Reflection Meditation

30/05/2026

I like the vibe of this evening, dusk is that moment when the day finally relaxes, the light doesn’t disappear all at once, it drifts off slowly, like a little paper boat floating away, the birds are still chirping, almost as if the day is sending its last tiny notes before night takes over.

In Tagore’s poem, the child launches the boats in daylight, but by the end they are floating “under the midnight stars”, carrying dreams, dusk feels like the perfect in‑between space for that, a bridge between the world we can see, streams, flowers, birds, and the world we can only feel or imagine, sleep, stars, dreams.

But the poem is more than this, it is about hope, imagination, longing, and that soft human wish to reach beyond our own small corner of the world, and even if most of us have never floated a paper boat down a stream, the idea of letting thoughts drift away, like placing worries on a leaf and watching it move with the current, feels like a gentle way to find a bit of peace.

25/05/2026

What you feed grows; what you ignore usually fades.

Resentment grows when you replay it.
Gratitude grows when you learn to notice it.
Fear grows when you rehearse the worst‑case scenes.
Self‑criticism grows when you believe every sharp thought.
Calm grows through small, steady habits.

Choose carefully what receives your attention.

22/05/2026

I got inspired by David Attenborough’s reminder that sometimes we need to step back and remember we have no greater right to be here than any other animal. So last Saturday, I invited this little bird to join me at my table.

I still can’t tell from the second picture whether he actually enjoyed the visit, but I’m fairly sure he wasn’t impressed by the scone I offered him. It was ginger–raspberry. I’m guessing he’s not a ginger fan.

Let’s see what his opinion will be tomorrow.

15/05/2026

This image from the poem is so evocative, I cannot get it out of my head.

Béla Markó: Olive Branch

Naturally, we loved the pigeons.
Gentle as a dove. A dove’s soul. A pair of doves.
All understanding. Sensitivity. Whiteness.
It is no accident that these birds
are symbols of peace. They bring us an olive branch
after the flood. Of course, it bothered us
that they came over from the neighbour’s attic
and dirtied the wall beneath the bathroom window.
But we solved it. We fitted a grille there.
They still flew around in the garden.
Now and then they landed on the roof.
Once we found one of them in the yard,
dragging its wing, unable to fly away.
We gave it water, and some millet,
and took it into the garage for the night.
By morning it had recovered, and by the time
we turned away for a moment or two,
it was gone.
Then we came to hate the pigeons.
That summer there had been no rain
for long weeks, and meanwhile they built a nest
in the gutter. We could not see it from below,
and we did not have a ladder long enough
to climb up there, but most likely
they had already hatched their young,
because after a while it seemed
there were more of them, scratching the metal
more and more loudly as the chicks grew.
At least that was what we assumed.
Constant noise, and a stench too.
Down below, thick pigeon s**t.
We had to watch where we stepped.
Everyone knows that even a bird
does not foul its own nest.
I would never have thought it possible
to hate the peace dove so much.
Drop dead!
May you rot!
Then I read up on it.
Pigeons spread all kinds of diseases.
Never mind, I said to Anna,
these ones have not got a scrap of sense.
After all, the rain will come sooner or later
and wash them out.
And it did.
The summer ended with a huge storm,
lightning flashed, thunder rolled,
rain poured down all evening.
I wonder what has happened to the pigeons?
I went outside.
It was dark. I shone a torch up there.
Two of them were sitting on the edge of the gutter.
Only two.
Soaked, with their feathers sticking out.
They were silent, pressed close together.
Down here, water was pouring
from the mouth of the drainpipe.
I loved them again.
I was ashamed that I had hated them before.
But I am afraid that love will not last long either.
I do not know how we could change our lives.
Perhaps this alone would be enough:
to see that those who are strong
are weak too.

Markó Béla: Olajág

Természetesen szerettük a galambokat.
Galambszelíd. Galamblélek. Galambpár.
Csupa megértés. Érzékenység. Fehérség.
Nem véletlen, hogy a béke szimbólumai
ezek a madarak. Olajágat hoznak nekünk
özönvíz után. Persze zavart, hogy átjártak
a szomszéd ház padlásáról, és a fürdőszoba
ablaka alá piszkítottak. De megoldottuk.
Szereltünk oda egy rácsot. Röpködtek
így is a kertben. Le-leszálltak a háztetőre.
Egyszer az udvaron találtuk az egyiket,
húzta a szárnyát, nem tudott elrepülni.
Vizet adtunk neki, valamennyi kölest is,
éjszakára bevittük a garázsba. Reggelig
helyrejött, és amire egyet-kettőt fordultunk,
már nem volt ott. Aztán meggyűlöltük
a galambokat. A nyáron hosszú hetekig
nem volt eső, és közben fészket raktak
az ereszcsatornába. Lentről nem láthattuk,
és nincs olyan hosszú létránk, hogy odáig
felmásszunk, de minden bizonnyal már
költöttek is, mert egy idő után mintha
többen lettek volna, mind hangosabban
kaparták a bádogot, ahogy nőttek a fiókák.
Legalábbis ezt feltételeztük. Állandó zaj
és bűz is. Lent pedig galambszar vastagon.
Meg kellett nézni, hova lépünk. Köztudott,
hogy a madár sem piszkít a fészkébe.
Nem gondoltam volna, hogy ennyire lehet
utálni a békegalambot. Fordulnátok fel!
Dögölnétek meg! Majd utánaolvastam.
A galambok sokféle betegséget terjesztenek.
Nem baj, mondtam Annának, ezeknek
egy csepp eszük sincsen. Hiszen úgyis
jön az eső előbb-utóbb, és kiönti őket.
Tényleg. Hatalmas viharral ért véget a nyár,
villámlott, dörgött, zuhogott egész este.
Vajon mi van a galambokkal? Kimentem.
Sötét volt. Zseblámpával odavilágítottam.
Ültek ketten a csatorna szélén. Csak ketten.
Ázottan, szétálló tollakkal. Hallgattak
egymáshoz simulva. Idelent a csatorna
szájából ömlött a víz. Ismét szerettem őket.
Szégyelltem, hogy azelőtt gyűlöltem.
De félek, hogy a szeretet sem tart sokáig.
Nem tudom, hogyan lehetne változtatni
az életünkön. Talán csak ennyi kellene.
Látni, hogy gyengék azok is, akik erősek.

