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31/08/2018
A place where women can be women

“How might your life have been different if there had been a place for you, a place for you to go to be with your mother, with your sisters and the aunts, with your grandmothers, and the great and great-grandmothers, a place for women to go, to be, to return to, as woman?

How might your life be different?

 

– Extract from Circle of Stones by Judith Duerk

The first time I read these words I had flashbacks to little Sharon lying on the newly cut lawn of my grandparents house on Saturday afternoons. Surrounding me were my grandmother and her sisters, my mum and her sister, my cousins, and sometimes,other women from the community.

There was bustle, there was laughter, there were cups of tea and plates of freshly baked biscuits; but most of all, there were stories.

Admittedly some of the stories verged on gossip, yet in the main part they encompassed simple, great tales of love and life.

There were stories of romance, stories of post-war struggles, stories of businesses, stories of motherhood and stories of families.

There were stories of troubles and successes in the community, of those who lent quiet helping hands and of those who required those hands.

There were stories of hard times and good times; of fears and of desires.

The stories weren’t edited for the best angle or sell appeal. They were real and both confronting and bewitching in their honesty.

Perhaps most importantly, in the story telling I found something in me. In the sharing and in the listening I felt the woman within blossom.

I miss those afternoons. I miss my grandmother and her sisters. I miss what I discovered and felt in their presence.

The wisdom imbibed, the nurturing received, the love exchanged, the knowing smiles, the concerned frowns, the questioning eyes and the always understood fact – we were cut of the same.

These are the secrets of womanhood that aren’t what we read in magazines or Instagram posts. These are the secrets that are passed on in gardens and in kitchens; at births and on deathbeds; in sacred sites and in circle.

My whole life I’ve craved these gatherings. These places where women can be women, where women can witness other women being women; where in our commonality we find our beauty and power.

Our news feeds are filled with advice on how we can be better women; the internet is filled with courses on how to become feminine; the bookstores are filled with books on how to improve ourselves.

But what if there is nothing to improve. What if there is nothing to become.

What if all we truly need is a place where we can just be ourselves.

I hold new moon and full moon circles in Melbourne. This is my adaptation of Saturday afternoon childhood parties.

This is not a place to learn; but a place to remember, rediscover and embrace the women we already are.

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12/04/2018
Swimming in the rain

“Do you want to go for a swim in the rain?” flashed on to my phone screen.

I was sitting at my desk, dry and cosy, listening to the constant dripping on my tin roof.

The least sensible thing to do seemed to head outside to get wet. Yet it was also the thing that sent an excitable tingle through my entire being.

Putting on my still damp bikinis, I grabbed a towel and headed out to pick up my friend.

Within half an hour of that message we were in the water.

The sky above us was mysterious in its charcoal cloudiness and there was a mist covering the ocean that made us look as if we were disappearing as we walked towards it.

As we jumped the approaching waves and the water splashed in our faces, we chatted and giggled and nothing felt more normal in that moment than swimming in the rain.

I thought back to the week after my father got diagnosed with cancer. I’d gone for a walk in the rain sans umbrella. I had so desperately wanted to feel life. To know I was here. To experience my humanness.

A friend who knew I was out in the stormy weather, messaged me on my return. “That must’ve been a sodden walk,” he wrote. It was, but as my runners squeaked from the flooding and my t-shirt awkwardly stuck to my bra, I couldn’t help but smile through my tears.

We have this tendency to protect ourselves from life. Our metaphorical rooftops and umbrellas come with us everywhere. How often we forget to live in fear of dying, or being hurt, yet when the possibility of death rears its head, all we want to do is live.

We came here to feel the wild winds. To smell the burning fires. To experience another’s soft touch. To breathe the cool air. To hear laughter and screams. To taste the salty sea.

In the 90s movie, City of Angels, the character played by Nicholas Cage decided to give up eternity as an angel for a chance at life; for a chance to love, to embrace, to feel.

Courage in it truest form. The courage to have no guarantees.

As I’ve wandered the streets of my hometown and the memories of my mind in the months since dad’s diagnosis, the things that trip me over, the things that make my heart ache with a mix of pain and joy, have been moments. Simple moments; extraordinary in their ordinariness. 

I’ve remembered touch. Hands wrapped around me. Hands entwined with my own. Hands covering my school folders with perfectly cut contact paper. Hands helping me to climb a mountain. Hands teaching me to drive.

I’ve remembered sound. The loud crack as the fireworks filled the sky at the annual Royal Melbourne Show. The chuffing of the puffing billy train as it came down the track to pick us up for a ride.

I’ve remembered smells. The tall pine trees that lined the road to our summer holiday motel in Phillip Island. The whiff of barbecue smoke as we cooked steak and fried onions by the river bed in the high country of Thredbo.

I’ve remembered tastes. The stringy cheese on our sunday night margarita pizzas.  The unusual grassy sweet flavour of the first shandy that touched my lips at a pub in Wilsons Promontory.

I’ve remembered sights. The vast burnt Australian landscape as we went on one of our regular driving trips. The relieved look in my dad’s eyes as we crossed paths at 5am; me venturing home from a big night out, him going to work.

I’ve remembered the things that made me feel.

Two years ago, for my father’s 70th birthday, I created a book of our life together with all our precious stories. I cried tears of nostalgia as I filled the pages. The night he was diagnosed, unable to sleep, I curled up with the book in my shaking hands, crying again, this time for the pages I’d yet to fill.

