Quantum art

Its been an undisputed “knowing” to me, for the longest time, that art works at the quantum level. In fact it always astonishes me how few artists seem to  “know” or accept this about their creations;  indeed, how few people, in general, own this about anything they create – and we are all creators of experience. When I create a painting, which is about as deep and intimate a relationship with a physical object as you can have given what lengths of time, and how many layers,  get to be incorporated into it by the time it is completed, it is quite obvious to me how much of myself has gone into it. By the end of such a sustained birthing process, a painting starts to hold aspects of my energy that remain with it…if I so choose…long afterwards. The point is (as with anything else) to make this intentional, not accidental…

I suppose an analogy could be with a piece of furniture that a master wood turner has produced, or a carving from a piece of marble; we feel that about those objects, as though they hold some residue of the creator, which is part of what makes them desirable. How so much more so in the case of oil paint, which is at first fluid, slick then, even as it gains more substance, open to be sculpted and manipulated, even (in my later works) sanded back to where bits of one layer of pigment are virtually ground into another like the effects of centuries over human history…so, no clear line to distinguish what is of one layer or inherited from another. And yet, by the end (though over longer time than the surface suggests since it can remain malleable under that surface for quite some time…) the oil is “baked” to a hardness that is resilient and stubborn, even prone to cracking like an old layer of strata on the earth. These layers of me  that it contains are the layers of intentionality and consciousness that passed through me as “fluid”, even as I worked on the piece…and, when I first began to paint, I admit I did use my canvases to review and to reconcile parts of myself as I was working on them (which was their magic, as art healed me far quicker than any other process I had previously known). And yet I knew, early on, that to make of the canvas the wholeness that I sought so eagerly of my experience of life, I did better to keep in my higher places, to seek reconciliation far over and above any kind of recompense or retaliation and so, to achieve “light” in art, I headed for the light in myself. There was no thrash music or gnashing of teeth for me as I painted; I healed and healed through my process of many years of meditative painting practice..and so people began to comment that they also felt healed, somehow, when they looked upon my output and this became a “thing” about my art that was recognised as one of its qualities.

Yet all energy is a two-way street; and this is something to be respected, acknowledged, not taken for granted. It played out that, over many exchanges of energy that are the sale of artworks, I came to feel into how where and to whom an artwork “went” would someone impact me. In fact, to this day, I carry within me a very strong sense of where they all flew to, which is now to places around the whole globe. If that sounds bizarre, there have been times when I’ve later sensed that one of them shifted and lo, I would find out that the person who has it had moved from one place to another. In the beginning (as this second-sense about my artworks began to emerge) I became quite precious about wanting to control who they went to, like I was rehoming my own children; which made dealing with galleries an awkwardness that had me prickling with discomfort. I would want to hear stories and details from them (that they often weren’t able to provide…) about how the purchaser had responded when they saw it; how many times had they come in to consider it, were they the over-joyed recipient or simply “buying” a get-out-of-jail christmas gift for their least favourite aunt? In the end, I had to do the inner work to know that all things…even those I can’t contol…have a habit of being just perfect in their own way, though I had no part in directly orchestrating them. In fact, again, stories started to come back to me about perfections that occurred that could have taken no human planning yet they fell into place perfectly without my say so.

So by the end of several years, there were just so many anecdotes of the perfect “homing” of my artworks at “just the right time” to “precisely the right person” that I wouldn’t even know where to start recounting them. One of my favourites, to this day is that, on one occasion, there was a painting that went to “the wrong person” yet it was quickly reconciled. The very moment it happened, I somehow knew from my gut that this was the case and, within half a day, I found this out for sure as I contacted the gallery it had just been delivered to, in order to reclaim it for my other purchaser. The gallery owner almost burst into tears when she heard the news as she had unwrapped it the night before and fallen in love with it on first sight, resolving over-night to buy it for herself (something she seldom did, for all she ran a gallery full of endless temptations). However, I had already made my bargain with the other person, who had by then paid me, so I picked it up and delivered it…only to find that its purchaser, who had been so delighted about this in the beginning, started to feel “off” about her new acquisition as it hung on her wall. So the next time she saw me, she confessed this…which prompted me to tell her about the woman from the gallery…and so she asked if there was any chance she could do a swop for another painting. Now this next part of the story was rare as I seldom paint artworks in twos but, as luck would have it, I had just completed another on a similar theme but with a somewhat different style and she loved it far more than the original. Meanwhile I was able to deliver the first painting to the owner of the gallery, who literally wept for joy at getting it back…and she has told me, many times since over the years, just how much joy it still brings her and all the ways it has helped her through some tough times. Somehow, the crossed wires of those early stages in this transaction taught me more than ever about the quantum relationships we have with art; because what these two people experienced between them, though they never met, was quantum for sure…and so they elected to resolve the difficulty they both felt between them, though they could have shrugged and made do with their situation, as many less sensitive people would.

Because it is certainly”quantum”, this very magical way that art works with all those involved, from the artist to the reseller to the next (or subsequent) “owner” to the places where it travels and all the people who come into contact with it, even in a book centuries later. We feel it when we see cave paintings. We don’t even have to be able to relate with our minds to the person who created the artwork; since this is way way beyond the intellect. Mine now feel like energy anchors dropped into  global locations, like the hooking-points of a vast web that I imagine sparkling with positive energy and it fascinates me, without interfering with it, to watch how those patterns take shape.

Many times, as described in a recent post, I have felt very deeply how “the right artwork goes to the right person” at just the right time. I have heard countless stories of “healing” come out of this; taken to mean just the right inspiration or nudge or note of optimism or whatever it is that person needs right then coming out of the artwork to deliver a quantum message that shifts them onwards in some significant way. These stories are too numerous and personal to recount here but I always relish hearing about them, which is one very major reason why I pulled away from selling art through galleries as I lost this feeling of contact with the people to whom they went.

Only once did I feel a distinct discomfiture with a person who came forward to claim a work of art. I knew too little about them to know (logically) why I felt these disturbances in my gut but they were most certainly there. As luck would have it, they were in search of a particular theme of artwork and suggested several that I had, all of which were, for one reason or another, not available or in right budget to be in the running. So, though I hardly noticed how I did this at the time, I created a new artwork just for them, with just the ingredients they were calling for and yet…I only spotted this much later…I never felt comfortable about this artwork myself; didn’t want it on my website or even to, really, think about it again…like I had to close down my own energetic connection with it. Hopefully they got what they felt they needed from it but I wanted no open doors or two-way street of energetic transference left between us; and that was fine. We could all do with learning how important and available this is, as a choice, in all aspects of our life.

Because to leave an energy portal open is like leaving your back door flung out on its hinges and never knowing who might come in to try and make claims on your inner sanctum. As I’ve said, there can be a marvellous alchemy that takes place between artist and those who feel their art enough to partner with it (since to appreciate art is a partnership of sorts…) but to do this indiscriminately with anyone who demands it is the same as giving away parts of yourself to anyone who should choose to grab. In fact, when the true alchemy takes place, it’s not the case of “taking” but of “collaborating” to the highest good of all parties; and we can always feel when any kind of transaction is based on less than this, from the reactions in our bodies that send us all sorts of misgivings, from the mental to the physical.

Even when that partnership feels as though it is on highest basis, its important to make sure that it is the healing energy of the artwork, which is an intentional thing that you set out to create as its highest purpose, and not aspects of (your)Self that are being claimed in this relationship…since the Self is sacred and should not be up for grabs. Imagine if everyone who owned one of your creations was sapping your energy at some level, grabbing pieces of you to feel better, just helping themselves whenever they believe themselves (having not done their own energy housework) to be in lack thus plugging their perceived gaps with bits of YOU. This could lead to an extremely depleted artist or creator of any kind (and don’t we see that sometimes…people who started out with such high intentions and so much light and yet who are now wrung out and so jaded that it is as though they have been ravaged by life; though its is really that too many people helped themselves to their energy which, at some level, they allowed to happen). It’s essential to set those boundaries…and to do the regular work (through visualisation) to claim back our own energy from wherever this may have been distributed or taken to by other people or attached to our far-flung projects, making sure to also cleanse that energy through a purification filter before reattaching it back to our own field. In this way, we get to take part in the upkeep of our aura; which is the energetic body within which our physical body exists…yes, invisible to most and yet just so very important to our entire state of wellbeing.

And onwards, these energetic connections, where they are pristine and high-intentional, can feel like telephone lines between people; perhaps not used all the time but there when most needed. I often wondered if reproductions of artwork worked the same as originals; after all (logically) how could they when the orignal has all these layers that took time and error and reconciliation to create compared to a repro, which is just a facsimile churned out of a printer in ten seconds flat? And what would be all the repercussions of having energetic relationships with everyone who owns one of my prints, which are available through more print-on-demand resellers than I know about? If so, I would need to do some intentional work about this too; set boundaries, yes, but also make sure that I loaded all of those prints with my highest intentions for healing and positive outcomes, as I do with my originals.

Yet…if I needed to resolve this question once and for all…the answer came to me just the other day. As mentioned in my recent post, I sold a painting to energy intuitive Lee Harris five years ago now and had ordered a repro of this same painting to keep for myself. This reproduction, which was identical to the eyes to the original in every respect, had hung in my bathroom for years but at an angle where I seldom looked at it as this would involve standing in the shower with the curtain not there (not the greatest portion of wall on which to hang anything…though, I concede, I have some of my greatest inspirations in that shower).

The redecoration of my bathroom this year led to me deciding to relocate the reproduction; I thought, most probably, my yoga room would be a good place but I had yet to get as far as putting the hook in the wall. So the picture stood on the floor, at yoga mat height, and I began to find myself looking deeply into it as I lay on my side in the mornings. One day, I did this at some length…really appreciaing what another person might experience from looking into it (something I often forget to do with my own artworks) and, of course, thinking about Lee…who, I had assumed, would have forgotten all about me by now and probably even my painting.

But no, within a matter of days, maybe just under a week, Lee made contact with me out of the blue to say he had been thinking about me, wondering how I was doing and had gone to my FB page to take a look at my recent artworks. He said mine was still on his wall, that he still loves it…and, in return, I received the very confidence boost to keep painting that I was in desperate need of (as shared in that previous post). A month or less after that, Lee’s house was under threat from the fires that have tiraded across California and I was able to use the linkage I now feel more strongly than ever to send as much healing energy and positivity across its quantum portal in his direction and for anyone else in that locale. It felt significant and not a little bit profound to me to have my painting there in the midst of such upheaval, offering all I know about holding a steadier space, something that would have been impossible if I had not, in the first place, put my art out into the world; a realisation that motivates me as an artist. Its seems, the reciprocation airways that were opened up when he and I first exchanged over the purchase of that painting were still there, realised in perfect timing!

This is no magical power, no unique gift that I have; its something that is there for all of us, everyday…whether “artist” or no since it underpins all of our creations, whether a “thing” or even a phrase we construct before saying it out loud to another, or an intention we have that we set as a thought…energy is everywhere; art just helps us to make it more manifest. When this kind of “magic” happens around art we tend to shrug or make it sound trivial, like its part-and-parcel of the “expected weirdness” we allow around art yet we deny it in most other aspects of life. Yet owning up to this quantum layer of interaction is to become more powerful, by far, in our interactions; not to mention more intentional, more necessarily mindful in order to steer which way we direct what we manifest (we all have a vested interest in that). When we own up to this layer of experience, we also notice how we give our energy away or leak it like a sieve, how we end up feeling just so tired and depleted without knowing why (and so we can start to do the energetic repair work to remedy this)…so many areas of life we can work on through intention and thus use to create a better experience, both for ourselves and all others with whom we engage. Some of the people who purchase my art and who experience these bizarre, inexplicable positives that come out of it become new believers in the uncanny layers of life; allowing chinks of light into their otherwise logical, left-brain dominated experiences that previously demanded explanations you can touch. Well, you can touch this or, rather, these experience can touch your life in some undeniably profound ways…if you let them.. which is the best reason to continue creating art that I know; it touches people’s lives in some powerfully positive, if not always quantifiable, ways that defy linearity, time, distance or the need for well-orchestrated logistics. As, primarily, a worker in the medium of light, I could ask for no more!

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A woman’s voice across time


Sunset Over Frosted Field – oil on canvas, Helen White 2010

It was during an exercise of getting over 12 years worth of my paintings out of storage and reappraising them for a “sale” this week, as shared in my last post, that I noticed something in common about many of my landscape subjects. I was mentally rehearsing what I wanted to say to a friend who was considering purchasing a particular painting off me, about the place that it was of, which is the woodland tucked around the common beyond my house. I knew she would be receptive to this, being someone who has a very innate and powerful sense of connection with “place”, and I wanted her to feel some of what I felt when I painted that view…and why I have hung onto it as a favourite ever since.


Towards Grazeley – oil on canvas, Helen White 2012

The piece from over a decade ago is called “Sunset over frosted field” and it aimed to immortalise the magenta-into-inky-blue palette of a late afternoon walk (probably at this time of year) in a piece of the deep thicket bordering what used to be the village common here. And it was as I mentally described the piece, and its personal significance, to her that a truism struck me and it was this.

Over the past dozen years, an astonishing number of the artworks I’ve produced have been of the square mile or less in close proximity to my house; a corner of countryside that I often describe myself as feeling quite ambivalent about, compared to other places that I could go seeking out a more astonishing view. Ambivalent not because I don’t appreciate it or care or see its bursts of astonishing beauty but in the way of someone that has hardened them self off “against” something they know is already “lost”; whose “days are already numbered”.

You see, this corner of Berkshire in England is already “under sentence”, its “time has been called”, its brown fields mentally marked out, sold off, put to work in the name of “progress” and “growth”. Under the umbrella of that thing they refer to as “the desperate housing crisis”, new housing estates and associated road infrastructure are being built so fast around here that we seem to spin from one set of traffic-mayhem-causing temporary traffic lights to another as new cables go in and yet more brown dust hits our washing lines. It’s a relentless process that feels like watching someone being ravaged over and over again, wondering when she will either fight back like a dervish or sigh her last breath. As more and more people whose faces speak no connection whatsoever with this corridor of dormitory housing move in to become neighbours of sorts, I know the only way I have coped is to have hardened my heart against this place and speak, endlessly, of moving on.


Sunset on Snow – oil on canvas, Helen White 2010

In fact, we’ve been “leaving” this place since almost the moment we arrived; once the brief honeymoon period of kidding myself I was now living in a “rural location” had worn off to the harsh reality of ever-increasing traffic noise. In fact, talking about leaving has been my dinner-table opener for so many years that it’s almost funny. “Where we plan to move to” comes much higher up our topics than “how much we relish our lives” here (which, though we do relish life, doesn’t seem to have been related in our minds to this place at all). In fact, the tinder-wood dry humour that has grown out of all the things we don’t like about it has become our second dinner-table act, like a sardonic double comedy act we wheel out on for our guests.

When friends from afar, who travel the world by Airbnbs or hang out with spiritual communities in Costa Rica or New Mexico, announce they are coming to these shores, I find myself scuttling hither and thither finding desperately concocted excuses not to have them here (“we’re having work done…”), suggesting meet-up places, rather than have them disillusioned by “the view”. After all, from my artworks, they probably imagine I live in some English idyl, not a traffic-congested tour of housing development showrooms punctuated by garish new convenience stores (how much “convenience” does one village need…?), one of which appeared opposite, just a couple of years ago, like the big ugly sister of the little cottage-cum-post office with its hanging baskets of flowers  and picket fence that stood there beforehand. In fact, for all our interior is eclectically welcoming and as beautiful as can be, and though I love to play host, I shudder to imagine hosting people here in case they might equate it with the inside of me and find myself postponing such events, in my daydreams, to some other setting five years hence, which is like living what should be your present life at arm’s reach, not quite touched by the fingers. Yes, I know this has all felt so compromised and off-balance for such a long time and yet…there it was, this morning…the molten heart and the hidden treasure of having out-stayed my welcome for so long. This place had been my inspiration after all. Born of such contrast, its moments of beauty had served as my muse more consistently than any more-idyllic setting might ever have done.

Because in spite of all the resistance and ambivalence I had been feeling and some pretty hard years living here in the first little while after I arrived, sixteen years ago, when I was impoverished and working all hours to keep this very roof over my head (and that was just before my health took a dive…), I see how I have been having this whole other relationship with the remnants of woodland and common that my house is, effectively built on, though what’s left of it is almost out of sight across the roof tops. In fact, the harder it has been to see, the more some part of me has been quite determined to see it…and to speak it out, in ways that would capture the feeling. These are places which, if I force my gaze between houses and the industrial unit to the rear, I can almost see from my bedroom window as the setting sun turns the sky molten behind a Giant Redwood brought here by some wealthy Victorian seeking to impress. In fact, is it coincidence but, the view of that tree seems to have got clearer this year as neighbours’ trees have been cut back to allow me a tunnel of improved view towards a pocket of the ancient common. Or, for one month a year, I get to see the rising sun over fields between two closely-packed buildings to the front; as it casts its shaft of light down my usually dark corridor towards my yoga mat so precisely, like any light shaft might between henges in an ancient field. I count these blessings…oh how I notice and count them though I long for more.

Then I know, if I’m honest, that I feel this place’s soil speaking to me even as I sleep, like a growl sometimes, felt through the root chakra. We had some energetic surveys done, twice – once by a consultant looking at geopathic stress lines, once by a psychic – and what they reported felt so consistent with what I sensed the earth beneath my feet had been trying to say to me, had been channelling through me, all these years, about unhappy waterlines that had become cut-off and congested by all the concrete of a modern-day town scape (and, oh, how I have worked with these flow lines…to release both them, and me).


Looking Back, Helen White 2018

I know if I’m honest, for how else could I keep painting it, that I feel this place profoundly, am aware of its subtle rhythms, notice it’s rising and setting suns seen from east and west upstairs windows and how these stir the very strata. I benefit from its great variety of birds, which converge on my feeders, the bats that dive-bomb my garden, the “woo woo” of the owl on summer’s nights. I’m tuned in to this place, in far more ways than I had admitted or could fully express, and all through the heart if not always the head…which is why I haven’t left so far, since I clearly had unfinished business and my artworks have been the clue all along. Less artworks of this place by far, I admit, in recent years as I have become more persistently outward looking yet, earlier this year, I spent hours creating the aptly titled piece Looking Back which is a poignant take on the rapidly shrinking view from the hill behind my house…and the deer that, until just a year ago, used to converge there. In fact, it was one of my routines to walk that hill just before dusk to meet up with over a dozen deer that would appear out of nowhere to spend the last daylight on its slopes but…since the nearby housing construction site got underway in earnest, ploughing up fields that had been their uninterrupted route from Berkshire to Hampshire…I have seen but one deer up there and that was months ago. This artwork’s title speaks, I now realise, for this place, for its wildlife,  for its loss…but also for an era at an end, and for the whole world; its longer title “Looking back at what we had…”. I know it also speaks for me; like the the long-lingering look backwards that you would give before turning on your heel, saying farewell to something with which you have become surprisingly intimate. So am I already in the process of disentangling and of leaving; is that why the big clear out? Energetically, I know the answer is yes. Leaving, not abandoning, to continue this work on an even broader canvas, having learned my sensitivities in this place.

Screen Shot 2018-11-10 at 10.14.55I’m not the first woman to have connected with this place or found solace in its countryside at the same time as playing witness to a rapidly disappearing way of life. My village – Spencers Wood – is a much maligned place in local minds and you would think it had no relatable history to speak of and yet, along with Three Mile Cross a mile or two away, it was the star of a popular book entitled Our Village (initially a series of magazine article, first pubished in book form 1824), written by Mary Russell Mitford virtually 200 years ago. I’m reminded by her that, when I first arrived here, it was a dream come true to get out of the town that she also moved from – nearby Reading. Like her, I was literally skipping down the lanes with joy on my daily walks for those first couple of years, just before my health seemed to crash (and a part of me has always equated even that event with a feeling of having arrived in a “toxic place”). Russell Mitford Screen Shot 2018-11-10 at 10.21.56also found great solace from moving here and for bizarrely similar reasons to mine. Before that she had lived, coincidentally, in the house right next door to the very building around which I centred most of dramas of my life, two decades ago and, when she moved here, it was in the wake of losing her first flush of fortune (a lottery win!) due to the drunken and wayward behaviour of her father who had squandered it all away in gambling debts (I too started life here flailing about in the aftermath of divorce and debt from a previous husband prone to drink and gambling). Her book “Our Village” was a spontaneous purchase I made long before I ever set foot in these villages or, honestly, heard of them and yet there it was, in the middle of my bookshelf, enticing me to go there with her for at least a decade before that. It was years later, having coincidentally moved to the very places referred to in the book, that I finally picked it up and found reference to “my” common and other places that I frequent nearly every day.

Light Grounding – oil on ‘floating’ paper, Helen White, 2013

One of them is a country estate in the next village of Swallowfield, where Russell-Mitford used to take tea with the likes of Dickens, whose dog Bumble’s grave I walk past on my own dog-walks. She later moved to a little house there, close to the gatehouse that I know so well and I get the impression she was nurtured in that community by those who appreciated her sensitivities and quiet yet potent wisdom. In my way, I know I feel like that too for, though I’ve lived here very quietly, I make myself heard to those who have an ear for it, in other ways (not, in my case, my neighbours who hardly know me); I can only imagine what use Russell-Mitford would have made of the internet. I pass her grave most days; such as the other evening at dusk when I found a lit candle left for her on All Saints, as there always is…evidence that I’m not the only one to still bear her in mind. It feels profound to have so many synchronicities strung across the years with this other woman who clearly “felt this place”; like glistening threads of a far-reaching spider’s web…and as though we see it beyond all the stuff that time and toil is putting it through. Partly, my fascination with Russell-Mitford is because she also found herself in the midst of a landscape that was in the throes of often quite abhorrent manmade upheaval; perhaps not such rapid, careless and desperate-seeming changes as I am bearing witness to but you can’t help but get the feeling she was speaking out for, and trying to record for posterity, a more nature-oriented way of life that was already well under threat of extinction when she wrote her best remembered book.


