Hibernation

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It always takes me by surprise when, post-Lammas, I find myself swamped beneath a wave of deconstruction and transformation. I forget during the heady growth of the spring/summer months that all will not stay the same. I even manage to convince myself, in my darker moments, that there is no hope of change, ever ; surely I am destined to live a life of mundanity.

I forget that mundanity is sacred. That every mundane moment is a step towards transformation and when we reach the end of the year, if we’ve managed to take enough steps, we will -whether we intend to or not- find ourselves somewhere new.

This year more than any other I find myself in foreign lands with a harvest I could never have predicted.

I am a mother. Mother to a son who can stand and babble and laugh and blow spectacular raspberries. I have never felt more alive than when we laugh together. I have never hurt as much as when he cries. I have never wanted to do less, more than I do right now. I know that this is exactly right.

Creating our little miracle has drained me of energy, time and resources in a way I could never imagine. I do not feel deprived and I would give him more if I had it, but he has made me profoundly aware of my limitations as a human being.

None of this is a bad thing.

It is in fact a perfect thing, a miraculous thing, a truth I have been waiting to encounter my whole life: It is right to rest. To do nothing. To linger. It is a right – not a privilege – to live within our own truth, our own boundaries, our unique wants and needs. All the wild wonderings that have swirled in my gut my whole life, those edges that have jarred so spectacularly with the way our modern world is structured, have begun settling into place and I see myself – through his eyes – in my wholeness. I make sense now. And so too do so many choices I have made in the past that once seemed at odds with what I thought was reality. I realise now they were made by and for the whole person, who was waiting to be realised through the acceptance of her role as mother.

I knew that having a child would be important… I never expected the one to benefit most would be my self.

This isn’t me declaring my commitment to the mummy cause by changing this blog to yet another mama diary (there’s enough awesome ones out there already, like here, here and here). But you are likely to see more mama related writing if you stick around.

This is however a declaration of change. Of the whole blog/brand/being that Walk the Wheel has been until now. This past year has sown the seeds of this transformation; Samhain marks the time of both its ending and beginning.

The time is right, the Wheel has turned and my cauldron is brimming with desire, with determination and with inspiration.

So I will to sink into the dark and quiet of the year, to embrace these stirrings of possibility in all their uncertainty, trusting that something new and better will be born of them in Spring.

There will be a considered and intentional silence both here and on the mailing list and on the Facebook group over the Winter season. I am trusting the Wheel to turn without me.

I look forward to meeting friends old and new when I return. Look out for a face that is similar but not the same. For I am already a new woman, emboldened by my wholeness… Who knows what I will be when I am rested and revitalised, ready to birth a brand new year?

Until then…

 

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Note to Self

For some time now I’ve noticed an unwelcome change in my relaxation habits. In the brief snippets of time when I’m not cooking, cleaning or wrangling a small child, I spend my freedom checking Facebook and becoming not a little obsessed with the pages dedicated to Tumblr.

I knew when I got my first smartphone (only a year ago would you believe!) that this was likely to happen. That placing the internet at my fingertips was the foundation for an unhealthy obsession. I don’t think I’ve quite reached the need for an intervention yet, but I’m getting there… one unnecessary click at a time.

Having my Son has actually compounded the problem. I find myself escaping into the simplistic, nonsense of social media as a way of giving my super-alert Mama brain a break. When he settles in for a feed its rare he will be calm enough for me to read a book so I pick up my phone instead. The only reason I no longer spend hours each night trawling my various Facebook groups is because the light has started distracting the little Munchkin from his night feeds.

But I keep telling myself that this isn’t a problem. That I’m allowed to indulge this need for no-thinking as a balance for the high-energy, high-intensity of parenting. This is of course a spectacularly flawed excuse; the glare from the screen and the impact of bright images and tiny text on my brain is doubtless just as (if not far more) intense than he ever could be. The difference is it feels less taxing. But even that isn’t real, just as illusion of relaxation.

The trick of social media seems to me to be that, like fizzy pop and tubes of crisps, it just leaves you wanting more. Hence as soon as you put it down you’re itching to be back, checking every few minutes for any new update or notification. The satisfaction received is not real, it has no longevity, its a quick fix. And as I am discovering recently, in the face of the madness of parenting (or any intense situation), a quick fix just isn’t going to cut it.

