Tag Archives: Books

Shedding skins

A Balanced Life, crossroads, , , ,
Shedding Skins and Waiting for the Fire Horse

As the Year of the Snake slithers quietly offstage, I find myself emerging from my first-ever bout of COVID feeling very much like I’ve been left on a warm rock to dry out — peeled, tender, and oddly shiny. If the Snake is about shedding skins, then I appear to have taken that instruction very literally. feeling like I’ve taken the zodiac memo very seriously.

Shedding skin? Check.

Plans dissolved? Also check.

Slightly bewildered but oddly reflective? Absolutely.

It’s no wonder that I’m looking forward to welcoming the Year of the Fire Horse (火馬) in mid February. For those unfamiliar with the Fire Horse’s reputation: it’s bold, impulsive, energetic, and not exactly known for waiting patiently while others catch up. Which I find mildly amusing, given that most of my carefully imagined “new year, new momentum” plans are currently on hold, stacked neatly next to a pile of unopened boxes and a conspicuous absence of sufficient bookcases.

Plans ? : Pending Further Lunar Advice

Self care MandalaRather than forcing forward motion while my energy is still re-calibrating, I’ve decided to take a more celestial approach. All my previous plans are provisionally shelved (mentally — not physically, obviously) until the full moon, when they will be reviewed, revised, or ceremoniously discarded.

This feels sensible. Also slightly theatrical.

If you’re going to pause your life, you may as well do it with lunar oversight. And of course the following New Moon is the start of the Lunar New Year, so perfect for new intentions and new starts!

In the meantime, I consulted the Tarot for guidance on this strange in-between phase — part recovery, part chrysalis, part hermit, part spiritual waiting room.

The cards for this healing limbo produced the Page of Cups, The Hierophant, and Seven of Pentacles. Translation: be gentle, return to what you know, and stop poking the soil to see if anything’s growing. Apparently, patience is still a lesson.

Message received. Loudly. Repeatedly.

The Great Bookcase Stalemate

Unpacking, meanwhile, has hit a natural bottleneck. I have boxes of books. I do not have lots of bookcases. It was pointed out to me (somewhat unhelpfully) that the move was because we are downsizing. This has created a kind of philosophical impasse: until the shelves arrive, knowledge itself remains in limbo.

Yet, in rummaging through boxes, I’ve found myself inexplicably drawn back to my old Japanese textbooks. Possibly inspired by the knowledge that a grandson is about to start learning Japanese at the high school I did my very first teaching round at. Out they came, slightly foxed, faintly nostalgic, still politely demanding effort.

So now, instead of aggressively organizing my life, I’m reacquainting myself with kanji — tracing characters, marveling at how some things remain lodged in the body even when the conscious mind insists they’re long forgotten.

It feels very Snake-to-Horse appropriate: shedding the old skin, then rediscovering what was always there underneath.

Not Quite Galloping — And That’s Okay

If the Fire Horse is about momentum, courage, and leaping forward, then perhaps this early part of the year is about learning how to mount up again — slowly, with care, preferably without falling off in public.

Healing, after all, isn’t a dramatic sprint. It’s more like pottering around in slippers, consulting oracles, waiting for deliveries, and trusting that something is quietly knitting or in my case, crocheting itself back together.

So here I am: plans paused, skin shed, cards laid, kanji re-emerging, and the Fire Horse stamping patiently outside. It’s not the dramatic Fire Horse gallop I imagined — more a slow stretch, a deep breath, and a quiet rebuilding of strength. And perhaps that’s about building my resilience: not charging ahead at full speed, but knowing when to pause, tend the ground, and trust that growth is happening.

New Year, New Start

A Balanced Life, Art Therapy, , ,

New Year, New Start… Slightly Delayed

I had plans for the new year. Lovely ones. Fresh-start plans. Purposeful plans. The kind involving momentum, organisation, and possibly colour-coded bookshelves. Meeting new people and making new connections.

Instead, a week or so in, the year arrived sideways.

The second week was devoted to minding a German Short haired Pointer with a résumé that included previously poorly treated and emotionally complex. She arrived highly strung, deeply suspicious of sudden noises, and vibrating at a frequency only dogs and nervous systems can hear. We offered her what we could while her people holidayed overseas: quiet corners, gentle routines, and a generous supply of Reiki. Somewhere between day three and four, she exhaled. We followed suit.

Unpacking, meanwhile, has stalled completely. Not due to lack of intention—there is plenty of intention—but due to a lack of bookshelves.

Books now live in boxes half opened, judging me silently. I tell them it’s temporary. They don’t believe me.

Adding to the ambience, a particularly tenacious strain of Covid settled into the household and made itself at home. Social plans were swiftly cancelled, replaced by isolation in the outer suburbs of a country town where nobody knows us yet although I’m making friends with a vocal Wagtail and a flock of Starlings that come to bathe in the birdbath now the GSP has returned to her home.  A very quiet new beginning. Monastic, even—if monasteries relied on food delivery apps.

The shopping arrived via Uber drivers who seemed personally offended by our location, our order, and possibly our existence. I felt it prudent not to mention the illness and kept my distance. The deliveries were accepted with gratitude and the vague sense of having inconvenienced someone by needing to eat.

Still, creativity found a way. I completed a New Moon page for my Art Therapy diary—because if you can’t manifest forward motion, you can at least document the pause. I also began a crochet blanket in various shades of grey, chosen to perfectly reflect my current mental health palette. It’s surprisingly soothing. Either that or I’ve simply leaned in.

So here we are. The year has started, technically. The plans are waiting patiently (or tapping their feet). The visiting dog has gone home, our Labrador breathed a sigh of relief,  the books remain boxed, the blanket grows row by row, and the new beginning is happening—just much more quietly than expected.

Apparently, this is how it starts sometimes. Not with fireworks or resolutions, but with rest, recalibration, and a grumpy Uber driver dropping hints about tipping.

New year. Slightly postponed enthusiasm. And maybe that’s the lesson arriving in disguise. Resilience doesn’t always look like pushing forward or bouncing back with enthusiasm. Sometimes it looks like slowing right down, tending what’s frayed, and offering gentleness where force would only make things worse.

The Universe sends me that message with the frequent drawing of The Hermit Tarot card.

Healing, I’m learning (again), often begins in the quiet margins: in steady breath, in repetitive stitches, in making space for a nervous dog—or a nervous system—to feel safe enough to settle.

The plans will unfold when they’re ready. For now, this softer beginning to the new year is enough.

Revisiting old books

A Balanced Life, , ,

With several bookshelves full to capacity, it makes sense as we start the winter months to spend some time revisiting old books. When I mention old books, yes – some are very old and were printed in the 1800’s, others are from the 20th century and just a few are from this century. There is an eclectic mixture of classics, novels, poetry, self help and spiritual books interspersed with textbooks that cover Asian history and religions, homeopathy and teaching texts. Just a few remain unread, waiting for the right time to deliver the information within.

Revisiting old books today, I was looking for some inspiration for a workshop and I rediscovered M.Scott Peck’s  The Road Less Traveled.  I often open a book to a random spot and find inspiration from that page.

So, for today’s inspiration (which would have been useful for a workshop), I discovered the following quote:

“By far the most common and important way in which we exercise our attention is by listening. We spend an enormous amount of time listening  most of which we waste, because on the whole most of us listen very poorly. “