When the fog thickens, the map appears.

This is a place for re-membering —

for slipping out of old skins

and into the soft animal of your Soul.

The diagnosis arrived like a summons. The initiation opened beneath my feet. The Song of Desire had spoken. The very next thing that was needed, after dad’s diagnosis and my descent, was ceremony. Ceremonies always begin in Nature for me. The very next weekend, the first one in October (two weeks after his attempted surgery), I stepped out of the world’s noise and into the Wild — the only Being vast enough to meet me.

Because I knew, even then, that I would need more than courage for what was coming. I would need the younger self who had waited patiently for me, and the ancient wisdom and presence of Nature — who holds me the way I needed to hold her, who whispers what I’ve forgotten but already know, who connects me back to the deepest and longest truth of myself.

Before you cross this threshold, take a Sacred pause — a moment of intentional clearing.

Set down what is not yours to carry. Bless it. Release it.

Enter with only yourself.

Feel your breath settle.

Now come — walk with me into the morning that undressed me.

I set out that morning with intention humming beneath my ribs.

I needed the Wild.

I needed the kind of silence that rearranges you - a life-saving shock back to myself.

I needed to meet myself again — not the daughter-self shaped by crisis, but the woman rising beneath her.

First, as always, I began with my chalice — my adventure coffee. Coffee is its own ceremony for me, a blessing in a paper cup, a signal that something Sacred is about to unfold. It opens my heart, sharpens my presence, and prepares me to meet whatever the Wild has waiting.

After grabbing my coffee, I turned on some rain sounds as background music and headed north. Wwwwaaayyyyyy north. Driving the freeway that morning felt like a crash-course in survival. There are a lot of cars. I set my own car on cruise control, position myself in slower lanes, and let life pass by at turbo speed.

Eventually, I did turn off the main highway onto a short interstate that is only 58 miles long.

This was the reason I came here.

It begins out of a big-ish town, though not one populated with skyscrapers and such. The termination point is the top of a mountain. Ahhhhhhhhh…

I took the exit and settled in immediately. I don’t recall ever being on this highway before. Nothing looks familiar to me. Which is a beautiful thing, actually - to have found something I want to experience again. On occasion, I’ll find a hike that really speaks to me, and it’ll be one I return to each year with love and fresh eyes each time. You know what I’m talking about - one of those situations where each time you read a favorite book, take Anam Cara, for instance, something new pops out of you each time you read it.

It’s not that the book changed.

You did.

You are seeing yourself with your new eyes.

Being on a road that goes nowhere is exactly the kind of adventure I need. Only those headed to the same nowhere will meet me there. Again, though, there is no rush for me. I drive the speed limit and pull over to let someone by when they get antsy behind me. I am taking in the sights along the way and sprinkling my thoughts into them.

As I mentioned, the road ends at the top of a mountain so high in the layers of fog, I feel dizzy already.

The noise fell away.

The air changed.

Everything slowed.

I drove through tiny towns who, sitting at the base of a glacial mountain, might as well be called Hush, Whisper, and Echo. Nothing here but small, charming homes with wraparound porches — places meant for gathering in the soft bookends of the day. Friends visiting for a spell. Warmth shared in the heartspace between them. Hot cocoa and warm tea, maybe a Mason jar of caramel apple pie moonshine passed around. Blankets quilted with love draped over laps. A lantern offering its dim, golden glow.

Has the sky ever looked so lovely?

Did you see that shooting star?

Make a wish!

Old barns — weathered wood in chevron patterns, shake shingles, tin roofs in red or blue. Some painted once, now faded to their true grain. Their gabled roofs pop against the aged wood. One has pretty white lights nestled under its eaves, accentuating and illuminating the beautiful pitch of its gabled roof. I love old barns. Ever so much. They hold warmth, character, and mystery in their bones.

The chapels are just as beautiful — white siding, steeples reaching into the heavens, windows lining the sides. I imagined stained glass situated behind the pulpit, glowing like a secret. I am no longer a churchgoer, but I can still feel the hope that pours out when the doors swing open.

More my speed, though, are the cemeteries beside them — quiet places where I trace names with my fingertips and wonder about the Souls these stones hold space for.

Then — unexpectedly — a yard covered in rows upon rows of grapevines comes into view. Some rows darker than others, the color of the grapes tinting the whole plant. Vineyards are lush, romantic places.

I see a woman, in a flowy, flowered dress, walking barefoot through the rows, touching the vines as she passes. The golden hour sun low in the sky, illuminating her from within and without, a smile on her soft features, a spark in her eyes. She inherited this land from a great-grandparent and hasn’t changed a thing. She knows by scent alone that harvesttime is near.

As she walks, the light penetrates her. Her outline shimmers.

And then — she vanishes into the distance.

The road narrowed, littered with rust-colored pine needles deep orange in color, almost glowing. My thoughts began to crowd the space, warming me from the inside. I cracked the window and let them slip out into the beauty of this tree-lined road.

Autumn peeked in at me — winter wheat, ochre, saffron, pumpkin, persimmon, burnt orange, lime, olive, crimson, brick, walnut, plum, eggplant, rust, and earthen in color, they each shine magnificently.

Fffffuuuucccccckkkkkkiiiinnnnngggggg gorgeous! I am a lover of autumn, this turn of the wheel. I’ve even taken to dressing myself in these colors. It is so damn hard not to disappear into the for-rest every. single. day!

The road wound tighter. Hairpin turns. Jagged rock faces jutting out at uneven angles — the mountain blasted open to make a way through. One rock wall looked like a tornado had carved it, spiraling lines covered in moss. Small pieces of mountainous beings.

You turn a bend and the road shoots straight upward. Suddenly, you’re in a roller coaster car, being pulled along a narrow track. As you ascend, you hear the car clicking and clacking along the track. Then you crest and get a glimpse of the fall in front of you. Your head spins. Your stomach remembers that feeling. It’s thrilling and exhilarating. And a little bit terrifying, if you’re honest with yourself. The sheer drop off the mountain along one edge, just inches from the white line of the road, is dizzying.

And then the road turns again.

Into the mist. Into the layers of fog and mountains and trees.

At the top, the mountain was completely veiled in fog. If I stepped off the edge, would I fall two feet or two hundred? There was no way to know.

Fog circled and swallowed everything — mountain, sky, horizon, me.

When the curtain parted for a heartbeat, something stunning appeared — then vanished again.

Blink. Gone.

“Look here,” the mountain whispered — and when I turned, “Too late!”

The fog was dizzying.

It spun around me, dizzying, disorienting and alive. Look here! No — here! Here’s a peek of something stunning, only to swallow that view just as quickly as it was offered. It spun around and around me. The spinning fog, being on a mountain and knowing that, but not knowing where the edges were exactly.

It was a tease.

A dare.

A beckoning from something older than language.

I was off-kilter, ungrounded — and yet somehow more rooted in myself than I had been in months.

Here on a mountaintop.

In the dizzying fog.

I couldn’t even use my phone, let alone Ryker, to penetrate the mist, to see any shape at all, one that was clearly visible to my eyes. Or was it?

Maybe I was dreaming all of this.

I decided, after blindly wandering for a while, to go back down the mountain, rather than wait the fog out. In hindsight, I think this was the better plan. It was so thick it was dangerous to hike. The only thing I could do was sit with it. And I did. There will be another day to come here, on a brilliant day, where I can ground into the mountain with certainty. The lesson clearly wasn’t here at the top; it was just a starting point for the unraveling.

Don’t misunderstand: the fog was an essential part of this ceremony elixir. It was an absolutely gorgeous fall day in the lowlands. Somehow, I had been led to the one place locally covered in heavy fog — this was the journey. I had to be utterly lost to truly find myself. Nature always knows exactly what I need. My journey wasn’t over yet.

I went back down and stopped at the first turn down, exiting my car and looking around. There was a stunning view of the face of the mountain. But then, it was swallowed, down the throat of the fog. So, I looked down to the next lower parking lot below, which I COULD see clearly. Sitting on a rock at the edge, I followed cars coming up the mountain with my eyes, watching them disappear underneath trees and reappear on the other side, saw the turning, twisty road from this height drew wonder in my heart.

I eventually retreated once more to my car; the mountain had more to say and show me. On my way down, I got a breathtaking view of the snowcapped mountain just southeast of where I had been.

I saw the whole thing - its rugged, craggy peaks, nestled and blanketed on either side with wide expanses of gorgeous snow.

There were two harrowingly narrow pullouts there, at exactly that space where the mountain was in full, stunning view. They were not nestled against the side of the mountain, no. They were hovering on the precipice of the drop. For all I knew, the whole ledge wasn’t even strong enough to hold my car.

The mountain was asking, nay…daring me to pull over and see.

Did I? Sure did!

When a mountain requests your presence, you obey. You don’t wait for guardrails. In the moment, I did what was asked of me without hesitation. When I look back now, I cringe a little because it was so dangerous. That was the point — that I was willing to meet myself there. That my becoming mattered enough to risk the edge.

The life-giving way is sometimes risky. I’m here for it.

The mountain was requesting me to witness her. How could I say no? I gathered up my courage, pulled the car over and even squatted down next to the car, along that edge, to grab Ryker and snap a few glorious photos. By that time, of course, the fog had conspired against me. But it was exactly what was supposed to have happened.

The mountain just wanted to be seen.

I whispered, “I see you! You are beautiful! Teach me to be more like you.”

The fog caressed her — nestled into the valleys, drifting across the snow, stroking the ridges and valleys with its fingertips like a lover who cannot keep her hands away.

Swirling. Spinning. Caressing. Appreciating.

The dizzy, spiraling, breathtaking fog.

All the pretenses fell away. The fog stripped me bare. Every mask dissolved into its swirling mouth.

Picture me.

On top of a mountain, the fog and mist swirling around me and the mountain, masks floating through that vortex and dissipating into nothingness. Swept up and in and through by the mist. Because they never existed at all. They were the false selves the world erected — unneeded here, in my Becoming. They are my unbecoming. Swept into the unknown. My Soul whispered along the curve of my neck — provocative, intimate and unmistakable.

