http://www.serenepraktijken.nl/

Serene Praktijken, Koolemans Beijnenstraat 16a, Nijmegen (2025)

31/10/2025

Bali

Voor Nederlands Scroll naar beneden.

Bali wasn’t part of the plan. Too much of a new-age carnival, I thought. But I was wrong. Outside the south, in the north and the center, Bali still breathes its ancient soul.

There I met Mel, the German woman from my Vipassana in Sri Lanka, with whom I had shared twelve days of silence, love, and struggle. A police officer who, in her free time, leads ta**ra and family constellation retreats. We stayed in beautiful places, and I drove her on the back of a scooter halfway across Bali. She was the only person I truly spent time with, someone who understood my need for depth and silence.

I was studying Tibetan Buddhism and Gene Keys daily, a spiritual system that evolved from Human Design. The 64 Keys are tools that help unlock the potential in your DNA, each describing a spectrum from shadow to gift to siddhi, from blockage to talent to highest potential.
What I learned kept mirroring itself in the outer world, as if the universe whispered, well done, lesson learned, now level two. It felt so good to share my insights with someone who understood.

In Ubud we got stuck in the chaotic traffic. I called our driver my safari driver, and he took his role very seriously. He pointed at tourists and said, the endangered species: influencer in its natural habitat. We couldn’t stop laughing.

When my friend stayed for a retreat, the driver, who wasn’t actually a taxi driver but a kind yogi helping us out, drove me north to a friend of his. There, in a remote valley, I truly came home. The love that man had for nature touched something in me. Every day he took me for walks. I celebrated my fortieth birthday there, for the first time not with a big party, but quietly, from a place of inner freedom.

I performed a ritual for my ancestors. I wrote their names on paper and burned it with herbs in a stream. Everything turned to smoke except their names.
Aha, I thought, you want to flow with me, and I gave them to the river.

Since that period I feel free. Free from old patterns, well, most of them, but free enough to leave the Netherlands without running away.
During my travels I’ve met so many rootless people, traveling to forget. But healing is not running away. Healing is coming home to yourself.

And now?
Now I feel grounded enough to fly.

Bali

Bali stond eigenlijk niet op de planning. Te veel 'new age kermisattractie' , dacht ik. Maar ik had het mis. Buiten het zuiden, in het noorden en midden, ademt Bali nog zijn oude ziel.

Daar ontmoette ik de Mel, de Duitse vrouw uit mijn Vipassana in Sri Lanka, met wie ik twaalf dagen in stilte lief en leed had gedeeld. Een politieagente die in haar vrije tijd ta**ra- en familieopstellingsretreats geeft. We verbleven op prachtige plekken, en ik reed haar achterop half Bali door. Zij was de enige met wie ik na al die tijd echt optrok, iemand die mijn behoefte aan stilte en diepte begreep.

Ik studeerde ondertussen dagelijks Tibetaans boeddhisme en Gene Keys, een spiritueel systeem dat voortkomt uit Human Design. De 64 Keys zijn sleutels die het potentieel in je DNA helpen ontsluiten, elk met een spectrum van schaduw naar gave naar siddhi, van blokkade naar talent naar hoogste potentieel.
Wat ik leerde, weerspiegelde zich telkens in de buitenwereld. Alsof het universum zei: Goed zo, oefening geslaagd. Nu level twee.
Het was zó fijn om mijn inzichten met iemand te kunnen delen.

In Ubud zaten we vast in het chaotische verkeer. Ik noemde onze chauffeur mijn “safari driver”, en hij nam zijn rol bloedserieus. Hij wees toeristen aan als “de bedreigde soort: influencer in natuurlijke habitat.” We gierden het uit.

Toen mijn vriendin bleef voor een retreat, reed de chauffeur, die eigenlijk geen taxichauffeur was, maar een yogaleraar die ons verder hielp — me naar het noorden, naar een vriend van hem. Daar, in een afgelegen vallei, kwam ik echt thuis. De liefde die die man voor de natuur had, raakte iets in mij. Elke dag nam hij me mee wandelen. Ik vierde mijn veertigste verjaardag daar, voor het eerst niet met een leuk vrienden weekend, maar in rust en innerlijke vrijheid.

Ik deed een ritueel voor mijn voorouders. Ik schreef hun namen op papier en verbrandde het met kruiden in een beek. Alles ging in rook op, behalve hun namen.
Aha, dacht ik, jullie willen meestromen en ik gaf ze aan de rivier.

