Poem / Pondering: The Universe has got my back

Do you know what? The Universe has got my back.

So yes, it’s been a tough time in the life…

But I’m choosing… To see the good, to count my blessings, to celebrate and appreciate.

Yet still my damned ‘terrier’ brain wants to fret and snap, to gripe and growl…

But that’s not who I am. That’s not what I was put on the planet to be. And I declare now that it’s not my truth.

Life, if I let it be, is good. So I choose and there it is.

I shall sit with and accept the darkness – holding it in my heart with compassion, so to illuminate it and ponder what it is teaching me.

I also accept the thousands of miracles, sparks of friendship, hugs, gifts, love and listening I receive; with an immense, sustaining, heart lifting gratitude.

And above all, in the face of fear, anger and pain (whether yours or mine)…

I shall love fiercely, laugh endlessly and know always, that the Universe has got my back ❤

~ Sandra – lover, laugher & illuminator x

PS: To experience more of the magic of life, buy the book of blog, where my ‘Love Letters to Life’ explore then celebrate the tiny and titanic aspects of life:  ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ is published in both paperback & kindle And for a Halloween special offer of a signed author copy – click here to go to my website now and buy the paperback for just £7.99…

Halloween Magic – a true life Fairy Tale

With my Christian upbringing, Halloween or All Hallows Eve is a time I was told of, where ghosts haunt and flaunt themselves one last time before Allhallowtide, a time to pray for and remember departed or demented souls.

But I have Celtic characteristics too and so Samhain is the Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter, winding into the long dark nights to come.  Yet, what ever the name or origin, the date is always the 31st of October.

There have been many All Hallows Eves in my life and on this one in 2019, I am suddenly minded of when, on another such night, I experienced some real Halloween magic…

Pink Wings

For over 5 years I was a Director at Damsels in Success – a personal development organisation for women; running groups and events across England and Scotland. On 30 October 2012, I had flown into Glasgow, powered by jet plane rather than fairy wings, to meet with my Scottish members.

Arriving at the meeting venue, I set about creating a gorgeous feminine ambience, by dressing it with candles, cushions and any other treasures I felt would suit the theme. Rather than carry all this with me on the flight from England, earlier on I had gone shopping in Glasgow town centre and bought some inexpensive ‘props’ as decoration, including golden candles and a pair of sparkly pink fairy wings.

I spent the night after the meeting at a friend’s house nearby in East Kilbride. It was Halloween and the neighbourhood children were out in their fancy dress costumes, tapping on doors and seeking treats. In Scotland ‘trick or treating’ is known as ‘guising’, sincechildren go out in disguise. In this particular household the children were invited indoors to ‘do a turn’ i.e. tell a joke, sing a song, etc., in order to earn their rewards.

And so it was that a succession of ghouls and monsters passed over the threshold and performed their Halloween magic. And in amongst a colourful group of ghosts, animals and witches, was a quiet little girl dressed in pink. “What are you?” we asked. “I’m a fairy” she said, “but I’ve lost my wings”.

Well, as luck or intuition would have it, I still happened to have the fairy wings I’d bought for the Damsels meeting. Normally – not having the room or luggage allowance to take such trinkets home, I would give or throw them away… but this time, as I was tidying the room up after everyone else had left, the voice in my head gave me the very clear instruction of: “Pack the wings”. So without question, I folded them up and into my suitcase they went.

Back in my friend’s living room, imagine the surprise of assorted children and adults as I flipped open my suitcase, pulled out my gift and said to the little girl “here are your wings!”. Everyone’s face was an absolute picture and the look on that fairy’s face was priceless, (and one I will always treasure…) shy, yet shining… I helped her on with her new appendages and she modelled them for us with the sweetest of smiles…

Right there was my own true fairy story and an adorable moment of Halloween magic. When I think back, I can interpret the instruction I received as happy serendipity or a sweet coercion of karma; maybe it was intuition, my higher self or whatever your spiritual deity of choice happens to be…

Listening to that thought and being ready to give a child her wings stuck in my psyche. As a result, wings and the flights they take us on have become a theme for me, in both a literal and figurative sense.

