Morning Intimate Stream / Divinity Deep Dive

Life is funny. You do have to take it – day by day. For instance, this past week has been deathly. It brought me back to dark places. It took me to where boredom, routine and repetitive creativity killers were being exercised. In the meantime, my artistic side was in need of CPR. I was feeling depressed, dead inside again – resumed to a body being dragged around places, clocking in, clocking out.

Ask me what is Life and I respond with art. Yet, here we are, money-slaves, thinking we are so free. After all, check out his Instagram feed. All the countries he has been. Humans, working for pieces of paper so they can buy happiness – that can be overconsumed and over grabbed and overeaten and never fully digested. I have realised this dynamic, that of working hard so I can fulfill other people’s dreams. Those, that own, do not work, but order, spend and promote “freedom” as a societal value – vide Bilderberg. One of my ways to counter this is via minimalistic detachment (intermittent fasting included).

Saint Exupery has taught us well: “you are forever responsible for what you have tamed”, that includes items and objects too. The more clothes I have, the more cleaning, washing and folding to do. This is why I often walk around with the same set of clothes. Who cares? Society? They are simply fleeting wind with faces, in my world. I walk the streets, aware I can be viewed as a lunatic or someone with mental difficulties (because my behaviour is not standard). I look at trees and nature and ignore Humans. I smile at trees, birds, I laugh, I giggle, I look with awe. I dance as I walk. This reminds me of the Stoics and their understanding that other people’s perception do not affect you. I ask myself: why would I not dance, just because I am passing by a stranger on the street or in the car, that I will never see again? Just because of that moment where they will perceive me as X (and we won’t know)? Flip this! I dance, I awe and I look like a nutty, but I am free and happy and me. Seemingly, Socrates was a bit like myself. Walking around with ragged clothes. I currently view clothes as fabric to keep others from viewing my naked bits. That is all it means.

I seek to detach from most things because I see how painful it can be, the process of adjusting to the previous time when we did not have said thing – and guess what? We were fine. But once this thing entered our life and now exited, it takes away a piece of you. The “identified you” goes with it. Hence, I seek to have the littlest things in my world. In saying this, I am still highly attached to the few things I have, so there is a long way to go.

I will always have to watch that seductive attraction to identification, that makes you want to have that thing, just for yourself. Look at children and how they relate to objects. They do not want to share – initially, upon discovering the joys of “owning” something. My feather and branch picking is nothing more than a manifestation of that. Hence, why, I also know, full detachment means – you are gone from this world. This attachment process is what makes this human experience so we cannot forsake it fully. But I live my life trying. And the conflict can be difficult at times: that of forsaking desire and that of finding life meaningless, without passion. I am still trying to figure it out and if you ask me, deep down, I find, passion, to be the motor of life. But Buddhism comes in to mess this all up! 🙂

Art is a process, not a product. Art can be structured, sure, but my way to make art is not structured. The art and the fun comes from relating with yourself and that object. Not from looking at your finished product, where you can gloat on. Though, beauty is, partially, what makes life colourful. And how often artists fall for their own creation? I sure do. I am drawing my Fairy King, my Aengus and Cair – A Fairy Love – Children’s Book, not to be published. Though, in truth, I am not really inspired at the moment. I have realised that I have had relationships where, in “theory”, I have been loved, yet when I hear The Smiths “Never Had No One Ever” it hits me deep down inside. I never really lived this love I dreamt of once. The last time I did feel it and it felt so real and I did dream, wish, summoned. I went “fairy tale apesane” to be met with – “nope, it was nothing, an illusion. You mean nothing to me”. So, I lost trust in love. I lost trust that I know how do identify love. That is a bit concerning to me but – hey, I was just talking about how today, it feels different!

I have no illusion of freedom. But true, you can find freedom inside prison. There is always an untouchable part in all of us and this is where freedom lies. No one can enter, no one will see and know this part of you. Some will not even know they carry this, themselves. I often see people in their naked, bare, raw scabs. I recognise the pain I walk in, too. I feel sad knowing some people are still under the illusion that we speak the same language, just because we understand the same definition of words. In reality, we understand words differently and relate to them, distinctively. Sure, sometimes, our understanding matches and it feels heavenly.