Sinds die periode voel ik me vrij. Ik heb mijn plek ingenomen in mijn familiesysteem. Vrij van oude patronen, nou, ik heb er nog genoeg, maar vrij om Nederland te verlaten zonder te vluchten.
Tijdens mijn reizen heb ik zóveel ontwortelde mensen ontmoet, reizend om te vergeten. Maar heling is niet wegrennen. Heling is thuiskomen in jezelf.

En nu?
Nu voel ik me geworteld genoeg om te vliegen.

31/10/2025

Lombok

Voor Nederlands, Scroll naar beneden.

I stayed for 2 months in Indonesia. One in Lombok, second in Bali.
Indonesia is the place where I am allowed to go deep. Where the ground beneath my feet feels like family, and the sea tells me stories from long ago. My grandmother was born here, and while being here, I feel my ancestors more than ever. What I sometimes carry is not only mine. Old, intergenerational grief moves through me: war, abuse, illness, death, black magic, broken mother-daughter bonds, men who died too young.

I dare to feel it, the heaviness that has been suppressed for generations.
Buddhism teaches me that frustrations and personal karma never belong entirely to one person. Even your difficulties are the result of countless conditions coming together: your parents, your culture, your body, the spirit of the time.
When you truly feel that, guilt and shame dissolve, and compassion appears. When you see through the illusion of separation, compassion naturally arises.

The nature here is not a backdrop, but a living part of me. The waterfalls whisper, the earth breathes. Sometimes it feels as if the spirits live just a little closer to the surface, in the trees, the mountains, the water. It’s beautiful, but also intense.

I have always had wooden statues of Indonesian goddesses, heirlooms from my family. But only here, in the heat, among the rice fields, did I truly feel them. As if they stepped out of the wood and gently winked at me: welcome home, my dear.

The Rinjani

A bit too spontaneously, with zero preparation and a generous dose of overconfidence, I decided to climb Mount Rinjani. Exposure therapy for fear of heights, I told myself. The first well-organized company refused me. Fear of heights is fear of heights, they said.
So I joined another group, one that was a little too relaxed. You can decide yourself if you want to go to the top, they told me. In hindsight, that was red flag number one.

The borrowed shoes were terrible, the food even worse: a slice of white toast with Nutella for breakfast. And yet, the group was lovely. We laughed, cried, and helped each other. Barely standing, I reached the first campsite, where I saw the most beautiful and longest sunset of my life.

That night was freezing, with too few blankets. Around two in the morning, against my better judgment, I decided to climb anyway. I would freeze to death if I would stay. The ascent was pure hell. One step up, two steps down. Mist, cold, people dropping out, guides in flip-flops, yes really.
At one point I said, this is my summit. I gave up and stayed behind while the rest continued. We had already lost two girls, one vomiting from altitude sickness who couldn’t go on. I was the next one to stop, curling up against a rock, half frozen, in silence.

But I had to keep moving, so I stumbled on for the last hour, not to reach the top, but simply to stay warm. When the sun rose, I sat there trembling under a blanket next to the girl with altitude sickness, who had somehow made it too.
The descent was even worse. My fear of heights nearly paralyzed me. I kept falling, again and again, but one of the porters, also in flip-flops, took pity on me. He held my hand and picked me up every time I fell. My gratitude was immense.

It was my lowest point, but also my initiation. Without my Buddhist training, I would probably have lost my mind.
Two weeks later, I heard that a Brazilian tourist had died there. Same route, same conditions. It shook me deeply. How terrible she must have felt — surviving the fall but not the cold.

After the mountain, I went straight to one of the Gili Islands, limping like an old woman. For three days I could barely walk. The Gilis became my rehabilitation: massages, snorkeling, and food that actually nourished me. My body recovered, and my soul learned something about surrender.
After a week I took the boat to Bali.

Lombok

Ik blijf voor twee maanden in Indonesië, een in Lombok, een in Bali.
Indonesië is de plek waar ik diep mag gaan. Waar de grond onder mijn voeten voelt als familie, en de zee me verhalen vertelt van lang geleden. Mijn oma is hier geboren — en terwijl ik hier ben, voel ik mijn voorouders meer dan ooit. Wat ik soms draag, is niet alleen van mij. Oud, intergenerationeel verdriet beweegt door me heen: oorlog, misbruik, ziekte, dood, zwarte magie, verbroken moeder-dochterbanden, mannen die jong stierven.

Ik durf het te voelen, de zwaarte die generaties lang is onderdrukt.
Het boeddhisme leert me dat frustraties en persoonlijk karma nooit volledig van één persoon zijn. Zelfs je moeilijkheden zijn het resultaat van talloze samenkomende condities: je ouders, je cultuur, je lichaam, de tijdgeest.
Wanneer je dat werkelijk voelt, verdwijnen schuld en schaamte, en verschijnt mededogen. Zodra je de afgescheidenheid doorziet, komt er compassie.

De natuur hier is geen decor, maar een levend deel van mij. De watervallen fluisteren, de aarde ademt. Soms voelt het alsof de spirits hier net wat dichter onder de huid leven, in de bomen, de bergen, het water. Het is prachtig, maar ook intens.

Ik had altijd al houten beeldjes van Indonesische godinnen, erfstukken van mijn familie. Maar pas hier, in de hitte, tussen de rijstvelden, voelde ik ze écht. Alsof ze uit het hout stapten en zachtjes knipoogden: Welkom thuis, lieverd.

De Rinjani

Iets te spontaan (lees: nul voorbereiding en een flinke dosis overmoed) besloot ik de Rinjani te beklimmen. Expositie-therapie voor hoogtevrees, dacht ik. De eerste, goed georganiseerde organisatie weigerde me: hoogtevrees is hoogtevrees, zeiden ze.
Dus ging ik met een andere groep, die iets te soepel was: “Je mag zelf kiezen of je naar de top gaat.” Achteraf gezien: rode vlag nummer één.

De geleende schoenen waren dramatisch, het eten nog triester: een wit toastje met Nutella als ontbijt. En toch, de groep was fijn. We lachten, huilden en hielpen elkaar. Op mijn tandvlees bereikte ik de eerste kampplaats, waar ik de mooiste en langste zonsondergang van mijn leven zag.

Die nacht was ijskoud, met te weinig dekens. Om twee uur snachts besloot ik tóch mee omhoog te gaan, tegen beter weten in. De klim was een hel: één stap omhoog, twee omlaag. Mist, kou, mensen die uitvielen, gidsen op teenslippers (ja, echt).
Op een gegeven moment zei ik: Dit is mijn summit. Ik gaf op en bleef achter, terwijl de rest doorliep, we waren al twee meiden kwijtgeraakt waarvan één kotsend van hoogziekte niet meer verder kon. Ik was de volgende en nestelde me tegen een steen, half bevroren, in stilte.

Maar ik moest in beweging blijven, dus strompelde ik het laatste uur, niet om de top te halen, maar om warm te blijven. Toen de zon opkwam, zat ik daar trillend onder een dekentje naast het meisje met hoogteziekte die het wonderbaarlijk ook gered had.
De afdaling was nog erger. De hoogtevrees verlamde me bijna, ik viel voortdurend. Een drager op slippers vond me zielig en hield mijn hand vast, raapte me steeds weer op. Mijn dankbaarheid was groot.

Het was mijn dieptepunt, maar ook mijn inwijding. Zonder mijn boeddhistische training was ik waarschijnlijk krankzinnig geworden.
Twee weken later hoorde ik dat een Braziliaanse toeriste daar was overleden. Zelfde route, zelfde omstandigheden. Dat raakte me diep. Hoe verschrikkelijk moet ze zich gevoeld hebben — de val overleven, maar niet de kou.

Na de berg ging ik als een kreupele direct naar een Gili-eiland. Drie dagen kon ik amper lopen. De Gili’s werden mijn revalidatie: massages, snorkelen, en eten dat wél voedde. Mijn lijf herstelde, mijn ziel had iets geleerd over overgave.
Na een week nam ik de boot naar Bali.

22/09/2025

Sri Lanka & Vipassana

After the yoga school I dove into the nature and culture of Sri Lanka: Buddhist sites, jungle treks, and, most of all, connecting with locals. Such loving, honest people. And then an extraordinary rickshaw driver crossed my path — someone who not only showed me a deeper side of the country but also saved me. Twice.

The first time he dropped me off at my house in the evening. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Just a little walk before bed.”
His eyes went wide: “Not a good idea. Every night wild elephants pass here. Your house is the last one before the jungle. That’s why there are red lights all around it — elephants think it’s fire and stay away.”
Oops… would’ve been nice to know earlier.

The next day I wanted to take the bus to another place. He advised against it: “Complicated trip, not the friendliest area. Come with me instead, I’ll show you things along the way.” Normally I would’ve said no (hours bumping around in a rickshaw didn’t sound appealing), but this time I said yes.

The next morning he first drove me the other way: right there on the road were massive, fresh piles of elephant dung. Didn’t take much imagination to realize what might have happened on my evening walk.

The ride itself turned into an adventure, one of the most fulfilling journeys I’ve had. Bumping along in the rickshaw while tasting fruit and unfamiliar snacks, meeting people, hearing stories. It felt like I was discovering Sri Lanka all over again — even though it wasn’t my first time. Until I was shaken: a truck and a bus had collided head-on. Many dead. And very likely, that could have been *my* bus, if I hadn’t chosen the rickshaw. We were both silent for a while.

He dropped me off safely at the sea, where I spent a relaxing weekend, and later picked me up again to take me to my next destination: a Vipassana retreat.

Vipassana

I had done this twice before, back in 2013 in India, but this time it went so much deeper. We were just a handful of tourists, and a line of nuns, all about waist height. I shared a bare house with two women: a German and a Chinese. It sounds like the start of a joke: a Dutchie, a German, and a Chinese…

The German had prepared everything, from alarm clock to flashlight. For her and the Chinese it was the first time, and they were super nervous. Before we entered silence, we made a pact: we wouldn’t take care of each other, but each take full responsibility for our own process. Our house would be our sanctuary: safe and free. Not entirely safe, because we lived with big spiders, scorpions, and all kinds of creatures.

Outside, it was tough: eleven hours a day of meditation in the burning heat, in the hottest month at the hottest place in Sri Lanka: Anuradhapura.
My CIRS flared up, inflammation everywhere, I thought I’d go insane. I wanted to stay but didn’t know how. From experience I knew: the teacher always gives the same answer “follow the technique.” Still, I went. Calmly, I explained my struggles. He looked at me blankly and said: Focus under your nose.
I’m suffering! I can’t do this! I cried. He just stared: “Do you need a doctor?”
No, I needed a human being. Someone to simply listen. But I kept that to myself, and found my own ways to deal with this.

One of those ways was pruning. Every day I walked to the meditation hall, ducking under low branches. I asked for a hedge trimmer, got permission, and spent days trimming the entire center. I’ve never felt so satisfied doing garden work.

The food was fantastic: vegan, anti-inflammatory. Every morning, brown rice with spicy curry, eaten with our hands. No cutlery. I secretly saved some food for the starving dogs that weren’t given anything.

Slowly our house turned into a Garden of Eden. Bliss. Fruits of the practice. A place where we could move, cry, and walk around naked (well… not the Chinese 😉).
The Vipassana technique gave me a lot, but I could also deepen it with what I had brought along: nervous system regulation and Tibetan meditation, which I’ve been studying for years. A few small adjustments helped me stay grounded and made the practice far more powerful than my earlier retreats.

I missed my studies, and I was glad to pick them up again after Vipassana.

After twelve days I walked out of that center as a different person. And there he was again: my trusted rickshaw driver, ready to pick me up.

11/09/2025

I felt it in every cell: this journey would be different. Something bigger than myself was pushing me toward surrender. End of March (2025) I was lying on a beach in Sri Lanka, surrounded by Russians. Not exactly the place for social vibes, so the perfect place to turn inward.

My system fought. Fear and longing. As if my soul was shouting YES! while my body kept screaming NO! Breathing through it helped, but deep down I knew it asked for more: time, silence, nature. A longer stretch of being with myself, without distraction.

My body kept protesting, vague complaints no therapist could fix. I hit rock bottom: raw and painful. I did a ritual, asked for help ✨ and dragged myself to a restaurant.

And then: a street cat. Jumped onto my lap and refused to let go. The owner tried to help, but the claws were stuck. It’s okay, I said, I accept this situation. Fine, then we’ll just sit here being depressed together.

After a while I felt lighter, as if his purring was prying my heart open. After half an hour, the work seemed done and bro went on his way. I felt empty — not good, not bad, just empty.

Everything changed with the massage I had already booked. The skilled hands of the masseur recharged me completely. I walked out a different person.

Back at my apartment I started scrolling mindlessly. Dissociation? No, it felt different. My eyes caught on the word CIRS. My body reacted instantly. This is it. Everything clicked: the puzzle pieces, the symptoms, the years in an old house with water damage. Nine years — thankfully broken up by winters spent in the tropics.
My ex-partner once again tracked down the right critter through frequency medicine. The beginning of my healing journey.

