Monday, April 28, 2014

Our Word Spring Session, Week 2 Day 1, Tell me, What is your Name?

After years of having people butcher the pronunciation of my name, of shortening it and mangling that too, I decided I was finished with that name, and I asked one of my magical women collectives to help me find my new name. Really I was asking my alchemist golden wordsmith, she of the silver-tongue, ladylove MaryBeth, whom I had recently fallen deeply in love with, but I didn’t realize it yet. She did though. And So I became Nika, short for Dominique, an incarnation of Nike, the messenger of the gods. 

The renaming came at a time of deep shedding and shifting within my personal axis, I was re-patterning, and using my voice, and setting boundaries, and reclaiming my personal power. I was walking face first into the fire and saying, yes, you are mine, and I am yours, take me, let me take you, devour me with your scalding kisses, immolate me with your all consuming love, fuck me until I am screaming and shaking and no longer remember my name or who I am or anything but us. I love this shit. It’s what I am designed for- the intensity of full body Yes, of connecting so deeply that we cannot define where I begin and you end, boundless. I am the fire and I am always hungry for more, feed me, fill me, empty yourself into my vessel, and I will always ask for more please. Sometimes I will demand it, because you need it, I require it, and if that terrifies you, it excites me, because that is exactly where you need to be, and if you are willing to dance in the heat of the flame, and say yes through the fear then I know that it’s a Yes, truly. Often you will find me in the heart of the bonfire, dancing, naked, screaming, bring it, waking next morning with the hair on my skin singed and curled, the wild nest on my head feral and full of woodsmoke. There’s video. This is true. I am full of this fire again right now, but in a different way, now it’s the fire of what is true for me, burning bright, and less of the raging inferno of burning away everything that is no longer serving. 

I am also earth, the grounding presence, fertile, full, a place to rest your body when you are exhausted and simply need to sleep and recharge, when you need to be held, loved, fed, nurtured, and kept safe. Bare feet in warm dark soil, hands in the dirt, composting, renewing, a web of interconnectivity overflowing with life and nourishment. Places for shelter, for rest, and places for you to undress and lay in the sunshine, baring all, knowing all will be received in love, your darkness and your light. Indeed, I am likely to love you more fiercely if you know your darkness and can share with me, as this is somewhere I am so incredibly comfortable. If it’s hard, and complicated, ugly or terrifying, I am likely to be all up in that, mining, and coming up with gold. My life was once a horror show, and I learned the art of composting, of transmutation, of using the negative to shine the light on the dark places, of questioning, of forgiveness. Forgiving others is never the hardest part-It’s forgiving myself, learning that my imperfections and perceived failures are such fertile compost for the soul work I do here. My job now is to forgive myself the way I am so quick to do for others, to take it in as nourishment and see how, mushrooms, in particular, are fed by toxicity, and remediate an area until it is clean, using it to feed the flowers it pushes through the surface of the earth. That work spreads through the invisible net of mycelium underground, which speaks to the trees, to the plants, to the soil web, and all it’s inhabitants, and that when I do this work, it’s not just for me, it is for all of us. When I forgive myself and love myself, and allow myself to do this work, I send off permission ships to every part of my interconnected web. And we, as women, are so tied in to Service, to community, to that mycelium web, that somehow it makes it an imperative when I realize that this, this is the highest Service we can perform. To forgive ourselves our imperfections, our “failures” our “faults” and to love and nourish ourselves, so we can stand in our highest light, shine our truths like a light house beacon for every one of us who is seeking our Truth. I am here to change the world, and I know you are too, and it starts with this Love of Self, as deeply as I love the Earth, the realization that my skin is the Earth, and in caring for myself truly, I am caring for the Earth in the most exquisite way possible.This is my current Work, perhaps my most important, to date. 

