writing

FOMO running wild!

FOMO running wild!

November 24, 2020
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Speeding up, internally, overcommitting, FOMO running wild, efficient in the way only I know how, zooming from meeting to meeting indeed, on Zoom), not even giving myself the pleasure of a sunshine-filled walk midday.

Breathe, Helena, breathe.
And let go.
Release your foot from the gas pedal, there’s enough energy in the system to get quite far without you putting any more gas into it. Get your priorities in order, ticking ToDo’s off one by one (the only way to do them, one by one, bird by bird), and… oh. Yes. Saying No does not mean you will not be considered next time, does not mean you aren’t a valued participant of the community, does not mean any of the stuff the internal chattering ticker tape is trying to get you to believe.

Make sure you get the walks. The bike rides. The hour of puttering about in the garden, raking some leaves into a pile over here, cleaning some garden tools over there, checking the status of the horse manure/cow dung/saw dust-barrel, filled with what will be goodies for the soil come spring.

Make sure you get the fullness of the morning ritual. The movement, the Wim Hof breathing, the glass of by-now-luke-warm water, the writing (Oh, the writing! Treasure it, as it treasures you!), reading the daily entry in The Book of Awakening, and the cold shower. All of it vital, but more than that, all of it there for you. Gifts. All of them. Gifts that help you show up the way you want to show up in the world. Grounded. Filled with energy. Abel and capable. With a mischievous touch of tankespjärn to spice things up when needed.

But no.
These aren’t must’s.
They are want’s.
I want to get the walks, the bike ride, the gardening and the morning ritual. Add to that the reading, the community-building, the Buddhas-recordings, the therapy, the cooking for me and my children and sitting down to a meal together.

These are want’s that are important to me because with these I honor myself.
I honor who I am, who I have been, and who I will be.
Always and already.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Spider. With a message.

November 8, 2020
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After a long slow morning, going through every step of my morning ritual, the ritual that suddenly has come to be of such importance to me, I get out of bed, after writing and reading, with the intent to get up. For real. Not just to go boil a pot of water, not just to do a morning Seven of pelvic movements, not just to go pee, and then return to bed. I stop in front of my yoni-altar, somewhat lackadaisically created at the start of the three-month Yoni Club-program, kneeling on the sheepskin in front of it, picking up my box of oracle cards with messages from my animal guides.

Opening the box, I pull forth the little book, laying it to the side, as I bring forth the deck of cards, starting to shuffle them, holding my hands in front of my heart, breathing steadily. In. Shuffle. Out. Shuffle. In. Shuffle. Out. Shuffle. Making my hands go still, I part the deck of cards and look solemnly at an upside-down spider. I right the card, looking at it, laughing a bit inside, as it so looks like the spiders that mostly live in the basement of my house, but that a few weeks ago suddenly graced me with their living-room presence.

Trust the creative spark you’re feeling and express it through writing stories that inspire and enlighten

Having just written one entry in The Depth(s), the written part of the deep dive I am currently on, into shame, and one other story, for my anonymous blog, I nod to myself in recognition as I pick up the booklet and read on:

The pulse of creativity is especially strong right now, triggering a not unfamiliar and compelling desire to express yourself through creative writing. Whether or not the tales you weave are true, whether they’re based on actual experience or the imaginings of your fertile mind, each day sit yourself down and pour out the words that come to you. Don’t ponder each sentence or paragraph; just write whatever wants to be written through you.

Oh yes, this is precisely why my morning ritual has suddenly become so important to me. It is a time and place where by sitting down, words do come to me, through me, in a way that is harder to come by, if I don’t do it in the morning. It’s possible, but right now, the importance of honoring me by granting me time in the morning a l s o for writing, has become very clear.

To inspire and enlighten others, you don’t need a profoundly complex tale. Start by describing a personal experience, one where you gained some insight that may also be useful to others. However, don’t focus on how people will respond to your story; instead, just enjoy the process of writing without judging your work or yourself. Write to express–not to impress.

