Four Seasons of Upheaval. Cohering in Times of Chaos
My last blog dates back to December 2019 and, swept up in the many changes we have all been experiencing throughout 2020, I never felt the urge to sit down to share something of what was happening for us on Bornholm. I don’t feel guilty about this lack of communication, nor about stepping out of regularly informing my followers of my unfolding prospects. What could I say as we navigated volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous times? As for most people, life took an unexpected turn and I found myself doing surprising and astonishing things, developing new skills, dreaming into a completely new project and, to be honest, also taking a bumpy ride on the roller-coaster of life, cruising times of despondency and desperate homesickness for my previous life.
This is a lengthy piece as I set out to take a bird’s eye view of my 2020 and recount, with wide brushstrokes on the canvas, a year of upheaval and disruptions. I have managed to break the narrative up into seasonal phases. I hope you will appreciate diving into my story of 2020. I certainly enjoyed writing this, uncovering the larger and wider movements beneath the choppy waters on the surface.
New Beginnings. Bursting with aspirations and gurgling with excitement
Let me start with a brief recap of where we were in December 2019. The renovation on the farmhouse had just been completed and we had started furnishing the guest lodge and the Abbey, my workspace on the first floor. We had an open house event on the Winter Solstice attended by many neighbours curious to inspect the renovation work and reminisce on the house as they had known it in the 1950s and 1980s. Guests were invited to pick an angel card, following the Findhorn Angel ceremony, and everyone was delighted with the companions who chose to present themselves as a guide for the coming year. I wonder what their thoughts are now regarding their guardian angel for 2020. Useful? Resourceful? Soothing? Supportive? Irritating?
We had a small New Year Gathering with our Scandinavian friends, Agnethe from Norway and Ulf from Sweden. The four of us dreamed into a prosperous and adventurous year for 2020 with the birthing of the higher consciousness educational centre we wanted to bring into the world. We had many options on our programme for 2020: residential art workshops in collaboration with a local artist, online and residential workshops focussing on higher consciousness and transformational work, contemplative retreats, a we-space gathering in the autumn and many other effervescent and thrilling projects waiting to cohere and land in our programme.
We also needed to secure a loan to finish the renovation work. This was not going to be a problem, we were told, a straightforward situation. How could we not raise the extra money, with such an appetising programme, a squeaky-clean budget and no debts to make us unsolvable?
Therefore, I set off in 2020 grateful for all the support I had received and confident in my capacities to pursue my Danish adventures and to follow my inner creative impulses.
Winter Holiday. Braving meteorological disorders and redirecting attention
The first signs of the imminent upheaval about to sweep away the familiar landscape came through in February 2020. I was on my way to Findhorn to take part in a small higher consciousness gathering hosted by Stephen Busby. After that I was to join John in Bergen in Norway to celebrate our first wedding anniversary and we were to meet up with Agnethe for a week skiing in the mountains. The perfect voyage! John called me at Copenhagen airport while I was waiting for my plane for Edinburgh to tell me that the bank had refused our loan; suddenly, our irrefutable project was not as robust as pertained. I could sense that the bank was very nervous and suspicious of anything risky and pioneer. It was a huge setback, but I trusted that I was on the right track to manifest creative alternatives.
As I travelled to Findhorn, I became aware of the coronavirus lurking in the background. At that time, it was mainly located in China and a serious outbreak was culminating in Italy. The airports were already putting out information for travellers from both regions and, again, an undertone of nervousness and anxiety whirled around me, particularly when I could feel a sore throat or the beginning of a headache coming on.
The week in Findhorn was intense since we all had a sense of being on the brink of big changes with a new era about to unfold. We were being invited to prepare ourselves for this, expanding our inner capacities and learning to work with and embody higher frequencies of consciousness. My friend Yuko who lives in Findhorn Foundation gave me a stone she had picked up the previous week on Iona. There was one stone for me, and she trusted me with a second stone to give to Agnethe. This stone has not left me since, and I carry it close to my heart all the time, a bridge between different locations and people who are dear to me.
