Do you know this song?

Music plays an important role in my life and there are so many memories which are attached to various songs. When I listen to one of them it brings up the specific situation or person who is connected with this song. It’s actually incredible what our brain does.

“I am light” will always remind me of the Retreat and Te Rau.

Te Rau was singing this song at the last evening of my stay. It was a night with a starry sky and she started playing the first chords. Her amazing voice was so powerful and her words literally touched my soul. 

Tears were running down my face. It felt like she was talking to me. 
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She reminded me that even though I have felt quite lost and alone for some time me and my light are still there. Maybe it doesn’t shine as bright but it still glows.

 Kindness

My mum used to say “Be kind to others” and as a child I had no idea that kindness will be so important to me one day.
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Being kind is the hug you give a friend who is going through a difficult time; the message you send to check in on your sister who is sick or the cookie you put on the desk of your colleague who seems to be having bad day.

You don’t even need to know the person to be kind.  A simple act of kindness can be the smile you give a stranger in the supermarket; holding the door open for someone or the “Good morning” to the bus driver.

It doesn’t take much to be kind and you can literally start straight away.  Little and bigger acts of kindness can make such a difference in people’s life.  It makes them feel noticed, cared for and valued.  But it will also make a difference to you.

It will fill you with warmth; joy and will most likely put a smile on your face - because you did something good for someone else.

Kindness is limitless. Kindness is free. Kindness is magic.

​I’ve been contemplating the grey mass of cloud obscuring Taranaki for nearly a week without a sight of the mountain now. I’m surrounded by reminders of its existence, the rich pasture, the rain and the streams, but also a series of more literal symbols. In nearly every room of the retreat where I’m staying, there’s a representation of the mountain somewhere. There are paintings. There are signs with the logo – the shape of the mountain in a circle. Even the bug hotels that the Building Mates team has been constructing have the shape of a tall peak, representing Taranaki. But of the mountain itself there has been no sign.

It’s a shame, because I’ve been lucky enough to have a bedroom which looks directly towards the mountain. But the window of my bedroom is nothing in comparison to the stunning windows of the chapel, a small prefab with hundreds of colourful handprints decorating the outside. One wall, the one facing towards the mountain, is almost entirely glass, three enormous windows which invite you to look outwards and contemplate the breathtaking view. Or contemplate the clouds cloaking that breathtaking view, should Taranaki, at that moment, be lost from sight.

The chapel is a place for contemplation and reflection, along with meetings, yoga, drum practice and whatever else people need the space for. I’ve done Tai chi there every morning, lighting the candles and trying to keep my mind focused on my breath and my body as I move through the form. But my mind has inevitably strayed to the mountain I’ve been unable to see.

It is no accident that the windows of the chapel face Taranaki. The mountain is a powerful symbol, drawing the soul as much as it draws the eye. Even its frequent disappearance behind the cloak of cloud is a source of metaphor. People who come here are struggling. Under the weight of the burdens they carry, it becomes difficult to see what’s important. The clouds – their suffering, their struggle, their pain – have obscured the mountain. But the mountain is still there, and the clouds will eventually pass, revealing Taranaki again. There’s a note to this effect on the wall of the chapel, inviting people to meditate on the mountain and its meaning to them.

But there’s something else I’ve seen in Taranaki, something which becomes clearer the more I study the mountain’s geology and history. What people love so much about the mountain is its stunning shape, the way its slopes gently curve up to the solitary, sharp peak. This shape is portrayed in images of Taranaki across the region and across the world. But, as I’ve realised, that shape is a sign of Taranaki’s inherent instability. It has formed as a result of eruption cycles where the cone is built up and then collapses, then is built up before collapsing again and again. The beautiful, steep slopes have spawned the lahars and landslides that are so destructive and yet have also given Taranaki its beautiful soil.

Taranaki Retreat is much like the mountain. The warmth of its welcome does not come from wealth and ease. It was built by people who know suffering. It is maintained by people who know suffering. It’s brought to life by people who know suffering. Each day, people give their time and energy and love to the Retreat because they remember when they carried what seemed like an unbearable burden. Perhaps, like Taranaki, like me, they did their best to build themselves up, only to find themselves falling apart, again and again. But out of their suffering has come something beautiful and rare. From their experience, they find something to give to others who also suffer. The pain they’ve experienced has become their motivation, their compassion, their empathy. From their darkest times, they’ve created a place that brings people healing and hope.

Do you ever feel somehow blindfolded in your life and have no idea where to go next?
Why am I here?
What's my purpose?
Is my life meaningful?

Before I went to the Retreat and during the time there, I thought I will leave with a set plan or goal and know exactly where to go next. I got quite worried at the end realising that I still haven't got this plan.  But then someone said "how about focusing on being curious rather than a set plan?"

Changing my focus made me feel so much lighter.

Yes, I do not have my exact plan (yet) but I'm feeling okay about it. It’s almost like being an artist and starting with a blank canvas and enjoying using all sorts of bright colours.

I am the creator of the next chapter of my life.

If you have the chance to go there, please do so. Visiting Back Beach was very special to me and I will never forget how it made me feel.

I do love the beach and immediately agreed when a friend suggested to take me to Back Beach for a little walk.

Just knowing that I will go to the beach filled me with lots of excitement – a feeling I haven’t really felt for a long time. And I was VERY excited. A 35-year old was literally feeling like a little girl before Christmas. But I guess that’s what happens at the Retreat – It brings you back to your inner child who might got a little bit lost on the way of getting older or by experiences in life.

During the drive to the beach we – or I might need to say I – was talking a LOT. Full of excitement, joy and just being happy to see & spend time with my new friend.

After arriving we had an amazing view just standing there on the top of the sand dune overlooking Back Beach. Even though I had the WOW moment and was full of joy seeing the ocean, I wasn’t 100% there. You know I was still talking, concentrating on my story, and having all these thoughts in my head.

I started to walk down the sand dune – still talking. Fortunately, my dear friend said suddenly: “I’m sorry, but...” and I finished her sentence saying “... I should just shut up.”. She laughed (but agreed!) and said: “I just want you to really enjoy the moment when you walk or run down this sand dune.”

I smiled – because I knew she was right.

I concentrated – and this time not on all my thoughts and things which were going on in my head about the past and the future. I concentrated on the now. I felt fully in the present. Me standing on the top of the dune.
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First, I walked slowly but then I started to run. I felt the ground, the light breeze on my face, I could smell the ocean and hear the waves. I felt alive and right there – at Back Beach.