I’ve received various messages over recent weeks – some direct, some less so – telling me that I need to find a way to regain my down time. For the sake of my self, my health and my little one I need to start finding and using real ways to relax and recover when the opportunity arises. Then this morning I say this on my Facebook feed:

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(Credit)

That’s when I realised that my excuses were just that: excuses. Weak and flimsy reasons to take the easy route whilst ignoring the fact that the easy route is perhaps doing the most damage.

I talk a lot here and at WtW gatherings about the importance of taking notice, being present and finding moments of connection in life, no matter how small. I realised today how futile it is of me to encourage others to do those things if I can’t at least attempt them myself.

This is not about me being an expert or guru or anything so vain. It is simply about me offering my own wisdom and advice to myself and taking it. Apparently I needed to hear it from a meditating frog for it to really sink in but, hey, why judge?!

So I’m trying to step back to my Self, to put the phone down and be in those moments when I feel most tired or most in need of escape. Instead of Facebooking I’m breathing, feeling the weight of my boy in my arms, watching his determined attempts to crawl across the duvet and imagining the sky outside how it might look through the closed curtains.

And in the moments between those breaths and that imagining I am finding feelings and images and thoughts all flowing into the space that once felt so desperate to be filled with memes. Now I am exploring what its like to fill myself with the sky, to feel the clouds wrap around me, to dig myself deep into the earth and rest there until the Boy is ready to feed again. I realise that this is meditation. Not a rigorous practise that feels like one more pressure in an already high-pressure day, but a moment in time to take notice, to be with my Self and to be inspired by my imagination and the World around me.

And do you know what? I already feel better for it.

In The Moment

Its so easy once the struggle has passed, when he is settled and sleepy and ready for the crib, to see and feel that calm acceptance. He was wired up, oversensitised, excitable, coming down from a busy day. Or he was too tired, stuck in his own frustration, unable to find comfort-physical, emotional- just couldn’t quiet his busy little brain down.

Its understandable. It makes sense. After all we’ve all been there. Tossing in the covers, fidgeting with fingers or phones, huffing and sighing but just not quite able to sleep though we desperately need to.

In the aftermath, when sleep finally claims him, peace finally descends and I can watch him with a soft smile on his face (and mine) and feel almost foolish and something like guilty for not giving him such acceptance at the time. For instead feeling full of frustration and desperation and an aching need for him to just get there already! Any semblance of calm I might have displayed being just that: a semblance, a fallacy, a well constructed mask to try and bring the end about quicker.

It never works of course. He sleeps when he is ready (right now that’s 8pm on the dot) and leaves me in a stew of peaceful acceptance and guilty relief. I wish I could give this acceptance to him sooner, the acknowledgment that he is in fact a tiny human, with human struggles and frustrations. I wish I could feel it fully in my heart as he fights and flails and widens his sleepy eyes for the umpteenth time.

Instead I choke down impatience and acknowledge that for now, in this moment, this is reality. To fake acceptance would be a disservice to myself (and him). Perhaps its enough that I remember it now, afterwards, to re-tint memories dulled by fatigue.

Perhaps what I truly owe him is emotional honesty, so that one day he feels free to do the same.

His Mama may not be a Saint but she is here, now, with him in the moment.

So I Give… (a post for World Breastfeeding Week)

It feels appropriate that it is Lammas time and my thoughts and struggles are currently focused around breastfeeding. Even more so that I am writing this whilst feeding my son AND during World Breastfeeding Week. Flow in action!

I have been exclusively breastfeeding my boy for his full 6.5 months of life and feel incredibly blessed to have the support, determination and faculties with which to do so. The journey has not been an easy one – yet I know compared to some it has been terribly simple. I stand by the belief that our success has been largely due to me surrendering control of the hows and  and whys over to little one, right from the word go. At just moments old he was placed naked on my chest and by the time he was 30 mins old he had wriggled his way unaided to my waiting nipple and latched on. It was a perfect latch, a smooth first feed and beautiful to watch.

Since then I have had the immense pleasure of watching my son thrive and nourish himself from my body. I am still overcome on a regular basis by the awesome simplicity of the act. I am also regularly frustrated, devastated and (yep, I’ll say it) enraged by the process and all it entails.

Breastfeeding is – in its own way- an act of sacrifice. I don’t say this to be a martyr, simply as fact. In order to breastfeed exclusively and successfully you have to be willing to give of yourself in a multitude of ways.

Your time: as you feed on demand, at all hours.

Your modesty: as you offer up a private part of your body whenever and wherever it is needed.

Your sleep: which reduces as quickly as breastmilk digests.

Your physical space: as you find ways to hold him close for that perfect latch.

Your mobility and time: each one disappearing as you are pinned to the bed/sofa for the next mammoth clusterfeed.

Your social life: which must be snatched in the spaces between his hunger and must always leave you in easy reach in case he fancies a snack.

And of course you give of your body, your fluids, your vitamins and calories.

You give everything to watch that tiny body thrive.

And sometimes it feels like its killing you. Sometimes you feel your own Self has been devoured along with that last ounce, leaving nothing but a milk-machine in its place. Sometimes you feel physically drained, body weak, breasts soft and empty, mind exhausted to the point at which you feel you might have somehow ceased to exist without realising it.

Yes, it is a sacrifice.

And yes there are ways to mitigate all this, to make it ‘easier’ they say (pumping, bottle feeding, supplementing). But I would argue that each of these come with costs of their own so why trade one set of struggles for another.

In fact I’m proud of my struggles, my sacrifice, not because they make me somehow better but because through living them I am enacting nature’s intentions as closely as I can. And at Lammas time I can take heart in the reminder that the sacrifice of body and energy is what allows for rebirth and growth in to follow. In feeding my son I feel more connected not just to him but to the Wheel itself.

Not a bad reason to stick at it, I’d say.


Earthed Mother

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You twist and tangle, corkscrewing in air.
Gasping, grunting and glaring wide eyed at this still-new-scene around you.
Your breathe still tickles your nose as it fills your young lungs with both oxygen and surprise. Even that breath is a cause for excitement, distraction…
…so much distraction as neurons, newly minted, fire sparks back and forth in a dance of raw creation.
You are growth embodied,
motion in action,
the most unpredictable, uncontainable force of Nature I have ever known.

Which is why you need me to be Still and Steady.
Why I must root down deep and provide purchase for both of us.
When I do move it must be measured, rhythmic, predictable so you can latch on to its certainty and sink in to its solidity in time ans space.
My focus must be set and fully present, moment to moment…
…and I’ll admit this is the hardest test, one that I often fail, like now when my fingers type these words and I extrapolate you out across a million moments when all you need is This One, this single moment, right here, now… and you feed… feed…

This is the reason why my mind no longer wanders the pathways of flighty, fanciful enlightenment.
Why the uncertainty of faith and belief and the beyond have fallen out of favour with me, making way instead for simple practicalities.
But this is not as I feared suspected a loss of self or spirituality.
I am not less, nor have less heart or trust or creativity.
I am simply taking on the role that you require of me; rooted, earthed, grounded in Reality.
Bound to each moment as it is right in front of me.
The anchor to your sailboat, the keyring to your key.

I am your mother, Earthed Mother holding you right where you need to be,
While you, my Son, learn to Fly.

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Picture credits:
1) magicoolrealism via the bean and the bear
2) Meganne Forbes

Still Wheel Walking…

Once again I’m looking back at the empty vista between this post and the last, trying and – dare I say it – succeeding to not feel guilty. It helps knowing that the emptiness of this blog is not a sign of boredom or a lack in creativity but instead a symbol of just how busy life has been lately! New opportunities have been blossoming in all directions and I am quietly confident that a fruitful harvest is on the horizon. That said, we still have Midsummer to pass through and enjoy before I start measuring that so, in the spirit of sunshine, positive energy and all this creativity and growing, here’s a round up of the new colours and experiences filling my time right now:

My Tiny Wheel Walker is growing day by day and blossoming before my eyes into a small person. No longer a babe in arms he now requires lots of playtime and patience as he builds on his knowledge of himself and the World. It is a fascinating process and I feel honoured to be walking alongside him and getting such a great view. Each day brings a new challenge, a new skill, a new smile and I am called upon to watch, hold, handle and guide him as he journeys through his ever-expanding range of activities and experiences.