Awe? You bet!

In his book, Awe, Keltner doesn’t describe awe as an emotion, it is a pathway for transformation.

He may as well be describing my Soul — vast, ancient, and always a step beyond my understanding. Though she does grant me access through whole body listening. When standing in view of the mountain, it actually sends me inward. The clay and the mountains present me with a mirror and whisper, “look within - this is how I see you.” Mountain to mountain. Mystery to mystery.

I merge with the Mystery. Alchemy. Communing with the elemental and ancestral forces that live within my Soul, within my very marrow. We are making love to each other and to the world.

The mountain was still not yet done with me. It was asking me to return. I vowed I would be back.

“Don’t forget. Don’t be long. I’ll be waiting!”

Then I got in my car and wound myself down the road, down the mountain, down my path a little further to look around briefly. Even while unraveling my own self. I took a few pictures, but it was here when I began to shiver with the cold. Between the mist of the fog and the cooler air up high, it was slowly creeping into my bones.

Once more, I drove into the dizzying, thick fog. Down the mountain.

My last stop on this wonderful trip was at a waterfall. I didn’t want to stop places with long walks with this chilly weather, even with all my layers. I just wanted to bask in the wonder of the morning and the views. While I wish I could have gotten closer to this beauty, I was happy to have seen her and explore the river above.

All she required from me was presence. I didn’t take my eyes off her once. Whether it was in the gentle pools in the hush before the fall or the flowing water up further, tumbling, cartwheeling, and somersaulting over the stones. She was exquisite!

The river just needed me to witness. She offered her witness in return.

Quietly. With devotion.

We flow.

No matter what. We flow.

As I returned to my car one last time, the mountains in my rearview mirror, I began to reflect on the day.

I couldn’t help but think about that fog and the way it spun around me and the mountain.

You might even say it spiraled around me.

Just like life.

And my Soul. Offering just a peek of her beauty, then closing the curtains once more. The same way we get glimpses of our Soul and her beauty. These journeys on land are journeys into my Soul. Nature mirrors my Soul and vice versa. It is up to me to take notice.

I do.

It’s asking the same of all of us.

Yes, I know I met my whole Soul in hypnotherapy. For a few mere seconds.

In real life, she doesn’t want to be exposed in full. Again, it’s like reading your favorite book - the parts that you need to see in that reading stand out like beacons of light. Your sweet Soul works the same way.

It wants you to see only what needs to be seen when it needs to be seen by you.

Maybe she lifts her skirts in a dream. Exposes a shoulder in the shadows. Offers a pointed toe, drifting through the ether, leaving a sparkling trail of light behind. She slowly unbuttons herself, her garments falling to the ground, but you glimpse only the mist and mystery.

I want to know just enough to stay in relationship with the Mystery. Because Mystery seeks communion. And I am on the path of communion. For me, Mystery is not a gap in knowledge — it’s a dimension of Beauty, a return to innocence. Not a simple innocence — the root of the word means to be free of injury or hurt. That kind of innocence.

The long drive on a road that goes nowhere in the spectacular beauty of Autumn was the necessary first part of the journey. Fall writes the truest and most beautiful poetry of release, in living technicolor — seeing the whole of nature giving way to rest, to be renewed, REALLY taking it in, is a gift. This lesson was about the absolute surrender in letting go, in preparation for restoration. The Life/Death/Life cycle in its most beautiful form.

And then?

Fog initiated me. Mountain mirrored me. Masks fell from me. Soul beckoned me. River witnessed me. And I returned — changed.

Mmmmm! All the beautiful secrets between this Soul and her Beloved. All the whispers and hushes. The magic and mystery. It undoes me.

With the help of my current reading from the triad of books concurrently, in collaboration, I have discovered the hidden passageways that weave between the three, through my Soul, and into my Interior Castle, that innermost Most Sacred tabernacle of my own, seated in the throne of my Soul’s innermost chamber. That’s how I’ve been making my way through life: one foot in the castle, one foot in the gardens.

I still walk through the mist. Often metaphorical, but way more often physical, too. When I share my time in the wild, my own, and that of my even wilder Sister and friend and lover, Nature, I offer a breath, a glimpse, a golden thread into my inner sanctuary. I honor the awe, the ache, the joy, the desire, the silence, and the stillness within.

Remembering I don’t need my path to be easy, I need it to be worth it.

It is. Every single second.

ALL worth it.

This was the perfect opening ceremony for the season I am entering — a season of desire, devotion, and deepening into what I pray is the truest and most ancient version of myself.

The fog taught me to see.

The mountain taught me to listen.

The river taught me to flow.

And now I am becoming the mountain — layered, ancient, mythic, with a fire in my belly that will not go out.

A woman shaped by fog and stone, stepping into her next becoming. XO

As I have written, when I received the call that Thursday evening, I wasn’t shocked, or sad, or angry. I wasn’t even upset. I simply saw it for what it was — a part of life. It was only a matter of time before this call came.

One of my darling Substack Soul Sisters wrote an eloquent post that summed up my feelings perfectly:

Though she doesn’t know it yet, she took me by the hand that Sunday morning I read her post, just days after receiving dad’s news. I’ll look forward to reading her subsequent reflections (as I always do and have) with a deeper knowing, as I journey through the days until dad’s end.

His death sentence has already been inscribed onto the calendar of my life.

The curtains of his life are drawing to a close. And what remains is for me to add his name to the list of Souls who have been a part of my life. After his last curtain call.

I’ll admit that his diagnosis punctuated my week’s end.

Not negatively, nor positively.

It just was, as I wrote above.

My body wept, though my eyes did not.

My body knew before my mind could catch up.

I crawled through Friday on hands and knees, barely able to keep my eyes open by the end of the day, which is very unusual for me.

Saturday morning, I woke and tended to my devotionals and some Soul work. Afterward, I needed time with my body.

With my Soul.

Before calling dad, I slipped into the bathtub to check in with myself, feeling into my body’s wisdom. Listening to my own heartbeat below the surface of the water. Feeling myself moving in the water, unencumbered. It was exactly what I needed. This was not a selfish act.

I was tending to myself first.

The way I should.

Dad was upbeat when he answered. He sounded steady, even. At least, at first. I wondered what, exactly, the physician had said.

It mattered. And it didn’t.

Because it wouldn’t change anything.

When dad was opened up for surgery that Thursday in September, what the surgeon found was a whole belly full of cancer, not just one tumor. He told him his belly was so full of cancer such that, if he had tried to excavate it all, there’d be nothing left to stitch together. So, therefore, he closed him up again and that was that. There was nothing left to do. Yes, he could recommend a strong dose of chemo, but then dad would be violently sick for the rest of his days.

He also told him, “If I were talking to my own father, I’d tell him to live.”

To drink beer. To do what he wanted.

To live.

That’s all any of us can do.

Which got me thinking about the ways I live. And the ways I don't. The one and only thing I can do is to live. Embracing dad’s death, embracing my death - embracing all of our deaths, some coming sooner rather than later - is embracing life. Thank you, Simone!

This process can’t be resisted.

It can’t be denied.

It can’t be rushed. It must be savored.

The fullness of life, when it’s done, will come when it comes.

Death can be embraced, yes.

But, too, the thing is…life finds a way. So why try to fight it?

Embrace life.

It will deepen my Aliveness.

My reason(s?) for Being here.

This truth entered my consciousness over the weekend, as I slept deeply and completely, resting into this new version of life.

I never anticipated careening through the sky in a pill-shaped mechanical bird for any reason, let alone to look Death in the eyes. To trace the contours of his shape.

To smell the decay and rot that he carries with him.

To witness the things he softens and, too, the things that harden.

But during this season of life, I only have weekend opportunities to visit one of my temporary past homes, where my dad is geographically located. I don’t have the luxury of taking as much time as he may need for me to be there. And, while I don’t mind the drive, it would eat into our time together. Therefore, flight is my only option.

By the end of the weekend, I’d made arrangements for several short visits. And realized, with clarity, the timing of the one after, offering a bit more time, should it be needed. That one, being further down the road, might allow for driving. But the weather likely won’t cooperate. I’d so much rather be flying on the back of one of my winged companions in this life, handfuls of feathers in my hands.

Come Monday, I was ready for a new week. No time like the present to embrace my Aliveness.

More long drives to work in the mist over the week ahead.

I was glad, once more, for the wisdom in scheduling dance class on Monday night, even after attending an after-school IEP meeting. Hospice had an introductory visit with my dad that day.

Another gift awaited me that evening. I had ordered books from two different friends and the first had arrived. I took my time just before bed that evening opening the box, and then unwrapping the book, which was wrapped like a present. I looked in the contents and synchronicity called to me.

I found the perfect mini-story to read, full of common golden threads between this Sister and I.

It was the perfect ending to my evening, to walk me by the hand into slumber. I tucked myself into a soft bed, with a mound of warm blankets heaped over me, welcomed this chilly night, and fell soundly asleep.

At the close of that first week after’s dad’s attempted surgery, Wednesday brought a traffic snarl so thick it felt like a metaphor.

I sat in it until I realized: this isn’t the only way forward.

I turned around. Found another path. And though I still had to sit in some mess, I arrived at my destination. Lesson learned.

That same evening, another new book from a darling Soul friend (Croneology, by Deborah Gregory) arrived. Wrapped like a gift. Inside, the Crone whispered truths (reminders) I’d long known but hadn’t fully claimed: that I’ve been seeking belonging in places outside myself. The voice of She felt ancient, familiar, like she’d been waiting for me to finally listen.

That my gifts, passions, and pleasures are mine to name.

That I am no longer the little girl waiting to be seen.

I am not waiting to be seen.

Speaking of that little girl, she had some things to show me. And so ended that first week — with the knowing that this season, and all of the makings of it, were an initiation into my deeper self.