The week in the Norwegian mountains was another out-of-the-ordinary experience. It started to snow heavily the day we took the train that runs through the mountains between Oslo and Bergen, John and I travelling from Bergen and Agnethe from Oslo. We had planned to meet in Ustaoset, and Agnethe had hired a snow scooter to take us, and all our equipment, to our cottage. By the time we were ready to set off, a ferocious snow storm had set in and our scooter ride felt more like an Artic expedition into the wilderness than a drop off ride. We literally tumbled into the cottage as the wind howled and the snow blinded us. The following morning, we woke to discover that we were snowed in and spent some time digging ourselves out. We had one blissful sunny day during our week and skied across the magnificent landscape to a mountain hut serving scrumptious food and drinks for the weary skiers. The rest of the time we were sitting in the middle of a continuous snow storm, the strong wind hurling down the valley carrying away the snow and forming huge snowdrifts piling up in front of the doors and windows. The amount of snow was so impressive that a state of emergency was declared after avalanches started to come down and the train line between Bergen and Oslo was closed due to landslides. The Norwegian authorities were inviting people not to go to the mountains and to stay home, a jingle that would be regularly broadcasted over the coming months for various reasons.
Our stay in the beautiful mountain cottage, in the middle of a snow storm, cut off from the rest of the world, was an interesting experience. Despite the threatening meteorological conditions and the risks related to heavy snow falls, I felt very safe and warm within. I spent hours gazing out of the window onto the wilderness blowing away familiar bearings and bringing in new perspectives. There was something playful and joyful in surrendering to nature whims and caprices, as I bore witness to my inner experience of sometimes feeling powerless and unable to control events to suit my plans, however well-intentioned. Agnethe and I shared a lot around this and how the outer events were impacting the inner meteorological conditions. It was my first significant experience of feeling calm and settled within myself, as the world whirled and screamed around me, revealing a finely attuned inner landscape, fertile with expanded inner capacities; this was to become invaluable for the times ahead.
The day we were due to leave, the snow storm had culminated to unprecedented levels. We had to be dug out of the cottage before another Artic ride on the scooter to the station. The line between Bergen and Oslo was down for an undetermined time as the relief crews strived to clear the many blockages, working in extreme conditions. We spent a frenzied time rescheduling our travels back home to Bornholm, hoping that a train would be able to make it through the mountains and take us to Oslo. After a six-hour agonising wait, we scrambled on a train to Oslo, spent the night camping in Agnethe’s flat and flew back to Bornholm from Oslo instead of Bergen.
Over those two weeks in February nothing happened as planned and I felt that I was facing a continuous stream of unexpected and unprecedented events. Interestingly, in the midst of all these disruptions, Stephen had sent me a sample of Book One of the Guidance for Life on Earth series. I was to look into the possibility of editing the material. I dived into it one night, when I woke up listening to the storm raging around us, and, like the meteorological disorders erupting, I could sense that this material was going to be very impactful and completely change my life. Of course, little was I to know how much it would impact and, indeed, become a life-changing experience in many respects, possibly more than the coronavirus.
Easter Timeout. Relaxing into nothingness and becoming available to transformation
Back home after this intense fortnight, I set out to tackle the different issues arising on our horizon. Up to then, since our arrival on Bornholm, we had experienced an uneventful flow of circumstances, most things falling into place as expected and invoked. As from March 2020, the smooth flow was brusquely interrupted. We found ourselves chasing banks to find someone who would grant us the loan. All the banks turned us down. Partnerships for hosting residential workshops stalled. Coronavirus restrictions were enforced and the landscape changed even more dramatically. We discovered that we were not entitled to any of the governmental aids because these were based on the previous year income. Since we were not up and running in 2019, we could not claim losses of revenues. The future looked bleak and I was well aware of the economic consequences of the lockdown although, at the time, understandingly, the focus was on medical and social measures to deal with the spreading of the virus and the reorganisation of public life. Like many, I appreciated several of the changes we were being encouraged to make, which felt more aligned with my life choices. In particular, I welcomed the invitation to live a simpler life and to step out of the whirlpool of consumerism and needing/wanting more. I became curious and aware of our dependency on entertainment and leisure to sooth us and smooth some of the asperities and harshness of life. Numerous patterns and strategies for numbing out or dissociating became crucially apparent as we all hit what was likely to most inconvenience us, and therefore activate us, in the ‘lock up’ as my mother rebaptised the lockdown.