Golden Hedgerow I – oil on canvas, Helen White, 2014

That country estate, where she must have tripped her way up the drive to take tea and discuss the ever churning wheels of “progress” with some of her era’s most opinionated minds, is somewhere I walk almost every day. It too is under invasion; not by houses (yet) but by the feet of the massive influx of people that pour from them. It’s a private estate so not technically “open” to the public, though estate mangers have long turned a blind eye to walkers just as long as the sheep aren’t disturbed and the countryside code adhered to. Well, at least so far though, as littering increases, gates are left open and cars brought into the field, I wonder how long that tolerance will continue. For years, I could walk my dog there taking photographs for over an hour and not see a soul. It’s a place where I’ve sighted kingfishers, many hundreds of red kites,  all varieties of small birds, numerous generations of nesting swans, the seasonal come-and-go of huge gaggles of Canada and Egyptian geese, the gathering of small white egrets and, many times, photographed a resident barn owl that I consider a companion of sorts due to how often she shows up and shadows my route at dawn or dusk. Mountains and mountains of nature photographs, video footage of light on the water, all the seasons recorded in minute detail and, yes, more paintings have been born out of my long intimacy with this place. However, in the last few months, the vibe has completely altered to where I have to pace myself not to bump into the numerous clumps of people now walking there in what seems to be a community social event more-so than a country ramble. At certain times of day (rapidly becoming all times of the day) there are just so many people walking the circuit with small dogs or kids with bikes, scooters, frisbees and remote control toys that its like a municipal park and the voices of women shout-talking as they power-walk carries across the air, killing dead the likelihood of a rare bird sighting or the illusion of being in unspoilt Nature. It’s a frequent thing to find the remnants of picnics or drinking binges left by the water’s edge and teenagers now converge there to do what teenagers do. Its good, overall, that more people are seeking out Nature walks but the lack of respect is what rattles me.

Golden Hedgerow II – oil on canvas, Helen White 2014

Without turning to sour grapes (that’s not the point of this post), I want to get back to my original epiphany, being that it’s the very fact that these places are struggling, under threat, becoming very much the rarity and may not (at least in this location) be around for very much longer that makes my work so important. That work is to feel and to translate what I still know is there…the very pulse coming from the earth beneath my feet, the natural cycles which, after all, will always triumph even if it takes decades or hundreds of years to reclaim what we do to the surface with our bulldozers and mess. If something is about to be forced back under ground and paved over in this location then I want to be able to say that I heard it before it departed and that I spoke it outloud at the surface before it retreated without so much as a whimper of regret from the majority of people… so we can remember what we did in more enlightened times than these. I see, I hear, I notice…and the time I spend tuning into these precious things is a more worthy way to spend my time than dashing to where these beautiful and unspoilt things still come so easily due to, for the moment, the welcome absence of hoards of people and the convenient lifestyles they crave.

The Gloaming – digital painting, Helen White, 2017

Each time I have focussed with my paintbrush or camera on all the beauty that is still there…still there…just about still there if you have the eyes to see it and heart to feel, its as though I have been turbo-boosting it, encouraging it, energising it enough to hold on a little longer. I can’t make anyone listen to me lament what is being so wantonly abused and deeply, thoughtlessly, trodden under-foot by the heavy footprint of “man”, but as so many other women have given voice to before me, I can spotlight what is already there in the hope to stir some nostalgia for keeping it; some reminiscence of ways as ancient as they are intrinsic to our very humanity since they connect us with the earth and our health and our soul.

Yes I could have turned to writing on this topic over all these years; could have written about this many times and oh-so much more angrily, agressively…such as on the many occasions that I’ve returned from my walk enraged by yet another incidence of fly tipping by the water’s edge (they happen nearly every week), yet I see how that would have felt like feeding the negativity and lowering the tone, including mine. Rather, the way for me to be most effective has been to convey the positivity of what I experienced in these places and to share some of the pure essence of all the exquisite beauty that I perceive in the hope that it stirs others to do likewise and then to care about it. As with my own circumstances, including my chroncially struggling health for all those years, I turned to what was positive and then amplified it; and art was my best medium for doing this.

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Sanctuary – digital artwork, Helen White, 2017

So…I take new pause to realise…this seemingly mismatched place has been perfect for me in so many ways; has been “by design” for my higher purpose. In its nursery, I learned to express what wasn’t being seen by too many others, though I perceived it clearly through my foggiest years, as chronic health and financial worries turned me for solace to the Nature on my doorstep. Those pockets of Nature reached out to me, to start with, through the similarity of our plight; a kinship of feeling bullied and unappreciated, abused and curtailed, struggling and sickly…then we sought the most life-affirming qualities in each other in order to keep going. Living here taught me, the hypersensitive soul, how to live amongst hordes of people (not a mountain top in sight!) yet find my inner peace, my healing solitude, my deeper layers. It kept me in contact with the vibration of other people and all they are about…things I sense on the very airwaves as heavy traffic drives by…until I perceived the missing chord from their symphony so that I could be that very vibe, edging towards something more whole as a collective experience. Having found its frequency, I offered it up via what I wrote and, mostly, what I painted; none of which I was doing when I first arrived here yet, in time, these pursuits grew from me eagerly, determinedly, in the soil of this place, like a shoot necessarily seeking light.

Yes, living here served me both on the surface of all my excuses, with all its conveniences for raising a family, the need to be in this well-connected location and, far deeper than all that, as the foil against which I unwittingly rallied my vision of a more Nature-connected way, one I became so impassioned about from the sheer contrast with what I was seeing, since it is from the pushing point of opposites that all momentum is born. I like to think I’ve swept some grace through these places over the years; doing what grace does best, mixing up the light and the dark so that the line between them becomes softened…perhaps even more radiant. I like to think that in getting closer to finding my wholeness here, against all odds, I’ve increased the odds for all things that I’ve brushed past on my wending way.


Where Grace Has Been – oil on canvas, Helen White 2016

Now I have something else that I feel compelled to offer my “voice” (in all its many forms…since to paint and create is, equally, to express, as are all the ways we choose to live our lives, leading by example). This one has no requirement that I be living here in particular or, indeed, anywhere else for that matter so, in a sense, I am done with the work of partnering with my immediate locale, in the specific, though I continue to appreciate, honour and hold space for its resilient Nature-gifts, which remain imprinted into all of these artworks and all that I am. Long may they hold out (and I see them having the last say, as Nature always does). Energetically speaking, I am set free from my contract (let life catch up soon…) and can choose from the heart. Who knows how this new thing and its requirement of “no particular place” might release me from an attachment to being in this place, which has so long been the invisible subplot to why I never managed to leave…and it only remains for me to surrender and discover how that plays out.

Suddenly, I feel newly calm about my circumstances…less harried about going anywhere…easy about seeing how or when it develops (knowing it will). Several other things have eased my resistance to being here of late including that I’ve invested more energy into making this home match my new priorities (now that the child-rearing years are over). This all tells me the bonds are softening…because, at some level, I now feel complete here; have found my wholeness “in spite” of all that I once resisted. Who knows how this new state could present me with unforeseen opportunities to be elsewhere and in ways I could never have orchestrated through “planning” them; since nothing attaches us more powerfully to another thing than our resistance to it!

Most of all, I discover I am feeling free and easy about how it all plays out now; without attachment to being in some pristine, Instagramable place in order to follow my inspiration, remain in my solitude or manifest my best life since (I’ve shown) these aren’t conditional on outward circumstance. That feels like the biggest liberation and transformation point of all…as I sit at my desk feeling distinctly unharried by all the Friday afternoon traffic speeding past my window and breathe deeply into the only home I ever truly need in order to remain grounded, being the inner dwelling of myself.

All included artworks here were inspired by scenes local to Spencers Wood village and Swallowfield Park, Berkshire; an area targeted by one of the most intensive growth plans in the south east due to its proximity to London.

For the full collection of original artworks by Helen White visit www.helenwhite.org and for digital prints, www.helenwhite.uk. You can see my full professional profile here.

Posted in Art, Art purpose, Art transformation tool, Consciousness & evolution, Conservation, Health & wellbeing, Landscape art, Life choices, Life journey, Menu, Nature, Personal Development, Recovery chronic illness, Symbolic journeys, Walks | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

…then a wonderful thing happened

I had a fascinating experience last week when an urge came upon me to clear out a room that we laughingly called “the study” but which was two-thirds painting storage, some book cases and wardrobes and, the rest, a load of junk. I’ve been in the process of recalibrating all my spaces since our daughter flew the nest, knowing I needed to declutter from the old life before stepping into the new.

So I took all these paintings out of storage and out of their layers of wrap to appraise what I had. Hard as it is for me to believe, its been almost two years since I painted in oils, which is what I’d previously done for over a decade and become best known for. Yes, I ‘ve dabbled in acrylics and mostly been busy creating digital artworks and fabric designs since then but I was painfully aware of that time-lapse in the flow of what used to consume me week in and week out. I really haven’t been able to decide whether this marked the end of my painting years or just a pause of breath because the urge had simply vanished.

I’d even got as far as telling myself my artworks really weren’t that accomplished, that I’m no great artist in a commercial or celebrity artist sense so it must be time to own up to the fact…give it up…all that left brain judgemental stuff based on ideas we have of what success should look like and from looking at the surface of the “pictures” without feeling into their energetic layers. So when I took all this work out of storage and had another look after such a long pause, I was surprised to realise I was quite impressed by a few pieces. Some even spoke to me even more now than they did when they were newly finished. It was always “a thing” about my art that it would have some deeper, more symbolic message, to convey to me, in the months or immediate years after painting it, after I had hung it up in my house; and it would become an energetic partnership of sorts…and then, one day, I would get the sign that our work together was done and that I was ready to find that particular artwork its new home/partner. With some of these that I was being newly drawn to, and one in particular, I realised that deeper work had never even begun…I hadn’t even wanted it on my wall when I finished it, odd though that struck me to be, though perhaps it was because I had laboured over it for quite a long time before I was happy enough to call it finished. Newly hanging opposite my bed, it now seems to have loads to say to me, well over two years since it was finished, so the time for collaboration seems to be now, at a time when I can get beyond my focus on its physical imperfections as the ever-critical artist (having forgotten all the ins and outs of painting it) and into the deeper layers.

So, having picked out the pieces I felt drawn to keep (based on powerful gut feelings, not sentimentality or “ought to”s, not even on ideas of “this is a more/less accomplished painting”), I put together a collection of the remaining artworks to offer to other people who might see something in them that they were looking for. I put them out there with a simple invitation, paraphrased as follows: “If you feel drawn to any of these pieces and if you feel you could offer it an appreciative home, please just make me an offer…doesn’t have to be grandiose, it could even be a swop with something from your skillset…just so long as you really feel drawn to the piece and would like it (and can pay the shipping)”.

Of course, I was hopeful of some sort of response as my whole project to clear (literal and energetic) space relied on it; none of these pieces would do well in my cold, damp garage over winter. What I wasn’t quite prepared for was how quickly I started to hear from people, all from amongst my Facebook friends, though the folder of images was viewed a staggering hundred plus times on Flickr in the following hours. Before I had even pulled on my boots to go out for my walk, having just thrown out the invitation, I was talking to someone about one, maybe two of the biggest pieces. By the time I got back I was juggling multiple threads of conversation. By the end of that evening, it was looking like over half a dozen artworks had found their new home and I am continuing to talk to people now. Bear in mind, art sales are a rare and beautiful thing to most painters and I could hope for this kind of response in a year, in any other circumstances.