I’ve not let fear of how others will respond stop me from writing, but as I have shared some deeply personal and vulnerable writings, in a small close-knit community, fear has been a part of my deep-dive. Something I’ve worked through by writing about it. Not ignoring it. Not adhering to it. But acknowledging it, observing it, and letting the voice tinted with fear also speak through me, letting those words out on paper as well as the others.

In attempting to write, you may find yourself easily distracted, either with others’ needs for your time and attention or with those negative thoughts and beliefs that are the product of judgments and shame that you were subjected to during childhood. A powerful way to release these habitual and self-limiting thoughts and feelings is to write about them in story form. As you do so, don’t hold back anything. Through such a catharsis, you heal those words that had originally wounded you.

Shame.
Judgment.
This i s what my deep-dive centers on.
The basis for these thoughts and beliefs of mine formed during childhood, but it doesn’t stop there. I’ve been piling them on, one atop the other, my entire life; as are you, I’m imagining. I don’t know that we can stop ourselves from it, but it sure helps to gain awareness, and learn to breathe through, rather than get stuck in, it.

So no. I do not hold back. Nothing is held back, it’s all coming out, having me jump back and forth, no need to go about it chronologically. What comes comes, and in the reflections I get from the people I share with, I am helped along the way. Helped to go deeper. Helped by having my memory jogged, upturning stone after stone, hidden beneath the surface for a long time. Helped to make connections that have eluded me previously.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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opening the spirit within us to the spirit of what is

October 26, 2020
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The bottom line:
”…opening the spirit within us to the spirit of what is.”
Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening, for October 26.

Blank.
Woke up.
Boiled some water, while doing a Seven with pelvic focus. Jiggling around, back, forth, a spine-wiggle or two. Or three. Side to side, in eights and in circles. Wakes my body up. Slowly and gently, I move on lighter feet to the bedroom.
Drag the covers from the bed, lie down on my sheepskins, with my butt up against the bed, feet on top, as if sitting on the side of the bed, back against the floor.
Do my Wim Hof breathing exercise, three rounds, simultaneously doing the Walkfeeling starter-move, opening up, aligning, getting hips and legs and back all working together.
Get up off the floor, drag the covers back into bed, bunching the pillows behind my back, I sit down, with iPad in hand.
Getting ready to write, I space off into the distance, not knowing what to write.
Nothing really comes to me.
Drink my now-lukewarm water, picking up The Book of Awakening, to read the entry of the day.

Blank.
So I do what I have a habit of doing.
This.
Writing down where I am, what I’ve done to get here, and all of a sudden.
There I am. (Or here?)
The fingers start to fly across the keyboard, dropping words upon words on to the screen.

Is there value in this?
For me? Yes. I think so. No.
I know so. Letting it, whatever it is for the day, flow out of me, holds value.
It’s an acknowledgment of being here. Of being present to what is. Observing myself, my surroundings, my emotional and mental state, I at once land here. Grounded. And at the same time, it’s freeing. Opens a door for my mind to go walk-abouting, skip-skipping along like a little child, uninhabited by the shoulds and musts of the day, of life. Simply being. Showing up and noticing what shows up. Responding to it. (The blankness. There. Here. And me, dancing with whatever and whoever comes knocking on the door.)

For others? Yes. I think so.
And No. I wouldn’t presume to say I know so. I do not k n o w if this is or can be useful to anyone else. What I do know is that me sharing what goes on within me, within this quirky brain and body of mine, often seems to resonate. Not with everyone (never my desire. I am not for everyone.), not even with many (how do I define many?) but most definitely with some. A few. (And those few. I do write, ship, share, for you. For me, yes. But also for you. Because this is another dance that I actively choose to engage in. The dance between me and the unknown. The unknowns?)

