One: At the Bosom of Mama Lanka

Those who do not move do not notice their chains. Proclaimed a shrewd woman.

The foetus curls and unfurls in development; contracting and expanding in a natural state of growth. Pupating. Never static. Everything needs space to find its place, to plug into the blueprint of becoming … to emerge and retreat in flow.

My home is that place and space for me. A Bohemian sanctuary of safe retreat and recalibration, this is my womb. Like being under water, all the noises of the outside world shut out, all I hear is the d-doff-doff of the eternal Mother Heart. Foetal eyes closed tight, it’s where I find my rhythm, my momentum, my impetus and vitality. It’s how I can move once more into the world.

And when I move, I travel. 

I travel not to find myself but to discover more of who I am beneath the layers that have been pasted like papier-mâché around my feral human form. I travel to return to mother soul. I travel to find purpose … or a reason to believe that the seeking in and of itself is that purpose. Not everyone has an opus. I go out into the world as a single instrument looking to play; as a puzzle piece with connectors revealed, looking for my bigger picture.

This time I travel to find my way beyond my own mothering womb of 18 years. Against the odds I have nurtured as sacred guardian a soul that needed genesis through my own genetic coding to emerge and flourish in both my shadow and my light. He birthed me when I birthed him, synergistically growing me into the mother he required. The infinity symbol harmonises; a conductor directing and collecting. Having leapt the chasm, he travels now through a new fallopian tube. Tumbling through more primordial fluid into an eerie void, he will land with a gentle thud in the universal uterine wall, transforming it into his own womb space of transition and transformation. His own new universe. A brand new birth.

There is a tensile force in everything—I often reference Jung’s tension of the opposites—and often when I begin my travels I can get stuck in the birth canal. I work hard to break the strength of this force pulling me back into cosy womb space until I feel into the strength of the equal and opposite force pulling me forward into the absurdly lit delivery room. Doha airport proves this time to be that tipping point, stuck there as I am for a seeming eternity, nowhere to go, exhausted from labour pains.

And then, schlooop, I am corkscrewed out. Safe now at the bosom of Mama Lanka in the delivery room of my new birthing, my newly opened eyes seek out the familiar. It’s like India … but different. She is a tired mama with the ravaged features of pillage. And I can’t quite find a connection.

“We must always change, renew and rejuvenate ourselves; otherwise we harden.” Goethe

I rest like a baby, waking for only a couple of hours at a time, discouraged by my floundering sense of adventure. I just need encouragement when courage fails me. Forceps or suction cup; an intervention. So I order a PickMe scooter, ride pillion and get transported to Mount Lavina Beach where dogs shelter from noon behind ancient fisher boats and tourists don’t. The sun feels closer here. It drains the dye from their towels as fast as it paints their transparent-skin puce. My walk is short. A mirage at the end of the beach entices me with seductions of marble lobbies and cocktails; dark roast coffee and a powder room. I draw close. It is a looming relic as old and as weak now as the British Empire that built it; it is the decrepit Mount Lavinia Hotel. I often quip that when I am done with this life, I will just take a long walk into the Atlantic. Some call this dark humour; those who know me nod and smile … whilst others offer to help me in. The Mount Lavinia looks done. Poised as it is over the ebb and flow of the warm Indian Ocean, each lap of a wave beckons siren-like. Rest now, they say.

It’s important not to fight the pull but to go with it to the very depths of where it is calling; only by sinking to the very bottom is it possible to kick back up. Never struggle against a riptide they say. I surrender to the incubator—Kosgama Vipassana Meditation Centre—for an 8-day sit. I arrive in basic black. Everyone is in full white. Shadow against light.

I write volumes in my head whilst sitting cross legged, mostly in the pain of closed eyed stillness. But the words get washed from my brain like monsoon raindrops on parchment. Diana, my paternal grandmother, is always near, shrouded as I am in the shawl I bought so many years … decades … ago when I did pilgrimage to her birth town, Mussoorie, in India. It had to be pink of course as I only just realise, as a counter to all the blue knits she created while I was pickling in utero in primordial juices of undifferentiated gender. I wasn’t meant to be a girl … yet here I am – SO girl and also SO not. It was Diana who birthed me into the writer, the activist, the creative, the adventurer … the quirky crazy bohemian. The exotic in her spawned the exotic in me. She needed an ally. She didn’t knit blue for a boy; she knitted blue because blue was her favourite colour. I have her blue eyes.

