Letter 25: To Resistance

25 February 2012

Dear Resistance

‘Love your enemy’ is the first phrase that comes into my head right now.  The reason being that I sat down and pondered who or what to write to next; as I am now so tantalisingly near to finishing my cherished challenge of writing a love letter a day, every single day, for the Valentine month of February.  That is twenty nine epistles … shooting out into the cosmos, reaching into the void … may be to over reach and be sent unseen; or may be to touch and to torch another creature’s flame.  Well so it should be, if indeed twenty nine there were in existence.  For I stared at a white page and racked a blank brain for an object of inspiration … and there was none … Just five letters to go … the end in sight, but now no sight, no sense of next.

So then suddenly, there it was – my enemy: resistance, procrastination, pfaffing, dawdling, dreaming, distracting or what ever name you are going by today … Now I want to have this out with you and I’m guessing this won’t be once and for all: this stalling, this staying, this stopping of my strived for success.

Why can’t I move beyond this solid wall, this barrier, this self created strange protectionism?  Why am I so static, so staid, so very stuck, so often?  What weight is this, what darkness, what blindness to my future?  What rocket, what change or what challenge will shift you out of my path and let me stride, rather than stress my self forward?  I am so staggered that not even grief, tears or terrible fear motivates me on and over you.

So I must consider this and think … well … could it be that now is not my time to move; or may be here is my lesson – my learning obstacle to be climbed up and over and scaled like any average mountain of life.  But then this mountain is unseen, and it feels so solid, so heavy, so truculent, so frustrating, so scream generating; if I let it stick and let it raise steam …  There I am pulled back to black – stale, pale and aged.

So forward now … I see you and I raise you … I am aware of you and I name you.  Not to shame you, though shame is tempting, but to acknowledge you, to understand you, to know your role, to push your boundaries, then to blast through to freedom.

Someone told me there is no real cure.  “My name is Sandra and I am a procrastinator” … I wait for the acknowledged applause to die away …

Now I name you and know you Resistance, I can start to step away from you, to walk around, climb over or sail in you.  I know how you tick, I see how you move, I hear your special solid voice.  That voice is not to be a vice to me now.  For in the very act of stopping me, I learn to step around you, to dance nimbly away.

For me the solution is to share.  Your weight is too much to bear alone.  Life is not meant to be one.  I chose to connect to cherished colleagues, not fellow workers, not sharing inmates.  I chose to commit to promises, rather than to (other’s) deadlines; I move to the light, to the way forward, in ways that work for me – that work with my rhythms, my wants, my true skills, my loves.  I trace the naturalness of my form, my thoughts, of my heart and I replicate that out into the world.  Then I chose to share the un-natural, the unwanted tasks and transferences with those who have the gifts which are my strangers, my sloth and my burdens.

This is not one lesson learned and kept close.  So very often I slip back, absorbed into alternate realities, distracted by your square solid form blocking out the sun.  I forget you are there, lulled into old life patterns, long learned forms of being and of seeing.  Now in my new life there is no pattern of average days to give me reason and meaning, so I chose to create my own way and my freedom.  And freedom is not resistance, it is grace and flow and ease … and THESE I love.  So smugly I will end – my very enemy now my friend, and now my very latest letter.

    Farewell old fiend.

         Not yours. Miss S E A Peachey

PS: For this and all the Letters in book form – follow the link here to find out more…

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Letter 24: To Love

24 February 2012

Dear Love

So here we are – together, quietly, with everything in place. And because I’m sort of stubborn, this letter nearly didn’t happen, simply because some one said to me ‘and of course if you are writing love letters, you’ll write a letter to Love …’  Now see, these are MY love letters and I get to make up the rules … but any way, yes, here it indeed it is, and no, I did NOT write it on Valentines Day … I had my own original plans for that, so there …

So … awkward pause again … here we are … And what to say, how to start? Well the starting is the thing with love isn’t it? It can crop up unexpected, unbidden and suddenly shake your world or then again it can creep up on you and slowly envelope you, falling softly like a feather out of the sky.

And it can start as a glance, a realisation, a declaration; something known, on the tip of the tongue, at the back of the brain, from the bottom of the heart … And love comes in many shapes and shades and forms itself in solidarity or as shimmering waves.

So it’s not surprising then that we do not always see it in our space.  But spend a little time with love and you realise how much of it is around, when so often we are strangely pre-occupied with how little we have in our lives.  Yet love is an abundance – when you consider it in its’ every kind.  Start with the old cliché of loving yourself – the very best place to start I would say.  For me that is a waxing and waning; and far from loving myself, sometimes I can be my own worst hated enemy.  Yet it is the starting place of all our loves, so we must take care of loving ourselves.  Pay that first love its due, treat it with affection, shine a light on it and show yourself that you are loved.  And the easiest way is to be kind to yourself, do not silently chide or scold you and don’t listen to the dark voice that tells you that you cannot … be loved … instead love yourself.

And it reaches out, this love – to those around us, born to us, sent to us by fate as friends, chosen, gifted, sought.  So if we are not healed and solid in our own hearts, how can we reach out for more and give of our own best love?

For love moves and grows and can also stay unfettered in our being, unacknowledged for those around us, not named, when it should be praised and thanked and explored.  Well I’m biased in this of course, for these very letters are a gratitude of love, an exploration, a voyage through it.  And to my surprise they were largely unchartered waters and so I simply trusted and sailed them, sometimes through choppy waters and sometimes through calm, turquoise bays.

Where to sail to next?  Love is in many ways is the simplest of things and then again it can get so obscured.  How strange that at times it can feel it’s way as such a strong force and then be something that can wane away, grow pale and die.  Does real love really die?  I say no: I say you may not feel its’ force in your daily world, but there it lies and shall shock you or sooth you when it rises out of the past and introduces itself to you again.

So to those friends and lovers who have titled me that way in the past, then moved on, don’t think that you don’t live on in my heart, in some semblance; and never, ever imagine that you have left me for good.  Real love doesn’t work that way, that love is alive, though it may be dormant, even when it’s object is on a distant unseeable horizon.  And I understand you may say you love that thing, that one no more, and still I reply that love changes, transmutes, shifts and transforms and can hide, but is always there, around and in you.  Love is what makes you, love can guard you, buoy you; and when you think you lack love – you shrivel, you shrive and you waste.

If then you appreciate love in all its’ forms and not only the romantic him / her version – your world expands; the frequency of love letters coming to you pulses and increases and comes to you often and more – so much more when you chose to see it, in all its every glory.  Quite simply like attracts love … and so this letter ends ….

    With love, love, love … from Me xxx

PS: Love in ALL its’ forms is explored and celebrated in the complete set of letters now published in book form – follow the link here to find out more…

Letter 23: To Lucie Bradbury

23 February 2012

Dear Angel in Chief

That we have stayed together now through thick and thicker is a testament to our own strong wills, sometimes clashing, sometimes forgotten, sometimes celebrated …

And love can come in many ways, and shape itself to time and tide and so it can grow, and here then is OUR love story, told from MY sandy shore …

The first time we were in a room together, we didn’t meet … we were all celebrating an amazing year in someone else’s company.  The same someone else suggested I get in touch with you later, when I wanted to fix myself of my life’s ills (or so I thought).  So I came into your orbit, walking a muddy path from the life I had created towards to the life to be …

Then I find myself in a room with you again, shared with other women, learning NLP – Neuro Linguistic Programming … and very scared that I would learn the keys to the Universe, yet would fail to unlock the door …

My eyes were opened to training, but not as I had known it, or had indeed delivered it, in dusty corporate rooms of the past … This Training Room had cushions and candles, hugs and dreams, and still we learned the solid techniques of brain and language.  NLP did not change my world, in some ways, but this new experience showed me that I was not a broken thing; and I realised that this knowing could be a gift that I in turn, would give to the world.

So you didn’t want to send your newly trained fledglings out into the world on their own and created your fabulous feminine community … and there was I, a ‘Damsel in Success’, witnessing you too, stepping onto your stage, sharing the secrets of your heart’s success.  Teaching and inspiring and breathing deep, bringing more and more stars into your orbit.  And I watched too, through my own lenses, as you stepped through your own new life stages – planning a wedding, working with women, loving and laughing and so looking forward to bringing your first baby into the world.

And very soon, I skipped to the front of the room and said, this MUST go further, we must get it out there, let me help you make it so …

I can’t remember why, but we were chatting the day you went for your baby scan … we were both giddy and excited that you would see your unborn girl and get to know her better.  Then the scan revealed that all was not well with the precious embryo princess swelling in your womb.  The news was a blow, a time of tears. You handled it so amazingly … I watched with admiration and love while you shined through the news and loved your way forward.  And since you had created a supportive sisterhood of a community, we closed in to blanket you, as you needed it, and yet still you had the love lead US through this too.

