Have you heard of THE VAULT?

I want you to imagine for a second that you can tap into a VAULT.

Inside the vault is a bunch of templates, all neatly filed and labeled. Templates for happinesss, vitality, prosperity and abundance. Everywhere you turn, more templates for creativity, joy, peace and all the other things us humans need and want in order to live a fulfilled life.

What if I told you that the only way you can ACCESS that vault is through NOT wanting or needing those things? Right! You would give me the look.

Man, oh man, have I been there before too. I was like WTF!?

Have you ever noticed how the more we want something, the more we chase something, the more we desperately claw at the things, the more they seem to slip away? Think of yourself on the dating scene/job hunting/trying to fall pregnant. And, the moment you release it, boom!!…there it is? Rightttt?

I’ve found (after many years of bumping my head) that the fastest way to attract something is to release my attachment to it and to BE HAPPY ANYWAY. That energy of Surrender and Non Attachment is magnetic. It is a vibration of trust and faith that gets me straight into the vault.

Happy!

TRY IT! Simply ask yourself WHAT MAKES ME HAPPY? My list includes:

• Going to bed at 8pm
• 5am Meditation
• Going for a run
• Writing
• Learning spiritual “secrets”
• Red wine with my dad
• Writing
• Cooking for and with my children
• Travel
• The Ocean
• Fashion (gosh, I love fashion more than I realised)
• Playtime
• Karaoke and a bowl of hummus?! BAM!! I am happy as a kid in Krispy Kreme.

The Wise Ones have always told us that INSPIRED people are magnets for the stuff inside the vault and I think were right.

Perhaps you are inspired by opera, animals, karate, salsa and gardening? Just do more of that and let the vibration of JOY carry you.

See you inside the vault?

xoxo

Lee

P.S. Allow me to wish you a wonderful weekend and for my Jewish friends, a wonderful and SWEET new year.

“Crazy” is the new “free” (A short reflection on daring to be different)

I like “crazy” people,

 

You know the ones who sit down on the grass in a suit just because the spot is right and the grass is never going to be that particular shade of Jade again?

 

The ones who let their mascara run when a stranger’s baby takes their first steps?

 

The ones who eat bolognaise at breakfast and cereal at dinner?

 

The ones who simply say “not today”?

 

The ones who detox and retox in the same week?

 

The ones who leave all their curtains and windows open at midnight because it smells like rain?

 

The ones who collect shells, coins, feathers, and lavender even when it means their kids go Peter-from the-Bible on them?

 

The ones who have friends 40 years older, 30 years younger – some in places they can’t even pronounce?

 

The ones who have a silent melt down in the deli because they’ve run out of full fat double cream yoghurt?

 

The ones who simply say “not today”?

 

The grey ones who giggle in church, cry at sports matches and sing Spanish songs with all the wrong words?

 

The ones who dare to raise their hand and “object” when everyone around them is nodding?

 

The ones who wear clashing colours or their Wang wedding dress back to front simply because they prefer it that way?

 

I do love those people,

Because in a way 

we’re all dying to be “free”! 

 

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

 

 

Traffic Light Lady (A story about running your own race) – To the Trompies “MADIBUSENG” soundtrack

Someone I barely know asked me how I find the energy to chase my dreams with such gusto?  She continued by stating, quite matter of factly, that I seem to be one of those people to whom great opportunities “just come” and the lovely lady ended off by saying that she also noticed that I didn’t really have to “work very hard” to get to the finish line, often beating the ones who “slave away 9 to 5”.  

 

She touched my shoulder and smiled warmly. For impact.

 

I did not respond. I could not.  Words failed me.

 

Now, it doesn’t take a PhD student to understand why this was so problematic that it actually left ME speechless.  I think it may have something to do with the tone.  The tone of the 3 “facts” wrapped up as compliments, when in fact they were not.

 

I went through them in my head again:

1. Accusation 1:  I am the one chasing with gusto (implying that I am workaholic running uphill at high speed). So, a GREEN light sort of person?
2. Accusation 2:  Things just come (implying that I am in neutral, just waiting). So, an ORANGE light kind of person?
3. Accusation 3:  I don’t have to work very hard (implying that I pretty much rely on my fake boobs to bring in the moola). So, a RED light kind of person? – Every pun intended!

 

And, here’s the part where the penny is supposed to drop and I am supposed to deliver some profound sermon, dispelling the accusations and leaving the daft woman looking dafter. But no.  I fancy a different approach….

 

I’ve decided that the next time I see her, I will play the famous Trompies Song “Madibuseng” featuring the late and very great Lebo Mathosa (“Sometimes you red-y, sometimes you green-y, sometimes you orange-y”)  in my head and say:

1. “Good morning, can’t talk, gotta run…to Paris for my croissants and then back to Dubai for a meeting with Oprah and finally back to a TED Talk in Vegas. Gosh, when will I eat?” (The colour GREEN should come to your mind right about now)
2. I will continue “Oh wait! Sorry, I think I will just go back to bed and meditate. You know? We can have anything we want if we just believeeeeeee (and do “ohm” with my hands)” (You feeling organgy yet?)
3. Acting all excited I will then add, “No, no, actually, let me call my butler. I sooooo need a wax (roll eyes), a spray tan, my extensions fixed, eyelashes lifted but first…let me pop this pill. You know? It puts you in a coma so you don’t have to be awake during the process” (at which point I can put a red Smartie in my mouth).

 

Crap man! Who am I kidding?

 

While I do love that Trompies song very much, I won’t have timeeeeeeee to disarm the woman because I will be so busy driving to work on a tank with a flashing orange fuel guage to finish a PowerPoint presentation in order to meet a deadline in order to meet my KPI’s, hoping to get a bonus while touching up my grey hair with mascara and wondering how to turn leftover KFC into Chicken A La King for a family dinner!  You know? I will be busy chasing, working, running, hustling, doubting, fixing, negotiating like the rest of the world…..

 

So, before I let old Chairman of the Peanut Gallery get to me, best I remember that what other people think of us, is actually none of our business.  © A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

Aluta continua, as they say. The road to learning to run our own race and let others run theirs is longer for some than others.  I wish you a short one, friends.

 

 

COPYRIGHT: 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

 

The Girl who was raped (A story about picking your battles)

I realised I was overdressed but it was too late to do anything about it. So, I kept my long vintage leather coat on, accepted a glass of wine and wandered around the bookstore trying to very hard to blend.  It was futile, really.

 

I was there to attend a book launch. About rape. A young girl’s rape. 

 

The author’s mother, a psychologist, was in the audience. I turned around to see her smile. I thought about my own mom and jealousy, not sadness, flooded my veins. I knew that I would never again get that wink that only a mother can give.

 

So, overdressed, tipsy and a little jealous, I sat my bum down and brought my full attention to the moment.

 

The author had researched rape expensively for her Honours thesis and in a bloody cruel twist of fate, she was raped on the very night that she had presented her research and was out to celebrate.

 

My jealousy faded. My heart flooded with sadness. The kind of sadness that made jealousy incomprehensible.

 

“The Girl who was raped” seemed centered. Composed. Vulnerable but focused.  My heart saluted hers as I admired her dark eyebrows framing those eyes filled with courage.

 

And then came the questions. I could have sworn that three people had been planted by AMSA, the Association for Morons in South Africa. 

 

Moron Number 1 suggested that young women on her town square “provoke” men by the way they dress/act. Short-shorts and laughter. You know? A deadly “come get me now” combo.  I kid you not.

 

The other had it on good authority (someone she worked with 39 years ago) that it was “normal” for black people to rape/be raped. And no, she didn’t blur her face while making this statement.

 

Then the Chairman of AMSA spoke.  With a dead straight face, he pleaded with 50 women to be sympathetic to the plight of the man who simply doesn’t know if no means yes or if no really means no. Again, his true identity was not concealed and he didn’t intend to apply for police escort. He was just really “confused”.

 

My blood pressure was rising and I was starting to look crazy. I had already stuck my hand up twice. “I disagree” to the first woman’s input and “I object! I object!” while the second moron spoke.  I seemed to be the only person in the room on this vibration, possessed by the spirit of Joan of Arc.

That’s when I did the most sensible thing of the evening.  I called my Uber and took my ass home.

 

Rather that, than I be mistaken for Deputy Chairperson of AMSA.  Things were certainly heading in that direction….

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016