My Love Letter to Cats

February 5, 2015February 5, 2015 Sandra Love Letters

Meet ‘the Pride’

Dear Feline Friends

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 gorgeous 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, Taz and Sophia – three of my favourite gifts ‘on loan’ and most definitely God’s Creatures.

Yours, adoringly… Sandra x

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all? I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

A Cat is a Lion in a Jungle of Small Bushes

February 5, 2015 Sandra Love Letters Blogging, buddhism, Cats, hunting, kittens, tigers, wild cats

“A Cat is a Lion in a Jungle of Small Bushes” ~ Indian proverb

Here I am, at home, in every sense of the word; working, which is for me (right now) writing. My sofa is my office and my IPad the tool of choice, sitting easily on my lap as I sit tapping away, back spacing and pacing through my words.

Along with an electronic device, a living creature shares my lap and, with a sense of inevitability, I can tell you that it’s George, with his long, low, slow purr. However, in real time writing, I can now tell you that my black cat Taz has also just announced his arrival by clawing at the furniture – it’s his overture to let me know that he now wants some love and attention. It’s an unhuman habit that I just cannot disavow him of. I’ll learn over and look him in the eye and sternly tell him to stop, but he’s in the ‘happy zone’ and blinks back lovingly at me, then leaps up and positions himself by my head, with his gorgeous, growling, and rasping purr.

George now leaves my lap in a jealous huff, and then right on cue, Sophia comes squeaking into the room, leaps at me and crashes onto my lap – stomping and clawing her delight, and trilling away to us all, with her top note, sonic purr.

Sophia’s love comes with claws, in many ways… But at least this time she didn’t bring me a live or dead ‘gift’… I didn’t have to scrape the bloody remains of one of God’s Creatures off my floor or rescue a panicking rodent or bird which has escaped from those tiny jaws of death.

And suddenly she and all of the pride are gone, having disapparated from the room, leaving me alone with my sofa/office to muse that I willingly share my house with domesticated, yet recognisably wild creatures…

Being fascinated by my cat’s wild cousins, I have read and watched and learnt that generally, you can take the offspring of a tiger or a wild cat and treat it like any domestic kitten – feeding it, loving it and giving it shelter. At this stage they are dependent and tame, but as they grow, their wildness returns and their instincts become stronger than the bonds they have formed with their human carers. When this wildness starts to emerge, it is time to let them go – back to jungle or into the safer confines of a zoo.

Hold on to them at this time and they will become dangerous – any cat can inflict deadly damage if the occasion calls for it…

Yet many ailurophiles (cat lovers) will be familiar too with various publically shared big cat reunions with their kitten carers… Pop onto YouTube and watch the ‘Christian the Lion Reunion’… I can never watch that without crying… And so cats remember and have emotional attachments, but still, you can’t live with a wild cat…

Instead many of us chose to live with their domesticated cousins – cats whose ancestors mutated their characteristics so that they remained domesticated into adulthood, and then were bred for millennia to produce creatures with characteristics that we humans could live with – for their tameness, adoration and good looks… And earlier mankind had, in the cave, a small hunter who could eke out the vermin; as do many farmers and many communities still, around the world today; with these cats forming a symbiosis of greater or lesser degree, with humanity. And on, to the pampered pets that so many of us have now, in modern times.

To share your home with a cat is to see a microcosm of the world… One minute they are perfect purring pets and next – savage hunters, toying with and torturing terrified prey.

And don’t you see this with human kind, again and again? Aren’t you often horrified at man’s inhumanity to man? Have you never seen someone you talk, love and laugh with, change their spots – to snarl and lash out at you???

Of course I am widely generalising here to prove a point and everyone, every animal, has their nuances and differences. The three members of my Pride are a case in point…

George hunts infrequently, but occasionally brings me back some hapless prey as a gift, possibly just to keep his paw in, and prove to the world that under that pretty pedigree exterior, lies a real cat.

Taz is a rescue moggy with stronger hunting instincts, who in his younger days, would frequently bring creatures into the house – some as a tithe for me, most for him. Now he’s middle aged, he is opting for a gentler existence and chooses to hunt me instead, mostly at meal times; and to stalk me and stare me out with his google, green eyes, until I cave in and feed him.

Sophia had the hardest start of all in life and is definitely the one in the Pride with the basest instincts; she is also barely out of kitten hood, so she preys and pounces, out of both panic and play.

