The Singing Warrior: A Journey of Power

Posted on May 24, 2012 by

One man succeeds and becomes very rich but becomes frustrated. Nothing fails like success. Success is only significant if you are a failure. Once you succeed, then you know that you have been cheated by the world, by the people and by the society.  The man had all riches but had no peace of mind. He started searching for peace of mind. (Osho)

Many of us struggle with the concept of ‘success’. Our conditioning is such that our accomplishments are part of our identity. Inevitiably, when at a party, the age-old question arises – What do you do? The answer is an exchange of how we can judge another’s success. Those four words immediately create the person that the other person wants to get to know or not. To engage in conversation or not. To see if the other person is worth getting to know or not. Many warriors are uncomfortable about what they do. They do not feel good enough. Many others are only glad to share their success and willingly share their triumphs with you.

I, at one stage found it easier to say that “I was on a sabbatical”, which sounds very intriguing. Actually, my ongoing sabbatical is my own Journey of Healing. I refuse to be defined by four words. I am worth more than that. We all are. As Wounded Warriors, we can choose to protect our innocence. Because innocence just is.  By poisoning your love energy, one creates a battle within oneself. A civil war. And you are always in conflict. And in conflict your energy is dissipated. Courage to be your essence.

Our Journey of Power is one of incredible capacity. I should know. Having been beaten down to a particle of what I could be. Having been conditioned into thinking that I would never be enough. However, these were the lessons that many of us need to move on further. I called these lessons for me to learn. The incredible power within us to turn our Journey into a Sacred Journey. The baby leaves the womb and all its comforts. The young bird takes flight. The choice is ever-present for the Warrior to change his Path. We have many paths on our Sacred Journey. That is the incredible excitement of Living.

Whaever you do, Life is a mystery. Our connection with ourselves is the most important connection to succeed.  We cannot understand. That large gaping hole that we cover up is uncoverable until we plug all the holes in our own lives. That is a lifetime on this earthly planet. So, fellow warriors, walk with Courage in your Hearts. Walk with the Universal Flow. We can achieve so much more by having the courage to change. To embrace the unknown despite our fears – in our relationships, in our careers. It is the Ongoing Journey that empowers us and gives us understanding of who we are and why we are here.

Namaste

Niamh

 

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The Singing Warrior: Pre-conceptions of other countries -get rid of them

Posted on May 21, 2012 by

Trees grow parallel and straight but bow to sunlight, their roots deeply rooted

As a child, my father brought home chocolate letters and small decorative clogs on his travels. It confirmed to me that all Dutch wear clogs and eat chocolate whilst ice skating!  It stayed with me for a long, long time. I am now living in the Netherlands and yes, chocolate letters are for when the ‘Sint’ arrives and clogs are actually only worn in the countryside by an older generation of farmers. There is so much more to living in the Netherlands. Being Irish, we have a reputation for drinking too much and being loud and boisterous. Yes, the pub culture exists in Ireland but I partake of a glass of wine a few times a year and am soft-spoken. Many of my Irish friends are not heavy drinkers. They could not function in their careers and lives if they were drunk and disorderly. Also, they have children too. Their lives are busy enough. It is wonderful to be part of a country and have its traditions and egocentricities. However, we must acknowledge that everybody, regardless of nationality is an individual. We happen to be born in a country, have taken on a national identity but have our own as well. My teenage daughter has an American exchange student staying at the moment. An intelligent, articulate young man who,contrary to popular belief, knows a lot about Europe. He is well-rounded and easygoing, polite and a pleasure to have around.  It is the young warriors who will take over the policies and running of their Governments. It is vital that we educate our children in the lessons of ‘living’ life to the fullest. To experience other cultures in a positive way. To be non-judgemental. My daughter also has a different view of America, having stayed there now. She can form her own opinions with an open mind. To share our positive energies about other nationalities and identities. In our pre-conceptions, we limit ourselves. It is vital that we kick the cardboard box that emprisions us. Stereotyping is a form of ignorance. It is with knowledge that we grow and develop. European policies are global policies. The boundaries of countries are breaking down. We need to re-assess and re-create our own visions of  what we need our lives to be. We have the power of choice. It begins today.  I wave off my daughter and our young visitor. They mount their bikes in synchronicity and take-off effortlessly into the sunshine. These young warriors are the hope of tomorrow. We have borrowed our children to release them into the universe. To see them grow tall and rooted. They will find their sustinence in the ground-work that needs to be done. They will grow stronger and, like the tree, beside each other, create the lush forests and grow towards the canopy of light.All we need to do is let it take place and give them firm roots to weather the storms and remain calm in the eye of the hurricane. NamasteNiamh

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The Singing Warrior: Poverty exists next door…don’t kid yourself!!!