He may be here for a short time or a long time. No one knows. None of us really know how long we are here for. But these life-changing events catch us. Make us spot what is real. Make us spot what counts.

These past months I’ve spent more time walking around in my barefoot beauty; savouring hugs and kisses; licking up the sauce on my plate with my finger; gazing into the eyes of loved ones; lying awake at night listening to the crashing waves calling into my room; and eagerly following the moon around the house so as not to miss its glow. Sometimes with such a burning desire to feel that it hurts.

Life is lived in these moments and life is remembered in them too.

The books of my childhood seem filled with more wisdom as I get older. A boy named Charlie once remarked, “One day, we will die Snoopy…” as a sage dog replied, “Yes, but every other day we will live…”

And every other day we can swim in the rain.

 

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18/02/2018
Have you forgotten how beautiful you are?

Have you forgotten how beautiful you are? How powerful, how magnificent, how strong.

I had.

This morning, despite the vigorous strides I took as I climbed the hill to the lookout point at the lighthouse, I was feeling deflated. I was feeling less than beautiful, less than powerful, less than magnificent, less than strong.

And then I saw it. The crystal clear turquoise expanse of the ocean.

I sighed in awe. I felt aroused by its wildness. I laughed as its foam encased a graceful surfer. I was starstruck by its power.

I engaged with it for a very long while.

I love the water. I love how the water makes me feel.

And then I smiled. I remembered. I am water. I am made up of exactly what I am looking at in amazement right now.

If I see awe, wildness, beauty and power in the ocean, am I not that too?

As I walked back down the hill I was lighter, less burdened and more serene.

It’s not the first time I’ve discovered my true reflection in nature. And it’s not the last time I’ll lose it in the noise of the world.

But it was a timely reminder of where to go when I’m a little lost. Where I’ve always gone when I’m feeling stranded, judgemental or less than in any way.

My beauty was not returned to me in a jar or in a treatment or even in a compliment by another.

My beauty was returned to me in a mirror that I didn’t need to see my face in.

My beauty was all around me.

If you want to find your softness, bite into the juicy flesh of a new season fig.

If you want to find your lushness, lie in the thick green grass of a summer field.

If you want to find your magic, fall asleep under the sparkling stars in the sky.

If you want to find your voice, listen to the roar of the ocean.

If you want to find your mystique, bathe in the luminosity of a full moon.

If you want to find your creative source, make love with complete surrender.

If you want to find your openness, watch the delicate petals of a rose unfold.

If you want to reignite your fire, watch the morning sunrise.

If you want to be blown away by your magnificence, watch the evening sunset.

If you want to connect with your heart, open it to all that is around you and breathe.

This morning I breathed in the water, the air, the fire and the earth around me. In that breath I merged with all that is me already.

If I am bewitched by all of this, I am bewitched by me too.

Have you forgotten how beautiful you are?

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27/04/2017
Silent-speak

Communication comes in many forms.

It can come on the top of your morning chai. An apology from your barista expressed with a line of cinnamon. A symbol of peace spoken without words. A mutual understanding that needed no nod.

It comes in colour. Gothic black. Virginal white. Peacemaking green. Serene blue. Camouflaged khaki. Dirty brown. Lipstick red.

It comes in seasons. A sprightly step echoing the rising energy of spring. A tear or two symbolising the releasing pattern of autumn. A desire for introversion matching the inwards movement of winter. A joyous belly laugh mirroring the expansive nature of summer.

It comes in choices. In opting to stay or opting to go. In answered calls and unanswered calls. In making the first move or waiting for the first move. In the food we choose and in choosing no food. In a cold drink on a summers day and in a hot tea on summers day. In the savoury or the sweet.

It comes in movement. In slow steps and long strides. In pacing and in standing still. In hunched shoulders and in downward facing eyes. In pouts and in crossed arms. In looking into another’s eyes and in looking away.

It comes in sound. In silence or in noise. In whispers or in shouts. In pitches or in monotones. In too many text messages or too few.

It comes in all the things we say and all the things we don’t. In the labels we give ourselves and the labels we don’t.

It comes in languishing caresses and in quick pecks on the cheek. In a hug or a handshake. In touching thighs and thigh gaps. In turned heads and heads leaning in. In smiles and in smirks. In wrestles and in tickles. In jest and in seriousness.

It comes in barefoot and in stilettos. In sweaty palms and flushed faces. In red eyes or white eyes. In the flicking of one’s hair and the wearing of a hat.

It comes in billowing sentences and short, sharp phrases. In a monologue or a dialogue. In a stutter and a clearing of the throat. In talking fast and talking slow.

That morning in the cafe, I nearly missed my peace chai. If I hadn’t decided to look down before taking a sip, the strokes of cinnamon would’ve melded with the creamy milk and the communication would’ve gone unnoticed.

Although the barista’s playful drawing was merely delivering a serve of morning smiles, that blink-of- an-eyelid moment made me think: how much silent-speak have I missed in my life?

How much anger was sitting beneath an ‘I’m fine’ response; how much nervousness was hidden under poor pick-up lines; how great a fear of confrontation was lurking behind a friend’s disappearance.

How often did I miss shaky fingers or a brow-line sweat; the losing of weight or the putting on of weight; the unusually quite voice…

And, equally, how many of my communications have gone amiss.

Who noticed the watery eyes and the deep breathing behind the nodding head. The foot holding tight to the floor as the other tried to move forward. The crossed fingers praying for a different outcome.

A line of cinnamon reminded me that communication comes in so many forms. Yet if we’re not present enough, or only searching for the words, we risk missing the message and the opportunity to connect.

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20/03/2017
The nose knows

During my years of working in downtown Melbourne, I had one pet hate: the entrance to the Myer department store. I’d literally hold my breath as I walked through the doors. The mix of warm air and scents of perfume and sprays coming from the ground floor cosmetic counters was nothing short of suffocating, leaving me feeling nauseous and as if I’d been literally intoxicated.

I’d look around at other shoppers and wonder, ‘Is it just me?’

At nightclubs I’d often have to escape for air and close encounters of the ‘fragranced’ type in an elevator or on a plane were some of my worst nightmares.

Again I’d look at others and wonder, ‘Is it just me?’

At that point, circa 15-20 years ago, there wasn’t much talk about the difference between natural and artificial scents, so I chose to suffer in silence. I’d been called ‘too sensitive’ my whole life; I took it that this was just another one of my sensitivities…

Things have evolved since then and I’ve come to appreciate it wasn’t just me. I’ve watched with great interest the growing number of research studies on the impact of fragranced products on our health, such as the one referenced in an article in the Sydney Morning Herald/Age this week.

With this increased awareness and the range of fragrance-free products flooding the market, I’ve been able to basically eliminate most of the synthetic stuff from my day-to-day life.

The benefits of ditching these have been much more than just being able to breath easier. No longer drowning in a sea of artificial scents, I found my sense of smell heightened.

My sensitivity was always a radar. One screaming to me that what I was smelling wasn’t good for me.

All animals have this radar. They sniff out their food, where they’re going to sleep for the night, another dog’s backside.

The nose knows.

We as humans have the same capacity, but in some ways it’s been dulled by overwhelming our senses with synthetic scents.

One of my all time favourite David Suzuki-ism’s is his boiling frog analogy. Essentially if you put a frog in boiling water, it will jump out. If you put a frog in water and then boil it, the frog will slowly die.

 

 

Now my sensitivity and nose could do its innate job of seeking out ‘real’ pathogens and also taking in scents of benefit to the body.

When I was suffering from extreme brain fatigue, one of my practitioners suggested that I go out into the garden, smell a flower or herb and write about what it conjured up for me.

While synthetic smells dull our brain, natural smells can invigorate it.

They also help stimulate our memory.

Our sense of smell is highly linked to our memory, perhaps more than any other sense. Smells get routed through our olfactory nerve, which then analyses these in our brain. The olfactory centre is closely connected to our amygdala and hippocampus, brain areas that work with memory and emotion.

I’m sure we’ve all experienced the link between smell and memory recollection.

A couple of years ago I had one such episode. I took out my fennel seed spice jar and felt instantly sick in the stomach, so much so I had to keel over and hug in my tummy. Not long after I had a flashback to being 17 and drinking Slippery Nipples shooters (a combination of Baileys and Sambuca) and having my first very messy experience of alcohol. Fennel has an aniseed flavour, as does Sambuca!

The nose knows.

When I hugged a guy after not seeing him for seven years, he said to me, ‘You’ve still got the same smell. Patchouli. I remember it.’ We hadn’t seen one another in so long but he recalled my smell.

A friend tells me that when she walks through the front door of her house, she knows her partner is home just by the smell in the air.

The nose knows.

We’ve probably all kept an ex lovers t-shirt or a deceased person’s favourite hat just for their smell. I still have my grandmother’s beloved scarf lurking in my cupboard. And I take it out often.

 

From Mail Online. Photography by @Jacques Matthysen

 

Smells are powerful. Essentially by smelling things, we have a potential inbuilt reminder of whether something is good or not. We also have a way of navigating the world.

That’s how animals find pathogens and so can we. That’s how we used to find our mates in cavemen days and so can we still.

Today we mask our natural scents with synthetic fragrances, thinking they smell better, but really taking away our uniqueness and our ability to ‘filter’.

From my own personal experience, I believe we can make smells work for us in so many ways. But first we’ve got to remove the hindrances to this  – the artificial stuff!

Once we’ve done this, we become more attuned to the ways smells can warn and protect us, just like animals.

I can smell rain coming. I can smell my food when off. I can feel cleansed by a sage stick. I can be cooled my mint and warmed by ginger. I can stimulate my saliva by cutting open a lemon. I can be uplifted by a gardenia and I can be calmed by a whiff of freshly baked bread. I can use sandalwood to nourish and jasmine to soften.

In an odd ironic way, true smells, even cooking smells, can be overpowering at first when you’re accustomed to synthetic ones. Kind of like getting used to the taste of real sweetness after you’ve consumed white sugar for so long. If this is the case, slowly introduce them.

Let’s get rid of the rubbish and allow our nose to do what it does best. Smells are our personal bodyguard and compass packaged into one.

The nose knows.

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A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.
06/02/2017
How to keep cool in summer without putting out your fire

“Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind.” (Seals & Croft)

Ah, the summer breeze. The one that makes me want to while my days away under a big willow tree and sleep outside under the stars. Kind, caressing and so inviting on the skin.

Mother Nature in all her magnificent glory knows to give us this beautiful breeze to counter the otherwise sometimes unbearable summer heat.