It is exhausting.

It is exhilarating.

I have never felt more lost and more found silmyltaneously.it breeds a heady mix of enthusiasm and abject panic that I simply can not put into written words (yet). Writing feels too static to capture all that he is and all that he is gifting me with as the accomplice in his grand schemes (of living, learning, growing). I get a sense that the written word and I may have a more piecemeal relationship for some time to come as my primary focus remains (as it should, for now) on my son’s journey through life and my own journey through motherhood. Too many people have told me that time will steal these precious moments and he’ll be grown all too soon; I don’t intend to miss a thing.

That said I have been growing myself, although sometimes its easy to forget with this brain full of nappies, nursing and new toys.

My Celebrant work is putting out feelers, pushing out branches and blossoming them tender new leaves. Bookings for the year ahead are starting to manifest and I am so excited and deeply humbled to be sought out to perform such beautiful work. Already I have the an outdoor wedding in Edale to look forward to and the possibility of more lurking in my inbox. Fragments of celebration and ceremony start to filter into my thoughts and it seems the only words to flow easily onto paper are those intended to be spoken in ceremony and I am bubbling with that feeling of wellness that comes when you know you’re doing the work you were meant for.

I am still holding space for seasonal celebrations, with Beltane now past and Midsummer on the horizon. Still joyfully creating time and place for people – friends both old and new – to gather and appreciate our beautiful World and the turning year. Still finding time to shape thoughts and notions about each festival in what I hope is a coherent way. Still blessed to be sharing it all in Hadfield and New Mills (see the home page for upcoming dates).

One place the sharing seems to have stopped is here; those of you with a keen eye will have noticed that the Markings and Musings series’ have disappeared. But fear not! These articles are not gone for good they are simply transforming, becoming part of a new project due to start this Autumn. (hint: if you enjoyed our Online Imbolc event then this will be for you!)

This new project is taking time, energy and brain space all of which used to be used to populate the contents of this blog more deeply. Now those resources are being redirected but I promise they are being put to good use. I’m really excited to share the fruits of that labour in a few months time.

The Wheel still turns and I turn with it. Sometimes it is obvious, other times the journey seems to have stalled, but like any growing thing Life needs these (seemingly) quiet periods to bloom as beautifully and effectively as possible. Looking forward to seeing what the coming season reveals.

Beating the blueprint (or how not to manage your life in some not-so-easy steps)

I always thought I was a master at managing my expectations.

Since my teenage years, I worked hard to calculate the expected outcome of any big change or life event and how this would affect me and my life . On the outside this was a defensive mechanism; allowing me to prepare for the worst and impliment any damage control. Inside there is a slimier, more self-satisfied purpose: allowing me to revel in all the expected greatness and good that said event would surely achieve.

My carefully constructed expectations helped me build a path towards enlightenment; ticking off the steps to being the ‘best’ version of me I could possibly be.

At least, that’s what I thought I was building.

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In fact I was creating a cage; its bars made of polished pessimism and perpetual dissapointment. I was planning out the shape of my future and leaving no room for actual creativity and growth. All the magic moments likely passed me by because I was too busy bemoaning the loss of my carefuly constructed blueprint. There’s little room for happiness in a life so very ‘well’ managed.

It is so easy to forget that we are not seperate beings but an active part of Nature’s cycles and as such there is no amount of ‘managing’ that can be do a better job than She. That the term exists in our language – ‘man-aging’ – is a testament to our Human arrogance and a profound disconnection from (and some might say fear of) Her.

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It is little surprise then that when I tried to apply such foolhardy notions of control to two of the most natural experiences in my life – Birth and Spirituality – I came away baffled, bamboozled and downright disappointed; about ready to shred the blueprint and go banging on the door of some metaphysical middle manager who had apparently read it all wrong and royally screwed up all my gloriously well-crafted expectations.

But I didn’t*. Instead I took a breath, took a big, big step back and did that thing that I realise I’ve been shy and wary of my whole life… I looked at me, as I am, in the moment. Just me; with no blueprint, no scale to measure up against.

And what do I see?

I see confidence where once there was constant concern for how I was percieved, whether I was understood. And not that cheap, oily, plastic brand of confidence that they write about in teen magazines, but the real, soul-deep certainty that you are who you are and damn if that isn’t someone worth the oxygen and floor space they’ve been assigned.

