Mary Niker Mindfulness

Mary Niker Mindfulness Mary Niker is a member of the mindfulness association and qualified facilitator of the MBLC. Check this

Mary Niker is an International Iyengar Yoga teacher, Oncology massage therapist and mindfulness teacher. Mary is a member of the mindfulness association & has trained with the mindfulness association in mindfulness, compassion & is qualified as teacher of MBLC.

28/09/2025

The Gentle Art of Letting Go

The gentle art of letting go expands our hearts.
It is not forgetting,
but remembering with gentleness.

To release is to soften,
to make room for breath,
for silence,
for the tender weight of the present moment.

We bow to what has been,
not as a burden to carry,
but as a gift already given.

In the space that opens,
freedom arrives quietly,
not escape,
but a lightness,
a loosening,
a trust in the current of life.

And love,
love returns in a gentler, more expansive form,
unclenched,
unbound,
flowing through us freely and unrestricted

~ 'The Gentle Art of Letting Go' by Spirit of a Hippie

✍️ Mary Anne Byrne

~ Art by Alice Mason Alice Mason Artist

28/09/2025

Make Peace Your Goal

To make peace your goal
is to live with a steady heart.

To move through conflict
without being consumed by it,
to choose understanding over pride,
patience over haste,
kindness over victory.

It does not mean
surrendering your voice
or erasing your needs,
but shaping every step
with the intention of harmony.

When peace is the aim,
even struggle becomes a teacher,
and the heart, learning from each trial,
finds its own calm,
its own quiet strength.

~ 'Make Peace Your Goal' by Spirit of a Hippie

✍️ Mary Anne Byrne

~ Art 'Peace Offering' by Fred Calleri

27/09/2025

When I was a child, my Aunt Edith always lit a candle in the front window whenever someone in the family was away. She never said much about it, just that it was her way of making sure they could always find their way home. As a child, I thought it was just a sweet habit, the little flicker of light glowing against the dark lane outside.

Years later, I understood. It was not just a candle, it was hope. Hope that her brother would return safely from the sea. Hope that her children would walk back down the lane. Hope that love could be strong enough to guide someone home. That small flame taught me that even the simplest gestures can carry the heaviest prayers

24/09/2025

In 1993, my dad, Albert Rowe, wrote me a letter reflecting on his childhood, including a photo of himself at around 16 years old. The photo was taken in their kitchen at 143 Weston Street, Bermondsey, where the old kitchen stove stood as the heart of the room. Its open top and front made baking or roasting a constant challenge—one side of the oven would blaze red-hot while the other barely warmed. On the mantle, he remembered the kitchen clock, a tin for tea (vital for their tea-loving family), a matching tin for miscellaneous items, and neatly stacked bills.

The kitchen itself bore the marks of hardship: damp walls, wallpaper only halfway up, and wood covering the bottom half. Built without damp courses, the house suffered rising damp, while rats, mice, and insects often made their way inside. The single cold water tap in the yard froze in winter, making even basic chores difficult. Albert recalled waking in the night to find the bedroom jug of water frozen solid—a small but sharp reminder of the harsh conditions in which he grew up. Life in these circumstances, compounded by the cold, posed constant threats to health, especially for large families.

Despite the struggles, Albert’s memories reveal his resilience and the strength forged by these early years. Though he passed away in 1995, his stories live on, a testament to his journey from a small, struggling house in Bermondsey to the man he became. Rest in peace, Dad—Albert William Rowe, born January 26, 1918, and passed away April 6, 1995.

24/09/2025

When Words Fall Short

My silence is not me shutting you out; it is the language of my grief, a quiet refuge where I try to make sense of the pain that words cannot capture.

It is not withdrawal, but a way of holding my shattered heart together, giving myself space to feel the depths of loss without forcing it into sentences that would fall short.

When I do not speak, it is not because I do not want to reach out, it is because my soul is too heavy with sorrow, and my voice too small to contain it.

Silence, for me, is both a shield and a sanctuary, a place where I can sit with the ache and, perhaps slowly, find a way to heal.

~ 'When Words Fall Short' by Spirit of a Hippie

✍️ Mary Anne Byrne

~ Art 'Heart Seed' by Jeanie Tomanek

24/09/2025

One of the greatest acts of love is simply bearing witness to the vicissitudes of ageing, writes the oncologist Ranjana Srivastava

24/09/2025

To be silent the whole day, see no newspaper, hear no radio, listen to no gossip, be thoroughly and completely lazy, thoroughly and completely indifferent to the fate of the world is the finest medicine a man can give himself.
~Henry Miller

The Colossus of Maroussi: https://amzn.to/4jixyF4

24/09/2025

Every morning I would walk to the fields, and my sheepdog would come with me. Rain, snow, or shine, he was always at my side. As the years passed and he grew slower, he still came, limping behind but never once giving up. He was more than a dog, he was my shadow, my company, and my truest friend.

