Lately, I’ve been reading about time: specifically, the idea that time as we know it may be an illusion, that motion itself doesn’t truly exist in the way we experience it. Sounds confusing, I know, but bear with me.
If there is no real motion, no past or future racing by, then all we ever truly have is this, the here and now. And yet, we feel so deeply the need to move, to evolve and to create. That’s our alchemy: weaving tangible actions — planting, building, exercising, nourishing — into something that feels like growth, progress and change.
So this week I'm focussing this issue on that delicate tension: between the stillness of the present moment and the momentum we craft through our routines. Each small, purposeful act, such as tending the garden, showing up for our bodies, refocussing our energy on gentle movement, becomes a kind of alchemical ritual. The material supports the spiritual. The visible shapes the invisible.
Maybe that’s what transformation really is; not racing forward, but layering intention into the now, until the shift gradually, inevitably, takes place.
Olivia x
BTS
Lately, I’ve been going a bit dizzy over nets, cross-checking print proofs, and obsessing over the tiniest details as we prepare our new packaging. It makes me wonder: do people read the boxes properly? Does the paper stock make a difference, the subtle texture, the feel of the weight in your hand? Do the small details get noticed, or are they just quietly felt and loved without explanation?I like to think someone will run their finger over the print, hold onto the box a little longer, and feel the silent, sacred message there. And if not — well, maybe the magic is in the making.
Roots
I’ve been growing mint and lemon verbena in my gardenand I’ve found the simple ritual of picking their leaves, steeping them and drinking the tea strangely meaningful. It’s such a small act, yet it feels deeply grounding; the garden offering something alive, the body receiving it, the mind settling into the warmth and scent. I suddenly understand the 'ceremony'; one that seems to pull us out of conventional time for a moment and align the physical with the spiritual.If you don’t have a garden, grow a few pots inside. Tear fresh basil into your salads, stuff a teapot with peppermint leaves, drop rosemary into your gin. They're small, sensory rituals — small alchemies — that help bring us back to ourselves.
Body
I’ve had a Theragun for a while now, but I’d completely forgotten about it until recently, when I drove back from Cornwall for eight hours and could barely feel my bottom by the time I got home. I pulled it out that evening and it was a total game-changer.Since then, I’ve been using it regularly, especially after working out. It’s really helped with tightness around my coccyx (which I've suffered from for years) and I’ve also noticed it’s improved the appearance and tone of my thighs—bonus! The Theragun uses percussive therapy to boost circulation, release deep muscle tension, and support lymphatic drainage — all of which help the body recover, feel better, and as it turns out, look better too.
Long Haul
The body is its own alchemist: always shifting, repairing, transforming. Through breath, through motion, through what we choose to nourish ourselves with, we create change at the most elemental level. Lately — really since I've been wearing the Oura ring and had every bit of activity I've done put into sharp relief — I’ve focussed more on transmuting stillness into energy, stagnation into flow. Whether it’s a walk, a stretch, a swim, or a more structured practice, the act of moving becomes a kind of alchemy. It really does bring about an instant change. I understand completely why Phil Stutz's number one task for any of his patients is to get moving. It doesn't have to be about intensity, but consistency is important. The body remembers and responds, and if you think of your daily practices as 'alchemy', you begin to see that you’re not simply maintaining the body; you’re actively transforming it.
Mind
I’ve just started readingThe End of Timeby Julian Barbour — a thought-provoking book that challenges the way we understand time itself. Barbour proposes that time doesn’t actually exist as we think it does; instead, the universe is made up of a series of ‘nows’ — individual, complete moments that don’t flow but simply are. It’s already making me reflect on how we experience change, and how much of our energy is spent moving towards some imagined future rather than fully inhabiting the present. It's a powerful invitation to slow down and really notice the now.