The thing that was most remarkable of all was the feeling of there being such synchronistic timing between my action and all these people I was now talking to. The running theme seemed to be that they had all been waiting for a sign or a “thing” to nudge them into a new feeling-place or to mark a transition. One had been going through health issues and had literally just been given the go-ahead to work part-time from home so these pieces chosen for her home-office wall were like the seal on the deal, marking a new era of improved health. Others had been feeling “down for no reason” and I was told how my timely offer had swooped in and lifted them back up. A couple of people been going through challenging or even deeply unhappy circumstances so taking  the opportunity to claim a particular artwork, in spite of these hardships, felt like a cue that things had turned around or that they were about to find new inspiration. One was even purchased as a wedding gift from mother to daughter. Within hours, I had improved my own flailing cash flow considerably but had also done exchanges for holistic therapies and organic products, even for “nothing” much more than a priceless exchange of words with someone who had made more difference to me than they will ever know and the feeling that a particular artwork was meant to go to that particular person, right then, no argument. In fact I got the feeling, over and over again, that I had known all along that a certain painting was meant for a particular person…that all they were doing was claiming it in perfect timing and that all I had to do was act on that knowing without letting old mindsets get in the way.

The energetic gift to me, of all this, was beyond measuring. Quite apart from receiving such a boost to my confidence as an artist, when I heard about how much these artworks meant to people, how they transformed the way they were feeling about everything, how much they had been day-dreaming about hanging one of them on their wall for such a long time, I could feel my creative juices start to stir like they had been let out of the captivity of my own lack of self-belief. In fact, it felt great to be kicking this whole idea that what we day-dream about having is generally so far out of reach; I wanted to be instrumental in disproving that limiting belief system, regardless of any so-called material practicalities that seem to be standing in the way…knowing that, in dissolving this brain-warp, I was opening up my own potentiality too.

By the next morning, I could literally feel the new firehose-like flow of new ideas into the brand new spaces liberated by the outward shift of all the older energy that had been anchored in my old storage space…and now turned into a high-vibe work domain in which I can nurture my creative process away from the domestic part of the house. In fact, the main challenge since starting to work in this lovely space (which I’ve completely transformed into a lovely room in under a week) is to take pause and breathe between all the ideas that are now in full-throttle; and underneath all that, a stronger, calmer sense of purpose “as a painter” is starting to want to be heard, which gives me hope that I’m about to pick up my paints again, albeit in a new way. I feel so much lighter for shaking up all these canvases that had continued to hold onto the energy of the times when I was working on them and…having released them like a jar full of butterflies…knowing I have done right by them before expecting either them, or me, to move on to the new.

The potent sense I had, that 24 hours, of being at the centre of a beaded web of energetic exchange, conducting all these conversations which (if those in them had but known) shared so many common themes and me the unifying link at the centre, reaping so much benefit from the outpouring of love that was spiralling all around me, was quite unforgettable. In fact, it felt like I was hooking together the energetic charge of so many beautiful people who will never get to meet and yet who, for that short period of time, pooled their energies into something quantum and potent. I’ve been riding high on all that positivity and joy ever since; having felt more robust, more purposeful, more sparkly somehow for the whole experience and then doing what I can to share that feeling back out with those others. Even though some paintings remain and I’ve just added a handful more to the sale, nothing could ever replicate that first  exhilarating tidal wave of energetic exchange, which taught me something so important about how all exchanges could be conducted on a higher basis than what we have primarily come to regard as matters of “money”, “commerce”, “economics” and “business”. Instead of depleted…guarded….wary, as I often feel when forced to price-up and get business-like about my art, I felt fairly and, in fact, doubly reimbursed for all my time in production, even when partly “paid” in means that could not be so easily quantified. Above all, it is the sense that all parties gained equally from this fair exchange, in ways that will continue to flower and which have left their imprint as an energetic bridge from one heart to another, impacting those who took part and even those who engaged with the paintings in other ways over the course of so many conversations…bridges that are as far-reaching as these paintings are travelling to their new homes, some of them over oceans. True to say, I feel so incredibly expanded over all of this!

Its also fair to say that I’ve now remembered, in good time, why it is that I paint, and its got far less to do with the material artwork than the energetic layers that it contains. Another timely occurance in relation to all this is that, just as I was starting to feel called to do something about my stagnent output a couple of weeks ago, I was contacted out of the blue by Lee Harris, the globally aclaimed intuitive messenger and transformation leader. Lee purchase one of my paintings about five years ago and I had assumed that he must have forgotten about it by now; perhaps it got left behind when he moved house or was hanging in his cloakroom….Suddenly, there was Lee telling me he had been wondering about how I was doing as he and his partner still love my painting, which now hangs on their wall in Malibu. Since that conversation, of course, the whole area has been engulfed in fire but their house remained intact and I like to think the positive energy I charged my painting with played a small part. The exchange we had reminded me to look at what he had said about my artwork at the time. He said: “Your work is stunning – really beautiful. Scattered Light really spoke to me and something told me when I saw it that it would be healing for me to have around. It arrived and it is BEAUTIFUL! Thank you so much. Last night I had it on the wall while friends were over and every time I looked across at it, it was like a Portal or Window into another dimension. The way you captured the light in the painting is extraordinary”. I know there was no accident that he made contact just as I needed to be reminded of this; which is how energy art works. Something in that painting prompted him to deliver to me exactly the encouragement I needed to hear at a time that my spirit was flagging…and I have no doubt it led to me clearing out the room and instigating this whole chain of events.

So yes, it was a remarkable thing, this “occurrence” that began as an exercise in practicality yet became infinite in its potential just as soon as I stopped worrying about “how much” I would get back in material terms. Once that limiting idea (oh how it trips us up!) had been dispensed with, the free-flowing rewards were as exponential as they were immeasurable as they were available to all parties and there was such a strong sense that this was only the beginning; that these artworks would continue to flower on walls and in hearts for many years to come, as a reminder of all that is possible when love is the driving force.


If you’re curious about my art then you can view most of it at www.helenwhite.org. Then follow this Art SALE ORIGINALS link to my Flickr gallery of listed sale items as referred to in this post or ART SALE PRINTS (just added).


Posted in Art, Art as a business, Art metaphor, Art purpose, Art transformation tool, Consciousness & evolution, Menu, Personal Development, Symbolic journeys | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The Sacredness of Life as purpose

I’ve been deeply feeling into my life purpose lately (well, we all are, to varying degrees of awareness). Its been a slippery topic for me, for the longest time and, for many years, felt like it had been taken out of my hands since my sole focus had to be on surviving…first in a financial sense and then because of my crashing health. Lately, there’s been a new strength burgeoning in me and that could be for a variety of practical reasons (yes, I could seek to explain it away) but I’ve also noticed how it relates to finding this thing…purpose.

One of the things that has really ignited me this year is a passion for speaking out about lifestyle choices that are not only life-affirming or at least benign (so many arn’t) when it comes to our health but for the life of others; choosing plant-based being one of them since it covers both bases. I’m sure you’ve noticed, as it keeps coming up in my topics here, that I’ve let this vegan theme out of the box lately; and no less in myself, where it has upgraded from being almost an accidental lifestyle choice as I sought better health to being a burning passion and even a rocket-launcher of new motivation.

It occurred to me this morning, just as I was starting to surface from sleep, that if I had to describe what underlies this passion in two or three words then it’s an unwavering belief in the Sacredness of Life.

This was always my purpose, really…hidden, before, beneath the thick layer of focus on my own survival through many trials as above. What kept me determined, and almost super-humanly so, through all those tough years, was an unwavering belief in the Sacredness of Life. If I hadn’t believed in that throughout every cell in my body, I would never have kept rising from the ashes of so many setbacks, or kept that determined smile on my face through all the reruns of symptoms that made no sense. Through it all, I just KNEW that life (my life, in this case) was far too sacred to give up on.

Now, I’ve expanded that focal point to include those who can’t speak up for themselves, in this case all the animals that get slaughtered (to the tune of 1 billion a week) in the name of what is merely a lifestyle preference for most of the world’s population. Yes, I concede there are exceptions; for those living in the artic circle or, say, parts of Africa where there is no other food option, I concede there has to be an exception made but, then, they do things differently, on a vastly smaller scale and so-much more respectfully too. But for most of us, the need to kill (or to get others to do it for us…) in order to stay alive is an untruth and I feel so impassioned to play my part in dispelling the misinformation.

Without getting onto that hobby-horse in this post, my curiosity is mostly about why that seems to have helped me to turn a corner in my own state of wellbeing. Ironically so, since my fear had long been that if I opened this particular box up, I would flounder beneath all the horror that my empathic soul would have to face up to, day-in-day-out (there is no avoiding the darker side of why you become a vegan activist, even if you choose to focus on sharing all the positivity around making a vegan choice). Rather than become mired in terrible darkness and trauma by diving into this passion, I seem to be having a new lease of life on the back of it, making it one of the most positive things I ever did. And I long to share that good news too; for all the sensitive types who are avoiding this much-more resonant lifestyle option for fear of being overwhelmed.

Well, an obvious reason this has turned me around is that, for one, I’ve set out to be a great example of what plant-based can do for your life so I have to be a fit and glowing example of that. So, at last, my body has a real-tangible purpose for getting better other than “just because”. A second reason is that its provided a purpose that is well-fitted to replace the original one…of personal survival…since it is built on the same core theme…The Sacredness of Life.

For me, I now see, no other life-purpose would ever have done; none of the others I tried on through all my many years of self-recovery would have been up to the job. Those I tried started with a burst of enthusiasm but never lasted for very long and left me feeling more depleted and confused. Some remain on the sideline of what I do but never feel enough to light my personal fire. This, in simplest terms, is because I came at them from the mind, not from the heart.

None of those other purposes that I tried on, such as being a Great Artist or a Life Coach or someone with a Consciousness Leadership role, fitted the inner job vacancy that my soul was advertising…because all of them were just a little too “human-oriented” in their perspective. All of them started from the basis of being, primarily, a human with a spiritual, mindful under-layer rather than a spiritual, mindful consciousness with a human outer shell. And for me, respecting that subtle difference in the balance is absolutely key to my success at being manifest as a human being. Yes, I know I’ve spent many years exploring this idea that we are all made up of two halves that need to come back together into wholeness for us to be healthy and manifest as our best human selves; and implicit in this was an idea that we should work to be in perfect balance, first. Its only lately that I’ve conceded that we tend to come at this equation with slighty different proportioned sections our ourselves and that we need to be accepting of these proportions, before we can come back into our own personal version of wholeness (we are, after all, individuised expressions of divinity and not carbon-copies of one another).