The day he passed, I went to the fields alone for the first time in fourteen years. The silence felt heavier, and for the first time the path seemed longer. I realised then what he had given me all those years: loyalty without question, love without words. A man can lose many things in life, but losing a shadow like that leaves a mark that never fades

20/09/2025

I once sat in a traffic jam that stretched for miles, the kind where time itself seems to stall. Horns blared. Tempers flared. My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles burned white. I wasn’t just angry at the cars ahead—I was angry at everything. The unfinished work on my desk. The unanswered messages. The sheer helplessness of being stuck with no control. My chest felt heavy, my jaw clenched, and I could almost hear a voice inside me screaming, This isn’t fair! By the time the cars began to crawl forward, the anger hadn’t left—it had followed me, spilling into the rest of my day, coloring every word, every thought, every choice.

That moment revealed a truth I had long ignored: my emotions were driving me more than I was driving my life. And isn’t that how so many of us live? One minute, we’re calm; the next, we’re swept away by anger, fear, or discouragement. Our moods dictate our decisions, our reactions, our relationships. In Living Beyond Your Feelings, Joyce Meyer holds a mirror to this reality. She does not shame us for feeling deeply; instead, she shows us a way to live free of being ruled by those feelings. She invites us to pause, to recognize, and to choose a better way. Her wisdom is not about erasing emotions, but about learning to walk through them with steadiness and grace.

1. Recognizing the Storm Within

That traffic jam was just a storm outside—but the real storm was inside me. Meyer insists that emotions are signals, not commands. They alert us to something happening in our inner world, but they don’t always tell the truth. When we name what we feel—anger, fear, loneliness—we begin to reclaim power. Awareness is the first step toward freedom.

2. The Danger of Reacting, the Beauty of Responding

In my frustration, I snapped at people later that evening who had nothing to do with the traffic. Meyer warns how often we regret words spoken in haste. She urges us to build the space between stimulus and response—to breathe before we speak, to think before we act. Reacting is surrender; responding is strength. In the pause, dignity lives.

3. When Feelings Lie

That day, my anger convinced me I was helpless, stuck, victimized by circumstances. Yet the truth was simpler: I was inconvenienced, not destroyed. Meyer teaches us that emotions often distort reality. Fear exaggerates danger; shame whispers unworthiness. To live beyond our feelings, we must test them against truth. Not every emotion deserves the final word.

4. Training the Mind to Anchor the Heart

Long after I drove home, the anger lingered because I replayed the frustration in my thoughts. Meyer highlights the connection: unchecked thoughts fuel runaway emotions. But when we choose to dwell on truth, gratitude, or perspective, emotions begin to shift. The mind can become an anchor, steadying the heart when storms rise.

5. Anger: A Fire That Can Warm or Destroy

That day showed me how anger could spread like wildfire, consuming moments that had nothing to do with the initial spark. Meyer reframes anger as fire—useful when harnessed, destructive when unleashed. Anger can inspire justice and courage, but left unchecked it burns relationships, opportunities, and peace. The choice is ours: will this fire illuminate, or will it consume?

6. The Healing Practice of Forgiveness

Even days later, I found myself bitter at strangers in cars I’d never see again. Forgiveness, Meyer insists, is not about excusing but about releasing. Bitterness weighs us down long after the moment has passed. To forgive is to free ourselves from being chained to pain. It is choosing lightness over heaviness, healing over resentment.

7. Living Anchored in Something Greater than Emotion

That evening, I realized my day had been wasted—not by traffic, but by my surrender to emotion. Meyer points us to anchors beyond circumstance: faith, integrity, love. When we root ourselves in values deeper than mood, we are no longer tossed around by every feeling. Life will still bring storms, but we can stand—not unfeeling, but unshaken.

Living Beyond Your Feelings is a tender yet firm reminder that while emotions are part of being human, they are not meant to hold the steering wheel of our lives. Meyer calls us to awareness, to intentionality, to the steady practice of choosing response over reaction, truth over distortion, forgiveness over bitterness. Her wisdom feels like both mirror and map—a reflection of the chaos we often live in and a path toward a freer way of being. And when we dare to walk that path, we discover a deeper truth: our feelings are real, but they are not our rulers. We can live with them, through them, and sometimes even beyond them—anchored in something greater, steadier, and far more enduring.

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