I have a few different Pages documents available to me when I plonk down in bed, ready for my morning writing. I have my so-called Morning Pages (which have never been what Julia Cameron describes, not for me. Most of what I put in that document shows up on my blog. Not ’for my eyes only’, because writing ’for my eyes only’ doesn’t seem to work for me. It’s not where the magic lies. For me.), a practice I started in 2016 (opened my Morning Pages from 2016, scrolling through parts of it. Oh my. There’s stuff there, unfinished stuff, snippets of me, that I never did return to, as intended. All of my Morning Pages documents are filled with them. Always thinking I’ll get back to them, ”finishing” it all. Never have. Never will?). There’s The Depth(s), containing my deep dive into shame, created on August 22nd, 2020, and at the moment, most often my go-to-starting point for my morning writings. Then there’s a recent addition, a document containing writings for a blog I just started, another blog. (An anonymous one.)

Sometimes, I know just what document to open, because I know what wants to come out fits specifically into one or the other of these documents. Other times, something comes out onto one document that doesn’t belong there. Like this.

I opened The Depth(s) today, and upon putting finger to keyboard, when blank came to me and I kept on, I knew, this text needs to be moved to my Morning Pages of 2020 because this text isn’t a part of the deep dive.

And I like that.
I even love it.
How I am adhering to the practice of writing, but not to having to write something specific, if something specific doesn’t come to mind.
Being open for what is, what wants to happen, what comes out of me. Through me.

A recent addition to the writings of my Morning Pages is the bottom line, which I can never write beforehand. It comes when all is done, all is out, and I look through it, trying to find the essence of the post. This is a practice that challenges me, in more ways than one.

First, to remember to do it.
Second, to actually find the essence. Not always easy.
Third, to capture that essence, in a sentence or two. Not always easy either.

Aaaaah.
Deep inhale, exhale.

Picking up The Book of Awakening, reminded of the entry of the day, I find it. The essence of this post. And with that. I am done. With writing. For now.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Gifting me a morning ritual

October 13, 2020
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The bottom line:
Building a morning routine, where I feel thrown off my game when time does not allow for it to run its course in full, and realizing that this morning routine, or perhaps even ritual, is a gift. A Gift. To me.

Getting thrown off my new morning routine where I wake up, of my own volition, at six am. Get up, pee, go downstairs to fetch phone and iPad, standing in the kitchen doing a slow morning Seven of pelvic movements, waiting for the kettle to boil while checking my email and doing a quick scan of SoMe (now that the ayurvedic challenge is over, no more morning videos to peruse). Armed with electronic (writing) devices, a cup of warm water, I head upstairs, doing my Wim Hof breathing regime (normally in bed, today I lay down on the floor, pulling the duvet off the bed, to keep me warm), before climbing back into bed, to do my morning writing while drinking the warmed up water.

Once I’ve posted my writings, somewhere or other, I head for the basement bathroom, do my regular morning Seven (lately, a lot of Lindy hop-practices, which is akin to cardio, let me tell you) before jumping into a two minute-cold shower, before getting dressed, ready to meet the world.

By this time, it’s nine o’clock, give or take, and I realize how anything scheduled by me before nine throws me off my game. Off my writing game, to be precise, because the other things I do, regardless. Not necessarily in the order described above, but more or less.

Yesterday I’d scheduled a CoachTalk at 7:15 am, and then the day simply rolled on… never granting me (me never granting me, that is!) the time and space to sit down and do my (deep dive) writing. And somehow the entire day feels slightly off.

Yesterday, I had a Zoom-call scheduled at nine am, in conjunction with the Bonnie Bliss Yoni Club-training I’m taking online right now, and I got into sharing something I will be writing about in my deep dive, so in a sense, I got ”it” out of my system, but… it’s still not the same.

There’s something to the writing that provides both an edge (the permanence of it? The shareability of it? The way my words take on a life of their own? The dance with fear at being rejected, shamed and shunned for writing what I am writing?) and an expanded opportunity for learning. When I write, I explore. It truly is a deep dive, regardless if I am deep diving into a topic (shame) as I am at the moment, of if it’s ”just” writing because I want to, because I blog daily (No. Not at the moment. Unless the sharing in a small online-community can be called blogging, which, in a sense, it actually can.), because it’s a habit I’ve gotten accustomed to.