This tip in favour of the non-physical aspect, in my case, underlies everything that I am about and I see that now. And it can be a confusing balance to have when you are being an optimistic, outward-looking, agent of growth towards the manifestation of something distinctly “of this world”. This can mimic being far more manifest, to start with, than you really are since you can do a passingly-good impersonation of people that are much more “of this world” than you are, especially as you are often enthused by their projects. Yet to be enthused doesn’t necessarily mean you want to join in or do things their way and this has been a steep learning curve for me. Many of my friends share my interests but are much better at being humans when it comes to putting these preoccupations into action; whereas I am far better at staying with at least one foot in the abstract and to ignore this is to tip over, in my case. Importantly, it is not something I need to “cure” or “get over”, rather its something I’ve realised I need to learn to understand and work with yet this only confused me even more about my purpose, until recently. Because the loudest, most manifest humans with whom I relate (and I think this is true of the world right now…it may change) are people who are much more embodied than I tend, or even want, to be. That’s not because they are doing better than me (I bring important skills to the table); they are just better suited to cope with the world as it is currently set-up (again, that might change…and more of us may feel able to come out into the world as opportunities become more closely matched to our skillset, which is currently underappreciated and often despised).

When I go off this blueprint, everything seems to “go wrong for me” as I am a spiritual being first, a human second and that’s just the way I’m made. As soon as those spiritual aspects get too meshed up in matters of money and marketing and organisation and strategy and communication and…and…and…I lose the very inspiration that keeps them fuelled. I’ve watched it happen time and time again; so, why?

The answer came in the form of the moon right over my head on all my walks from Saturday until last night; a small crescent moon, very clear in the dusk…a waxing crescent not many days old. My moon!

In his “Book of the Moon”, revered astrologer Steven Forrest divides the waxing crescent into two portions. First is what he calls The Living Symbol (The Legend): “Charisma. Star quality. Presence. Nurturing Qualities. Leadership. Seductive vagueness. Innocence and Naiveté. Becoming symbolic to others, making others into symbols. Bringer of gifts”. The second portion he calls The Extremist, with key concepts “Drive to accomplish and experience. Hunger. Imbalance. success – and its costs. Presence. Natural authority. Radiant, infectious hope in the face of darkness”. He goes on “The emerging soul impulse is still suffused with a sense of recent emergence from the Holy of Holies, still on fire with something that is fundamentally untranslatable into human terms. Being a waxing phase, there is a mood of outrushing intensity, an urge towards manifestation”.

Yes, I can relate…you can feel chock full of energy and nowhere to go with it…since few want to receive what you have to share; and that feeling of repeated rebuff can cause all sorts of problems for the person born under the waxing crescent. Ours is not a currency that is popularly in circulation…yet.

I wrote about studying the moon phases earlier this year and it made fascinating stuff since I used my new-found information to work out the moon phase of pretty much everyone I know. I found this data so much more interesting than I’ve ever found sun-based astrology since it matched up so astonishingly closely with the personality traits of these people. More, it matched their particular relationship between spiritual and worldly aspects of themselves, you could say yin and yang, dark and light, in ways that correlated with their stories to date and near-enough everything that felt most intrinsic to them at the deeper levels of their humanness. I’ve made a party piece of guessing people’s moon phase and then working it out for them to check the correlation (I was doing this again, just recently, for new friends I made on our trip to Italy and had an avid audience) and the outcome has generally been quite astonishing. Above all, this knowledge has imparted so much insight into my own often fragile humanness and that of my husband, who shares almost the same moon phase as I.

So, if I was to anticipate how a person born under a waxing moon would operate in a world dominated by more material concerns, what would I guess? Well, for starters, that person would be more spiritual than human, more abstract than manifest…and yet….they would always be growing towards manifestation, like a shoot pushing out of the dark soil of potential. Yet this irresistible urge to grow “out there” into the human domain is likely to have frustrated and even hurt them many times over as the already-manifest world is an abrasive place and not one that has been designed or influenced by many waxing moon types; well, not in recent history. In fact, most of them have become so wounded by now that they often prefer to stay in the dark, their heads buried deep under the ground and turned away from typical human behaviours (which can be unsightly). It’s not been an easy ride for waxing moon types over the last long period of history!

Yet, like any seedling long nestled under the ground, even in a dessert, those of us born to this moon phase have lately started to detect that the time to grow to where we would be more visible again might be upon us. We’ve sensed a few more nutrients coming our way in the soil of life plus a few more hints of the sun’s warmth, a few drops of moisture, to encourage and beckon us forwards. Newly encourage, many of us have tried again…some to get “burned” all over again…but the point is to keep trying, to keep seeking that thing that drives and supports you; which comes from your inherent purpose.

Which brings me back, once again, to that life purpose of mine…a deep, compelling understanding of the Sacredness of Life. I’ve reestablished this many times over in this lifetime (plus all the others) and, feeling newly nourished and encourage, I’m now ready to break that soil, it seems; or to at least do the ground work so others can capitalise on my stirrings, though (like many of us) I sense I’m wanting more of an active part, now, than to keep fertilising the soil with my own breakdowns. As long as I keep to that purpose, every project I take on will have my deepest understanding of All That I Am, stored like rocket fuel, ready for my engine. It’s why I’ve been feeling so manifest lately; so strong, so improved, so much more robust, so full of energy.

Which means that as long as I stick to this underlying purpose…not getting taken off track again by the heavy load of trauma or conflict (being a leader in the plant-based revolution brings you very close to these things; my task being to keep to what feels light-filled and life-affirming) I will be right on track, with my energy easily replenished. You could say I will have the wind behind my sails or, to keep to the running metaphor, the earth’s most potent nutrients coursing through my xylem and phloem, allowing me to grow strong enough to withstand any extremes in the weather or the occasional boot that would like to stamp on my head. When we are fuelled by our life purpose, it takes so much more than that external stuff to take us off purpose.

To double-check this theory, I see the very same trends running through my husband’s career highs and low, as measured from the personal-satisfaction and wellbeing perspective, which has become ever more important to him lately. When he tries to be too manifest in terms of “good” business strategy, number crunching and all that stuff, or even to gets drawn into money markets and all that material focus, he flounders, his energy runs dry and he literally has to take time out to withdraw “back to earth” to recuperate. But when he uses his intrinsic belief in the Sacredness of Life to fuel his reason for getting up in the morning, in his case to assist and mentor people to rediscover all that feels most sacred to themselves and then prioritise this vision over financial stage-fright or life’s long list of “should-dos” (he is a life planner and yogi, and helps people to realise their heart-passions) then he is full of vim and vigour and can keep going with astonishing amounts of energy, whether at work or at play. In fact, his work no longer feels like work on those occasions and seems to give him back his own intrinsic energy ten fold each time he makes a difference to another person’s path.

For me, my focus doesn’t have to be plant-based diet as such (no such limitation) but any project fuelled by a desire to convey and to remind others of the Sacredness of Life seems to be “my thing”, which gives me plenty of scope – since sacredness is everywhere!

And if, for the moment, I happen to see it more so than others then my task is not to make others wrong or to patronise them but, rather, to facilitate them seeing what they might be overlooking or, if they see it, hardly dare to believe is so. Life is so sacred to me that I can’t bear to have others not see it for themselves and my gift is to share what I know.

So, really, this piece is directed at others with a waxing moon phase; if you happened upon this post, having often wondered what it was that made life so hard and even purposeless in your case when others seem to thrive, then know that it shouldn’t be the case…and that you are probably not that far off from flipping everything in your favour. The point is, first off, to realise that you are not “made” like everyone else and to recognise and honour those differences as the unused gifts that they probably are. You have a purpose but it may not look like anyone else’s purpose (though it is beneath the surface…yours is just wrapped up in slightly different priorities). Yours may sound a lot more abstract than theirs when you find it…but that’s not to say it can’t be put to practical use. The point is to identify that purpose (what has been the one thing that seems most important to you and which has driven you along, throughout all the various “projects” of your life, even “accidental” ones such as claiming your health back…) and then use that to fuel your own chosen trajectory. Yes, you can and will grow out of the dark places that may have become your home or your hide-y-hole for so long; but you need the right scaffolding to assist you to do that and, like all the best scaffolding, this needs to be supportive from within. Then, you can become manifest in this world.

Of course, I can already hear people declaring “how can sacredness be a purpose…you need to be an (insert job title) or an (insert career opportunity/project/enterprise)”. Well yes, as long as they are a vehicle for expressing the Sacredness of Life then I’m there and I think its true to type.

Because sacredness is probably everything to you if you are a waxing crescent, whether or not you have even started to realise this yet…since you remember, more so than many others, where you come from and where you go back to when the human merry-go-round stops this particular ride. Without this conscious awareness of your own divinity and, then, a desire to operate from this focal point, even in a world that often denies or brushes off our collective sacred source, you will probably be like the bean stalk that falls over in a wind…because it is like denying who you really are. Once found, this deep-inner knowing of whatever your sacred theme is…and which you long to make more manifest in the world…will be all you ever need to support, replenish and sustain you; I feel quite confident of this.

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Fate worse than death

This is a post I put out on social media yesterday and it caught more positive attention than anything I had previously posted, which I take such heart from.

SentienceI said, let’s take a moment on 11/11 to really digest this: “We kill and eat over 57 billion animals a year, not counting fish and other aquatic animals, which involves probably another trillion animals at the least. A billion is one thousand million. So every year we are responsible for a staggering number of deaths”. (From Eat Like You Care – Gary L Francione).

How many people have lost their lives to a war? It came to about 40 million in WWI. The number is dwarved by this. Yes, wars are terrible things, of course they should cease. In fact all killing should cease. No killing has a place in our future, regardless of species. We should be mindful of all the killing…and work to end all of it from this moment onwards. We do this just as soon as we commit to cease our part in it, in all the daily choices we make. Let’s not just lament the past, let’s make a real difference to our future, together. Let’s consign ALL those numbers to the history books.

This morning, the phrase “fate worse than death” popped into my head wanting to be used. It’s a phrase we bandy around a lot…but how often do we think about it? So I found myself starting to use it and then stopped myself as I’ve made my peace with death since coming to see it not so much as an ending but as  a beginning or a reboot into different form so what is the emotional “charge” held within this phrase, why does it still hold sway? Why do we react so at the thought, say, of very high numbers of people dying in a war; why does that wrench at the gut long after the event compared to, say, the same number of people dying of old age if death is the “worse” thing that can happen? Because it’s the process of getting there, the heinous methods devised then inflicted, that claw at our guts and bring our shared sense of humanity to its knees. We gather together in collective grief and outrage when we contemplate such things, as we should.

Likewise, for me, it’s not the death aspect itself that holds the electric current of fear but the lead up or the means to it, all the pain and suffering that so often gets us there, that is my least favourite contemplation. It’s the long and prolonged process to death’s door that fills me with abhorrence, having witnessed a dear one go through the long and distressing cancer process and having had several brushes, as we all have, with other such experiences across the course of my life. It happens, all too often, in old age, as dignity flies out the window along with everything else, and this becomes a dread for many of us. So I’ve seen, first hand, how its the life, not the death, that is the terrible thing; or at least it is when it is a torturous thing that seems to dissect a life, piece by piece. As a species, we are brought together by a universal distaste for prolonged, unpleasant, torturous circumstances and thus a desire to alleviate such situations.