Heat in moderation is a wonderful thing. It energises us and brings out our passion and zest for life.  Creativity and growth flourishes during periods of our life when heat and fire is in abundance.

Doing anything introverted and indoors is challenging for me during these months of the year; I really struggle to sit at the computer and write. No wonder most of Europe closes shop for August.

This is because summer is really happening on the outside and all of our own energy is moving outwards to match the heat in the environment. So we also want to be out there. Whether it be days at the beach, barbecues in backyards, lazy afternoons by a pool or socialising at eateries with friends and family; we simply just want to play!

 

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Frangipani love

 

In Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) summer is known as the ‘Big Yang’. The time of the year characterised by fire and heat. Both feed on our bodily fluids and harm our Yin, which is our more receptive calming nature.

This is where heat in excess can make the joyous feel of summer turn into something more aggressive and/or exhausting.

As someone who has a bit of ‘fire’ ready to flame up in her, I’ve learnt to balance the Yang of summer by working with it.

I get up early and spend the first couple of hours of the day walking on the beach, followed by an ocean dip and a laze in the sun. All of this awakens and enlivens me and makes me feel as if I’ve had a dose of external life before I settle down to do some work for the morning.

When the sun is at its peak at midday and beyond, and therefore our own heat is at its peak too, I try and take some time to siesta and enjoy that tantalising feel of the summer breeze. Time spent under a big tree, amongst the lush greenness of a forest or by the soothing blue of the water helps counter the propensity for heat and outbursts of energy.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

It seems logical to also consume cooling foods and drinks to disperse the heat and replenish body fluids. This is why nature’s bounty provides us with an array of delicious, juicy summer fruits and vegetables such as tomato, cucumber and zucchini.

But, and this is a big but, we all need to be very aware of not overdoing the cooling, especially cold, foods. This is where I personally became unstuck as the main challenge for all of us over the summer months is how to keep our body cool without putting out our digestive fire.

This is because the Yang of the body is more on our surface during summer, meaning that there is less heat within to light our internal digestive fire, in turn explaining why many of us simply feel like eating less.

Each of us will have differing strengths of digestive fire so it’s important to observe our own needs. In the most, a poor appetite, lethargy and fatigue, fluid retention, bloating and digestive concerns, together with a swollen and pale or white coated tongue is usually a good sign we’re stretching ourselves.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

 

I can overheat in summer but also have a tendency towards a temperamental digestive fire, so I’ve spent a few years tackling and mastering this quandary of mine.

It was that sensual summer breeze I adore so much that gave me my initial lead on how to address this.

The breeze is cool, but not cold. Unless you live in my hometown of Melbourne, where seasons change in one day, generally speaking the summer breeze is of a temperature our body nicely responds to.

So too should our food. Not too hot, yet not too cold either.

Refrigeration was created so that our foods could last longer, not because it’s better to eat food at that temperature. It takes a massive amount of energy to breakdown and essentially ‘cook’ cold food in our stomachs. Extra energy we don’t necessarily have in the midst of raging summer heat.

By keeping our food warm, whether it be lightly cooked or at least returned to room temperature, we’ll ensure we keep our digestive fire lit.

Likewise the breeze is light and airy, so should our food in the main. Heavy foods and big meals that nourish us in the colder months tend to weigh us down in the warmer months.

Lots of cold and heavy foods will not only burden our already weaker digestive fire, but in some cases put it out all together. This is most common with elderly, young children and those recovering from an illness, but it’s also happening more often today with people of all ages due to the added stresses of the environment and foods we eat playing havoc with our digestion.

The main lifestyle change I made to deal with this was that when I get hot, rather than indulge in cold beverages, I opt for an ocean swim, cool shower or even splashing water or placing cold towels on my pulse points, back of neck or feet. This way I keep my digestive fire slowly humming away but manage to also soothe the heat on the surface of my body.

 

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Summer plums

 

 

Here are some of the other things that particularly work for me in terms of diet:

  • Choosing a warm drink that cools and cleanses the body, such as green tea. It has become my summer elixir. Known in TCM to disperse heat, cool heart fire, calm the mind and expel toxins, it really knows how to take the edge off a summer fire and eliminate damp-heat.  Other good options include mint and camomile teas and squeezes of lime or lemon in your warm beverage of choice. I also wait for the warm drinks to cool slightly so that I’m not getting a rush of heat in.
  • If I’m really craving a cold drink, I have it between meals and drink it slowly. This way there is time for the digestive fire to recover and re-boot before needing to digest food again. And I always avoid ice.
  • Including a nourishing sweet element to every meal to help warm the centre. This is something we ought to be doing all year round, but the key difference in summer is to just reduce the quantity. It could be adding a few pieces of roasted chicken, pumpkin or sweet potato to a salad, or even a trickle of honey into a lemon drink. A bland, bitter meal of steamed vegetables on its own may seem light for summer but will not keep our centre burner firing.
  • I always have a warm breakfast, or at least the major component is warm. This is when we want to be moving in line with the Yang and rising sun. Starting the day with cold food is like putting out a fire before we’ve done the cooking.
  • I eat raw food or salads at lunchtime when the digestive fire is naturally at its peak, but I will never have it on its own – there always needs to be a warming element.
  • I enjoy fresh seasonal fruits that add fluids to the body but also give it a bit of an energy boost at the same time.
  • The way I add ‘air’ into my meals is by including delicate and light foods such as herbs and green leaves or ones with a slight bitter or astringent bite. And wherever possible I like to bring that summer breeze into my meals by sitting outside or by an open window or door.

