Tink*abell

In my post of february 14th, I sketched some wishes for my life’s development… it is such a pleasure to read back now, and know, I have received all and more! Staying true to my intentions, I shall detail the hows and whats in my emerging Spellfinder blog…

Just mentioning it here to express my gratitude at circles closing, seeds opening with life, taking time to rejoice in the hyacinth’s fragrance : )

A dear, wise woman has died. My last “grandmother” – mother of my mom’s partner. Today we bury her.

Tante Hans – always cheerful, wise, honest. Compassionate. Never a complaint – yet she stood her ground.

I am grateful to have known her, grateful she had such a swift departure. I am inspired by the way she was, chose to be.

Today, I look at the black hole inside I used to fear, and know: this is what connects us. It is the universe of spirits, of nothingness, of eternity, that has lit life in you, and me, and everyone we know – and which, whatever we do, in whatever form it expresses itself, we must acknowledge, in eachother as in ourselves.

Namaste, tante Hans. Your light, no longer contained in your mortal body, will continue to enlighten the lives of all who knew you. I feel blessed and shall try to honour you by shining on.

It seems I keep signing off here… but honestly, I have been proliferating blogs at a disturbing level, dear reader. Since september 2008, when I got back in the blogging game, I have created and been posting on and off at around seven blogs.

However rewarding, and how I am tempted to keep it up, splitting my personalities in a semi legitimate way, this is confusing you and me both. It seems strange to put this particular one on hold – since it is the oldest and has most visits to boost – any day now, we’ll break that 1.000-mark!

But Tinkabell has served its purpose to help me get out of my depression/burnout. CurrentlyI hold the belief that I was never really depressed ; ).  As a bonus, it has helped me find all of you Ubuntu people! Vanessa, you most of all, by your individual attention and through the following you have gathered – you have given me such strength and hope, by knowing I am not alone in some of my loopier thoughts. Helped me find my own sense of meaning, purpose and values, through what I read and recognize in you, throu. What a wonderful time it has been! Meeting of the mind, heart and soul, forever to remember.

Now my spirit is strenghtened, I feel I am ready, willing and able to move on. I will try, I will fail, but I will succeed through doing, no matter what the result. It is time to enter the real world with these fresh yet solid beliefs you have helped me uncover in myself. To make it true for my real life connections.

Meaning:

– I envision setting up an offline business as a teamempowerment coach. Spellfinder, as I call it, will grow organically. The beginnings of the website are up for you to explore. You are welcome to follow my writing and other professional  there. I have decided to publish there once or twice a month (limiting myself here!).

– I am working hard at landing a job to fuel my network, need for company and wallet while I develop Spellfinder (which may take years, truth be told). I see this happening in the very near future.

– I will continue writing in social settings, which is what drew me here. Offline, now, though! For starters, in my monday writing group.

Sadly, I won’t be posting here anymore. This may turn out very hard (in fact, impossible!) for me, too. But I want to honour my inner voice, that keeps whispering I need real people, hot bodies around me, and I cannot live from behind a computer screen. So I am going to keep it up (or rather, down). I have to admit, this blogging break has done me good.

In honour of the solace and hope found here, I will leave the existing posts up. Maybe, someone may find answers or words of comfort or a new truth that fits them, too. If not, that’s OK too – it will be a mememto to a unique experience. Thank you for sharing it with me!

If you have come here because you want the blogname, please contact me. I am sure we’ll work something out!

Wishing you a wonderful Valentine 2009 – with love to all of you out there who participate in the reading and writing conversation.

Thank you for reading, 

Tink

The tent is so small, I want to stretch my arms, rest them under my head, but the coffin shape doesnt allow it. I push the cloth, feeling dimished. Why didn’t we rent a room in the hotel, where we could have normal beds, to stretch ourselves in all we like? We walk from the harbourfacing, highpoled structure towards the city highrises. Across a green no mans land, that is destined to disappear when the ambitious, mirrorlike highrise will be built, that will block the soft orange sunlight that now illuminates the flats behind. I can already see the huge, cold shadow it will throw, and a quick shiver runs down my spine, that I try to ignore.