Nonetheless, life on Bornholm was very pleasant during the first lockdown. The weather was extraordinary and, like most introverts, I enjoy being on my own. I was happy to be off the hook about socialising and desperately trying to solve our business issues. I spent a lot of time walking with my friend Meghan, the priest, who was discovering what it is to be a parish priest without a church. These were relaxing times, in many respects. Nevertheless, I could feel a thread of fear lurking in the background. Would the business survive the economic crisis that would follow in the wake? How was I going to make an income and provide for myself, when all my original plans had dissolved, slipping through my hands like sand? Furthermore, I had no money left and, for the first time in my life, was facing the option of being in debt. Fascinating and disturbing at the same time! Paradoxically, not having any money felt deliciously freeing, as if it gave me permission to wildly dream and explore multiple options. And, as we all know, paradoxes were to become staple food and regularly present themselves as we entered the uncharted territories unfolding under us.
The backdrop was not as bleak as I might have just depicted it. Innovative and pioneer work was already arising and colouring the space. I could feel my unconditional availability and my acceptance of being turned inside out and upside down. We welcomed one long-term guest from the US, Deborah, who had intended to spend March with us before heading for a longer stay in Findhorn. Needless to say, her plans were also aborted and, after many hesitations and with sincere regrets, she decided to return to the US boarding one of the last cross-Atlantic flights, a spooky and eery experience according to her account. During her time with us, we did some interesting inner work, feeling into old patterns of protectiveness and uncovering well-hidden energetic residues. This was precious material seeking expression and about to present itself in its fulness in order to be acknowledged, released and thereby integrated.
Stephen entrusted me with the editorial work on Book One Reality, Humans and the Earth of the Guidance for Life of Earth series. I found myself with a new exciting job which had not been planned. I was not only editing but also involved in producing the book, learning a lot about manuscript layouts and book covers. It was thrilling and highly creative. I felt like the fish who has found her pond, and I was delighted to splash around in these pioneer waters acquiring new sets of skills and bringing in my polished editorial capacities. Furthermore, as I was to discover, as work progressed, this was not a simple, straightforward editorial task; the material is much more than a book, and I was fortunate to be the first reader to receive and absorb the material.
Like everyone, I turned to online work and discarded, almost instantaneously, years of active resistance to working online. I was aided in this by a Transformation Game played with Deborah and John, where it was very clear that I was to develop my subtle energy work online and follow my creative impulses. The first impulse was to shift the monthly gatherings I was hosting with people following Stephen’s work to weekly calls. These weekly Wednesday gatherings were precious since they enabled us to collectively presence our inner movements, uncovering wild and sometimes desperate coping mechanisms, and to be witnessed in all these transformational movements. I also signed up for Stephen’s Findhorn Online workshop, Guidance for Life Online, a full week of immersion into the material collated in Book One. Originally, this would have been a residential workshop in Findhorn. Because of my financial situation, I had had to renounce going to Findhorn and I was very sad about this. Now, due to the worldly circumstances, I could take part, which was simply short of a miracle, further affirming my engagement with this field of work.
Finally, during the lockdown, I was able to complete the first iteration of my own book, A Path to Selfhood, and I asked five people to read the manuscript and provide me with comments and suggestions for the next iteration.
