over the past years and months, my professional path was crossed by quite some personal challenges. instead of dancing at the professional stage i was carrying some backpack of illness and pain. cloudy days, passed by. some years of striving to master and forcing a healing process, of trying to become the old Inge. there was no other means to accept the chronical issues and the damage done. ton of coaching tools, the art of gratitude, compassion, positive psychology, solution focus, mental rewiring of grey cells, flow. i was able to apply my oh so favourite models and theories. it was a process of mourning and the letting go of part of my identity...the professional I was for about 25 years.
luckily I arrived at the sill of 2 medicins, 1 yoga teacher, 1 fasciatherapist and osteopath, teaching me to accept 'what is'. i became member of a cohorte in a longitudinal scientific study, thus i remained part of my university. working in very new ways, establishing new networks, learning new skills, having different leaders. in the heart of darkness they hold space for me: my daugther, a daily sunshine. my brother, sister in law and o my mother as the ultimate warm couches were i could land with everything that weighed as lead. a range of friends & buddies.
my ultimate leader, my father who died when i was 20, as he was 47... papa, wispering from the crypts of my heart: that thou shalt only live once and thou shalt do it NOW.
it felt like carving a statue out of a rough block of heavy stone. and the images were born into clay. i explored the path of images offering me another language to give meaning. i thank my ceramic teacher but i especially feel so greatful to my sumi-e master Lieve, a wise warm woman of 82. she initiates me in the 'way of the brush' and the art of omitting and expressing the purity of what needs to been seen or felt.
i am reinventig. with baby steps, with the pace of the snails who are savouring my lush garden flourishing by the abundant rain. animals as tutors. this morning these teachers arrived in my Flemish porch: a magpie entered through a small opening, showed that even when your stage is limited the choreography becomes more powerful and captivating. and Mister my funny street cat, served a carpaccio of rat of on freshly mopped grey tile. he keeps me as sharp as a knife and just came to tell this morning that i 'can' just live as i do right now. all guilt and processed grief was released on the ground in my ugly Flemish porch.
i lived 3 years on the season's rhythm: Spring, summer, autumn, winter and ... spring. it is almost time to move to next scene and really i do not exactly where or how. but definetly all you my connections here, i hope i offer you some inspiration to deal with brokenness. please be gentle and do not take this world as guide in coping with illness and imperfection. learn from your children, the birds and the bees, the trashmen passing by, offering you the biggest smile with their weathered faces, from mushrooms growing on rotting tree trunks. they teach us that the sun lives inside every one of us even when the skies are cloudy. (my daughter reacts : mom, stop, it already clear. why do you always need so many words?) well heck, that is just who i am. that is also inge. speaking thoughtfully, using too many words. sometimes in my broken sentences, as Bart Van Bambost a great guru of mine, gently feeded back to me. or last week Rammstein blasted on my radio and yes Bram Doolaege, you were my best professional buddy ever. or Regina, learning me to speak franker and just be 'me'. or Rik Van De Walle, sending me words that gave new meaning to these 3 last years of hard work. or all the coaches I met during courses and supervision, that kept reaching out to me, as if i was not ill. it gives meaning to me being here in the cloud and spreading some humble words.