 

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First blooming of Gardenias

 

Sleep can become an issue during summer. Not just hot sweaty nights when you really want to throw off any cover and take your bed outside, but wild dreams that wake you at regular intervals and leave for a restless night. I’ve known these only too well over the years…

Once again I like the TCM explanation for this, which essentially says our spirit, which resides in the heart and blood, is unsettled. Our spirit’s home gets harmed by excess heat and unless we do things to balance that heat during the day, our spirit will have nowhere to settle calmly at night.

Keeping hot, spicy food to a minimum, finding time during the day to rest, revive and do some heart-centred activity, such as meditation, singing or dancing, or even deep breathing, all helps.

For me, the colour white settles my spirit. I’m always opting for white sheets, white clothes and white flowers, such as jasmine, gardenia and frangipani, in my hair and house during the heated heart-centred summer.

And, for a little bit of alternate (even controversial) thought, one of the best foods to calm the heart-mind in summer is wheat! Both TCM and Ayurveda recommend it as the summer grain of choice, together with long-grain rice.

If we manage to keep excess heat at bay, summer can truly be the most luxurious, heart-warming and joyful time of the year. Enjoy its gifts!

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05/12/2016
The blessing in a black eye

I recently experienced my first black eye.

Before you presume, no, I wasn’t bashed, nor was I in a car accident or on a sporting field. Rather I was sleeping in a strange bedroom where I’d somewhat stupidly decided to leave the door half open.

Can I emphasise: NEVER do that. Doors are meant to be open or closed, not somewhere in between. This is especially pertinent when you’re used to sleeping in a room with no blinds, where the moonlight naturally creeps in.

So it happened on a semi-conscious approach to the bathroom around midnight. Basically, I ran straight into the corner of the wooden door!

The pain was excruciating. I yelped and then fell to the floor, where I stayed and sobbed for the next hour. While holding an ice-pack to my brow, I snottily went through half a box of tissues.

I cried for the pain of the bang, yet I also cried for what I suspect was a backlog of emotions that finally had consent to come streaming out.

In the previous weeks I’d got into an old (tiresome) habit of spending too much time in my head. I’d been analysing ‘life-stuff’. When I get into that space I know it’s usually to avoid the accompanying emotions that come with the very experiences I’m trying to analyse. Not to mention all that upward-focused activity leaves you a little uncentred.

When I told a close friend about the incident the next day, she kindly suggested that it sounded like exactly what I needed.

The silly idea of leaving the door half-open was most likely the consequence of not really being present. It was as if I needed a literal hard knock on the head to get me crashing back down to earth; an angel whispering, or rather screaming, into my ear, “Sharon, get out of there!”

Sometimes we need a bit of physical pain to get us back in touch with our body. Many people even self-inflict in order to feel something, anything. Personally I know my own chronic illness, with the associated pain and symptoms, was a larger version of my black eye incident; an opportunity to get me out of my head where I’d spent most of my life to date.

Street Art by Mark Samsonovich

Street Art by Mark Samsonovich

 

Over the pursuing week as my eyelid slowly changed hue from a blush pink to a deep purple, I had regular reminders to step back into my body. The area was so sensitive that I’d flinch whenever I aggravated it. Interestingly, on top of annoying buggers like blinking or chewing, the things that irritated it the most were thinking activities or frowns – head stuff!

I too found it a tad ironic that the accident happened on the eve of the AFL Grand Final. Just the previous week, as I watched the end of the Preliminary Final match, I found myself feeling grateful for the football field; giving young men the ‘permission’ to shed tears when they may otherwise not.

There is something about a good cry and the subsequent emotional release that helps us move through stuck energy. The key though for me is that I move through it, rather than use it as an opportunity to indulge in the pain and victimhood.

I’ve discovered when I ‘allow’ a wound to be, rather than fight it,’ I somehow deal with the pain differently and more swiftly. In the past I may have resisted the black eye, complained about it and ruminated over the ‘potential’ permanent damage it would create. Instead I chose to embrace it and see it as the somewhat strange gift it was.

On returning from Melbourne to Byron Bay, I proudly displayed my wound and shared my war story; I took memento photos, after all I wasn’t planning on doing this again; and via a compliment from someone I worked out that purple colouring actually amplifies the hazel green of my eyes so I went and purchased some make-up in that shade. Added bonus indeed!

By the time the wound healed, I’d also reclaimed the more centred approach to life I prefer to take these days. The bang had literally worked its magic.

 

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A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.
20/09/2016
Eating and living with the weather Part 4: Spring fever

I get high on spring. I love the potential and rising energy that comes with it. I’m enveloped in a type of childlike-glee as I watch the blossoming of the flowers and the lush greenness that accompanies the new season foliage.

In many cultures it’s considered the first season of the year and is akin to youth and renewal. I see spring, like mornings, as a chance to begin again. It has an almost intoxicating feel to it.

If you watch the plant life, everything is moving upwards and outwards. I desire to do the same. I rise early with the sun, take brisker and longer walks and generally tend to feel like getting off my backside more. My extroverted side craves a good old stretch and gradually takes the place of my winter introvert who preferred early nights, long sleeps and lots of introspection.

