sing your song

There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come.
And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it.
And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life.
In marriage, the songs are sung, together.
And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not.
When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well.
You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

http://thegodmolecule.tumblr.com/

Sing your song.
M.

in your nature

Baby, it's in your nature
Just let me liberate you

Let's have fun, kids.
M.

share your meal

So.
I had an idea the other week (...potential understatement of the year.)

So, I've been fairly obsessed with this Swedish thing lately.
I think it was True Blood's man-delicious-ness going under the character name of Eric Northman that kicked it off some time ago.
I've always had a place in my soul for some Swedish things. Being from a Nordic country I think we all have a lot of time (and a little bit of jealousy) for the Scandinavian sense of life. The pace, the architecture, the amount of space, the use of space.
Just more advanced I guess as a group of people in understanding what they want and how they want to want it. Or maybe it's all wrong, and it's more about the pace.
The connectedness as well. This is what we share. Understanding the roots, you know.

Then this idea of having a red house with white windows arrived. Somewhere near the sea, with a separate sauna house, with a big birch tree outside. And a swing behind the house.

So the idea that I had the other week was that I don't want to have this house for me. I'll most probably be jetting around the place quite a lot (or using trains if I get my way) so it wouldn't make much sense to have it as a permanent place.
Then I decided that it would be dandy to share it.
And therefore have a shared summerhouse, owned by mine and A's fams.

Shared meals, and shared sauna times.
And we can sit on the porch, our men will be fishing, and the children will be swimming so we can lie there in sundresses, waiting for the sauna to heat up, under the birch tree.

(S)pace.
M.

i would like to

...have some shisha time with the pretty one (as she is known in my international community).
...go jogging somewhere cool with E. so we could prance around the place like kids.
...drink lemonade out of cans with K.
...get very mysa with A. and then be not so mysa and go reintroduce Galliano Sours into our lives.
...



I woke up too late. And it has made me very angry.
I'm really trying not to be angry about this, because I can't change it now.
It's done. I woke up late. Move on.
So please, let's not be annoyed about this.

I'm gonna try and have a very tiring day, so I'll be shattered by midnight and just fall asleep/into my bed.
To get up at a decent time.
Because this has really really started to do my head in.


Annoyed.
Plan of the day - not be annoyed.

PS: I can't even remember when I wrote this post. But I like the to-do list in the beginning. And just how much getting up toooo late pisses me off.
M.

would you stay, just a little?

"what we think, we become."
so let's think good, kids



Today's been a busy one. And tomorrow will be nice.
I need to finish some stuff. But I'll plough.
It's boring to be nice. It's nice to be nice. And it's nice to be boring at the moment.

I think I should start saying goodbye to Tallinn. I'm flying on Sunday. That's 5 nights and 4 and a half days. (Who's keeping count.)
I think that's just short of the time I'll need to say goodbye.
This is going to be so hard, I'm quivering already.

Pizza tomorrow, at E's new place. Pizza and cold cans of Coke, from her fridge, in her place.
I'm so so happy for her, just so happy about all of this.

Of course, this has fuelled my own burning desire for a place. A box. Maria's box. Maria's little box. To be honest, this must be getting boring already - considering I whine about this quite often.
But not to fear, these cogs will start turning soon.
And I'll be writing about my fridge, and my place.

We celebrated today. With some champers and cake. I think most things in life, regardless of the tonality or particular shading, should really be celebrated with cake and champagne.

Back to London.
This is the first time in 7 YEARS (that's SEVEN YEARS) that I've been in Tallinn this far into autumn. 3rd of October. This hasn't happened in 7 years.
I don't really even know what to think about it.

I'm still working towards understanding why I don't think this one is the "ideal world" I keep talking about. I'll figure it out, and start doing all the things I say I'd do.
And it will be fun.


give in to me
M.