Towards the end of lockdown, two things happened that heralded further changes. The first event happened on Good Friday. I was doing a leg of my round-the-island hike and as I approached the pick-up spot I was heading for, I suddenly collapsed and badly twisted my ankle. I was bedridden for a week and, instinctively, knew what this was about; I could no longer run away from myself. It was time to go within, seriously, whatever I was to meet, however uncomfortable or distressing. This was going to be deep inner transformational work; I was both willing and unconditionally available for this. The second incident occurred whilst I was walking back home from one of my constitutional walks. I passed the nearby round church and I clearly heard a voice telling me, “Your work here is complete”. This took me by surprise and, at the same time, I knew this to be true without being able to say much about what this involved and how things were to unfold.
Summertime. Drawing upon inner resources and unleashing creativity
As summer approached and things began to ease, it was time to get creative and imagine alternative ways of generating some income. The first decision I took was to turn the guest lodge into a bed and breakfast. Like all over Europe, Danes were encouraged to spend their summer vacations at home and, since Bornholm is a top destination, we could expect many visitors, all needing accommodation. I put the rooms up on Booking.com, juggled a lot with the pricing and the covid-regulations, and within no time we were fully booked throughout the summer months. I prepared myself to become a host and to take on the multiple tasks that go with opening up a new place whilst navigating ever-changing restrictions and limitations. My intention was to be of service to our guests in order for them to enjoy a memorable holiday on Bornholm despite the strange times and to enjoy the stillness and quietness of the house.
Simultaneously, I was offered a job as a tourist guide in the nearby round church, working two days a week. The offer came very soon after I had received the message, bouncing off the church, saying that my work on Bornholm was complete. The offer felt slightly paradoxical, but I decided to follow the invitation and not ponder too much on its seemingly nonsensical character in the larger context. The job involved a lot of cleaning of the church to meet the new sanitary regulations, selling the entrance tickets and the odd post-card, and mainly managing the flux of visitors whose numbers needed to respect the maximum capacity allowed in the church. This was also going to be a good opportunity for me to babble a few words in Danish.
Both jobs were rewarding in many ways and, most importantly, yielded money to see me through this unusual year. The guest lodge generated enough money to cover the expenses and pay for my work. There was no extra money to start paying back our debt, but that was not a goal. Anything long-term had been put on a stand on Bornholm as businesses engaged in attending to first needs. The main concern was for us, and for all, to remain viable and not go under. The job at the church provided me with some extra money to put aside for the winter months. Within short, I felt I could breathe and all the initial concerns and worries around money receded, thankfully, because both jobs had their share of challenges.
Managing the guest lodge was a fascinating experiencing, albeit demanding. We met some lovely people and we were blessed with some beautiful connections and delightful intimate moments where we could all share our concerns about the future as well as our deepest longings. Many visitors were delighted by the quietness of the location and the clean, spacious rooms. Others were challenged by the stillness and the lack of night life. The island was very busy and most people were happy to get away from the frantic activities and to hang out on the terrace watching the sun set or counting the shooting stars.
Rumi’s poem, The Guest House, captures the essence of the experience. On one side of the scale, that of generosity of spirit, we were gifted with resourceful women who stripped the beds and took the linen to the washroom, piled up the dishwasher, cleared away the breakfast things; those who donated generously for the lifts around the island; the lonely single men who didn’t know what to do with themselves in such a remote and quiet place and were willing to try out our suggestions; the enthusiastic and optimistic young people dreaming of sustainability, fair trade, cutting-edge artistic creativity; the keen hikers and bikers walking around the island and trying out the new trail that passes close to our house. On the other side of the scale, the troublesome guests, there was the aggressive biker and his elderly partner who I asked to leave, the angry psychiatrist who verbally abused me, those who pilfered the fridge, those who merrily drank themselves silly, and those who happily soiled the toilets leaving me to ragefully groan about having to clean up other people’s shit. Indeed, as in the poem, all sorts of guests turned up, all reflecting parts of me, some welcome and others more challenging to take in, each one bearing their gifts unlocking a treasure box lost in time. The conclusive verse of the poem summarises it, “Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
The shifts at the church proved to be a serious challenge, not to mention the steep learning curve I was facing with my efforts at mumbling and babbling in Danish. Shepherding disgruntled holiday makers, eager to have a break from coronavirus, was the equivalent of attempting to cohere the most unbelievable configuration of nonconformists, something I was familiar with from my years in higher education where the standard joke was that leading academics equates herding cats.
