censuring myself by acting overly careful and not truly expressing herself! So it was also me who could free myself and invite all of me back in. What a reminder and what a joy to show up and be present, no matter what. To live life fully, not waiting for permission. Taking responsibility for my own actions and (well)being.

Meanwhile I was reading The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. The book is about the author’s own path of empowerment. Coming from patriarchal societal and religious structures she woke up to learning and embodying a more inclusive spirituality, with the feminine Divine as a crucial notion. Her accounts further sensitized me to (un)balanced gender roles in and around myself. With respect to the latter, the collective structures, it feels like I’m still in the middle of processing and investigating. There were several moments that triggered my sense of equal valuation of genders. I felt a knot in my belly when the beauty and importance of brotherhood in (lay) life, was declared without mentioning sisterhood as well. The fact that a man leads the ceremonies in which all genders are represented brought to mind the many situations where being (white, middle-aged) male still means having greater chances of power, respect, freedom, safety… Then there were the hetero-normative narratives in dharma talks or other presentations about romantic love or intimacy, upon which I feel reactivity come alive in my body calling ‘This is not what I want to identify with and support!’

In short, such situations trigger pain and anger in me as well as the wish to distance myself from the practice. Through writing and also talking about it with others, I have come to see other sides as well. It helped me gain a better understanding of the causes and conditions that create these patterns (e.g. cultural differences), a clearer view on the positive change that is happening already (e.g. more awareness and space for LGBTQ community) and again a big reminder: don’t just complain, but do your own work! Take responsibility, change what you can, talk, make visible, etc..

I do feel these reactions I have, the unease with certain behaviours or structures, are super valuable and they are there to be listened to. That’s why I want to remind myself of a number of wishes I have for the community. These are not only related to a more diverse view on gender roles and sexual orientation, but also to dealing with emotions, communication and diversity in the community. I would love for Plum Village to

• learn and teach healthy ways to:

  • look deeply into our relation with sexuality, intimacy and all the joys and sorrows that come with it

  • take care of our sexual energy without ignoring or suppressing it, e.g. redirecting it in ‘nonsexual’ ways

  • taking care of anger and other strong emotions in a way that it cannot be as easily misinterpreted as ‘not saying a word, keeping it within, ignoring or suppressing it)

• learn and teach communication

  • that is truly open (and capable of dealing with possible triggers and confrontation instead of carefully navigating around them)

  • that enables people take care of their own needs and boundaries, trusting that the others will do so, too (again, making overly careful interaction redundant)

• make continuous efforts to

  • grow awareness and concrete space for more ways of living love, also if they do not comply with heterosexual monogamy

  • inspire and welcome a wider variety of ethnic and economic backgrounds

Nourishment and inspiration

Next to the frictions and critique, however, the question also offered me the space to (re)discover those parts of the practice that really nourish me. In this section, I’d love to shortly mention a few aspects of Plum Village that I really love. They inspire, nourish, support me on my path.

• Flower watering. Learn to feed the wholesome seeds in yourself and others instead of focussing on healing wounds and transforming habits only. That way, we build a basis of (self)love and stability that is strong enough to see, embrace and heal the suffering as well.

• Compliments and celebration. A continuation of the first point, I still want to highlight Plum Village is such a beautiful holding space in which compliments and celebrating each other bring talents to the surface where they can grow, bloom and flower.

• Gentleness. Even the landscape in the monastery seems to tell us ‘relax, soften my dear’. For me it’s also a calling to listen to desires and needs (like sleep or safety) that in everyday life I’d often dismiss for seemingly more heroic behaviour (throwing myself into the unknown).

• Mundane mindfulness. Apart from sitting meditation, most of the practice is about integrating mindfulness into everyday. Even the most mundane activities, like sweeping a floor or going to the toilet, can become the path to enlightenment.

• Community life. In Plum Village, monastics and lay people share life, work and a spiritual practice together. I’m grateful for all the experience and wisdom that is gathered and lived here, in all the beauty as well as difficulty that comes with community life.

• Sisterhood & brotherhood. I was once again touched by this notion which is so deeply rooted and greatly evolved in this community. Being called ‘sister’ by another human being resonates in me with clarity, depth and mutual respect and inspires a very healing way of relating.

• Engaged Buddhism. It inspires me to see the dedication with which Plum Village actively supports peace and social justice in the world, and how it brings mindfulness to (everyday) life in prisons, schools, work situations in very concrete ways.

