Small Joys, Big Medicine My Oracle moon card today was "celebrate", which felt very fitting for this week. I’ve been thinking a lot about how celebration is so often saved for the biggest moments, when really some of the things most worth celebrating are much more ordinary than that. Coming back to the page. feeling the sun on your skin. . Noticing something beautiful. Making time for yourself again. Keeping going when nobody else can really see the effort it took. Those things matter. I think we can be so quick to move on, or brush past the very things that are helping us, just because they look small from the outside. But small joys can hold so much. This line came to mind today too: “I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.”— Sara Teasdale I really love that. This week, I’d love to know what one small thing you’re celebrating in yourself or your life. The Philosopher I saw him sitting in his door, Trembling as old men do; His house was old, his barn was old, And yet his eyes seemed new. His eyes had seen three times my years And kept a twinkle still, Though they had looked at birth and death And three graves on a hill. “I shall sit down with you,” I said,“ And you will make me wise; Tell me how you have kept the joy Still burning in your eyes?” Then like an old-time orator He said as he arose: “I make the most of all that comes And the least of all that goes” The jingling rhythm of his words Echoed as old songs do — Yet this had kept his eyes alight Till he was ninety-two. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Typed_poem,_%22The_Philosopher,%22_by_Sara_Teasdale,_no_date_-_DPLA_-_7f202a4405cda80c20bafdc1f7d5c9b9.jpg

“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” That line from Nelson Mandela has really been carrying me lately. I’m in one of those seasons where I’m building something I care deeply about, but it is asking so much of me. Every day I seem to be learning something new, because so much of what I’m doing, I’ve never done before. It’s draining, time-consuming, rewarding, exciting and honestly a bit overwhelming at times too. But I keep thinking about how many things in life felt impossible to me… until I did them. Until I learnt them. Until I overcame them. Until I realised I was actually capable of more than I thought. This morning I was reading a chapter written by my friend Lauren Kinghorn in Everyday Miracles, and it made me think about what miracles really are. Sometimes they are not huge dramatic moments. Sometimes they are the everyday impossibilities that stay impossible until we make them happen. And I think that’s where I am right now. Just quietly building. Quietly learning. Quietly proving to myself that I can do things I once thought were beyond me. So if something feels impossible to you right now, maybe it is not impossible at all. Maybe it is just waiting for you to keep going.

Our Gathered gold post is following this weeks theme of gratitude. Usually, this is where I share a poem or piece of writing that has inspired me and mirrors the week’s theme - Noticing What Is Already Here. This week is a little different. This week, I’m indulging in sharing one of my own poems. Maybe I’m reminiscing about my Scottish home. Maybe I’m thinking about the small glimmers that surround me each and every day. Maybe the sounds of waves coming of the South China Sea are somehow sending me a message from far, far away, back to the Scottish North Sea. I don’t know. But my mind has been drifting back to that day I wrote Shore walk. The Scottish summer was warm, but the wind still cut salted air across my cheeks and tangled my hair into knots. I stood in wonder at all that was there on that beach that day, and I wrote a poem about it. With gratitude. Noticing what is already there. Shore Walk Where did you come from, stone? Were you once magnificent - praised, beloved, organic worn by tides and crushing blows? Sleepy in the dark, alone, time pushing on. Were you washed up many times before this shore rested your crown? Did you come from far, sand? Cultivated by winds and waves, how many years of knowledge have gathered in your grains? Shape shifter, sand drifter. Culture and wisdom long forgotten, as you return to dust. Where did you come from, glass? Your broken pieces once sparkled so bright - trinket, vessel, vase. You do not fear the endless tides - eternal union, your kind companion. She sees your weathered beauty, what you have become. Soft, gilded, opaque, her sea swims you home. Where are you going, wave? Here and there, near and far, cadence between the earth and stars - hypnotic dance to moonlight. A partner to the winds, the sky and me. Distant shores call my name, foamy echoes embraced in swell - gentle, strong, forever, farewell.

Today I would love to officially welcome in our newest member @Viktoria Chervenkova. A warm welcome to you and thank you for bringing your beautiful energy to us. Over the past few days I am reminded why I started this group and indeed Lovecore. Living with chronic Illness, can feel lonely and the need for connection and understanding is important. I wanted to create a space that would feel energised, positive, empowered. Not toxic positivity, just something real, something alive, with like minded people who love life, who want to heal from the inside out. I learned that it wasn’t just people living with chronic illness that needed the space, it’s for everyone on a healing journey…burnt out, feeling lost, life changes, healing trauma, loss, tired of loving everyone else except yourself. Lovecore is for everyone - because, everyone should love themselves better. Song of the Open Road - Walt Whitman https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48859/song-of-the-open-road?utm_source=chatgpt.com Today’s poem is just gorgeous! And I feel like it really embraces that feeling of loving life. I love it so much, it made me smile which is why I wanted to share it with you today. I think the meaning behind it, is that, we really don’t need to have it all figured out, we just need to enjoy life / the journey! The adventure! What do you think?

Thank you for being here at the beginning. @Lauren Kinghorn @Susan Rennie @Rose McClement @Tamara Mairowicz I dwell in Possibility by Emily Dickinson I dwell in Possibility - A fairer House than Prose - More numerous of Windows - Superior - for Doors Of Chambers as the cedars - Impregnable of eye - And for an everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky - Of Visitors - the fairest - For Occupation - This - The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise -