I Never Wanted To Be a Painter, Writer, Healer, or Live In The French Countryside
But I followed my intuition.
even if… she says / as she sets off on one of her many journeys / following the invisible / like butterflies fly from flower to flower–she moves between constellations / always feeling / with eyes closed / this way she is never lost
MUSE: jasmine-scented evenings in the Swiss Alps
I never envisioned myself as a writer. It was never my dream, never my ambition. I never imagined reading my own words one day. It all came to me, late. And poetry? I didn’t look for it—until She found me.
In between short 5 a.m. walks to work and summer evening thunderstorms. She lingered between solitary housekeeping shifts and my fingertips refreshing my phone hundred fifty times a day.
It was the time of my Blue Banisters era when Venus veiled the future in thick mist, but at the same time, parallel realities cracked open wide. In between Dolores Cannon’s teachings on how to communicate with multidimensional beings and sipping rosé in Lausanne, my perception of life, and my own self, twisted like pretzels.
I danced with purposelessness of every day tasks and watched comets shooting across the sky above the Alps—all at once.
That season, in between gym and afternoon naps, I also discovered that I could send telepathic waves—calling in an old lover I never expected to see again, only for him to arrive and strip me of fantasies under a Pisces blue moon.
He gave me the bare minimum a man could give to a woman but more than enough to spark a memory in my heart that some things are not meant to have beginnings and endings.
Poetry was born in boredom and time in between– when everything was still possible, when uncertainty felt strangely safe.
I worked in a seasonal job in 5* Resort but there wasn’t much to do so I slowly pushed the trolley, with cleaning products and my notebooks tucked in between bin bags, like a lost soul, along the labyrinths of grey corridors, until I felt Her.
I felt Her in the memory of yesterday, of what was truly alive in me – in the simplicity of jasmine-scented evenings.
The words came to me, like a vow not to lose my wonder, not to give up. A promise that the extensions of me I looked for lights years away from here were in the mundane of my own everyday.
In between my chipped nails, missed calls and ‘what am I doing with my life’ thoughts while watching sunsets above lake Lucerne. It was then when I was able to see the raw poetry of who I was and who I was not.
I could hear my own frequency in the flutter of a moth's wings as it tried so hard to fly through the thick Alpine air, filled with saudade and suspension that only the 4 p.m. in the summer can bring.
When you don’t know what to write start from feeling your heartbeat, and when you feel that it’s safe there, expand your awareness but just a meter. And observe what your soul wants to say through the magnetic waves in between your world and your fingers –– a writing advice to myself.
I quit the job after three months, returned home, and sat by the open window in the September sun–still hot this time of year in the South of France, and tried to write memoir.
But sentences refused to take form. Everything spilled out as a section of few words instead, and all I could write about was the last six months. I didn’t realise how deep and raw it all was. Three days and three nights, She didn’t leave my side.
I closed eternity of that time in fifty poem drafts just like that.
I love this story because I only went to the Swiss Alps for some extra cash, nothing else but what I received was poetry, a new way of communicating with the world, and clarity that my heart cannot be broken by anything or anyone.
The draft is still in edit, but I’m getting there. I’m someone who knows that sometimes things take longer. And what is long in eternity of things, anyway?
Now, I want to take you back for a plot twist to the version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. The 28 years old ‘change the world with rage and a Vogue cigarette’ self who one day welcomed an unexpected guest.
MUSE: She Can Paint Millions of Light Years with a Single Brush Stroke
I never intended to paint. I never learned how to create. I made two drawing at secondary school and that was it. Being a Culture Studies graduate I spent years on exploring other people’s creative minds rather than expressing my own soul to the extend, that even when my then-boyfriend painted a portrait of me in pearls, it never-ever occurred to me that maybe, it could be me, one day.
Until She came with a gust of wind.
She wasn’t born from quiet boredom and slow time in between. This Muse kicked down the door to my reality like a best friend who doesn’t knock. The kind who heads straight for the fridge, pulls out some leftovers to eat, slouches on the sofa, shoes on the table, and starts talking about a plan for a new adventure that, obviously, you are already part of.
I didn’t want more money but I wanted to care so I had just quit my 9-5 sales job and spent my days reading books in the local park, volunteered at the local survivors of sexual violence centre, and captured sunsets over Oxford through my camera lens. My life was suffused with blissful space and etherial Nuit De Cellophane scent.
But I was also sassy and full of rage—not just for myself, but for all the women abused by the hands of their men, the politics, social issues, the conflicts and wars around the world. I wanted to do something useful, work for NGOs, change the world, go on a mission–and I did, but everything I wanted back then had nothing to do with creativity.
On that day I was doing my nails, bright red to match my lipstick, when a sudden blast of wind knocked over my boyfriend’s art supplies. The one’s with whom I shared soul but not forever, and who, years earlier when we smoked in a pouring rain, had told me that what I felt my whole life was longing.
So when She came I snapped, irritated, with my drying red nails I went to the room to clean up the mess, and pick up the brushes delicately, one by one, pinky raised like a lady picking up porcelain. Then I paused, looked at the brush, touched it and I felt the pull. A blast.
Intuition.
Timelines shifted.
I just knew. I just saw. An adventure I wasn’t invited to because I was part of it all along without even knowing that I was.
When my boyfriend came home, I greeted him with a dinner abandoned half-way, smiling proudly like an artists who just had a day with her muse, and a canvas filled with meadows from my childhood home.
He smiled, he liked that very much. He liked that I saw what he’d always seen in me but never said. The time had come for her.
That night I had a dream that a single brushstroke contains millions of light years, and that one day I will paint the history of my soul.
But for that I needed to go to France. For some things to happen we need the stars to align. For Many Journeys to incarnate I had to heal many scars, travel just to come back, to finally feel that…
MUSE: “I’m only going for two weeks, but can stay a year’ kind of girl
You are the only one who fulfilled her dream, it stuck with me what my old friends once said. A dream? Yes, to travel, to live in different places. Oh…I didn’t remember. Wasn’t it a strange dream to have for someone who only went on holiday twice and took her first flight at almost 21?
But even then I, somehow, always knew that there is nowhere to rush. The movement Muse was embodied in my soul for centuries, like a blueprint, a natural part of me. But, how did I end up living in France?
I sat in London Fields in my local park on my yoga mat, inhaling–dreaming of Guatemala or Costa Rica—somewhere exotic, far away. On the exhales–all I wanted was to get out of the city after the first lockdown and live in the forest, doesn’t matter where but alone, and in silence.
I always follow the voice within and the next week, I was on the Eurostar to Paris. Suitcase full of paints and €800 in my pocket—€600 already spent on rent. A friend’s apartment was empty for a month and I couldn’t say no to that, since tropical forests I envisioned stayed in the dreamland.
But I loved this timeline.
When my glamorous Asia in Paris season of croissants, wine, painting while making love and loving while painting, came to an end another friend called: come visit me in the countryside. You remember the place-the mountains covered in chestnut forests, the light, the champagne, the synchronicities?
Two weeks turned into seven months.
And then I went back to London just to pack my life up once more. A very long story short: I spent an entire year by the river every day to cleanse my old life, strip labels of all the girls that I was, mourn lost friends I never saw again, and made friends with deer that live in the forest.
I locked myself away to meditate, and paint, and dance through solitary nights, talking to the Divine over glasses of wine.
Every time someone asks me why I stayed, confused more than myself why I live in the tiny village without speaking French, no men to date, no opportunities – I smile and say – a soulmate. And my Higher Self.
In that season of my life I was in my total feminine flow, I learned how to surrender, and I learned how to stay.
It was the first time I was about to live truly alone. I didn’t even know how to have a home. What kind of rugs did I like? Cutlery? A mattress on the floor it’s enough. When I hesitated to repaint the awful violet-pink walls because ‘what’s the point, I’ll probably move somewhere else’, my best friend-the soulmate, looked at me with that out of the question stare.
Make it home, she said. Even if it’s just for the summer–make it yours.
And months turned into years.
And yes, a few times the road pulled me back, of course. The Swiss Alps, England again, Bavarian forests and other places I went just for some time, and stayed longer because it was never a plan.
But every time I came back here, I saw more and more deer on my path.
Even though I felt misplaced, like a seashell in the forest the ground was so soft and made me fall asleep every night.
And for the first time, I felt that maybe this is how home feels like?
For today.
And safety of home, and today, was exactly what I needed to be able to create.
I do wonder, sometimes, like yesterday with my best friend over a delicious croissant and terrible coffee in boulangerie—why do some things happen just like that and others seem to be…delayed?
Looking back I realise that I was rarely put in a position where I had to choose.
Life rarely gave me the ultimatum: this or that. There was rarely a plan, a goal, a childhood dream.
I never sought anything I now have. Not poetry. Not painting. Not spiritual path. Not moving to England, or Switzerland, the French countryside. Not riding motorbikes. Not being single. Not to reinvent myself, die and be born hundred times. Not millions of other things that happened in my life seemingly effortlessly.
What I did, I always followed my intuition even if I didn’t like what it said.
With doubts and a sigh I followed anyway.
Energy speaks in frequency, not necessarily in words.
The Higher Self speaks through knowing, through magnetic pull to the unknown. I not only listen but I let it carry me all the way through today, and tomorrow.
Timelines change with the speed of light.
Time is speeding up – have you’ve noticed?
Have you noticed that what we perceived as forever is no longer relevant?
What we wanted for ourselves no longer makes sense?
And even though we say that we’re scared, we really are ready for change.
But it makes me wonder, why some things happen just like that and other things we put on our vision board year after year, like my wish to be a mother and a wife, why some things still remain unanswered?
Maybe the secret is to stop wanting and chasing, and know that what is meant for us will never pass us by?
Or maybe we should be more playful with destiny – go dance, love all the way, eat tangerines and let the juice drip on our naked body, create magic with our fingertips, and trust in divine timing of everything?
forever in a cosmic dance
just as it always was
between her and time
What do you think?
Asia
I also wanted to say, for those dream women and men in moments of transition. Those of you feeling the pull to create, to change, to complete the manuscript— trust me—your Higher Self knows what's next.
If you’d like to access it I invite you to the THE MORNING STAR HOUR my signature 1:1 session designed for artists, healers, and visionaries seeking clear direction from the Higher Self. To move from self doubt and double guessing yourself to ‘this is my way’ and ‘I know exactly what to do’.
I will help you access your infinite wisdom and show you how to trust yourself (always). See more information here or even better, message me to chat. Et voilà.
There’s some beautiful writing in there. Very inspiring.
I’ve spent over two years single after a very, very long relationship.
What I’m having to break through is intense. Many old habits. Some new ones. I’m making a lot of this time, but I can’t help think that there’s more, so I keep moving forward.
“Maybe the secret is to stop wanting and chasing, and know that what is meant for us will never pass us by?” - the most challenging kind of trust. I love that.
Thank you for sharing such honest words and feelings ♥️♥️♥️