Playing trust games with life

You may be familiar with trust games, from school or team building or some other facilitated group experience. A common version is where you stand on a chair and fall backwards and trust the group to catch you, and they do, and each time they do, something inside you melts and opens.

I have been playing this game with life itself for about three years now,and I finally feel I’m getting to the point where we don’t need to keep playing the game any more. I get it, I get that life will catch me and I can stop throwing myself of chairs for no reason!

What do I mean by life? I’m talking about everything that is, inside and out, existence itself. You might call it the universe, you might call it other people, you might call it Gaia,  you might call it the Dao, you might call it God, you might call it my Self. I’m talking about that which is, moment to moment, as I experience it.

Now we’ve cleared that up, what about these games? Have I really been throwing myself off chairs for three years? If ‘life’ is catching me, does that mean the ground? Is that really catching? How’s my head??

It’s a long story, but I will try to make it short. It began, as these kinds of adventures often do, with an experience of being faced with something bigger than I could comprehend, cope with or control. A force like a tornado was moving through me, a force that had somehow been unleashed from my heart and was wreaking havoc on my entire environment and sense of self. Over a period of twelve months, this tornado  (which was me, inasmuch as it was coming from inside me and acting through me) whipped away my relationship, my grandmother, my home, my cat, my business (almost, physically, in the end I let go and it continued in a new form), my sense of self, about half of my body mass, most of my belongings and most of my cash.

To be clear, I take total ownership for and feel utter gratitude for this tornado – and- it was a seriously disorienting and rocky ride as much as a magic carpet. I could not understand or explain it to anyone at the time, and so I did my best to rationalise and normalise my choices which were in reality driven by this molten fire inside me that was just burning away all the structures I had created to limit and  control my existence. Anything that I would grasp onto for safety was torn from me, and if I clung on to it my angel would transform into some kind of a demon and start to wreak havoc internally and externally until I let it go.

This tornado required my utter compliance, my utter surrender. All I could do was to stay in the still centre of it, where the air was clear and sweet and the colours were eye wateringly vivid. If I tried to walk back out of the centre to what had been, or off the path the tornado was taking, I began to be shredded and fragmented by its whirling force and was ultimately spat back out into the centre, more or less ragged depending on how hard I had fought.

So in the end, I stopped fighting, and I started to sense that perhaps I could trust this. I realised, that the still calm centre was expanding, and wonderful experiences were entering into that space and emerging from the ground beneath me, the longer I stayed present there. I realised that fear was what drove me into the storms and caused the clinging, and that trust – trusting life, myself and other people – allowed me to move with the tornado in safety and ease.

As these feelings and experiences came with a heightened visceral and physical experience – of energy, of emotion and of my senses – my body and felt sense became my compass. I would navigate by sensation, which would let me know where I was rooting myself, in the stillness or the storm. I could feel contraction in my chest and solar plexus, and closing down and narrowing of my sensory field and a dulling of the beauty I could perceive, when I was plugged into fear. In trust, in love, everything expanded, lightened, warmed and brightened internally and externally.

Why not follow that, I thought, why not try just following that. I had read so much about folowing my bliss and living from the heart, now this tornado had me by the heart and gave me little option, and much encouragement, to try it. Live it. See for myself.

So I did. I chose to make decisions only from trust and love, not to choose or act from fear. I would walk up to edges and throw myself off them, trusting. Trusting most of all myself, and this felt sense of what was right for me in the moment. The more I trusted, the more that apparent fears would melt away like mist as I approached them. The more I trusted, the stronger and clearer the internal signals became. The more I trusted the more I was met, by people and situations. With generosity of heart and warm welcome.

Each time I came to a big edge, I still felt the butterflies. I still thought: “what if this is the time where I fall on my face, where I realise they were all flukes before, and I had it all wrong…” I knew in those moments, that if I stepped down off the chair, the tornado would have me. I would be lost in the vortex of dark clouds and debris. I could only keep going, keep following the stillness in the centre as it moved. So I would stop, and reconnect with that stillness, and then move with it. Time and again.

An example of  such a moment that I often share, is when I found myself in the passport office in London, with a flight out of the country in 8 hours, no passport and no money.

I was following the still centre from Gran Canaria to Istanbul, via London. What had seemed an impossible feat had somehow lined itself up and I had been able to source funds, book ludicrously cheap flights with short notice and a tiny window AND get an appointment for a same day passport renewal to allow me to enter Turkey with more than 6 months validity. When I arrived to London I found that the funds coming in for my new passport had not yet cleared and would take  two days more. No problem, a generous friend would sub me for a few days.