The way I write, I learn.
About me. About you. About the world.
There is discovery and surprise, there is exploration and aha-moments, there are connections made visible that have previously eluded me, there are new questions arising.

Waking up today, I realized… I need to stop giving away my mornings to others. I want to give them to me. I want to honor the precious opportunity they are to me, and be much more deliberate in when I schedule something else during this time. Sometimes, it’s a necessity. I have clients requiring my presence at certain times. I have commitments to others giving me an opportunity to prioritize, making me truly look at how I spend –and value!– my time. But if I am to give my mornings away, it’s going to be for very good reasons.

Because I haven’t, ever honestly, been so aware of the need to value my time, as I was today, waking, and realizing how my entire system longed for my morning routine, the very same one I did not gift myself with yesterday.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Open to the shifts

August 25, 2020
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This past week, I have not blogged daily. Haven’t written daily either, but even days of writing, have not always been days of blogging. This will likely prevail. I will blog, if blogging is in the cards. Or not, if (when) not. There’s a shift here, a desire, an inkling to play around with a somewhat different way of going forth. It’s not hard for me to blog daily. (Most times.) What’s harder is listening within, and blogging because there’s something to be said, something to be let out, rather than doing it because I’ve committed to doing it. (Makes sense?)

My deep-dive will not be published (now). But I will be writing (it). This is a commitment I’ve made, one which, truth be told, might even be hindered if I were to stick to a daily blogging scheme, having me go for the easy write rather than the deep-dive, which takes so much more from me. There’s effort. (In flow. Effort in flow. Trust me. It comes. But not without thorns, tumbles, tears.)

Then there’s the idea of doing yet another different type of writing. A deep-dive of sorts as well, but not within so much as without, into something specific. Wanting to do tankespjärn-pieces, that are more thorough. Researched. Thought through. (Yes. Mostly when I write, I simply sit down and write. But I’ve been longing for a different type of writing for a while. So how about it; Give me permission to do just that?)

As always (often? At least often!) when there’s a shift in one place/space, other shifts tag along.
One shift acting as a catalyst, causing other shifts to happen.

Being open to the shifts makes for an interesting life.
Explorative. Elucidating. Expansive.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Writing

August 24, 2020
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Third day in a row.
Sitting in bed, iPad in my lap, leaning against the headboard, supported by pillows.
Writing.

Oh!
At long last, getting back to this lovely routine.
Waking up, getting out of bed to go pee, and then sneak downstairs, fetching my iPad, before heading back under the covers. Setting myself up for a few minutes, half an hour, an hour, of writing.
Writing.

Writing, intentionally, a deep-dive into a topic (or rather, into an exploration within), a strong enough Why to get me to commit, to take action, to Do in order to match who I want to Be. An exploration I am, for now, keeping to myself, or at least, to a small group of people. Figuring things out, discovering, uncovering, not wanting to publish, as this specific baby is far from ready to meet the world. Perhaps it will be. One day. Perhaps it never will be. Ever. Regardless, it feels very good to be writing.
Writing.

And as always (often?), when I start to write, more wants to be written. It’s as if I open the faucet, and out it comes. Like this. Writings related to the experience of writing, or other; experiences, urges and insights, all of a sudden start to flow, wanting to come out, wanting to be written.
Writing.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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The never-ending story of the questioning mind.

July 5, 2020
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I blog every day.
(Just like Seth.)
Is it too much, though?

Aarrgghhhh.
Resistance speaking? Fear? Not wanting to be too much?
(But I ”am” too much. And quite happily so.)

Who else publishes something daily?
Do you ever fear it’s ”too much to handle” for your audience?
Would you change, if it was?

For me, it’s simply the easiest way to do stuff. Daily.
(The Upholder in me nods and chimes in: I get such a kick out of run streaks as well!)

But I haven’t had a lot of people subscribing to my blog before, and now, more and more are trickling in, which makes me truly happy. And… fearful. For the above-mentioned reason.

