Wishes, Dreams, Goals
✿ Have picnics ✿ Visit villages covered in greens and flowers ✿ Eat fresh healthy food from the farmer's market ✿ Plant seeds in the garden ✿ Watch the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees ✿ Be naked indoors ✿ Cultivate poppies in the garden ✿ Repot the lavender my father gave me a few days ago ✿ Play harmonica on warm friday evenings when home alone ✿ Repaint my bedroom ✿ Buy a rose bush ✿ Have no interest in preserving the status quo ✿ Surround myself with bees!!!! ✿ Wear flowers in hair ✿ Sunbathe with a fun book ✿ Make spring-themed pages in journals ✿ Dance to faerie music ✿ BE a human playground ✿ Stare at hares crossing me on field trails ✿ Make blanket forts ✿ Press flowers in books ✿ Spend a lot of time with my love ✿ Build a spring shrine in a corner of the bookshelf ✿ Play basketball outdoors ✿ Arrive home with fingernails dirty everyday ✿ Eat pears ✿ Drink plenty of freshly made fruit juices ✿ Fill the house with fresh flowers ✿ Buy hair barrette from Nolemire ✿ Make a bird feeder and put it in the garden ✿ Row a boat ✿
I rarely socialize with the people in my house, and I spend the majority of life locked up in my bedroom; it's a sanctuary. It's peaceful and safe in there. It's also warm, cosy and full of creative energy bouncing up and down, left and right. This energy, I carry with me and pour onto the outside world.
But I don't stop with the bedroom. I also have a sacred space inside the room, like one of those Russian dolls. I build altars and shrines obsessively; I've done this since I was a child -not knowing that that was called a shrine, of course. I've always felt the need to sanctify every space I come in contact with.
I feel most inspired in places of reverence and silence and contemplation and beauty. I've always loved sittting inside churches and libraries precisely for that reason.
I have many hidden shrines all over my room -nobody would ever suspect every single item in every space I own has been carefully studied and selected ;) And then I have the altar.
For me, a sacred space must be alive. What I've observed from other people who share their altars online -don't you love peeking at people's lives?! I do!!!- is that their little constructions seem to be an inert space. They don't sit at it to do anything. People just select a bunch of objects with the "right" colors and symbols, arrange it all to look pretty and then never interact with it. I can't do such a thing. Why? Because I'm too pragmatic and hate collecting stuff. Everything I own, I must have an active relationship with it; everything must be alive and have a purpose. When I don't have a relationship with that thing, its presence weighs on my mind; it's clutter.
Another thing I've observed is that people tend to have a bazillion objects on their altars, to the point where the entire surface of the table is covered in stuff. When I see that, I think "But how do you put a book on that surface? How do you work without space to even prop your elbows?"
My altar is quite small, so I am mindful of the objects I place on it. I need enough space for a big book or a notebook, so I can read and write. I need enough space so my arms can move and not hit candles or statues and break stuff. I'd rather have nothing more than one candle and one pinecone, because it is crucial for me that my sacred space allows for physical activity.
Claim a corner -or an entire room- in your home and MAKE it yours.
1. Ask yourself:
What do I want to do in this place?
Meditation only? Reading? Journaling? Then you know you'll need to sit either on a cushion on the floor or use a chair.
Spell casting only? Maybe in this case you'd prefer a regular table instead of a coffee table, so you can work standing up.
Only YOU can answer this question and come up with the tools you need.
2. Personalize. What would make this place feel very you?
Brainstorm objects (including ones you already have) that would give you a sense of safety (hello sanctuary!). Don't forget to pay attention to the colors you choose. Personally, I rotate the color of my altar tablecloth according to the seasons. Why? Because being attuned to nature is the central piece of my spiritual practice.
I've read many articles where they encourage the use of cool colors (blue, lavender, etc.) because, supposedly, they enhance relaxation and peace. Not for me. I find red extremely relaxing during the cold months because it brings me the warmth that nature lacks at that particular time of the year. So remember that just because someone tells you to stick to the traditional symbolic association for something, you don't have to follow that advice if it doesn't feel right. You are your own authority when it comes to symbolism in your life.