So there I am in the passport office with my ticket number waiting for it to pop up on the screen and signal for me to approach the counter, three minutes from my allotted 5 minute appointment. I’m musing on the strange sensation I had felt travelling there by tube in rush hour, crushed against strangers in the humidity and noise. I had felt a distinct sensation of entering a tight squeezy tunnel, like today was some kind of birth canal. Peculiar and visceral.

A text message pops up on my screen and catches my eye. My dear friend who has subbed me to get my passport. Oh. Deals off. Something came up. Right. Of course I write back saying “No problem, have a great day”. White noise fills my head and my forehead prickles.

No problem.Right…. My number appears on the screen above my head. The quiet centre moves me forward to the counter, unprecedented high winds whipping behind me. “Here’s my application for a new passport. Thanks” She takes it. My freedom to roam the planet tucked away in an envelope and popped into a trolley. “Ok now go to the next window to pay.”

“What if I can’t pay?”

She looks at me, impatient and flat eyed.” You are going to pay now.”

“Yes but what if I can’t?”

“Madam I don’t understand, you are going to go and make payment at the next counter.”

Well, she seems pretty confident, so on I go.  “Hi I’m here to pay for my passport”. I pop my card in the machine and enter my pin, in a surreal kind of surrendered state, dropping backwards from the chair into emptiness…

Card declined. Oh god. Oh god oh god. This is the time when I just hit the floor isn’t it. This is the edge of my foolish delusion. This is it. Game over. Shit.

I must be spacing out because she speaks firmly and clearly and leans close to my face. “Madam, take this pen and paper, go ask someone to help you to pay. Write down the details and bring them to me.”

“…Thaaanks…” I wander away, utterly in the fog of evaporating belief…

“Madam!” I turn around. “Don’t forget this pen and paper, you need it to write down the details of the person who is going to help you.”

She is looking me dead in the eye and holding out the pen and paper, she looks so confident and so kind. I take it from her and walk away.

Crash. Crash. Crash. Stark waves of “reality” batter my self belief. In a way I feel a kind of safety in this momentary helplessness. There’s nothing else I can do, I have to surrender to the situation, and see what comes of it. I can’t do anything else right now. I begin weeping and getting ready to call my parents and tell them I’m sorry, all my talk of self belief and following my heart and something more in life… Crazy talk all of it, I was wrong, you were right to worry about me, I have lost the plot big time. I was ready to be at their mercy to either help me to carry on, or call me home, or get my head examined or whatever. I was ready to surrender all agency.

As I sat  in the corridor waiting for the tears to subside so I could speak on the phone. A man passing by stopped and looked at me with kind concern. “Are you ok miss?”

“yesfinethanks” I squeaked, tears streaming.

He kept looking at me, kind and slightly amused. “Are you sure you are ok??”

Then I realised what was happening and what I was pushing away. Life was coming towards me to help. I needed to let it in.

“No I’m not ok!” I blurted out the whole scenario and he listened, calmly, til I had finished.

“My name’s J. I’m the manager of this office. If you can get the funds you need any time up to 5:30pm when I finish work, I will get your passport to you today, no question.”

My heart cracked open another notch and I poured with gratitude, he smiled and walked away. Then my phone pinged, it was my friend in Istanbul. “Hey I found you a place to stay with a beautiful friend of mine and her family of dogs and cats, she is really excited to be hosting you and we are all looking forward to your visit.”

Angels. Everywhere.

Ping! Again. A message from a dear friend at the project I had been working on in the Canaries. “How’s it going lovely, got your passport and on your way?”

I wrote back and told her what had happened.

“Oh easy, here’s my card details, get your passport and get your flight and pay me back when your funds clear ok?”

I took the pen and paper, I wrote down the details of the person who would help me to pay. I got my passport as J had promised. I had brunch in the sunshine. I got my flight, I didn’t hit the floor. Life held me and kissed my forehead.

There are many such stories, but this post is already a “long read” so I’ll save them for the book (!).

I realise now, After three years of teetering on chairs, that I no longer need to keep taking myself to edges to see if I will be caught. If I find myself at an edge, and I still do often, I know I can keep going and walk through the swirling fear with my still centre, but now – life and I – we have a decent and mature team dynamic going on, and we can cocreate together a smoother ride which is a little less hair-raising  while still expansive and enriching. No more games now, time to get on with the work.

I can direct the tornado a little more now, it’s path is not so veering and unpredictable. I recognise that I AM the storm, that I am not just in it. It is in me, and so my still centre and I move through life, and my swirling edges clear any debris and fear blocks that they encounter, and all of it is me.

If you have read this far, and you think that I am in fact crazy. Please console yourself with this:










Foxes and queens and fairy stories

In January of 2012, I was struck one morning by an insistent urge to write a story, a proper childish fairy story about magic and such. I used to lose myself in such world’s quite often as a child and remembered in that moment how nice it had felt.

So I sat down, with a notepad and pen and I just started to write, like I had as a child. I just started and happily allowed what flowed through my hand. Writing for the joy of it, like dancing or running, just for the joy of the sensation. A story pouring through me.

Just as suddenly as I had begun, I was finished. I felt great, it was like arriving home after a wonderful walk in the woods. I closed the notepad, got up and had some breakfast with my man.

Three years later I happened upon this notebook, in a small suitcase stuffed with other similar notebooks (molesskine, A4, squared paper! buff/black paperback is the fave). I had spontaneously begun the job of reading through three years of notebooks, to pan for the gold of the souls journey I had been on during that time.

I came across this story and read it back for the first time since writing it. What a revelation. I entered a world that was new to me, and a story I had not yet known, but one that I had in fact lived in the intervening years. The story I had written with such casual delight three years ago, now read back to me as a profound allegory for a transformative period of my life which had followed from the time of writing.

Today, I feel this story is complete, this chapter, I am no longer in it and it is no longer my life. It is no longer my story, it is a universal one I feel. I wanted to let it free into the world. Free from the notebook and the dusty suitcase, to find those who seek it or those that it seeks.

I know that stories find us, rather than the other way around, This one found me, and now our work together is done.  I invite you to meet this little friend of mine and see how you get along!

The foxy queen in the picture is my beautiful and talented little sister Eloise White – I made this digital portrait of her for her birthday, now I realise she is the image of my woodland queen! I’m hoping she will animate this for me one day…

Red Fox in Winter


There once was a very little girl. She had delicate white hands that quivered when she spoke and big pale eyes. Her hair was pale golden and smooth like glass. She liked to walk in the wild edges of the garden, just out of sight, but was afraid to go beyond the edges into the dark tangly thorn bushes.

When the sun we as high and nobody was home she would lie in the very middle of the grass and feel the earth spinning round beneath her. One day she was lying with her eyes shut tight, when she felt a velvety soft,warm sensation on her cheek. She opened her eyes and gasped. Oh!

A great stag stood looking down at her, all russet and rippling with soft,dark eyes and majestic felted horns.

“Come with me to the woods, if you like” he seemed to say, “I’m king of the woodland and you will be safe with me.”

The very little girl’s hands quivered with excitement. All manner of thoughts running round in her head made her feel so dizzy and confused, she was frozen to the spot.

“OK, I see you are too frightened” said the stag, turning his regal back to her, and walking loftily back to the dark, tangly woodland, disappearing from view.

The very little girl felt so sad and alone as the stag disappeared from view. Why oh why was she so shaky and stuck? In her confusion and distress, she cried and fell asleep.

When she awoke she felt a warm,soft sensation like being cradled in a rosebud, and warm heavy air around her, dense with a heady aroma. She slowly opened her eyes to see a golden light all around her, soft and gently pulsing. She looked down where she lay and – ha! – it was a rosebud that cradled her so tenderly.

A fragrant breeze lifter her hair.

Just then a low rumble approached and she felt the rosebud quiver as her own hands had done. Again before here as the soft, velvet muzzle of the stag – but so big that he filled almost all of the sky!

“It seems I am a very,very,very little girl” she thought to herself, with some alarm and a great deal of wonder.

The stag spoke in a clear, low voice.

“I knew you would come, you wanted to so badly that you dreamed yourself into a fairy noon and entered the woods on a sunbeam.”

The very, very, very little girl was perplexed. Fairy noon? Sunbeam? Can it be a dream? She glanced around her and saw -in the shimmering golden haze – ten, twenty, thirty or more little rosebuds, and in each a very very very little girl was stretching and awakening. Lacy silver wings gently warming in the afternoon’s golden sun. A fairy noon.

“But why am I here?” She wondered aloud, perplexed. “Why so small?”

The stag simply stared into her and said:

“Just remember three things. A fairy noon can last as long as you let it. Sunbeams are made of love. Rose petals fall and thorns draw blood.”

With that he gracefully turned his head and walked away into the deep tangle of the woods. The little girl’s pale, golden head felt fuzzy and muddled, the deep scent of the rosebud calling her back to its softly swaying centre. She felt the warm sun on her cheeks and her eyelids grew heavy again.