If only the hunting would stay out there, in the outside world; but no, she must bring back her victims to her lair – our shared cave. We have them dead and we have them alive, we have them injured, and terrified. I do my best to rescue the live creatures and to repatriate them, but still they come – a never ending parade of wildness and death…

I have, for so long, felt guilt and horror about this aspect of cat behaviour, but also have to accept the literal nature of the beast. And another cat owner I know – a Buddhist in fact, told me that she had the same feelings around her marauding moggy, but that she says a prayer and sees it as the cycle of being, and now I follow this practice too… You see I tried all the strategies that people suggested… I shut her in the house at night – she and the other cats were miserable and angry and all made sure that none of us got any sleep; I fed her extra food at bed time (her normal hunting time) – yet still the creatures came; I put a warning bell on her collar, to no effect, so I upped the ante and put two bells on her collar, and the following morning she returned the favour with a dead shrew, a dead wood mouse and a (thankfully) dead rat – as long in length as she is…

But then something in my brain clicked… I noticed that her pattern is to go hunting at dusk through to dark, and not to return to the cave until she has caught a creature. So now, after she has had her evening meal and nap, I play with her and engage her and occupy her, trying to use up that wild, desperate, survival energy that she was born with… It’s a habit I grew out of as she grew up, but I can see now, at the heart of what she does, that I can affect this hunting behaviour. And yet still she hunts, but far less frequently; and I am praying and playing that she will grow out of this wild behaviour, just as her older uncles – (George and Taz) in the Pride did…

As a coach I work with people to support them in overcoming bad habits, thoughts and fears, so they can achieve more peace and success; yet, as so often in my life, I had segmented my cats away from this part of my life and my learnings. Yet, when I joined the dots, there was the answer, more natural and easy than any other forced solution. And as a result, both Sophia and myself are happier.

And these I can say, with finality today, are two of God’s Creatures that I care about, a lot…

The Act of Purring & the Muddled Art of Meditation

February 4, 2015February 4, 2015 Sandra Love Letters Blogging, Cats, mantra, meditation, mindfulness, purring

Sophia, on one of our morning meditations

To me, a cat’s purr is the most wonderful thing… How amazing it is to signal happiness in such a physical, visceral way. How special it is to be able to demonstrate that happiness, to yourself and to the world, and to have that feeling magnified and amplified, feeding back into its’ own intensity. Purring, it seems to me, is the most fantastic blend of the emotional and corporeal.

Surely the act of purring must engender an sensation of utter bliss… I’ve observed that a purring cat often has glassy eyes with a dreamy countenance, and seems completely tuned into and at one with their own delight. I wonder then, if when a cat purrs, that it is a mode of meditation..?

A purring cat is lost in rapture, seemingly unthinking, so surely that is a meditative state? Spend any length of time with cats and you will observe that most of them have a capricious capacity to surrender themselves completely to their pleasures – to their sleeping and to their purring. So if purring is akin to meditation, it seems to me quite obvious that cats generally have a very Zen like existence. They have a simple self assurance, and their physical needs for food and shelter are met, so they can give themselves over to endless hours of sleeping, the giving and receiving of affection and the sheer poetry of joy that it is to purr. And if purring is meditation, and they spend so much time engaged in it, well that alone could explain their Zen like lot in life…

I really wish that I found meditation so easy… I simply do not seem to have the capability to still and empty my mind, even after the pre-emptory and preparatory deep breathing and positive intention setting. Still, I have found some comfort, in that most people I know, who practice some form of meditation, also find this to a greater or lesser degree and in fact say that it not possible to do so, rather that you accept the unwanted thoughts as passers by, or clouds, or signals for healing or any number of chosen alternatives.

Personally I find that if I set my intention around such intrusive thoughts, that I can choose to acknowledge them and let them go, for that meditative period of time, and that I can also trust myself to decipher and decode them at a later, more conscious time if necessary.

There are myriad forms of meditation and I have dallied with many of them. Since I am still practising true mindfulness, I find on the path to there, that my brain finds visualization and guided meditations somewhat easier; so that rather than emptying my mind, I fill it with positive experiences and expectations instead, hyper-linking myself to a glorious repetition of positive states, not least relaxation.

But then purring cats seem to fulfill all of this with out any real effort. When I observe this, I realise that there must be some lessons in this for me. And though I have been practising my morning meditations for some years now, for a long, long time I kept my cats and my meditation strictly separate.

In fact I have spent so much of my life, keeping the various aspects of it separate. I segmented myself into work mode, into family mode, into hobby mode, and a whole verisimilitude of modes, across all aspects of my life in order that I could control it all and not let one aspect messily bleed into another. But life for me never sat neatly like that and when I started on a more conscious path, I also started to join up all dots and in doing so, actually found life a whole lot easier and more natural.

Meditation is a classic example of this. In the past I would get up in the morning, close the bedroom door on the world and focus on my meditation. Cats would simply be a distraction… Now that I realise that distractions are normal, I have willingly let the cats in to my practice.

Now instead in the morning I descend downstairs, get comfy on the sofa and then begin. And I’ll allow who ever chooses to, to join me.

Of my three cats George, as always, is most naturally inclined to join in with my practice; Taz really couldn’t care a fig about it – his physical and emotional needs are simple and are met by food, shelter and love. Then there is Sophia, always brimming with churlish, childish energy, never stopping long in any one place, literally or figuratively – as something or someone, will tend to spook her or pique her interest.

