The past few months have felt like a deep winter hole full of the most horrible little mind monsters one could ask for. I had a hoped I would write about something more cheerful, something with passion or inspired with bright intelligence, yet my inner landscape doesn’t seem to ring true. Instead, I will share with you all exactly where I am, in all my 50 Shades of Danish grey.
Eight months into this move up North, I will soon have my first Danish winter under my belt. It’s been such a massive undertaking of body, mind and spirit. The butterfly that was emerging since leaving London has had to undergo even more expansion and transformation. While this shedding of old skins can be an exhilarating and enchanting experience, it’s equally laced with nostalgia that captures me in her web of an old fabric in time.
January caught me in mid-air, suspended in fragmented moments of an old me. Moving images and memories lay open on my backdrop. As I pick them up, the sepia colour starts to fade and it’s nothing more than a memory of something that used to be… Who I used to be.
In this Viking Kingdom with all her winter shades of grey, I’ve been struck by the special moments when colour and simplicity awaken the worn out spirit.
I feel the grief of a thousand years or more cascading over my inner planes. Flooded with my own tears, they splash over each old image and I’m catapulted deeper into the understanding that this mysterious dance of life is fragile momentary. Each wave of sadness deposits me onto new beaches, where I lie worn out, withered, wrinkled and whole.
This dance of holding all the different parts of my story together continues to be a juggling act of sorts.
The mother in me with two small boys wants stability and security. Yet the mundane lunchboxes, school runs, a teaching job, play dates, food making, early mornings, teacher-parent meetings and a house full of Lego and paper airplanes can be hard to balance.
The artistic mother wants to create, read, write, dance, host retreats, do yoga, travel, be in the jungle, get lost in her own orbit of self-expression while exploring her consciousness.
The mother in me who has birthed her book and album; who wishes to give more and not feel insecure when she sees Facebook, Instagram and YouTube media which leaves her feeling like she is a withering failure of her own expectations.
These past few months have been difficult to navigate. It has been hard to do this in a foreign country, with different smells, sounds, and colder temperatures. It’s been grueling to face the demons of the past. Every day has felt like a ruthless task to show up and be mother and artist.
This dance of holding all the different parts of my story together continues to be a juggling act of sorts.
When those horrible mind monsters appear, all you hear is negative chatter. When I see only dark and speak words from a space of fear, I know I have to sing the chorus of my new song, “You gotta dig deep, deep down, round and round until you find what you looking for.”
These words have held me as I lay in a fetal position on the kitchen floor. As I lie in deep surrender to the changes in my life, I am grateful that I am able to feel so deeply, love so fully and be the vulnerable being that I am.
In this Viking Kingdom with all her winter shades of grey, I’ve been struck by the special moments when colour and simplicity awaken the worn out spirit.
Thor took me to a gallery called Arken. The architecture was pleasing to my eye and there was so much space. As we curved around the different rooms, we found feature installations entitled ‘vocabulary of solitude’. I was greeted with 45 hyper-realistic clowns, all-lying in different postures and spaces in the room. Each one oozed a kaleidoscope of colours, with their masks on, eyes closed and in meditation. Clowns, I thought, were usually supposed to be happy, energetic and entertaining. Yet these were the opposite: contemplative and passive. These 45 clowns appeared almost human – as though they’d just stepped out of their roles and clown shoes; or they were on their way into their roles, just about to tie their shoelaces, each captured in a peaceful moment before the show begins.
As I read each clown’s theme later, I was pleasantly reminded how each was represented in the present moment – how each of these ways of being echo through the shades of grey.
Be. Breathe. Sleep. Dream. Wake. Rise. Sit. Hear. Look. Think. Stand. Walk. Pee. Shower. Dress. Drink. Fart. Shit. Read. Laugh. Cook. Smell. Taste. Eat. Clean. Write. Daydream. Remember. Cry. Nap. Touch. Feel. Moan. Enjoy. Float. Love. Hope. Wish. Sing. Dance. Fall. Curse. Yawn. Undress. Lie.
This art exhibition affected me in such a beautiful way: it invited me to drop in and breathe in the color; to allow the creativity to move through my veins; to find play and to see creation in the mundane.
It reminded me how simple life really is when we:
- choose to let it flow
- choose to let things be, as they need to be
- stop interfering with the bigger picture
- feel all that we need to feel
- are honest with our sorrow and joy
It allowed me to quiet the monkey mind and reframe my thoughts: Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil.
As I hear my sons speak a new language with their friends and their English tones start to fade, I’m reminded of the present moment – where something new is in creation. It’s not to be hurried or rushed. It needs water, love, attention and time.
It needs time to settle, time to breathe, time to cry, time to be still, time to heal and a lot of self-love and acceptance.
As I look forward to spring and the new colours that will emerge, I look forward to meeting my inner clown of playfulness and possibility.