Try this little game and ask people to define what certain words mean to them. You can observe, they have no clue! That is when you uncover their level of awareness. Additionally, that is when you discover, how we all carry words with other people’s meanings, all our lives. For instance, when I was going through a very shameful period, where I felt uncontrollable and mad, one of the thoughts I kept having, in the middle of pain and tears: “you are an absolute joke! You are a joke, Luiza! You are a fucking clown!” – this was a very hurtful “realisation” I was having. Trust me, I would repeat this out loud to me and that would have ripped me apart, back then – you know what that means?! This was once said to me or about me or another being, by an authority figure to whom I sought approval from.

I brought this to personal therapy and my therapist highlighted it. After all, in my world, “joke” “clown” is one of the most terrible labels one could have. It was fully packed with shame. She mentioned how, to other people, a clown can have positive meanings of laughter and fun. This was a “blindspot”. And the only reason I can explain, why it was such a harsh label for me to stick myself with, is because I can recall these people I admired and looked up to, using these words with strong intonation, talking about others. Perhaps about me, but I do not have “The Memory” of it, which is most likely repressed. So, shame, to me, dresses as a clown which I have portrayed in my poetry.

Many people cannot bear being seen naked. Many people do not want to go deep and feel uncomfortable, knowing you are a deep diver. That is how I perceive the reason for the ending of the last long-term relationship I had. People see you nearing their divinity pool and they want you out. It can be uncomfortable, because these waters, mommy told them to stay away from at an early age. It is too deep, they would say. Too deep for little ones. But who is stupid enough to listen to adults? My little girl says: dive, jump, pirouette, little ballerina! That is my excitement. Yet, one lesson I need to really really learn: respect other people’s limits. Boundaries. But the pool feels so good, once you are in it…if only they knew.

However, simply because you know how deep waters feel like, it does not mean you can transpose this experience to others. It is a unique experience. This life is lived only by me, as your life will be lived, as is, only by yourself. Some people will never even learn how to swim, only dipping their toes in the water. I need to respect that. Perhaps there is a reason why not everyone will go down to the farther depths.

But one thing is clear, there is no lack of air to stop me. And to finalise this, today it feels different. I died this week, once more. I made a promise to myself, which I am keeping. It is a commitment of love. I am really shedding. And it feels fantastic! I am genuinely discovering what self-love is. I am so involved in this internal journey, that it looks like self absorbtion to others. It isn’t. I have realised, the only pool that has no limitations, is mine. So I travel as far as I can. If anyone wants me, they will have to swim down and pull me back up. But I am so far long gone…I see no one…and as my father once taught me: Desire comes? Desire goes…

*The clothes I own. I do have coats and jumpers on the wardrobe beside but this is mostly it in regards to bottoms and tops and dresses and skirts. One of my favourite anxiety coping mechanisms is to get rid of items.

*And no, I am not rearranging and refolding prior to picture taking.


Moustache yourself with a Lavender today

Good Morning!
If you woke up with that sense of repetitive-ness, staying in bed or looking at your bedroom wall – or our phones – will not shake that off.
I am getting out and going for my Irish Scots Pine family visit.
I can never resist, when I see a lavender stretching her neck out there. I bring a piece with me and I smell it until it disintegrates on my fingers.
Get yourself a lavender bud and moustache yourself with it. Then, hold it in your mouth, countryside style, for you will be able to smell it without ending with it through rubbing.

Have fun while you experience it.
And this sort of repetition, is wisdom.

Rug Pulling

You were given eyes to look

You were brought to awareness …

Yet, you choose, not to make use?!
Today poses as an opportunity to practice – not getting affected by outside forces. Not to allow, another person’s negative energy, be absorbed by me.

Do not listen to the stories your head will start coming up with. It tends to focus on an unhelpful “us x we” storyline.
Breathe. And remember. You are never as good or as bad as they think you are (Tim Ferriss). You are a process. And today is only a part of that.
If others, once having read “the Awareness Book” , choose not to remember what they have learned and seen, let them. But do not allow their lack of sight to contaminate yours.

Chastity Belt – on The Scum Gentry Arts Network

Chastity Belt – on The Scum Gentry Arts Network.
One of my most precious children has been featured on this, likewise, precious network which features material that will not be found or read in the typical stereotypical household. Please check it out and support independent artists:

It is often curious to see how someone reads your poetry. The portrayal made me giggle. There is definitely some truth to it. Yet, this poem is subliminal. This is the ultimate story.
In celebration to that, I decided to do a spoken version, when I get the chance to record one. On another note, this is the first poem myself and my friends turned into a song. I hope to share it with you, aliens, soon.

