Small blessings



To say my life is eventful is an understatement. My poor heart in constant emotional overload. My frozen body remains fixed as it was previous. A visit to the Guru a necessity soon. Additionally my mind is in a convoluted never-ending trap, it whizzes consistently. Change a misunderstood concept. I scowl without awareness at my innocent soya milkshake. Its charming appeal unnerving gloom stubborn. Effortless velvety chocolate glides down the old milk bottle retro, eyeing me suspiciously. It cascades across the unsuspecting leaf tray. Quivering, the chocolate ink delivers its own directive.

“Wherever you are, be totally there”.

My struggle with the now not a secret much. The now is difficult. Mainly dealing with it through disassociation and distraction. Unfortunately, nothing alternative presents anyway. So how to accept the now? The now is here, no matter what, it won’t be going anywhere else. Without full responsibility and individual accountability, forever I can evade the inevitable. But is this really what I want? I am not made this way. I cannot simply ignore truth, how difficult it may appear.

“Remove. Change. Accept. You must choose one option. No negativity. No excuses. No inner pollution,”

The harsh chocolate imprint rough against the soft green surface.

What should I choose? The most elementary choice would be with my here and now. So, to begin I block the voice urging my mind chaotic and then I actively look. I don’t resist the very moment I am living. Sat at an old-fashioned science lab, my swinging feet are perched on a recycled purple stool. Polished wooden floors smirk smugly at its visitor. One wall is lined with expansive books sated with their comforting companions. Full of many colourful varieties, they are a family united. Perched nearby, a vintage sparkling white ladder gleams under the glow of twinkling fairy lights for easy access to the wonderful word magic. The masterfully placed cube glass counter is glittery perfection. Its clean surface alive with a exquisite rainbow waterfall, it watches as droplets tiny, hum music of a special kind. Behind the enchanting firework pageant, vegan delicacies play peek a boo with delighted onlookers awed. A protective wall overlooks it. It is an impressive mighty one, lined with precious plants. Plants with their own unique stories. They literally grow through the wall. Most unique of all, at the centre, in its full magnitude is a grounded confident cherry blossom. It appears to care not that it is a quirky misfit. I inhale. My eyes travel to the ceiling of glass, from where mischievous raindrops tease dull clouds unimpressed. It is only then I hear the healing sound of an Indian flute playing peacefully in the backdrop.

The glass counter brims with an unspoken serenity. It is happy with its neighbours. The rustic brick wall with its big wide windows, nods reassuringly at me as if to say it would all be ok. My nostrils fill with the scent of aromatic roses, I open my clenched fists flooding with blood-red petals. The emotion in my throat overwhelming. I am here. Why can I not enjoy this then?

My now is breath-taking yet I struggle to find peace in it. The stillness perturbing. The “feeling” of being, the feeling of now like a noose hanging around my neck. It hits with a shock, I don’t like myself as I am. “There is no joy in myself” because who knew who I was anyway? My feet leap from the irritated stool. And as quickly as my tin body allows, I make an escape for the restroom. Hoping for welcome respite. Slamming the door distressed, I try controlling my whirlwind. Lights dim, begin to flicker violently. I stand limply in a narrow hallway, no toilet in sight. Instead here in a wickedly white trap, I am. Light bounces of it, casting ghosts on the thin walls. Two stubborn doors appear. One tattooed in crimson blood, the other a yellow rabbit hole. My throat lets roar a groan agonised. I cannot play this game today. I want to be left in my misery. Yet, here I am, glowering at these two purely naïve doors. Neither of them, willingly keeping me company. There is no obvious other choice but to open the doors to face the now.

Instinct guides my hand, I drop to my pleading knees to turn the golden knob and as I do the lemon door glides open with ease. It awaits my arrival. Awkwardly, unsteady I recover from my stumbled entry. An astonishing laughter accidently tears through my belly. On an ancient rocking chair, I am welcomed by the MadHatter in his complete humble splendour. His majestic ebony skin, shining like rays of sunshine. Razor sharp cheek bones, flushed pink. Curious wide set eyes, twinkle in starry moonlight. He deliberately flutters his eyelashes heavy. The colour of his eyes an ever-changing splatter of ink random. Long limbs feline-ish splashed lazily across the inviting rocking chair. Dressed in a starched shirt white, velvet sea green trousers and a well fitted silver blazer, he appears rather demurely dashing. A king upon his throne. Although, he wears one lime sock and his wild afro fights his pompous tall hat that is littered with buttons of different colours and sizes. I try not to gawk, wondering why the hell I am here. And as if I had spoken the words aloud, my childhood plays across walls, anxious at the impending horror they are forced to witness. The MadHatter, flicks through my memories, in an urgent attempt to find something, which he clearly doesn’t. On second thought, he clears his throat noisely.

“The past cannot survive in your presence.”

He drawls in a strong Texan way.

“We avoid the present by thinking and talking about the past”.

He elobrately clicks his long fingers to switch off the nightmare flashbacks. I am silently grateful, nausea rising in my throat. Unceremoniously, he kicks me out of the room, back into the patient hallway. Alone the crimson door awaits. Dizzy with fear, I force the door open. This room wreaks of death. Its stench overbearing. Messages in my own handwriting scribing the walls rotten. At first it makes no sense. I was witnessing my own death. Then the penny drops rather rudely. The walls a reminder of my incomplete passionate dreams. My unfulfilled desires to travel, to learn, to grow, to serve, to experience, to laugh. Japan. Morocco. Mozambique. Mexico. All crumbling beneath decaying flesh. The list tiresomely long. I vomit. This was my wish list memory box. All unfinished, until maybe a later time. Like a jack out of the box, the MadHatter pokes his head through the wall.

“It is not what you think it is.”

He raps repetitively as everything fades before me. Again, I am alone in the restroom. I run. I need to get away. The need desperate. In a flash, I am outside, blurry eyed and exhausted. I shove shaking fists into my trouser pockets to find a note. I pull it out, then another and another. It is a singing five pound note. The Queen rapping in the MadHatter’s voice. The message the same as earlier. I almost throw the money at the nearest bystander.

“My good deed of the day, please keep it.”

My voice a crackle static.

They reply, I hear not. Aching ears numb. Grateful for the crisp air, I disappear into the rain. Relieved to be here now.

Understanding presence is being present. Fuelling the past in thought or word only encourages to stay attached to the past. Further deluding us from any sense of the now.


In reaching this place, I was kindly guided by the following masters. All credit to them for their expertise. You may find their healing of some therapy, please seek at your own will.

Quotes: The Power of Now by Ekhart Tolle

Vegan recipes: twitter@avantgarde

Healing flute music:

Biodegradable eco-friendly essentials:

Heal your soul with this calming wonder.


Photography credit to original artists.


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