Many articles and books also encourage you to keep your space decor symmetrical. Again, that's not me. My personal style is closer to The Burrow than to Malfoy Manor. I tried doing symmetry but it always made me feel as if the space was too majestic, as if I take life too seriously. I need a space which is clean and decluttered, but somewhat crooked. That resonates with me, so that's what I do. If your thing is symmetry, go ahead! Whatever brings you peace and inspiration, do that.
3. Keep it decluttered. You want to create a feeling of care & clarity. Having a cluttered space will make your mind and spirit feel uncomfortable, weighed down and stressed.
Moreover, the act of cleaning it up a few times a week helps me connect with the place. So cleaning is far from a chore, it's an exercise in connection!
4. Other ideas to accessorize your space:
☀Fresh flowers ☀ Candles ☀ Crystals and rocks ☀ Incense ☀ Things collected from nature during hikes (pinecones, seashells, leaves, fallen nests, feathers...) ☀ Journals and pens ☀ Texts and books you're currently reading on philosophy or spirituality (or anything you fucking like! It's YOUR space) ☀ Little notes to self folded and kept in a bowl or box ☀ Affirmation jar or gratitude jar or gratitude journal ☀ Crafts you've made ☀ Images that inspire you ☀ Jewelry that makes you feel Godlike ☀ Potted plants ☀ A terrarium or a fairy garden ☀ Garlands ☀ Intention jars you've made (I only keep one at this point: the one I made for love before I met my beau) ☀ Figurines or statues that inspire you ☀ The bottle of perfume you wear only in the sanctuary ☀ A CD you play often when you're in this corner doing your thing ☀ Love letters you've received, or love letters you've written but will never send...
Your imagination is the limit, my friends.
Make it cosy and true.
♦ ✧ ♦
I might be a book lover but I'm also a tough reader.
Hard to please is an understatement.
I can count with one hand the number of books that have had an effect on me, especially as an adult. And most especially after falling in love with the Harry Potter series. I swear those books fucked up my brain processes & my expectations of fiction forever, and now my pickiness when it comes to novels has reached stratospheric levels. Nothing is mind-blowing enough.
Looking back at the last few years, there are only four fiction novels that have captivated me; one of them, I'm still in the process of tasting, swallowing & digesting it.
I'd like to shine a spotlight on them for you and, hopefully, you'll allow yourself to be seduced by these masterpieces.
I'm currently halfway through the second installment of The Kingkiller Chronicle, The Wise Man's Fear, and although I don't have much time these days to dedicate to reading, the book is always on my mind and I mention it often to people. The thing is... even though I haven't finished it yet, we've already bonded. This series is my new source of inspiration & escapism. It's been years since I've been able to say such a monumental statement.
I must say that the secondary characters trigger my gag reflex for the most part. Speaking generally: women are dumb and useless, and the main character's best friends are a yawn fest. But maybe that's just me. It is the main character that catches my interest the most.
The world in which the story takes place is intricate and contains layers upon layers of folklore, as well as fictional historical facts. This historical aspect gives the story the necessary life force to stand as its own well-developed dimension.
So many of my favourite movies aren't that well known, and I'd like to give a voice to them because of how beautiful, touching and meaningful they are.
Make yourself a batch of popcorn (I like caramel!) or a gigantic cup of tea or coffee, grab a blanket and turn the lights off in the room. I hope at least one of these moves you :)
Les Choristes (The Chorus)
You know those rare films that somehow manage to wrap tragedy in a warm blanket of magic, miracles, humanity and sweetness? This is one of those.
The History Boys
The trailer doesn't do it justice; it seems borderline dumb. I found it heartFULL, mentally stimulating, warm & hilarious.
This movie is grossly underrated, in my opinion. It is complex, raw, and it sucks you entirely into the characters' world. It gives me a similar feeling to Dead Poets Society, in the sense that I feel as though I am part of the group of characters, and as though I'm living in that school, observing their cruel games, and getting emotionally invested in everything that's happening. And it is so honest regarding the so-called dark side of us human beings. The psychosis, the manipulation, the compulsive lying, and ultimately the fear and loneliness that drive us to behave in all those not-so-charming ways... make this a timeless jewel. Every time I watch it, it's a slap to my face, a wake-up call. At the same time, it's not all thorns and shadows; it's strangely cozy, visually appealing & captivating.