Then your gorgeous girl was born and we watched her stay – an angel child, a true gift of God.  And she didn’t have the simplest of starts, yet she survived and thrived and now toddles amongst us, testament to the love invested in her, in so many ways.

And the ‘Damsels in Success’ community, was your baby too and times changed and that baby needed to leave or needed to grow and so, at this time of love and expansion, when it could have sank or shrank, instead it multiplied …

Your love well invested, now paid dividends and there I was at your elbow, stepping up into the spotlight beside you and then … we fell out … of love, of synchronised vision.  We attacked, we parried.  Our partners duelled on our behalves … Love turned to difficulty and to the heavy weight of picking up the phone to speak words that would not heal … And I really can’t speak for your side, but at this strange and changing time, I was mainly in the business of blowing smoke up your ass …

Yet through all the fog, there was still love.  I LOVED your baby and would not want to let it go.  All the difference had been made to my life and now it was MY turn to shine the light.  Stubbornly I clung on, I would not walk away and so I suggested ways to stay … and we started the clock again and kept on loving and moving …

And here we are now, we have both come so far, and there have still been hillocky jolts along the way, but here is the thing – when you say you love me, I feel the huge force of your heart.  And it is truth and sharing, journeying and light.  And of all your children, I find it strange to be the problem child at times, but you listen and I listen, and as wise women we know that the things that set us apart, sometimes are strangely the things that bring us closest together too … And in the end, as I’ve always said – what we create in our twin energy field, will reap wondrous rewards and glorious lessons for us both … and so it came to pass …

And who knows what stage of our journey we are at, sometimes in step and sometimes out, yet always with the same vision in soft sight.

Now when all is said and done, love is a gift and you are definitely a gift to me, my ‘Angel in Chief’.  Who knows where our wings will take us???  I can’t wait to find out, can you ..?

    With love from Sandie … your ‘Auntie Angel’ xxx

Auntie Angel & Angel in Chief

PS: Thank you Lucie Lu for your love and learning and not least for your permission to let this letter live in public.  S xx

PPS: You can find out more about our community at www.damselsinsuccess.co.uk

PPS: To get this letter and more in its’ book version – follow the link here to find out more…

Letter 22: To Comfort

22 February 2012

Dear Comfort

Well I’ve just got to come straight in with the compliments … what a gorgeous word you are; your beautiful cadent form is just gorgeousness personified …

What a glorious gift, what a soft, tender and giving thing you are … yes, the very thought of you makes my heart glad …

One of the many things I love about you Comfort, is the many forms you may manifest in.  You can be a hug or a healing, you can be light or you can be calming, sweet darkness.  Comfort is a recognised voice, a sense of familiarity and of a knowing. 

Comfort too can be a hot drink, a glass of wine, a chunk of chocolate … the kiss of loving, warming food.  Comfort food … mmmmmmmm …  A comfort of sausage and mash wrapped in a gravy of oniony flavour; or of pure cold ice cream caressing the tongue and the throat, melting into sensory pleasure.  A treasure of taste to be savoured and devoured, inhaled and duly digested.

I say, so sincerely Comfort, that I’m very sorry that I am not always faithful to you and am sometimes forgetful of you … I will often toil and trade and treat you like an affair, a guilty pleasure kept secretly for free and forgotten days, when really you are a necessity – my true love, my joy and my ultimate sanity. At those forgetful, regretful times, I push through life, I thrust and force, I cajole and cry.  These are hard things to do my dear Comfort, and yet so often I do them to myself, being my own willing victim, enslaving myself to time, to effort and to (non comforting) reward. 

Now there’s the thing – is comfort a reward or a right?  Is it a luxury or a necessity?  Is it a guilt or a given?  Is it rebellion or heaven? 

Comfort is love, in many faceted forms and love is my birth right, so comfort be mine and let me be true to you.  Ah comfort, how shall I celebrate you?  Simply or in a spa?  I shall take you and make you in all guises and remember to wrap you around me, to share you, to prioritise you, to eulogise you, to practise you frequently and blissfully.  Oh comfort what shall we do?  Let’s make ‘love’ (and yes that can be a comfort too!)

