An exploration of compassion, judgement, sticking with discomfort and exploring curiously; through the act of paying attention. In writing. — This started from a post a friend shared with the following extract from Ken Wilber’s “One Taste”, “We in the west — and especially in new-age circles — have a type of tepid egalitarianism and political correctness that says no view is really any better than another, and therefore all…

Intense. Perhaps that’s the easiest way to describe us. But also unexplainably light. Happy in sadness. Overjoyed to feel. Because we cannot possibly not do this. It comes from our core and bubbles up towards the surface. Sometimes in the company of many hot tears. …

How an anarchist with a dream birthed a space for creativity. First published on www.greta-ma.com She appeared suddenly one evening in April. Celle di San Vito, the smallest village in the whole of Puglia was covered in snow, with the notorious Cellesi wind that gets right to the cores of…

From Brazil I’ve landed in tiny Celle Di San Vito, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it village in Puglia, South Italy. I’m here participating in an artistic residence working on two writing projects and dealing with my Brazil withdrawal symptoms. I had all kinds of plans to work on my project this morning. To…

How I coped with exiting the job I hid behind Hi, I’m Greta. I’m a marketing manager. That was my opening line on meeting someone. …

Lying down and waiting for the words to surge. For the exact description of what I feel to emerge, gurgling up my throat and out to the world. - A sense of something in my gut that I long to have words for. For if I had words it would…

My heart hurts. I’m in a room full of packages to send back. The dreams we shared. Those are big. They are the first dreams I dared really dream with someone. And the box they were in is still here, big and bulky. Like an elephant in the room currently…

I had no idea what was missing but I could definitely feel its absence.

Stay in the grey passages in between what is known and unknown The narrow lanes of possibility The roads of what if They are your rite of passage Your soul’s journey in remembering the wisdom That it lost in the realm of the mind. Touching the unexplored is how things are explored Not floating, but sailing. Not following, but flying. Experience is the key. (collaborative poetry with Max Yogoro)