Why?
(Oh, I know why, that’s simply the way the mind works. Thoughts come and go, and some of them sort’a makes an imprint, has me dive deep into the rabbit hole…)

Honest to God, I don’t read every post Seth publishes. I get the emails, and read some. Save them, to read later, and when there’s too many, I simply delete them instead. Unread.

So if you (imaginary subscriber of my blog) do the same, that’s perfectly fine.
I hope you read some, of course, but there’s no expectation from me that you read the lot.
Truly.

But should I take that, and turn it into a rational for not writing daily? If I post 3 days a week, would more people read more of the posts then? Or weekly?

Nah.

It doesn’t sit right.

But who knows, perhaps, once day, it might?
Or I’ll simply get fed up with writing/publishing daily, and I’ll start to ponder whether or not I write too seldom…

And on and on it goes.
The never-ending story of the questioning mind.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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I should…

July 3, 2020
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It’s July.

(Already. How is it possible? Just the other day it was Easter, and before that Corona struck, and somehow, it’s been a year since I returned home from a week in Kenya. Amazing.)

I should be summarizing June based on my intention for the year (with my body in focus), but it will have to wait.

I should be heading to bed, actually…

(Tired.
That’s what I am.
Sitting on the sofa, yawning like crazy.
)

And yet.
Here I am.
Writing.

Because…
I haven’t written anything today.

Because…
I like having the blog post for tomorrow published automatically as I go about my morning routine, getting ready for the day.

Because…
once I’d eaten, tended the tomato plants in the garden, talked to friends about a fall event, I sat down to write after nine pm… only to realize I’d forgotten to send a weekly email to a client of mine, a very dear client of mine, so that’s what I did. Instead of writing. For me. 

But.
Perhaps because-ing myself is as bad as shoulding myself?
Or… perhaps shoulding myself isn’t bad at all? Except when I think it means I have to do something, and that I am bad, unworthy, a lazy no-good, if I don’t?

Perhaps because-ing myself isn’t bad either, as long as I don’t use it to avoid taking full responsibility for me, myself and I, and all the situations I put myself into?


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Say w h a t?

June 21, 2020
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All of a sudden, I have at least four posts to write, where I know precisely what they will be about.

Say w h a t?

Yeah, I know.
For me, this is an oddity, an outlier. I normally sit down, and something shows up, which I then write about. Or, I start writing something, but it turns into something else, through a process I cannot describe, but one which my system knows full well, as it’s run often enough.

But now, I have a post on a book to write, one on generosity, one with a limerick gifted to me, and then one on today’s Zoom-call with my tankespjärn-community (which in itself is a post containing a multitude of spin-off-posts).

This means… if I sit down to write all these, I would be ahead of the game by at least four days. If I still stick to writing each day, that would get me halfway to the goal I’ve had for a while, of being approximately a week ahead of myself. Being ahead by a week or so has the added perk of me being able to re-visit written-but-not-yet-published pieces, tweaking and trimming them if need be.

But first… an hour of two of gardening!


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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calling out for mama

June 6, 2020
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She showed me the trailer to American son on Netflix, and in no time at all, I asked if we couldn’t watch it. So we did. Had us frustrated, irritated, annoyed, upset and shocked.

Then a friend in The Creative’s Workshop discovered Stabat Mater, the piece Jens Bragdell Eriksson, my choirmaster, wrote in 2016 for my choir. Listening she wrote, having me put the album on myself, so I can listen knowing she’s doing the same, on the other side of the world. Together, at a time like this. Important. Vital. Rejuvenating. 

American Son.

Stabat Mater.
At the Cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
close to her Son to the last.

And George Floyd calling out for his mama, before dying.
(Click this link. Read it. Promise me, you’ll read it. Then come back here.)

The synchronicity of it hitting me hard.
Parents. Children.
Death. Dying.
Life. Living. 

Trying to make sense of experiences I cannot possibly experience, asking when I don’t, taking in the differences in what it is to be human, in someone else’s body. 

There’s so much to learn, and I intend to continue learning.
Listening. Reading. Watching. Conversing. Asking. Writing. 

Being. And Doing.

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