So when people say, and they do, that all’s well with the meat industry, for instance, I stall in my tracks due to all the pain my empathic soul has experienced around this topic. When they make out that the “food” on their plate is the end product of this pristine process (they even deem to use the word “humane”) by which the sentient animal in the field enjoying sunshine on its back and well-tended, one day, is now dead and doesn’t even know it or, perhaps, willingly sacrificed itself to us in the rightful order of things (yes, some people still believe this convenient fabrication, consciously or otherwise) then I fall to my knees in bewildered non-compute. Because the process by which the creature, whatever it is, gets to its “end” is seldom pristine, brief or painless. It is brutal, clumsy and malevolent, fuelled along by the petty vengeance and gross mishandling of bored or disheartened employees who take out their bad days through their misappropriated sense of power over others. It is terrifying and blooded and over-wrought in every way, over heinously prolonged time frames, for creatures who use instincts and second-senses far more we do to determine that unpleasant things are about to unfold. Gentle creatures who batted their trustful eyelashes and nuzzled eager curiosity towards friendly hands reached out over farmyard fences days before are subjected to distress, pain, indignity and gruesomeness that would traumatise the average human being to behold (thus most choose to deny and avoid). They are crammed and dehydrated, pushed and beaten towards their helpless demise and often far less than stunned and often not yet dead when they go through process that don’t even bear thinking about.

Macca1It is my deep empathic “knowing” that this goes on behind high walls somewhere near where I live, every day of my life, that disturbs me so much I can hardly make peace with this world. It is the knowing that it lies ahead on their experience path, as sure as the sun will rise in the morning, for all those creatures I engage with on my walks or photograph and paint for my work and, again, this makes me want to fall to my knees and just weep and weep for our collective lack of heart.  Yet we still hold up “death” as the universal horror of the peace, as though it is the worse possible outcome that can befall us, as conscious beings, which gives weight to those who argue that death for animals destined to be meat is quick and painless, even of no consequence to creatures that have no foreknowledge that it will happen and no ability to ruminate in advance. No, it is LIFE that, for these helpless creatures just as it is for us, is the very devil due to our sentience…which is our universal ability to FEEL and to KNOW things through all of the senses, a collective ability that can be referred to as our emotional mind or even heart mind…which is far superior to the mind we equate with our rational thoughts. Deep down, to varying degrees, we all know this, whether we choose to accept it or not. It’s why we live in so much fear of the death process, whether we own to these fears or not…since we feel our way all the way to its door…and yet our entire culture is built upon a practice that inflicts our very worse fears on others.

If you tend towards a karmic view of this world then you might relate to the phrase “what goes around comes around”…what we do we get back. Others whose words we revere have said that we should only do to others what we are prepared to have happen to ourselves. Yet we wail, like wronged children, at the unfairness of how long, drawn-out and painful so many of our demises are; why cancer is the every second-or-third-person horror show waiting in the sidelines or why life can seem to get harder and more torturous with each passing year. For ourselves, we wish for something so much better, hoping something will flip better fortune, ripe old age and a peaceful death to us and our loved ones, and yet for over 50 billion creatures per year, not including aquatic, we bring upon them this “fate worse than death” at a rate of 10 billion horror-show death processes a week. How bizarre to me is this disconnect between what we wish for ourselves yet continue put out there as “reasonable” behaviour towards others. Try as I might, I cannot understand why more people don’t get to the point where it’s just so obvious how far we stray from putting out what we wish to receive back…or its simple solution. I feel hurt by the lack of sensiivity displayed by my fellow humans and it goes deeply to my heart to know this about them, however circumspect I try to be. Yes, more people than ever are waking up to this but I would have expected a tidal wave and am still not seeing it. I can only surmise that there is such ingrained programming blinkering people’s ability to join those very easy dots that it will only be once they wake or shake up from all their other conditioned states that they start to see this and be horrified at how we have all been conducting ourselves.


If you are not already vegan and are ready to at least open into balanced discussion of all the many “yeah, but..”s that inevitably come up in relation to this topic, I recommend three excellent books:

Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs and Wear Cows is written by Melanie Joy, PhD whose work to bring this dialogue out into the mainstream has been tireless. Her latest book is Beyond Beliefs: A Guide to Improving Relationships and Communication for Vegans, Vegetarians, and Meat Eaters and does what it says on the can.

Eat Like You Care: An Examination of the Morality of Eating Animals by Gary L Francione & Anna Charlton goes through all the moral issues clearly, unimotively and, yes, by applying straightforward, almost court-room style logic to what can be quite loaded topics for many people. It demonstrates beyond reasonable doubt that ‘there is nothing “extreme” about a vegan diet; what is extreme is the inconsistency between what we say we believe and how we act where animals are concerned.’

In the most heartfelt way I can, I urge all of my readers to at least pick up the first on this list and read it with an open mind. It won’t traumatise you but it might expand your heart in ways you will be so glad you allowed to happen (I’ve not met a single person who has regretted this happening to them).

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Energetic time machine

“…every year in early November, Earth passes through a broad stream of debris from Comet Encke. The resulting drizzle of meteors emerging from the horns of Taurus is remarkable, not for its quantity, because Taurid meteor rates tend to be low, but rather for its luminosity. Comet Encke produces fireballs–meteors so bright that they can cast shadows on the ground.” (Spaceweather 2 November 2018.)

The Taurid meteor shower always flags up as a point of interest for me as I seem to feel it as it occurs. No really, every year, I seem to have a heightened pain episode around this time and, because I check the spaceweather reports for GM and other events that affect my health rhythms due to being electro-sensitive, I will often clock that this meteor shower is underway at around this time of year. A small part of me has joked internally, for years, that perhaps I’m being pelted with rocks and fireballs because that’s what it can feel like in this season.

This year I took a closer interest because Spaceweather mentioned that these meteors, which are bigger and come closer than most, often causing bright fireballs in the sky,  are likely the debris of a cataclysm 20 to 30,000 years ago.

“Encke’s debris stream may be unusual because it is actually detritus from the breakup of a much larger comet some 20 to 30 thousand years ago. At least two small asteroids (2015 TX24 and 2005 UR) share the approximate orbits of Taurid gravel swarms, and there may be other small space rocks hiding in the stream as well. It all bespeaks a catastrophic event in the past–and potentially spectacular fireballs in the future. Every night in the next two weeks is a good time to look as Earth crosses the zone of debris.” (A piece of the comet Encke from the Taurid meteor shower burned up over Arizona this week after hitting the atmosphere at 65,000 mph –  read full article on Spaceweather 2 November 2018.)

My regulars know I have a special interest in the possible cataclysms this planet has undergone in the past as I have long played with the theory (set in motion by reading Barbara Hand Clow’s excellent book “Awakening the Planetary Mind: Beyond the Trauma of the Past to a New Era of Creativity”) that a past cataclysm set our planet on “tilt” – literally and metaphorically – by causing a significant change in climate along with the deep emotional-trauma that has become embedded in humanity like a post traumatic ailment affecting our psyche in ways we are still in recovery from. Such a fear~separation~lack~survival mentality, which does indeed seem to be deeply embedded in our collective DNA, would go a long way to explain ways that our history has played out since, taking us on a trajectory that we are only just starting to step back from with any degree of objectivity as we make new conscious choices…doing so as (like any recoveree from trauma) we gain conscious “handle” on what we’ve been through and stop ourselves short from repeating those same fear-based behaviours on endless loop. As we start to gain this new perspective of ourselves, we see how we have been off-centre and all the ways we can redress that. Our chronic patterns come up for review and we notice the opportunity to move on.

So what if these rock visitors to our near environment carry the reminder of something we’ve been through, as a species, in the far distant past…either when predicted in the above article or at some more recent time, as Hand Clow speculates (or both since repeated traumas always embed the deepest). These meteor rocks are, as all things, molecular chunks of energy holding a record of all they have been through,  like a direct remnant of the past, and as big as pebbles in many cases. In my view, we are getting close to a time when it will become more general to take into account our broader environment, to include the higher atmosphere and way beyond, when it comes to assessing the inter-relationship with our human energy field. We are not living in isolation from the universe, or what is commonly refered to as “space”, as most people seem to think (an idea as ridiculous and naive to me as the world being flat or the other planets circling around earth, as was also once commonly believed).

“Sprites are an exotic form of lightning that shoot up from the tops of thunderstorms. Although such sprites have been seen and reported for centuries, many people did not believe they existed until researchers from the University of Minnesota finally captured them on film in 1989. Now we know — sprites are real, and they’re made of electricity.” (Spaceweather 1 November 2018 – sprites are another elusive space phenomenon seen to “rain down” on Earth and their occurrence is often associated with meteor shower events.)

Yes, another space phenomenon observed to be raining down on earth this week are sprites, otherwise known as space lightning. These are, in effect, energy rain known to be full of electricity….as are we. A reminder that energetic particles, of all sizes, enter our atmosphere all the time; all of them holding a particular “charge” and reminding us of our universally shared origins beyond anything we remember with our heads. As I have learned through sheer necessity, when we open up and become responsive to our energy field beyond the five senses, we encounter what are usually unacknowledged energies that are as much a part of our experience as anything we think we know though logical routes and we share a common history with these…in fact, there is no linearity in the sense of “history” since what happened “a very long time ago” is current, relevant and open to transformation. We can write new endings for things that feel ancient, embedded and stuck when we work openly like this….and all the data our sensitivity can throw up for us is relevant which is why it is no bad thing to feel what might otherwise make you uncomfortable (if you were to approach it with the mind).

While these kinds of thought might sound “out there” for now, it’s simply because the extent to which our energy field stores emotion, and is subjected to reminders of “the past” by similar energy-conditions that replicate what we have labelled traumatic, is only just starting to be understood…initially by those of us who are most energetically sensitive. As above, my energy body is sensitive to a fault when it comes to GM storms, solar flares, sunspots and other spaceweather events such as Co-rotating Interaction Regions (transition zones between slow- and fast-moving streams of solar wind which contain density gradients and compressed magnetic fields that often spark auroras) which are what I fondly refer to as “the lemon squeezer”. So perhaps I am energetically sensitive enough to be picking up a reminder of deep trauma once a year as these reminder messages come close as the Taurid shower. After all, energy never goes away, it just shifts around and, if we still hold the matching energy frequency in our cells, which is then able to read what it “says” (a quantum potential, surely, if part of our energetic body experienced the same event that it is the reminder of…) then it can return its energetic message to us in some very timely ways, like a life-review of sorts.

Yes, just like a quantum messenger from “the past” and all we have been through and learned from experience (we’ve come such a long way; its time to reap the benefits of what we’ve been through now). This happens to us all the time; subtle cues in our environment (could be a scent or a song on the radio…so why not a meteor shower) can open up these memory pockets to allow us to reprocess them again and again…hopefully in new and ever more evolved ways each time it “happens”. So, if we are starting to reprocess some of the deepest traumas of all, those which set us off on the planetry trajectory of thousands of years’ worth of fear-based thinking, then we are getting into some seriously transformational potential as a collective right now. Just a bit of a mind-bender and food for thought on this early November morn.

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Crossing over

We seem to have become deeply afraid of crossing over, in any which way that takes form. Could be in our work-leisure balance, our gender, or the ways we mix up our clothes…we’ve even been told its “bad for us” to cross our legs…so we’ve made it edgy and rebellious but, beneath it all, the subliminal message is that it’s “not the right thing to do”.