I spent six weeks at a yoga school. Good people, kind teachers, a lovely bungalow. But my process pulled me inward. And that was exactly the right place for it. I felt disconnected from people and systems, longing for deeper contact. Because being introverted doesn’t mean you’re not social — it just means you can’t do small talk as an escape.

I could no longer identify with my old life. Instead, I discovered a new layer of loneliness. Where I once feared it, I now felt it as a blessing. The soul connection I longed for turned out to be with myself.

I fasted for six days, three of them dry — no water, no food, just me and my body. I dared to do it because I wasn’t alone.

Once again I noticed: the teacher–student hierarchy in yoga philosophy doesn’t work for me. Too many rules, too much hierarchy. It closes my heart instead of opening it.
Advaita does resonate: non-duality, the oneness that’s always here. And Ta**ra even more: everything is welcome — longing, fear, shadow. Not escaping life, but diving straight into it.

I’ve long accepted that this process never ends. We are already whole, and step by step I let go of who I thought I had to be. What remains is the path itself — and learning to appreciate it.

My mother often says: “There have always been people who walk the inner path, who don’t care about how you’re ‘supposed’ to live. You’re one of them. And that’s perfectly fine. I trust you, because you follow your intuition — and it works.”

And she’s right. It’s not an easy route, but it’s a direct one: opening fully to who you truly are.

Do you recognize yourself in this?

08/09/2025

Nederlands onder opmerkingen
Part 2
South America

And so I left. For nine months I wandered — Amazon, jungle, mountains, sea, and occasionally a village or city for a change of scenery. There were many beautiful moments and deep encounters with the natural world. But also deep lows.

According to the stars, health would become an issue. I didn’t believe it. I was perfectly healthy, until that one night—malaria almost took me down.

My partner at the time tracked down the right parasite and knocked it out with frequency medicine. A fantastic doctor patched me back up.

The highlight? A new love. A deep soul connection I never expected. And sadly, one we also had to let go of.
The low point? A dark, disturbed, tormented shaman who couldn’t handle my rejection and has been haunting me ever since with an energy no amount of sage can clear.

Once back, I tried to pick up my old life again. But that was no longer possible. The course had shifted. Irreversibly.

The journeys — even the earlier ones — the freedom, the simplicity, and the nature had rewritten me.

My soul began to scream louder. My meditations grew deeper, more meaningful, but also more painful. Because I felt how little the world reflects back what I truly value.

And the fear? It remained. Vast, deep, without beginning or end.

06/09/2025

Dark Night of the Soul

Part 1

In het nederlands onder de berichten.

In the coming time, I’ll be sharing my process. Raw and honest I’m ready—and maybe my feelings will recognize something in you too.

It all started a year and a half ago. Vedic astrology had already predicted heavy times ahead. I had a full practice, life was flowing, and yet something began to gnaw at me. At first gently, then louder, sharper. As if I was slowly growing out of my own skin. Who I thought I was no longer made sense. The sense of meaninglessness grew stronger, and where grief used to sit, fear took its place. Not ordinary fear, but the kind that paralyzes you completely and eats you alive.

That’s when a new phase began. In the years before, I had mainly worked with my inner child and ancestral line. I had carried deep grief, slowly thawing out of a functional freeze that I don’t even know how long had lasted. When my body finally softened, I saw how many people were still living in that same state, a collective freeze. I felt so relieved to step out of it and thought: now I can rest. But no.

My astrologer said, word for word: Go lie in bed for a year. It doesn’t look good. By mid-2026 the skies will clear. Until then, Rahu will stay with you.
I thought: well, then I’d rather lie in a hammock somewhere warm than in my own bed.

The first months of that prediction, I lived in denial. Nothing’s wrong, I told myself. I just carried on.
But meanwhile, the accidents piled up. One strange situation after another. I was almost run over on my bike more than once. And then the bizarre night I ended up in the ER poisoned, from one stupid mistake. That was the breaking point. Time to surrender. My intuition whispered: go to Peru.

24/08/2025

Time for Deep Healing
I’ll be in the Netherlands from mid-September until the end of October and have 2 spots available for a TVM nervous system healing journey.
Special offer: €600 for 3 sessions of 2 hours each.

🌱 A deep reset for your nervous system. Feel safe, free and at home in your body.

👉 Send me a message to reserve your spot.

Serene Praktijken

31/10/2025

31/10/2025

22/09/2025

11/09/2025

08/09/2025

06/09/2025

24/08/2025

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