Symptom-wise, I know the seasons have finally turned when I start to get that first temporal headache and an all too familiar sensation of edginess. For me, it’s literally my body screaming, move Sharon’.

Yet as much as I love this glorious season, for many years it used to leave me completely unstuck. It’s like it would go past in some sort of flash; I’d be so excited for it to come and then December 1st would arrive and I’d wonder where the previous three months had gone! Not only that, I’d be feeling depleted and exhausted and not understanding why.

The characteristic that epitomises spring weather the most is the wind. It literally can carry you with it and have you flying, forgetting to stop to press the release button on your parachute. The great part of this is that it inspires creativity, the not so great part is that it may all come crashing down in a flurry.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

 

To be honest, I think I used to have a spring fetish. I was addicted to beginnings – whether it be relationships or projects and had a tendency to start things and never finish them. I have a collection of notebooks jam packed with ideas and always wanted to create a company called The Ideas Business, where I could give someone my notebooks and they could bring them to life for me!

It was only through my illness that I realised why I was a master at incompletion. The ascending energy of spring needs to be rooted in the more grounding, heavy energy of the previous winter months. And I didn’t have much of that, physically or mentally.

Translated to health, if we haven’t cultivated our inner world during winter and built up our energy reserves through appropriate eating and resting, we may struggle with the more yang nature of the new season. It will drive us, rather than us drive it; leaving us trying to go in many directions without a home base to centre us. This is akin to running on adrenalin.

My experience is quite common in today’s world and spring is probably the most challenging season for most of us. In Ayurvedic practice, the wind is referred to as Vata-like, which means a prominence of the air’ element. Today’s society mirrors spring in that we have a lot of air going around – think internet, smartphones, social media, TV, light and dry processed foods, stimulants, drugs, bright colours and noisy environments.. Air plus air leads to well, nothing

It took me a long time with lots of stumbles and bumbles to appreciate that if I was going to be able to make the most of my creative, passionate personality, I needed to have it rising from my centre, not from my head.

I’ve managed to do this by using winter as my starting platform and also carefully monitoring my activity in spring. If it’s a windy day, like it is as I write this now, I ensure I spend less time on flighty things and try and eat foods that aren’t too heavy, but help centre me, like rice and sweet starchy vegetables.

I also have this habit of putting on my uggboots and a cosy jumper as I work at the computer, somehow the heaviness of both helping to balance the airy nature of the technology. I may also get up every now and then and smell the jasmines in the pots on my verandah or make an earl grey or mint tea; allowing the scents of both to somehow bring me back into my body. Often something a little sour can also settle the energy of an overactive mind.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

 

This is also why, contrary to popular belief, I’ve found that spring isn’t the best season to detox and cleanse. It makes us even lighter in an already light environment. Many years ago I tried a few juice cleanses in early spring and I ended up not only feeling lacklustre but also quite heady and floaty. I’d tend towards fainting and craving sugar hits.

This is because we actually need energy to match the energy surrounding us. As with everything now, I try and look to nature as my guide and if it’s moving and rising, why should I be clearing and cleansing?

I appreciate the principle behind the cleansing is to lighten up from the winter months, and this is true and particularly relevant for those of us that tend to carry extra weight and baggage from that season. Yet rather than fast and starve, we can just cut back on our portions and change the nature of our food to something that feels and looks a little lighter.

Here are some of the ways I’ve learnt to do this:

  • minimise the heavier, dense foods that tend to have a sinking nature such as meats, dairy and salty flavours
  • in choosing animal products, opt for those that look a little lighter – for example goats dairy rather than cows, or baby spring lamb
  • prioritise the sweet and pungent flavours that have an ascending nature such as starchy vegetables, grains, seeds, whole foods sweeteners and herbs such as rosemary, mint and dill
  • follow nature and go green – select from the range of leafy greens that abound
  • eat young plants, such as the baby root vegetables and sprouts
  • include foods that have more vitality, rather than the stored ones we lean towards in winter – this means picking them earlier and not leaving them in storage for too long
  • select upward growing vegetables like asparagus and broccolini
  • start to cook meals for a shorter time on a higher temperature and with less water
  • slowly increase raw and more cleansing and cooling foods in diet, but only if the climate is warm and not too damp and your digestion is strong.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

 

Lifestyle-wise, the best tip I was ever given for flowing with the rhythm of spring is to spend more time amongst the trees. According to Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), green is the colour of the season and it actually nourishes our body through the eyes. It’s as if we experience a natural cleanse and our appetite and excessive desire is calmed just by taking in this hue.

I’m lucky to live off the most amazing road, lined with tall majestic trees. On my early morning or evening walks, I feel like I’m in an Enid Blyton novel where the trees whisper their ancient wisdom to me. I somehow return home a little more connected with my own true nature after wondering around in this enchanted woods.

Another good way of releasing any suppressed energy from the cooler months is to have a sing-a-long or shout. I tend to find myself singing in the shower or car more often and putting on my favourite tracks and dancing around the house. I also try and include in my morning exercise routine a big haaaaa’ release coming straight from the centre of my belly. This assists me in moving any stuck energy without directing it, perhaps inappropriately, towards family, friends or even strangers.

I’ve discovered that the key to making the most of these months is to know how to move with the energy at a pace that suits you. Since I’ve started to become aware of my spring tendencies, I’ve learnt that if I balance out the energies, it can be a wonderful time to begin projects and build connections that can can come to their complete fruition as the year rolls on. If I don’t, I’ll tend to start things that are just as flighty in nature as the spring wind and they tend to never reach a crescendo and crash and burn about the time summer begins

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

#This article is the fourth in a series of pieces on Eating and living with the weather’. Others include:  Attuning to the nature of late summer., The autumnal shift, and Warming up to winter.

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A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.
20/07/2016
Between the words

I’ve always loved words; I’m a writer, how can I not? The dictionary and thesaurus are two of my best buddies, taking up sacred space on my desk.

I get a thrill from massaging what are essentially strings of sound into meaning that connects people; helping to find the common ground between us all.

I select phrases with the precision of a surgeon, and I deconstruct sentences with the same desire and intensity as someone may slowly undress a new lover.

Yet I’ve also struggled with words my entire life. Not finding them as such, but misusing them, misinterpreting them, and quite regularly, hiding behind them.

I know my words have informed, inspired and soothed many, but they’ve also confused and scared others.

I have a vast vocabulary; great for writing, yet ironically, sometimes limited for communication. How there are times when I’ve longed for short bursts of emotion, rather than well-crafted prose.

In many instances, more hasn’t always been better. I’ve often created a letter when only a sentence was required; or, I catch myself editing a personal text message, when I ought to be pressing the send button, sans punctuation. I’ve also written a paragraph when what I’ve really wanted to say is something as simple as: I love you, I miss you, I value you, I’m sad, I’m scared or I’m angry.

Other times I’ve used language when all I truly desired was a touch, an embrace, a kiss, or even just to hold someone’s hand in silence.

 

From Mail Online. Photography by @Jacques Matthysen

From Mail Online. Photography by @Jacques Matthysen

 

I’ve chosen responses such as, I’m ok, I’m good, That doesn’t matter, when I’m not, and it does matter.

I’ve used words to jumble meaning; and I’ve practiced humour or sarcasm to hide the truth.

I’ve corrected freudian slips when they illuminated more than I was willing to see.

It’s been said that our greatest gifts can be both a blessing and a curse. Over the years I’ve learnt to see my challenge with words as just that.

After a wordy’ exchange with a friend the other day, I contemplated this quandary of mine.

How can we make words count? How do we make them a way to relate, not separate; to create, not breakdown?

What is it exactly that enables my words to shine and engage, and to the contrary, what is it that has me using them as a cover to my shadows and a barrier to intimacy?

What is the x factor’ that makes words capture a heart rather than inflict a wound?

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

Approximately 8% of communication is language; but how well do we know the other 92%?

What do you notice when you stop talking, including ceasing the voices inside your own head? What do you hear in the silence? What do you feel in the quiet?

I’ve discovered that I often need the time away from words to find the right ones again. 

I live in the bush so I may take myself on a stroll amongst the tall, majestic trees, listening to the sounds of nature, and as I do so, it’s like my vocabulary shrinks to the bare necessities.

Once a month I try and do a meditation whereby I chant for 20 minutes and then remain in silence for a couple of hours afterwards. It’s extremely powerful and I normally come out of it refreshed, with a deep sense of peace and a reduced need for speaking. Last time I did it, I refused to turn my phone back on all day, as I just didn’t want the white noise to interrupt the stillness of my thoughts and being.

When the words subside, my soul starts speaking to me. 

It’s here where I discover that words get in the way when they come from the wrong place; when I’m ungrounded, caught up in my monkey-mind or fearful and flighty. I forgivingly witness how I’ve used words to hide my insecurities, to run from my emotions, and to cover up my pain. To see how they’ve been an armour, a protective wall between me and my vulnerability. Without the words there is space; there is a nakedness that reveals all.

 

A Seasonal Life with Sharon Sztar, Australian writer, trainer and facilitator in Byron Bay.

 

One of the best days I’ve had in recent months was when I spent a morning reading on my balcony with a dear friend. Both engrossed in our own books, occasionally we’d poke our heads up for a brief chat, but mostly we sat in the most companionable silence, where what wasn’t being said was more powerful than what could’ve been uttered.

When we eventually got up for lunch, our conversation was effortless, nourishing and joyful. In a grounded space we were able to intuitively chose the right words rather than carelessly spill garbage.

When I write a story or an article I make a disciplined effort to try and connect with that space. I shut everything else out so that the words come from my nakedness and centre, and not my fear or a need to embellish. I know that unless I see the value in my words, no one else will either.

I’ve come to understand that it’s the intention behind my writing or speaking that delivers its truth.

In essence, it’s the time I take between the words that enables me to use my gift as a blessing. If I don’t take that time, my words may hurt; if I do take the time, they can truly heal.

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29/06/2016
Eating with the weather Part 3: Warming up to winter

Although I love the expansive nature of the warmer months, my introvert side always thanks me when winter rolls around. Rather than having to ensure I make time for quiet and stillness, I actually crave it.

Introspection, meditation, log fires, cosy nights, long walks amongst the trees, cooking, reading and writing make up my winter schedule. I feel like talking less and grounding more. I seek nourishment, over excitement and entertainment, from all that I do.

I was born in winter, so in many ways, I guess it is my season. Interestingly, I chose to do my birth in typical winter style. Firstly, I was one month overdue, apparently happier snuggled up inside the warmth of my mother’s womb, than facing the cold of June in Melbourne.

Secondly, I arrived on the solstice, the shortest day of the year. I used to be really annoyed that I had what I thought was the shortest birth-day of the year, until I realised I also had the longest birth-night of the year. This in itself epitomises winter for me – the warm, peaceful silence of the darkness.

Winter is about going within. We just need to look at nature around us to know what to do.

If we observe a plant, we will notice that all the energy is on the inside; seeds are being cultivated and the essence is being nurtured. Likewise, it is the time to find our inner voice and cultivate our inner world. It really is a golden season for us if we allow our body and mind to attune to its rhythms.

 

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Outdoor dining – 4 degrees

 

In line with this, winter is also a wonderful time for healing. Initially, this may seem like a contradiction in form, especially for those of us who have experienced chronic illnesses, and tend to get symptom flare-ups in the colder weather. This is usually due to the fact that we feel weaker, stagnant and perhaps even more fragile and vulnerable – ah, the very best time to heal

Even now, winters are when I really get to see what I’ve yet to deal with. It’s the time when the cracks show up and I notice what has been masked by the natural energy of the warmer months.

So despite the fact that in the depths of my illness, winters challenged my absolute core, they also provided me with an opportunity to shift.

The best explanation I ever got for this was through exploring Traditional Chinese Medicine, where winter is all about the health of the kidneys. The things that weaken our kidney essence the most are many of those that come alongside modern living’, such as: over-exertion or under-exertion, unbalanced diets, refined foods, artificial stimulants and contracted emotions; especially fear.

Therefore, even without a chronic illness, most of us on the treadmill of life, will start to feel a little more sensitive as the weather cools down. I have a couple of friends who cut back their alcohol consumption during winter; their bodies intuitively telling them that they have less reserves to deal with the aftermath.

 

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Chai tea

 

Winter has taught me how to manage my energy levels; when you don’t have the heat’ of the sun lighting your path, you find out exactly what you do have in your own tank.

It was only during my illness years that I really learnt what it meant to warm myself from the inside out – from my belly and my heart.

Although it’s ideal to have your whole body at a nice temperature, if you have a choice, let me tell you, opt for a warm centre and cold extremities.

Sometimes, when I was really ill, my extremities would be freezing cold. I’d close my eyes and imagine a sun in my centre and its rays pouring out to my hands and feet. It was not only a beautiful feeling but it helped hone the concept of self healing. I felt less reliant on an external thing’ to heat me up and keep me warm.

As soon as we start to feel cold in our centre and lower back, it means our digestive system and kidneys are challenged, and that is when our bodies start to shut down.

Another sign that our kidneys are out of whack is usually fear. If you get a little more anxious or overwhelmed in the colder months, or find it harder to gain clarity, there is a good chance your kidneys are being challenged.

 

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Warming breakfast porridge

 

Warmth is crucial – so no midriff tops, flimsy dresses, or imported watermelons – as otherwise our bodies have to use up energy to keep us physically warm; energy better utilised to create fuel and light our digestive fire.

I got to experience this first hand recently when I visited Melbourne; excited to wear a new dress I’d just purchased that day, I tossed aside my inner wisdom and went out in it that night anyway. My digestive system suffered for it the next two days.

Overheating is not a clever idea either as it can consume and irritate the grounding nature we need in the colder weather. This includes standing too close to fires, electric blankets, food that is too hot (yes, blow on that spoonful of soup first, as your grandmother once instructed!), excess spices, and really hot, long showers and baths.

We all need to find and work with our own inner balance; know when enough is enough for you. A good yardstick to use is when you start to feel cold or get cold/hot sweats after being around warmth. This is the power of extremes: hot eventually turns to cold, and everything you’ve just tried to warm up has been trumped.

On the contrary, a long-lasting fuelling warmth will feel just right, like the sensation you get after a nourishing bowl of soup, or being hugged by a loved one.

 

French toast

 

 

The way I opt to stay warm without overheating is to generate a neutral form of heat through:

  • keeping my home at a good temperature and wearing appropriate seasonal clothes;
  • getting some midday winter sun on my face and limbs;
  • eating slow-cooked bowls of food such as porridges, bone broths, stews and soups;
  • including kidney supporting, mineral-rich, high bone density foods, such as those from the sea, and good quality unrefined salt, in my diet;
  • focusing on foods that help anchor me at my centre, such as root vegetables, wholegrains, legumes, nuts, concentrated whole food sweeteners and small amounts of dairy and animal products;
  • using more warming cooking methods, such as roasting, sautéing, stewing and baking;
  • and, most importantly, avoiding the extremes. Hot and spicy foods can disperse energy, while cold and raw foods can deplete it. Ditto for the environment around you.

Winter is also the time I allow myself to indulge in more home-baked treats; there is nothing better than the aromas of baking circulating throughout the house to fire up the middle burner.

 

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Muffins

 

Other tips I have learnt include wearing darker clothes, especially around your lower back area, and deep belly breathing; focusing on that point between your navel and pubic bone.

Although, we all need to stimulate our kidneys a little in the cold season, the key is to know how much stimulation you personally need; in my case, when I was sick, I was so sensitive, it was like I was constantly adjusting the hot and cold taps on a shower in my own body.

The great part is, that if we discover how to manage our energy levels during winter, and take the time to move inwards, we can cultivate an inner strength and composure, that will keep us centred and on track throughout the rest of the year.

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