• Mother earth. In the cause of time adjustments are made to make the community’s impact on the earth as positive as possible. Examples are a kitchen turned vegan and two organic farms, but also the ways they practice with usage of water, electricity and the like.

I want to end this section with how I started: What place does this practice have in my life right now? Do I need to choose (something else)? In Plum Village numerous people showed me how their dedication to Hinduism, Tantra, Christianity, or their love for barefoot dancing and voice liberation did not at all hinder or distance them from this tradition. Same was true the other way around. Many a moment I experienced how Plum Village welcomes and integrates the wisdom of other traditions in itself. In the end, it’s not so much about the fingers, but about the moon they are pointing at. As for me, what restricts or enlightens me is not so much the practice, place or tradition, but the degree to which I am able to embody and integrate the wisdom I find there.

On diving in (and out again)

The above brings me also to that second question, about my recurrent desire and difficulty to really dive into something. I realised that there is a longing in me to submerge myself fully into one topic, practice, activity, but that this wish often ends up with a lot of different things I would also love to dive into more. This question, I’ll cover in fewer words and cut straight to my momentary answer. It’s a pattern of mine, which doesn’t support me. At least not the way I dealt with it until now (trying to choose, focus on one thing only and expecting that to fulfil me). Instead, I’d like to experiment with a new way of really diving in.

As a friend said to me: why not dive into three things for a while and then dive into three other things again. In other words, dive in and out of things. Also, go step by step (or dive by dive), instead of expecting to flying straight to the top of the mountain. That way it becomes feasible to really dive in instead of holding back last second at the shore out of fear of the vastness of the ocean. What a mix of metaphors! Ocean, mountain, whatever the image – in diving in and out I feel I have more space within to commit to what’s here and now, instead of being intimidated or distracted. It is not in following that one tradition or education, having that one job or certificate that will prove my talents or justify my presence, but my own joyful dedication to each moment. Ultimately all these apparently small steps or relatively short dives together form my path through this life. I’m happy to feel that right now, in Norway, this new way of diving has brought me much focus and joy already, this blogpost (and some new songs – yey!) being one of its fruits

Should I stay or should I go

To conclude, I’d like to shine light on exactly this consideration – should I stay or should I go? After a few days in Plum Village, I was very tempted to stay. I can still feel these open arms, the wealth of opportunities of working on the land and sharing my music there, the love for and from all the friends, the structure and meditation practice that is so healthy for me… There was a point where I had my whole next year planned in Plum Village: another volunteer retreat in August, then the Rain Retreat from September until December and following that working on the Happy Farm for a year.

But then I remembered: it’s time for integration. The past year, I spend much time in retreats and workshops, I had space to explore and experiment, learn and get inspired. Now I feel the desire to put what I learned and dreamed into practice, to further embody the wisdom and share my gifts, to take responsibility and action. Wow, I’m getting slightly nervous when writing this down. But also excited about the next steps and adventures around living and working.