So how can I be in a position to continually create magic like this? When I meditate and concentrate, I can take flight and rise above the toils and heavy thoughts of life, to hover above and see them from a clearly over-arching perspective. From up there I see how things are and accept where I am.  It’s then that solutions and suggestions of an exquisite clarity start to flow, just as when I was ‘told’ to “pack the wings.”

For me, meditation takes many forms, be that conscious mindfulness – of trying to empty my head of thoughts with ‘oms’ and visualisation; taking a walk around the block to clear my mind; or being inspired by a luscious piece of music or prose.

From what I do for myself, to what I share as a coach, I can comfortably liken the tools of the trade to providing my clients with wings. I can too, support them with where those wings will take them. Yet I can’t dictate the route, draw the map and I certainly cannot fly for them, since they have their own journeys to embark upon, with their individual destinations.

My own flights have taken me into the territory of writing fiction.  The words I am currently working on are interwoven with the possibilities and complexities of where a glorious pair of wings can take the heroine of my very first novel. And one day, maybe even soon, I will give that book its own maiden flight.

But most of all, if ever I get a delectable instruction from an inscrutable voice telling me to “pack the wings,” or do anything else for that matter, I’ve learnt to listen and believe in the magic (or the logic or what ever else you like to label it)…

So I’m sending Samhain blessings to all faeries, daemons and anyone else navigating their way through the sunshine and clouds on this All Hallows Eve.

And to draw this passage to a cutely clichéd ending – it’s time to take flight then…

From Sandra x – A Flat Footed Faerie

PS: To experience more of the magic of life, buy the book of blog, where my ‘Love Letters to Life’ explore then celebrate the tiny and titanic aspects of life:  ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ is published in both paperback & kindle And for a Halloween special offer of a signed author copy – click here to go to my website now and buy the paperback for just £7.99…

Fiction: The Sparrow Scarer

When a moment of irritation, is turned into a piece for one of my books.  So instead of being angry, I decided to get creative…

SAM_0243

The Sparrow Scarer

She woke to claps of thunder and torrential rain, comfortable and safe in her bed, where she relished the sound and stretched herself awake, sitting up and luxuriantly stretching out her wings, which spanned most of the width of the tiny room.

She folded them in again, then washed, dressed and made her way down to the breakfast buffet, which was divided from the street by a row of plant pots separating the dining area from the outside world and traffic constantly rumbling by.

Having eaten half a banana and a nectarine, she nursed a black coffee, charmed, as she was every morning, by a handful of sparrows, who hopped about opportunistically, seeking cheeky left overs and crumbs on the floor. She would watch their quiet antics, whilst most people there, barely even registered their existence.

Today the restaurant was almost empty and the torrential rain had driven in a small flock of them, hopping around the table legs. Suddenly, a group of them flew up and landed on the 2 chairs opposite her. She looked them over – mainly female, but as 2 flew off, alarmed as someone walked by, so two males came and landed in their place. One cheeped and wiped his beak on the top of the chair. “Is that a sparrow being macho then?” she mused, with the slightest of smiles.

She chopped up the remains of her nectarine and softly dropped it onto the plate she had deliberately slid to the other side of the table. They stayed put, constantly moving their heads, warily gauging their surroundings, but never taking their eyes off her and the food.

She looked at their markings – one male had a small collar of black feathers across his neck, whilst the other had a string of them intermingled with grey, almost like a native necklace.

The sparrow with the collar hopped down, edging his way towards the food.

Suddenly someone was clapping loudly and they rose and flew off. Assuming it was one of the waiting staff, Ariel was surprised to hear a female English voice say, very pointedly “Nuisance!”

“Not to me” Ariel said to the sparrow scarer – a be-trousered, tall, falsely blonde woman, somewhere in her 60s, who turned on her heels. “Bitch” Ariel intoned, just loudly enough that her nemesis would hear as she returned to her own table and husband, who was quietly ingesting a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon. Ariel’s bile rose, as their table was at the far end of the restaurant, where no birds ever intruded.

Had this woman been watching her covertly trying to feed the birds and decided to ruin the moment? To what end? Was she scared of them? No – “nuisance” did not indicate that.

