Today is Tuesday, and I am sitting here on my freshly made bed in my recently rearranged bedroom whilst my playlist jumps between Om and Dead Can Dance tracks. My room is only lit by a dark orange, almost red light bulb and one beeswax candle. I am looking at the fresh foliage I picked from the garden, some elder branches, to be exact. I have somehow managed to be wearing every piece of gold jewellery I own feeling chuffed with myself – chuffed at the number of products I managed to layer onto my face and body without thinking twice or being heavy-handed. You see, I came into my bedroom to do my daily practice, but somehow on my way to my sheepskin, ready to chant, meditate, breathe and be a slightly more fine-tuned version of myself, I got sidetracked.
As I walked into my room, I smoothed out the creases in my linen sheets, closed the blinds and lit the palo santo next to my bed, allowing its smoke to circle around the room. I ran my hand over my armoire, admiring its antique beauty and appreciating how the oriental brass handles are beginning to tarnish to the most beautiful shade of turquoise. The handles have now become the perfect shade to match that random crystal I bought all those years ago but hid away because the colour (bright turquoise) clashed with all my other objects (in true Libran style, I was, only now, truly pleased that I had bought it). As I dusted the top of the armoire, I moved things around, making everything symmetrical, including my beauty products sitting on top of the armoire: pretty black bottles, begging me to use them and lather them all over my face and body.
Feeling like I had stepped out of a bath of liquid honey and sprinkled with gold dust like a royal queen from Ancient Egypt, I decided that I must change my clothes – I have been wearing these silk pyjama pants for too long. So I slip into one of my many slips and spray myself with a beautiful scent of jasmine, tuberose and hinoki wood, a scent that transports me to the lands where this armoire was built decades ago. My sheer black cape-like robe touches my calves in the breeze of my swift movements, and I think how it must be time to sit and do my practice.
Time passes, the girls’ movie ends, and I think to myself how this is almost a daily occurrence, this moment of being lost in beauty. Each time I prepare to meet myself and meditate, I prepare myself as though I was having guests over or preparing for a weekend with my lover, just me and him.
These series of things are entirely unintentional, and purely the result of my being present and connected to what is tantalising me through my surroundings. As I meet myself daily in these moments, the sequence of movements and actions varies, but it becomes more refined as time goes by. I realise that these very acts are sacred moments, these acts of pleasuring myself with things that connect me to the love and joy I hold with myself. How far I have come! By connecting with my senses and being mindful, I am leaving no space for self-doubt and confusion to creep in. I am surrounding myself with beautiful things, making me feel beautiful, allowing inner beauty to radiate outwards.
It is almost as though the acts of dressing, oiling, and adorning myself are a ceremony, an initiation, a summoning.
As the days roll by and the list of things I need to get done for the week seems to feel almost unachievable, things have had to be culled. And other things must be completely redesigned so that everything becomes manageable. I will not allow those old habitual patterns of skipping meals, going to bed at midnight and rising before the morning birdsong, fueled by rushed coffee and high stress to overtake me. These very patterns were the ones that almost killed me over 12 years ago… they were not sustainable.
My daily practice has changed lately to make space for the changing home environment. With all three of my girls now being homeschooled, they are with me every day. Rising at 5:00 AM to sit in silence just doesn't feel so luxurious and appealing to me anymore. It was once one of my favourite things to do. Encouraged by the ego, it became my most sacred place where dreams were pulled down from the Ethers and magnificent things – things of dreams – manifested right before my eyes. Things like having Net-A-Porter begging to have my products and Marie Kondo asking me to create a unique Ritual Kit for her and her audience. These are things I dreamed of, not in so much detail and to the height to which they manifested, but rather by the desire to be seen and recognised for how much detail and effort I put into all things I create. Those early morning moments of clarity gave me the space to create with my whole being and produce these ideas, to bring them to life, to come to me. Now, I am in a place of trying to hold onto the wheel and not lose control or sway off course; to keep up financially, grow my business while still never having to work a 9-5; to balance and hold onto it all whilst doing things my way. As a result, my morning practice has morphed into a rather practical one that provides my family and me with food. Yes, I still have a meditation practice, but the daily sourdough has replaced those silent 5:00 AM mornings.
Having to tend to something daily has forced me to not have excuses or be too tired or too busy, for if I fail to tend to the starter, my family does not get bread. In a time where the number of things to achieve in one day would scare the most disciplined person, this has been such a beautiful moment of pause. Every day the sourdough needs to be fed, and with my constant need for things to be pretty and appealing, it means that it needs to be placed into a fresh jar, stirred with a specific spoon, and the water filter needs to be full. The dough needs to be precisely timed, folded, stretched and shaped, rested to fold, stretch and shape one more time. It needs to be baked for precisely 30 minutes, lid on and a further 10 with the lid off. My girls know this routine and wait for the hot bread to be ready, sitting at the oven watching and waiting. For the first time in over a decade, I enjoy bread, bread with lashings of butter, raw cream and fresh jam too.
Our daily bread has become a ritual of love, tenderness, attention, precision and routine over and over and over again. The art of breadmaking is an organoleptic experience, an action that uses the senses, all of the senses - an experience of complete presence. I know I mention throughout all of my work the importance of connecting through the senses, but it is through the connection to our senses that we become embodied, we heal, we transmute. It is how we practise magick, because everything we do is connected to feeling, to how we feel. The feelings that are invoked from the words I write, to the words I speak. The things we feel affect our state of mind and our behaviour. You see, to be a good baker, you have to lose yourself, lose yourself in the connection between what your hands are doing, your eyes are seeing, the nose is smelling, the ears are hearing, and all the while the heart and the breath slow down. This beautiful combination of experiences is like a symphony to the soul, the ultimate act of presence and mindfulness. It has been so healing for me, healing towards my relationship with food and the tenderness and devotion that is required to make a perfect loaf, the loaf that then nourishes my family and brings us all together. Something I longed for as a child was a mother who spent her time in the kitchen cooking up a plethora of marvellous treats just for you to devour one bite at a time.
So next time you see my baking posts on socials and ask me how I do it all, know that it is the baking of the daily bread that enables me to prioritise things in my life and heal a little bit more. It is not me doing it all but merely another way I have discovered to show up each day and have an experience through the senses, to invite a sensual experience. It is amazing what we can accomplish with presence and attention (and a good levain).
A symbiotic and intuitive act that gifts you with so much more than just that moment or the end result. For I am not doing it all, no one is. I am rather choosing to do what I enjoy and give it every piece of me, give it my all.
Amoureuse,
Brooke x
I truly loved reading this. Your unintentional/intentional process is captivating and enchanting and such a beautiful reminder for me to know that doing things with intention will eventually be second nature, unconscious even; a reminder to remain present whilst following your pleasure; a reminder that you don't have to do it all but do the things that return you to you. Definitely a piece I will be returning to again and again.
Oh Brooke, I have enjoyed reading this with such attention to every word. Thank you for this lovely gift.