#0 Welcome to Positive Pages
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For the Joy Seekers. And, the Universe.
It started around 3am. Maybe 3:10am. Somewhere around there – the words ‘Positive Pages‘ catapulted through my mind. Families were mourning the loss of loved ones, businesses were closing their cash registers, streets were laden with, well, nobody really – except Hopelessness. The world shut its doors from everything and everyone, and my eyes were wide open, staring at a 3am ceiling - with the words ‘Positive Pages’ bouncing between my ears.
Some might call it a sign from the gods, others may deem it utter madness – ‘insomnia’ - during an unprecedented time that called for fear and panic and anything but, “positivity”.
Where would it come from? This deep optimism in the time of Corona; where would the people find their will to smile, to rejoice, to share stories of joy when their sanitised hearts were breaking to the beats of a curve that no one could see and rising statistics that everyone could feel. It felt an impossible journey, and a feeble one too.
But the tapping wouldn’t stop, and the ceiling wouldn’t crumble. And so, against the very nature of social expectation in a time of the modern world’s most devastating virus – this book was born.
Over 170 little stories of joy, written by strangers and friends and communities and teachers and sinners and mothers and fathers and daughters that miss their grannies every day, and wanderers - oh the wanderers and their seeking hearts – and 16-year olds dreaming of the ocean waves behind their locked door. Stories of family, and gratitude and seeking, and tea.
Watch out for the Wind and the Light and the elephants and many many miracles here; and unexpected celebrities that turn up at your fingers, and a yellow door - and a loaf of bread shared on a corner. In this book you will not find a beginning nor an end; what exists here is a raw, honest start from who we are and from where we are. Here you will find the pen, the paper, the soul reaching out to touch a hand, to wipe a tear to laugh out loudly at the silly significant memories we make; and to let us know through every broken wing - there is still the will to fly. And all will be better, in the morning.
It started around 3am. Maybe 3:10am. Somewhere around there – the words ‘Positive Pages‘ catapulted through my mind. Families were mourning the loss of loved ones, businesses were closing their cash registers, streets were laden with, well, nobody really – except Hopelessness. The world shut its doors from everything and everyone, and my eyes were wide open, staring at a 3am ceiling - with the words ‘Positive Pages’ bouncing between my ears.
Some might call it a sign from the gods, others may deem it utter madness – ‘insomnia’ - during an unprecedented time that called for fear and panic and anything but, “positivity”.
Where would it come from? This deep optimism in the time of Corona; where would the people find their will to smile, to rejoice, to share stories of joy when their sanitised hearts were breaking to the beats of a curve that no one could see and rising statistics that everyone could feel. It felt an impossible journey, and a feeble one too.
But the tapping wouldn’t stop, and the ceiling wouldn’t crumble. And so, against the very nature of social expectation in a time of the modern world’s most devastating virus – this book was born.
Over 170 little stories of joy, written by strangers and friends and communities and teachers and sinners and mothers and fathers and daughters that miss their grannies every day, and wanderers - oh the wanderers and their seeking hearts – and 16-year olds dreaming of the ocean waves behind their locked door. Stories of family, and gratitude and seeking, and tea.
Watch out for the Wind and the Light and the elephants and many many miracles here; and unexpected celebrities that turn up at your fingers, and a yellow door - and a loaf of bread shared on a corner. In this book you will not find a beginning nor an end; what exists here is a raw, honest start from who we are and from where we are. Here you will find the pen, the paper, the soul reaching out to touch a hand, to wipe a tear to laugh out loudly at the silly significant memories we make; and to let us know through every broken wing - there is still the will to fly. And all will be better, in the morning.
