Many years ago, after being hired for a new job, the CEO of the company jokingly commented on my Italian roots a few times.
“Bella bella mozzarella” he kept on saying whenever we crossed in the corridor.
He actually found how my name rimed with it amusing, and for a while I’d just hear “Antonella, bella, bella, bella and mozzarella!” echoing in the distance.
I smiled every time, touched by how easily pleased certain folks are.
One time he even went as far as to ask me if I had an eating disorder.
“Do you eat much? You arms are very skinny. Please ensure that you have 3 meals a day, it is very important at your age.”
I smiled again, this time about the fact that kindness can sometimes look and sound clumsy, giving the suspicious minds much food to feast on. I was never upset by his forwardness and I simply put it down to his foreign heritage.
I often think about my good old CEO, and his very eccentric and yet genuine ways. I wonder how those like him survive in a world that is so easily offended right now.
Recently, I had a very interesting conversation with a young man I both respect and trust very much. He told me that he is always very weary these days of how he jokes or what he shares. Whether at work or down his local pub, he no longer feels comfortable to be as open as he used to be, because some people are quick to react and misinterpret.
I was saddened by his words because I experience this myself, although in other ways.

I am storyteller, I write about people and life. In fact, I tell of people being in life.

I am not here to write of pretty things only, and I have no interest in being politically correct and “playing it nice.” Too often niceness is a bad cover up for ugly agendas, and I am simply not willing to play a game I am actually quite bad at.
If my words are offensive, they can be ignored. If wanting to share my stories means that someone will feel threatened and ridiculed, I invite them to look for what they expect from the world much closer to home instead.
I feel we are putting too much pressure on one another these days, and that’s why we are all a little nuts, I’d say.
We want to be seen, even when we cannot see ourselves. We want to be heard, even when we actually don’t trust our own voice. We hold the world responsible for our wounds and never wonder whether all the wounds may actually come from our very being alive. As we proudly stand for all those fallen victims of injustice and cruelty, we actually become abusers ourselves. We just don’t realize that. And there is a lot of abuse going around at the moment: the very fact that we are not allowed to publicly share our opinion about most things, no matter what language we use, clearly shows how our very freedom is being ill-treated.
In the spiritual field there is often the tendency to stand by and watch the game of life unfolding in all its messiness.

For a long time, I felt too the need to have a little space between myself and our mad world.

Truth is, I live here and some things are not always easy to ignore.
Despite my beautiful wings and bright light, some days I fly very low to the ground and boy, oh boy, the things I get to see….
As I grow, it becomes very important to find words for what wishes to be shared. It may not always be easy to keep neutral, yet I keep on offering my stories with conviction, courage, and care. Knowing all too well that the story of one, is the story of all.

Antonia Lyons

Come on in! You are in  “mumblings & musings,” the space where I channel short and sweet stories about life & stuff. If you wish to stay a little longer and visit around, Evoking Grace is the perfect place to take a pause from the world. Here you will hear your soul sing again and start telling a bigger story.
Stay as long as you wish, and as you leave remember to take your welcoming gifts with you.