Entering the hallway of the young man’s studio, we feel enclosed like he must have. I have the key, but am uncertain how to fit it in. The lock faces upward and it seems to be installed inside out. I match the keys protrusion to the hole, having to hold it upside down and backward. The chafing on the wood opposite the hole shows me this is the right way, I am chafing it now, too. My partner stands behind me, impatient, but reassuring the Japanese police that I know what I am doing and will get it right. We all think of the loneliness of this homosexual student, living in a boarded off room with his uncle and aunt, who keep him away from their life. How it happened, we will soon find out, but the eeriness of why, how easy it must have been, to elimitate someone so isolated, haunts our spirits, chills our souls.

The lock clicks and I jam the door open. The room looks surprisingly warm and cosy, semi steamy windows facing the harbour. In the middle is a cooking island. A skillet with minced meat frying sits on top of the stove. The meat is still tepid. An open tiny tin of tomato puree concentrate stands on the side, with a chopped onion, ready to be chucked in. The muffled sound of aunt and uncle talking penetrates the make shift wall of plasterboard.

I turn in wonder to face my partner and the Japanese police officers.

This was my dream of last night! The eerie feeling was with me when I woke up and I can sense it again when I recollect this dream. Strangely, it also makes me feel proud, and in wonder about the specificity of the details.

It has been almost a month now when my dad suffered his brain stroke – january 6th, day of the Epiphany.

So, is the epiphany that we all need some resetting?

I had a vivid summary repetition of four childhood dreams. Dreams that came to me repeatedly at the age of 8.

A dream of a family holiday. We drive up a small mountain trail, the four of us. The desert glows orange and barren. Suddenly, I am alone on the trail. Mom, dad, my older brother – I have lost them, or they are leaving me behind, backs turned, oblivious to my being. I feel utterly and completely alone and deserted.

Then, there’s the hot airballoon. I am in it, alone as well, and I drift.  Away, higher and higher. I want to get down – but I don’t know how. I remember telling my dad this one, we are on the stairs of the family home, and I feel bewildered, or possibly disappointed, that he doesnt have a satisfactory reaction to this dream. “It’s just a dream, right? If it gets too scary, just remember to wake up”, something alone those lines leaves me momentarily consoled, but a tiny scratching nags the edge of my stomach.

The under water one I remember telling my mom, and feeling similarly disappointed. I am swimming underwater, joyfully, until I hit a wall unexpectedly. I don’t know where to go and find I can’t swim up to the surface anymore, either. I want to scream for help but no one will hear me. The memory carries a sense of control, courage and urgency: I did conquer the immediate threat of the dream through my mom’s advice. In the now I have to wonder though, why does it come back to me?

The driving dream is so vivid it feels like a real memory. I am in our car under the golf plate make shift carport next to our garage. I can barely look over the steering wheel, I can’t be over 5 years of age. I have to drive, though – and I do. Haphazardly, out of control pushing pedals and steering, I find myself driving through the quiet yet winding lanes of our neighbourhood. The car goes way to fast for me and I skirt the soft shoulder. I want it to stop but I don’t know how. This dream has definitely been responsible for me needing so much driving lessons…

The meaning of these dreams is quite clear, especially knowing the events of the time: my parents divorced, our family split up. Even before that, it was every man for himself.

Even mom tells me, emotions around the divorce come back to her now she’s visited dad a couple of times.

For me, it is all fear. Of being all alone – of having to take on too much responsibility – of losing my way – of being unable to communicate – of losing touch with reality, getting lost in an airy dream world.