I see strength, displayed in ways I could never have predicted. It may not have been strength enough to push out my well-fed 9lb baby, after 15hrs active labour, without a little medical assistance… but it is a strength that has allowed me to keep him well-fed, to hold him close and watch him thrive and to feed, feed, feed for entire days on less than 4 hours sleep.

And somehow still love him at the end of it.

I see determination in my rabid-dog readiness to fling a heavy vase at that skeevy stranger’s head if he goes near my husband or my boy one more time.

This coming from the girl who has never said boo to a goose (or any other wildfowl for that matter).

Above all I see truth; that elusive benchmark I have always reached for but often felt unable to hold on to in the face of peer-pressure or the unforgiving harshness of modern reality.

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I live a life brightened every day by my commitment to a spiritual path, walking the Wheel and holding an awareness of the awe and beauty of it all close to my heart. You’d be hard pressed to fit me into a box or under a label (even Pagan doesn’t feel quite right anymore) but that no londer feels like a lack. I wear my green spirit proudly and kindly and I do my best to let it colour all the moments of my day. It’s then that I realise that me, my life and this World are so, so beautiful.

Of course sometimes I fail. I find myself reaching for the blueprint over and over again; nervous habit. But there is a steadiness in me now that is perhaps age, wisdom, woman-ness or motherhood – or a combination of them all -that allows me to see past the supposed-sacredness of those expectations. To meet the gaze of Mother Nature head on (seeing a glimmer of my self there in those fathomless eyes) and to keep tearing strips from it until one day it will be gone. Then there will be no plan, nothing to manage, just a handful of confetti to throw in celebration.

Free at last.

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*Okay, maybe I did, for a little while but I’m over it now and feeling the good flowing ju-ju. I’m enlightened I tell ya!

Photo credits:
1) culturedecanted.com
2) Jokeroo
3) K.Tomlin
4) K.Tomlin

New Ventures!

With the Scorpio Full Moon receeding into the waning time of the month I am finding myself plunged into deep times of intense work and feeling. This is proving utterly exhausting (particularly on the baby front!) but also very productive!

In the last week I have published a new website, created a Facebook Page and delivered a wonderful Wedding for two lovely friends that included a handfasting, a sharing cup, and hosted such high profile guests as Thor (God of Thunder)… although he wasn’t technically invited but, hey, who turns away a deity at the door?! 😉

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Photo credit: Rachel Ensor

The website and Facebook Page are dedicated to my work as a Celebrant and a link to them will appear on the ‘Celebrant’ section of this website in the coming days. However if you would like to have a look now then follow the links below.

Keli Tomlin Ceremonies

KTCeremonies on Facebook

Please do give me a ‘Like’ and a share if you feel so inclined.

(Dis)Connected

As Autumn asserts itself fully – with blustery days and chilly nights, rain on the panes and (every now and then) a wash of golden sunlight – I am feeling both more and less connected to the Wheel and this turning season than I ever have before.

The leaves are drooping and falling on almost every branch in town. The berries on the bushes are whithering now; the chilly Derbyshire air making it easier for them to succumb to slumber. Signs of life seem to be giving way to death at every turn, in a way that feels right and necessary; a welcome return to rest after so much energy has been expended on living and life.

But my body is turning in the other direction – away, away from death of any kind. instead it is sucking and slurping and seeking all the energy it can to feed the Life that is growing inside me. And as it feeds and grows that Life is becoming more active, not less. No softening, no gentling, no letting go here. This creature inside is all movement and angles, rolling and punching, working hard to remind me each moment that it is living. My belly is a swollen fruit, heavy and tight and ripe. My muscles are tired but rally each day, building and sustaining themselves to support the eventual harvest. And my roots are strong; my determination to be solid and settled in house and family and home bordering on manic; I’m cleaning and arranging and doing more than I have for months (as much as my ponderous belly allows).

The World is slowing down, but I am speeding up; wired in opposition to what the season is trying to tell me. Time is racing along beside me, urging me, encouraging me but it can’t quell the disquiet that comes from being so out of sync…

And yet…

My mind on the other hand seems to have sequestered itself beneath autumn’s leafy mantle and is happy to reside there for the days ahead. Despite all the practicalities that need attending to and all the unquenchable urges jittering through my nesting limbs, my thoughts are slowing steadily; sinking deeper into the Earth along with those same leaves thata re gradually turning to mulch.

I’m not confused or stupid (most of the time), just less inclined to define and deliniate anymore. My instincts are rising to the surface and settling atop my worries and fears, my words and definitions, like a well worn blanket. They are urging me to trust, to let go, to float loose on the breeze that blusters outside my window and allow time and nature to take its course. To succumb to what is happening to my body and to the World around me. To stop trying to make sense of it all and simply live it.

It feels like my words are dying, dropping away one by one like dead leaves. They no longer hold the power to preserve and nourish me; their season is past, their time (for now) is done. Something else is taking their place. A quiet, deep knowing that is blurred and soft around the edges, that sits within me, surrounds me and the Life inside me and offers us sanctuary. Offers us both growth that is free from expectation and judgement.

I am evergreen in body, but deciduous in mind and the juxtaposition is often unsettling. I am both with the Wheel and without it and at the same time unsure how one person can embody both.

Perhaps it can’t.

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Perhaps I am the deciduous tree, asserting my connection to the Wheel through my thoughts and feelings, trusting them to release and decline with the Land. But this new Life inside me is as strong as evergreen and is asserting its right to life and thrive and shine and grow all through the darker, colder months ahead.

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We are simply inhabiting the same space, for now; and it is magical.

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Photo credits:
1) kidactivities.net
2) finkegardens.com
3) financialsense.com

Flow

It has taken me a long time (and rather a lot of unfinished draft posts) to finally get this one written. I’ve promised it for a while and referenced it a few times already but today I can finally begin to explain the concept of FLOW and what it means to me.

To do so I’m going to share a couple of excerpts from my life; the first from a few years ago, the second this week just gone. I don’t always go into great details about my personal life but I hope that by sharing these stories, the reader might gain a more visceral understanding of what I’m getting at. Because at its heart Flow is a felt thing and I can only assume that other people feel it too.

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Story 1

Living in London had grown difficult for us both. My partner and I were unhappy and desperately seeking the space and freedom of the great outdoors. In our spare time we’d begun reading books and articles about sacred landscapes, archaeology and the Land on which our ancestors lived. This inspired us to watch TV shows about similar topics, to expose ourselves to views and vistas of the rolling English countryside, bleak craggy moors and cities full of beautiful architecture. Suddenly – despite training and working in the creative industry for 5 years – we were feeling truly inspired for the first time.

We started talking about silly things first; going to live in a commune or backpacking around the World on all that money we didn’t have. Then one day I found a website about campervans and we spent evenings discussing the logistics of managing and affording a year long road trip around the British Isles, using blogs and advertising and bad poetry to pay our way.

A lot of these ideas felt mythic, dream-like, a little too big for reality. But at there heart was a seed of somthing that had settled in both of our imaginations and wouldn’t let us go. In fact it grew until our friends grew sick of hearing us talk about living on farms and in fields and returning to our roots and suddenly we were finding harder to find reasons to stay in London than reasons to go.

So we went. I can’t remember now what sparked the actual decision but we’d already been journeying down the path to our departure for some months. We quit our jobs, gave up our flat and spent the last of our savings on a tent, two big back packs and train tickets to get us to our first destination.

What followed was three months of seeing Britain on foot, by bus and by train, visiting so many sacred and beautiful places we couldn’t help but be overcome by a love for the Land itself. Three months of living in a tent, laughing and crying and sweating and soaking and always, always having the time of our lives.

By the time we returned home (to my parents until we’d re-established ourselves) we were already talking about moving to the Peak District. My partner knew he wanted to marry me and would ask me just a few months later. A few months we would be living in our current home and the first notions of Walk The Wheel were stirring in my mind.

We were already walking down the path towards the life we are living now. We were happy, blissful. We were living in Flow.

 

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Me, on the road with Flow

Story 2

After some rather exciting news in May, the Hubby and I have been coming to terms with the idea that our family is growing. News of a Baby has sparked an onslaught emotional upheavals as well as many more practical questions. Primarily: Do we have the space? and How will we afford all this?