Thank you Plum Village for the temptation, for getting my intention even clearer and navigating me into the great wide open again. There, too, are open arms, countless opportunities, magical people and more – I just don’t know them yet.

~~~

And thank YOU dear reader! For ‘listening’, taking all of this in. I’d love to hear from you! In the comments or in a personal message if you have my FB or email. Maybe there are things that resonate or trigger resistance, maybe you have other or additional experiences – your input is greatly appreciated!

Want to read more insights/experiences that spring from my time in Plum Village during 21 Day Retreat 2018? The initial blog was so long that I decided to divide it up into four pieces. Next to this one, I also wrote about my mindful loving work, unconditional (self & sister) love as well as an ode to people, nature and music. You can read them all in a row or one by one in random order.

During my volunteer work at the 21 Day Retreat 2018 in Plum Village, one of the questions to investigate there was: “How do I love myself (and subsequently others) unconditionally?”

It arose partially because me and my sister would be in this retreat together. While we love each other a lot, we can also trigger old pains and patterns around competition in each other. A classic example of the infamous superiority, inferiority, and equality complex. In everyday life, we are not so much confronted with these patterns anymore, since we live in different countries, thus do not interfere too much with the space of the other. Now, going to Plum Village, we had the space and time to look at our relationship (patterns) more deeply.

I don’t want to go into detail, here, but I do want to honour this process and share how grateful I am we had this opportunity and also took it with both hands and open hearts. It almost feels like we learned anew how to be sisters. How to celebrate and love the other, while also celebrating and loving oneself. How to be with the differences and similarities in personality, interests, talents. How to listen deeply, share openly and yet take responsibility for our own stuff. Besides all the funky transformation work we did, it was amazing to simply live in the same community for some time. Having our own lives, while also being able to see and speak to each other without planning, phoning or travelling. I treasure these small yet immense moments when we met in the bathroom brushing our teeth, silently stared at the night sky together with tears in our eyes, held hands during walking meditation… Thank you for that!

There are a number of lessons and practices in self-love, I’d love to share.

• Love first. Whether I’m fit or fat, a bore or creative, strong or weak I want to practice loving myself no matter what. Then there is no need to fix, heal or change, but all the space for it to happen anyhow.

• Loving myself even when not loving myself. In other words don’t shoot that second arrow by becoming angry or judgemental of my inability to love myself. Instead cultivate compassion, these lessons are not mine alone, they’ve been passed on for generations. Take baby steps.

• Listening and surrendering to myself, my body. Do I dare to give in instead of ignoring the signals, pushing further? Do I dare to withdraw, sleep or drop this tasks for now? Every time I do, it feels like small revolution, with gratitude and relief dancing through my system.

• Small actions of self-love. Related to the above, there are so many small, concrete actions we can take to express selflove. A warm shower, hugging yourself, asking for help, taking a break, massage your feet, walk slowly, drop into a comfy chair…

• Celebrating others, without holding back. To openly see, receive and celebrate the beauty, talents, courage… of people around me is such a gift. Grateful to those in my surroundings who are so good at this that they inspired me to practice the same.

• Radical switch of perception to dive into Love and spaciousness. In the midst of some ego adventure or disaster, it helps me to remember that I am more than my thoughts and emotions, that I don’t have to cling to or fight against them.

“The wish to connect, to hug, to be seen and to see beyond the surface. […] All of that, but I feel that the first connection to make is the one with myself.”
(Sue Monk Kidd, The Dissident Daughter)

While volunteering during the 21 Day Retreat 2018 in Plum Village, among others I looked into the question “How do I integrate love and work?”

This question soon transformed into question and answer in one: “How can I bring the same energy that I put into singing into other jobs?”. In Plum Village, I had great inspiration from our amazing chefs, who guided us into healthy and delicious cooking with ease, smiles and authentic presence. Moreover one of the brothers, also organiser of the 21 Day retreat, gave a great example of how to work with joy and ease. He made sure that everyone, including himself, other monastics, and the volunteers, had the chance to really participate in the retreat despite their responsibilities.

On re-reading the list below, I realise that I could have put it in a single word: presence. After all, the dullest job can be rich and magical once we bring our true presence or mindfulness to it (and the opposite is true as well). I will share the list nonetheless.

• Dare to stop and look at our system (breath, physical sensations, thoughts…) without judgement. Such a small yet revolutionary thing to do. It allows me to see habit energies as well as to try out new, healthier habits.
• Bring affirmations or investigation questions to the workplace. These can remind us to consciously ‘breathe in, breathe out’. They can also function as a tool of investigation and rewire our awareness, e.g. by finding conditions to be grateful of right now.
• When struggles come up, share and ask for support timely instead of trying to deal with it oneself. Sometimes support is a practical solution, but often to be ‘seen and heard’ (by oneself and someone else) is already sufficient.
• Before each shift we shared a short meditation and offered incense in the kitchen. That way, it was easier to remember that the practice in the kitchen is of no less importance than the practice in the meditation hall.
• Furthermore, I find it helpful to nourish a sense of purpose. To know that my work and the energy I do it with does matter, it is meaningful on a collective as well as personal level.
• Next I practice taking responsibility for the decision I made to do this job (or making a new decision if necessary). This also includes making healthy choices that support this decision, for instance sleeping enough the night before…
• …but also trusting and accepting the (unexpected) flow of life is key. For instance embracing sleeplessness when a singing circle the night before your early morning shift takes on intergalactic measures, or accepting boring tasks or difficulties (no mud, no lotus).

 

Want to read more insights/experiences that spring from my time in Plum Village during 21 Day Retreat 2018? I also wrote about my difficulties and nourishments from the practice, unconditional (self & sister) love as well as an ode to people, nature and music.