I think of Sophia as an eternal kitten, squeaking through and playing with life – she is small and fey in stature, even though she probably consumes three times as much food as the others put together, so clearly she has a manic metabolism, which drives her on to munch much and to hunt.

So to my surprise, she actually enjoys my morning meditations. She will climb into my lap and start purring, volubly and rapturously. The first time I turned on one of my meditation tracks, she jumped at the noise, so I turned the volume down and she settled in and soaked up the vibes. She rarely stays put, any where for more than a few minutes, but now will stay with me through many of my morning meditations, which are usually around 15 – 20 minutes.

And rather than being a distraction, I find Sophia’s purring presence to be a benediction. As so many methods of meditation use mantras and chanting to engage in and enhance the experience, I am now using purring – focusing on the sound and the feel and receiving this little creature’s rapture, so to augment my own mental escape and ecstasy.

Sophia and George now quietly vie for the morning meditation lap and I just allow who ever comes along to take part and so we are nicely set up for the day…

It all works out, deliciously and some how, if I let it, so too will my life, just like my day…

George – The Reiki Cat – Part 2

February 3, 2015February 4, 2015 Sandra Love Letters Cats, reiki

George, clamped to my side, in a purring Half Nelson of love…

George is the oldest and first cat of the Peachey Pride. When people meet him for the first time, they often ask ‘is he a pedigree?’ Well yes – very much so, he is actually a Seal Point Birman, and his proper / posh / pedigree name is George Eyes Sapphire. And he is well named, since he has the most beautiful, incredible, big, deep blue eyes; brimming with an ocean of curiosity, pride, love and so many other things…

George is my constant companion, so often purring on my lap, sleeping by my side or lolling about by my feet. He is often with me while I write or coach, and takes a particularly sage and profound interest in my client’s and my own developmental activities…

As an entrepreneur with a portfolio business, I also rent out rooms in the cave and so, for a while, we had a lodger called Ian – a Bowen Therapist and Reiki Practitioner who practiced Mindfulness Meditation, early every morning. And every morning George would be there too, at a respectful distance, soaking up the serene energy, observing, and one suspects, supervising… And maybe it’s his pedigree demeanour and determination, but somehow, you always get the feeling that George the Cat is a truly old soul…

If you read Part 1 of this blog, you will know how George ‘asked’ one of my clients for some Reiki healing. Well, just a few weeks after that luscious little thing happened, I had a bigger happening – the shock of my mother dying, suddenly, one Monday evening…

Several days later I awoke and feeling sad and bereft I padded downstairs to find Ian in the kitchen. I asked him for a hug, and received a caring, tight embrace, held just for as long as I wanted it. When he let go he became all brisk and said that he was now going to give me a Reiki treatment. He then set about putting up the couch and other paraphernalia, right there in my living room.

I lay down and Ian started the treatment. Some forms of Reiki use touch and others don’t. Ian uses a touch methodology and so laid his hands on my shoulders. His hands were burning with the Reiki energy and then, to break my recumbent reverie, I heard him speak…

“Now George, I know you want to get involved, but not now… George… Well if you insist – go and sit on Sandra’s feet then…”

Albeit bemused, I was also in relaxed stupor, so my eyes stayed shut, and then I felt the weight of George climbing onto the couch, walking over my legs and then settling himself down on my feet… Now those of you who are familiar with the phrase ‘herding cats’ may be surprised at this feline acquiescence, but in my experience cats know and understand an awful lot of what we humans say and intend. Ian isn’t even a particularly experienced cat person, but he used his intention, energy and authority, and so George coalesced, which meant that he could help take care of me and get a piece of the Reiki action…

All went silent again, as we all three settled back in to the treatment. I could feel Ian’s burning hands on my shoulders and then, gradually I noticed that George was radiating heat too… Soon he was like a huge, hot, furry stone, pouring out energy into me…

Down in my therapy torpor I was conscious of these things going on, but barely registered them at the time. Later on, after I had come to again and we were sipping our respective cups of herbal tea, I asked Ian what had happened.

He told me, in his matter of fact way, that George had come in the room, and had clearly wanted to get on the couch, so he directed him to my feet and sent Reiki energy to him…

Now – such things may be common in the world of Reiki, but even in my ‘open to all experiences’ existence this was certainly unique!

And then I joined the dots… George had experienced Reiki at first hand, only a few weeks before with my client Linda. And now, with Ian’s help, he was giving it back to me… Beautiful, but bizarre!

I don’t even need to know or understand the mechanics of what happened, but found the whole experience one of both amusement and wonder. It all seemed so gorgeously aligned, rather than coincidental.