It was in those moments that I knew I needed to step away from posting on social media until I had walked dad home. To honor this season, and to be fully present for life (and death) as it unfolded in its ante-Origami way. I also began limiting my time online. My phone, already on silent and on a timer for how much it can be used each day, was used less and less, even half the time I had allotted it.

I needed solitude and silence to continue deepening and growing into my womanhood — to reconnect to my true belonging, to my deep self, to what is searching for me, and to my particular magic. Led by my shadow, which, of course, looked a lot like my child self. I needed to clear out the old baggage of my childhood and work on building trust and intimacy with the young girl inside.

I withdrew without explanation or apology — I would ask for forgiveness later, not permission now. I'll say it again: tending to myself always comes first.

I had been reading two books, a spiritual one and a mystical one, together. They were weaving together so seamlessly, chapter to chapter. I picked them up when I needed the next lesson and then set them aside once more.

My first step was to begin them again, in earnest, and to embody each lesson before moving to the next. As a protective measure, I added a third book to my reading that was about what happens in the brain when one grieves. These three together were just right. The spiritual and mystical ones were strengthening me for what was coming and the book on grief helped me understand more deeply. Chapter by chapter by chapter.

I dove headfirst into the first chapters of all three and let it begin to work its magic from within.

Something in me softened.

Something in me opened.

Something in me began to turn toward myself.

It felt like an inner door unlocking from the inside.

The days, weeks, and months that followed had a different texture and quality to them — quieter, deeper, calmer, denser, threaded with a kind of inner listening and seeing I hadn’t known I was missing. Once I could see that it had been missing from me, I couldn’t unsee it. It makes me peaceful and whole. It is my magic.

By Thursday, I was choosing new routes. For the sole purpose of joy, of being an explorer.

Mapping my own way. Getting curious and following where that led me. A life-giving way forward.

And the fog—literal and symbolic—lifted. After days of driving through mist and mystery, Thursday and Friday dawned clear.

The road opened.

My vision sharpened.

And then Hafiz spoke.

The Song of Desire leapt from the oracle deck, and I wept — because it was true. It named what had been rising in me all along.

Desire is the spark.

The compass.

A rite of passage for the feminine.

The call to follow my own flow of grace, my deep longing. Confirmation that withdrawing from social media and into myself was the right move. The Universe had agreed — maybe even nudged me.

Desire is the fire and pulse in a woman’s belly. It is the seat of our feminine power, the place our creations are birthed from. It is what has been taken and/or kept from women for far too long. A life fueled by desire is full, whole, ecstatic — textured and in vibrant color. The kind where your whole body hums with joy. A simple smile feels trivial in comparison. This is what it means to embrace life.

It was a foreshadow of the woman to come — the woman who no longer lets the outer world, even family, tell her who she is.

I’ve known all along.

It was time to be myself in full. To return to her.

And that required descent — deep shadow work, the subterranean feminine, listening with my whole self to the ancient wisdom that rises through me.

Even my devotionals echoed the message: “When we avoid death, we avoid life. ‘Wake up,’ death whispers as he laughs at our hesitation.”

So I’m waking up.

I’m letting go.

I’m following the flow of my own Wild Woman.

The fog has lifted.

The road is mine to choose now.

And I am stepping into my womanhood with intention and purpose, carrying the truths I gathered in the dark as I follow the ancient fire that has always been mine. XO

Among the things I’ve been working on in my Soul’s journey here, is the ever-elusive belonging I’ve searched for my whole life. I have always felt just a little too awkward, a little too out of place.

A deep knowing settled on me one September morning approximately three years ago, if I’m not mistaken. That morning had been particularly rough - I broke down in grief-filled tears, crumpling on the floor in the bathroom.

Then, out of nowhere, a profound sense of peace arrived. In my completely grief-stricken state, there was no way that this thought came from inside my head, heart, or Soul. It was delivered, whispered - a reassurance.

That is exactly what dawned on me.

That alone feeling was my Soul tapping on my shoulder, reminding me my belonging comes from inside. I was not meant to belong everywhere.

I no longer needed to look for belonging. It came for me, instead.

I felt that whisper as absolute truth. It didn’t slowly settle into every cell of me over a few seconds or even a few minutes. It was instantaneous. And complete.

“You are not alone.”

I didn’t question where it came from. I didn’t need to. In the moments that followed, my whole Being completely realigned, hinged entirely on that numinous truth.

That was all I had needed. For a time.

I slowly nibbled on this thought over time, subsisting on only its truth. But another question began to surface. In the beginning, it began as a gentle whisper before disappearing into the ether. Later, it returned - tapping on body parts. Eventually, it began silently screaming at regular intervals, it became more of a gravitational pull, reeling me in like a tractor beam, and I could no longer ignore it.

I had accepted it as truth. But, over time, I didn’t understand that truth, when overlaid with the context of my life. I needed to know more. Which set me up - through work only the Universe could orchestrate - to meet her.

A Soul Sister if I’ve ever met one. In a place and event I was more likely to avoid than attend. And yet, I went.

She engaged me in conversation all afternoon. Her daughter did, too and her daughter’s son. He was, after all, the reason I was here. I haven’t forgetten either of them, nor the precious Soul who brought me there. I shall remain in contact with all three of them for an unknown period of time.

So, one Friday afternoon, just days before stepping fully into a new threshold, I arrived at her home, prepared for regression hypnotherapy. There were things I wondered about:

Why I had chosen this particular life.

What that choice had gifted me.

What my Soul was trying to show me.

And I learned some things, but a lot of it, I had to intuit over the days that followed. I had to get even quieter and let my Soul expand, while listening. Deeply. I received what was moving through me and only then could I cradle it gently in my embrace.

I needed to intuit this part.

It was the missing piece that brought so much into focus.

She led me into a deep conscious place. One with a telescope so I could view the distant past and let it settle into me and work its alchemical magic. She first asked me to find a place where I felt completely comfortable and at ease. It wasn’t too hard for me to find that spot, no surprises there. Then, she asked me to find a gift waiting for me there. I did. I unwrapped it and held it with reverence. No surprises there, either. It was in complete alignment with my Soul. My body felt like a lead weight, tethered to this world by a heavy blanket to keep my Soul warm on its journey into the ethers.

She led me into a long hallway with many doors. I did not enjoy this space or vision. It triggered me. Thankfully, I came to a warm door quickly that was just right. When I opened the door, the view was also just right. It was the perfect space to begin my journey. After that lifetime, we viewed another in which I recognized my mother as my infant granddaughter - in her nose, her eyes, and her smile.

It was a blessing then, as our time was winding up, that she led me into a higher Soul space so I could see meet my Soul there. It was profound seeing my Soul in all her glory. Up close and personal. I sensed others nearby, so she removed me from there because the intent of being in that space was meant to be a warm reassurance, not to meet others.

I then journaled what I had seen, with her support, as she reminded me of some of what I had relayed to her, including a few very sweet and tender things I had no recollection of saying. These, in particular, I view as my Soul’s absolute truths. They were. I have no doubt. We made an agreement when our next meeting would be. The journaling is now tucked into the grimoire of my feminine becoming.

In the days, weeks, and months since that experience, more knowing settled on me. Nothing I was able to see during my regression time, but more of a deep intuition about what I saw and what it meant for me. This slowly happened through a quiet period of inner work.

There is a purpose in everything. Never doubt that. Whatever experiences you have in life, whether full of resplendent joy or heart crushing suffering, there is a reason for it all.

As such, there is a meaning to the feeling that I am a circle in a square world. More precisely, I am an eternal spiral in a broken, dying square world. We all are.

I was sent here, I believe, to discover what it means to love deeply and to transform my Soul. I am a vessel of transformation. In order to accomplish this, I had to born into a family that didn’t see me. I can’t tell you precisely the ways I was never meant to be at all, I just feel it, but I know, too. Which is even more reason my purpose is so clear. I can love others in a deep, unconditional and unexpectant way. I do.

I feel the energy of love exchange in my students, especially the ones who can’t speak it out loud. Love is my driving energy. I feel it deeply. I feel a lot of things deeply, which is true of many empaths. All of that is a wonderful blessing, it is icing on the cake. That is beautiful, to be sure, but not my main purpose. I see it more as a reassurance, if not confirmation, that there is nothing wrong with me and that I am not unlovable.

All of this is gorgeous, no doubt in my mind about that. But it does put me in a strange place in order to receive some news that was coming my way that next week, as of yet unbeknownst to me.

First of all, I had scheduled myself to be in the dance studio the first day of each week. That was a great foresight of mine, to take care of myself in this way. It is exactly what I had needed. I very nearly kissed the dark wood of the studio’s dance floor on my first night there. I had missed that feeling that always accompanies me as I dance. I get totally lost in my body and, most importantly, outside my head, when I am there. I was desperate to feel and hear her, my deep feminine’s sultry whisper, that gorgeous Red Fox self, in the marrow of my Being.

I was on a pause that following week. As if the whole world was holding its breath, in some ways, but not, in others.

After the first day of my new chapter, I unknowingly took another way home that was not planned at all, but turned out to be exactly what I had needed all week.

The first thing is that each morning that week was met by fog, my favorite kind of weather. At first it was light, but it grew thicker and wider as the days went on. The roads shadowed, as the sun had just begun to rise, and the wind pushed me. The golden sun unsuccessful at peeking through the heaviness. Exactly at the right time, each day, just like it was precisely as intended, I would drive out of the fog at approximately the same area, just before getting on a backwoods highway for a brief spell.

Until that point, I was driving through farming communities on backroads. Wide fields full of corn, set in rows, from the road, seemingly to infinity. Old barns with peeling paint. Stunning chestnut horses, muscular, loyal and resilient. Not to mention white fences surrounding large herds of cows. Cows which, from a spiritual perspective, symbolize courage, patience, and are completely at harmony with the natural world. Old growth trees, evergreen and deciduous, weeping willows, cedars and pines. In other words: Elders of every variety imaginable.

So, there I went. Driving through the mist, passing my Soul kin along the way.

They whispered as I drove. “Here she comes.” "Look at her go!” “She's falling into her destiny!” “She doesn't even fully know what's ahead of her!"

That was something to hear. I never imagined this as my destiny. I could never.

I could feel my courage unfolding throughout the week. From the way I arrived on my first day, not knowing what to expect, whether I would find my place here, to the way I named very clearly and bravely, what I had been feeling on day three, determined not to banish it, but to disarm it. I continued to wait patiently. To listen in on conversations that weren’t mine. To witness the ebb and flow of the day, where it was high tide and when it was low. I held space for myself all week long, gathering my body into my arms and fingers, expanding horizontally and vertically. Never realizing, fully, what I was being prepared for, believing it was for something else entirely.

On Thursday, yes - day four of my new adventure, I held space for the man who I called dad in this life. I began to receive text updates at 12:45pm - “he is headed into surgery.” At 3:52, “he’s in recovery.” At 4:27, “he’s dozing off.” At 5:24, I texted saying, “just let him rest. we’ll catch up soon. he needs his sleep.” At 5:49pm, the phone rang.

My stepmother, my “Mia” whispered hello. Her voice rang with a hollow bravery she clearly wasn’t feeling. She said I sounded different, not myself. That is both true and untrue. I had changed over the last few days, to be sure, but what she was hearing was a reflection that her whole world was different, she wasn’t herself. The surgery had happened. And, at the same time, it hadn’t. Mia delivered the news, through a cracking voice, of dad’s death sentence, “He has two to six months to live.”

This news, unerringly, did not break me.

I am not sad. I am not angry. There is no despair, no denial, no shock. Not for my dad, he had a full, long life. I simply am. What came after was from a place I never expected.

This is not about grief or the presence of a weird paradox of knowing and not knowing. The presence of an expiration date, which I know, but, still, the unknowing of exactly when.

It’s about the quiet ways the Soul prepares us for what’s coming.

I didn’t yet know what was coming. But my Soul was listening.

And so I stand here, not in grief, not in fear, but in the quiet knowing that my Soul has been preparing me all along, in more ways than one.

Stay tuned for the next bit of this saga…with love and devotion, XO.

It also expands my vocabulary.  I find new and interesting words that I want to use more regularly.  On rare occasions, I’ll look up words on a thesaurus to see how they correlate and correspond to each other in more than one language.  Often, I’ll find a word that spurs my imagination, for one reason or another and it will become its own separate thing, my brain creates all kinds of connections with it, and it becomes its very own story.  I love those kinds of things.

On one such word adventure, I was looking for another word (which I never found, and I don’t even remember what it was now), but I was playing with different words, and I entered the word “sensual” to see if any of those listed stirred something inside me or shook something loose. I didn’t find what I was looking for but look instead at what I did find.

No.

Nope.

Uh-uh.

This will just never do.  I am tempted, for good reason, to write a whole bunch of stuff about why this is hogwash, but I’m just going to let it stand as is.  Sometimes that has more impact.  And it did sit in my drafts for many, many moons while I waited for it to speak to me from a deeper frequency. At long last, that moment arrived.

While I originally intended not to say much more about it, that time has passed.

Menopause. Women have usually settled into a peace with their monthly cycles, when perimenopause, and then menopause set in. Perimenopause. Mmm. What a time that was. I had just had baby number two at 40 and that seemed to plunk my aging body straight from childbirth directly into the middle of perimenopause. Not a huge surprise, because ever since carrying and birthing my third child, my oldest, my body had rebelled. It was an atomic clock before then, you could set your watch by my cycles. Hormonally, though, it was a mess during and after.

I was so warm most of the time, that is when I began sleeping naked. Even then, sometimes, it was a sheet only. Even in the dead of winter. Migraines, being hormonally driven, picked up in frequency. Which, yada, yada, yada led to babies numbered four and five. And side note: hormones went the opposite way during pregnancy, which resulted in several miscarriages and hormone therapy just to carry my last one to term.

Back to perimenopause, though, my cycles changed from every 28ish days to every 18ish days with some powerful force. It got much worse before it got any better. Then, they started to space out, missing some months.

None of what I wrote above, not one damn thing, is done without a heavy focus on the spiritual. I am certain there are things I have endeared (always my replacement for endured) over my life that I would have never survived in a healthy way, were it not for my spirituality.

Begins in childhood. I feel like I was not your average, everyday child. I spent so much time by myself, occupying my mind and heart, without input from any other person. Because I was so engrossed and engaged with myself, I heard my Soul and heart from a very young age. I want to say I had a better understanding of myself than most kids; knew what made me happy and what I liked. It was usually quiet (with the exception of the music I enjoyed listening to) and I could listen to the world, too.

That was all excellent training for later, going into my teenage years. I had a healthy idea of what I needed and wanted as far as connections to other people. And I had been in the same area since I was a kid, so there were other people that I naturally had gravitated to over time. That was an excellent mindset for heading into the teenage years for two reasons. Number one it helped me “handle” the hormonal fluctuation with a greater than average amount of grace. Number two, when we moved several times after that, I knew myself well enough to know where I would fit in and who I could trust, etc. Lastly, it was absolutely essential for navigating the teenage years. Girls can be very judgy and catty. I preferred the company of boys because they were more matter of fact and I never really cared or wondered, even, where I stood with them. They would have it out and it was done. Girls’ shit (can) drags on forever. Ugh. I don’t do drama. I learned that through complicated experience.

With that in mind, it was more complicated when I moved in high school. Those girls were very cliquey and not welcoming of outsiders. Probably a bunch of other stuff happening, too, that I wouldn’t even know. Whispers behind your back and that kind of thing.

All of that to say, being a woman can be very hard, if you haven’t learned your way by the time you get into your teenage years. Viewing life through a hormonal lens certainly isn’t useful. And I wouldn’t expect you will be the same through your whole life, either. You are going to change. Continually. Blessedly.

It doesn’t even need to be said, but I’m going to say it anyway.

Women are highly sensual Beings. Not to say they are the only sensual Beings. At all. Au contraire. But I am speaking from my perspective because I am a woman and a sensual one, at that.

Saying women and sensuals are unspiritual is not going to cut it for me. Women are intuitive and loving and Sacred and creators and nourishers and oh so tender.

Yes, I am a woman whose spirituality is embodied. My intuition lives in my skin, my breath, my dreams, my atmosphere. My psyche speaks through sensation, symbol, and subtlety. To imply that sensuality — the realm of the senses, the body, the felt experience — is “unspiritual” is to imply that my entire way of knowing is invalid. The insult I felt was recognition of a lie. A lie that has been used to keep women small, disembodied, compliant, and disconnected from their own power. Fuck that!

To say I felt the insult strongly is a huge understatement.

I felt it archetypally.

A woman’s senses are not distractions. A woman’s senses are portals. Our bodies are divining rods. Sensation is information. Atmosphere is guidance. Texture, temperature, tone are messages. Our bodies are repositories of wisdom — they hold memory, intuition, instinct, pattern, and truth. They hold what the mind cannot articulate and what language cannot contain. The physical world is how the psyche whispers.

To call that “unspiritual” is to misunderstand the feminine entirely.

A woman’s spirituality is not abstract.
It’s incarnate.
It’s lived.
It’s felt.
It’s breathed.
It’s dreamed.

Sensuals do not ascend out of the body to find the divine.
We descend into the body to meet it.

When you are a dark feminine, sensuality isn’t indulgence.
It’s intelligence.

Sensuality is the body’s wisdom speaking and we would be out of our minds to ignore our bodies. Ignoring our senses amounts to ignoring our own intelligence — the very intelligence that has guided us, protected us, shaped us, and leads us to be amazing women.

There is a kind of knowing that doesn’t come from thought. Thank goodness for that because the knowing that does arrive is full of wisdom.

It rises from deeper places — the pulse, the breath, the quiet shift beneath the sternum. It’s the wisdom the body has been storing for years, waiting for the moment I finally learned to listen as a woman. I’ve been listening with my whole body. Worshipping at the altar of my sensuality. In deep communion.

Sensual is the body’s wisdom speaking.
Not indulgence.
Not excess.
Not the glossy thing the world tries to make it.

It’s the way truth arrives as a shiver of recognition, or a softening in the belly, or that subtle tightening that says pay attention — something is happening here.

It’s the instinct that has carried me across thresholds long before my mind could articulate why. It’s the subterranean feminine — the part of me that lives below the surface, in the dark, fertile womb places where meaning ripens slowly and drips from me.

This is not a spirituality that floats above my body.
This is a spirituality that descends into it.
That trusts sensation as guidance.
That treats the senses as portals, as messengers, as the first language of my psyche. I am multilingual in many ways and oh so reverent of that language!

To ignore that would be to abandon myself.
To sever wisdom from its source.
To betray the very intelligence that has shaped my becoming.

Sovereignty begins here — in the refusal to override what my body knows. In the choice to honor the wisdom underneath quiet signals, signs and synchronicities and meeting that wisdom of truth in the time required to fully digest it. In the understanding that authenticity is not a mood but a stance.

I am enough without performance.
I am enough in my depth, in my quiet, in my subterranean truth.

Sensual is the body’s wisdom speaking — and I am listening.

Needless to say, I have not frequented this particular website again for my word searches.

And, if you ask me what the definition of sensuality is, the short answer is exactly that — that sensuality is the body’s wisdom speaking. The longer version would look a little something like this.

Sensual is the body’s wisdom made perceptible.
It is the intelligence stored in muscle, breath, skin, and instinct — the knowing that predates language.

Sensual is spiritual.
It is the psyche speaking through sensation — a tightening, a softening, a shiver of recognition. It is the body as oracle, not obstacle.

Sensual is presence.
It is the ability to feel the texture of a moment, to sense truth in the air, to register the emotional weather of a room.

Sensual is depth.
It is the meeting place of instinct and intuition, where the unconscious rises through the senses and becomes knowable.

Sensual is wisdom.
It is the stored memory of every threshold crossed, every truth felt, every message the body has carried on your behalf. Ignoring it would be abandoning your own intelligence.

Sensual is sovereignty.
It is the refusal to be severed from the body, the refusal to treat embodiment as lesser or unholy.

Sensual is sacred.
It is how you commune with the world — not through abstraction, but through embodiment.

So you can stick that in your dictionary pipe and smoke it!

I am a woman.

I am a Sacred feminine.

I am a witch.

If reclaiming the Sacred for myself — just one woman — makes me a heretic, then light the match.

I’ll walk through the fire myself.
One healed woman alters the whole lineage — past and future.

Thank you ever so much for being here and for reading. Sending love. XO

🌀 Memory is not a list, but a spiral.🌀

Safety is not a place, but a rhythm.

And love…mmm, love is the shape that holds them both.

Some places hold you. Some people become them. This is the story of the ones who did.

The shiny new book that I dug into towards the end of the summer - the one that had me tearing up on Page 5? I knew then it was going to be a good book. It’s like when I go shopping for a greeting card. The card that brings tears instantly to my eyes? That’s “the one.”

As it turns out, the book has reflection questions held within its pages, which I wasn’t aware of when I first began reading. My first writing “assignment” for the book is to think back to when I was a child and recall some places that I felt most safe in; to make a list. List? List! I didn’t even know I had one, so a list seemed highly improbable. The author added we should have many, many places and people on our list. Hmmm. Not so easy for me. It couldn’t be at home because I was alone so often there which really wasn’t safe and my aloneness didn’t seem like a “valid” safe place.

Though I do feel inordinately safe when I am alone.

Let’s park there, on safety, for just a moment. Safety for me is when I am free to be only myself, nothing and no one else. No pretending. No hiding. It’s when I can feel what I am feeling in full, whenever I want without caring that others think I’m too sensitive. It’s the people and places who listen to every story I tell in full, with rapt attention, without interrupting or their eyes glazing over because I am worth listening to. Those people, the listening ones, get to hear my deepest longings, secrets, fantasies, and dreams because I know they are held with reverence and tenderness. Safety is the places and people where no one feels the need to talk over my own voice because it’s so small they can. It’s where I don’t have to rely on my own self to be safe or cared for, I can hand the protection over to someone else from time to time. Safety is found where I can ask questions out loud and someone or something is there to provide an answer or point me in a direction. Safety is also being loved for exactly who I am in full, and it is not contingent on how I look or perform.

Safety is accepting that I don’t have my shit together all the time - I, too, become dysregulated and irritable because life is messy and chaotic. I welcome ALL of that with open arms and an open heart (sometimes laughing at the ridiculousness of it), because life then takes me by the hand and leads me someplace beautiful. The person(s) who can see all of that and my response to it, and still care for and about me, maybe even get a glimpse of the same magick, without abandoning me, even seeing the awe in it, is my person. Once you have become a safe person or space for me, you will remain so for the remainder of my lifetime; that is the deep trust I have when safety is present. Yes, I imagine you read between the lines and saw the truth of what I wrote.

I know I am sensitive; it is one of my greatest attributes. I choose to view my sensitivity as a gift, not a burden. It serves me well for listening to my students, family and friends, but also to my body, my intuition and Nature. Yes, I add a lot of detail to my stories because that is how I see and feel and hear and taste the world. What good is having senses, if I can’t be a sensual woman? I have learned to listen to my own needs and wants and, as it turns out, I am a Being with very simple needs and wants. When I am listening to my own self, I feel safe because I am doing things that deepen my heart and my Soul, which happen to be caring for the Earth, as well.

As I thought about what safety is for me and, as I was thinking about my list, about things, people, and places that felt safe, my Grandparents’ house came to mind. Even with the dark, overly stacked, unlit attic that I had to walk run through, to get to my bedroom at the opposite end of the house, from the stairs on the other end. Honestly, it wasn’t that scary, but I was certainly hypervigilant when walking running through it. Anyway, the reason I always felt safe at my Grandparents’ is that my Grandmother was always there with me (though not in the attic), if not both of my Grandparents. There was always someone there to correct me, to protect me, to hold me, to LOVE me if/when I needed it, even if I spent the majority of my afternoons playing outside alone. The thing I have noticed is that when the people I am with are actually present with me, I need less physical holding and less love spoken because presence is a love language for me. Don't get me wrong, though; I am still a romantic at heart.

But…still…a list. There had to be others, right?

Then, it dawned on me that my two “twin” sisters, the ones with whom I lived with to finish out school years, would also qualify as safe spaces. In city #1/family #1, there were four other women in that household and in city #2/family #2, there at least was my “sister.” Living in a house full of boys, she was probably delighted to have me temporarily. Suddenly, I had sisters equal in age and clothes size, not to mention puberty woes, boy troubles, and teenage drama that I could share and commiserate with. One of the joys of friendship and sisterhood is the intimate perspective of another that you can learn from.

Okay…whew. Crisis averted. That is at least three safe places. I didn't need a lengthy list, just a few really great ones. But then…I stalled a little bit. Safe…Safe…Safe? Here in the safety of my heart space, that’s when the remembering shifted-from list to longing. That is when my last safe place dawned on me. My brain definitely saved the best for last. This one felt so safe, I needn’t have even thought of another. It checked all my safety boxes. And you thought safety was just a dance! But then…I wondered…were there “special” criteria that made this one especially safe? And then I thought of her. And my eyes teared up. And I knew this was “the one.”

Life is a spiral and, thus, memories are not linear, either. It loops. It repeats. It is soft. It becomes loud. It detours. It lingers. And loops again. Just when I thought I thought my list was complete, the absolute safest place sailed into the harbor of my heart.

I have hinted at this family before, in other written pieces. I call this family my “adopted” family; always have. The dad of this family was friends with my own dad, and that is how I came to be in this adopted family of mine. For, more often than not, my dad took me there when I was staying with him over a weekend here or there, I ended up staying with my adopted family because my dad was unable to drive me home.

That is when true and absolute safety stepped in.

So, then, let’s start with the dad, shall we? Dad, Glenn (Sr.), was a tall, barrel-chested man, always with a smile on his face. There was always laughter around him. He was a big, papa bear kind of man, the kind a young girl like myself could curl into; it felt as if he could hold me in one hand - that is how larger than life he was to me. He once told me I had amazing comedic timing. Let me correct myself: he was the first person to notice I had amazing comedic timing. I don’t think anyone even knew, even took the time before he did; to realize I was a funny kid. He isn’t the last one to tell me, by the way.

Glenn’s fatherly instinct, to protect his own, was strong and extended even to me, his adopted daughter. One summer on a trip with my adopted family, my body was urgently developing into that of a woman. I was young and so slim, but curves were well underway, only made to appear more voluminous because of my slender body! The house we stayed at over that summer had a state highway running across the front and one time, a car full of young men drove by, slowing and loudly expressing their appreciation of my developing form. Glenn Sr. ran alongside, waving his fist at them. He wasn’t just protecting me from the young men, yes, but the more important thing was he was allowing me to remain a child, if but just for a little longer, that summer. To keep me from feeling self-conscious, or even caring at all, about how I looked for just a few more minutes - I was too busy living and playing.

If I could say anything about Glenn Sr. it was that he appeared to be overflowing with joy, completely in love with his life. I can’t bring to mind one complaint, one harsh word, or one angry outburst when I think of this dad.

He practically glows in my memory.

Him and his barrel-chested laugh. You know that kind of laugh, that reverberates in you and through you? It suddenly feels like your heart syncs in rhythm to the cadence of his laugh? That was Glenn.

He is one of the first men who totally supported me - not because he had to, because he wanted to, like I was the daughter he never had. And it wasn’t something he needed to verbally tell me - I could sense it about him.

He was the Father Cedar Tree. A significant source of strength, support, and resilience. Protective and harboring. A source of stability. Providing a Sacred space for connection, growth, and reflection, even all these years later.

I guess next would be the son of the family, Glenn Jr., Glennie, two years younger than me. We always had the best time together. He had two half older sisters and (two half older brothers, as well), but by the time he was born, his sisters were much older, nearing taking flight into their own lives. So, he was essentially alone a lot, just like me. We understood each other’s brand of quiet - two Souls that recognized each other. We played Star Wars action figures, discovered together patterns that Pac-Man needed to move to evade ghosts, became pool sharks, watched movies, and, yes, played outside - sipping flavored Pop Shoppe sodas, swinging, chasing, imagining, exploring, and catching fireflies.

Together. In harmony.

Remembering back now, I know we laughed and talked and played. But I can also remember an undercurrent of knowing, as if we needn’t have even talked at all.

The first time that I had menstrual cramps (even before I started to bleed), Glennie woke his mom - in the middle of the night, no less - to get help. After questions to help her diagnose, Tylenol and a heating pad were delivered, and I was settled onto the couch. I became part of that couch, it held me like a huge outstretched hand, cradling my aches and comforting them away, bearing witness to these tender moments of a body on the precipice of becoming a woman. The movie Dragon Slayer was turned on and Glennie sat on the floor next to me, holding my hand, worried beyond himself for my well-being. This fortified me in ways I had yet to understand. It was a simple ceremony involving touch that brought me immense healing. This was the first time I experienced menstrual discomfort, and it was rare after that I ever experienced it. If I did, I just called this to mind and in that hushed memory, my womb sighed in relief.

Who would have guessed that a hand, two years younger than mine, belonging to a boy, could not only hold my own hand, but hold it so deeply, with so much love infused, it brought tears to my eyes then.

And still.

Needless to say, he was unlike any friend I had ever had or experienced up to that point. It’s quite something, in my mind now, to recognize that my first Sacred friend, the one with a tender and gentle heart and Soul, commensurate with my own, was not another girl, but a boy.

My first Soul friend. Anam Cara.

He was the chatty squirrel to my flitting hummingbird. He was playful. He collected scraps of memories to store away for a rainy day. He, too, was protective. He was at one with nature. He was smart, a quick thinker. And he knew about the importance of a strong community.

But mom? Gloria. She was “The Mom” to end all moms. In my young mind, at least. After all, she, too, was nearly always home, always attending, holding, diagnosing and, above all, loving me and Glennie. I miss the way her nose whistled and she pushed her glasses up with her thumb. She did bring home the bacon too, and could she ever fry it up in a pan! The long galley kitchen, with an eat-in dining room, was always cozy, lively, and warm. Gloria would cook sumptuous meals and for the adults who weren’t ready to eat, she would make platefuls of food, keeping them warm in the oven, sending out delicious smells for hours and hours. Even with a house full of adults, she was present on all fronts. She was vibrant and talkative, always ready with a smile and a giggle, and some wisdom. She was just so different from what I had experienced at home.

Different circumstances altogether. Not better, just different.

That’s why she was such a treasure to me.

One summer, when I traveled across the states with them, from Washington state to New York, where we spent the whole summer, she was my mom. Wise. Patient. Caring. Compassionate. Calm. That summer, the humidity wreaked havoc with my immature, young body. Mercy, did I bleed! In lieu of sweat, my body gathered the heat and moisture and alchemized it into womanly blood to be shed. Ever patient, she fitted me with the maxiest pad ever, coupled with a triple folded-over washcloth, which did the trick. We had a long discussion about it. This was “the” ceremony that welcomed me into womanhood, brought about by my adopted mom. I hadn’t even known I needed one, until she invited me to it.

Once Glenn Sr. passed in April of 1987, Gloria, mom, blossomed in a way I never saw coming. But, in my young eyes, blossom she did. I watched her unbecome, shedding her roles she had put on like garments. Gone were the tiny gold watches with tissues tucked into wrist for runny noses, see you later to clothes that were casual and washable. No longer a wife and a caretaker and less mother than she had been. She was reclaiming herself as a sovereign Being, stepping barefoot and naked into her wildness, and it was marvelous to watch it unfold.

She transformed into this Gloria-ous Being, one who followed her wild with abandon, to wherever it led her. She was an outgoing, free spirit who engaged in talent shows in her 60’s! She stepped into a new hairdo, new clothes with a colorful, Bohemian vibe and a social calendar so full, you’d need to schedule in advance. Way in advance. She loved to bowl and camp and sing and spend time wrapped in the warm embrace of her dearest friends. When dad phoned me shortly after February 18, 2017 to deliver news of her passing, I was devastated in ways I couldn’t yet name.

My dearest Mother, Gloria-ous, is a river. Above all, she provides nourishment to all around her, her entire ecosystem. She is the lifeblood of life itself. She wasn’t just nourishing our bodies, but our Souls, with her fertile waters. Nurturing, providing safety and refuge. A river moves, it doesn’t stay still - just like the spirals of life. It keeps going - finding its way over, around, under and, when necessary, through obstacles. A river heals and restores us.

The River Gloria.

This family…none of them had to love me, it wasn’t a requirement, but love me they did. I didn’t have to follow in anyone’s footsteps. I couldn’t have disappointed them if I tried because there were no expectations. There was only what was. It didn’t need to be named or spoken out loud or even physically held. I don't recall even one of them ever saying verbally they loved me. They didn’t need to. They lived it and breathed it, in all the ways they cared for me. I could feel they were my family deep down, in the places that truly mattered - in the hushed corners of my heart and Soul. I knew every last one of them saw and heard me and I felt the exchange of love in every shared giggle, every spoonful of wisdom doled out, every hand-held moment, every single adventure they invited me to, and in each acknowledgement of wonder.

All the invitations and initiations they offered brought me into a deeper place of Being, they walked me through some thresholds. And it is so heartwarming how they each had a role in my initiation into womanhood, each in their own way. I was a treasured and revered daughter. They loved me so well, there has been no unfinished business with them, though I know I can talk to them when I need to, wherever I am. I have thanked them countless times and cried many tears for them and to them and I know they are heard and appreciated. I have to say here and now that I have never felt the love and safety they offered me in another place or person, at least up until that point. They just took me in when they needed to, likely without being asked, and cared for me in the ways that only they could.

As a grown woman, I understand Gloria’s unbecoming deeply now. The need to rise above all labels applied to you and look deeply inside to discover who you truly are, not who the world says, but what you say. It’s only you who matters when it comes to this. You get to say who you are, not one other person gets the honor of doing this. When the dismantling begins, the beautiful work, you follow your wildness and your wildness alone.

Many years ago now, I went through the same rituals. I needed to know myself, my deep, inner self, away from the kids and the husband. I began going for walks. Each step took me deeper and deeper into myself and I began to transform into the woman I always was, but that had been hidden deeply away, until I could reclaim safety once more. I connected to something deeper than just me in those walks, I connected to Nature, which connected me to Soul and to my ancient self, as well as those before me. I became a part of She. I am a gorgeous Being, inside and out, indeed. I am now unafraid to be vulnerable and emotional and wonder and live out loud because I have re-membered I am holy and Sacred and, yes, safe.

The photo below is an echo of my final safe place; the other “She” in my story - the ultimate one, the Sacred one, the eternal last one. Story after story after story of Her are found in my posts. Places that provide presence without demand, beauty without performance, memory without explanation; places where my heart does Sacred work - unearthing, re-membering, naming.

Mother Nature invites me to listen deeply, to let the roots flow from my feet into the sand, into the water and use them to listen. The roots are my mycelial network receptors. My hushed, safe, listening place. Where I am a part of the landscape and the landscape, the clay from which I came, is a part of me. Mother is a metaphor for my own becoming: rooted, receptive, and held by silence.

In the quiet naming and remembering of safety, I found the shape of love - not measured in lists, but re-membered in heartbeats.

Praying you spiral gently into your own rememberings. May the places that held you rise again in your heart. And may love - quiet, wild, and true - be the shape that holds you. Thanks for being here and for reading! With love and devotion, XO

On a visit to my mom’s house mid-summer, she was excited to tell me that she had found a picture of herself from when she was about 19. She asked if I wanted to see it. Of course I did!!!

When she brought it to me, a lot of memories came flooding back. Memories are intimate and Sacred and, with their help, we can, in fact, time travel. The photo used to be housed between two sheets of cardboard in the bottom drawer of mom’s nightstand, and I used to pull it out often, along with other pictures there in the drawer, and look at it when I was a child. I couldn’t help thinking about how effortlessly beautiful my mom is in the picture, and I remember thinking that when I was a kid, too. I mean look at her! She is stunning.

The photo emerged from the depths of time and space, insisting I return to my childhood, seeing it again through my adult eyes, told through long-forgotten, bottom-of-the-drawer photographs. It wanted me to look deeply into my past, as I linger on the threshold of new chapters. It got me thinking about me and my mom, and my Grandmother, too. Though neither my mom or my Grandmother were around that much when I was growing up, they are, still, a big part of my background. I wondered what their lives might have whispered into my own.

Even though I do still have visits with my Grandmother from beyond and we have wonderful conversations (she is mostly interested in learning about my life, I rarely get the opportunity to ask her about her early life), I miss her. I miss seeing her and playing cards with her and sitting next to her on the couch, her crocheting, while her head would bob as she dozed off. Those quiet, Sacred moments of basking in her presence. Even then.

Especially then.

Grandma came from a family of 13 kids!! She helped her mom - doing laundry and cooking, and likely sewing, as well. Now it is clear to me where, whenever I cook, it is as if I am cooking for an Army, always worrying if there is enough, when, in fact, there is an overflow. That is an ancestry thing.

She and my Grandfather married in their very early 20s and their own family line began. Although taking care of her own 5 kids probably felt like a break, from helping with 12 kids, Grandma was always busy; raising her family and supporting her husband, the small town’s fire chief. From a family of 13 kids, to 5 of her own, and then, Grandma was the grandest of moms to 10 grandchildren. Though it is our quiet secret, I was her most frequent visitor and admirer. Did I mention that I carry her name, as well? There is no mistake we are so close, she is my namesake.

As you might imagine with her being a help to her own mother and the size of their families, Grandma was an awesome cook. She was 100% German, so most meals consisted of meat and potatoes. I was never much of a meat eater as a child or now, but I did love her potatoes. One thing she used to make that I adored, usually when we were camping, was a wilted salad with bacon vinaigrette, poured like smoky flavored memories across tender romaine leaves. I have since located a recipe for it online, as close to what I remember Grandma putting in it and made it several times and it is every bit as good as I remember. When I do make it, it helps me feel closer to her.

Grandma was gifted a Rubik’s cube at some point, or maybe one of us kids left it behind during a visit. Grandma set to solving that thing. She worked at it. She eventually purchased a book to help her solve it. At long last, she did, in fact, solve it!! I believe it was one of her proudest accomplishments because when she finished, it was put into a glass jar with a Hermes clamp, and she had Grandpa weld it so it could never be opened again. From then on, it sat in a proud place of honor: in the center of the mantel over the fireplace. Us grandkids were given strict instructions to never even go near it.

Every afternoon she would call me in, from wherever outside I was playing, to perch in the green, floral stool at the end of the kitchen, looking out through the front window, through the wild vines that grew there, while eating a hot lunch. I was her own little hummingbird, small and mighty, moving through the world with intentionality, joy and presence, seeing Beauty and magic everywhere, and sipping the sweet nectar of life. After lunch, we would often proceed to the dining room to play cards.

She was competitive, too, with grace, of course. There was never a day that went by when we were together, that Grandma and I weren’t playing head-to-head speed, with her gently seasoning the quiet and focus of each of us with whispers not to cheat. I couldn’t even imagine how to cheat in speed!

I didn’t always win, either. Grandma was a fierce opponent!

My Grandmother was one of those solid, stoic women in my life - the kind that demand excellence and have high expectations for you as a woman in your own rite and won’t settle for anything less. She was a calm, patient woman, the kind of woman that leads by example. And so, she modeled for me how to be calm and strong and patient and to persevere. She also taught me the basics of crochet, and I proudly do so in her honor. In so doing, I stitch the generations of women who came before me into the tapestry of my life.

Her lessons never came with grand speeches or urgent instruction, they were stitched and stirred, gently, quietly, and softly, into Sunday afternoons, simmering in cast iron, dealt in cards, and wound in yarn. She didn’t teach me to be strong.

She showed me and I paid attention.

The same quiet reverence I now bring to brush and altar, to the patient fold of butterfly wings, I learned first in the tilt of her head as she dozed beside me, crochet resting in her lap like a silent prayer.

My mom was quiet when she was a girl. She still is that same quiet woman. One of three children, an older sister and younger brother, she moved out from under the reign of her mom and dad at her earliest opportunity. Though mom was never a rule breaker and still isn’t, she disliked how her mom and dad had so many rules to follow and couldn’t wait to be on her own. She lived in an apartment with another girl, and attended some community college for basic classes, though she eventually stopped attending. She tells me that someone was trying to push her to take classes she didn’t want, so she quit altogether.

The picture above is right around when she met my sister’s father. She didn’t really have any dreams or aspirations at this point yet, other than being away from her mom, her dad, and her sister, who was a holy terror.

What I do know is that mom needed to discover who she was on her own, in her own time, and that she wasn’t going to stand for letting anyone else tell her what to do or be.

Mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid. She was a single parent and worked full-time and there was a significant amount of letting her hair down, which I get, with all her responsibilities. Though she was quiet and a ghost often, when she was around, I watched her. I watched her getting ready for her days - putting on her makeup and fluffing and spraying her hair until it was just so. There is something sweet about her perfectly coifed hair versus the wildness of my own at the same age. She never had to tame and manage curls like me. Sometimes it’s better to let the wild run free!!

I paid especially close attention when she cooked because mom was never one for TV dinners or meals from a box. She was a homemade chef, everything from scratch. It gave me some great pointers for cooking for myself when I was alone. I didn’t subsist on toast or sandwiches. I had perfected crispy hashbrowns, toasted cheese sandwiches, cookies, lemon meringue pie, and a variety of other things, by age 9, including our 7-course birthday meal, which us three girls made together - my mom, my sister, and I.

All that “training” gave me an excellent eye for finding recipes that would be delicious, as well as enough skill to make adjustments to recipes and build my own recipes, to make them just right. Always sprinkled generously with the most important ingredient!

My mother, then, didn’t teach through declaration - she taught through modeling, soaked in through my watchful eyes. In her silence, I learned to value listening, whether through the infrequent shares or through the quiet underneath the sounds of her simmering pots and early morning preparations. Her lessons were on devotion. No monologues or speeches were delivered on the importance of independence or identity, only the quiet defiance of a woman who lived on her own terms.

And I paid attention.

I carry her quiet lessons into my own forms: the ritual and naming of watercolor, the altar’s hush, the way poetry and written word stirs over flame, and the devotion and love of teaching truly special children. She gave me stillness, not as absence, though there certainly was that, but as invitation.

And, finally, there is me. I grew up wild, largely without adult supervision. I excelled in the arts - making my own way through them, anything that allowed creative expression - cooking/baking, drama, singing, and playing my beloved violin. Everything I did creatively I did with passion. Although I can play field hockey with the best of them - a chance to set my inner rebel free in public!!

I spent a lot of my days in silence, listening to the wisdom of my Soul and growing attached to that. So attached, I had few dear friends because few could match the depth that I cultivated in myself and that was okay with me. I grew my own identity and independence. This, too, was quiet ancestry. I knew enough to know what I didn’t want and what I wouldn’t settle for. That was the thread that wove through my childhood and teenage years and, by my senior year, it was strong and true. When I strayed from it, utter chaos would break out and I would learn hard lessons, the kind that stay with you for life. When I followed it, I would succeed at what I put my mind to, though being a success was never something I strove for, it was just being so completely focused on what I wanted - that WAS IS my success - I manifest the success through giving myself so wholly to what I was doing, not caring about where it got me, only following my wise Soul, my inner Blue Heron animal spirit guide.

I carry cooking and baking in my bones - seasoned with patience, whisked with devotion, stirred with strength, abandon and surrender. Beyond that, I carry their quiet, their stillness. My watchful eyes absorbed lessons not taught in words but steeped into me through moments of silence: hands stirring, eyes softening, heads nodding, presence settling.

I inherited a lineage not just of women, but of quiet revolutions, armed with stillness, potato mashers, wooden spoons, crochet hooks, and hairspray. Of ingredients stirred by instinct. Of solitude chosen as sanctuary. I cook, I craft, I conjure. Not to replicate - but to re-member. Deeply. And in the re-membering, I become.

To make way for my becoming, parts of the old me had to die away. I let her go. Even when I doubted the path, because I trusted my Soul calling that much more.

I needed to look into my magic ball, into the past, and see the reverent way I beheld these two women in my life and how they affected my own. It heals parts of me I didn’t even know needed it and, in doing so, helps me see how I am a wise woman for the women in my circles. I feel that. Deeply. I see myself more clearly now, through tears, and a resolve to be that woman - the one that is important to ME, yes, but ripples outward quietly, mysteriously, with devotion - in such a way that people can’t even fully grasp what it is but can’t get it out of their head.

What lives in me now is greater and deeper than memory or inheritance, it is marrow. The Sacred thread of quietness weaves through generations. For me, I have spun it with mist and root and waves, crocheted threads of stillness, into a garment of wisdom and intuition and deep love. I find it everywhere - from the hush before the hawk cries, the pause between crow wingbeats, the breath held as ivy climbs, the silent embrace when Mother Ocean’s wave meets shore.

That quietness grew and raised me wild. It tended my altars with meaning. It softly blurred my watercolor skies. It held vigil when I could not. Their legacy flows through me like flame through wax, softening what must yield, illuminating what must be seen.

In those silent transmissions, swirled with the daughter of sea and sky that I am, something holy took root. That quietness has held me through grief, through becoming, through creation (of both myself and what I birth). It’s where my heArt blooms, where my Soul listens, where I am grounded and breathed. I know, with certainty, that when I am most myself, whether I am teaching, writing, painting, baking, Soul-tending, I am never alone. I am the echo of my Grandmother’s strong patience and my mom’s unwavering independence. I am the daughter of silence, making noise in my own holy and ancient ways.

I walk, skip, slink, and shimmy onward with their quiet as my compass. Their patience stitched into me. Their defiance flickers in my passion. The Sacred stillness they carried - often unseen, mostly unspoken - now blooms in me as ritual, as watercolor, as dance and song. I am not merely shaped by their stories, I am the transmutation, the living poem, the flowered bud of their stillness, made vibrant in my own ways. I am Radice e Vento: l’anima del bosco vive nei sussuri.

Thanks for being here and reading. Perhaps we all find that we are “Radice e Vento” in our own ways. Sending love! XO

I woke. The filtered light quietly enveloped my room. I reached for my phone, to turn it on and glance at the clock. I set it down, not in any hurry to leave the warm comfort of my soft bed. As excuses began to invade the boundaries of my thoughts, a soft whisper wafted across my ear, encircling it, flowing down, down, down through the canal and my tympanic membrane, into the stirrup, anvil and hammer, into my ear drum and, like vapor, set free into my nervous system.

Ah, yes. My nervous system. It was scrubbed raw and exposed. I had ridden the electronic bull of feelings and emotions of the week, set to buckin’ wild. Joy, relief, gratitude, grief, exhaustion and elation all attended the party. The whispered blessing of the crow and the hawk lingered. I checked the weather. It was cloudy. Perfect. No distractions would be at the lake so early on a Friday morning. That sealed my resolve, but my Soul still fastened a studded choke collar around my neck and dragged me on a leash outdoors. I found my treasure immediately, for which I was grateful. Hawk and crow continue to watch me, and it startles me and warms me at the same time.

Meanwhile, the back of my head ached, and I had the sensation of being two separate Beings, my senses overwhelmed. My duality on full display: my Soul the stillness and my body the storm; my body an oracle and My Soul the witness. I could feel the weight of every hair on my head as my Soul led me along. A migraine was brewing there, at the back of my head. All those emotions…they weren’t coming gently or gradually. And so, they whipped and churned into a storm and crouched, ready to unleash hell, stitching a dark, ominous thundercloud to my shoulders.

The air was thick and heavy, a light mist hung, clinging to me as I walked. Not enough to dampen, just right to release magic. There was no wind and no one visible at the park, and only one boat on the opposite side of the lake. Still, the docks bucked and shimmied until I abandoned my post and went home, feeling as if, perhaps, I was the storm or, at the least, caused all of the commotion around me, with my emotions so clearly surfaced in the storm gathering along my neck. I swallowed some meds and turned on the water in the bathtub to its hottest setting: purifying fire, squirting in some bubbles. Bubbles are necessary when one is purified by fire.

Turning back the cover of the water, I slipped into its luxurious but warm embrace, into my inner sanctuary. Re-membering with every sensation. I smell the warm, spicy sweetness of my candle and feel the soothing bubbles, with their familiar crackle, coupled with the faint tingling sensation on my skin, as they pop. Their familiarity weaving a soft spell over me.

The room was void of any light except the light of a single candle which flickered and danced over my flesh. When the bubbles faded, I could make out the fizzing sound of the candle wick burning. Steam rose, looping and curling, from my warm skin into the crisp ethers.

I slipped down the tub, under the water and floated to the surface. I felt the subtle rise of my chest with every deep breath, how my lungs filling with air pushed me higher in the water. My heartbeat a rhythmic bass drum, sure and steady, like a beacon in the distance, an anchor to focus on. I could hear nothing else below the water’s surface. Intentional and complete silence. My hair drifted in the water, swishing this way and that. Fingers glide along blazing, dampened skin, trace the silky edges of desire before tearing flesh against the sharpened razors of my nipples in the cool air.