So what were the sparrows to her? A danger? A harbinger of dirt and danger? “Honestly,” thought Ariel, “what harm did a sparrow ever do to anyone?” As far as she was aware, a sparrow had never swooped down, cheeping ferociously and stolen a rasher of bacon off a breakfast plate. A sparrow had never viciously attacked anyone, for heaven’s sake. She had never heard of any one dying a slow and painful death from a virulent, sparrow originated disease. They were quiet brown creatures, simply taking advantage of left over human detritus – tiny feathered street urchins – opportunely cleaning up and then flying away. There was therefore, absolutely no need to bully and chase them away.

Neither was there a need to interrupt her breakfast or censure her, also a quiet, brown little creature, minding her own business, on the edges of existence. “How dare she!”

A few sparrows drifted back inside, keeping their distance and once again hopping round table legs close by.

Having finished her coffee, Ariel strode pass the couple as she made her way towards the Exit. She clapped out a loud ‘rat ta tat tat’ as she walked past their table. “Nuisance!” she barked out, hoping that they too would dissipate into the ether at her staccato command.

Instead of flying away however, the ignorant clay foots remained rooted to their chairs, suddenly frozen in mid-chew.

Ariel strode away, anger now dissipating into laughter.

~ Sandra Peachey – Bird Watcher

PS: My book – Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life has been featured in Psychologies Magazine and The Lady, it was also honoured as a Finalist in the 2015 International Book Awards.  

The book takes the best posts from this blog, adds new content and wraps it all together in a satisfying structure – that will make you feel the love, entertain and enlighten.  It’s an easy yet satisfying read, which sees love in everything we do in life – from the big themes to the tiny, trivial minutiae of it too.

Buy the paperback on my website – here for just £7.99 including P&P…

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Poem: Where are the Words?

Where are the words?
It’s as if my soul has gone to sleep…

The words I want should stem and stream from the heart,
the creative centre of me.
But that is somehow cold and still…
A void, instead of a magnificent vortex.

It’s not as if I have no words…
I can be mechanical – sucking up the sounds around me
then puking them back out,
in some sequential semblance of order.

But the words I seek should well from within,
whereas instead, the well is dry.
Or if not dry exactly,
then certainly stagnant, devoid of sensibility.

But in bemoaning my sterility,
ironically I am writing myself out of it.
I find the words flow –
connecting and colluding to form this entity of a poem.

Maybe my write self doesn’t need to feel the muse after all.
It’s all there,
beyond feeling,
and so my soul is speaking after all.

A Love Letter to Love

Love letters

This is a recycled blog that I first posted in February 2012.
It’s not a Valentine declaration for a significant other – instead it’s an exploration of how we can find love every where we look – whether we are single, double or otherwise…

Dear Love

So here we are – you and I – 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’re writing love letters, then 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 indeed it is

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 unexpectedly, unbidden – suddenly shaking your world; or then again it can creep up on you and slowly envelop you, falling softly on you and through you, like a feather floating down from the sky…

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

So it’s not surprising then that we don’t always see it in our space.  However, spend a little time with love and you realise how much of it is around; despite the fact that so often we can be strangely pre-occupied with how little of it we have in our lives.  Yet love is an abundance when you consider it in its’ every kind.

Let’s begin with the old cliché of loving yourself – the very best place to embark on this journey, in my own writerly opinion.  For me that is a waxing and waning; and far from loving myself, sometimes I can be my own worst hated enemy.  Yet self 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 to do this 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 of, a voyage through it.  And to my surprise they were largely unchartered waters, so I simply trusted and sailed upon 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 through our hearts as such a strong force, and then again 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, please 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 (or ill).  Love doesn’t work that way – it is alive, even when dormant, and even when it’s object is on a distant unseeable horizon.  And I understand that you may say that you love that thing or that one, no more.  Yet I reply that love changes, transmutes, shifts and transforms.  It can hide, but is always there, around and in you.  Love has been your lesson – providing the research for the life that you life now.  Love is what makes you; love can guard you, buoy you; and when you think that you lack it – shrivel, shrive and waste you.

If then you appreciate love in all its’ forms and not only the romantic him / her version – your world expands; the frequency of love vibrates in you, it pulses and increases and comes to you often and more – so much more when you choose 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 book of the blog – Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life published in paperback and kindle.  For a St Valentines’ Day special offer of a signed author copy – go to my website now and buy the paperback for just £7.99!