the way of play

Kung Fu Panda is one of my favourite films. I’ve watched it more times than I can count — enchanted by its humour, its wisdom, and the idea that what’s meant for you will find you. So when I joined a kung fu school, everything seemed to fall into place. I loved the training. I worked hard. I gave things up for it. I told myself: this is the way. But the path isn’t always a straight line. Sometimes it curves like a river. Sometimes it carries you somewhere you never meant to go. When things eventually fell apart (there are no accidents!), I followed a wild instinct and stepped into a capoeira class. I moved. I sang. I played. And something shifted. I realised I am not a panda. Kung fu is a beautiful art, but it never quite reached all the branches of my oak tree. Capoeira did. Now I’m learning to fight and to dance, to sing and to fall, to move in rhythm with others and with myself. It’s not about mastery, but about resonance. What feeds my practice, feeds my art. What lights me up, lights the path.

Take flight

Autumn used to be my least favourite season. I would hide under a blanket, depressed, longing for the winter solstice and the longer days that it promises. But this year I have felt mesmerised by the changing colours of the trees, playing with the red and golden leaves with a happiness that I remember only from childhood. For the first time I am embracing the dark evenings that invite me to slow down, reflect on and let go of the exuberance of summer, to read my favourite books in the light of cinnamon scented candles and quietly do my meditation practices before bed. At first I didn’t notice this change in my spirit. But as this new energy takes me to the beach each morning to witness the rising of the sun and breathe in the crisp air, I was walking through the dunes at dawn when out of nowhere a murmuration rose up from behind the hills and flew right over me, almost knocking me down. With the beauty of the world in my face like that I couldn’t help but see that, to be free of the things that are holding you down is the most liberating feeling in the world. And to fill your life with things that lift you up, the greatest treasure.

My home is the sea

The world is full of beautiful places, but for me nothing is more magical than the sea. Going to the beach helps me to find my balance whenever I’ve lost it. Walking along the shoreline, the endless horizon stretched out before me, always fills me with newfound trust, strength, and joy. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly why the sea has such healing qualities – even more so than a forest, lake, or mountain top. Perhaps it is something about the coincidence of, not two, but three natural elements, Earth-Water-Sky, that creates a special kind of synergy that you cannot find anywhere else. But the power of the sea becomes even more clear, when you decide to shed your clothes and submerge yourself in the water. Now you are floating, slowly drifting, between the earth and the sky. You don’t have to do anything… just let the salt water wash away your sorrow, as you listen to the calming sound of the rolling waves rushing over the empty seashells. If you’re lucky an inquisitive seal will and come play with you. But you can’t have expectations, because every day is different. Like the water, you too must surrender to the sun and the moon.

The spaces in between

To write one needs empty time. Vast open spaces so that your thoughts may arrive from far away places, like white gulls landing on the tranquil water of the sea after the waves have quieted down. Between two jobs, training, the people I love, news feeds to scroll down, old wounds and daily worries, I have found it difficult lately. I live a modest life in my little beach house, away from the busyness of the city, shopping centers, and smartphones – and yet I struggle sometimes. This morning, however, something changed. On a whim I swept my day clean of social obligations and headed out through the flower-filled meadows, taking the long route through the dunes to the sea. When I reached the beach, I looked down and noticed a clivers stuck to my sweatpants. Climbing up from my ankle to my knee like an ivy, clinging to me as we made our way over the warm sand towards the indigo horizon. As I watched her dancing in the wind, I realised that I need to keep trying. That it is up to me to create spaces, to keep still and listen as the world marches on. Because there are stories waiting to be told…

Paradise is where I am

After a couple of radiant days of spring, the weather has taken a turn. Stormy winds and downpours of rain that turns into hail whenever it gets the chance. Occasionally the sun comes out, but never for more than fifteen minutes. My shorts and slippers are lying abandoned in the hallway, without purpose or hope. I had big plans for my day off – into the woods, a swim in the sea, lying down on the grass in a city park – relaxing and laughing with friends… Instead we trod through town with soaked jeans, hiding under our hoodies. We stop at our favourite coffee place and sit down on the wooden benches outside. The clouds rush on, allowing a splash of sun that lights up our faces. A flower has fallen, face down, on the dark soaked wood. The radiant colour is enhanced by tiny drops of water, a perfectly shaped carpel in its centre – a miniature universe. As so, as I am raptured by the pureness of this beauty, I realise you don’t have to travel far to find happiness. You only have to open your eyes.