Tales From The Gyp

Audio available ⬆️⬆️⬆️I originally wrote this just before I left Australia, where, despite what my heart said, peers, strangers, coworkers and eventually the police heard my experiences and pushed for me to leave a dangerous situation. I was far away from any friends or family and to leave the person I had loved, regardless of their actions and words was extremely brutal for me. It felt like a form of abandonment to him and to my nurturing nature.Reading back on this, I hardly remember writing it, so I feel like this came from a lonely red wine induced night, laying alone and confused in my swag, under the stars.Static in my mind, like an open radio transmission, waiting to be tuned to the correct frequency.A highway with no road rules. Thoughts are sporadic, intrusive, entering with no order. By the time 1 thought develops into fruition another 3 are being germinated, while another 5 have sprouted, without ever finalising the original crop, the original thought. The garden can easily become untamed. Neglecting the sowing of seeds, the pruning, the harvest.What once was structured can morph into a reckless entanglement of jungle.It’s a skill to become a gardener of your thoughts.Maintenance. Care. Intention. Growth.It is astonishing what can germinate and then lurk inside the space of 2 ears.My thoughts have kept me occupied since I was child. Without a doubt, I was and still am a natural loner. I used to want to be alone because I felt this overwhelm of anxiety around others.Nowadays, I feel I am in great company with myself. Although, depending on the crowd, it can often be more enjoyable and thought provoking to be alone.Without proper diagnosis, I suspect and have been told, I sit somewhere on the spectrum.My mind never felt the same to others from as early as I can remember. I always had a form of social unrest.I didn’t know how to fit in, it felt like an act. I couldn’t handle the inauthenticity of life feeling like a show, it was a relief to be alone.I could let my guard down and just be me.One of my earliest childhood memories was going to preschool in Mexico. I must have been around 3. I would sit away from the other children in the garden and play with the ladybugs, a natural inclination towards sanctuary and peace, calling the ladybugs my only friends.A time before any heavy personality programming, or traumas that indoctrinate specific coping mechanisms, I was merely just a child, sitting in their innocence and pure unadulterated thoughts unintentionally harnessing intuition and connection with nature. Day dreaming always came natural and my “stemming” would be these daydreams and visions, a totally wild few seconds where an influx of imagination and insight would penetrate my mind. I’d sometimes tap out of reality when I was overwhelmed, only to tap in to another overwhelming dimension of my mind.The most interesting aspect, is that from a young age this type of behaviour was not yet understood and for the most part, being different was looked down upon and generalised to make me feel as if I was dumb or “special”.In a sense, it was passively shamed upon and I remember being heavily insecure after jokes were targeted at me.It often wasn’t in a cruel way, most times, I would be called cute for my unique ticks or stemming, but still, it made me feel different.I still felt insecure, I felt I had to hide a part of myself, the way I sensed and felt the world, to fit in with the rest.I eventually learned to partly control my stems and hide them, usually finding an uninterrupted safe place to let go and channel.I wonder what would happen if people’s uniqueness and difference was praised rather than shamed.If it was trained rather than hidden. Supported, rather than shunned.Nowadays, the word is trending and every other person claims to be neurodivergent or autistic which made me curious to research the roots and how past societies may have understood this.“Autism wasn’t formally recognized in ancient societies, as the concept of autism, as we understand it today, didn’t exist. However, many cultures had roles, myths, or social structures that might have included or even valued people who exhibited behaviors now associated with autism.”“In some ancient cultures, people who were unusually focused, introspective, or “different” in social behavior might have been seen as possessing a unique connection to the divine or spiritual world. Their solitude, sensitivity, or intense focus could lead to roles as shamans, mystics, or oracles. Ancient Egyptians, for example, believed that people with certain unusual characteristics might have a special connection to the gods, and similar beliefs existed in early Celtic, Native American, and other indigenous cultures.”“Some ancient societies valued individuals with focused skills particularly in crafts, mathematics, or record-keeping. Ancient Greek society, for instance, respected those with intellectual pursuits, and many temples or courts employed people as scribes, astronomers, and mathematicians, who might have been neurodivergent by today’s standards.”I feel our engineers, artists, athletes and geniuses of the world sit somewhere on the spectrum, perhaps their environment tended to their “mind garden” in a more supportive way, encouraging their roots to sprout into full blossom. I also feel like a lot of great minds were lost to this indifference.There’s a type of depression that introversion brings forth.A certain unexplainable and continual loneliness. When I was younger, life’s complexities overwhelmed me, developing the skill to filter through unsanitary thoughts was a necessity and PTSD survival skill.The mind can easily become a gutter, stagnant, unhygienic slosh, that holds no purpose.It becomes heavy and eventually something in the foundation breaks. There’s a certain empowerment that takes place when we start to filter out the bad and channel the good. Of course, negative thoughts will always arise… However, it is training ourselves to understand that these are just thoughts, not facts and just as easily as they come, it is also possible for them to just as easily go. If not, repetitive thoughts shape shift into beliefs and implant themselves as facts. I suppose the empowerment takes form in the separation. Separating which of these thought patterns has purpose, which thought has power.Which thought do you want to water and give life to? It is important to master the skill of discernment, but it is equally just as important to master our understanding and relationship around power.I am not sure if power is a one way road or a straight forward answer. It is interesting because power is unique to each person. In my personal opinion, I think power should be held and led through the heart.I feel true power is ripe with divinity. However, it doesn’t need to be so spiritual.Purpose doesn’t need to be a shiny, polished result that waves its hands and needs to be acknowledged, praised, studied or rewarded like a trophy. In a society that places heavy emphasis on being successful or popular, I think purpose and power is often found in the shadows of humanity. In the depths of oppression and depression.Personal power is an inner knowing and it ranges from person to person. You can find empowerment from a plumber, just as much as a guru.Empowerment shifts like seasons as we grow and expand, it changes as we witness the world. It’s a continual evolution. What gave you power 2 days ago, may all of a sudden change. Sometimes it’s love, sometimes it hate, but there’s always an essence where the power stemmed from.I believe we all have an inner compass towards truth and more often than not, I am internally attempting to navigate that compass. I find myself often in self doubt.Sometimes I am incapable of understanding my experiences.I’m insecure and imperfect, self critical, yet there is beauty in that sacred act of humiliation, it leads to humbleness and for me, the winds may howl, the skies may hail and the roads may flood, but I tend to always come back to my internal garden. To my safe space. The source of life. Some days I find my garden overgrown and I have to roll up my sleeves.Other days, it is perfectly tended to and I can pull up a chair and basks in its glory.Regardless, it is the notion and belief that we have this garden.That we have this space inside ourselves, a place of purpose. A place of power. A place of growth.A place to plant whatever seed it is that drives your heart. Sure, my take is poetic and metaphorical, but I hope everyone believes in that place.I hope they find the courage to continually check in on their foundation and nurture their garden and then…I hope they visit it, frequently.This is my verbal busking corner of the internet. If something here resonates and you feel like tossing a bit of change into my digital hat, you can support my writing by following the link below. Every contribution helps keep these reflections alive. Click here to Support Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe

Audio available 🌹 ~ ⬆️⬆️⬆️I sat awake thinking of love.I felt as if I was sitting back in the Temple of the Moon, this exact time last year in Cusco, Peru.There was the same familiar feeling of embodying, once again, this huge, immense, universal grief for women and towards love.The grief could feel like a burden, but I suppose I simultaneously embody what a gift it is to sit with the glory of the unrecognised woman.To not only witness their resilience and perseverance, but to be feel it.A humble sadness.As the tears flow, I begin to find myself resting in peculiar oxymoron.I arrive for a brief moment and tell myself… I hate love.Bewildered by the thought. I lay in bed and let it brew.The feelings linger and the thoughts provoke me as I dissect them.Love should feel like home, it should feel warm and inviting, it should bring forth feelings of hope and yet it feels like a battle that I am bound to lose.So many females opening their hearts only to walk away like a wounded soldier, an armoured heart with PTSD flashbacks as if they survived a war on their psyche.The courting phase of love. I sit on the bench and witness it. On defence.I say it out loud.I will not fall again.Yet, as Alan Watts once described, it is a fall.To fall in love is a form of “divine madness” and a necessary “act of faith” that requires total surrender, he compares it to a terrifying, but essential leap into the unknown. He argued that true love is a voluntary, reckless abandonment of control and a “fall” rather than a “rise”.And yet, I want to fall, as much as I want to rise. Sometimes with