And your form can be gorgeously simple and shape you into new names … here is one of my very favourites … I shall breathe this gently … the breath of a ‘blankie’, yes, the very caress of comfort enveloping me, making the corporeal me less real.  Softness defined into a loving square of comfort and joy, of pride and possession, my very own selfish delight, wrapping and binding me as a gift. Draped and shaped around me, a new me, yielding and melting and slowed … ah comfort.

Comfort be my very own, engaging my senses with ease and grace and gratitude.  Comfort be long, comfort be often, and comfort be continual. 

Comfort be there in the fabric of my being, not sought after when I am sore or tired or lost; for with you there, as my constant companion, there will be more light and less loss, more energy, more fun and more lingering, yellow sun. 

Comfort is complete and utter surrender to a yummy moment of love, an act of complete submissive tenderness; so seek comfort in your surroundings – take yourself to where comfort resides and call it to you, lure it in with love, love for yourself, for your life, for this cradled, cosseted moment.  The moment of heart’s ease, this single eternity of forgetfulness for everything except this delicious, comforting now.

And what is comfort?  Comfort is a thousand things and it is one thing.  It is various and it is simple.  It is common and it is golden.  It can be resting your head on a cat’s purring form, paddling in the sea, listening to beautiful music: lifting you up, resting you down, flattening out the undulations and tribulations of life, filling you up, filling your senses with nonsensical, whimsical joy.  Comfort, you are relaxation, slow tempo, warmth or coolness, gravity geared or stillness.

Comfort you are the very realisation and personification of slow joy; a gift, a treasure, a genuine pleasure.

Ah comfort, I love you and that you love me too is incontrovertible, for you always welcome me in with hugging, open arms and so too now, my dearest one, I’ll embrace you.  Yes, here is my commitment – to comfort and to love.

   Yours sweetly and softly …

      S xx

PS: If you want the comfort of Peachey Letters in book form – follow the link here to find out more…

Letter 21: To God’s Creatures

21 February 2012

Dear Creatures

For all our involvement, for all the power we try to wield over this planet, mankind is, in many ways, in the minority.  We share it all this creation, this never ending motion, with God’s Creatures … the beasts, the animals and the pets.

As I write this letter, my elbow is resting on the haunches of George – a cat, a named pet, a creature on loan to me, a gift from God.

At some point in its evolution, cat-kind left the jungle and became enmeshed in the world of man and womankind.  Its descendants pounced on our vermin, kept us company, then shared their fleas and their purrs.

The domesticated cat – a recognisable cousin to its wild counterparts, now resides alongside many of us and for me that particular co-habitation started early on.

I’m told we had a cat when I was a small child, though I have only one hazy memory of this creature, called Corky, curled up on a blanket.

My solid memories start later, with the kitten bought for me when I was 12.  That was the year my brother left home … so we substituted him with another boy, my lucky black cat ‘Whiskers’.  The love was instant … I met a tiny ball of black fluff who was curled up on my living room chair, who then got up, yawned and stretched luxouriously, found his own way in to the next room for dinner, then availed him self of the litter box.  I was amazed at the confident temerity of this little creature: his self assurance, how at home he already was, how he knew what to do, where to go and next I discovered that he loved to play and he loved to give and receive love and from then on I was hooked on feline kind …

This creature immediately became part of the family unit …  I discovered, unknowingly that my father had an affinity for the feline; in fact he had a special language, reserved just for the cat, (which he in turn had absorbed from his own father) and he would compliment his companion, in fun of and homage to his own lost dad and the cat received these blandishments with quiet, blinking gratitude.

And when I left home 6 years later again, I packed all my belongings away, dry eyed and finally cried at long last when I had to say good bye to my creature friend; as if he some how represented all that was soft and childish in me and embodied the loss of all that I was now leaving behind me, in order to walk towards my adulthood.

I had to bide my time before I was quite grown up and static enough to have my very own cat creature.  And when the time finally came, I chose another black boy, to substitute my child cat, to practise my parenting skills on, to add warmth and dimension to my life; and bought him into my new home, shared with my fiancé – a self confessed cat hater …

Now I did have his permission to bring a cat in, but he was less than impressed at his first meeting with the ‘little rat’.  Then without my bidding, the feline magic was worked … he gave the creature a human name (Dougal) and his affection; he realised he had a live toy, a companion, a subject of endless fascination and conversation and so his own love story with cat kind began …

I left the man and he kept the cat and a little later the next creature came in to my life and so on through my time.  Then there was one man later on who was made sick by my cat, so the cat went and the man stayed … for a short time … Never again I said.  And never again I did.