And the fears, old as they are, are strong. They suck me in, drain my energies. Especially after visiting dad. I have to take care of myself, I can’t go too often. But he needs me – he seems happy I have come. So there we are. Borders. I must fend for myself. Enjoy my own life. Energize it, generate energy in it – before giving it away so freely. The dreams show me how. These fears are still pitfalls for me. Don’t let them guide me. Don’t let them suck me into my own energy credit crisis. Know they are there. But they are ghosts of the past. No need to fight them, now – I am not alone, helpless, lost, too little with challenges too big. I may feel that way because of old now invalid patterns activated through circumstance. This is how interacting with the other three (mom, dad, brother) makes me feel. Because it is where they left me. But now, different patterns may apply. Find circumstances to strenghten those. Define success on my own terms. Use mind power to create those different patterns. What does love, success, a family mean to me now? What do I want it to mean?

I try to be grateful to the Universe for pointing this out to me. Move on. It is time. Here is your vortex. It may suck you in – that’s OK. Just trust that you wont stay stuck in there. It is not your destiny. That lies beyond. Go for it!

PS Dad is doing OK – not talking, but walking, and this week he’s done some humming and some computer mousework.

I am taking a blogging break until february 14th – when I shall return with love.

I need some time to continue my morph – break out of my online cocoon, put more of the new me out in the real world. Try ways to show my friends, family and my new colleagues (that I still have to meet).

Thank you for your unwavering support, inspiration, acceptance and awareness –

keep thinking good vibes while I morph 🙂

Love Tink

The power of thought is the power of creation.

Like cold air and the exact conditions, that create a snow crystal out of a water drop.

It is the Namaste light that shines in my eyes, and in yours, too (thank you Nick for reminding us).

I call upon my own powers of creation, as I invite you to call upon yours.

I wish to create for myself, my loved ones, those close to me and those I encounter in the physical and digital world – clarity, calmness and kindness. Space to grow and enjoy life to its fullest, picking all its berries, sweet and bitter, tasting, digesting and energizing. Gnawing it down to the bone, while hatching new life. Space to breathe, yet hands to touch, when reaching out. Warm bodies and shoulders to share the burden.

Create new pathways to love myself, to trust that I matter. Every second of me. As do you, and you, and you.

Thank you for being, thank me for being, thank my parents for bringing me to life.

Creating ways to express this. Everyday, every second.

Yesterday around noon my brother called me. My dad had a brain stroke (his 3rd one) yesterday night. He is in hospital and lost his speech.

My brother and me went to visit in the evening, he was strangely chipper, trying to crack jokes without words. Trying to cheer us up, I guess. But also sad and frustrated.

After, we visited my dad’s girlfriend. Strange because our relationship is somewhat undefined. After we announced it became time to leave, she confided the troubles of their relationship to us. That was weird and stayed on my mind almost more than my dad’s health.

Just now, I called her to say (paradoxically), I do not really want to hear about those troubles. Yet, I love her, as does dad, and want to see her well and their relationship blooming. That was weird, me trying to take care of her, when all I really feel is alienation and her anger towards my dad. For not taking care of himself – quit smoking, start exercising, and not allowing her to take care of him. Also, I really do not want to take this counselling role toward a parent, or any loved one for that matter, for it seems like ‘forsaking myself’, when I really want to take care of me. But then again, I exist in relating to others – but I must be present, claim my own space in that relation. That is what I keep forgetting, what I miss.

O well, another day, another try, another fail: heightening the chances of success, another day. Being sucked into a family vortex of unwanted patterns, trying to break free.

She was happy I called. Me too: I needed to do something to stop mulling about what she told us yesterday. I imagine I handed it back to her: I think this belongs to you.

Now, I long for a change of tune, something else. I must find business as usual type of thing. Think I’ll go for a walk, first.

Thank you for listening.

The power of selection, the power of choice, that is real.

I am not so sure about the power of words, thought, opinions. Words – when spoken or otherwise made public, yes. So it is not in thinking them, but in expressing them where power lies. Sharing. What we join in here.

But thinking, judging, forming opinions – I guess you, who visit here, concur with me on that. Which seems paradoxical – dismissing thinking, judging, forming opinions is an opinion. So there. Still, I believe  it is vacant, useless, not serving any purpose, to read without writing, think without speaking. This is my belief, which I am reluctant to change. Because I have held the opposite belief for so long, without much success for me personally.

On the other hand, I believe there’s not really anything in itself wrong with lying, cheating, manipulating – if done out of love, joy, curiosity, and with care not to harm the people involved. Care for relations, yes that should be a guideline in anything you do. I know I fail at this – when I growl to my husband, when I sit quiet, angry, grumpily. So I am imperfect – I try to forgive me. But am disappointed, still.

Mostly, I find it so hard in this world, to witness the moral highground so many around me have withdrawn to. Including the inlaws we spent the Christmas holidays with. Instead of communicating, serving, listening, talking, playing – we read. We watch the news. We watch entertainment. We form opinions and donate. We vote. It seems so empty, all of it. We do not partake – we do not act – we sit and think. Heads on sticks. When last did you dance? Play? Act silly? No time. Must read this pile. What for, really? Call your mom. She loves you, even though she may not remember how to express it purely. She does. Call your sister, your brother. Express an interest. Make them take time for you. You are worth it. They are. Refrain from judging. Emanate love.

It makes me scared. The book, too (the Nick Hornby one). Scared of being the same. Of being defined by this scary, bored life. So I write. To share. To act. To empty myself of these fears. To come to life.

Let 2009 be full of life! It started well – my friend gave birth on january 1st : )

Here’s to life!

“Some light reading for my brother – check”, is what Xander thought when he grabbed the Nick Hornby novel from the table at the Viennese Barnes and Nobles. “Slow temperature meat cooking”- sis in law likes innovative cooking, right? Check. Why his wife always complained about the difficulty of giftgiving, he marvelled. Nice price, too – and look, even comes with a thermometer!

Sis in law does not like to cook meat and brother dear does not read – except for climbing blogs. But aw, that’s nitpicking details, isn’t it?

I like my brother in law, too. That’s how I ended up reading “how to be good”. Nice reason to scold him at the breakfast table – whaddayamean, nice reading? A quick glance at Amazon.com will teach you even Hornby fans have a hard time finding goodies in this production. But hey, a name sells, right? And he was due his next title, his publisher had been pushing him for months now. What are you gonna do if you have to earn a living writing? Can’t all be pearls.

Up to page 82, it’s just depressed reading about this wife and mom, bored, fed up, empty, getting ready for divorce. Especially for a young wife and mom like myself.

Then a spark of hope flames: for the story and the future of mankind. A healer is presented with all the skepticism needed to be convincing – for someone who is but too eager to be convinced, like yours truly.

But the roughness of the main male character shines through in this supposedly subtle, enlightened person, too. How can a true healer, someone with love in their heart, wreck such havoc in this family? Leeching of them because of his lack of self. How misguided was Nick when he wrote that – mistaking love for forsaking of self.

It’s all downhill from there. The only way to be good – how stereotypical, and unimaginative – is to give to the poor, and help those in need. Can we possibly imagine anything less creative? Less subtle? Haven’t we been around that block and shamefully back, time and again, ever since the crusades? On that note – well done to Ben Sombogaart for Crusade in jeans which we saw on TV last saturday. But how to be good now, hasn’t that been done infinitely better by, say Catherine Ryan Hyde in Pay it Forward?

I can only imagine Hornby writing this under pressure of his publisher – been given a title and good luck to you. Deadline in two months. He must have been every bit as defiant of writing this as the teenager boy was to be in it. The only character arousing any amount of sympathy.

The novel ends sullenly in an unchanged the status quo, none the wiser, except the wife/mom who comes to the conclusion she needs some Me Time (ie reading time). The hope guru DJ GoodNews brought was shortlived.

So Nick: please try again? After showing us how not to be good, there’s ample opportunity for a retry… ; )

PS and could you cut the monologue interieur back to, say, a tenth of what you’ve done here, adding action and dialogue as replacements? This was such a slow read, I kept wanting to be done…