At that time, working through my grief at the loss of my mother, I wanted solace. When it came to me in such an unexpected way, I accepted it with gratitude and wonder. I was simply in a place where I was able accept those gifts without necessarily understanding them, and this scenario was made all the more special for me, by an animal intervention.

When I look back on these events now, I find delight in remembering them and realise that by not analysing them, I can love them in a gorgeous, unconditional, and unfettered way.

As I write this, George is, as ever, by my side, lying on his back, exposing that beautiful soft belly of his – so lost and comfortable in himself. All my cats are unique, I love them all, differently, and because of some special empathy that we have, only George could be my Reiki Cat.

I am still learning about life and about Reiki; and what is so wonderful too, is that after spending eight years with this beautiful, furry soul – is that I am still learning about George too…

George – The Reiki Cat – Part 1

February 2, 2015February 2, 2015 Sandra Love Letters Blogging, Cats, coaching, kittens, reiki

George Blogger Meet George, Reiki Cat –
offering his opinion on my daily blog today…

As I write this post, my cat George is lying at my feet – a faithful companion, sometimes a critic and almost inevitably a happy distraction…

I run a Consultancy called LifeWork, built around supporting my clients to have the life and business that works best for them… I consult on Human Resources projects and I coach clients on a one to one basis too.

And another facet of my life is that I have a pride of three cats who share my home with me, who surround and influence me and who are an endless source of affection, entertainment and inspiration…

Sometimes, joyously, cats and coaching combine in my life…

So it was that I opened the door one evening to my newest coaching client, Linda – who was (at the time) running a beauty business. She had come to my home for her first appointment and wanted to work with me because she felt that beauty wasn’t really her ‘thing’ any more; she was now at a stage in her life where she actually wanted to do more holistic work with her clients. She was, she explained a qualified Reiki* practitioner and had a desire to increase her confidence and business acumen in this new direction of her life / business, so had booked a programme of coaching sessions with me.

As part of my own LifeWork model I don’t work exclusively from home, but do like to conduct a lot of my practice there for a number of reasons… I love an easy life and having my clients come to me, is as easy as it gets; I can create the right relaxed environment for coaching, where both myself and my clients are at ease in comfortable surroundings. All the tools of my trade are close to hand too – those awkward to carry, bothersome to hire items – like white boards and projectors, oh – and did I forget to mention that there are endless supplies of tea and coffee on tap..?

I actually do a lot of my one to one work by telephone or Skype, but always seek to engineer the first meeting face to face, so as to start building the best foundation for a productive coaching relationship.

Since I share my home with three cats, I always check with first time visitors that they are OK with having my feline family around. I will also offer to keep the cats out of the room while we are working. Linda though, assured me that all was fine and was introduced to George, the first feline to come along and inspect the newcomer who had just arrived at our cave that day.

I offered Linda a seat and a drink, and noticed how delighted George was to meet her and how he fussed over her in a way that he usually reserves for old friends. Off I went to the kitchen to make us both a cup of tea, and then popped back to ask the ‘milk and sugar’ question. As I did so, the thought floated through my mind – ‘she’s reiki-ing my cat’… Unperturbed, I returned a few minutes later with our drinks.

‘I’ve been reiki-ing your cat’ Linda said. ‘So I gather’ I replied, ‘tell me more…’

George, she explained, had shown her his bald patch and asked her to heal it. ‘What bald patch’? Was my response. George was lying at her feet and only too happy to be rolled over onto his back, by an almost total stranger. She then moved a front paw to one side and I saw no evidence of any fur missing amongst the long silken fronds that form his magnificent coat… And then I saw it, a patch of bare skin, right in the joint between body and limb, looking for all the world like a shaved arm pit.

‘Well, who knew?’ I said, ‘and we both thank you for the gift of healing…’

I thought it was a gorgeous, extraordinarily ordinary display from both Linda and George, and demonstrated how naturally she gave her gift of expertise; and how he knew intrinsically that she could help him…

Before we had even started coaching, Linda was showing me where her greatest gift to the world lay and George had been one of the very first recipients of that gift, in this strangely familiar and yet new phase of her life and business.

It was one of those glorious moments of recognition for all of us – one where you know you are witnessing a gift. You are observing someone working in their gift – doing that very thing they are compelled to do; where other souls benefit from the gift; and where it could the most natural thing in the world to hit that sweet spot of earning an exchange of money for what you have to give to the globe.

I hadn’t even realised what I was seeing at the time, for then we got into the practicalities, the ins and outs of our coaching time together. But the memory stayed with me and lingered languidly in my mind, and that perfect incident turned into an impressive influence for both George and myself, as I reflected on this beautiful little vignette of a recollection.

At the time of writing Linda now lives a life that is quite recognisable and different to the one she lived back then (several years ago), inside and out. As with all my clients, I couldn’t possibly take any credit for that. She had started a new journey and George and myself were on a very small part of that with her, and were catalysts (pun intended) that got to share our time and gifts with her.