I am air and water too, in different ways, but that’s not what wants to come out right now. What wants to come is this: I have been a writer, a model, a muse, a singer, and a dancer since the moment I discovered these things. And somehow I have spent my life playing duck duck goose with these things. Until now. I’ve forever been both fascinated and drawn to those exotic multitalented powerhouse women who dance, and write, sing, or create art, whatever medium, and perform, who bravely put their hearts out on a platter for the world to see, who show up with the full wattage of their beauty and courage, so much so that it brings tears of joy and longing to my eyes, wanting to join their ranks, to be part of this sacred community, this communion with the Divine. In many ways I am acutely aware of my own sensual magic, in the last few years I finally owned the inner Snake Priestess and allowed her to share herself with the world. In some ways I have continued to hide, behind being all things to all my people, being busy, not having time, giving too much of myself away to have the energy to pour into my own needs, my own soul whisperings, my own burning desires. This year I finally started to change all that, and I put down many of the distractions, and I just started to say Yes. I know this is a theme in much of my writing, but it is so prevalent right now, this is the work I am actively doing, it’s all encompassing. 

A year or so ago a friend shared a video of this belly dancer dancing with fire to a song that lit me up inside. I watched it with thrills of recognition and desire coursing through my veins, and announced that I wanted to be doing that, that I should be belly dancing with my snakes. So, this year I started belly dancing classes, which, let’s face it, my personal dancing style is already half belly dancing, just without the structure. And I found the perfect snake partners for dancing with, and I started dancing at home with them several times a week as a form of, oh, everything I love that fills me up. See, music for me is life blood, is love, is all of my memories, is as necessary for my life as breath and water. Music is where I go when I need to ground, to recalibrate, to shift something, to find my bliss. Same with dancing. And same with being with my snakes. Yep. Connecting the dots. A little over a month ago, I was friended by a man on facebook with many mutual friends, and I accepted, and then received a message from him that he and his partner were having a cd release party performance, and one of my Scorpio sistar friends had told him that I love snakes, and might have a snake or two to lend for the performance, and asked if I was a temple dancer too, and would I want to perform. As usual, I balk at labels, and said I hadn’t used the term temple dancer before, but I danced as sacrament, as prayer, as connection to the Divine, and I would be thrilled (read, totally terrified) to dance with my snake for this performance. And life happened, and we did not manage to get together for rehearsal, and I literally got the confirmation that they wanted me to come, and the song to dance to at 11 pm the night before the performance. HAH!! I was completely sick to my stomach, the entire day with nervousness. And my beloved who is overseas, was mysteriously unable to sleep and messaged me just as I was starting to come unglued, and reassured me, told me to have a drink and synch up with my snake, and I did so, and calmed down, somewhat. He was able to go to sleep, and I went off to my performance, and hung around in a beautiful space full of gorgeous amazing women and men, dressed in all their festie best, feeling incredibly awkward, and out of place. And my girl Jamie stuck by my side and boosted me with her happy dances, her confidence, plied me with chocolate chile elixers that were supposed to be an herbal boost for dancing similar to E, a glass of wine, water, water, water, and love. I ran into some women that I know and adore, which helped tremendously, and I met some of the other dancers, whom I fell deeply in love with. And, Oh!! My snake, my snake, my snake. Aslan was a total rockstar. There is a reason I call him my boyfriend snake. He was the perfect ambassador, friendly, curious, calm, full of love, and deeply grounding. When it came time to dance, he embodied the Shakti Kundalini energy that was being called forth, coming up my front, and over my face and head as Eden was chanting Shakti Kundalini, and then moving down my midline. I could not have asked for a better partner. So yeah. I got on stage, blind, no rehearsal, I’d heard the song all of five times by then, danced to it once in my living room with Aslan while drinking a beer, my nerves shot, and also uber excited, and I did it anyway. Why? Because my soul jumped up and down and screamed YES we CAN like a deranged Shamanic cheerleader overly drunk on light and love and chocolate chile elixer. Heh. And I brought it as best I could under the circumstances, and even so was comparing to the other performers, that I could have brought it bigger, better, more. Of Course. Although the truth is that the Kundalini energy was moving through the two of us, me and Aslan, linked, so hard that my legs were a quivering mess of jelly, the same way they get when I get fucked so good the sex magic kicks in, and i think I can’t go on, but I do, and I danced with legs like that the whole time, the fire so hot in my face I was sure everyone could see I was bright red, and I smiled, I smiled and I brought it the way Aslan and I were supposed to bring it in that moment, because I was dancing in partnership with him, not just dancing with a snake on my body. And when it was all over, I met my Jamie’s eyes, and I grinned and did a little happy wiggle, and I breathed, and I walked off of that stage and into the air, and found something to lean on before my legs completely gave out, and I drank water. So much water, and talked to the girl who had made the connection for me, who danced next to me and felt the same energy and quivering shaking in her legs. 