“Sunbeams are made of love…” She remembered the stags words. How lovely it felt here, bathed in love, the fizzy hum of fairy wings rising all around.

She slept again, and waking briefly into a dream she was aware of sliding a nd spinning slowly downwards, like on a velvety soft helter shelter. A buzzing of voices, tinkling like little bells, chimed around her. Rainbows like sunlight crystal retractions glanced across her eyes as she swooped and swirled.

When she awoke she became aware of a gentle tugging on her golden locks. Gazing sleepily around her she saw with astonishment two reddish gold fox cubs softly pawing at her hair, which was strewn with tiny blue forget-me-nots and scented with pungent lavender.

She was draped in a whisper-thin blue silken gown and lying on a bed of Rose petals. The cubs were like little puppies, much smaller than she. “I must be my right size again” she thought, “only a little bit little”.

She sat up and looked around her, absentmindedly scooping the cubs into her lap. She was resting at the edge of a great wood. As she turned around to see what lay on her other side, she jumped with surprise to see a full grown fox standing close by her. The cubs wriggled free from her grasp and ran to their mother.

“So you are awake, dear Queen” said the fox with her dark eyes and twitching tail.
“I am your Queen?” She darted back. “Who made it so?” A strange and unfamiliar timbre and tone reverberated in her ribcage as she spoke. Her spine was straight as a spear and her hands quivered not even a little.

“Yes you certainly are” nodded the fox, slowly and steadily, gazing at her “and my Queen, you made it so”

“What of the fairy noon?” She wondered to herself.

“It lasts as long as you let it” echoed the fox. “Now. My Queen, we have much to attend to. The woodland realm depends upon your leadership and guile, for we are entering a new phase of the moon, and the twilight times are long and deep.”

The regal queen tossed her golden locks and stepped forward, chin out, eyes ahead, hands quivering imperceptibly (if at all). She knew not where she must go, but she knew that it was ahead of her, and not behind, that her duties lay.

In that moment a shadow flitted across the emerald moss carpet of the glade, and she felt again the presence of the stag. She knew that he was near, but that this was her time, her test. And he was watching.

At the edge of the clearing was there was an old wooden signpost. A white arrow indicating a dark and tangled tunnel into the woods. She looked closely to see the words: “Your Majesty… Your Fate” carved and weather-worn in the white wood.

The slightest shiver ran through her and the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck tickled and tingled. The fox glanced up at her and pressed ever so slightly closer to her cool, bare leg. Nudging, comforting.

The Queen took a deep, slow breath. “And so we go” she declared to her deepest self, and set off into the dark tangly tunnel.

After really rather a time of twisting and turning, almost tumbling down the windy woodland tunnel,the Queen heard a distant fanfare… Of tulips and daffodils, Mother. Nature’s brass band… carried to her elfin ears on the wind.

The deeper into the narrow darkness she journeyed, the brighter, lighter and more expansive the way ahead appeared to her – even as she felt the tangly tendrils of the tunnel closing around her.

Just at the point where she could barely lift her leg through the dense surrounds, a sort of pop and a whizzzzz…..

… The tunnel and the tangles and all that had surrounded her fizzled and faded like Sherbert on the tongue. A radiant peachy white light and an exquisitely silky, soft scented air filled All of Everything.

Again those brassy harmonies sounded, but muted,softer – like a bumblebee bothering a Buttercup on a lazy summer breeze. And she could feel it…the fuzzing and buzzing… Melting in the very middle of her chest like a cough sweet – warm and syrupy soothing…

Then clear as day, the stag walked right up to her.

The Queen pulled herself up straight before his majestic presence – instantly realising her self was all but straight, her form now ever so drifty and spacious. Her tumbling locks tumbled on and on into forever.

She gathered her glow in the direction of the stag and then she noticed, lain across his back, a very little girl. Not moving, barely there.

The stag looked at her with deep bronze eyes full of intensity.”will you take her?” He seemed to say.

The Queen of All Everything, in the ether of a peachy dawn, reached out with all of her Self, and scooped up her Form like a precious doll.

“This very little girl,” she thought. “This very littlest of girls.”
“She is the acorn and I am the oak. She is my root and my fruit. Let us be One.”

As I guide through the glade. As I stumble in the bushes. As I quiver and shake by river and lake…

As I am. I am All.

I am great, I am small.
I am the queen, I am the stag.
I am the blades of grass beneath my back. I am the heat of the sun on my cheek.

I am the part and the wholes. The heart and the hand.
The light and the endless night.