And here is why I find coaching such a superbly selfish thing to do, in unknowing return, Linda gave George and myself such a gift that day and beyond that day, as all my clients do. She in turn became a catalyst for change in our lives and to my amazement, the next ‘catalytic’ chapter was very soon to be opened wide, bringing together so many connections in my life that showed me, that all of us – Linda, George and me – were all on the right LifeWork path…

* Reiki, Google tells us, is “a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient’s body and restore physical and emotional well-being.”

Peachey Blog Challenge 2015

February 1, 2015February 1, 2015 Sandra Love Letters Blog, blog challenge, Blogging

Dear Day 1

It’s three years to the day that I posted my first ever Peachey Letters blog… And now that the calendar has clicked around to the 1st of February once more, I have a hankering to challenge myself all over again.

Three years ago I had a sudden, inexplicable craving to write, and to actually BE the author that I have always known I am. That singular thought hit me like a thunderbolt one day and minutes later I had a fully formed plan. I would set myself a public challenge, something with a momentum that meant I would finish what I had thought into life, rather than letting it quietly wither away, like so many other good intentions and never started completions.

The thing is, that ever since my childhood, I was going to write so many, many things. But then life happened and somehow the great novel never happened; the film script never saw the light of day; the entertaining yet elucidating business book never made it on to a publisher’s desk.

Instead I had to wait for that proverbial thunderbolt of a jolting idea to hit me, on one ordinary midweek sort of a day, during one extraordinary January.

And this is how it went:

Thunderbolt – Zap!!! It is it time to write NOW!
Me – Write what?
Thunderbolt – It’s February. Write Love Letters. Love Letters to the life that you hate, to the life that you cannot understand. Love Letters to all that is trivial and wonderful about your life. Love Letters to that life and everything and any thing in it.
Me – Aha! Of course, I’ll call it ‘Peachey Letters, love letters to life’. But…
Thunderbolt – No buts or excuses Missy, this is going to happen. Tell the world you are going to do it, and then DO it. Start a blog.
Me – A blog? Can’t, don’t know how.
Thunderbolt – Fine, then find someone who does and just get on with it. Just start, just write, just persist and…
Me – And what?
Thunderbolt – You are a writer, so write!
Me – Gulp, right then! I’m going to write a love letter to life, every day of the Valentine month of February…

So I write I did. It all seemed ridiculously random to start with. Every day I wrote… to people, feelings, incidents, and phenomena. I explored, analysed and worked through so much. And most amazing of all, I took this marvellous mess of words I made in tha month, and later turned it into a book (with a structure and chapters). And it’s not the book I ever thought I’d write, but it’s one which I did write and which changed the game of my life – for cliche – ever.

So time travels on and more books grow – like cultivated weeds, in my mind. Some get pulled up and thrown out, some are watered and nurtured. I write, I start, I stop. So back to today. I’ve started a new cycle in my life. New ideas are wriggling and niggling in my head; they want to be aired and danced with; set free and structured into new entities, projections and fruitions.

There is always one reason to do a thing, and twenty reasons not to. One of my one hundred and twenty reasons not to, is that I have so many ideas, so many avenues to walk up or run down, a thousand and twenty dreams I want to pursue, a million and twenty ways I could play this; so where to start amongst all this conspicuous confusion?

Well, it’s simply time to start; and I’ll do that by brainstorming my heart felt ideas. I’m going to throw down the gauntlet of action and fling the ideas out of my head and on to the page. So, I crave your indulgence dear reader, as I play and experiment with different themes and ideas. I would gratefully value your input and feedback, trying and testing these themed tidbits with me over the long, loving month of February.

So now is when my ego has its’ say and tries to stop me. To stop me from making a fool of myself, to stop the journey, to block both the questions and the answers. But I know this old foe and I’m choosing to ignore it… to publish and be damned anyway. And actually, rather than damnation, I know that it is really salvation…

And if you would like to join me on this quest, in any way – by blogging too, or by reading, or testing and tasting the Peachey pieces that will come your way, then that would be amazing. And whether you are with me for one, or twenty eight of these February pages, then thank you, as always, for being on this particular page with me, right here and now.

So, no thunderbolt this time and still, that’s the first one done…

With relief and warmest regards
Sandra
Author, scaredy cat and quester

PS: If you would like to take the blog challenge with me, simply write. Write a blog, once a day for 28 days. For just 4 weeks of your life. They can be as short as you like. I like writing around 1.5 to 2 pages of A4. Now if the blog bug bites you, there will be reasons not to do it, but that is all normal, and if this appeals to you, then find a way. Just get started and then let me know your blog url on WordPress or which ever platform you found this challenge on, and I’ll follow you, comment and test you too. We’ll be blog bretheren. Amen.

Letter to Twelfth Night

January 6, 2015January 6, 2015 Sandra Love Letters

Dearest Day

Time turns and the date clicks to Six. The 6th of January, Twelfth Night…

The end of a season, the start of my surrender. My surrender to what is to be – a new year, a new start, the slate of the last 12 months now washed away – to reveal a whole, clean year of tomorrows waiting for me…

So tonight I’ll take down the Christmas tree, I’ll tidy away the decorations and the cards, for when it comes to these things I’m a truly traditional girl. Christmas is a time for garnered traditions, of created rituals; and the ancient pagan part of my DNA guides these cyclical actions, whilst my Christian cultural roots of more recent millennia, polish this time with the shine of even more layers of meaning and doing.

It is the end of Christmas, I have feasted and I am rested and am in a contented and contemplative state. I have experienced New Year too and am now turning over in my soul what the next 52 weeks of my life will bring; and why it is so important to take advantage of this Twelfth Night time to make a difference to this – to both direct it and be ready for it, as well as, oddly, surrendering to what will be…

I feel the New Year righteousness of good intentions, of wanting to exercise and eat healthy food; of this year, being IT – the clincher, the changer – the catalyst. I plan to soar, to beat my wings, create an uplift and fly easily to my future. I am full of energy and optimism and I don’t want this all to fade when I inevitably return to the cold, hard reality of living through each day, of paying the bills, of breathing, of crying, of failure and of every day generalised fear.

To demarcate my success and happiness I have started a new journal. It is one of my best learned habits; it is the one tool I will recommend to all of my coaching clients. I chose a journal that is gorgeous to look at and to hold, to quietly inspire me, to invite me in to fill its’ pages. This journal is all about the future… Some of the past I will allow in and this will be about contemplation and lessons learnt to form me forward. It is not about ranting or bleeding my souls’ sorrows onto a crisp white page.

It is instead about celebrating and giving gratitude – I will praise the last 24 hours of my life, in lines of writing. Turning over what has worked and gone well, and marking my thanks for another day lived and learnt. It was a struggle when I started, this practice of thanking… and now it flows gorgeously, wantonly, spilling through my mind and pouring into my heart. I like to write at night, so all this goodness seeps into my soul and percolates through my dreams… Others I know love to start the day this way – there is no wrong in this, only do what is right for you.

Who / what do I thank? It can be god, the universe and / or me, they are, when you feel about it, one and all – the same…

Then having celebrated my day, it is time to celebrate then placidly and purposefully plan for tomorrow. To set my intentions joyously, to marshal my emotional resources quietly, in the cool of night’s darkness. I write out my next day’s gratitudes, what I will achieve and how I will enjoy; and these thank yous are my perfect, stepped, what next plans.

And when schemes come to mind, they find their way into the journal too – the outlet for my creative thoughts unplugged and released from my head, to be captured and kept on the page, urging my memory then to transpire them into actions in the long light of day. These are my fledgling plans – they are the start of all my possibilities; some to sleep and some to seed and bear fruit. Tomorrow I can structure and shape them or simply imbibe them, intentionally, as peace to my soul, as breath in my morning meditations.

But at the end of the day, it starts here, in the journal of my heart. And I have this fresh opportunity every night and here is the new year – ahead of me, beckoning me on and in – time to reap what ever I sow, starting gently on this pristine page.

So Twelfth Night, I celebrate and contemplate you and to keep your promise and promises clear and dear to me, it is, now and always, time to write…

With fondest regards

Sandra

PS: As well as being the author of this particular ‘Love Letter to Life’ , I have also written a whole, gorgeous book of such letters, for you to peruse, to dip into or to read from cover to cover – whether to answer life’s puzzles, to entertain, to know you are not alone or to simply find the love in everything, seemingly bad or good, in life… You buy your own copy of ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ on Amazon and book websites around the world, in both paperback and Kindle.

Letter to a Lost Birthday

January 2, 2015January 7, 2015 Sandra Love Letters

Dear Day of the year

It’s January the 2nd… A strange day. We’ve just edged and nudged our way into another New Year.

It is a date that some of us will recognise and remember. And a few of us will think back to other anniversaries on this day…

Today is my mother’s birthday. My mother isn’t here in body any more, but the day has returned, regardless, and is here again. An ‘is’, not a was…

So it’s time for some nostalgia, of birthdays past… This day was the elongating and ending of the Christmas and New Year season, starting with my brother’s birthday on 24 December and ending, neatly here on the second day of the New Year. A time for more treats and final feasting before returning to reality.

My New Year, thin me dietary good intentions, as a result, always start on the 3rd of January… And to honour my mother and demarcate the date, I still celebrate this day and smile and treat and feast again.

Today is not a sad day, it is instead warm and easy, because today was, for along while of my life, a day of celebration…

My mother loved treats and as they gave her pleasure, after my father was gone – my brother and I were happy to make her happy.

So together we saw shows, soaked in spas, ate fine meals and gadded gently about.

And now she is gone I see no reason to stop all that. Today has come round again and it is therefore time to celebrate – again. A treat here, a feast there, some smiles and the languid remembrance of birthdays past and lived full out. Days where we chose to enjoy ourselves, to do something fabulous, and to be together to seize that day.

I’m so glad we seized those birthday days, to have stored up a cache of memories that I can take out and polish and love through again. And life being what it is and mother being who she was, they weren’t perfect times and yet, on this day, why would I do anything other than feel and think about the best of those times? Yes, this is most definitely a day upon which I can choose to love…

On Christmas Eve, my brother and I were walking along, taking a well worn route to celebrate his birthday, when he asked me how many Christmases it had now been without our mother. (He knows that I know and measure these things). And I replied that it was the third year. He took this information in with a tiny shock, since no matter how long we travel through it, time never seems to cease to amaze us by its’ constant movement onward and forward.

He said that he missed her and I understood, because I felt the same, yet there the fact was and still we carried on walking. Soon we reached our destination, that day without her, and yet as we walked, talked and remembered, she was there too – in us, in memories, words, in actions – imprinted.

So back to today… Here marks the end of the bandwidth of my Christmas celebrations. From this point I will start to slowly tune out of this dreamy mode where I hear Christmas loud and clear, through the crackle and hiss of time, of movement and find my way, with clear sound into the next chapter of my life.

I’ve prepared, partied and am now peaceful… Another year in the life, another day lived and celebrated, chosen and cherished to its’ close. And what is wonderful is that I know that so much of the time I can chose more joy, see the best in what is, and learn the lessons lent to me. On even greater days I get to share these lessons too.

And it’s farewell now to this day and still, this day will come again.

Happy Birthday Mum.

S xx

Letter to Twixmas

December 30, 2014December 27, 2015 Sandra Love Letters

Dear Twixmas Time

Twixmas is that nether region of time that lies between Christmas and New Year. It is a hinterland where the build up to Christmas Day is now over and the New Year is still yet to start…

It is the longing left over time, ticking inexorably towards the cessation of another tide marked twelve months of our lives. A time where we feast on left overs and doze off a thousand calories, or pick up the post Christmas threads and start to weave through our normal lives again, lived now in a fuggy half life, on hold and not yet paused, waiting to begin again, to renew, to refresh, to pace faster, to taste more of, to reconcile and refresh…

There are many for whom this is no special time, since they do not celebrate Christmas, they work through and for Christmas… Yet somehow, all who live in this corner of the round world are affected by the time and tide of this time of year.

So many people have planned, shopped, cooked, wrapped, written and travelled to come together for Christmas Day. There may have been joy and laughter, or stress and anger or indeed any febrile combination of feelings that the combustion of Christmas may unwittingly cause.

Then Boxing Day dawns, the morning after the day before, when it is time for cold turkey, to think or to feel of beginning again, to slide slowly towards the cut off point of New Years Eve.

Christmas is after all a collective consciousness – a mass movement, an energy glitter ball throwing out its’ light in sparkling, random bursts. And now Christmas Day has come and gone, either in a blaze of candle lit, carol singing glory or having slipped away, simply as another day.

Whether known or unconsciously felt, there is a Twixmas consciousness too – a winding down, when time slows deliciously to a fattened, hazy subconscious or maybe even conscious contemplation. A crystallization of winding up to the New Year and what this next twelve months will bring – being a new start harmony of fresh possibilities.

Twixmas then is a seasonally strange combination of winding down and gearing up, with a unique energy embraced from our cold blooded ancestors coming out of the winter solstice darkness to energetically embrace the first cold light of the approaching spring.

For me this is a time of left overs – left over food and left over time; and I relish in how the combination of both brings out my creativity… I love to take what is left over from Christmas feasting and turn it into new foodie creations. Christmas dinner transfigures into Turkey and Ham Pie, and then turns magically into soup. I have time to turn an oldish loaf of bread, the remains of the Christmas pudding and the dregs of an advocaat bottle into the most deliciously tipsy bread and butter pudding and so my lefts overs keep leading me on.

For me, meals made from left overs are somehow more satisfying than the obvious, original meal. This is how my mind works – I break things down to their component parts and then build them back up into a new and gorgeous whole, to be gorged upon and engaged with again, and even again. And this is just one of the many gifts of the ‘in between’ time and tide of Twixmas.

So how to make the most of and mould this tame time? We always have a choice – even if it feels like fate or circumstance foists events or people upon us… Is this really the case? Think on this…. And if we decide to run with a particular befallen fate, let’s decide to choose if not what, then how… How could it be easiest / happiest for you? Could you change a pattern of how things have been done before? Could it be done differently, could it be that you ask for support or time or what ever commodity it is that you want? Think of what will most benefit you from this time? And if it feels tempting to do chores, to use the time to DIY and clean, then this is all good… Or is it..?

Could it be that after the build up to Christmas madness, and the end of another year, that getting away, resting, reading or giving into countless other so called guilty pleasures might just be the single least selfish thing you could do at this time? Maybe take this Twixmas time to rest, to reboot and revive, and in doing so give yourself the most amazing gift of all – the best most rested you. Then you in turn get to give more, and are ready to embrace the lightening energy of the approaching New Year, facing towards it, as a new you.

I understand too that the gift of Twixmas time can be usefully used to catch up on many things, I just ask you to consider all the gorgeous possibilities and to choose, always to choose…

My choice is that I use this gift of Twixmas time doing gorgeous things with cherished friends and family. This year I have chosen presence as presents for my dearest friends and it has been a blissful, restful time, taking time out to dine out and shop and share. Taking me too away from chores that will catch my eyes and threaten to guilt me if I let them. So I choose to let them go instead.

And so that is Twixmas, all neatly tied up in a bow; and so it is now time too to bow out of this letter.

Thank you for this timely gift…

S xxx

PS: This year, as a Christmas Gift, I’m sharing the gifts of my writing and learning to entertain you, make you think and to deepen the Christmas experience in my capsule ebook. A Peachey Christmas is a collection of (previously published) blogs along with new material, gathered into one, gorgeous Christmas capsule… All you need to do to claim your free electronic copy is to fill out a few details here and then it will wing its’ way back to you.

PPS: For Twixmas Time, you could just fill your time gorgeously reading a whole book of my Love Letters to Life since ‘Peachey Letters’ have now been gathered together in to a beautiful book. I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a perfect present for you or for anyone… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including of course Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)… Enjoy S x

Letter to Christmas Eve

December 24, 2014December 27, 2015 Sandra Love Letters

Dear old Friend

It is the Eve of the Day.

And it is time for the wonder to begin, I mean to really begin now…

You see I am not talking about any Advent Calendar countdown from 1 to 25 here; or whether I have shopped, wrapped and done enough to make this Christmas a success… This is instead the warm realisation and joy that Christmas Day is nearly here and how, instead of investing all my energy and emotions into one day, I shall gradually unfurl my feelings around it, savour and relish them and slip gently into a most gorgeous and exonerated Christmas.

This day starts my Christmas – for a long while ago, some where in time, my living older brother was born on this day of the year. So family celebrations always started here, and this day is demarcated for me; and you know, it was so, long before I was ever born, so I step easily into that ‘made for me’ tradition.

This means that there are joyful practicalities and arrangements to be made and fulfilled, not least to celebrate that I have a sibling, some one I love and have shared so much with. Some one who knows where and how it all began. Some one who is funny and generous, and who reflects some of my similarities and who too is so very different from me.

So this day is where is all starts and is all about my slow perfected preparation. It is after all, no matter who I share it with, my Christmas, my comfort and joy, my creation, my very own time.

I am winding gently into Christmas – my mass – a simple time, built of many layers, from a long life time, now honed and smoothed by me into a fleeting, glorious experience.

At this time I will let my spirituality be free, to spiral and circulate, shining out of my soul to be acknowledged and aired and to thank God for all that was, is and shall be.

I shall rejoice in who I am, what I have and what has led me here. And I shall rejoice in what shall be, of me.

I am going to celebrate the connections – with my nature, with my past, with my family – living and departed. All these things will be celebrated and accepted quietly, as I go about my way, my Christmas way.

I shall slow my being and my soul and take life in slow motion, observing and breathing through it.

I shall thank those who travel with me, shear and support me, who love me and make me laugh. I will bless all who have taught me and left me and the roles they have played out in my psyche.

That is Christmas in my heart and head and there is Christmas for the body too, where I will feast and I will feed, lovingly preparing food, with a mother goddess joy.

I will talk and I will read and watch and listen, and I shall allow myself the delicious boredom of stopping the world weary madness of any tread mills that I have allowed myself to step on to through out the rest of the year.

From Eve to Day and beyond – Christmas is not just one day. Could it be that how you do Christmas is how you do life? So slow now, choose your day, make your time your time, and if that seems like a crazy, selfish statement, think of how your happiness and well being impacts every one around you and everything that you do.

Bring some Christmas – what ever that is for you into every day of your life, not just for one simple solitary sun rise to sun set.

Whether you speed, slide or slowly step into your Christmas, what ever I do or you do, I wish you love and joy and a portion of what ever your heart desires on this eve, this day and on all your future days.

With love,

from Sandra

xXx

PPS: Now Christmas is here and it is time to think of gifts, a collection of the ‘Peachey Letters’ from this blog have been gathered together, along with new material, into a book. It makes the perfect present and a gorgeous Christmas read, for you, family and friends… You can buy Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life on my website here or from Amazon (in Paperback and Kindle), and from all good book websites around the world…