The Labelling Cage – Minimalist / Zero Waster

The Labelling Cage – The Minimalist, Zero Waster.



I have learned about the zero waste movement a couple of years back.

I align with its values and lifestyle, which I adopted.

Originally, I tried to rid and avoid of all plastic products. It became a very stressful task, that of buying food. It impacted on my mental health, in some ways. I can be very rigid and devoted on my thinking. I realised that trying to live that ideal, just so I could say, I am X% zero waste free, was a trap.

I would, now, call myself a zero Waster in progress. I strive to make conscious choices. For instance, I carry my reusable coffee cup most places. Some times, I end up drinking no coffee. Today, I decided not to carry it.

I wanted to drink coffee. If I was stuck to the label, to the tribe, I could never buy a disposable coffee cup. That is the ultimate no, no. But I allow myself. It felt ok for me to have it, this time and not feel guilty about it.

Do what you enjoy, do what feels right for you. And it comes as a reminder, for me, not to judge another, when I see them use disposables. When you allow yourself, it is easier to allow the other to be who they truly are.

I have been so disconnected from my outer shell that I have not been worried about my clothes. I often pick up the same set, most times so why have too many? It is more manageable when you have less. The little prince is taught by the fox, you are responsible for what you captivate. An item is your responsibility too – to care and mind. Right now, clothes serve only one purpose: too keep people from seeing each other naked. So I choose comfort.

The tortuous road to Paradise

These thoughts came to me as I reached the start of my morning cycle to work. I start off on a main road, full of cars. Once I see this path (see pictures), which means a shift (I cycle on my own, in nature). My initial thoughts are: I’ve reached my favourite place. And then, I remember I have to cross through nettles and rose thorns which are growing. The stings and scratches hurt but I don’t suffer. I don’t complain. I know the plant has no ill intent and it is a consequence of life, to get stung by plants’ defense mechanisms. Then, I thought of the pains of life. The words that hurt. The rejection we suffer. And what makes it hurt? The meaning we put onto the pain, as Buddhism has thought me. So, being hurt and rejected, it’s part of this game we play. It means I am alive. I am human. What I cannot do is allow a hurtful situation define me. To identify. We are more than hurt and words.

What if someone told you that the path that leads to paradise, is narrow and dark and it will burn and itch your shell. It will mark you. Would you chance in?
If the way looks uninviting, we most likely choose the other route. Yet, how many times, might have we missed the chance to encounter Paradise at the end of this road? What have we not found, in all these roads we decided to back off from and turn back?
If you keep pushing through the tight nothingness of life, you might end up in a Secret Garden, your exclusive playground.
I will remind myself of that. In all the times my throat and my heart feels tight. I’ll remember. That means, I am closer to home. Closer to Paradise.

Artistic Spirit – “Expandise”

(art by @billblake1757)



My thoughts are flowing out of me. The need to produce. The drive to recycle and reuse. Art. Make art. Yet, most of my time is spent being a robot. Not humanised. I work my art around my free time – yes. It often means I write a few lines when I go to the shops for coffee. That means squeezing it in between practical chores, socialising, feeding other need-areas of my life. It tends to result in a lack of sleep, lack of socialising and chores overwhelm (due to a lack of tackling).

Poetry. It has become a portal to art. Inside my well I go and write. Alongside poetry, which I utilise as a journalling, healing and self inquiry tool, my creative arms have stretched to visual art. After all, we have 6 senses, we must use them.

Music was my main art passion for many years. I was born and raised in a household where music was played as a bonding act. Dad would play the guitar and mom, the piano. I would sing. It was special. My sisters did not really participate. Perhaps, they never felt included, I wonder? OK, this is not the topic of discussion (*makes mental note to reflect on, later). I have a musical project with two of my mates. It is an incredible activity and it is my favourite time during the week. I only wish we had more time to work on this, so the project is going slow. Nonetheless, we have fun and this is gold, in the rat racing days.

But now? I am ready to do more. Curiosity and the exploration bug tell me this is not enough. Drawing is an art form I have been contemplating. I’ve decided I will do it, anonymously. I will create a persona and this time I will do it differently than with how I work on my poetry and music. It will be a solo journey. And I will not let it connect to Luiza/DivaState/Alice. The only purpose of it is to draw. Express and create. Work on the unconscious and what it brings. I’m curious to see…

I am starting on this journey today. Let creativity spill more and more ink, pixels, cartridges, whatever it may be.