Artwork: hipicture

08/05/2026

Beauty can grow out of the smallest pieces of everyday life: a folded blanket, a warm cup of coffee, flowers in a jar, clean sheets, a candle at dusk, a meal made with care, a song playing while you cook.

A favourite book left open, sunlight on the table, fresh air through an open window, a few minutes of silence, a gentle word.

We don’t always need grand gestures to restore ourselves. Sometimes it’s enough to notice what’s already here and add a little care to it.💗

Artwork: yayangart

04/05/2026

I’ve realised that almost everything I genuinely enjoy ends up feeling like a mindfulness practice. I’ve just come back from a music festival this weekend, and I’m still completely blown away by the experience.

Music is lovely as background noise, but when you’ve paid for a ticket, when you’ve chosen to be there, your attention sharpens. You really listen to what’s in front of you and what’s entering your ears.

I like being close to the stage. That’s where I become fully aware of everything: the rhythm, the posture of the musicians, their gestures, the texture of their voices. And then there’s the structure of the music itself, the choruses, refrains, dance rhythms, those circular patterns that loop and loop. They pull you into a focused, absorbed state.

Repetition steadies your attention. Rhythm organises your whole bodily awareness. And when the crowd sings together, something softens, self-consciousness drops away and you just become part of the sound. In those moments, music blurs the boundary between performer and audience; everyone is contributing to the same pulse, the same breath, the same feeling.

Good music doesn’t just entertain you; it makes you feel something. It shifts something inside you!

24/04/2026

We return what we receive, like a stone returning the sun’s warmth, in its own quiet way.

18/04/2026

As the sun returns and the days begin to soften, take a moment, when you can, to sit down on a bench and simply listen.

Spring is full of small sounds we usually miss: the soft buzz of bees moving from flower to flower, the gentle rustle of new leaves in the breeze, branches creaking as they wake up again, the gentle trickling of the fountain’s water droplets, light rain beginning to fall, petals drifting quietly to the ground.

Even a single bee in motion carries a whole world of quiet sound.

When you really listen to nature, to music, or even to silence, something shifts. You slip out of “doing mode,” where you’re thinking, planning, and solving, and into “being mode,” where you are simply present, aware, and open.

In that state, you’re not trying to fix anything. You’re just experiencing. Your attention finally settles into the moment.

…and the moment feels different, in a good way.

17/04/2026

I’ve always leaned toward being an earthy type—steady, rational, rooted—carrying both the strength and the weight of that nature.

So I’m learning to soften my relationship with seriousness, letting productivity loosen its grip.

In my yoga and meditation practice, I’ve been inviting the Air element: expansion instead of compression, gentle twists that create space, side stretches that lengthen the breath, and open-armed movements that remind me how far I can reach.

In meditation, I open the window, even when it’s cold, and let the air meet me, breathing freely, without control, simply following its rhythm. In that openness, I listen to sounds within and around me and notice sensations and thoughts as they rise and fall, without needing to shape them, simply allowing them to be.

By the way, if you’re wondering, Anne Morrow Lindbergh was a writer and aviator, known for her book Gift from the Sea, and as the wife and flying partner of Charles Lindbergh, the pilot who made the first solo nonstop flight across the Atlantic. Her work reflects on simplicity, rest, and stepping away from the noise of life to reconnect with what truly matters.

If you’re curious about how to bring more airy, earthy, fiery, or watery qualities into your own daily routine, feel free to message me. Happy to help.😊

12/04/2026

Everything starts small, often unseen.

We live forward, but understand backwards, as Kierkegaard once wrote.

Ane Brun sings of how “revolution from dreams” can rise from almost nothing.

And lately, it feels as if a country I know is holding its breath; waiting for the moment when dust begins to move.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMCQgb1YxI8

It all starts somewhere
It all starts with one
Everything comes from something
It all starts with one
It all starts somewhere
It all starts with one
Nothing comes from nothing
It all starts with one
First everything is dry
Before the dew and the drops align
Then the rain starts falling down
Then comes the flood, the flood
The flood, the flood
The flood, the flood
We all start somewhere
We all start with one
Everyone comes from something
We all start with one
We all start somewhere
We all start with one
No one comes from nothing
We all start with one
First everything is quiet
A breath of air from lips and tongue
Then the sound makes the world wild
One, two, three more
We can do more
Much more, let's do more
Much more, let's say more
We are more
Stones from dust
Anger from fear
Poetry from heartbeats
Revolution from dreams
Revolution from dreams
Revolution from dreams
It all starts somewhere
It all starts with one
Everything comes from something
It all starts with one
Starts with one

Listen on Spotify: http://open.spotify.com/artist/2L3kwZFd16zjHz9a5kEPAmDownload on iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/se/artist/ane-brun/id24134087Follow Ane o...