SIN KEN KEN No Worries

A READING GIFT FOR YOU (THOUGH YOU CAN PRINT THIS, YOU CAN ENJOY ON YOUR SCREEN)

It’s the season to relax, spend time with loved ones and devote to what makes life so beautiful. It’s that

time to share suggestions of what to read. So, I thought you might enjoy this bundle of my writing.

Though I took two ‘work related, non-fiction’ blog posts, the majority is fiction and mainly poetry. I

hope you will enjoy!

REFLECTIVE TIMES

Reflective times

impending

the slowing down

we long for

Few days left to Xmas

we rush our shopping

for the stuff we believe in –

do we care for yet more?

Let’s break habits

relax before the season starts

enjoy each other

and the lights

Let’s just linger

not dwell in the window

of the instant purchasing pleasure

that simply blights

Sharing times

arriving

a break from the frantic

Playing with Language

What is language to you? Do you live, work, dream in one, two, or

even more languages? Is it important to you?

Language is very dear to me. I believe it can have many different forms,

applications and usage. I love playing with language and between

languages. I would love to be more playful with my Dutch and English.

When I was in India a couple of years ago, I loved how people would

use Hindi and English within the same conversation, even within one

sentence. It had a kind of poetic slant to it.

Just over two years ago I set up my own consultancy, with my own

website, working on my own methodology. So far, most of my clients

have mainly been international. It made sense to me to do everything

in English. Also, for over two decades, English had been my working

language. Furthermore, my love for the English language grew during

the many years I lived in London. Combined with – or maybe

particularly related to – the fact that my children were born there,

English became my emotional language.

And, here I am. In addition to serving my clients and writing blog posts,

I have started writing a book, a novel. I have also begun experimenting

with poetry. I have always loved reading, but had not imagined how

much I would enjoy writing. I am surprised how I enjoy playing with

my writing, the editing, revisiting and revising of my written work.

Now comes the ‘confession’, but probably not a surprise, I am writing

in English.

Though the novel that I am writing in English is currently around

50.000 words, I have just started another one, in Dutch. I feel torn

about what language to choose. Not sure why. The novel that I just

started writing needs to be in Dutch. That feels right. The story is set

here in The Netherlands and has to do with my family’s history. It

might have bits and pieces in English. I think I will experiment, be

playful. What do you think?

EGO

Her voice generated from the deep

an inner cry that came

from the pain of conflict

feelings felt like flames

flowing through her veins

a volcano ready to erupt

His anger generated from the shallow

a superficial tone that came

from the state of ego

statements spat as expressions

uttered through his voice

a glacier ready to melt

The silence

shrieks right through me

high pitched

A flashlight

of darkness

a wet blanket that suffocates

A slight utterance

might break the delicate balance

a balance designed by default

unspoken

sustaining a reality shaped

unconsciously

Break through or break away?

THE ART OF FRAMING SUSTAINABILITY

“I opened my eyes. Glimmers of early morning sun peeking through the curtains. I looked

around the cabin. This was the big day, 21st of June 2030. So wonderful that the team had

organized for me to stay right here, just next to the festival area. I opened the door and

looked across the trees onto the beautiful fjord. Celebrating ten years since the great

transition, ten years since humanity managed to create this new sustainable society. New

energy no longer new, ecological farming the norm, animals plenty as they are protected by

human rights. Gross Happiness Index rather than GDP. I thought about Greta, that

determined Swedish girl on a mission. Oh, I have to get going, the conference organisers are

waiting for me!”

This story that I have imagined here, is the way I started my talk 23rd of October at ‘The

Art of Framing Sustainability’, taking place at the Oslo Business School. Many different

speakers had been lined up to explore this theme from different angles. Key takeaways:

- words matter; what words will mobilise more people into action? - should we stop using the word sustainability and ‘invent’ a different one? - the need for a new narrative for our common future

I had been invited to share my thoughts on the power of storytelling, with a focus on

climate storytelling. I spoke in the country where, so many years before, the national

media had framed me on the cover page as the ‘Statoil leader going to the arch enemy

(Greenpeace)’. Most people in Statoil did not understand that I would join ‘the enemy’.

Even at the conference when Peggy Brønn, Professor, Doctor at BI Centre for Corporate

Communications, introduced me, she wondered about the compatibility of these two

roles. Yet, to me there was no such thing. I really sensed, already then, that we are all

together in the story, playing different roles. I had felt the need to take a different role,

feeling accountable to Mother Earth and future generations, and took the plunge to join

Greenpeace.

Regarding the power of stories I spoke about Joseph Campbell and Jonah Sachs. They

believe that the stories we remember, from centuries ago, from oral history, are based on

a particular story architecture. Most stories have a hero, or heroes. This hero often goes

through a rough time, trying to deal with issues, the dark journey. After meeting a mentor,

who provides the hero with a gift, the hero ends up in a good place and often a changed

person. Working at Statoil was quite tough for me, at many different levels. Looking back,

I wonder, was my time at Statoil my dark journey, to frame it in story architecture terms?

When I joined Greenpeace, the organization was campaigning towards COP15. It

campaigned for the energy revolution, its storytelling underlining the urgency. Statoil

had been working on new energy technologies, it had invited Al Gore to Oslo to share his

‘Inconvenient Truth’ and within the company there were many discussions regarding

climate change. Statoil and Greenpeace were both addressing climate change, each in

their own way. Each in their roles, not necessarily with a view to strike a relationship

with one another, let alone a constructive one. Greenpeace was convinced that its

strength was in ‘calling out’ rather than engaging. It wanted to remain true to their core

of ‘bearing witness’ to crimes larger than the law.

Within the climate movement, Greenpeace was one of the players. Thanks to its climate

storytelling, the climate movement can claim victory in terms of ensuring awareness. At

the same time, the movement might have stimulated climate sceptics by its way of

campaigning, choice of images and by the language it used. After all, when pushed into

the role of a villain, you become defensive, you close down, unable to hear the other.

Looking through the lenses of the story architecture, we are living in the dark journey.

There are plenty of examples: draughts, floods, heat, hurricanes, loss of wildlife, food

issues, etc. Let us acknowledge the gift, the gifts that many are actually trying to show

us: green jobs, new energy, more time, less consumption, more connection, basic

income, just to name a few. Ultimately we can get through!

Hence, I believe that communication professionals have an amazing opportunity to

contribute to shaping our common future, but they need to be mindful when choosing

their words; because, as Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher said, they will come true:

“Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch

your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your

character; it becomes your destiny.”

In all the jobs I have had, I had the role of a change agent. I believe that change for good

can come from many different places and many different players, which is why I work

across sectors. I believe in the power of stories. They can help us get to a new society, a

new model. We need to get better at story sharing and our ability to listen to one another.

I also believe that writers will contribute significantly and that fiction will be crucial.

Fiction allows us to imagine.

I hope that my story will come true:

“It’s 2030, celebrating ten years since the great transition, ten years since humanity

managed to create this new sustainable society. The tipping point had been Greta, a

determined Swedish girl on a mission, who had turned out not to be another poster child.”

Sing Ken Ken, mam,

No worries, Such darkness in your face Relax, no hurry You’re on holiday, slow the pace

I tremble, shiver and know I should After all, I am here Having already put All that CO2 into the atmosphere

Such worrying look, mam

You have thoughts ready to burst I am so very puzzled On Bali miracles and happiness float first

I try shaking off my guilty cloak But it’s wearing too well I peek, look at my bloke Who send me a ‘relax honey’ spell

Traveling takes me away from everyday have to’s Going beyond current horizons, into dreaming Flocked with new inspiration and go to’s Baptized with new thinking

Another drink, mam?

His eyes gentle, little inquisitive Papaya juice, mango or watermelon? I tell myself – open up, be a bit more sensitive

Psychedelic tours – seemingly - offer analogous effects Sensated away from copious to do’s

I could try that next Embark on a new passage of breaking taboos Amazing option to be fair New destinations as part of a trip No need to travel anywhere Leaving no real footprint, how hip

Yet, I'd miss connecting with the other Their cuisine, their art, their pun Admiring the colours of their fabulous nature To feel the light and warmth of the sun

I adore exploring, shake off the cloak, and embrace the pit

fall Sing Ken Ken – no worries

Magic in Moonlight

Mum shaped magic in moonlight. Following the cycle, she miracled every week. New

moon, first quarter moon, full moon, last quarter moon. Full moon ceremonies her forte.

We were always joined by guests, invited and uninvited. Eternally. Heraklia was

celebrated everywhere. Her fame spread beyond the sacred grounds of our farm castle,

which lay in the middle of the Dark Woods. Birch tree after birch tree, sparingly a pine

tree. Black birds, crows, hares, foxes, beetles, spiders. They were our neighbours. The

nearest human village 20 miles away. One cobbled stone road led to us and was hard to

find. The entrance to the woods hidden away. Yet plenty of people had been able to find

us. Well, they had found Heraklia, The Witch from Bedazzleheim.