The spiritual symbolism of gecko is rebirth, regeneration and renewal. They are guardians and protectors and a symbol of Diana for me. As an apt reminder of her, each evening during the discourse, a black gecko launches itself off the pitch of the hexagon hall ceiling, it’s jaws clenched around a bug too big to eat that it likely caught mid flight. Bad ass. I am transfixed as it stays there in cobra asana before disappearing. The teachings become a hum of white noise until the bell sounds. I am back. Programmed puppet. 

For eleven hours each day I disappear. I am nothing with no identity and no voice … an accumulation of atoms in noble silence—meditator number 11 in room 6A. Room 6A is a mildewy space inhabited only by spiders and geckoes down a dark dusty corridor; the light at the end pulling me towards the cold shower at 4am each day. The big-footed frog clings to the glass doorway. It too is desperate to escape the prison-like barracks I call home for a week. I hate it. And I love it because I hate it.

There is a luminous white bird that flaunts a tail double the length of its body; its head is ink black concealing its enlightenment. A pointy-eared black dog approaches, wide-eyed. My shadow still lingers. I wonder if anyone else can see it … either the shadow or the dog. A black moth loses it’s way and touches down on my head; perhaps there is moonlight there now.

In the mornings I sit at my designated table. 11. It’s at the window high above the road with dense treetops showing off large green coconuts ripe for the plucking, and dates the birds and monkeys have looted; I watch them scamper off with the spoils. I am still not hungry, my body doesn’t want food as I enter day three then day four and five of water fasting.

I watch leaves float from trees so familiar with the letting go, and a frond from a date palm only partially severed from the source of itself and dying now with the umbilical cord still attached. It changes through the hues of the robes I observe on the monks in the Dhamma Hall and on the washing lines—saffrons and subtle shades of chartreuse, and reds. The frond hangs in situ, shackled by inertia.

DDDD-DOEM! Thunder drums and the string musicians pluck the sound of rain as it assaults the earth, first like needles then like baubles. Raised roots are unable to suck it up as fast as it lands. It rises, washing the parched soil like the gallons of water I consume cleanses away the dense matter of the past two months that has barricaded me into this piñata shape. The butterfly within is almost ready to open and expand after so much contraction. 

“Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be.” Alan Watts

It’s easy to break addiction to craving, easy too to break addiction to aversion … it’s the addiction to the peaceful place at centre that is the most difficult to expel. Sankaras get shaken to the surface and I grimace—I don’t want to see them but see them I must—then start again with calm equanimity. The pain I feel today will be the strength I feel tomorrow. Anicca anicca anicca.

A mosquito bites me three times and I spitefully murder it. Broken sila. The hall is plunged into darkness and I wonder if I have been sent to hell. Close to full moon, thousands of ants have sprouted wings and taken flight … on the wrong side of the walls of this octagonal building. Thou shalt not kill. The monk teacher has killed the thrill of lumens to enable a gentle sweeping of their confused bodies out into the free moon air. And the next day it is complete.

This course gave me exactly what I needed. The end. I can’t help but wonder if, just as one grows out of a particular therapist, I have grown out of the requirement for Vipassana courses, like a dudu blanket no longer required once the practice of sleep has been embodied.

The umbilical cord is cut.

Before you begin the journey, you own the journey.
Once you begin the journey, the journey owns you.

PickMe is the Sri Lankan taxi app that keeps the money here and gives it directly to the driver. You can book anything from a ride on the back of a scooter to an eight-seater touring bus. I used the scooters in Colombo, a car to the Vipassana centre in Kosgama and now decide the 3.5-hour drive to Kandy would have to be by tuk tuk.

First stop: green coconut. I pull out my bamboo straw to suck up the what feels like litres of soothing nectar. And the machete finale reveals there is indeed enough succulent white flesh to scoop up and take with me for the remaining tooth-rattling journey.

Tea flows and I crave coffee … sankaras are deeply rooted. “Sugar?” everyone enquires, with that drug peddling haze of desire. I try to see it as a term of endearment.