tears.As much as I push it away, I want to rise above the fears.I put the palms back into my eyes. Why? Not to cry, but to regain sight in the darkness of my tent.To focus and channel.There’s something so auspicious and concerning, yet beautiful, as I strip away the layers of hardness.Why is it so hard to admit, Love.I sit and continue to reflect in the darkness of my tent. I want to express it, but I can’t.I find excuses, that my laptop is broken, that it is too late. I should sleep, but as lay in a state of my own vulnerability I begin to consume the vulnerabilities of my peers…I begin to cry for their pain and I rise up from bed realising there is no excuse.Poets, intellectuals, even our most corrupt politicians have once sat there scribbling in a home that wasn’t a home.In a book that wasn’t a book.Under poorly lit circumstances with merely just a candle and a mind so dense that it feels like a heavy wet towel, ready to be rung out.There’s something about not knowing how the lines will flow on an empty piece of paper.I grab the nearest thing I can see, an abandoned planner from the end of 2025.Love, is it the ultimate Ego death?Where will this fit into the paragraphs? How will it flow? It doesn’t and it never will. I guess that’s the beauty of it.Quickly scribbled lines that can’t quite be deciphered because they flow so effortlessly, that you don’t have time to think as your hand attempts to catch up with your thoughts.The pages are as messy and hard to read as love.Still, it feels so empowering in the moment, like some sort of torch for humanity.I scrutinise myself as I write that, but deep down I have a knowing that in a decade from now, it will hold some place, not for humanity, but for the humanity in myself.So, why? Why is it so scary to say, I have feelings, to question, is this love?It could be so poetic and beautiful, like the ecstasy of a synchronised harmony.And yet, I hate it, I find myself filled with grievances to admit, that as much as I love, love… I hate it.The fear to be perceived, to be felt, to be vulnerable towards rejection, humility and grief.It is 12 am and although it is dark, what a sight.The witching hour often feels like the only time I have tender moments for myself.The only time I can sit in the depths of thought and process it.I breathe in. I breathe out.Memories flood the banks of my mind, as something greater conceives, my visions of what is to come. At least it’s a vision of the future instead of merely a reflection of the past.I find some shimmer of hope in that moment.It may not bring instant content if anything the thought of love brings me almost instant despair because somewhere deep down I believe that the thoughts will one day deceive me, however it’s still a vision of the future and there is something tranquil when the act of thought, feeling and imagination merge.A part of me wants to so desperately shut it all down and as I continue to excavate into the depths of the darkness, I ask myself, why?Because it is bound to fail?Like many, I too am afraid to offer my heart when in an instance the other, might bail.I’d rather build a trench than a bridge.Build a wall, rather than an entrance.I’d rather hide, than surrender.And as I write, and as I think, and as I cry…I realise that besides the attempt to control the future, which is uncontrollable and uncertain, that these fears and tears are not my ego speaking, instead… They are my surrender. Half scribbled lines in midst of the night, is my white flag.I let the thoughts consume me, until I lay what’s in my chest, to rest.I often would not share these thoughts until they are fully formed in my mind, ready for jurisdiction.Like a lawyer, prepared and ready for defence.And yet, I feel called to share the vulnerability, the chaos that runs through our minds like the peak of a storm.The unedited thoughts that linger on the page until it becomes a fully formed statement.To let go of what is neat, polished or appropriate for the consumer.I write that as the lines melt off my page, on an angle, the words become smaller as I try to squeeze them in and what is meant to be structured slowly slips away. The paragraphs are imperfect and non linear, regardless of the font, the feeling and message still exist.I cry and feel sad for my friends and other women in their battlefields with love, yet I honour the fight. I honour the fall.Although, it terrifies me that our most primal instinct is weaponised.Our divine current and sensitivities to be misconstrued and labelled as delusion.I can’t help but recognise how more than ever we need the feelers, as they are the true healers.Instead, I feel the epidemic of disabled, disconnected emotions.A non physical field of risk.Men who should be protecting the healer rather than another threat to sabotage the very essence of creation.This is my verbal busking corner of the internet. If something here resonates and you feel like tossing a bit of change into my digital hat, you can support my writing by following the link below. Every contribution helps keep these reflections alive. Click Here To Support Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe

It has been a few hours since I filmed this episode, you do not necessarily need to listen/watch as I will highlight below :) you can also listen to the audio here on Spotify. I spoke about my early start at 4:45am. There is nothing quite like waking up under a blanket of stars and remembering we are all floating on a rock in space. I needed that pre dawn cosmic reminder.It shifted my mind into gear.Some type of sacred humility and humour. That truly grounded my being and mentally prepared me for the first day of business.It also acted as a gentle reminder to come back to healthy habits and routinesNow in hindsight- It is quite phenomenal what an early morning beach walk and swim can do for your wellbeing. I will definitely be inviting this habit back into my daily agenda.I reflected during this episode on my first day as a business at the local markets. Well, more so the environment and people, the warm welcome and inspiration.I also spoke about the absence of my cylical feelings.I would say this little spiel is for the gals, but just as I thought to write that, I went…No.Men need to be more educated and update with how a Women’s body operates. Especially if you have daughters or are thinking to navigate a relationship… So, if anything, this is also for the guys! Less than 30 minutes after my morning walk and swim, it was as if the flip had been switched. Nervous system, rebooted. A little lesson and reminder to stay aware of your cortisol levels. So many people are operating in stress, it can be challenging to register what is stress and what is homeostasis.And the longer you are in stress, the harder it is to differentiate and find your way out. Depending on your lifestyle, homestasis can first approach in all sorts of ways-like bliss or like boredom. Executive dysfunction or motivation.It comes back to knowing yourself, at core.I was only in a one week hostage, in this instance, which I mindfully chose to sacrifice due to deadlines and a slight push to build that resilience, but I have been trapped in a cortisol flooded environment for years. It is not pretty.After my walk this morning I feel, for the most part, back in tune and in harmony with my cycle. As if my ears perked back up.I walked into the camp kitchen and noticed my social skills and energetic exchange to be back on track. A little more extraverted than usual.My sex drive even came back to say hello. Like I mentioned in the video (although I am celibate) it has been playing a game of hide and seek this past ovulation phase… This is the most fertile and creative phase of our moon cycle.Us women are cyclical creative forces, so when this drive comes back so does an influx of you guessed it… Creativity 😂 but also inspiration, hope, motivation… And if you came here for that 3 letter word in my blog title…Yes, sex!If you are a women or you are a man noticing their partner’s lack of drive, ask yourself… Is she honouring her cycle? Am I honouring her cycle? How can I assist her in obtaining a mental reboot? How can I assist her in reaching homeostasis? (Just going to add sex can and should be used as a tool to de stress, blow some steam, feel energised and ‘come’ back to yourself… See what I did there 😂)But in general, more stress, less sex. Less stress, more sex. It is a pretty simple equation.Us humans manage a lot, so do not just do something nice and expect some sort of miracle. Do something that relieves cortisol and brings her, him or you back to homeostasis and remember the longer you are operating in a cortisol environment, the longer it may take to potentially find your way out. Have some patience. It most likely will not be solved with just one massage and a chamomile tea. These things need to managed and changed through devotion and the action of building new habits.May the world come back to cosmic and cylical harmony, may our nervous systems be decompressed, less stressed, more sexed and fully blessed!From my heart to yours. Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe

Hello Beautiful People!I spend a lot of time alone and often don’t share the intricacies of my day to day life with others.I feel like Instagram only offers snippets. Aesthetically pleasing photographs with generic captions. Social media definitely tends to assist in the loss of attention spans.However, I understand not everyone has the time to watch or listen to someone yap on about life.I have some family friends in this space though, so I hope these episodes bring insights into my daily life, personality and thoughts to them or others who may be interested in my unconventional lifestyle.Like I stated in my other video, one day, I would love to host tours in Egypt. But I feel to be successful (in my eyes) I need to master the art of communication alittle more swiftly.Clarity. Punctuality. Focus. Speed. What do you think?Anyways, this morning I was quite reflective on my hesitancy with pricing my products and feeling some type of guilt.What is this? I asked… As I delved into it-along with some minor distractive segues and tangents…Once again, clarity. Punctuality. Focus. Speed.I reflect on being an empath, I kind of want to just give things away or discount them straight up (and trust me I will).I have an elderly man as a neighbor at camp, he cracks me up with his perceptions and conspiracy theories and I can’t wait to gift him one of my balms because I know he is on government assistance, but also I see the lacerations in his skin