The Tinder Tales

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So let’s talk Tinder. Because that happened recently!

And using this app in the modern-day quest for love (or, in my case, a human – hotwater bottle for the Winter months!) is proving to be an amusing (or bemusing even?) affair.

I had to talk to you guys about it. All the weird pec pics, the grown-men behind the snapchat filters, the endless small talk…

And then there’s me. And the funny theories I use to make the rapid judgement between a swipe left and a swipe right (though I’m still not sure which way is which! lol)

So get ready with me and prepare for Real Talk. Candid-stylee. From a grown-ass woman, (whom struggles to pronounce the words ‘Financial Analysis’ in a sentence – but does enjoy the occasional profanity. – (You have been warned! lol))

I laughed a lot whilst filming this, longer-than average Tale of Tinder woes. I also cringed a fair amount.

And then I deleted the app. Content with extracting only material to amuse. The quest for Winter Warmth continues! hahaha

If you enjoy this video please hit the Thumbs Up button and don’t forget to Subscribe to my Youtube Channel for more!

I mean. How could you not want more?! lol

Love to all!

Thanks for watching!

Steph
Xx

 

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Time Lapses


 

 

Time Lapses

SLC84 (me!) Presents “Time Lapses.”

A short vid shot entirely on my iPhone X (big up modern technologies!) comprising of varied Time Lapse footage (who’da thought!) – because I am a little obsessed/fascinated with Time Lapse photography and it’s been a really long time since I had access to the tech that let’s me capture it! (Hence the appreciation!)

Expect poetic expression. A little acoustic Billy Joel cover with my amazing daughter Lorelei Jasmyn (@uke.lorlay on Insta) – A shot of the prettiest cows I’ve ever seen, making their way across a pasture at sun down, (life is beautiful) and some of the thoughts that have been occupying my brain these past few weeks.

Plus a little dose of Spiritual Truth. Not just my own, but universal truth. Delivered to those for whom it resonates and serving as a reminder to myself.

Manage your energy, instead of your time.

What is for you will not pass you by.

Much love to my tribe. For the inspiring, patient and supportive humans I am lucky enough to call my friends. Special thanks to Katy. Whose loyalty and love has been present and felt for 17 years and counting! It was only apt that she should be present for this latest release! (just as it was the coinciding with a full moon! Again. Life. Beautiful.)

Time. It’s a peculiar concept to me. All this rushing around.

Cycles? I understand. I can feel myself evolving, twisting into the right direction. Ready to start anew.

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Thank you for watching!

Steph Xx

The Death of Another Expectation

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The signal has been lost. Satellite navigational device unavailing. But the breaks are failing, so we journey on, hurtling through space in a throng of debris. 

I can’t see. But then I haven’t really been with me. Not really.

Mars has been retrograding, fire internalised. Felt like a furnace. The pressure to vent. Weeks without oxygen, energy spent just trying to breathe. 

The heat of the rays boiling blood by day almost unbearable by night. The truth was bright. Barr a few heavy showers sent to satisfy the parched grass, swelling tongues of the thirsty young and the dried eyed ducks without tear ducts. Whom don’t have the ability to cry. 

Not like I. 

For even in the absence of moisture in the air I soaked in the cares and wore the trauma like a coat in a sauna. My eyes cry themselves dry. Pain expelled pore by pore, yet still there’s more. 

Things I said I’d do before. Tasks to address, reasons to stress myself out.

My self out. Because without a doubt self has been MIA these past few days. And then some. And it’s not been fun. As I’ve tumbled along.

Just me.

My coat of trauma and a shit tonne of debris.

Body moans and groans under the strain. And when it finally does rain we cave in. Stressed out and caving in. We barely know where to begin. 

Within. I should imagine. Though imagination when Uranus energy is stationary is no easy feat. It’s hard to climb mountains in this heat. And the broken sat nav continues to make wrong turns down one way streets. And I’m mourning the loss of expectations I’ve yet to meet. And admitting defeat. 

Allowing the grief, though keeping it brief. Letting go. But slow. And trying not to feel like I don’t know where to go from here.  

Though I know, beyond the stressing, to acknowledge and count the blessing that is the waning phases of moon. Her beautiful waltz between full and new for I see they’ve turned me to face a new view. 

Grateful too am I for the sky and the realm up high whom I know send me miracles and invite me to fly. And I do try. Flapping my wings. It’s just that mid flap they keep crashing into things.

But I’m thankful too for the suns rays of truth though sometimes so loud, that I am not just a face in the crowd but force within. Just working under guise of flesh covered in skin.

Heart and soul know. The aim of the game is to train the brain to tame ego.

And I do so with the regurgitation of information that resonates with my soul, to remind me ‘I am whole.’ 

So head can sit still and hearts free will may stop looking for the imaginary hole to fill.

The trick is tantric mantras, 

And salutations to the sun. 

And Ram Dass and Bob Marley and love that’s felt as one. One love. Above all. It’s not about the fall. But the rise that comes after it all. 

I thought i was headed that way. But fate clearly has other plans and I must make peace and release and understand. 

For that’s what it means, to pour ones faith in the whispered offerings of the unseen. 

Even when they collide with my dreams. Ideas and notions I assumed were in motion, now burning like embers in a galactic space storm and i mourn. 

For my baby 10 years ago, asleep when he was born. 

For old love that was made and engraved and declared with innocent promises sworn.

For the arms that turned cold that had always held me together when I felt torn. 

For the missed stepping stone I was sure I was reaching though I have to admit I’m not sure what I’m seeking.

Apt then that I am now up in space, trying to erase old ways and adjust to a new phase when space is exactly what I need. From here I can plant new seeds. 

A new moon means soon new seeds will grow, where they go we do not yet know. I don’t even know if they will get to grow. 

But I know I must sow. And then let go. 

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Steph Xx

If Memories Lived in a Bank…

 

Tis a peculiar place, that where memories reside. Peculiar still that they call it a ‘bank’ when it’s really nothing of the sort.

In a bank assets are stored. Neatly. Sequentially. With order and reason.

One may consciously choose to select a memory at any given time, to access that data, analyse it, delete it even. Deposit new memories. It would make sense.

But the place where memories reside is not a database. And it cares little for reason or sense.

The place where memories reside is more like a pool. Fluid. Abstract. Prone to distortion.

Memories float. Some lurk in the depths, some drift to the surface. Some are such permanent fixtures. Staking a significant spot, standing the test of time, yet slowly becoming hidden by moss.

In this pool, of tantalising temptation, memories drift, sometimes they sink. Sometimes they plunge straight to the bottom, causing waves and dragging ones soul into darkness and despair. They can twist themselves into a vortex. They can lie.

Memories. The past instantaneously becoming the present. A flashback! Days gone by. History. His story. Your story. Mine.

If memories really lived in a bank I’d like to think they’d be 100% unequivocally reliable.

Accurate views of events. Captured in HD. All 365 degrees. That way they’d be irrefutable replicas of who, what, where, when and how.

We couldn’t question them.

If memories lived in a bank our records would match precisely. And we could replay our mutual scenes, with confidence and conviction, knowing we witnessed the exact same thing.

But the place where memories reside isn’t a bank. And it doesn’t care for clarity.

It was never crystal clear to begin with. How could it be? The data was constructed by another force entirely. Perception.

You see the place where memories reside is governed by perception.

Your goggles, my goggles.

Perception. Now that is something peculiar…

White Noise

Much of this world exists to me as white noise;
Static energy.
Interference from the masses.

White noise.
An all too apt name for this game.

Just the relentless and infinite popping and crackling of darkness and light.

Relentless and infinite and loud. Because it is loud, in all its varying shades of human grey.

Yet we see in technicolour, most of us, most of the time. Transmitters of energy ourselves, we instinctively know there’s more than just snow. More to be seen. Infinitely more.

Do you see me? Or just my appearance? Are you tuned into my channel? Or lost in interference? Flick, pop, crackle.

Maybe you tried banging on the set? Maybe you’ve even thought to turn the damn thing off.

Maybe you’ve forgotten you hold the remote?
Yep! You had it all along! You can switch from the default whenever you want.

Because that’s all the white noise is really. The default setting. Pre-set to someone elses frequency.

But rest assured, the screen is yours. You the antenna. The programming of your own design. Because you, my friend, have sole control of the remote.

You choose your frequency, how you program yourself, what you channel and more what you transmit.

You can switch off the white noise whenever you’re ready. And tune in to yourself some more.

Mirrors

In this life time, we hold mirrors up for each other.

Each and every one of us.
In each and every encounter.

An exchange of energy, yes, but also a valuable chance to really see 👀 ourselves. Through the eyes of another.

How you feel about me. . . The thoughts that arise, the judgements made, the light you witness. . . All merely reflections of you.

Sometimes you make me uncomfortable.
Arousing feelings of fear.
Sometimes I hate you.
Curse your name.
Wish to smash you to smithereens.

As you, your intentions aside, show me the darkness within my own soul. Darkness I am not always ready, nor willing to yet relinquish.

But sometimes you see me, Love at my core. We see each other.

The windows to our souls directly facing and finally we witness that which we yearn to see reflected back to us.

‘Namaste’ we say. The light in me recognises the light in you.

Other times I can hear your thoughts and I try a little too hard to compensate for your misinterpretation of me.

As though I could force you to speak my language in my native tongue.

But then I remember, one can only meet you at the place in which they’ve met themselves. Your opinion of me really is none of my concern.

It is simply a reflection of you. For you.

The mirror you hold to highlight my insecurities? That’s the image I claim as my own. And it shows me where to pour my love.

‘She must fill up her own cup first!’ They speak of me whilst I sleep.
‘She needs to fill her own cup.’

But I didn’t know how, until now. Now I see the mirrors and I’m no longer hiding from what they have to show me.

Now I’ll take the reflections and I’ll look at myself. And minus the man – made concept of shame and my ego’s desire to judge, I’ll see my own shadows. The sore bits. Tender to touch.

I’ll see where they came from. Shine my truth torch on that subject. Embrace it. It’s part of my life’s tapestry afterall.

And then I’ll release it. Let it go. Nurse the wounds with the love I know I encompass.

Love for you.
Love for myself.
Love for the journey.

Because when our cups are full our mirrors will gleam.

And we can hold them up higher, knowing that truth love and light will bounce and beam and finally be seen.

#RememberToFillUpYourOwnCupFirst
#ItsAllReflections
#ChooseWhatYouMirror
#SelfLove

Deep Diving & Piscean Healing

Yesterdays New Moon and all this Piscean energy. Oh my. I’ve barely slept in days.

I always think I’ll fair well with Pisces, my sun sign, especially with Neptune at home. Alas this has been deep! Even for me.

In my old life, I might have wallowed for a few days with this kinda energy. Drowned myself in chocolate and distraction. Or worse I might have victimised myself in it. Allowing a fearful mind to cast itself as the role of victim in whichever circumstances I may have found myself in.

But I know better than that now.

We are exposed to energies in every single moment in this life, energies we cannot necessarily perceive with our limited senses. (Especially if our minds are constantly absorbed in the past or worrying about the future.)

When you sit next to a stranger on the bus and you feel oddly uncomfortable. When you just ‘know’ something without your logical brain ‘knowing’ why you know it. When your body involuntarily shudders and you say, ‘someone just walked over my grave.’

Energy. That’s the name of the game.

But if your heart and your head are not in alignment with one another and your heart feels these energies, your (lovely logical problem-solving) mind will go into panic mode.

It will literally invent logical ‘reasons’ to justify why you’re feeling the way that you are.

Cue the violins. Cue the lists. (My mind likes to make lists.) And ego is well away. Providing a whole host of (pretty imaginative – credit where it’s due) reasons to feel like shit.

We literally invent reasons to justify the otherwise unexplained presence of the energies we feel.

And whilst the lists we invent for ourselves may be founded on our past experiences; worries and woes, things we’ve seen on TV, facts we think we know to be true, all good reasoning; they really serve as little more than a distraction from the truth.

Pay close attention. Breathe and absorb and let your mind rest a little. That’s what it takes to separate the wheat from the chaff. Fact from fiction. Love from fear.

When you understand that you are not your thoughts, nor your emotions you’ll see instead that they are there to signal something to you. Something bigger than your habitual thought patterns.

This was my discovery. A nugget of truth that first resonated in remembrance with my soul and is now slowing making its way into the depths of my cranium. Where it can strengthen and replace all old belief patterns and behaviours as it does so.

Because I know better than that now (a reminder to self.)

So now, when the energies rush into me I recognise them. Embrace them even. Let them soak into every pore of my being in the knowledge that they can’t stay. Everything is temporary.

Emotional waves; pushing and pulls, occur naturally throughout this universe. The tides, the currents, the pumping of the blood in your veins.

And we are merely vessels for this emotion.

Emotion. Always moving.

So now I know better. I know to release. To cry until I can do nothing else but ponder where this endless salty water falling from my eyes is coming from…?

(Cry. Do it. You’ll feel better.)

I know to express. To take any pain and let it speak through me. To let it be seen and heard and ffs acknowledged. Because all pain deserves recognition.

I know to honour these emotional waves when they hit, with my words and creations.

Without becoming attached to any pain. Without somehow identifying with it.

I know to let it wash over me.

Because that’s how we release. That’s how we heal. And this Piscean energy is all about the healing

Pisces will dive deep, scan the nooks and crannies of the emotional ocean bed and allow anything that needs attention, that needs releasing, to float to the surface.

I’ve got used to swimming in the deep end. It’s where I go to do all of my healing. Alas this time I almost ran out of air.

Today, a duvet of fluff in leau of the sky, a wind roaring furiously, bemused daffodils, naked in the snow and leaning away from the chill, tells me it’s not over.

Everything is frozen. Standing still. While the wind filters the energy and the clouds soak up the excess water.

And so I’ll do the same. Keep still a little longer and face the final chills. Safe in the knowledge that when the snow melts I’m gonna feel every drop of nourishing moisture in its wake.

And I’ll be so ready to welcome headstrong Aries and those trailblazing fire vibes with open arms.

 

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Sensitivity is not a Weakness.

February 23rd 1984. The sun in motion at 4° in the constellation of Pisces.

Water energy. That’s what I’m working with here.

Large eyes from which oceans may tumble and truths may be seen in technicolour.

Legs more like fins. A little unstable on dry land, but gracefully treading the waters below surface.

We like to swim. It’s what we’re good at. Plunging to the deepest darkest depths when others remain in shallow waters. We do shadows and light. We can’t help it. We feel both.

Emotions flood this particular Piscean like the ever-changing British weather on a daily basis. Like a cloud I can’t help but to soak up collective emotional energy. I just hope when I express it it has the same affect as the heavens rain. Providing nourishment for everything in her wake.

Astrology is an energetic language that feels quite native to me. I care not that it’s not everybody’s cup of tea, it isn’t supposed to be, but it has always spoken beautifully to me throughout my life.

As a little girl, sensitive to all around me I often felt like a fish outta water.

I know now I bob along that blurred line, swimming between the esoteric world and this one, at times more comfortable bathing in the shadows of that which we cannot see, for good reason.

It’s part of my purpose here.

All my life I felt that my sensitivity to feel another souls pain was a weakness. Now I embrace my empathic nature, knowing that I no longer need to anchor myself to another souls pain. Nor to wear another’s scars like hooks embedded in my flesh.

Instead I continue to filter what I can, to create my own currents and trust that my scales will reflect the light back to others.

Happy Birthday to my fishy friends 😂 And love to all the empaths fighting the good fight.

Motherhood:

A twisting turning, (occasionally) turbulent journey, one may suddenly find oneself embarking on; whereby a soul with unknown intent or forces incarnates into a tiny body, that we carry for a period of 9 months, (and worry about for the rest of our lives.)

And though it is often the fathers, whom are invited to severe the umbilical cord at birth, you can bet your bottom dollar that Love has already woven her own invisible binding between Mother and Child. And that shit is strong. Unbreakable. Fierce.

And from hereon acts as the undercurrent that keeps us sailing these unchartered waters.

A journey we take with just one half-decent navigational device, which we have to dig for. Because often it is shrouded in BS, (other people’s ideas and bullshit) and we’re not encouraged to trust it.

But trust it we must. Because our INSTINCTS are about the strongest tool we possess for surviving this journey.

It’s taken me 14 years of parenting, 6 pregnancies, 4 experiences of child birth, 3 children and many a sleepless night to discover this.

Your instincts; that internal pull, the ‘feeling in your waters’ as my Nan would say, is literally the only navigational device worth using.

Because no matter what the media tells you about being a Mother, no matter what preconditioned ideas society sells you; only you will know, as you get to grow with your child, what forces you are working with.

We have all these ideas before they’re born. About what they’re gonna look like, who they’re gonna be. We buy them pink or blue accordingly.

We ponder which genes will be more prominent, which attributes they may inherit, whose eyes, whose hair, whose smile…?

Even the ritual of naming our children is accompanied by at least some kind of preconceived notion of who we think they might grow to be.

And we might have an ego that’s seen and judged and criticised all the other parents, including our own, before concluding that we ourselves would do a much better job. So we ‘know’ which kind of parents we’re gonna be too.

All well and good until these children of ours show up, with forces as unique as the lines etched on their skin.

Their own eyes from which to see this world. Their own voices, albeit minus the guarantee they’ll get to use them. Their own internal compass drawing them to a destination we cannot yet know.

And suddenly the foundations upon which we built our expectations start to feel a little rocky, to say the least.

And much like the ever-changing phases in the moon meeting the relentless roll of the tide, our children change and grow. Dance through phases, bloom and shrivel like the darling buds of may.

They like to keep us on our toes.

Honestly without our instincts we’d drown.

But as they reveal themselves to us, our children, with all their phases, in all their states of glory they also hold up mirrors for us.

Reflections of ourselves.

And if we can just quieten those voices of judgement, the preconceived notions and ideas, the bs ingrained in us… if we have the right binoculars onboard, we can see those reflections.

Add them to instinct and it’s *plain sailing ahead!

*Sort of 😂

But once you see yourself, not just through the eyes of another soul, but through the lessons they gift you, you start to see the bits that need throwing overboard.

The parts of ourselves that exist only because someone else put them there. The stuff that anchors us to waters we don’t wish to dwell in. And if you’re having trouble discerning which parts of you to release INSTINCT will help with this too.

Three beacons of light, holders of my heart, truth bounce-backers were sent to join me in this life. 3 different voices that call me Mumma. 3 bearers of much of my love and indeed fear.

3 cubs. 1 Lioness.

But who is raising whom?

Motherhood: An ocean abundant in opportunities to evolve.

I grow, they grow.

And instinct is the only light house we need.