The church bells ring and I rise, zombie-like from my bed, conditioned now by the morning gong. What bliss! to settle back into slumber for a few more hours. The delightful Mrs Madugalle, proprietor of Kandy Inn (Friendly Family Guesthouse), has prepared vegetable curry for me for breakfast.
“No rice!?”, she clutches her heart, incredulous. 
“Oats porridge?” she ventures. I glibly shake my head. She slumps into the seat opposite me with a half smile, searching my face for irony. Feeling just marginally ashamed yet very much behind my conviction to no longer eat out of obligation, I counter with “simple fruit or veg is just perfect.” I watch my right hand directed upwards doing the wrist twist thing as I talk, adding an occasional sideways head nod, both knowing and having no clue what either mean. Chuckling, with the sideways nod, she settles on beans and pumpkin curry.
“With some dhal?” she adds tentatively. I nod and bow my head in gratitude for this council and opportunity to be heard in all my quirkiness around years of developing food habits that heal me.

Morning tea the British way, waiting for my breakfast, a cat approaches—black with piercing green eyes—and wanders into my room. I walk in after it to ask it to leave and find it has completely disappeared. Perhaps this too is a portal. I feel both nurtured and vulnerable; contained and adventurous … that balanced peaceful place between the aversion and the craving. Kandy Inn is nursing me with healing hands and soothing kindness.

It’s Christmas Day but really just another Monday. I have an appointment with an Ayurvedic doctor after breakfast and then I go exploring Kandy on foot. Natural Coffee Kandy and Tranquil Vegan Rose are first on my list, followed by a walk around the lake and an evening at the Tooth Relic Temple.

Part of the process of growing is to shed as much as it is to acquire. From brutal suctioned birthing into the delivery room, I am now here.

Welcome to the world, baby girl.

Zero: An Awfully Big Adventure 2.0

I embark on my next delivery after an extended labour, birthing once more the now grown child who birthed me. A process towards the unfolding of this myth I call my life which is in fact a life that has me.

I am weaving again: Penelope the weaver transmuted to a weaver bird in the throes of nest building; the kind that hangs by a thread … I am following the thread that both time and life defy linearity, and all exists simultaneously in one single moment; one drop; one seed; one fallen leaf in the book of consciousness.

The first knot of the weaver’s lattice creation meets the last, which is also the first, that ties them all together in an amalgamation of existence … with that one lose thread of imperfection that can be a golden thread of a noose.

Strapping on my boots with my wings and pulling up roots like an Ent on the move, one piece of ground is no more or less important; only segregated by the ignorance of the construct of fear.

(written on the plane just before takeoff on 14/12/23)

Guided Therapies

I used to go ice bathing.
It was 2008 or 2010. I can’t remember exactly because back then I couldn’t barely remember my name, let alone yours. It wasn’t called ice bathing back then, just Penelope doing her crazy in the freezing Atlantic Ocean, rain or shine, friends waiting on the shore.

It was my trauma resource.
I didn’t call it resourcing back then either … or trauma. I was in survival mode, pulled to the icy ocean so I could feel anything other that the searing emotional angst that ripped through my being … until I could breathe again with the assurance that just as I would warm up again after this swim, so too would I recover from the pain of grieving. I have heard grief expressed as a fantasy broken and I guess that’s what my trauma was — the shattering of so many illusions.

There was no method to it, no breathwork or timing or discipline required. These elemental healing practices are inherent in all of us but we have mostly lost our intuitive knowing of which particular element to work with at each moment and, therefore, get enticed by fads and peer pressure. 

Fortunately there was none of that for me and the compulsion to get into the water drew from the blueprint all I needed in order to work with the cold water. I would walk gradually and meditatively into the water, inch by inch, observing every part of my body and both sensation and response. As the numbing moved up my body, I would push through the water with strong determination, breathing forcefully and calming my mind to the reality that this too would pass. I hadn’t done my first Vipassana yet — that came two or three years later — but of course we all inherently know the law of arising and passing away, we mostly just choose to ignore it as an inconvenience.

Once my breathing had calmed in alignment with my mindset, I would gradually lay on my back, head submerged and limbs outstretched. My heart rate was generally fast, as was my breathing, as my head went from shock to numbness too. Floating there the whole world would disappear as I became euphoric and gradually my whole system went into a state of complete tranquility, merging with the water as my healer.

The water healed my trauma, as it continues to do so to this day. I work with all my emotional turmoil through what I now see as elemental alchemy — some days it’s ice, others it’s heat … and on others I like to climb a mountain in gale force wind or driving rain. Still on other days, I like to sit indoors and simply breathe, chant and observe all the sensation in my body.

As a Craniosacral Therapist, Integral Coach, Meditation Teacher and, most recently, a qualified Mountain Guide, I would like to invite you to connect with yourself through the elements so that you can more effectively integrate the full capacity of who you are.

If you need guidance, you can contact me for one-on-one sessions either in person or online.

Where attention goes, energy flows

What we give our attention to becomes our purpose.

When we are constantly distracted by making a living, we have no capacity to make a life. We then have what is called a midlife crisis which is nothing more than suddenly having time and capacity to allow into consciousness that which we were born to do … and potentially recognising that we failed at that.

Then misery and breakdown occurs because the psyche doesn’t want to acknowledge that all that life was wasted — it’s a kind of cognitive dissonance that makes us hang onto the illusion of the bullshit we have been fed because allowing the knowing of that truth would cause us to choose suffering in the face of our irreversible mistake … and the mass societal gaslighting.

This can literally kill some people, or it can break away the shell of one’s understanding of who one perceives oneself to be.

You can get stuck in the constructed reality that says it’s only normal if you sacrifice most of your life in the pursuit of fulfilment through possessions and money just so you can retire when you too old to use it on anything other than medical care. Or you can lament this perceived waste of life and truth. 

You get to choose to break through or be broken open … the point being that you get to choose. 

And rather than living the lie or the victimhood, you get to Start Again!

My life is proof that it is never too late to start again. I admit to having broken open on a few occasions — life’s longing for me to live into what gifts I bring cleaved me open like an oyster so that I could brandish my pearl. That was the beginning of both the hero journey and the true ego journey — the treacherous and tortuous paths that taught me to hold lightly that which I bring because as is evident with a baby who is born with fists tightly closed, so too is it evident that in death our palms lay open … we can hold onto nothing so let it flow through your fingers like the river of chi flows through your spine.

Mirror Mirror

When I work with clients, it gives me access to all those parts of myself that also need work, development, acknowledgement or just simple noticing.

Recently, there has been a calling for me to look beneath the story I have of being ADHD. This story comes with my inability to sit still, my drive to go running daily and my incapacity to focus fully on any given task for extended periods of time. And I also know that when I have to I can … which means there is more beneath the surface. There is ALWAYS more beneath the surface.

I speak a lot about letting go of certainty of anything in favour of allowing whatever is in the blindspot to emerge into the light. And this goes for allowing what’s underneath each story to fully reveal itself.

So, looking in the mirror of the work I have been recently doing with clients, I sense into this disease around rest; this guilt and self-judgement that comes with not doing, doing, doing; this feeling of not deserving time out lest I become lazy, lethargic, unmotivated. I am debilitated by my need to rest sometimes because of all my strong inner critic (in IFS terminology this would be one of my managers keeping me safe from feeling all of the above) telling me I’ll never do anything ever again if I take a moment off from being busy physically or mentally – even the act of meditation has become a doing rather than a being for me. She’s a fierce inner critic and I have been ignoring her to my own detriment; using my ADHD label as justification to keep moving in all layers of my being and, when I stop, getting stuck in a freeze state terrified of being caught out being all the nasty judgements she assigns to me.

What is it that is underneath your story? Can you see it?

It’s critical that one only goes there when safe enough to do so. There is a way to go in just a little bit at a time, gradually doing deeper and deeper until you get to the core – going directly there will freak out the protector parts of you and they’ll jump in to do their job to keep you safe whilst sabotaging the work that needs to be done.

If you need help finding these parts of yourself and feeling held whilst doing this integral work, contact me on +27 (0) 741011621 or wellworthbeing@gmail.com

Leading through Nature

This refers to self leadership as well as leadership of others because until you have begun the process of self development you cannot lead others to do the same.

