Category: Writing


And It Is A Happy New Year From Me

I am exhausted, an existential exhaustion. It hits me every year, this last two weeks of December is like walking through treacle. I sleep and I sleep and when I am not sleeping I am feeling sleepy.
 
The bright lights of Christmas cheer wane and fade leaving a charcoal smudge on my memory making way for a cacophony of completing, resolving, resetting, rebooting. There is an I in me that rebels, resists, defies the collective ceremony of the end of the year. Every cell in my body cries out to hibernate, to sleep, to dissolve, to disappear – a gravitational force that has the power to suck me off this merry go round of life. It is a familiar shadow particularly amplified at this time of year. Aha old friend. We can rub up companionably on the sidelines, observers & watchers of celebratory shenigans, out of the glare of effusive joy and optimism – by ourselves but not alone.
 
And then as the watery winter sun rises on a new year, on a new decade that shadow will fade; slowly at first but fade it always does and my energy will return; in fits and starts but splutter into life it will.
 
So as I energetically ebb into this New Year’s Eve I share the Rumi quote that lifts my heavy heart like feather weight across the Julian rubicon of endings and beginnings. May it lift yours too if lifting is required.

Easter Rising*


Perhaps it is the emergence of Spring, the coming of Easter, perhaps it is all of us, or just my desire for new life and emergence but my radar is picking up a farrago of metaphors about the cycle of life and death.

And just in case I dont notice it in this bucolic muddy, bole of countryside that I am living in then it shows up in my mail box and my twitter feeds.

Courtesy of Sharon Blackie of The Hedge School’s newsletter today:

Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

From The Holy Longing by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated from German by Robert Bly

Photo by Suzanne D. Williams on Unsplash

*Being Irish – the juxtaposition of the words Easter AND Rising is poignant and particular and has a singular meaning. Also known as the Easter Rebellion, it was an armed insurrection in Ireland during Easter Week, April 1916. The Rising was launched by Irish republicans to end British rule in Ireland and establish an independent Irish Republic while the United Kingdom was heavily engaged in the First World War. It is has a personal impact too as a great uncle of mine, Walter Scott, was probably the last child to die in this struggle. This is not the topic I wanted to talk about here but it is part of the mythic struggle to reach the light.

Painting The Future

photo: Anne K. Scott (c) 2018 Carrapateria, Algarve, Portugal

Painting The Future

I can’t see
I can wield
I can’t know
But I am sure
In my lostness
I am found
And in the hum of the Universe
My intentions
Are subtle brushstrokes
On the canvas of tomorrow

My Camino Walk #1

My Camino Walk #1 is already an international #1 best ranking book on Amazon in Travel and Tourism; and a top 5 title in Motivation and Self Help. A compendium of stories from pilgrims who have walk the Camino to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Northern Spain. A rich collection from the practical to the personal it is published by Andrew Priestly.  I share my inner emotional roller coaster as one journey ends and another begins in my story The End Is Nigh

The Kindle version is on SPECIAL OFFER of 0.99p and here is a SAMPLE

The Pea Green Boat

In August 2012 I was sitting on an escarpment overlooking the ancient beginnings of civilisation in Swaziland in Africa. In the dusty haze a trail emerged laid out across scrubby, foreign land, a long, long walk leading all the way to the sea and, I imagined, a handsome sailor in a pea green boat.

Two months later I walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain. Almost 1000 km from the border with France to the Coast of Death in Galicia. Every step takes me deeper into the land, my edges softened by rock, my spirit dissolving in earth, the raging energy of the elements becomes my wildness, I breathe in the desire of soul symbiosis and exhale ecstasy.

Did I buy boots – yes Salomon Ultra X.  Did I take time to research my pack – yes it was an Osprey just the right size, complete with a built in hydration pack (fancy name for bag of water), did I carry a guidebook – yes a ‘John Brierley’, did I train – well maybe – if you count a few weekends of long walks.

My Camino journey was wildly imaginative and that is the story my spirit wants to share.  Fortunately that spirit called in Andrew Priestly and My Camino Walk #1 project – my story is one of 20 stories, jostling alongside 19 others, it is a wonderful compendium that gives you insights into 20 prisms of Camino perception. You have the practicality of preparation, the wisdom of spiritual journeying, the suffering of physical limitation, the mental anguish of being human.  The full experience of life.  The Camino is but a metaphor for life.  How you experience it is just the lens you are looking through.  Imagine living life when you can play with all the lens available to you?

Anne is a catalyst and ambassador for new possibilities. She brings cutting edge intuitive techniques together with 30+ years as an innovation and technical professional to deliver end results that appear improbable if not impossible. 

Anne works with individuals and businesses have a desire to create a better, sustainable and beautiful world. She is passionate about the purposeful application of imagination and although she could be defined as a coach, teacher, writer and speaker she is ultimately an Imagination Technologist collaborating with high level creatives to bring ideas into being and make them real.

Anne walked the 800km+ Caminos Francaise, Finisterre and Muxia in Northern Spain 2012 and a soupçon of her story was recently published in My Camino Walk #1 available on Amazon. Anne is a migratory soul with seasonal homes in Europe, Australia and the USA. She loves traveling and exploring the outer edges of consciousness enjoying, savouring and fully inhabiting this life. 

Testament To Spirit

Crumpled parchment
Brittle translucent
Silently compliant and dissolving into death
The breathe of life blowing dandelion seeds into the wind
Tumbling lightly on this earth with carefree abandon
The delight of tenacious spirit holding on to the joy of being alive
Of being human.

A spiritual light housed in a skeleton lamp of sinew, bone and a little flesh
The eternal spark burning more brightly as the body slips away
Leaving the indomitable spirit
Naked in its brightness
A defiance to death’s puny grasp
A giggle into its inevitable embrace.

A light that isn’t doused but rather wends its merry way
Into the memory of our mind
Daisy chained to those who have gone before
And those who are still behind
Dancing fairy lights into the glade of night
A glided teasing invitation to join Immortality
And snuff goodbye to Time.

In Defence of True Augmented Reality

My Computer VAugment is derived from the old French verb augmenter to increase , make bigger, enlarge, make richer.  And reality we all know what that is about.  It is our experience in the here and now or as the dictionaries put it something that exists as opposed to imagined.

So to augment reality – is to enlarge, increase, enrich our existence what we are experiencing right now.  I love the concept, I believe in the concept to the extent that I see it as the only way of being and living. Who wouldnt want an augmented reality?  One that improves on what already is.

Cut to the world of technology where all the good stuff is and augmented reality becomes something else.  It acquires a capital A, a capital R and a hint of a swagger.  In this world augmented reality is a shadow of its potential; truthfully it is about mediated reality where technology becomes a foil to enhance one’s current perception of reality.  Now don’t get me wrong; I love technology.  I spent 30 years working as a techie, I am in awe of its ability to keep us connected, create new connections, allow us to work from home, facilitiate global collaborations and keep delivering yet more gorgeous, shiny trinkets.  I design apps for God’s sake.  What is there not to love about technology!  Well yes.  It is the danger of arrogance, the blinding light of brilliance, when technology becoming our everything and we throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Augemented Reality is a loud, cocky imposter.  True augmented reality is a function of imagination; everything we experience is from our imagination, the technology that we have is from someone’s imagination.  Let us not forget that imagination is a tool that we all have access to.  It is there for the taking, it is free, it open source, we came bundled with it.  Sadly someone forgot to put that in our manual, in the education system, in fact it is actively deprogrammed in many educational environments.   Too basic for the sophisticates.  Let us not forget that we all have access to imagination, we just need to believe, take the time to reconnect with the pathway of intuition that takes us there and take follow through action that comes from our individual ability to join the dots and create connections that have never been thought of before.

Anne K. Scott is an Imagination Technologist who uses the tools of intuition to live her life and support others discover their intuitive uniqueness to enrich their realities.  She also loves technology for what it brings to the party e.g. her SatNav4TheSoul tool box and Google’s Picasa which enhanced the ‘V’ on her computer keypad to look like a heart.

For more information on the work that Anne does check out Coaching or drop me a line:

Highland Main Line Train

IMAG2886
The Highland Main line train siddles out of the cold comfort of Dalwhinnie. In the distance sugar dusted mountains tickled by fluffy low lying cloud, smiled on by the blue eyes of heaven. We trundle by wirey puffs of scrubby heather knitted into the patchwork greens of this bobbly blanket, covering a duvet of bouncy peaty soil. The necklace of pylons and the dinky trucks on the distant roadway wink sparks of winter sun. Scatterlings of light spin off shiny silver bark ruffling the copper mops of autumnal trees. Through the leafy cut, saluted by skinny regiments of pine, ignored by the shawl of afro haired sheep across the fields and the sleepy gaze of one brawny white bull lounger in the soggy bog. Kingussie huddled in a snowy cleavage. We are greeted by the dancing shimmer of white ladies ready to wave us on our way into the Northern light and the call of Inverness.

Travelling the Highland Main Line from Glasgow to Inverness November 2013

Eat Pray Love Author’s advice for women

Being creative, acting creative, believing I am creative is right where I am at the moment so it was a delight when this blog was gracefully frisbe-ed into my consciousness by a friend. How clever messages can be getting weadling their way to us.

The Wishing Thorn: Spring Awakening in West London

IMAG3292The Wishing Thorn

Moody, muddy day under foot
Scudding clouds trailing dark tendrils
Of dirty mist, moist and mournful
Over this February afternoon
Scraggy daws and silly seagulls
A cacophony of scavengers
Lording it over this fallow field
Sadly shredded plastic bags and crumpled cans
Forlorn and loitering, typical blackthorn winter
Its darkness heralding incipient Spring
Skittish skirts of delicate blossom
Mark out an aisle down Wormwood Scrubs
The bride to be nervously giggling in the wings
Watching slow motion awakening
Of early catkins in the wind
And fur soft budding on bare branches
One by one the guests appear
Patiently waiting nature’s unfolding
And the wedding of life and death.

This poem was inspired by a walk on Wormwood Scrubs on February 23rd where splashs of white flowering bushes remind me that Spring is not far away.  A little research seems to indicate that the blossom is that of the blackthorn bush or coll

The Wishing Thorn is a deciduous, thorny shrub native to Britian. It is the ancestor of the cultivated plum and it’s blue-black berries are the sloes of sloe-gin. Typically it flowers March – April but flowerings have been sighted since January this year according to the wonderful Nature’s Calendar website

The blackthorn stem was used to make traditional Irish shillelaghs – walking stick weapons, magical and divining wands.  Symbolically it is considered a sign of life and death together as the flowers appear when the stems are bare and there is an old superstion that to bring blackthorn into the home was a harbringer of death.  The spell of bad weather that often coincides with blackthorn flowering is known as a ‘blackthorn winter’