Breathing birdsong

Speaking of no man's land, that is precisely where I find myself now, floating between two brand identities, ready to shed the old and begin the new, but waiting for all the various components to fall into place. Or rather, for me to put them into place, and it's a job I find extremely time- and energy-consuming—patch-working the photography, working on the technicalities of a new website and submitting all the packaging to various cosmetic authorities for filing. However, amidst it all, I've managed to formulate a new perfume, which is a warm, vanilla-y step away from the more floral-based scents I've created previously, with a hint of spicier botanicals to give it a subtle exotic undertone and I'm excited about it.

September carries a witchy sort of magic. It's a scintillating postscript to summer, still spinning warmth and light but whispering new chapters and change before the great hunkering-down. I don't really ever notice the intricacy of nature's activity over the summer because it's taken up by big skies, full fruits and flowers and I guess I'm lulled by the loud, lazy gluttony of it all, but as nature charts the route to colder, darker months and an overall closing-in, all while we're forced to sharpen up the edges of our summer-softened brains in the back-to-school of it all, I start to notice the elaborate activity of small creatures: a constant humming of webs and wings; dragonflies, butterflies, house spiders weaving their brief stories before autumn settles in.

It's a rather lovely nudge to play our own part in these busy preparations by, perhaps, planting some bulbs (daffodils or alliums) to surprise you in Spring, adding compost or mulch to enrich the soil before winter, dead-heading late roses to prolong colour (and the bees) or creating leaf piles as habitats for small insects. I shall litter my garden with lanterns this year and buy a small fire pit so that, as the days get shorter and the nights longer, my kids can look up at the stars instead of their screens.

Just as trees open their pores with birdsong’s vibration, we can help our bodies to "breathe", or "flow", more efficiently by creating our own body-tapping vibrations. Body tapping is a simple way to stir our six diaphragms (from the crown of the head, through the tongue, thoracic outlet, respiratory diaphragm, pelvic floor and soles of the feet) into harmony. Cup your hands and gently pat down your legs, across your belly and hips, up your arms, across your chest and finally on your head. It creates a piston-like rhythm that carries energy through the whole body. This percussive pulse nudges the lymphatic system into flow, softens tension and reminds us that, like the trees, we are built to breathe with the vibrations of the world around us. If you're unsure how to start, Mike Chang helps break the technique down into simple steps on his Instagram.

I'm a rather impatient person and I constantly feel like I'm drowning in an hourglass, never enough time in the day for what I need to do, so meditation has always been a really tough one for me. Each time I’ve tried, I’ve loved the initial calm, but sooner or later the press of time pulls me away, long before I’ve found anything close to routine, let alone inner peace. Recently, though, I discovered the Insight Timer app and I’m completely sold. It’s designed for people exactly like me — too time-pressed to sit for hours, but deeply in need of the benefits. With thousands of guided meditations, talks, music and even simple breathing timers, you can choose practices that last anywhere from two minutes to an hour, fitting mindfulness into the smallest spaces of your day. I do a ten minute session every evening before bed and I really notice the difference. I also love that, if you install it on the homepage of your phone, it will pop up with a daily grounding quote each morning to help carry you through the day.

Art Work: On the Creative Life by Sally Mann arrived in the post today and just a few chapters in, I know I've stumbled across something special. This is a field guide to the inner terrain of the artistic life: the hazards of early promise, the sting of rejection, the unpredictable role of luck and the stubborn necessity of showing up, even when nothing seems to be turning out right.To be truly creative is, we're told, to follow a series of small, daily acts, to take risks and to say "yes" when it scares you. Mann's prose hooked me from the start. It's spell-binding, honest, humble and generous...and woven withphotographs, journal entries, letters and stories. If ever there was a book to help you back yourself creatively and be brave, this is it.