Space has a large impact on my health and wellbeing; if I am living somewhere cluttered or crowded I quickly feel stifled and deflated. So I immediately decided that in order for us to survive the upheaval of a new life in our family and still maintain some sense of who I am and what I want to do I needed a new space to live in.

So we started looking at houses. Although the rental market is currently less than inspiring and we lack both the time and finance to really commit to a search, I have spent almost 5 months doggedly searching websites, booking viewings and complaining to anyone who would listen about how damn hard it was all proving! I have run the gauntlet of emotions; from hope to excitement, to disappointment to anger to fear till recently I reached a point of utter exhaustion and utter desperation.

The warning signs were clear: something wasn’t right about all this, it was too strenuous, too difficult. We were totally out of Flow. So iInstead of being consumed with thoughts of “We need a new house!” I focused on thoughts of “We need to trust the Flow. We will get what we need.”

And then something amazing happened.

We were offered a possibility by a loving family member; something that in 6-12 months might give us the chance of a space and future that feels more ours than any of the possibilites we’ve entertained so far.

And then just this weekend, after a few seemingly innocuous conversations with family and friends, both the Hubby and I reached a startling decision, pretty much silmulataneously:

What is we stay where we are? What if we trust that the house we are in and our desire to create a nurturing family home will blossom into something new and sustainable? What is we allow ourselves to stay safe financially and trust that we will find what we needed within the means we already have?

Suddenly, where we had been running out of possibilites for change, the ideas were flowing. With the ideas came energy and we spent the weekend organising, decluttering and making adjustements that could be the start of this space’s transformation for us; and with that energy we drew more energy from other sources; offers of help, items of furniture, ways and means to make this house viable began to pour in from all sides.

All we have done is put aside the wanting and the thinking and the deciding we knew what was best and instead trusted in what we have and our ability to make it better.

The result: We have come back into line with Flow.

 

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Back where we should be

 

So What Is Flow?

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Flow is the driving force that allows our needs to be met in the most necessary and wholesome way possible.

Flow is the path that life seeks to place you on so that you might make the most of your unique situation.

Flow is the ease with which something happens when it is right, when it is meant, when it is necessary.

I have never been one to believe in Fate. I don’t think there is a book anywhere with our life all spelled out inside it and we are not simply characters acting out a tale that already has a beginning, middle and end.

But as I’ve grown older I have found myself in more and more situations where happiness and contentment have been born of listening to life, trusting its messages and following the path down which it leads you. And I have often found this path the be the one of least resistance. Not because Flow means no work hard and no obstacles, but because Flow calls you to approach these things in a less resisting way.

To be in Flow, to truly feel its benifits, you need to flow yourself. When obstacles appear you don’t fight, but allow them to shape and inform your decisions, making them part and parcel of your experience. When the going is demanding you don’t grow desperate but flow steadily, doing what you can, trusting that it will all be enough to see you through.

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Chalice Well - the perfect place to find and honour Flow

As you flow within the Flow you feel content, satisfied and enthused; all of which serve to energise you futher, feed your creativity and keep your spirits high. In this state anything is possible and I believe that what will manifest is not what you think you want but what you truly need. By fulfilling our true needs we can live in a state of harmony with both our emotional selves and our practical reality.

What I know most surely is that Flow does not abide with logic or reason, it does not conform to a pattern of events and often it does not seem sensible or safe. But it feels good, it feels right, it feels possible and it will happen with surprising ease if you simply allow it.

In recent years Flow has become my guide to live by. I can sense when I am not flowing and when I am making choices that are purely logical and not in line with the Flow. Sometimes I am too overcome with other feeligns and stuff (often fear or self-doubt) to see this clearly or to do anything about it. If I’m lucky I will recognise opportunities to come back to a more flowing state and thus come to see the path of Flow more clearly.

 

I have certainly been lucky this past week or so.

And (as is rather appropriate for this Harvest time) I am incredibly, powerfuly and humbly grateful for that.



Photo Credits:
1) Huffingtonpost.com
2) Me
3) Jon Rouston
4) 3drecursions.com
5) Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Copyright

All written materials and images, unless otherwise stated, are property of Kelly Tomlin 2016.
We gather together to Walk the Wheel; to share with one another and be inspired.