Author: Phyllis Foundis

Ever dabbled in the self-help space?

Been seduced by those preaching-teaching, do-more, be-more, make-stuff-happen prophets? I have.

Back in the early 90s I was a regular at a book shop in the city that sold esoteric everything. I remember it was on Druitt Street, kinda hidden from the hustle of life’s rush. I’d get lost among the shelves, stuffed full of more extraordinary words than I could ever devour in a lifetime – angel tales to the left of me, tarot guides to the right, essays on Jung and the pharoahs, tiny books called, Illusions and Jonathan Livingstone Seagull jostled for space with Khalil Gibran and the Old Testament…

Fast forward a decade and I’m in Wales, walking over hot coals before weeping in a room with 1,000 strangers (as orchestrated by the maestro of motivation himself, Tony Robbins). But I bowed out when the call came to ‘go to the next level’ and pay $10k for a course on his private Fijian island. 



For most of my adult life I’ve pushed and prodded and held steadfast to the belief that I Must Make Things Happen – a statement that’s often smacked of struggle and a lust for results. Exhausting. 


But the other day I read a simple, sweet little sentence that sent a rush of relief through me. 


The Universe meets you at the depth of your surrender – not at the height of your struggle.

Ya mean, just do… nothing?! My mind stutters. Thoughts akimbo. 



No. Not nothing. Just not everything. 



© Phyllis Foundis 2025

A chocolate ad from the 80s…

…dusted off a memory for me this week and suddenly I was 11 all over again.

The action revolved around a chick in a long, flowing white dress and floppy, wide-brimmed hat. She seemed to float along, oblivious to the dude sipping his wine, watching her. So captivated was he by the chocolate in her wicker basket, he quickly put on his own hat and followed her…

And the lyrics melt over the melody…

No other chocolate looks like Flake looks.
No other chocolate tastes like Flake tastes.

Full of Cadbury Dairy Milk,
Feel it crumble and melt in your mouth.

Cue a slowed down, close-up of the woman’s thin, glossy lips just as the dude pops his head through the bushes.

No other chocolate does it to you, like Flake does…

That vintage jingle popped into my head faster than you can say, cocoa stalker. We’re talking word-perfect recognition. But, why?

Back in ’81 I may have enjoyed a little flaky chocolate (my tastebuds were not yet wise to the bittersweet pleasures of 70% dark bars.), so why did singing those confected lyrics feel like I was reciting Byron?

…because it was like travelling to an innocent pocket of time. A tune, a lyric, a cringey commercial – you never know what’s going to light up a dusty pathway in your brain and strike a bigger chord than a crumbly chocolate ad from the 80s ever will.

But that’s just a philosophy, my Phylosophy.

© Phyllis Foundis 2025

The Greek Philosopher, Epictetus…

…once said, “We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.”

But I love talking. Even when a teen stutter strangled my words, mid-sentence. Even if it meant smooching Ireland’s slimy Blarney Stone to power up my ‘gab’.

And yet, in the last few weeks I took my wise ancestor’s words to heart. I went against my have-a-chat heritage and listened…

…to my mother as she moaned about her roast chicken really being a rooster, “…it tasted funny.” And to loved ones who spun lies and broke promises, pleading,​

“Hear me out, hear me out!”

But this ain’t a gossip column, it’s a wake up call – sponsored by my ears.

For those of you who believe in your body’s intelligence and its ability to kick into protection mode when you’re pushed, this missive is for you.

On Monday night I found myself in a dizzy spell from hell with a buzzing ear thanks to an infection that sent me reeling and… hurling into the first bowl that was pushed into my hands – ironically, a salad spinner.

A midnight trip to emergency revealed a case of labyrinthitis. Say what?

A dose of antibiotics later and this morning I woke up with clearer ears than I’ve had in weeks. Though I’m still healing, it feels like I’m hearing anew.

New sounds. New thoughts. And a new resolution to listen. To me. More.

Hopefully this Phylosophy won’t fall on deaf ears.

© Phyllis Foundis 2025