My next cat – a large ginger tiger tom named Muttley – was a challenge.  He was intelligent and self possessed and kept himself to himself.  I had adopted him as an abandoned adult, so who knew his story before then?   So I learned to love unconditionally, getting little in return for my food and shelter.  Instead I made cat-kind an object of study, I read, I revised, I learnt … all about their physiology, psychology and genetics, and I also studied my own boy – his body language, his voice, his ways and I gave him love by food, by shelter and by soft voice.  Then over years, he returned the favours and the love and later again, when he was run over and his pelvis was crushed – I sobbed sadly and loudly.

He survived the experience – the treating vet telling me that these creatures of God have the best self healing musclo-skeletal system of all animal kind and though his pelvis formed a new shape, the tiger returned to his habitat, changed but yet intact.

And there have been more and more creature companions, and I have seen the love story happen to others, again and again … and for some it becomes a feline obsession …  An endless fascination of conversation and occupation.

For me, the lure is that we are bound by love to these creatures.  They come to us for food of course, but then they stay with us for love.  They seek our company, they desire our affection and so it is love that ties us together.  We receive their company, and are part of a primordial relationship, one that is closer to nature than to man’s machinations.  And at times they are domesticated pets and at times they are wild creatures and it is their very differences – between themselves and ourselves – that is part of their inherent allure.

And that for me is love.  So I am now sending that love out to you – from me and from George and Taz – two of my favourite gifts and most definitely God’s Creatures.

      Yours purringly and adoringly, Sandra x

PS: For all these letters and more, you can buy Peachey Letters as a book – follow the link here to find out more…

Me, George and Taz, all God’s Creatures …

Letter 20: To (a life of) Choice

20 February 2012

Dear Sandy

I remember about a decade (or a lifetime) ago, I had a boyfriend who was a unique breed at the time … he made a living selling goods on EBay and a good living at that.  He decided to leave his high flying career in the rat race and then simply set up his own business working from home.

Now at the time, this freedom of choice struck such a chord with me – I had just come out of relationship with another man who told me that not only could I not work part-time, as I had wanted to, for so long; but in order to get the decent house of our dreams, we would both have to work long and hard for the next 10 years …  We clearly weren’t compatible, but that’s another story …

Now with this new man, a new way started to dawn … here was someone who had decided he wanted it his way and had created a new reality for himself … one where he would get up with his body clock (around 11.00 am), take sunny days off ‘work’ to sit in the garden with a book, and chose who he sold to / worked with.

Now I was good with the whole lie-in and garden thing … but to CHOSE your customer felt distinctly strange … You see I had come from years of service to whom ever the corporate world had put in my path … the good, bad and occasionally the mad …

So the seed was sown, the possibilities were laid out before me and still I did not see that being MY path … I had a well paid, managerial, lofty position in the corporate world … and so my fantasy slowly started to form – I would work part-time, (eventually at some indeterminate point in the future).  For – let’s face it, I was just some one who could NEVER be self employed, that was beyond the realms of my capability and reality …  Yet still I as I worked away, corporately, for those long and difficult hours – I was tired and stressed and frequently found myself doing things that I found completely unpleasant … oh woe was poor little princess me …

And then that man left me and so I forgot my pipe dreams and carried on and left those plans behind, and instead bought myself more golden ties to keep me bound into the inexorable existence that was created for me and which I only knew how to embrace.

Well dear reader, guess how this story ends???  I left that world behind, eventually …  And the changing was painful, drawn out and difficult, because although I wanted to alter my life and live my dreams; that all just seemed impossible without a future map and banks full of money firmly in place.

And so I sought support and aspiration, and STILL, over dithering months and years, I would not commit to change.   Then finally, one day, one decisionless day, in the company of chosen people; someone special took me and bodily shook me and said “Sandie you have just got to make the decision, just make it now and commit to it”.  And I wanted the words and I needed the physical intervention to shake me out of my world and off my Plan A path.

And suddenly it all became easy, the decision now made, then the doors opened, my support came in and the world changed into a place of my choosing.

Now this brave new world is not all one of plain sailing, yet now I sail where I chose and I get to chose my crew mates, colleagues and clients too.