Posted on May 17, 2012 by

Dehumanized by humanity…

I walk regularly with Mozart, my dog in my area. I get to know the locals. I know all the names of the dogs. That’s what happens with us dog owners. Paris, Snoopy and Butch play with my little canine companion. I share thoughts with the owners as we watch our little creatures play with each other. Special moments are exchanged and shared. An old lady, well-dressed, with her mangey canine companion greets us. She seems greyer, frailer than usual. Her story is not unusual. She lives in a big house by the water. It is mortgage-free. She is in poor health and does not seem to have somebody to look after the practicalities. Her medical insurance has not been paid – she has long forgotten the practicalities of banks and other necessities (has been hinted to me). She lives in her own world of daily walks with her old yorkshire terrier. I genuinely ask how she is doing but I feel saddened that I know that it is a reciprocal question. She will always say ‘Fine”. I know that that is not so. We cannot judge how our neighbours are by an expensive winter jacket and an educated accent. She told me that she feels that she has not got a lot of time left and was very concerned about her old dog, Punch. She would prefer if he died first. Her children live in other countries and misunderstandings and miscommunications have brought her to a life of isolation. She is very proud and yet forgetfulness glazes over her eyes as I try to communicate with her. I would not be invited to her home. She refuses help from the local authorities. I know she will die in her home, alone and neglected. If we choose the behaviour, do we choose the consequences too? I hand her my card with my phone number. Should I take her dog for her? Should I attempt to bring a warm meal to her door? Should I….? She relates clearly to me that she has had a good life and  does not need any ‘interference’ from others. I accept that but have great diffiulty in walking away. I see her and know that her time is limited on this earthly planet. An actual neighbour told me that she keeps an ‘eye’ on things. She knows her routine and told me that if she does not see her for a few days, she can raise the alarm. I thank her for her vigilence and walk away, heavyhearted. I know Punch will be looked after. One neighbour has taken the responsibility of seeing to her elderly neighbour. Poverty has many meanings. Poverty because of lack of material goods and necessities. Poverty because of lack of abundance in spirit and body. Poverty because we choose the ‘faminie consciousness’. A choice of never having enough or remaining in need. A choice of living in poverty. But we all deserve abundance. We all deserve to be loved and have enough. However, if our Sacred Journey is a choice of becoming isolated and alone, must we respect this?  I don’t have all the answers. There is a knock at my door. A very good friend offers to bring me food shopping on Saturday to a very reasonable supermarket. I couldn’t manage on my bike. She has a car. I hug her exaggeratingly. I have never chosen isolation. I honour the warmth of everybody around me. I feel rich. I feel loved. Thank you fellow warriors. NamasteNiamh

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The Singing Warrior: To be a Mother is to be an Other and Much More….

Posted on May 13, 2012 by

The tree grounded with solid roots produces the healthy branches ….

It is one of the most challenging yet rewarding gifts to be given – to become a mother. However, I have to say that I think having a child in another country with a partner of another nationality is not the easiest of choices. The ground rules are different. Firstly, your family are not near to you. Secondly, cultural and language problems also face a now more unsure Mom. I remember coming home from the hospital with my daughter and crying. It was all so overwhelming. My in-laws attitude was that “I had to get on with it”. My then husband went to work and I sat on the floor with a very colicky baby who proceeded to howl for thee months. It was the most lonely time of my life. Everybdy assumed that I had had time to re-adjust in hospital but forgot that my baby had been looked after because I had been too ill. A sickly mother and baby looked at each other and howled even more!!!!I received a three-morning crash course for baby and mother by an unmarried nurse whose character was based on  Cruella de Vil. She terrified me! Said baby had to sleep in her own room. Said baby had to be ignored when she cried. It was good for her lungs! Strict breastfeeding schemes were typed and magnetized to my fridge door. My breasts became a military operation whether I liked it or not. I had a very hungry baby who screamed even more! I walked out into the sunlight in August with the new super de luxe pram and shaking limbs. My neighbours short questions were recripocal. “How are you and the baby? That’s nice” I wanted to scream that it was a nighmare. I wanted to punch their faces for asking! But I didn’t. I politely ambled on further, hoping that my baby would sleep for a little while whilst sucking in the fresh air. I walked out proudly with my new-born and came home to the tick of the clock and unanswered telephone calls. The tree’s roots were looking for a place to root but found only sand and hard soil. A time that should have been joyous became a time fraught with insecurity and isolation. Disconnecting and ‘playing the role’ of  a happy mother is very exhausting indeed. Looking back, I think I had a form of post-natale depression but could not relate to the outside world these feelings. I was lucky to have a baby and at such an advanced age of 40! I was so lucky to be able to give up my demanding career and stay at home. I was reminded that my problems were of the ‘luxourious nature’. I was reminded of so much to be grateful for and definitely I was. However, my heart said differently. I was miserable and alone and to cap it all, my surrounding advisors intimated that it was better to speak Dutch to the new-born. After all, I was living in the Netherlands. After all, this was the way things should be done. After all…….I said ‘I love you in Dutch “Ik hou van jou” to my sobbing baby. I sobbed even more. It sounded so strange. Please let me speak English to my baby! I did. I insisted and secretly told her my feelings and fears. She became calmer. I only spoke English to her after that. It was the only battle I won in those days of wavering…..   Fifteen years later. I have learned so much about being a mother. I am eating a breakfast prepared by a very empowered young woman. A gir/woman who knows what she wants. She hugs me and wishes me a Happy Mother’s Day. I embrace her and don’t want to let her go. So many changes in our lives. So many challenges that we have overcome but I know we will be okay. The tree is rooted. The tree has found the soil that can spread and find the water. The young branches are spreading, succulent, green and strong. I am a mother. I am. I dedicate this blog to all the lonely young mothers worldwide. Be yourself. That is enough and always will be.NamasteNiamh

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The Singing Warrior: Funny, not Funny, Hilarious….

Posted on May 11, 2012 by

See the tinsel and glitter in laughter

Well, onwards and upwards with my cleaning frenzy. A neat pyramid of the last of my excessive baggage was going to the charity shop down the road. However, I must descend two flights of stairs and a long stretch of road to reach the shop.I kindly asked the shop assistant to borrow a bright-red  trolley with two gigantic wheels. Not exactly a trolley but a scoopie-thing to put my belongings on (I can’t for the life of me remember the English name – too long in the Netherlands, I fear). I digress. A grumpy assistant, reluctantly lent me the two-wheeled wonder. Two coffee tables and a large gaudy vase were my first drop-off. Panting slightly and very red-faced, I was getting my second load ready when I instinctively looked out the window to see a young man walking away with said thingey’. I knocked and gestured at the window to no avail, so I ran quickly down my two flights of stairs, and confronted him.”What are you doing? I lent this ‘thing’ from the Kringloop (name of Charity shop) to help me transport my unwanted goods (loose translation).”He told me nonplussed that he thought somebody was throwing it away. It was on the street, therefore it was considered ‘public property’. A heated argument ensued and I took the wrteched red thingey from him. Now, I had another problem. I had to bring the thingey up two flights of stairs in order to collect my items, then bring thingey down again, place it on said pavement and very quickly place all items on, now very wobbly thingey. Charity is hard work! I began to curse inwardly but decided for another option. I laughed out loud at the absurdity of life. What were the lessons to be learned from this incident? Yes, many I fear. Attachments to material stuff canot be good for us. The young man saw and wanted. I was getting rid of the unwanted, yet part of me was unwilling to let go. Thingey was only a buffer. We borrow to give back. We take to give back. We receive to give back But sometimes when the intent is not good, the energies of the giving is thrown back at us. A boomerang when least expected.  Fellow Warriors, surrounding ourselves with excessive material comforts does not comfort us. It will never fill the void. In actual fact, it will made the void seem emptier and the hole becomes bigger and vacuous. The essence of ourselves is in embracing who we are and filling that void with wonderful pink fluffy clouds of love for self. I am enough affirmation. I handed backred thingeyto the grumpy assistant who now beamed at me. I wished him a peaceful day and he thanked me for my contribution. I thanked him for his assisstance. A young Polish mother was gazing at my items. I hoped that she  could use them for her household. NamasteNiamh

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The Singing Warrior: All Endings become Beginnings

Posted on May 9, 2012 by

Fifteen large black plastic bags in my hallway. The left-overs from my mother’s life. I had had her belongings shipped over to the Netherlands thirteen years ago. Her baggage has followed me since. It was time to release them from my life. My daughter’s exchange student is coming from America. I had no excuses any more. He needs cupboard space. I need space in my life to move on.

My friend, Jolanda (owner of Superblij, Edisonstraat, Vintage shop -fantastic), helped me through the process. I needed a helping hand to release the old energies for new ones.

My mother was very attached to her ‘physical things’. Her little ornaments and Christmas decorations were essentially her attachments to living. On her death bed, she discussed the fear of having her belongings ‘dumped’ in a container. I promised her that that would not happen. We never had time to discuss anything else. There was so much more to say but her fear of letting go of her material life was her sanctuary. Her belongings followed me through so many moves and changes in my life. Her baggage became my baggage. It was boxed and took up a lot of my space wherever I ended up. It represented my own boxed life.

I spoke to Mammy and said that it was time for me to move on alone. It was time for me to release all her earthly possessions. To take my own power back and release guilt and all negativity attached to her ‘things’. As the tears splashed lavishly on the black plastic, I sang a song of long ago when I was a child. All the events when I stood on stage and my mother was not there. She was at home surrounded by her ‘sanctuary’. Her fear of leaving, her fear of life. Her fear of me moving on. I cried with compassion, sadness. I cried for all that could have been. I cried for all the moments of misunderstanding and helplessness. I cried for a woman who had lost her way in life and tried to live through me. There is no ending, only beginning.

I peeped into the last box and pulled out a ‘toilet bag’, the one my mother took to the hospital. The hospital where she died many years ago. I opened up the flowery plastic and took out the items that were so dear to her: A diamond collar glistened back at me. A souvenir from her beloved siamese cat, Lady. She had died years earlier. Something else caught my eye. It was cold and clear. I fished it out amongst all the other contents. I gasped. It was a small mushroom-shaped glass. I had bought it with my first salary slip when I was eighteen years of age. My mother loved glass and our house was a myriad of colours reflecting in the afternoon sun. I remember rushing into the house to give it to her.  It was expensive at the time and I could only afford one. She added it to her collection in the living-room. I had earned 11 pounds and 3 shillings. I told her that I would buy another one when I was paid again. She looked at me and said “No, don’t bother. One is enough. Save for something else for yourself.” I took that as a rejection then, being a sensitive young woman. I was always angry then. I never bought her another glass item.

I held the glass to my breast and wept profusely. The watery contents of my life spilled into the small glass goblet. “Mammy, it’s time now for both of us to move on.” I placed the glass on my mantel piece and promised myself to pick some wild flowers to place in it.

“All done?”, inquired Jolanda.

“Yes. All done.”   My fellow warriors. There are times when the release of our baggage can be painful but it brings closure to the endings. It brings new beginnings to the beginnings.

Namaste

Niamh

A special thank you to Jolanda for helping me. Thanks Jolanda.

Photo by T. O’Broin/Gairloch, Scotland

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The Singing Warrior: I am doing nothing, Rather I am being done

Posted on May 7, 2012 by

 

Why do we always have to explain ourselves when we meet fellow warriors? What do you do? What education do you have? What age are you?  It’s sometimes cleverly disguised in cloaked questions and carefulwording but many of us are not interested in the standard questions. It limits to say who we think we are or do.

There is a time for being ahead

There is a time for being behind

There is a time for being in motion

Thre is a time for being at rest

There is a time for being vigorous

There is a time for being exhausted (Dr wayne W. Dyer/Living the Wisdom of the Tao)

There is a time for asking who we are and where we are going? Divine timing cannot be controlled. A student that works extremely hard and fails his exams. Is he/she a failure? A streetcleaner who passes you on the street. Is he/she less of a man because of his/her occupation?A school reunion and everybody asks what everybody else has achieved since they last met. I am only a wife and mother. I only work at the local supermarket. I am a Manager of a large corporate organization. I am on sick leave. I am presently ……

Somebody said to me: “When you say you are a writer, it means that you have an excuse not to work and it sounds exciting at the same time”…. What do you really do?

My reply: ” I am doing nothing, rather I am being done”.

A raised eyebrow. A change of conversation. A perplexed look. Time to leave discretely.

Judgment is for the inner self not for to judge others. It’s a tough one but a distinct possibility to achieve it.

I am not perfect. I am only a sacred vessel that cannot be controlled. I am who I am with free will to be on this Sacred Journey.

Namaste

Niamh

 

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