The first stroke of luck is that I have found my way to a tiny pocket of Portugal out of the noise of the world.
The second is that I love this life of quiet and tranquillity, which I totally get is not for all.
The third stroke is that I have meaningful friendships. They did not arrive in an instant. They have grown and developed but now, today, I know they are here and they are special.
The fourth is that finally, I understand no one sees the world as I do. We all have our different perspectives.
The fifth is the light, the great big sky outside my home where I watch the weather arriving and leaving. Clouds rolling in and passing on by; the mist of light rain lit up by weak sunshine; the sun rising and setting, both moon and sun on either side of me at certain times of the day and the month; all available for me to see and absorb into my skin, into my body, into my being.
The sixth is the knowledge that love is in my life.
The seventh: this love is permanent, not fluctuating and running away but stalwart and true.
The eighth is that love comes in so many different forms; birds singing their heads off, the rough lick of my cat’s tongue, the snuggling of my dogs, the grass growing green and lush; the special people in my life. Love in all its forms assaulting my senses, my sensibilities and telling me that whatever happens in life, it is here, always here.
Nine is the stroke of luck that I appreciate what I have. That I want what I have, not something else, somewhere else.
Ten, that I am able to sit still.
Eleven, that I know the meaning of inner peace even if I don’t feel it all the time.
The Twelfth stroke is that love and friendship are the routes that bring us back to ourselves, as we see ourselves reflected in their presence.