Through a process of elemental bathing in nature, we connect to self. Because we are made up of all the elements, the only access to full self reflection and awakening has to come through access to the earth, the sun, the streams and the fresh mountain or forest air. And through true connection to self, we can then go into our workplace or place of study and have impact on how we lead and engage with others.

The walks in nature that I guide you on will take you through a process of connection and integration. We will walk mindfully and stop for meditation and breathwork along the way. We will fully ground and find spaces in our emotional and mental bodies so that our physicality can be purified and better able to connect to our higher source. We are all connected so any work we do for ourselves we also do for the collective, near and far.

I do purely exercise-related hikes and trail runs too. Contact me to discuss individual or team events on the mountain, in the forest or by the sea.

Sacred Pause

You may not have chosen your particular path; you may have been unwittingly pushed off, or on, course by events in your life; but this is your path and only you can walk it. No matter where you are on either your external or internal journeys, I’d like to invite you on an adventure that integrates the two, by exploring your outer realities within the context of your inner landscape. Whatever the challenges you face, you already possess either the resources or the capacity to develop the correct set of resources to travel this passage through whatever you step in to meet and whatever rises to meet you.

Treat your life like a pilgrimage: follow the waymarkers; get lost; take some detours; meet new people; see new sights, and always remember to resource well with water, rest and nutrition. Travel well … one step at a time. Simply walking along narrow trails and being touched by the Cape fynbos, and deeply breathing in mountain or sea air, will infuse your system with beneficial microbes. You are changed by every step, every breath, every emotional emergence and every sight, touch and sound. Embrace the change – it is the only guarantee.

Don’t seek the path, seek rather that which prompts the looking. This is your own personal pilgrimage.

Life as Master Sculptor

Michelangelo said he didn’t create David; he allowed David to reveal himself. He was the vehicle that allowed the image within the stone to become manifest. I see this as the gift of purpose at the core of all of our beings; I feel we are born with it. The work then is to find the catalysts that break away the compensations we have created around us preventing us from being in the discomfort of who we are.

It’s critical in this societal structure for our children to discover their unique and innate gifts whilst this covering is still membranous and porous … before all the layers have turned to stone … before they need hammer and chisel to get to the core of who they were born to be.

I am an advocate for the work of uncovering through authentic living who each of us was born to be so that our meaning creation becomes the vehicle for the gifts we can offer up.

Contact me here if you would like to do the work of soul and purpose; if you are ready to walk your path.

Accumulation Addiction

People use money as a tool of compliance — blackmail you into giving up your authenticity and your dreams. People bind money to love so it warps the notion of love and creates fear in the void where love is meant to be.

You’re not alone if you feel bound to a system like a family, a job or a spouse, enmeshed in the indoctrination and gaslighting around not being able to make it alone, not being able to stand on your own two feet without their financial input. There are many people who remain bound to a dysfunctional family or don’t leave a job or a spouse because the system they are in has undermined their ability to such a degree that they are immobilised by their perceived inability to survive without them. These same systems also make sure the individual doesn’t have any outside interests (no moonlighting in a work contract) or friends outside of the system who might influence them to recognise their are trapped in an unhealthy place.

We’ve been duped; we’ve got it all wrong! Progress isn’t about getting more; it’s about learning to live with less. Financial abuse is when people use money as a tool against you, to manipulate, to coerce you. It happens in families, marriages and in workplaces. Sustainability means giving stuff up so you aren’t constantly striving for more stuff and then having to support the attainment of said stuff by sacrificing the parts of your live that would essentially negate your need to attain said stuff in the first place. To create a sustainable lifestyle, find out what you value most and what matters most to you and hold those things with more reverence than the stuff you think you need to get in order to prop up your values on a pseudo pedestal. Because when things fall apart, which inevitably they always do, you will still have the things you need to sustain you — the things that money and status and cars and jobs can’t give you.

Abundance is love, kindness, joy and ease … it is a settling into the simplicity that everything is available.

“The world has enough for everyone’s need but not for everyone’s greed.” Mahatma Gandhi

#sustainabilitycoaching
#abundancemindset
#lifestylechange