I rapidly mastered the technicalities and the sanitising routines. I had done similar work, 25 years ago, when I was working in a shop run for and by mentally deficient adults. All the practicalities and commercial logistics came back immediately and I enjoyed retrieving these skills that had been waiting, patiently, to be rekindled. I could then focus on interactions with the tourists. This was the taxing piece as I faced accumulated frustrations and chronic exasperation likely to explode at the slightest stroke. Most visitors were finding it difficult to follow the covid-regulations that, admittingly, did vary from one week to another; everyone had their personal theories and therefore their own interpretations of the rules. Some claimed that they were not concerned; the rules were for the others. A lot of entitlement energy raised to soaring heights in the loggia of the church, the former arm house, where the ticket booth was and I was supervising the number of people entering and leaving the church. Each time I would remind people of the conditions and provide some information as to the rules, I would meet high levels of reactivity and little cooperation. The gist of it was that people were on vacation and they wanted a break from all these rules and regulations that had been hindering us over the past months.
Two things got me down in particular. The first was that people were not taking individual responsibility, preferring to delegate responsibilities to others, the government for instance, and then to severely criticise and contest all decisions taken. I was told that the Danes cultivate anarchy and easily throw over decisions that they might even have construed themselves. Passive aggressive responses and narcissistic entitlement became rampant and, being highly sensitised to emotionality, I was picking up on this, massively. There were times where all I could do was break down quietly, sit in my chair and allow the tears to flow. The second thing that upset me was the total lack of reverence for the church and its sacredness. Yes, there were people who came because of the church and who would sit in meditation soaking up the energies. There were also people interested in the history and with whom I had delightful conversations sharing what I knew about the medieval churches on Bornholm. Unfortunately, the bulk of visitors came because the round church is one of the 10 things to see on the island, as suggested by all guides, and, furthermore, it was the only church open. For these visitors the church was another commodity they were paying for and therefore they could then do whatever they wanted, practically desecrating the sanctuary. When I got very upset over some people’s rowdy behaviour, the church would let me know that it could deal with this. I was told to hand it over and not get sucked up in these low-vibrational energies.
Beyond the rowdiness and disruptive behaviours, I thoroughly enjoyed my quiet time in the church. After the daily cleaning, I would sit in the middle of the pilar reading out aloud from Book One of the Guidance for Life on Earth series. I read a fascinating book on the story and mystery of the medieval churches on Bornholm: Erling Haagensen and Henry Lincoln’s The Templars’ Secret Island. The Knights, the Priest and the Treasure. When things were quieter, towards the end of the season, I worked on indexing all of Book One. Late summer, between the lighter workload in the guest lodge and my shifts in the church, I completed the editorial work and production of Book Two, Being Human, Being World (Part 1). Agnethe and Dave joined me in hosting the Wednesday weekly gatherings and we started to actively work with the teachings and practices of Book One. It had been a literary and scholarly intense summer, but I had not manged to fit in much work around my own book, despite having received some precious feedback and some great ideas for the next iteration. That had to wait for calmer times.