Over time, over those seas – the deliciousness of choice, of having things MY way, has become more and more desirable and indeed necessary to living my life.  And it IS my way, though I sometimes share this journey and will steer with others.  Some people would call THAT choice compromise and yet for me this is choice too – given freely and from my core centre – to sail, ride and walk the ways I want, with those gifted to me, on loan to me in life, to stay a short while or be there for the long distance of my life.

And my passion is to have my choice and even more to guide others to have their cake of choice and then to eat it too and to know that every one, who wants to, can have their own cake of choice.

I love that choice.

  Yours choosily

       Sandra x 

PS: Did you know that I can chose to be Sandra, Sandy or Sandie?  Any name given or transformed, by choice too 🙂

PPS: If you would like all my letters in book form – follow the link here to find out more…

Letter 19: To the Friends Who are Family

19 February 2012

Dear Friends and honorary: (take a deep breath here …) sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, uncles and aunties, etc, etc and so on …

My blood ties are few … I have a mother and a brother living, and my dear departed father provided me with a whole crowd of first cousins and through them many more seconds and thirds.  Somehow though we were out of kilter with them in family history and we stay in rare Christmas card and family funeral touch …  No children for me and my bro, no living grand parents, aunts or uncles or anything else and so that is our little Peachey family …

So there is me – ‘friend’ to a few … sometimes called sister … I always wanted a sister – ideally a twin one; there are twin girl cousins out there in the family tree; yet not me.  Not quite an only child, but spaced from my big brother by nearly 8 years and we were together in the early years, then separated through adolescence and distance and caught up with each other later in our lives, when our dad died.

So friend becomes sister, becomes honorary Auntie to babies … this role given by friendship, affection and love extended to you, as a non blood relative.  You get to love the expansion of your friend’s lives.  The title is given as a gift and in return you give gifts back … as ‘cool aunt’ your brief is to spoil those darling children rotten when you have the ways and means at your disposal … 

So you grow up and grow older, watching the babies follow in your wake, establishing the patterns of their lives … watching the changing facial features, the family characteristics – now like their mum, now like dad … grand-dad … cousin … who knows who?  The inherent fascination and dissertation of seeing the lineage reflected and altered in unique genetic combination.

And as my world is filled with new generations, so too is my mother’s.  No blood grand-babies for her, so she becomes honorary Nanna to two.  So proud I am she does this, that she is allowed to shine and show her capability for love and generosity; and when I take her round to meet my friend’s babies, they all hang round her, for she has a child like quality which pulls them in.  Straight away, the purse is open, gifts are given … I remember HER mother too giving me sixpences, and so it goes on …

In my childhood, there were aunts and uncles and they came with affection and affinity, though rarely were there parental friends around to be granted the honorary given title I have gained in abundance.  So even now, after a quarter of a century of being an Aunt, I am so surprised at how I am accepted, welcomed and you can see – loved by those who had no choice but to have me there, to have me to share.  Now they see ME, not ‘just’ Auntie, for many of them have grown out of the title now and as I am Sandra to my life long friends, so now too to them …

And else where, I am known as ‘Auntie Sandra’ to ALL the family – adults and children alike – a huge loving reminder of the affectionate part I play in their lives. 

So the single girl creates a family, gets to hug the children and give them back … then time flows on and she becomes a strange new creature of honorary familyness – a Great Aunt indeed! 

So it was that I held one baby in my arms and looked down at her and then, so little time later, it is HER son in his turn, in my arms … I hold this new born personality for hours, looking down at him, held and sated with the special milky love that comes with cradling a precious new life.  So in that room there is Mother, Grand Mother and Auntie, all quietly together, loving this new little lad. 

Then how quickly quiet turns to toddler noise and we move on and on, inexorably, pacing through life with the new comers beside us: sometimes stopping together, sometimes in step and sometimes continents apart; and I am woven into the fabric of their living, of their memories and mostly they come closer and some shy away; and shying away is allowed, since this is not necessarily unconditional love, but it IS acceptance, just like I gladly accepted the gift of them into my rounded, bonded Auntified kind of life … 

And is it coincidence this love spills over into my vocation and how much I love my clients, those whose orbits I circle in; for as I love to be cherished, I love to cherish too and to me coaching is cherishing and loving and nurturing.  Sometimes this is soft supporting love and some times shaking love, but throughout time I would tell my babies the score if that felt required; and still they love me and still we move on and where ever it is we happen to go; we all move on in love.

   Big love and hugs,

         Auntie S xxx

PS: Peachey Letters has now been published as a book, to find out more and purchase your own copies – follow this  link…