Here’s the thing though. I watched these other amazing artists and performers, each with their partners there in quiet, steady loving support, with water, cool, steadying hands, and calm collected energy, to help these gorgeous creatures on and off the stage, in to and out of costumes, and provide them whatever they needed to continue, and I kind of melted in love for these gorgeous partnerships. Each and every one of the most dynamic bright shining women came with their “handler” of sorts- their own behind the scenes support system. That each of these women were equally nervous, equally human, and we each stepped up and brought it anyway. And that’s what it takes. And something shifted inside me and I suddenly realized, I was no longer just wanting to be one of these glorious, light filled women of bravery, bringing their best to the stage, that I was indeed, one of them. And that this is just the beginning. I was born to do this, to dance with the fire within me blazing, to wear my snakes as a medal of honor, to bring my light full wattage, wherever it is called. And I am no longer afraid of sharing my magic out loud. In fact, I’m already seeking out the next performance. 

I am Nika, Writer, Snake Priestess, Sacred Dancer, Model, Muse, Earth Witch, and so much more. And Finally, I am stepping into my proper Names. 

Saturday, March 1, 2014

On Being Enough.

Dearest one, 

First, let me just say, I love you. And then, to the issue at hand. Wait, no, I’m still just loving you. Can you feel that? 

I could tell you that it hurts me to hear that you gave your heart to a man-child who treated this precious gift with disrespect. I could tell you I have been there, time and time again, in my younger years, the man who wants to have a closed relationship, who slowly but surely clips my wings and removes my freedoms and happinesses leaving me in a field of gray, while he subtly, at first, removes his affection and energy, and then, begins to give to to others. I could tell you that it is not about you, it has no reflection on your worth, your value, no bearing on the amazing light being you are, that this is his wounding, his inability to connect in intimacy, but, would you really hear me? Are we able to hear through the pain, the hurt, the feeling of not enough in order to truly grok that it’s not our story, it’s theirs? Doubtful. So, my love. I am going to tell you the story of me, instead, because this is all I have to work with, it’s what I have to offer, and I offer it to you completely, vulnerably, and full of love. 

Once I believed the story of Not Enough. I somehow incorporated this story from childhood, from not being allowed to have boundaries, and having them repeatedly violated, my feelings ignored or pushed aside, the feeling of being loved, sometimes, when it was a convenience. After some time, and many relationships based on a feeling of Not Enough, and of wanting to Be Enough, so badly, of feeling like I loved so deeply, and yet, was choosing the walking wounded, who were unable to love me in the way I needed, in fact, I was choosing those who were reinforcing the pattern, putting salt in my wounds with chronic neglect, withdrawal, cheating. Indeed, it’s entirely possible that no one else would ever have been able to fill this hole i had inside me, the terrible yearning, that aching desperate loneliness. 

Then I had a child. And my love for her became the most important thing. More important than holding on to patterns that do not serve, even ones that are generational in nature, passed down mother to daughter for generations. I will not model Lack, for her. I will not model Not Enough. She is, without question, the most exquisite being I have ever had the pleasure of being near, and she fills me with a sense of awe and amazement, daily.... I birthed this light, this incredible soul, she came from my body, my struggle, my lineage, she is mine as much as I am hers. So I decided to rewrite the Story, MyStory, HerStory, to break the patterns and rewire the motherboard. 

It was hard at first. I was lonely, I was devastated from what I saw at the time as a failed marriage, I was struggling to survive, with a three year old with me full time, while farming full time, waitress/ bar-tending, working at a second farm, AND at the farm I lived on  before and after work,  in all my time off, as a work exchange for a place to live. So, don’t let me gloss it over as though this is some sort of new age glamor story. It’s not. It’s blood and sweat and tears, and dirt, and pig shit, and nights of screaming at the heavens while I burned everything I could drag to the bonfire, and smashing empty wine bottles against trees, the contents of which did nothing to quiet the dragon of rage coiling out of me for sweet release, the Kali Ma of destruction working her magic, taking the knife to the old ways in which I lived my life, and hanging the hapless heads on my belt as a reminder, “Never Again.” This was raze everything in my path in a monumental and ancient feminine rage, Lilith at her blackest and most terrible, exploding the constraints of being caged, being not loved, being cheated, neglected and left behind... And in the morning, the outline of a phoenix, burned black all around the fire pit, where the fire escaped her man imposed boundaries and kissed the earth, devouring everything in her path. I highly recommend this, by the way, if you haven’t raged at the unbearable fucked up unfairness and the hurt, the pain, please, do yourself a favor, and do, as soon as possible. Bring your closest mad girl friends to hold space for you, and hand you more wine, who will get naked with you and dance around the fire tears streaming when it is all over and you have let the broken storyline go. 

See, my love is fire, it’s mad, dangerous, engulfing everything in her path, demanding utter surrender, conflagration, immolation, Sacrificial offerings. Bring it, all of it, and then some. My love is water, cooling, sweet relief to a parched throat, working in the dry heat in the desert, she will hold you when you are feeling heavy, and encourage you to feel it, and then let it pass through you, for release, she is soft and receptive, and will also carve new ways through the landscape. My love is earth, grounding and deep, a safe space in the clearing in the trees, the ancient vibration of the stones, the quiet cool of deep caves and crevices, and the warmth held long after the sun has set, she will always be here to listen, to accept, to receive, hold space, and whatever you bury within her will compost, creating fertile soil for new life, or come back out transmuted, rebirthed into some new precious form. My love is air, the cool breeze that reaches you no matter how far away you are, ruffling your hair, caressing your neck and cheek, nuzzling behind your ears, drying your perspiration, and, giggling mischievously, snatches whatever you are distracted with, and runs off, reminding you to be here now. She is the power of the windstorm, and the eddy of fresh air on a still hot day. 

And you see all that powerful, dynamic, amazing sweetness in that list right there? I give it all to myself. Every day. I allow myself to bring the noise, the laughter, the too big, the too much, and sometimes the small, the sadness, the tears, and the not enough. Not every day is a great day. But I love myself through all of them. I love myself to do the work, to teach myself about setting boundaries, to say the Sacred No, when I need to, even if I feel guilty, because saying No, when needed, makes space for the Sacred Yes. And we want more of the Sacred Yes. 

... to be continued

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Tending to the wild.

Dearest One,

This is a love letter, a sirens call, to that part of you that needs it most. 
 Bring me your worst, your darkest, your maelstrom, show me your shadows, your fear, those places where you feel not enough, where you fear to feel. The places where you feel scarcity, jealousy, anger, rage, the keening grief of loss and abandonment. The place where you lose your temper and rage like a blinded injured animal. I love you. 
That place where he pushed you away, because you were gone too much, working to create a life for the two of you, and exhausted when you finally did come home and he lost track of where the love was and turned to someone else. Mmhhmm. I love you. 

Where he stopped touching you, stopped loving you, the place where the affection stopped, the sex died off and became a painful chore- three minutes every two months with that dead look in his eyes as he forced himself to allow you to fuck him. Because, you know, he only wants sex if he is in love with you, and he is not in love with you any more. But don’t leave or anything, cause he doesn’t want to be alone either. I love you. 

That place where he stopped sending you delightful playful messages, stopped responding to you, but you later discovered that he is in constant flirty contact with the neighbor, who has started to make sappy mixed cd’s that are suddenly popping up around the house. But, there’s nothing wrong with it, they are just friends, and you know, she’s married, so get over it. That place where he deprived you, but gave that connection you craved to another, which is my only definition of cheating. I love you. 

That place where you keep repeating the pattern, in one way or another, reopening the old scars until they bleed again, wondering why it hurts so much, until you hear a song, and trace the memories back to the mixed cd’s, and suddenly, it all makes sense. I love you. 

That place where you are kept a secret lover, for any number of legitimate socially political reasons, all of which translate to your hurt heart that you are not worthy of being loved out loud. I love you. 

That place inside you that cracked, opened, and bled and bled and bled until you felt like, goddamn, when is the fucking surgeon gonna come clamp this vein off, because Immabout to bleed out. That place where you lost hope and decided you were not enough. That somehow you don’t deserve the love and connection you crave, that it’s safer to shutter your heart and build a protective barrier than to ever feel that devastation again. I love you. 

That place, inside your heart where your little girl sits, and her head is bent to her knees, and there is nothing but grey, and the howling of hungry winds, buffeting her every which way, and the bog of hopelessness that sucks her under as the fog of being unloveable settles all around her til she can see, nothing. That place where you feel not worthy of love. I love you. 

That place where you are so hungry for love, honest connection, for drop down real, unafraid intimacy, sex magick, where the connection isn't dropped when you aren't face to face. I love you. 

Yeah. That. Give me all of that so I can love it with every breath in my body. I want to wrap you up and love you fiercely, bravely, fully. Especially those bits. I want to share with you how amazing you are, bring that little one into the light and shower her  in the cool blessed waters of unconditional love, unbridled affection, and vulnerable, open, flow of heart to heart connection. And not just sometimes when it's convenient or you are being good, love, Allllll the time love. I want to love you until you drop that outdated story line and begin to love yourself complete the way only you can, paving the way for others to love you the same way. I want to love you out loud. 

Take my hand, love. Shall we? 


Saturday, November 23, 2013

A Love Story

She comes to him dirty, tired from a long week, wearing her farm girl gypsy pirate clothes, smelling of hot sauce, backpack in tow, packed full of choose your own adventure options. She pauses thoughtfully at the low white picket gate, wondering for the hundredth time if it swings in, or out. She takes the steps two at a time and knocks on the door, his face pops up in the glass above, and she can see his grin already, in his eyes, and indeed, as the door swings open, she is blindsided, as usual by the brilliance of his smile. He kisses her and welcomes her in, as she rushes to put her things down so that he can sweep her up into his arms. She melts into him. “Too hard!!”, she squeaks, at his enthusiasm, and he muffles a rueful laugh into her hair, “I’m not even squeezing you!” “I know, I just hurt all over, as usual” He makes murmuring mother hen noises at her and rubs her back, and she leans into him moaning. “I missed you.” “I missed you too, Peach.” 
  He’s got champagne chilling. She rarely drinks it as it gives her a headache and hangover, but she’s so touched by the gesture she wouldn’t dream of saying no, she asks for two asprin and downs them with her first glass. She’s a creature of yesses when she’s with him. He sends her to take a hot shower. 
  She returns to his bedroom steaming, towel wrapped around her head. She pulls outfit selections for the evening, and begins to smother her skin in coconut oil, infused with Sacra, a magical sexy oil created by a Soul Sister., you know you want you some ;) He bounces in and settles on the bed with refreshed champagne flutes to watch her get ready, a ritual they both adore. She takes her time, slips into the cheeky panties she knows he loves and a matching bra, and then begins the game. Adventure number one begins in the waterfall dye emerald green dress, adventure number two is a slinky black dress-  both paired with black slitted leggings and either brown knee high lace up boots with a chunky two inch heel, or the black patent leather lace up ankle boot with the five or six inch platform heel. She makes him choose, it’s his wrapping. 
  He chooses black from head to toe, and she puts in the earrings he made, and gave her a year or so ago, still one of her favorite pairs, followed by the long white feather earrings. Her makeup is smoky, dark, and blood red lipstick. He says he doesn’t think he has ever seen her this dressed up. She insists its the makeup, usually she wears browns, done in the same style, but the effect is far more dramatic when created with coal, gray, silver, and white. Quickly now, they head out to dinner, knowing that if they don’t leave now, they never will. She makes him choose the destination. 
  Dinner is a blur of laughter, good wine, and amazing conversation. They never stop talking when they are together, their relationship is the epitome of conviviality. They are much alike in so many essential ways, and in many other, just as essential ways, completely not.  
  He is her primary lover, best friend, partner in crime, she remains as smitten with him now as she was when they first started playing together- a lifetime ago for her, the phoenix, so much has changed. Even with all the caution tape she has wrapped around her tender bits, she manages to open to him more each time they are together. Maybe it’s the self imposed “no strings, just fun”, clause. More likely it’s that he makes her feel safe, treasured, adored, loved, every moment they are together. When she is with him she feels like she has come home, and can actually relax, which is an incredible rarity for her. Their time together serves to fill them both up, without draining either one of them, a true reciprocal relationship, which, also is a rarity for her, as she finds the majority of relationships to be energetically draining. 
  They leave the restaurant and meander arm in arm, downtown for shishi cocktails, and while away the time giggling and talking until it is time to walk home. Oh, these two don’t drive when they go out together, their time together is a hedonistic indulgence, both with bottomless appetites for all of the beauty and deliciousness life has to offer.  It’s one of the primary reasons they enjoy each other so much, they both thrive in creating, and indulging in feasts for the senses. Music, food, style, words, art, drinks, beauty, comfort, dancing, sensuality, sex, she wants to swallow it all whole the way her snake takes in food, and then looks at you, unwavering, hungry for more. 

Friday, November 22, 2013

Writing my Narrative

In every given moment we have the precious and often underutilized ability to write and reframe our personal narrative. Three days ago, I was reeling with what felt like another letdown from my child’s father, again, leaving me to be the responsible one, while he continues to write his story of victimhood and inability to take care of his own business. And I was full of anger, and rage, and sadness. And then I realized, that really, these feelings are so strong because I am angry with myself for choosing this man to be the father of my child. That I saw all the signposts, the red flags, from the very start, and I knew full well what I was walking into, and I chose to do so anyway. I am ANGRY with myself for choosing a man who is unable to participate in showing up as a fully present, emotionally available human being. I am ANGRY that I chose to marry, and have a child with a man, who, unable to love and care for his own self,  or do his inner work, is completely unable, and unwilling to truly love and show up for another- for me. I am ANGRY with myself for tying myself to a man, for a lifetime, who does not love me. Who cannot show up for me, or our child. Who leaves me to be the responsible adult, the one who does all the things, without support, while he is free to play. 

And you know what? That’s one story. The other part of this story is that I have a soul contract with this child, and I knew it was time for her to come through to me, and for whatever reason, this man, held the key to opening the gate to allow her to come be my partner. My lifetime partnership is with this child. Not with him. And the reality is that I will facilitate in any way I can, whatever relationship he is capable of having with her, because I love her, and I need her to be happy and whole, and right now, that includes having a relationship with her dad. It really is inconsequential how I feel about it, or how it inconveniences me, or what kind of fallout I deal with from her time with him. I have the tools to hold space for all of that, to reground with her: walks in the woods, time in the garden, snuggles, books, being present for her and all of her emotions, and helping her to have the tools to feel safe in feeling all of her feels, and then releasing them. 
And, as I was reminded by a single mom friend this week,  I have Ho’oponopono, this mantra: I am sorry, I love you, please forgive me, thank you, which is infinitely helpful in shifting and releasing anger and damaging narratives. ((Thank you!!))

Today had all the makings of a shit day. I started out with a marked lack of sleep, nauseas all day, on the verge of, or in tears for the past two days, I had to clean the classroom at the school in the middle of the day, taking time out of my work day, and when I got my child back, she was sick. We returned to work to find a kitchen full of people, and our guest chef making soup for an event for us this weekend, and I was to make cornmeal muffins for 200, with an unproven, and incomplete recipe. heh. It could have been shit, right? Totally. I could have been angry, and short tempered, and frazzled, and upset at my child being emotionally needy, and sick, and pissed off that I am having all or this extra, unplanned, out of my comfort zone work added to my load, and hours onto my schedule. Oh, and my poor overworked boss's face when I told her that my daughter was sick, she, already trying to figure out how to fit too much into too little a time frame. There was no way I could let her down, leave her holding the bag, having to do all the things by herself. I wasn’t going down like that. Not today. 

I chose to be fully present and playful and loving to my child, who drew me amazing pictures while I worked. I helped the guest chef cheerfully, and made awesome cornmeal muffins. I laughed, and played and learned and tasted from all the other beautiful chefs in the kitchen, and created a light hearted atmosphere of respect, and sharing, and support, and liberally distributed floury cheek kisses and hugs to those that were flagging under their work loads, which were received with gratitude. 
I fucking brought my best game. And I cleaned up everyone else’s mess, and I did it efficiently and well. I swept and mopped the entire kitchen, because, as I told those who told me to leave it, I am not a hypocrite, and if the rules are, we are to leave the kitchen clean, and it is my job to enforce those rules, then I must set, and adhere to the standard. And *That* is why we have mutual respect in the kitchen. I was the last (wo)man standing in there tonight. And my kid, even though she felt awful, managed it with grace, and good cheer, and pitched in unhesitatingly with every request for assistance, and said “behind” if she had to enter the kitchen and walk behind the line of chefs, which earned her unending thanks and gratitude, from all of us. She was a champion, a model, and I expressed my gratitude and relief, and joy to her that she was my partner in making this work today, even though it was clear she felt like crap. 

All of this was made possible by my choice in how I wrote my narrative today. How I chose to show up, to carry myself, and to be present for all of those relying on me. At the end of the day, I am the one who writes my story. I am the one who chooses how I show up. I am not responsible for anyone else’s story, or how they choose to grow, or show up, or not, and it is not a reflection of me or my worth. I can only control my own narrative, and I choose to have it be one of quality, of beauty, of love, and connection, and showing up with my best game face on, to my full ability to rock it out, whatever is going on behind the scenes, cause that is how I roll. 

Friday, October 25, 2013


I'm sitting here looking at my blog, and thinking about editing all of the descriptions to reflect my life changes. And suddenly I realize. Holy Fuck. Leaving farming changes EVERYTHING. Especially my descriptors of who I am and what I do. Don't get me wrong. I will Always be a Sustainable Farmer, Midwife, Steward of the land. However, I'm pretty sure that the career switch is going to require some new descriptors, and an overhaul of the blog. I kinda want to just chuck out the old blog and start a new one, along with a new website. *Wishing I was more proficient in these things. Spying an opportunity to learn.*

I might be experiencing an identity crisis. A Shift, lets call it. There is a deep grieving that is happening around this shift, a letting go of the way things have been. Leaving my farm family and kitchen family of the last four years. The only stability I have had since I left my daughter's father, indeed, they stood by me through the chaos of the abuse and the breakdown that occurred at the end, and gave me safe harbor, and the means to continue to work while being the sole parent of a young daughter. For this sense of safety, of family, love, support, and endless access to "Seconds" (older or ugly/damaged, unsalable produce) I am, and will always be forever grateful. Indeed, Tierra Vegetables has earned my undying love, devotion, and loyalty.

 I am moving on, through the tears.

I have a yearning. To be wild, and free, and unfettered. To live my life my way. To walk my path, head held high, wings tucked up under my tunic so that they are safe, trusting in my own innate wisdom, and listening to my voice. I lived my whole life trying to fit in, while aching at my core knowing I never would. I've done the good girl thing: get married, have child, wake up, go to work, go home, eat sleep repeat, knowing all the while that my mask was askew and didn't fit. And Guess what? It has never worked for me. I've always been broke. I've always managed to help make other people's businesses more successful, and eliminate at least three other positions, as I did them all, while being given a pittance more than I was originally making (literally cents) and I have stayed. Because most of these jobs were jobs of service, for good people, and small businesses.  I have toed the line and followed the rules, I went to school, got the degrees, followed all the steps that my step father used to fury at me were so necessary to be a successful human, and even then, I knew the rules didn't apply to me, and that this game was not designed for me... but goddamn, did I give it a good go. At some point here I gave up the pretense of trying, and started to carve out my own niche, and attract my own tribe to me, creating my own reality, my own world. It's sexy, and wild, and tender, full of love, and an understanding of the wild things. There's plenty of room, if you feel called to join me.

The game is broken. It doesn't even really work for the people it "works" for. Our city streets are full of people disconnected from Nature, and their own Divine being. Operating out of shadow, fear, anger, want, need, hooked into the zombie apocalypse, TV and phone. We have lost the ability to connect to nature, to each other, to ourselves. I frequently think about this as I drive home from work, how driving has us hurtling through our environment so fast, that there is no time to connect to our surroundings.  And you know what? The game is making me sick. I've been sick since July- I am still not fully well. And I am So. Fucking. Tired. All. The. Time.  And regularly debilitated by everything that blew thru on the kid train before that. I have a child, and I refuse to die of grief and frustration and stress because I ignored my soul calling. Stress happens for a reason, it's your body's way of telling you something needs to change. Did you catch that? It's not saying, hey, go ahead, power on through, I'll just chillax back here til I find an inconvenient time to erupt in an anxiety attack, no. Stress = something is not working, please address. Only I've been following the prescribed Western method of handing stress, which is to self medicate and work through it until your system collapses. heh. Yeah. That method sucks monkey ass.

And yet, even so, there is grief about leaving the Matrix. It's a scary thing to do. But I feel absolutely positive that I must for my own well being. It's the same feeling I had when I knew i had to leave my husband, on the one hand, it is scary as fuck, a whole world of unknowns and change, and leaving behind a dream of how you thought your life was going to look, and on the other hand, I knew that if I stayed, I would be killing my soul, and condemning myself to a lifetime of depression and misery. So I went, with nothing but the faith that it would be ok, that the Universe loves me and will support me in following my heart.

One by one I've been shedding the trappings of the game, and picking up the things that my intuition says "Yes" about.
Sooooo. I'm doing something "new"

But HOW will you support yourself?!!!

Omg. Guess what. I will be fine. We actually lived for many many centuries without having jobs, or money, and we were far happier, more connected, and more productive. I am incredibly smart and talented, an incredibly hard worker, completely able to do anything I put my mind to learning, so I feel quite certain that I will rock whatever I choose to do.  It's just, I'm gonna do this shit my way now. And there is gonna be a whole lot more play, and laughter, and love.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Leaving the Matrix.

Hello Loves,

Just a short announcement to let you all know that I adore you, and I so want to join your, what have you, or attend your soiree, life changing class, or hang out, or grab a cuppa or.... I do. I really do. And, due to the nature of my long hours at work, and being a full time single mom, with a child in tow, and limited income, PLUS, 5 nights a week are school nights, and when I do keep her out, I pay the next day- it is highly unlikely I will make it. This has been my life for the last oh, I don't know, too long. And let me tell you, I'm pretty tired of watching my life pass me by, of hearing the soul calling to do something, and not being able to because of needing to go to work.

So. I'm retiring from my job. I love them, and always will. But I need to devote some serious time to loving myself, and healing myself from the trauma I have inflicted on myself these past 6 years or so. Overwork and exhaustion (working full time, and live-working in all my "free" time- all hard physical labor with a young child) coupled with constant stress, and survival issues have led to me finally admitting that I am burnt out. I can't do it any more. I literally just have nothing else to offer. I am finishing out the year, and then I am retiring from farming. I gave it a good shot. Our food system is so jacked. There is no money in farming. The only way it works is if you are farming your parent's land, land you inherited or own outright, and are somehow otherwise supported. Well. I am none of these things. And until I am, I give up. I cannot support myself and my girl on the wages for farming, and I have no energy left over for us.

I'm going to be a full time mom, I am going to explore the world with my daughter and show her all the things I have always wanted to show her, but haven't had time or energy, I am going to learn with her. A full time wild woman, creatrice.  I'll be working on my writing, and Mari and I have some plans to open an Etsy shop. I'd really like to get a website up and running, and am putting the call out to the wild woman or man who can help me with that. I am going to do all the things, and hang out with you loves, and learn to belly dance, and fire dance, and go to the buckeye gathering with my kid, and finally, finally live the life I have always craved. I am creating my own reality the way I have always wanted it to be, and just have a deep faith that the universe is going to support me in this. I can't wait to see you all in the new year.