In my meditation practice, I find often want to cross over my legs, my hands or both yet we’re told, like children, to keep everything uncrossed; “keep your two hemispheres separate”, this seems to say. Yet, as someone who advocates going with what feels right at every choicepoint, I keep coming back to this. Why is it so wrong? When I’m “in there” channelling all aspects of who I am (human me, higher me), I find I often have to cross my left and right sides over, it feels progressive and like where the “conversation” starts. I don’t meditate, any more, just to get off planet and run away…I do it to merge all that I am, as embodied me!

It felt deeply resonant and potent when Donna Eden taught me, though her Energy Medicine modality, how swinging the arms when I walk and doing what she terms the cross crawl and other cross-over techniques, rebalance my energy (see her explanation). I do the latter every day, in the mornings at least, and when my energy feels depleted or “off” and it helps enormously. As Eden demonstrates in the video, these crossing over practices make us demonstrably stronger!

From my own healing journey, I pay attention now to when my body wants to cross over, sometimes one way more so than the other; but I don’t make it wrong, though I’m much more aware of how well it serves me to position myself in a particular way, noticing when I have just got into a bad habit or gone unconscious (like when using a computer for too long…). We’re far more intuitive about what we need than we generally allow!

A phrase always springs to mind when I think into this topic and its “attraversiamo” (“lets cross over” in Italian), as used by Elizabeth Gilbert in her autobiographical novel “Eat, Pray, Love”. In the end, though she had pursued each of these things separately, she found that the ony way forwards was to mix them all up!

Seems to me this paranoia about crossing is something to do with that distorted cross we long worshipped, as I wrote about in A Short Account of the Evolution of Humanity”  . We were made afraid of crossing over through association with sacrifice and sin.  Yet the true cross is about balanced choice, not separation; its where we exercise our conscious awareness to become who we intend to be. Like I said then, we were taken off track by that other cross for just so very long yet that doesn’t make all crosses wrong; we just need to adjust our centre-points, to those areas where we choose to create with our lives, as the experiences we generate. Our crossing over points are where we get to know ourselves better, to express ourselves and manifest what we choose…indeed, where we consciously create ourselves through our very choices to mix a bit of “this” with a little bit of “that”. They’re what make us divinely human via daily exercise of our manifester skills, based on our own personal recipe…of both head and heart. Perhaps at one time we weren’t deemed “safe” to let out with the ability to choose where to cross over in our lives, like children playing with very advanced toys. But now it feels essential for those of us who feel ready to progress to cross over…consciously and with emotional wisdom…wherever it feels right. Instead of remaining wary, if we notice where we feel compelled to cross over and feel into those times, we can become master manifesters on a whole other level.

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When did you last cry?

When did you last cry…seriously, when? If the time is right (…if not today, maybe soon) let it out. Coax it. Do what it takes to breach the dam. For me it was a day of self-compassion, a hot bath and Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2. They did what I needed them to do; I felt it rise up and spill my edges, wept my hot tears, shook from the shoulders, acknowledged the release that came oh-so quickly, like molten lava through my veins. How long had it been building? I can’t even say. It had passed through at last and I felt unspeakably better for it.

So many of us have become accustomed to not crying, for months even years…telling ourselves it’s not our character-type; equating it with weakness or waste of time or back-tracking or failure; fearing it will somehow break or consume us, becoming the relentless gnashing and wailing that will never cease. We like to think we have it all locked-up, contained, out of sight…even from ourselves…but we’re kidding ourselves if we think its gone. Sometimes we just need to shift the immense electrical charge that has built up in us, to release that static, allow the more passive back-and-forth flow to return between our head and our weary heart. Better, more productive, to admit the emotion and allow it to move up and out of us, fully seen in the light of day…then be stronger for it, having heard ourselves out and held that space with such tenderness and humanity. The catharsis so often feels bigger than ourselves. It’s as though a tangle gets untied in the fabric of reality and, like a tornado set in motion by the wings of a butterfly, ripples its release to the whole of creation.

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Getting out of the sacrifice mentality

Not so very low beneath the surface, our modern lives are built on a bedrock of sacrifice.

We expect to give things up, not least our precious time, because we tell ourselves we want other things more.

We teach our children they’ve got to work long and hard (the longer and harder the better) to get to where they want to be “someday”; and we devalue routes that seem easier.

We’re told that blood sweat and tears (and more than a little suffering) is what it takes to be what we want to be, to look how we think we should look or to be considered “deserving”. So we diligently stick to that mantra all our lives, under the gaze of the “no pain, no gain” taskmaster monkey, who drives us on even when we can’t remember why we are doing these things for ourselves anymore.

We sacrifice our values….daily…to do our jobs or “get by”. Or we sacrifice to a cause, taking it way beyond enjoyment or health levels of involvement.

Then we so-carelessly sacrifice our health in so many ways that I daren’t even get started on this vast topic but I watch health being thrown away all the time for such trivial addictions and a moment’s pleasure.

We even sacrifice our dreams, like they were a childhood fiction. Or we compromise them, telling ourselves its “normal” to work ridiculous hours or commute every day to pay for the house of our dreams, where we spend all our weekends recovering.

In fact, everything becomes a barter, a transaction, an acceptable trade-off to get something we don’t currently have and because we tell ourselves we need it to survive or be complete. This suggests a perpetual state of lack and puts us into hock to the concept of an ideal future, which we never seem to get to.

Then we think we have to give things up that we would prefer to be doing in order to be a good spouse, good parents or good children (in ways that our shambolic relationship track-records fail to give good reason for; you would think so much sacrifice would make us into model families). Often, just as we reach a juncture in our life when it might be possible to claim that longed-for freedom of routine, to have those experiences, to travel or move to the country, we trade those aspirations in order to do the right thing for others in our immediate family, again because its expected. Because, of course, our society is structured on separate family units which must fend for themselves in a way that indigenous people…who tend to take care of children and the elderly as an entire community…would think is bananas. Yet, often fueled with resentment and a martyrish amount of disappointment for our own lives, we still do it, expecting our children to do it for us…and repeat.

Of course, this sacrificial mentality pours out of our TV sets. Arch villains (and children mimicking them) declare “You’ll pay for that!” and we may laugh, but our entire corporal system is based on tit-for-tat punishments that deliver very poor results, doing little to rehabilitate people back into society or set a better example. Then, of course, people take the idea of sacrificial pay-off into their own hands….and repeat that too, as we keep seeing in the news…and these ideas are horribly contagious. I was sat with friends outside a vegan restaurant in Italy a couple of weeks ago when a little boy holding his daddy’s hand walked past us and pretend machine-gunned us all with the plastic weapon in his hand. We seem to be in such a bloody mess with it all.

Why is that the case? Flip back to that last post I wrote (A short account of the evolution of humanity…and where we are now) and, about half way down the page, take a look at that distorted intersection we made, a l-o-n-g time ago, between matters of head and heart (we moved our centre right away from the heart…) and there it is – sacrifice mentality. Religion formalised its message (“we have to give something up in order to get into heaven”) and we bought it for a very long time. Many of us say that we’re over that mind trap now, but are we really? Where are the results? Why are so many people still running around on errands of sacrifice?

I know this is becoming a hobby-horse of mine but only for the reason that it feels just too important and relevant not to say. I do wonder if we are encoding the concept of sacrifice so deeply and unshiftably into our mindset because of the diet we eat, taking it so deep into our cells with our food that we just can’t seem to break free from its shackles, even when we see it and want to be rid of it in our ideals. Its like there is a fundamental miss-match of intentional frequencies going on within ourselves, and it has to come from somewhere.

If you doubt this is possible them bear with me as I was just reading about the gut-brain connection and (yet again, as I wrote about the other week in my post The vagus nerve: leading us back to our health) the amazing vagus nerve. I learned that the gut and brain are just so closely connected that they grow out of the very same clump of cells as the foetus takes shape in the womb; and that connection continues in ways we are only just starting to fathom but I suspect its at the root of why so many people are developing severe reactions to certain foods. I learned, 95 per cent of the vagus nerve’s fibres run upwards towards the brain, suggesting the gut is telling the brain how to behave more so than the other way around…in fact, many people now consider the gut to be a kind of second brain in its own right. What we eat determines our moods and our mindsets in some very intricate ways. It contains its own self-contained nervous system known as the enteric nervous system which acts independently of the brain or spinal cord and this thing is huge – containing far more nerve cells than the spine. Its language is the language of neurotransmitters and these communicate with the brain fluently and constantly in an arrangement now refered to as the brain-gut axis, facilitated by the vagus nerve. (Paraphrased from The Spiritual Anatomy of Emotion: How Feelings Link the Brain, The Body, and the Sixth Sense, Michael a Jawer & Larry Dossey).

From personal experience, with several years of intense neurological challenges behind me, those neurotransmitters disseminate messages from molecules in the food we eat to the cells of the body in virtually no time at all; it’s like a digital radio signal, heard “live” and clear as the broadcaster says the very words, as though he is in the room with you. When I accidentally eat something that doesn’t agree with me, my head and the rest of my nervous system knows about it pretty instantaneously; and one of the effects is that my mood suddenly drops significantly. I can be perfectly fine one minute, then suddenly its like rewinding the clock five or ten years…I feel hopeless and, somehow, small and limited in my options, I get snappy with other people, my high-vibe is gone out the window. It doesn’t happen very often these days; I’m too much on the ball with what I consume!

Now I may be the extreme but its fair to say I demonstrate what everyone else’s gut is also doing, whether they notice or not. In other word, the gut unpacks the food, reads the messages held in those nutrient molecules and distributes them liberally and instantaneously to the body, as frequency. It’s why we are finding that the source of our food, how it was grown, whether it was factory processed or modified by chemicals, whether given pesticides or organic, and so on is just so important. So what if that food came from living flesh, a sentient being with an instinct, like you or I, to be natural and alive…and that that this creature was held captive, mistreated, tortured and sent to a terrifying and traumatic death? While it was going through all this, the animal’s own neurotransmitters were in full-throttle, disseminating messages of trauma to every cell in its body…and then we eat it. What I’m proposing here isn’t rocket science, nor is it woo-woo…in fact it seems very logical indeed. When we eat meat, we read all those messages of trauma via our gut; we hear all about the animal’s sacrifice, even if we choose (as  most people do) to shut it out from our conscious mind or rationalise it away with excuses as to why we continue to do this. The gut bypasses that completely…it is its own mind…and it tells the story of that sacrifice to each and every one of our cells. Cells which become us.

I believe that the meat and fish that people choose to eat is heavily encoded with such messages, all of them holding the frequency of sacrifice (which incorporates ideas such as unkindness, fear, loss, bloodshed, murder, loss of freedom, torture, slavery, domination…etc). If you eat meat then your gut fluently interprets those messages and distributes them to become YOU. In an instance, your body knows exactly what those meat cells experienced and that part of you that already knows we are one with every other living being  in creation takes that as though we have experienced the sacrifice ourselves. Gradually, wearily, over years and years of hearing this same message drummed out by our food, we become this message and we think it is our own lot in life, sacrificing ourselves to its mindset of inevitable bloodshed and trauma. And like all sacrifice, there’s no need for it; we can call a ceasefire. We no longer believe we have to sacrifice other people’s lives to the gods to get what we want (that’s where the whole meat industry started, encouraged by dire lack of food in times other than the ones we currently live in). There’s simply no justification for meat as food any more, either nutritionally or in terms of food lack, though the territory is riddled with myths. It is broadly demonstrated now, across the world, that

“it takes more land to grow plants that we feed to animals we eat than it would take if we consumed plants directly. And the production of meat has the largest impact on the destruction of the world’s biodiversity due to its pollution, deforestation, soil erosion, land degredation, greenhouse gas emissions and so on”. (Eat Like You Care: An Examination of the Morality of Eating Animlas – Gary L Francione, Anna Charlton).

Yet where one falsehood is maintained as a prop to all our behaviours around it, we can be sure there are many other falsehoods lurking in the shadows. Equally, when we expose that flaw in our thinking, those old limiting mindsets come tumbling down, which is why choosing not to eat meat is so much bigger than it looks, evolutionarily speaking. It can be like removing a lynchpin that was holding together a soaring tower of false mindsets about who we are and what we are really capable of. The irony is that tower of falsehoods, to which we seem to so willingly sacrifice ourselves, is something that those eating meat are complicit in maintaining, even though it goes against their core values. To quote Melanie Joy, author of “Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs and Wear Cows”:

“The way that is maintained is by continuing a wider narrative that validates it. These oppressive and dominant belief systems condition people to act against their core values of compassion and justice and to disconnect from their natural empathy. Carnism depends on maintaining a mythology about veganism and vegans and the central myth is that veganism is abnormal, unnatural and unnecessary. But vegan values are all of our values, and most people don’t want animals to suffer so intensively and unnecessarily. Most people would be deeply offended if they were aware of animal agriculture and how carnism has shaped how we act against what we would normally be opposed to.”  (Melanie Joy, Author of Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs and Wear Cows – in an  interview with The Independent)

Yet as I’ve said, eating meat is more than just a mindset or something that (mis)represents our values, though it is that; because it quite literally takes our whole body over with a frequency of “the necessity to sacrifice life”. You could say, it lowers our own vibration from one where we feel empowered to one where we (ironically, for all the meat industry’s claims), feel subliminally weak and helpless. Once you are out of it looking back in, it feels like an intrinsic part of a sinister machine designed to keep us small and quaking in our boots. So when we eat meat, we encode that message of sacrifice into our own cells…and then we subliminally expect the same degree of sacrificial trauma to happen to us as a sort of inevitability that we surrender to…and repeat. Its almost like we are sacrificing ourselves to the pain of going against our very natures, as some sort of punishment or payment…but for what? Its a whole other level of self-harm.

In fact, we can’t seem to get out of it, until, for some of us, it just happens and thank goodness. For me, it was an instant decision…I just stopped consuming meat one night, though I loved its taste, with no forewarning, not a single clue I was about to do it (it was ten days before Christmas and I had all my butcher’s food on non-cancellable order; a still-living turkey on that farm had my name on its neck). Something just shifted like a rock rolled away from the door and I saw a different quality of light coming in. I simply knew, very suddenly, that eating flesh was out of sync with where I had got to and, more importantly, where I was headed, though I had no idea where that was. Something just told me that I wouldn’t be going there if I continued to do it so I had a split second choice to make, with no guarantees, and I just stopped there and then.

And yes, its been a real eye-opening few years (six now); quite the different trajectory to what I imagine would have predictably happened if I had continued down the old path. Things that have unfolded for me simply wouldn’t have along that other path since there are direct links to other circumstances that have monumentally altered my experiences for the better. Yes, I feel so much lighter, more capable of joy and far less prone to sudden dives in my vibration. Most of all, my mindset around sacrifice has never felt more blown wide-open. Even where it persists, I see it there and I look it straight in the eyes, which keeps me on my evolutionary toes.  Where I still find it, I stop and take the cue to examine what my real motives are, including any that are fear driven, and to notice where there is a better feeling option, which often takes me towards a higher outcome. Let’s just say I feel generally more aligned with my heart these days because it feels more straightforward to attune to it and then use it to navigate, which is such a powerful place to be. Though I notice how sacrifice mindsets are still prevalent all around me, I don’t feel succumbed to them or like there is literally no way around their obstacle except to give in.

You could say that, like meat, I just don’t buy it anymore!

Posted in Consciousness & evolution, Health & wellbeing, Life choices, Menu, Personal Development | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A short account of the evolution of humanity…and where we are now

Cross usWhen we “arrived” here in our most primitive physical version, humans were like this figure (you could take the circle to be their Whole World); in other words, we were an aspect of wholeness and knew nothing except this seamless experience of unity conciousness. Us, other creatures, our environment, the weather…all these things were the same and “of” the same source, with no stark division lines so what we experienced was interpreted fluidly, without segregation into logic or labels.

Then, as the first stirrings of evolution occurred, we became Us True crossfragmented…at first into two portions (“me” and “other”) and then into four (shades of preference within those segments = “good/preferable” or “bad/not-so-preferable” versions of “me” and “other”). So now we were like a cross (some people call it the True Cross), equally divided into four aspects yet there was balance, or sorts, since we operated from our heart-core…and we lived like this for A Very Long Time.

Then, at some point, massive collective trauma happened to us, perhaps a cataclysm, and fear drove us away from the heart as the Need to Survive in the face of unprecedented hardship presented itself. So it was decided for the majority, by a minority who saw the self-advantage in this, that we needed Cross person 1our brains far more than our hearts, thus our centre point was moved from heart to the head, resulting in a very different paradigm of existence to what had been there before. This, diagramatically speaking, looks like a very different cross to the True Cross in the way our priorities were weighted off-centre, in favour of the head (both within the individual and in society at large). This distorted cross came to represent bloodshed and sacrifice, separation, fear, blame, lack…not to mention the need to appease, to negotiate or to Pay A Price for everything that was once freely available to all. Mixed in with all that were some new concepts on the block; materialism, competition, ownership, poverty, dominion, discrimination, abuse and slavery. We have lived like this for at least 6000 years now and our heads have been deemed to be central to absolutely everything we think we know during that off-centred time.

Underlying all of this, there is another segmented circle that runs core to everything in creation and it is shown to us constantly by the moon. The phases of the moon demonstrate the Cross 3same four-segmented circle made up of waxing and waning, further divided by dark (hidden) and light (in full view) portions, that we used to operate to when we were still in our centre (and when the moon reminds of us of those times, we can really feel its pull). The dark side represents the feminine aspect and the light the masculine; their balanced partnership being intrinsic to everything in creation.

When how we operate as humans was apportioned by the true heart-centred cross, our feminine aspect remained deep below the surface as the most mysterious aspects of our awareness and as our inherent earth-connection whilst our masculine revealed itself in full view as the manifest world we engaged with day-to-day. While there was heart-centred balance, these two aspects worked in easy partnership and were both valued and incorporated.

Cross us 2After our collective trauma and the relocation of our centre to the head, this was no longer tenable since the feminine aspect could not be without a heart centre and the masculine aspect, whilst believing it had claimed the best power-seat in the house, is also naturally competitive (and this arrangement left the feminine aspect with the larger territory, as shown to the left). So the masculine aspect began to delve into matters that were often best left to the feminine “below the line” and closer to the earth, as it were (seeking to formularise and control such information in the name of “science”), even plunging and plundering that territory in ways that are now manifest as a long human history of sexual abuses and our ecologically challenged planet that has been near drained of resources. It did this in a way that almost always, by the way, made the body and the earth second-class domains thus subservient to the will and dictatorship of the head. Meanwhile, the feminine gradually made her way towards the head, seeking first to keep communication channels open in order to negotiate a say in things (hence the long history of the feminine aspect voicing concerns, which has not always ended well for her…). In more recent times, she has had to play the masculine at his own game by making headway into the realm of academic pursuit and the material world. On the back of this crossing over of interests, the split between masculine and feminine rotated to become primarily a vertical “line”, rather than a horizontal split between head and heart…made manfest as a peculiarly distinct separation of left and right hemispheres of the brain (and thus the entire nervous system).

Cross us chakrasNot content with such a carving-up of her domain into hard left and right hemispherical segments, the feminine aspect then worked to evolve a series of energy centres like a ladder of communication points along the dividing line between “sides” and so the chakras came into their rainbow-coloured existence, which lead to leaps in evolution for those who were able to attune to them. This upward momentum served us well as it formalised our connection to the universe (which had always been there…if somewhat woolly since the days of our trauma, after which the right to connect with the spiritual domain was claimed as yet another dominion by the masculine in the name of “church”). Now, there was a distinct energy flow made possible between “it” and all the physical centres of the body and so kundalini was able to flow with increasing velocity; an intrinsic part of our evolutionary process…

Bringing us to where we are right now; in full flow yet still significantly divided.

Evolutionarily speaking, all this fragmentation has served a purpose; the challenges it has presented growing us for a time when we would be ready to come back together as whole once again. Only, this time, we would come back into wholeness knowing ourselves whereas, at the start of this evolutionary process, we knew only that wholeness, to such a high degree that we had no concept of the self that was aware of it. This time we would bring self-awareness into that unity consciousness, which would make divinity manifest in physical form; you could say, the name of the game.

In moon phase terms, the still-popular idea governing our world today is that the more fully masculine or brain-oriented you are, in the way of a full moon, the more manifest (you could say, “successful”) you are in human terms. The feminine aspect knows that we need equal portions of both dark and light and that, like the cycles of the moon, we do better when we dip in and out of both sides of that circle, experiencing all those perspectives without making them wrong. While the dark aspect of who we are continues to be denied, it will continue to assert in all the distorted ways that we hear about in the news since we innately crave its presence (not as these modern-day distortions but as the more mysterious qualities that represent the feminine aspect of who we are and how we connect to source).

Once we own this feminine brand of “darkness” as an intrinsic part of ourselves, it can easily be reincorporated into who we are at every level, from micro to macro, and will bring healing swiftly, on a grand scale. At this point, all the hard-won communication channels that we have had to formulate over eons of evolution will dissolve into free-flowing highways of awareness. The two hemispheres of the brain will collaborate freely to reach all-new heights of understanding whilst the head and heart will collaborate in easy partnership to realise a world in which sense of “other” is no longer cause for conflict. Division lines will soften and blur to allow us to radiate in a whole new way; which will have to be seen to be believed.

Us fully whole and embodiedYou could say, all division points will be healed, from within our own energy field, our cells, our neurology and our physiology to “out there” in the social and environmental planes of existence, to where we seamlessly hook-up once more with all the off-planet energies from which we came. Because while we remain so desperately fragmented and out of balance, those openings of communication remain off-bounds or distorted to us; so we have only the faintest guess available to us , so far, as to how this could evolve.

Now, at last, as we go into this next stage of our evolution, we manifest a new kind of wholeness…you could say the (w)holiest of whole…since we are now AWARE of that wholeness, having been fragmented into a magnificent kaleidoscope and then come fully back together again, in heart-centred human form.

Posted in Consciousness & evolution, Divine feminine, divine masculine, Menu, Personal Development | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments