Blue Walls and Pretty Thoughts

a blue rug for blue walls

The joy my new blue walls has given me is immense. It’s inspired me to do some general restyling and decluttering although the latter not done a là Marie Kondo. Because, in the words of Diana Vreeland, the eye must travel and how can it travel if, in a minimalist setting, it has nowhere to go?

The walls painted, I sat on my bed and soaked up the blue. The beauty of the color gave me a tremendous sense of pleasure.

Beauty has a healing power. That’s why our soul hungers for it. So if beauty makes us feel good, why have we let the world become so ugly?

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Breaking the Loop

The Grey Cloud was waking me up every night. I felt Apocalypse Now living in my gut—the emotions were so strong that I physically felt them. Descartes made a big mistake when he thought he could separate the mind from the body.

Stress was creating a chemical imbalance that was making me depressed. Depression is, in part, a feeling of impotence when affronted with a situation beyond one’s control. What I needed was to feel in control again even if in a realm that had nothing to do with the origins of my stress. So, to make my depression dissipate, I decided to paint my bedroom walls.

My Fairy Princess came to help me. And when the beige wall turned a blue pastel, I could feel the new energy. Fresh paint had given me fresh thoughts.

Advice to myself: The best way to change the mood of a room is to paint the walls. Because color can change your vibrations.

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Related: Color Vibration

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The Turning Point

The Grey Cloud keeps following me. So, when I came across an article regarding Victor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning, I wrapped my eyes around it.

Frankl writes about his experience at Auschwitz because it was here that he learned what the primary purpose of life is. Often we seek meaning in our work, our loves, and our effort to be courageous in the moment of difficulty. Frankl’s imprisonment helped him understand how the intensification of one’s inner life was fundamental for his survival. Although the camp was not a place to create positive experiences, that couldn’t keep him from thinking about the ones he already had.

Because life is about making choices and it’s the choices we make that give our life meaning.

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” Victor Frankl

Choices need options so there’s not much else to do but construct them if I want to move forward.

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Related: Viktor Frankl on the Human Search for Meaning + The Bench

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The Sky Keeps Following Me Wherever I Go

I am slowly creeping into the new year. I don’t know what to expect so I want to be ready to run.

The sky has a strange color like a white bed sheet that got washed with black jeans. It’s been like this for several days now. And we are all feeling waterlogged.

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Daphne and the Bay Leaf

Sometimes we go for a walk at Villa Ada. I took a clipping from one of the laurel shrubs and stuck it in a pot on our balcony. Now it’s growing and aims for the sky. Laurel, aka bay leaf, is used in cooking. But it has more than just flavour. Bay leaf helps treat digestive problems, lowers blood sugar, eliminates bad cholesterol, and helps fight insomnia. And, in you boil the leaves and inhale the steam, you can get rid of phlegm and reduce a cough.

In Greek myth, Daphne was a naiad, that is, a water nymph. She was quite lovely so the naughty Cupid put a curse on Apollo causing him to fall madly in love with her. But Daphne was not interested. She tried running away from the arrogant god but he chased her and demanded a kiss. Desperate, Daphne cried out to her father, the river god Peneus, for help. To save her from Apollo’s lust, Peneus transformed his daughter into a laurel tree.

In Greek, the name Daphne (Δάφνη) means “laurel”.

Bernini’s statue of “Apollo and Daphne” at Villa Borghese depicts the beginning of Daphne’s transformation into a tree. Her fingers have turned into branches and her toes are now roots that keep her well anchored to the ground.

So for all you tree huggers, don’t squeeze the laurel.

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Related: The Metamorphoses of Ovid…read on archive.org HERE.

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