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. www.sagegoddess.com, 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.


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Daily Giggles

Summary of my day: Now I get to stress on being late to school due to a new sneaky morning routine designed to help the kids get into their bodies: walking for 20 minutes starting at 8:31. Also designed to shame any late parents into sitting on the bench with their kids for 20 minutes if arriving late. Motherfuckers. I hate school. Mari needs to order up a parent who specializes in this crap to be in our commune, cause I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna make it through 12 more years of this crap.
Work. Start two kinds of hot sauce, begin recording recipes where other people can see them too, heh, unload the dish racks, wash all random dirty dishes and sample thingies.
Back to school for Marisol's 6th birthday celebration. Her dad is a no show. He's only known about it and had mari asking him about it since June. Fucking douchecanoe. Vince and Hannah came though, and it was a beauty full celebration of her life, reminding me why she goes to this school.
I get to see the kid she has a crush on. He's hella cute. Blond, huge blue eyes,  looks like his mom who's a total hottie. I get it.

Work. Finish my two kinds of hot sauce, bloody mary mix, dish washing, pickle downsizing, cooler reorganization extravaganza. Order 5000 new hot sauce bottles. Have the dishwasher guy come fix the dishwasher.

Talk Mari into eating a very green, very active inchworm. She does, to huge applause and jumping up and down on my part. She starts to copy me in the car, so I start the quiet game. And she wins every round due to cracking me up with really awesomely bad faces. Goddamn I enjoy my kid.
More Mari wisdom that blows my mind today, as every day. She offers commentary on human relationships that seriously, just. So mature.
She's started to tell me, "you are such a bad girl" with a smirk and laughter in her voice when I do things that are socially frowned upon. Such as peeing in the sink when she hogs the only toilet, and then decides she needs to take a really long shit, and we both have to go, and are not somewhere where peeing outside is an option. Yeah. That happened. And I wonder where she got the bad girl thing from... I've tried so hard to shield her from those social mores.... Then she tells me she won't tell grandma because grandma would say "oh, that's GREAT" in a tone of voice that distinctly infers that it is not at all great, and she totally disapproves. But she might tell uncle Mikkel, because he is silly like I am and he would laugh about it. This kid. My heart explodes for her daily.
I made her wipe her own butt tonight. Offered her wet wipes as a solution to any post wiping issues. We get in bed and many minutes later she shows me this tiny wad of white. Eyes all big, "I found this, in my BUTT!! In my Butt I found this!! In my BUTT!!" Her vioice is dripping with suppressed laughter. I giggle. Tell her to throw it away, and wash her  hands. She does, and then comes back to bed and fishes around for more. Comes up empty, and promptly sticks her fingers under her nose for a big whiff. I giggle, and she goes, "what, I always do that!" And I say, "nothing, you are just SOOO my kid, that's all."

I missed her so much while I was gone. It was close to unbearable. I stayed up all night Saturday, and after watching the best Phutureprimitive show I have seen to date-and I have seen him every chance I get- I biked back to camp, I packed my shit in less than fifteen minutes (and then of course, had to wait for other people to pack their shit and work out their dramas for like, three more hours, and repack the car twice as the roster changed) and I fucking came home. Saturday was her birthday, and I just was not going to spend another day away from her. And when I got reception again, and was able to call my mom, and heard Mari's voice on the phone I just sobbed, and then my mom said she would bring Mari home to me and I couldn't stop sobbing. This kid. She is my Reason. My flame. My Why. My Love.

Monday, August 19, 2013


I have been tending my own garden in a slightly different way, as of late. With Surrender has come a knowing calm. A Quiet that I am quite enjoying. A release of most of the anxiety that I experience daily. I am learning how to breathe anew, in different rhythms, body wide, and the pulse of that breath is rippling out touching those around me.
 I feel as though I am being breathed, the universe is breathing me, I am the rhythm, the pulse, the breath, the heartbeat. I'm both experiencing it, and also witnessing.

I have shed my "comfort zone" which really translates to, I am shedding the story lines that double as limitations. No more limits.

With the approach of Burningman I've been searching thrift stores, acquiring clothes that will be beautiful, playful, sexy, fun, comfortable, and practical for the heat, the dust, the atmosphere. Beautiful things that are nothing like what I normally wear. A fantasy life, of sorts. And yet, not the tribal fairy wear I love so much. Mostly because I wear those in my normal life, and I don't want to risk them on the playa. Some will go, but the majority will stay safe at home. If I had my way I'd be going flush with everything elvenleather- miniskirts, haltertops, bikini's, hats, respirators, goggles, and big feather earrings, but in the meantime, I've discovered an obsession with booty shorts, belly baring tops, bathing suits, and pirate boots with cowgirl hats. Yeah, all in the same outfit. It rocks. And White. Suddenly I cannot get enough white in my wardrobe. My whole life, white has been a color I avoid. I'm too messy, it gets stained and ruined, and dirty. It just totally doesn't work. And yet, I'm finding a white goddess rocker edge tunic creeped in, and then today, a white shirt that I am positive was made for me, off the shoulder, a style I also "do not do" that says: Breathe Deeply, Love Madly, Live Fully In huge letters down the front. Finally, a pair of tiny white denim shorts, an item that would normally be an emphatic no way, and I simply could not do without them. Had to have them. Had to wear them for the rest of the day, with the shirt, and the knee high pirate boots.

It's all very silly, yes, and yet, it's sooo not. Because it is indicative of a huge inner shift. An initiation, wiping clean the slate and starting anew. White. New beginnings. The initiate.

I am experiencing comfort, confidence, love, beauty, and appreciation in and for, my body. I am owning my own beauty, divinity, connectivity more each day. Because as a part of this surrender, I found the next level of connection with the universe, the divine, that we are completely one and the same, and there is no separation. So, by poisoning my divine vessel, by disrespecting this body, I am disrespecting Spirit, Divine, the Universe. If I am  truly  the Love, embodied, then that starts at home, with my own body, heart, soul, with complete love, appreciation, and worship of my own divinity, the entry portal to the Divine.

This is the Big Work. Quite possibly the biggest work, in some ways. At least for me. Overcoming a lifetime of conditioning, and a society full of messages to the contrary, and indeed, a society that frowns on strong, confident women who love themselves and take full ownership and enjoyment from their own bodies, and sexuality.  It's fucking true. We are sluts shamed, and subject to ugly witch hunts. disempowered, locked away, killed. So it's scary. I won't gloss over that. It's actually a little terrifying. And there's that little voice still, the one that says I will be shamed, I will be in danger, the one that tries to shush This One, the One who is emerging. And I am learning to quiet that voice... it's become back ground noise, rather than the foreground.

I watched a woman teach my daughter how to do push ups the other day. She wanted Mari to do "the girl push ups" first, from the knees, because, "no, that's the boy push up, I haven't taught you that one yet" Mari wanted nothing to do with the knee push up. And I said to this woman, you know, I'm really uncomfortable with you designating one as boy and one as girl, they are just fucking pushups, you really don't need to segregate that. She agreed with me, and proceeded to resegregate them, that the boy push up was the strong one. *HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS, WOMAN, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!!*   I face palmed and stepped away before I just tore her a new one, as she was clearly drunk or impaired and nothing I had to say was going to get through. And later, had a discussion with Mari that there are no fucking limitations, there are no "Boy" whatever the fuck it is that she is limited from due to being a woman. She can do it all, anything she wants, and then some. That being a woman is a gift of the highest order, and anyone who tries to limit her or place limitations on her abilities due to her status as woman should 1. be completely disregarded, and 2, should come talk to her mama. Like, right now, and we'll just get crystal fucking clear on that one.

I owe it to my daughter, to my mother, my ancestral lineage, to every woman alive, and most of all, to myself, to Love myself completely. To take full ownership, joy, pride, and exquisite care of my self, my body, my sensuality, my sexuality, my Woman ness. To be a beacon of light, and love, in the centuries of darkness. To step into my power as Woman, as a fully sexual being, as a being of beauty, and a Divine conduit. And so it is. I invite you to join me. I love you.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Single Parenting.

This is another one of those uncomfortable things to write about.
I'm a single mother, raising my daughter with no support from her father.
He sees her sporadically, as in, it was two months between the last visit, (and wasn't working) and he can't be bothered to call her in between visits. When he did see her again, for four hours, he fed her, plugged her into a movie with her brothers, and fell asleep on the floor. Which is pretty much what he does every time he sees her/them. I called him today and asked him to take her while i was at work, since she is miserably sick, and I literally could not afford to take more time off work, having missed half the week already due to being sick myself. I got excuses. Which is what I get every time I ask him for help. First he was in Oakland, then, halfway through the day, he was home, but tells me, "I have to take a nap, I need to make dinner later" (for himself). Yeah. I spent the day on and off sobbing at work today.

This is not a post to demonize my ex. However, much like Shadow work, I feel I do a great disservice to allow these things to remain buried in the dark where they fester- my work is in bringing the uncomfortable, the shadow, the unexamined bits to the light, where they can be transmuted.

 I have tremendous sympathy for him. So much so, that I am beginning to feel that my sympathy for him has blurred my boundaries a bit. I've always been there when he needs help of any sort. This is not a two way street. I make it as easy as I possibly can for him to see her, spend time with her, talk to her, and I don't ask for child support because I have seen how the constant battle over money causes resentment and sourness between parents who are no longer in partnership. I don't want that. And honestly, the pittance that would come out of his check, and the inconsistency, what with child support for the other three kids already coming out of his check, and bouncing from job to job, is so not even worth having that energetic. And I honestly want him to be able to support himself, so he can see his children regularly.

So here's the uncomfortable bit. There seems to be some sort of agreement, within our society, that spending any amount of time with a parent, no matter the quality or quantity of the time, is more healing/healthy than spending no time at all.

I'm fucking calling bullshit on that. Right. Now.

First of all, when did we, as a society, start rewarding bad parenting? Like, Hi, you totally suck at being any sort of adult presence in your child's life, but we are going to just continue to provide unfettered access to impressionable young psyches because *anything is better than nothing*. Uhhhh. No.

And second of all, What in the Actual Fuck is seeing her father actually teaching her? That she is not worthy of her father being in any way a stable regular presence in her life? That when she does actually see him, she doesn't merit any sort of actual presence or quality time, but, instead, can count on experiencing her brothers treat each other like mean drunk rednecks at a hazing, the entire time they are together, (complete with gay, sexist, and racist slurs of incredible ugliness) with no input from their dad, inappropriate media screen time, and awwww kids, don't forget the conventional food, and high fructose, food dye treats. Awesome. Oh, and let's not overlook the message that you can just fucking pop kids out, you don't actually have to be responsible for parenting them, or contributing to raising them in any way. Yeah. I don't think so.

See, I don't feel I am being a responsible, conscious parent, nor am I parenting with love, or from the heart, when I allow this to continue. I feel like I have a responsibility, to my daughter, to show her a better way. Sure. He's her father. He's the guy that donated his sperm to the cause. He has not earned the title of father. Pretty much every man in our lives is more of a consistent, positive presence and role model in her life than her father. Seriously. Every. Man. Like, the guys at work. The people in my community. My friends. The boys in their early 20s that I used to live with. The awesome gay guy who sells orchids at the farmers market. For real. These people see her, love her, spend more time with her, and are more present, available, and having quality interactions with her on a regular basis than her father does. (Well, Chris, the orchid guy doesn't get to see her as regularly now that we don't work the farmers market, and the boys either, since we moved on, but when they do see her it's a grand reunion)  And we have always had a cast of strong women friends who come through and love on her, on us. In this way we are incredibly lucky. I have such enormous gratitude for the people in our lives who offer love and support, in so many ways. It makes my heart blossom and grow. And honestly, there are days when I would just completely fall apart and lose it, and someone shows up, steps in, and offers that loving support. And I feel like the clouds clear and the sunshine gets back into my soul, warming it up again.

Do you know who came through and picked Mari up from work today? My housemate, Scott. The same man I witnessed sobbing last weekend over the unfairness that there are these men, who father children, and are then not regularly part of their lives, or contributing to raising their kids. While he would have loved to have had a child, and it just didn't happen in this lifetime. He's sobbing, and calling them pussies. walks out the door, and comes back in and apologized for calling them pussies, that they don't deserve that title, when there are strong good amazing single mothers like myself raising our children on our own - that using that term for these sad sacks of man flesh denigrates the term "Pussy"- (-that last bit was my words, not his-) He walks out the door again, and then I'm sobbing. Sometimes that's just how we roll, around here.

A Conundrum, yes? How to model healthy boundaries, parenting, and ensure that my child, my woman child, grows up feeling valued, respected, loved, and ::WORTHY:: by every one she chooses to have in her life, but most especially by the men or women she chooses to love, in relationship. How to model this when I feel like her father demonstrates everything I don't want for her. How do I protect her from that? Is it really healthy for her to be around *Any* of that? Or would it be better if I just severed the relationship? Is that more, or less damaging?

I sobbed all the way into work today after getting off the phone with him and his usual litany of excuses. Mari asked me what was wrong. I told her that I was sad because I wished that her dad was more a regular consistent part of her life, and was there to help when we needed him. And that the fact that he isn't makes me really really sad, and feels really unfair to me. But that I love her so much my heart breaks open a little more each day, and that I will always be here, whole heartedly, present, showing up, doing the work, and consistent, no matter what, forever.

And I have to believe that that is enough.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013


Sometimes all I can do is surrender. Surrender to Flow. Surrender to what is Not Flow. And just Releasssssse. Re-remember how to breathe. In a new way.
Sometimes Surrender looks like Accepting that I am human and that ingrained Self Destructive habits take time to break. Vices. Maybe we all have them. Maybe it's my own Scorpionic tendencies... I love my goddamn vices.  But I don't love them enough to continue living a half life, to continue killing myself in a slow painful fashion.

Today that means being gentle with myself. Wrapping myself in extra love and compassion. Taking a bath. Eating instead. Sometimes it means I don't get caught up on things I had intended, but I catch up with friends I haven't heard from in a while. Sometimes it looks like holing up in my bed Listening to Donna De Lory, Surrender for hours. I wish I could link the song here, but it eluded me in my searches. But here. I obsessed so hard that I transcribed the lyrics, as best i could. Do yourself a favor, and if you haven't heard her, look her up. She is Soul Balm.

That's about where I'm at right now. I am breathing a bit more now. So that's awesome. I scared myself with this one. I haven't had an asthma attack/infection this debilitating in a long while. Many years. I had to make actual choices about the timeline of my goddamn mortality. And while I'm still feeling really fragile, apparently, I'm not ready to check out just yet, so there's that.
I am, however, getting out of my own way, so that I may Serve.


I have no choice now but to just let go
Let it go me... now come to you.
You’ve been so patient with me all this time
You still loved me even when I couldn’t love you
All I want is to give this gift to you
The union of our Love
I surrender
Take my breath in your hands
Now it’s safe to come through
There’s only you
I give myself to you
I surrender
I want to give up all control to you
Feel my heart beating in the pulse of your great hands
The storm is over
Now I call your name
Like a flower rising up to meet the sun
To be where you are
All I want is to give this gift to you
The union of our Love
I surrender
Take my breath in your hands now its safe to come through 
There’s only you 
I give myself to you
I surrender
I was alone I was afraid
You wouldn’t love me
Here in my hiding place
My soul you discovered it
I want to give whatever it takes, whatever
To accept only your love
Only Your Love
Only your love
Your love is all I need 
All I want is to give this gift to you 
The union of our Love 
I surrender
Take my breath
In your hands
Every moment is made new
It’s all come true this dream I had of you
I surrender
And I give, And I give And I give And I give myself to you. Repeat times a million. With Angelic overtones: I Surrender. 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013


I have chronic Asthma and bronchitis.  Have since I was 4 or 5. Every time I get sick, and there is any mucus involved, at all- Bam. Lung infection. I've come to just know the signs and resign myself to getting antibiotics. Or, try to tough it out without antibiotics and suffer with shortness of breath and a wicked cough, for months on end until I finally lose it and give in and go get antibiotics. It really depends on how much self punishment I am doling out at the moment. I also get sick every year, the week or two before school starts, with terrible asthma and bronchitis, my chest feels like it's on fire, and I am completely operating out of shadow, cranky, irritable, intolerant, angry, snappish. It's like clockwork, I don't even have to check the calendar, I get this horrendous bout of debilitating wheezing and chest gunk, coughing, and cannot.catch.my.breath. And I know, school's right around the corner.

So, being that, I have spent my life, long periods of it, actually, deprived of oxygen, and that in many healing modalities the lungs are retained grief, I suppose I have reached that place in my life where I have to look at that. Both the huge, nameless grief that has taken up residence in my lungs, and the habitual ways in which I punish myself, every day.

I can see it in the pictures Mari took of me with Nimue the other day. I had already taken a prednisone, and countless hits of the inhaler, and nothing was helping. I could see in the flare of my nostrils, the way my mouth and chin were stretched, could see the grief etched in my lips, the struggle to breathe. 

So what is this about, this deep, nameless grief? 

Belonging. Deserving. Love. Worthiness. Loneliness. Safety. Lack. Self Punishment. Being "Broken" Not Enough. Or Too Much. Oh, and this long held belief that One has to Work Hard to make money, a living? If that isn't the biggest load of Hurdy Gurdy our society has handed to us, I don't know what is. Absolute bollocks. I'm sure there's more to the list, these just flutter to the top. 

My childhood was less than idyllic, and while there are many things I learned, and became, and transmuted because of the particular fire I was forged in, a sense of belonging was not one. I didn't feel a sense of belonging in my family of origin, unconditional love, safety, and certainly not a sense of worthiness or deserving, that shit was completely conditional, yo.  Nor indeed, within human society as I have experienced it to date, if anything, society instills a distinct lack in all of these arenas.

There have been glimpses, fleeting moments, more, since I have been on this particular wild woman path, spaces where I could breathe, and felt held, felt safe. But more often than not, I feel the weight of my other ness. The burden of my strength and fierce independence. The lack of safety net in being an outspoken wild woman. The very real Danger, from those who would like to muzzle, chain, stuff, quiet, tame, and otherwise diminish the flame of a wild woman. 

Most of the time these days I operate with a heaping dose of "and she wore whatever she wanted, had as much sex as she wanted, and not one fuck was given"  But some days, the reality is that I feel like I tread a narrow crumbling path between a sheer cliff looking up, and a drop into vast space with sharp jagged points far below. And I am so goddamn brittle, that the first good gust of wind, and I will just sail.... blasted into a million pieces. I am Still. All of these years later, Hyper Vigilant. And my Adrenals are giving out on me. I am exhausted. Completely and utterly, there is not enough sleep in the world, and literally, I don't even know what true joy looks like any more, fucking worn out, exhausted. I can't even bring myself to feed myself or care for myself properly half the time, though I make damn sure the child and animals and everyone else is fed. I looked at myself in a full length mirror under florescent lights today. I am watching myself continue to vanish before my own eyes. Wasting away into skeleton woman. I am stumbling through with the aid of crutches and patches and pretending. 

I don't know how to care for myself the way i want to be cared for. I feel like I was never taught that particular piece. Or maybe I just lost that bit with the rest of my memories of the past. What I do know is that there is a better way than this. This stumbling around in the dark with no fucking flashlight because I ran out of batteries and just keep bumping into shit. I am tired. Spending five days blue in the lips struggling for breath, struggling for sleep, struggling for life, leaves me just completely spent. And then, of course I started my moon flow today, just for added emotional depth.

And if I'm completely honest? I don't *want* to have to take care of myself. I want someone to do that for me. While I take care of all the other people and animals. But it doesn't happen like that, does it. heh. Or better yet, hold me while I break down and am completely soft, open, vulnerable, hold space for me to be fragile, so I can then pull it together and be strong again.

What all of this means is that I'm about to start walking away from shit if it's not serving. 

But here's the rub. There's all of that bullshit, right? And then there's the Divine, loving me up, and cheering me on, and sending me love notes and serendipity, and synchronicities, and all of these things that *mean something* to me. And I feel it, on a core level, and I believe it, and I own it, want it. So how do I release all of these shit blockages? How do I retrieve that little girl, love her, keep her safe, and help her belong. I'm fucking ready, yo. Because this old shit is OLD. And I am tired of being tired. I am ready to be healed, and whole, and happy, and vibrant, full of energy and vitality, joy, and love, I am ready to get down with my path and my purpose and get to fucking work, and most of all, I am ready to breathe freely, unimpeded by grief taking up all the space in my lungs. So. In the way that I do, transmuting the darkness into light, by bringing the shadow into the light, giving it voice, place, love, and acceptance, I am offering this up to the universe now. I am ready for healing. Thank you. I love you. 

Limping along

Man. This once a day thing is difficult for me. Limping along here, debating between throwing in the towel completely, as I've missed so many days/ "am so behind" or just carrying on, as best I can, from here. It's the typical debate I have with myself about anything academic and/or creative. I "fall behind" enough, and decide it's hopeless, I'll never catch up and be able to produce the caliber of work I expect from myself, and drop out altogether. It's also why I frequently don't start projects. Deadlines. Perfectionism. Not measuring up to my own expectations and visions.

So I drop out. I run away. And I stuff my creative ideas into messy drawers overflowing with ideas, possibilities, squares of gorgeous fabric, rough gemstone beads, feathers, and the promise of some day.
That Some day I will have space to work on these things. Some day I will have time. And hopefully, some day, I will have the patience with myself to allow myself to unfurl creatively with no fucking dead lines, no expectations. No guilt trips. No anxiety. Because frankly? I have enough shit on my plate without adding to it something that should be pleasurable, but becomes bitter due to my own inability to stop pressuring myself. So here we are. Day, whatever the fuck this one is standing in for. Whee!! Twelve, look at that, we've made it to 12!!

Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Offering.

I read something that cracked me open and made me cry with release just now. Needing grounding I seek my serpent Nimue. She is hiding deep within her dark cave, but I can see her face, at the front, peering at me. Snatched back into the darkness when I slide the glass that separates us. I gently pick her up, whispering to her. Recoiling her head and neck from my hand, repeatedly, she coils into a ball in my hand, determined to stuff her head under protective layers. So I place the entire ball of snake, under my shirt, directly on my heart, and feel her tasting, tongue flickering out, and within minutes she is stretched out exploring, flickering, testing every direction. She touches my belly button, soft, cool, tender, and moves over to my ribs, and under my breast. It’s warm here. She explores my collar bones at length with her tongue, hesitating, then under my other breast and down to my belly again. This is the language I speak. 

I don’t need to grasp you in a closed fist. I just need to know that it is safe to place you on my heart, and have you love me. To unfurl, explore, and taste of my essence, even when I am not there...It’s a practice, living with an open heart, connectedness, a paradigm shift in the way relationships are wrought. 

I  am precious, delicate, fragile, and a wee bit head shy. I have drunk deep of the bitter draught of disappointment, devastation, shattered hologram projections that I thought were my life.  Wrassled the deamons of depression, anxiety, what-ifs, and if I had only. 

Fuck. That. Noise. 
I  dance the firedance with fear, spiraling up into the air, ashes popping, threatening to catch leaves aflame before floating singsong down to earth.  Air fueling the burn, roar of the flames engulfing all. Clothed only in ashes as they find purchase on sweat drenched skin, trembling, primal scream, the pain, the loneliness, the doubt, the fear. The Fear. 

Fear does not get to come sit at my table unless he is willing to do the stomp scream fire dance. And afterwards fear will hand feed me tidbits, and sea salted caramel, paired with a berry rich pinot noir, overtones of vanilla, tobacco, and oak, long, slow, wet, fat finish. Because this is my fucking life, baby, and that is how I roll. I will not be hindered from beauty, ecstasy, connection, love, adventure, and full throttle sensory exploration of my amazing life by fear, or anyone. 

I can't promise you a life without hurt, heart ache, pain, or fear. But I can promise to love you completely. 
I come to you lush, fertile ground, a garden too long untended.  Bury yourself in my rich loamy soil, care for the tender, verdant plants. Drench us in moisture. “The Footsteps of the farmer are his best fertilizer” and the garden wilts without regular observation and attendance. Find a sit spot. Observe. Connect. It's Divine. With love and care this garden will flourish, blossoms ripen into fruit, and the fruit will blow your freaking mind.  Here I am:  Fierce, Wild, Open Hearted, Spirited, Abundant, Love. The Invitation and The Offering, in One. Be Brave, dear heart. Dare to explore the joy that is living, Open Hearted. I'm here, hand out stretched, waiting for you. I Love You. 

Wanna See my Snake? ;)

Monday, August 5, 2013

A love note.

It was a full moon when he met her. She was dressed to the nines, a wolf on the prowl, filling her soul up with the sexy wet release of dancing, undulating magic, letting the music carry her away and wash her senses into the trance of quiet that happens when she loses herself in the grind of the bass, heart and soul on fire, rainbow snake rising, hot, bursting through her crown, her fingertips.
She caught his eye from across the room, sauntered over to him,  big wolfy grin lighting up her face, took him by the hand, and drew him into her. They danced for the rest of the night, falling into each other's rhythms, scents, mannerisms, becoming re-familiar with each other, that feeling of belonging even though they had never spoken before.

She chose him because she had seen him at every dance event she had been to, of late, clearly they had the same taste in music. He was sophisticated, well dressed metropolitan man, not afraid to sport a colorful cocktail, with rhythm and style to boot. A new wave goth boy, all grown up, his style changed but the sensibilities the same, no wonder this once been goth girl loved him. He danced, but only when invited, polite, not pushy, a connoisseur of the delectable offerings at the club. He was good. And she needed good, then, more than ever. So she chose him. 

They were completely smitten. You could see it in the way they would look into each others eyes while dancing, goofy grins plastered across both of their faces. He took her away from the dirt, the over work, the squalor, the constant tug on her energy and attention by everyone who orbited around her. He fed her, which no one had bothered to do in so long, taking her to lovely small restaurants, with fresh simple ingredients that blossomed into mouth watering treats under the care of the chefs. They sampled the red wines, and compared notes on the food, the wine, soaking in how easy it was to be together, to enjoy each other. They would stay up most of the night, making love, fucking, talking, until the sun threatened to send them to separate quarters so they could sleep, and then, cheeks aching from laughing and smiling so much, they would sleep, wrapped in each other, until obligations dragged them from their warm tangled slumber. He would wake her with kisses, looking at her with such utter adoration, that she couldn't help but sigh, and draw him closer to her. He was only mildly intimidated by her, and loved her completely. 

He remembered everything she ever told him. Kept careful notes on her favorite things, and the things she didn't like. He surprised her with his observations, and the small, incredibly thoughtful gifts he would spring on her every time they saw each other. And she did the same for him. Two givers, refilling each other in the language they both understood. Her favorite were the pair of delicate metal earrings shaped like feathers in three tones of metal that he designed and made himself. They reminded him of her, he said, and he wanted to give her wings to fly. She adored him. He became the standard she would set for any future dates, that level of caring attentiveness, the thoughtful considerations, the way he filled her up, just by caring enough to make the effort. 

She was badly broken from the life she was living at the time, and it was far too harsh and alien for him. The farm was literally eating her alive, and she was angry, resentful, and used up, and still, she gave, she worked, she problem solved, mediated, and cared for all the animals and people who revolved around her. When he left her she drank herself into a frenzy of red wine and beer, burned every thing flammable that could possibly be tossed into the flames of redemption, stripped off her clothes and screamed. And then she danced. In the morning a phoenix, twelve feet by twelve feet was emblazoned in the grass. 

He helped her move shortly thereafter, and they remained friends. She hadn't realized until recently, how clearly he had seen the dynamic that was in play, how, his leaving her then was an act of mercy, on both of their hearts, as she was so overburdened that she couldn't invest, and frankly, her feral life frightened him.

Being with him still has the same effect on her, like a woman parched who is handed an endless source of cool water. Somehow, he makes it safe for her to go out dancing and be completely wild, knowing that at the end of the night, after she has danced with all the gorgeous girls she needs to, he will be there with a huge grin, and an outstretched hand to make the stumble weave trek back home, give her as many glasses of water as she needs, kiss her eyelids, and tuck her to sleep. In the morning he will get up, hand her an advil and a water, and bring her coffee in bed, until she can function. And they will talk until their cheeks hurt from all the smiling and the laughter. And for this gift, that of two givers, giving freely to each other, filling and refilling each other's wells, where every one else just drinks like it's a never ending source, she is grateful, and full of love. 

Being a Giver.

I am slowly but surely learning to do the things that make me feel good- not just some of the time, but most of the time, with the long term goal being allllll the time. Penny Livingston calls it Sustainable Hedonism- I'm totally into it. I spend most of my time giving to every one around me, cleaning up others messes, mediating their issues, and so forth, not just at home, but at work, and with my friends as well. And yet, very few people ever stop and just take care of me for a little while, and those that do, it literally makes me giddy like a little girl -to be fed, rubbed, considered, cared for the way I care for all of those around me.

I was able to spend time this weekend with one of my friends who is, at least with me, but I suspect all the time,  a giver, like I am. To be nourished, cared for, refilled, relaxed, and completely unwind. And goddamn. I don't do that often enough. Granted friday night I danced all of my tension away till I was jello and my toenails were bruised. heh. But still. 

I seriously need to start eliminating the drains on my energy field, and spend more time with those who refill and recharge me. Even if that means I spend every weekend away from the house. The ongoing leaking of energy is leaving me in a state of constant exhaustion and low level depression. And it's gotta stop. I keep thinking that hiding in my room will do the trick, but it looks like actually, getting away from here altogether seems to be the best remedy. So I'm committing to making choices that are refilling and recharging for me, and to continue in the quest for another place to live, and in the meantime, to spend time with those who nurture and nourish me, in a give and take, rather than those who are constantly just receiving from me. 

Friday, August 2, 2013

Lies and Intuition

Well holy shit, slap my ass and call me batman. I am up, and writing, in the morning. Not in the middle of the night, we'll just see how this goes, shall we? Like some sort of odd social experiment. Anyhooo kids, today we are going to talk about lying.

Don't lie to me. I'm serious. Ever. If you want to be in my life, and you want to love me, be my friend, my family, hang out, whatever, don't lie to me because that is the express train to marginalization and or full on expulsion in my world.

I can feel it when you are lying, your energy shifts, and it feels fucked up in my body. And I want to believe you, trust you, so badly, that I doubt my own responses, my ability to read the situation, my intuition, which throws me completely off balance and spirals into all sorts of other fucked up, unhealthy, imbalanced stuff. So you see, I can't do that any more.

There are people, in my life, who lie as a part of their habitual practice. Like, maybe they don't know how to operate without that? It seems to be a protective mechanism. I get it, and look, I love you, which is why we are still in each other's lives. But I am going to start eliminating these kinds of energies from my life as I move forward. Which means you have to trust me enough to start being completely honest with me. Please. I love you.

Working with Shadow

There are times, when the work I am called to do is completely and totally unappealing. And to the outside world, my choices may look fucked up. One of the things I am learning to do, and this is one of the hardest, is let go of self imposed guilt, and to let go of the fear of judgement from others. The problem with all of that is that when one is working with shadows, and edge, that brings up a shit ton of fear and anger in other people, and usually, the person they turn on, is the very person who is *actually doing the fucking work*  Witch hunt, anyone? So my fears are very real. I have experienced this time and time again, through the eons, and in this life.

Last year I had to work with some really dark shit. I took on some heavy medicine as a sister keeper, for a sister, and it made me really sick. Like, shattered my labradorite, killed my female dog, multiple goat babies, and also killed my familiar sort of sick. Sometimes it takes a brick over the head, i guess. sometimes, when you are stuck up in it, its hard to visualize a clear way out. The reality was that the situation was killing my sister. Killing her. i was watching her die a little more each day, retreat a little farther. And i simply could not allow that to happen. I was also "the Crazy Whisperer" there, for every one involved, which was all of us, at one point or another. When I finally walked away from that situation I weighed 117. By that time I had retreated completely into the wild, and was feeding some of the shaggiest, wildest, most hungry ghosts I have ever had the pleasure of sharing space with. They protected me fiercely, and I clung to their ferocity, their never ending hunger, the unbearable loneliness of eons unseen, unfed, ignored. I felt the same. I hooted with the owls, and howled with the coyotes and foxes who came to visit me every night, at the edge of the meadow, tempting me to run away with them. I have known how it feels to be feral. And I love it. Although, next time, I am totally running away with whoever is doing the howling. 

I have exactly One Friend. Who understands fully what went down there, and why, and saw the full extent of the medicine I was dealing with. And for being Seen, in that way, by this woman, I am eternally grateful, for she was my lifeline. I have been reeling from the repercussions of dealing with this shadow stuff for almost a year now. And in my head, just now, I hear another medicine keeper sister's voice, warning me that we needed a medicine woman to live there with us. She couldn't have been more right. It's only been since the entry of my familiar Nimue that I have started to recalibrate return to any sense of wholeness. 

My understanding us that the sister i was keeping is free and happy now. She looks amazing, successful, loved, and i cannot even begin to express how happy that makes me. We will likely never be friends again in this lifetime, but i have faith that we will again, perhaps in another, because that's how this whole soulmate thing works. I've pretty well cut out of my life anyone with any ties to any one having to do with my life during that period of time. Triggers, partly. And avoiding further witch hunts, mainly. I am terrified of putting this out there, honestly, but the only way to heal shadow, and to release the power it has, is to bring it into the light. I know i did the right things. i know i was true to path, to my gifts, and was working with the right intentions. transmuting the darkness into light. and frankly, that's  all that matters. So here I am. Offering this story to the light, and releasing it for good. 

Avoidance Strategies.

So I skipped a few days. I get to do that sometimes. I'll make it up in the end. I've had some intense interplanetary stuff going on and was processing some very dark shadow stuff, only part of which was mine, in addition to the whole, working single mom bit. I've been writing in my head, non stop, but it didn't somehow, transfer onto the page. I will master that skill yet.

So. Here we are. I really don't want to talk about this next bit. I'm alllllll squirmy uncomfortable. I'd rather get naked and go grocery shopping. Which, if you know me, is saying a tremendous bit, since I absolutely despise grocery shopping. I have like a 10 minute in the store limit. Anything that doesn't make it, has to hold off till I gird up my big girl panties and ride in for another attempt. See what I'm doing here? It's called avoidance. I could do this all night.

As an Edgewalker, I frequently find myself in territory that is not explored by most other people. And by frequently, I mean, mostly. My job in this lifetime is to transmute the darkness into light, the negative into positive. I have known this, forever, and I do this in a variety of ways. None of which I am going to go into here. I am extremely energetically sensitive, which is why my home life, and the people I surround myself with on a daily basis are so important. We'll just use my current living situation as an example.... There's a lot of sick shit going on here. And I feel all of it. All the unspoken shit, the shadow, the energetics, the lies, the energetic portals that have been opened here because of the interpersonal stuff, and the very angry spirits. My problem is learning how to transmute this, while not letting it take it's toll on me. That part I am still learning. What has happened here, is that I am unable to sleep much, and feel exhausted all of the time, and totally ungrounded.

They have started calling me "the Crazy Whisperer" As in, when the girl who lives here loses her shit and is screaming hysterically in the driveway, I get texts and messages to ET phone home, and the moment she hears my voice, she calms down.  It's not rocket science. I validate her feelings, I tell her how much I care about her and her feelings, I ask her to breathe, and try to hold it together until I can get home, and that I need to know she is safe while I am at work, but that isn't possible if she is screaming in the driveway. Often I cry. And I get super vulnerable. And it works, you know why? Because "Crazy" is what we in this society have started calling people who can't deal with the way things are. The status quo, the current program, and eventually, they lose their shit. It's the preferred way to marginalize the person who is acting out the symptoms of the illness.... which is all of ours. Society wide. We are Sick. Some more than others. Losing her shit, is how she feels heard. Because she is told that she is imagining stuff, that she is making shit up, that she is lying, that it's all in her head, she is isolated, and has control and manipulation games played with her every day. And that shit wears on a person. It makes them fucking crazy. Granted, there is far more to this little scenario than I am painting here, but what's important is the reason why hearing my voice works. It's because I love her, especially when she is "crazy" because that is when she needs it the most. And I HEAR her, I validate her, and I love her some more. I don't get big. Big and loud and aggressive is scary to wild things, I get really small, my voice gets really low, and really quiet, and I offer out a hand, and I let her come to me, because she wants in my arms where it is safe, and reassuring. It's the same method I use with terrified animals. Utter compassion, love, and vulnerability, works "miracles" every time.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Soul Friend

  There was a beautiful, powerfully present woman at my dad's house today. I was a little squirmy when she first introduced herself to me, as she was just so... Present, Powerful, and also, clearly Reading me. I was still transitioning into being there, sitting on the floor eating a plateful of food with my fingers like the wild woman I am... it was interesting that meeting her made me squirm like that. Sometimes when someone new enters my energy space so powerfully it can be a little uncomfortable until I get a bead on their intentions. And there is still that little part of me- and this voice is getting smaller and smaller- that thinks, this beautiful woman is Reading you. What is she going to see? Will she like you? 
  After we ate, Christine pulls a chair into the center of the room, and grabs this big, beautiful harp. Breathtaking beauty. And she looks me in the eyes, and she says, "Her name is Anam Cara," *deep intake of breath for me, and my eyes fill with tears* "which means friend of the soul. What Charles does with his hands, I do with this." And she proceeds to say something about Rumi, and some other words, all of which marched straight into my heart and bypassed my brain altogether. She had me at Anam Cara.
  She starts to play the harp, and a spoken word, Rumi poem, followed by singing~ which I can only characterize as angelic, and again, all of it went straight into my heart, and pulled my soul out to dance with hers. The Universe through this amazing, bright, beautiful woman,  spoke directly to my soul, using her music as the key to get in... And I was still. If you know me, I have monkey mind to the Nth degree.  I have a hard time meditating, sleeping, quieting. This. This angel Stilled me. There was nothing. There was everything. There was Christine, me, Anam Cara, and the Universe. And QUIET IN MY HEAD. And just like that, I was In it. The place where I know my own divinity, where I am not just connected to Spirit, but where we are one and the same. Crystal clear, Clairity. (no, i spell it that way on purpose). And I am no longer afraid. I just Know.
  I thanked her afterward, and told her of my experience, and she says, this is my gift. And I got it. This woman, is following her calling. She is On Path. Authentic, allowing the Divine to move through her, a healer. And oh goddess, a healer through music.
  These experiences have been happening to me in more and more frequently, These love notes from the Universe. I had a similar epiphany experience on the 3rd of July, again delivered through a gorgeous, empowered angel woman, walking her path, and through music. I am hearing, I am listening, and I am so grateful.
  There were so many littlebig moments like this today, as there always are when I go to the gatherings of kindred at my dads house. I mentioned to my dad today that I feel like part of our soul contract is that  he is constantly opening the door for my Soul to reach the next floor. For my mind and body to catch up. To facilitate my being able to find, and stay on Path. Every time another few turns on the dial. He groks what I mean immediately and is finishing sentences and filling in blanks, and he says, "well of course darling, it's because I see you in your Highest Self."
 If only we could all do this for each other. To see each other, and hold each other in our Highest Selves. I'm going to start filling my daily life with more of this. I invite you to join me, my hand outstretched, and my heart full of love.

Anam Cara.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Showing up

   I don’t want to be a secret any more. Writing this is big, in so many ways. I’ve looked at that sentence every day for almost a week, and every time it brings me to tears. And it resonates on Soooo many levels. 

  So here’s the thing. Showing up, being completely vulnerable and authentic is really like walking around naked in public. I have all of these completely juicy gifts inside of me, waiting to be shared- but I’m not like other people. I have always known I was different, and part of me feels like if I really open up, and share all that is waiting, that I will then be dealing with the modern day society version of a witch hunt. And that shit is scary, yo. That said, it’s also not really a choice any more. If I am to fulfill my burning heart’s desire, my path, in this lifetime, then I must be willing to show up, vulnerable, open, authentic, and full of love, even for those that may hurt me, every day. It’s like choosing to love. I love love love to love. I must do it. And it is so rewarding on every level. Yes, I have had devastating heart break, days where I seriously wondered if I wanted to continue living, but honestly those were more related to living in a relationship that was killing me, giving up on the dream of what could have been, but wasn’t, than the reality of being single, which I quite enjoy. And even with the heart break, the devastation, the tsunamis of emotion which flatten every thing in range, I find that loving and being loved is so incredibly rewarding, that I never hold myself back from  loving, or expressions of love. And My love is intense. Everything about me is, and I have just come to accept that. I can’t even begin to go into the number of lovers I have had who broke up with me because we had too many differences, and they couldn’t logic out how it would work in the long run, and my love, frankly, was too intense and scared them the fuck away. It takes work to have intense love, to open oneself up to those feelings, to really feel them, and experience them, and everything else that brings up. I’ll tell you what though, every one of those lovers still loves me, still dreams about me, and still wants me when they are drinking alone and find me filling  their thoughts. The what if's, the could have beens. They think about me when they are masturbating, and when they are fucking that random girl they picked up at the bar. (Yeah, it really is lovely being so sensitive and being able to pick all this shit up. Fun, huh? No, not really.)  It’s touching, and I will always have love for them, but part of me just wants to shake them and be like, what are you thinking?! Is it really so fucking scary bad that you have to run away, in lieu of looking in and doing the work? Yes. Apparently. And I am not necessarily any different. It’s just that I recognize that I am getting squirmy, and I look at it, and work through it. But intense is just what I do, and transmuting the darkness into light is one of my special skills. I had a very vulnerable discussion with my current lover the other night, and found myself actually trying to avoid the topic, even physically, needing to pee, needing water, etc, in an attempt to derail the conversation, which I had brought up! But I saw this, and so I took care of my physical needs, and I came back to the conversation, and proceeded to work through my shit. And then of course, had extremely lucid dreams of him holding me up for public scrutiny, naked, wet, vulnerable, for the rest of the night, and woke feeling exhausted. And you know what? It was totally worth it. 

  So, in the same vein of showing up, not playing small, and no longer trying to be invisible- I am adding being authentic and vulnerable, open, and honest about my life, my inner workings, and what makes me tick. Which, for a scorpio, is a pretty big deal. But I love you that much, and it's part of my work. So lets just fucking do it. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Tiny Victories

  I came home yesterday after 24 hours of absence to find a weird smell, and the plumbing, all of it, backing up. The shower and tub won’t drain, the laundry is backing up into the kitchen sinks, and the bathroom, and the toilet is leaking from the base, soaking the carpet. Scott had been working on it “for hours.” Inconvenient as all of this may be, it gave me the trump card I had been waiting for: “ So, does this mean you will finally let me rip out the bathroom carpet?!” 
  Carpeting in bathrooms is gross. Clearly a design flaw by someone who is not thinking about the nature of bathrooms, and all the leaks, spills, liquids, and what have you that occur in bathrooms. The bathroom is connected to my room by a door, and the carpet in there is varying shades of green, blue, mold, pink, and grey, around the edges, and surrounding the toilet, on top of it’s natural beige shag color.  Also, it reeks of urine. I have been trying to convince Scott to remove it since I moved in here. He’s been resistant because he wants to put in nice tile, and doesn’t have the funds yet. So we’ve agreed to a temporary solution. I am going to find some wood laminate click in flooring to install, for now, and he can tile when he is ready to tile. Meantime, I can eliminate the mold/allergy factory next to my room. I have an extremely sensitive sense of smell, and the bathroom carpet is a full on frontal assault. Yes, it’s all very mundane, but it’s also a message from the universe, a tiny victory of manifestation. I get that, and I am thankful. 
  As a addendum, I recognize that this entire post has been a clever avoidance tactic, since my real subject is showing up and being vulnerable. HAH!! Well. We shall call this yesterday’s post, since I missed it, due to utter exhaustion, and I will go ahead and work on showing up in the next one. 

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Taking up the Beacon. (Finally!)

So by now the fog of my winter hibernation has worn off, and I am feeling more... everything. The Synchronicities occurring in my life are... well- It's obviously just straight up magic. All day, every day, magic. And it's awesome. I am so. In Love. With my Life. Right Now.

It has come to my attention, through a variety of sources, and a series of synchronicities that I can no longer ignore- that it is time for me to allow my inner rockstar to shine bright. Every Day. No more playing small. Part of the way I have been nurturing this is through my style/identity/personal development journey over the last three years. 

I had been operating under the assumption that my daily (farm) style was categorized somewhere between "free, kinda fits" and Shlump wear. More so in the winter than warm weather. But recently I cleared out the clothes that I have been wearing daily for the last 6-7 years, and cycled in what used to be reserved for "nice"wear. As in, off farm, and remained unfarmified. So then I realized, that actually, I totally have a style, even in the farm clothes- it's GypsyfarmgirlpiratebaddassbohemianFree. With a crushable cowgirl hat on top, like a cherry. Except that when they developed these crushable straw hats, they were totally not counting on my lifestyle, and what hats go through in my world, so they last approximately one season, which is sad, because they become part of me, worn as an accent with every look, and protecting me from the sun. 
  This week my friend Jamie gave me  a complete new wardrobe of clothes that she cleaned out of her closet, with so many pairs of cargo pants (My Favorite!!) that I am just completely set- our styles are similar and she completely reads my taste, so that was just straight up awesomesauce. 

 So here is the next level shit, and I need to include my favorite shop, http://www.funkandflash.com/  and my favorite shop owner Shane Sterling here, because he has been so completely pivotal on this journey. Like so much. I gotta go outside a minnit cause I'm all verklempt. 

Ok, I'm back. 

Three years ago I wandered into Funk and Flash, and Who do I see behind the counter but Shane!! I knew Shane from my teen years when I was very involved in costuming, and vintage stores, thrifting, and photoshoots. Even then he had impeccable style, grace, and an artistic eye, just as beautiful behind the camera crafting his vision as he was modeling in front of the lens. I've always admired him and his gift for seeing beauty, for making the world a more Luminous place. He owns Funk and Flash now- a visionary store full of clothes aimed at helping to create a paradigm shift, to spread beauty in the world, and to bring the inner shimmer out into the limelight where it can sparkle brightly. I was at that time, newly separated, wearing ill fitting hand me downs, a little lost, and feeling like I had misplaced my sense of identity. I had given away all of the clothes I wore when I was bartending at night clubs as it didn't feel like that fit any more as a new mother, and had reinvented myself- sustainable farmer, locavore, permaculturist, sustainable activist. Style wise, I was completely missing my sense of self. I conveyed these things to him, and he shared that his wife had recently had a daughter as well, and had also experienced something similar. He spent countless hours with me, choosing items that were washable, wrinkle free, comfortable, like wearing yoga lounge wear, practical, could stand up to the rigors of motherhood, and completely gorgeous. Also outside of my comfort zone, but I tried on everything he brought me. I ensconced myself in the dressing room in a wealth of fabrics, textures colors, beauty- much of it eco-friendly. And as I tried on these clothes a transformation occurred. I was able to see myself again. The clothes fit me like they were designed for me, and they made me feel so amazingly beautiful. Like the inner me, painted on a canvas, outside, where everyone could see. As he got a feel for what worked on my body Shane brought me more pieces and encouraged me every step of the way, with advice, input, assembling complete outfits, and budget. And also, insisting that I am a size small, a practice he continues to this day which amuses me to no end. The pieces I purchased then are some of my most loved items in my wardrobe, the go to clothes for going out, feeling beautiful, and expressing my me-ness. On that day, I not only found myself again, I found my confidence, My beauty, my light, and I began to shine, where before had been only a dull aching glimmer buried beneath years of muck. It's not just clothes, it's an investment in myself, my confidence, my light, and simultaneously an investment in supporting a dear friend, and his local business, and family, which I am just beyond proud to do. 
   Shane continues to hold my hand in my style journey, every time I walk in to his shop we spend hours getting lost in playing dress up, assembling the perfect looks. Aways, he encourages me to be fearless, bold, adventurous, and to let my inner rockstar come out to play. To Shine my radiance, full luminosity at all times. If he had his way, I'd be rocking high fashion at the farm, and someday soon, I will be. Maybe not at the farm, but in my every day life, yes. It's a paradigm shift up in here people. I am not afraid of my own brilliance any more. I am beautiful. And happy. And free. And Deeply, wordlessly grateful. 

(Ps, I know my grammar, word usage, and use of capitalization and punctuation is not traditional. I do that on purpose for emphasis, and because it is Mine. I know all the rules, so therefor I get to break them all now, because That's How I Roll.)