It was Beltane: receiving the power of life in its fullness. Mum’s apprentice, I had put the

selected minerals, crystals and candles at the right spots, spread the herbs and put decks

of tarot cards on the tiny wooden tables that were scattered across the courtyard. Fresh

wood in the fire place, a large circle of stones, right in the centre of the square. Later that

night it would become the phantom of fire. It always did. Mum’s altar held a large orange

candle, a vase with orange lilies and a couple of fake, yet ever so real looking, crows. The

sound system was playing Enigma. Mum tended to combine what might seem unrelated,

like classical byzantine music with witchcraft. Maybe it was one of the things that made

her so appealing. It had just turned seven o’clock and the first visitors were already

appearing. Early arrivals wearing large black capes, dark make-up, rings with skulls and

pentagrams, many pentagrams. Later on, white visitors would join, bringing along a more

uplifting energy. They always did. How binary. Dad and Joshua had not yet returned. It

was still early.

Every year we embraced Beltane: the greening of the world, importance of youthfulness,

the flourishing of our planet. Heraklia had ruled over our upbringing, including my dad’s.

In a manner of speaking, of course. From a young age on I had wondered whether

Heraklia had always been so devoted to witchcraft. How could a witch marry an

accountant?! I remembered seeing admiration in dad’s eyes when we were still very

small.

We had grown up living with the moon. For Joshua and me laying out tarot cards was like

brushing our teeth. Dad had always kept some kind of a distance. He would join the full-

moon ceremonies, to please Heraklia, I think. In our early teens, Joshua had moved closer

to dad. He had tried very hard to take me along. What initially seemed their devotion to

the numerology side of tarot, turned into playing with numbers the mathematical way.

Dad had argued that the two of them devoted themselves to the other side of magic. Mum

had said he was focusing too much on his ordinary job as an accountant. Dad and Joshua

would sometimes go away, to the village and beyond, to the city, far away from our sacred

space. Client visits, dad told us. Mum had become less insistent on having the two of them

join into her cycles. The full moon ceremony, however, remained sacred.

The night darkened. Clouds came floating by, covering the full moon in all her brightness.

And yet her power omnipresent. The visitors in white started to arrive. Women wearing

orange streaks in their hair. Men with orange ribbons. Throughout the square, around

the fireplace, the black participants moved closer together, making place for the white

guests. A mix of energies. It was nine o’clock. Time to turn off the music. I looked around

me. No trace of dad and Joshua.

And there she was, Heraklia. Mum was wearing her big black cape. Bits of orange daisies

knitted onto it. Her long blond hair wild around her head, an aura. The whispering

morphed into silence immediately. She glided towards the fireplace and stood still next

to her altar. Her deck of tarot cards in her hands. She looked around. Miniscule smile. She

looked up to the moon, spread her arms. She looked down again and around. I could tell

she was searching. She shuffled her cards. All eyes on her. A card fell. I could see her

reflex, very brisk. A Great Arcana card had fallen: number 13, a karmic number: the death.

Autumn leaves

Divine scattered lush

Rainbow remnants of a vibrant past

Stars spread across the sky

Receiving a next truth

IT HAD BEEN LONG IN THE MAKING It would be clay, Viktor said. perfect for designing our new home, because we should go away. Away from the hectic, into the quiet. so clear about our next destination, out there my love.

The city, its culture, its cafés, its clashes, duality - the hymn I love.

Viktor said enough was enough he would take up flying, like an eagle.

I said we are needed here, disruptors work the transformation, wait.

There are 17 SDGs sustainable development goals, which the power brokers agreed upon

Water, energy, poverty goals, education, gender equality, climate action, can’t tackle one without the other It’s all a system we need systems change take a systemic approach

2025 is looming 2025 is dooming

I agreed, to take the chance go off the grid

We had been long in the making

2013 Amsterdam, Dam Square, climate protests. people holding mikes, shouting ‘There is no planet B!’

On my way to a restaurant meeting colleagues caught in the middle of the climate crowds.

and

Viktor dark brown hair, tiny ponytail, dark glasses tight jeans, T-shirt, All Stars

colliding with

me

long blond hair, big earrings, little black dress, stiletto’s paralysed

by

Viktor

who had taken my hand big eyes, raised eyebrows, grins, fellow protesters I melted into the march

my transition had begun

I left my banker resigned from Obyx Consultants joined Fashion Transition

It had been long in the making

Viktor would walk. Deep dive nature hiking forest bathing he’d go all environmental, ecological.

I would dance. Dance like I had never danced before. dance like a dervish. I’d go all Sufi, hippie, witchy.

Three weeks ago I drove my Toyota Prius for the last time bought a mushroom dress had lunch in the Amsterdam Tower

I had been long in the making.