Friendship between loners and misfits. Another example of a film exploring the darker side of the psyche and, to an extent, the consequences of loneliness.
The trailer makes it look quite dull, in my opinion. But Dear Wendy is actually colorful, endearing, artsy and fucking intense.
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
To those first feelings that were born with me,
And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning
For idle dreams of things which cannot be:
To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;
And visions rising, legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.
I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I'll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side
What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?
More glory and more grief than I can tell:
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.
Where do I live? If I had no address, as many people
do not, I could nevertheless say that I lived in the
same town as the lilies of the field, and the still
Spring, and all through the neighborhood now there are
strong men tending flowers.
Beauty without purpose is beauty without virtue. But
all beautiful things, inherently, have this function -
to excite the viewers toward sublime thought. Glory
to the world, that good teacher.
Among the swans there is none called the least, or
I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in
singing, especially when singing is not necessarily
As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious
and full of detail; it wants to polish itself; it
wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in
the world that can hold, in a mix of power and
sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,
ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.
Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.
There are many ways to perish, or to flourish.
How old pain, for example, can stall us at the threshold of function….
Still friends, consider stone, that is without the fret of gravity, and water that is without anxiety.
And the pine trees that never forget their recipe for renewal.
And the female wood duck who is looking this way and that way for her children. And the
snapping turtle who is looking this way and that way also. This is the world.
And consider, always, every day, the determination of the grass to grow despite the unending obstacles.
I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by this adventure--your life--what would do for you?
And, where are you, with your ears bagged down as if with packets of sand? Listen. We all have much more listening to do. Tear the sand away. And listen. The river is singing. …
For myself, I have walked in these woods for
More than forty years, and I am the only
thing, it seems, that is about to be used up.
Or, to be less extravagant, will, in the
Foreseeable future, be used up.
First, though, I want to step out into some
fresh morning and look around and hear myself
crying out: "The house of money is falling! The house of money is falling! The weeds are rising!
The weeds are rising!"
I don't write fiction anymore, I only store it in my head at this point. Going on for two years.
I still make up characters and imaginary friends -it's compulsive, I couldn't give it up even if I tried- and I'm in constant contact with them, but I don't put their stories on paper; I'm too obsessed with my own "real" life. Needless to say, my characters influence everything about me: my choices, my ability to see different points of view, my desires for this life, and even my daily behavior. People who find this strange clearly don't realise that imaginary friends aren't separate entities from the thinker; they are alter egos. They allow me to explore crazy ideas before I decide whether or not to bring them to fruition.
It's no secret that some of the places where I get to express my alter egos are my glorious journals. Some of them are used for plain writing and others contain visuals. I haven't found a better way to "know thyself" than pouring your soul into a notebook. I've also learned over time that I don't do well with the advice from certain professional writers and journalers, because they have what I call a "too mehanical" way of aproaching the process. For me, when I get mechanical... it just doesn't work. If I'm not immersed in some sort of emotional uproar, if I'm not bathing in the juices of restlessness... my brain is frozen. And I don't resist this condition anymore, on the contrary; now that I know for sure what works for me, I fuel it. I swallow all the inspiration I can gather on a daily basis, and fill myself up that way, then process it all through my blood, then spew the result with my own DNA attached to the mix of things. Hasn't failed me yet.
These are a few of the key ingredients of my writing process:
Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.
Henry David Thoreau
Bad writing precedes good writing. This is an infallible rule, so don’t waste time trying to avoid bad writing. That just slows down the process. Anything committed to paper can be changed. The idea is to start, and then go from there.
Writing is alchemy. Dross becomes gold. Experience is transformed. Pain is changed. Suffering may become song. The ordinary or horrible is pushed by the will of the writer into grace or redemption, a prophetic wail, a screed for justice, an elegy of sadness or sorrow.
Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
Only in men’s imagination does every truth find an effective and undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.
Splendour in the Grass
What though the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Born and raised in Barcelona city, now living in a small town.