and can’t wait to give him some magic medicine that will help him heal!But in automatically jumping to discounts or give aways I simultaneously sell myself short and don’t give people the chance to have their own discernment and accountability of what they like to spend their money on. What they feel is worthy.After all, money is just a form of currency and energetic exchange… But am I worth it?Aha!That old chestnut! We meet again, dear friend.You come wrapped up in all sorts of fabulous expressions and identitiesIsn’t it funny, I mean, I have been joyfully fruitful and empowered so much recently.The business has helped my self esteem and self trust and yet my dear friend, self worth has this sneaky way of disguising itself and creeping up when I least expect it.Hamdullah Habibi. Salam Malaykum or “Thank God, my darling. Peace be upon you.”I meet it with grace and curiosity.A humble approach I hope, that is not too self depreciating or too overly confident. An opportunity to look at what lays before my eyes… An empath AND a business women?Is there such thing?Well, that is going to take some discipline to balance out, but I am sure like everything, they can co-exist in a harmonious relationship.Or perhaps, I am not cut out for it! Never try, never know… I guess I shall see :) Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe

Lets talk LOVE… No Limerance.I had a lot on my mind this morning. Or heart, perhaps.I don’t know what triggered the thought, although it seems to be residing in the atmosphere of my mind in one way, shape or the other.It played a role in my life, at one point.I filmed this and so many words came through. I thought I could edit it, cut some parts out. I re listened and went, wait, no! I didn’t mean to say it like that or feared it might be perceived in a way I did not intend.That often happens when those streams of thought come through, you can’t really backpedal like in a physical conversation.Luckily with writing, it is easier to edit and communicate.And I suppose that was my practice and lesson in regards to verbal communication.To be scrutinized, or to be felt. Or not to be heard at all. I dont know how the podcast/audio works on this side of Substack or who the audience is. Maybe I am talking to void.In this case, I kind of hope.But here it is either way. Unpolished and uncut. Straight from the mind to the tongue.One of my take aways this afternoon was how I would like to eventually lead tours in Egypt. I feel comfortable with that idea, however I tend to wonder… Am I any good at relaying information? If not, how can I practice?So here I am. Re listening to myself, like how an athlete re watches games.I still have so much more now to relay in regards to this particular topic.I felt there were some segues that didn’t get explained efficiently. I kinda jumped from limerence, to past relationships and then the insane amount of knowledge we have at our fingertips and how that can sometimes be weaponized when it comes to certain groups of people.Anyways, that’s a draft run of the circus.Just gotta learn to tame and untamed certain parts of myself.Figuring it all out, much love.Chenee Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe

The afternoon of the Full moon brought with it this hazy yet glassy softness that hung off the horizon. The smoky distortion brought a glimmer, speckles of light flickering and shimmering, dancing their way from one part of the ocean to the other.I felt like a moth, pulled towards the light.I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone else was completely enamoured by this spectacle.No one.I couldn’t quite capture the heavy glow and told myself not every moment needed to be captured. Shortly after, I saw some children frolicking amongst the water, also dancing.The purity, the innocence. I recalled my time as a sunbathed child with only my imagination, nature and an accelerated heartbeat and suddenly it was like the moment I had been looking for, found me.As the sun grew closer to ending its cycle, my mind became flooded with memories of the Nile.The same sun putting on the same show.As time shifted the colors became characters.I felt this overwhelming sense of harmony as I witnessed each color of the spectrum taking their individual expressive form.It was the simplest birth of beauty and cosmic magic.I once again stared out into the skies canvas, a thought flickered through my mind as I embraced the ever changing palette, Rainbow Serpent.It was a fleeting thought, inspired by the land.At the time, I didn’t dissect it.I witnessed the thought, absorbed the colors and felt the moment.PART 2 - To come, as earlier this morning the Rainbow Serpent slithered back into my mind. I used this fleeting thought as an intuitive insight, a revelation and opportunity to assist my learning of Indigenous Aboriginal creation stories and Mythology that parallel Ancient Kemet.Please honour that our Indigenous Ancestors and stewards of the Land here in Australia are the oldest continuous living culture on Earth with evidence dating back to 65,000 years ago.They still hold a deep and profound connection to this day. Their timeless tending and connection carries the heartbeat and soul of this country that is often overlooked. Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe