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? 

I LOVE YOU.

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. 

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. 

Shift

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.

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.

xoxo

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.

Initiate.

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.