Throughout the summer, as I navigated my numerous chores and tasks, practically managing everything single-handed, I increasingly began to feel estranged and alienated in Denmark. It was not only the language, which I still struggle with. I became aware that, although I fully understand the cultural landscape and sort of know my way around the habits and traditions, I simply cannot partake in this life. There were times when I was invited to social events, for instance, when I experienced being in a parallel dimension, whilst fully in contact with consensual reality as it was unfolding. It is as if I am slightly holding back, behind a veil, not wanting, consciously, to engage in this framework of reality. Furthermore, most days, I didn’t feel safe within, and the fear of being excluded and being forced to leave the country, and everything that is mine behind, became stronger by the day, verging almost on to paranoia with the Brexit and some of the xenophobic comments I heard in the church when I had to speak in English. All this brought back to me how I have spent most of my life feeling an alien and fearing shameful exclusion if I cannot fit in and perform adequately, the consequences of which will be that I will be destitute. My old-friend unworthiness became a frequent visitor. This was when I started to feel deeply homesick and wanted to go home either to Switzerland or to UK. Bornholm was not home and would never be. I felt trapped and stuck on the island. This was an important, albeit disturbing, realisation.
Autumn retreat. Going within and worldling
By the end of the tourist season, I was aware of becoming increasingly exhausted and feeling very depleted. The hard work and challenging situations I had been cruising throughout the summer had taken their toll on me and, thankfully, my body was screaming with aches and pains. I then knew that I needed to prioritise rest and self-care. I decided to treat myself to an extended retreat and to put aside all paid work for several months. Furthermore, I wanted to start this retreat period with two months of quasi silent and solitary time leading up to the end of 2020. I closed the B&B until Easter 2021. The job at the church came to an end on Halloween. I had a small job cleaning the vicarage and providing meals for the confirmands which I quit. I moved out of the house John and I were sharing and settled myself in my queendom, the Abbey, and the guest lodge, enabling John to unfold fully in his part of the house.
Basically, I wanted time on my own and to be able to consciously choose when and with whom I would interact, stepping off the burdensome line of duties and tasks to be performed, and my deeply enmeshed belief that I must be available for others before attending to myself. I could not leave Bornholm and join a retreat centre, but I did have the all the facilities to do this, here, in my house. I was the one I needed, and I intended to make this the base line for the coming months, focussing on well-being and energetic replenishment. My other intention was to get back to work on A Path to Selfhood and to finalise the second iteration drawing on the feedback received. I was also trusting that these months of inner work and retreat would help me feel into what wants to come through me: what my next steps could be. Also, over the previous months, and since the online workshop on guidance for life, my own inner guidance was strengthening. I wanted to be able to draw more on the stream of wisdom I was now accessing fluidly and to listen to inner impulses and promptings, further cooperating with my own inner guides, only too eager to be called in.
Several eruptive and highly painful events occurred making sure that I followed the life curriculum I had just attuned to. They all led to communication breakdowns, ending relationships that were not serving me any longer and providing me with some interesting raw material to work with, surfacing from the frozen layers of childhood adverse situations. Some deep cleansing work was on the way. Everything was signposting the validity of my choice and, gently and lovingly, encouraging me to follow my intuition, even should this imply taking myself out of many relational spaces.
Once all the practicalities had been taken care of, things moved very swiftly. I was instructed by my inner guides to start work on a new book. I was aware that the first version of A Path to Selfhood contained lots of autobiographical elements that might need teasing out in order to stand on their own. This is what I was told to do. I was to write a collection of my life stories, most of them set in the first twenty years of my life. These were the stories I needed to tell myself and to hear. These stories had risen to the surface through the cracks of the breakdowns I experienced the week before my retreat period started. The first iteration of The Tales of Love and Sorrow. An Archaeology into Grief was written in two weeks and, during that time, I received an uninterrupted flow of guidance both regarding the contents and the structure. Then came a break of one week, while I took part in the next Online workshop hosted by Stephen from Findhorn, Transforming our World from Within: a fascinating experience and very relevant to the writing work I had just accomplished. After that, I edited the first version and by Christmas the manuscript was ready to be read by a selected group of readers who agreed less to look at editorial aspects and more to report back on how the tales impacted them and set things in movement within them.
In parallel to the writing, I focussed on hosting and expanding the practice spaces of the Wednesday online gatherings offering deep dives into the material of Book One. The Wednesday calls had become an important feature for many, and the number of people taking part in the calls was increasing. Agnethe, Dave and I honed the readings and the practices in breakout rooms, and I learned to master all the technicalities for hosting multidimensional online calls and providing innovative and creative learning journeys. I admit it; I thoroughly enjoyed this and I rekindled with my passion for teaching and crafting environments that truly support learning and inner transformation. For Christmas, I curated a special event, A Nine lessons and Carols with selected readings from Book One of the Guidance for Life on Earth series, interweaving the traditional biblical texts with excerpts that addressed similar topics. I also hosted a series of Nine Yuletide Gatherings from Christmas Eve to the New Year, breaking the isolation many of us were experiencing, myself included. The set up was simple: we read the first chapter of Book Two – Being Human, Being World (Part 1) – and listened to some inspiring meditative music. The gatherings were life-changing in more than one way, and totally unplanned. Amongst other things, they enabled me to acknowledge the breadth of my scholarship and my immense joy when I can put it to service to the unfolding of the highest purpose, not only for myself, but also for the world, as me.
The first part of my extended retreat time was swelling exquisitely, and all my former qualms and concerns were subsiding. This does not mean that I wasn’t in contact with lower-vibrational material. Quite the contrary, I was even more intensely and brutally in contact with it, all part of the clearing work, as the energetic residues were thrown into the combustion chamber of transformation. I went through days of intense grief, or what I recognise as depression, old and familiar friends that had haunted me for years. Like the guests in The Guest House, they were now welcome and allowed to come home. I was able to assimilate many of the parts of myself that had been exiled for so long, the writing of the tales being conducive to the integration work.
2020 ended with notes of hope and optimism, an emerging sense of the fulness on my being coming into expression, none other than my sovereign selfhood, and with flavours of expectant joyfulness as to what could arise in the following months.
New Year 2021. The world has changed! I have changed!
On the 1st of January 2021, I woke up to realise that the world had changed, almost overnight. I was no longer in the same world as in 2020. Of course, it is not so much that the world had changed, but more that I had undergone a major shift, and not one I had intentionally planned for the crossing of the threshold into a New Year. It simply happened, testifying to the previous months of transformational work and my unconditional availability to grow and expand. I had done the ground work of clearing the obsolete and releasing any inner structures preventing me from receiving life fully. The weight of the long-held burdens had lifted, almost instantaneously overnight, and I felt 20 years younger, like in the prime of my athletic days, having, fortunately, retrained the wisdom of my mature age. What a delightful configuration!
I looked out of the windows of the Abbey on to the landscape of fields rolling towards the woods that I explore daily. Everything looked and felt different without being able to say how and why. I then saw that four Galloway cows from the neighbouring farm had managed to escape from their field and were ambling down the road towards our house. They were clearly enjoying themselves, indulging in their newly acquired freedom, capering and frolicking as they explored the road and the gardens. They were having fun and celebrating their getaway from the limitations of their closed field. I could almost see the smiles on their faces. I could not help thinking that they represented, perfectly so, my present state of mind. I had shaken off many of my constraints and restrictions, and I could feel the liberating effect of relinquishing old patterns and abandoning the well-trodden tramlines of my life. There was boundless joy in discovering, afresh, a whole new world just waiting to be explored, something I remember from my childhood when, with gleeful joy, I would discover something whetting my curiosity and appetite for knowledge and learning.
What an exquisite welcome and start to the New Year. I immediately felt my energy levels rising to the occasion, followed by a creative outburst that has not left me since, signposting that 2021 will be a year of transition and deep transformation. I foresee many changes in the business structure with new projects forming and coalescing as I follow my life-purpose to be an educator and a writer. This will enable me to cohere, with the support of others, a robust framework and income to stabilise the financial aspects. My mind is bubbling with new online workshops; I can barely stop the flow of creative ideas. I will continue working with the material from the Guidance for Life on Earth series weaving it into workshops and retreats of my own craftmanship. I will follow all creative impulses regarding my writing. I trust that life will provide me with the perfect circumstances to manifest and realise all that I am invoking for myself, as world. Can’t wait to start!