When at last I emerged from the depths, I patted my skin lightly to dry it and deeply massaged oils into every tendon and muscle. I retreated into my room, opening the window to more closely listen to the whispers of my elders outside and the birdsong. Tucking the sheets of my bed tightly all the way to the top, I inched under the sheet, the covers pressing against me firmly and holding me surely and quietly in their softness, tethering me to this world, so as not to be swept away. Wrapped in a cocoon of warm comfort until the storm passed. Waves of nausea rolled in and out like tides, my body tender to touch, sound, and light. The storm began to pick up speed and strength. It would be another 24 hours before the storm cast me out, washed up, limp and bedraggled on the shore.

Some days, a storm doesn't pass you by, it takes up residence, beginning at the nape of your neck and it quietly weaves into and around you. This is the body's deep wisdom, its most profound release. The truly wise feminine bows in reverence and takes what she needs to rest in her anchored roots, until the storm passes. It calls for silence, for stillness, but it looks and sounds like a whispered prayer.

Today, today, today.

Today is a special day! It is the first day in a very long time that I don’t have homework for my master’s degree. You see, I have completed all my coursework and got it all turned in as of yesterday. Granted, there is still work to do. I have my student teaching to look forward to, and I’m trusting in timing for that. I’ve finished the schoolwork portion, my practicums, and my exams.

I am so incredibly proud of myself right now!!! I don’t mind saying. In fact, and this should come as no surprise, it brings tears to my eyes and literally pain into my body I am so proud. It actually hurts to be this proud. I have done this thing, and it’s crazy and beautiful and was no small task.

I realized after my first year working in the special education classroom that I wanted to be a teacher. The students (and staff) had captured my heart that much! I waited. And I don’t regret that one bit because I learned a lot about the students and special education over those years that really helped me while I was doing my schoolwork and my testing, as well. But mostly I learned more about myself.

You know the first thing I thought to myself when I started school again? Well, okay, the second thing. Because the first thing was, “Oh, shit. I literally got accepted. Now I’m actually going to have to go through with this! Yikes!” The second thing was how am I going to do this, or can I do this, I guess, is more appropriate.

The third thing that came to mind I was sad about, and this took some pep talks over my schooling, because I figured it would take about two years, and it did, even with some major bumps in the road, was that I questioned whether I could put aside everything I had been learning about myself personally - reading books I wanted to read and having lots of free time to explore - in order to get it done. I had talks with the Universe about this. “Please forgive me, but my personal growth might be a little stunted for a bit because I need to do this other important thing.”

The Universe giggled. Alright, alright. The Universe was, for sure, LMFAO. Undeterred, The Universe said, “Hold my coffee,” and then, “Watch this!” True, I wasn’t doing a lot of personal reading, but I was still learning tons about myself and what I was capable of. This was no small feat! Those bumps were major curveballs, but I navigated them with grace and patience and a little breathing (okay, it may have sounded like Lamaze breathing, but it worked). My personal life threw me plenty of obstacles and hurdles, and I grew from those, as well. It is not easy to have major life lessons in the middle of a master’s program. It made me very teary and emotional. There wasn’t even time to sit with it and be, life rolled on.

I knew it was going to be a lot. It was. It absolutely was. My kids did what they could to help me when I needed it. Mostly, there was just stuff around the house I needed to not worry about getting done, or at least, being at the bottom of my list. I knew going in this was going to be a lot of work on top of everything else I do. I knew going in I was going to have very little support and that was entirely true. Each school week began on Tuesday: discussion posts due Thursday, and any other assignments were due by Monday evening. I worked every day, came home every night and dug into the homework, did it all day on the weekends AND, at the same time, the dishes, the laundry, the housework, and the parenting. Yeah, life went on as usual. I was working, still a mom and a daughter and a sister and a friend, but most importantly, and always, a woman and a feminine and me.

So, obviously, I stepped away from the homework when I needed to. I absolutely did. I relished it in full. It usually involved keeping myself mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically healthy so that I could keep on being me while finishing school. Things involving intentional solitude and silence like going to the dance studio, walking with a coffee along the waterfront, acupuncture with cupping, and plenty of yoga. As time went on, that became even more important because school (and life) got harder and so I upped my level of self-care.

I noticed as I got going on year number two that the first few months felt like I was going to snap in two. This was around late spring of 2024. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to do what I had been doing, nor that I had something else to do. Struggles come, you know? And I bow to them because they teach me. Don't think I didn't have those days that were difficult. I did. Yeah, there were a lot more days that were fueled by the knowing that I could and would do it. Those wouldn't have been as sweet without the days that were very dark and full of questions for and about me. “Strength isn’t about pretending you’re not tired, it’s about showing up anyway. You don’t have to keep it all together to keep going, you just have to stay with yourself.” - Ram Dass. In spite of being tired and done, I quietly said yes to continuing. Some family members suggested I should take a break to which I replied a very firm and resolute, “No way!” You have to know the tremendous amount of will it took me, the amount of energy I was expending, to continue. If I stopped, I don’t think I could find it in myself to start again. The only way to get it done was to keep going. It was never going to get easier, so there was no time like the present. Self-pep talks became my thing.

A new school year began in the fall of 2024 and the classroom I was assigned to at work blew up again (second year in a row, around the same time of year, too). This time, though, was a doozy! There was a lot of drama surrounding that. That certainly wasn’t helping matters. I tried to keep my head down and focus on the darling I was working with. I was struggling with a mighty amount of doubt right then and was feeling very discouraged. I had to distance myself from colleagues in my room, to avoid the constant negativity, so then I felt isolated. This went on for a few weeks, before I needed to get real with myself.

Enough!

ENOUGH!!!!

Enough. I very nearly had to shake myself by the shoulders and slap myself across the face to knock some sense into me. Finally, I had to sit with myself and say, “Stop! Don’t you DARE pay attention to those voice that are whispering you can’t or shouldn’t do this! Those voices are scared voices because you are getting closer to the end of where you were supposed to be all along. They are just voices who want you to feel small and helpless and that. is. not. you!” I wasn’t done…

“So, you get your tits up!!!”

“Now! Now, I said!!!!”

I’m on a roll by now. You know, cuz I’ve been monk-like and silent, and I am passionate about my work, so I have a lot to say, apparently…

“Look at your grades. Personal notes you’ve gotten along the way from your instructors. You are doing it! Yes, it is hard. You are still doing it. Do. Not. DARE. Give. Up. I won’t let you! YOU need this!! The work needs you. Your colleagues need you. More importantly than any of those reasons: The Kids NNNEEEEEDDDDD you! Baby, your key ring is FULL of locks you’ve opened along the way - hearts you have discovered the combination to - and discarding those keys now would be a huge disservice and thumbed nose to all the kids you’ve helped and all the kids you haven’t yet helped. More and more are coming every year. *whispering* Do it for the kids!!! You need them every bit as much as they need you. Don’t let your magic fall away.” I found new resolve after those pep talks. I stopped riding the roller coaster of emotions.

Then life started throwing curve balls, beginning with a death in close family right before the holidays, coupled with some major illnesses within my immediate and extended family. I added nurse, and graveside and hospital room wanderer to my regular duties. As you might guess, along came sheer exhaustion. Like to my bones tired, absolutely fully succumbed to it.

Finally came winter break and I was able to relax, after nine nonstop months without support or a break. I made new plans for the new year, to care for myself better to carry me through to the end. That’s when the truth of it hit me: what was getting under my skin about my schooling. When I would do some really great work, something I was really proud of, there was no time to enjoy it or even reflect on it, because another assignment was waiting to be done. It was the pressure. Pressure. I see you. I called it out, which, as you know, takes away its power. I won’t let you steal my pleasure. I got quiet and focused and cared for myself in all the beautiful ways, having my pleasure for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and ALL the snacks. Yummy!!!!! So there! 😏🤫🫣

I became something even higher than doubt and fear and pressure. They were gifts, so I could see my way past them. I kept going. Those voices gave up. Bought a train ticket to the next town or wherever they go when they can’t work on you any more. Probably Michigan or Iowa. I buckled in, renewed.

Life continued to stretch me as a person, professionally, academically, and personally. Navigating that was the bigger part of this college thing. I had a new kiddo/new room assigned to me at the end of January to last the remainder of the school year, family illnesses continued (adding mental health and potential disability issues), and another close family member died. I knew I was nearly done with school, and I just needed to stick to it a little longer, but the exhaustion stuck around, maybe even grew!!! I was SO close to the end by now, I wanted to finish and could manage very little else, other than work and school. I somehow kept going, in spite of it all. Resilience and a LOT of humility. That what is what I’ve been growing. I can't even pause to think about how I managed it, because it makes my head hurt and my heart, too.

I did my best to carve out time to care for myself first to refill my bucket and replenish my energy - long luxurious baths, somatic yoga, long walks, sound baths, forest baths, acupuncture, time in the dance studio, love notes to myself, and long weekend mornings spent alone luxuriating with ALL the feels in bed. Needless to say, these bags under my eyes are hard-earned! I had a lady ask me the other day if I qualified for a senior discount!! Which is fine, age is just a number, but not all that long ago, I was still being carded! By the size of these bags, I'd guesstimate they are planning a very long journey. I pray it's to Ireland for some Sacred time. I wouldn't blame them one bit! I'm sure they'll send postcards.

A quote popped into my inbox one week before my last day: “One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” - André Gide. mmm…so well put! After being at sea for sooo long, and navigating storm after storm, and more than my share of rough waters, I am EVER so happy to come ashore, into these new lands. One of my animal spirit guides is the Blue Heron. The Blue Heron has shared with me that wisdom comes from both calm AND stormy waters and having been invited to witness each helps both steady me and guide others with my gentle strength. Trusting my anchors, my deep roots, has helped me thrive and be flexible, actually strengthening me more, in the midst of the storms.

I will say that last day of the school year (work) was emotional, but, at the same time, a big relief. Because I didn’t have work on top of my college for these last few weeks of my schooling, I could finally breathe fully for what felt like the longest time, knowing I was nearly done with my formal schooling.

The silver lining is I get to continue “The Work.” The Work I do in service to the kids who need me. Only I get to be their teacher now. Which means I’m going to have an even bigger role in these kids’ lives. And their parents. That scares the hell out of me, honestly. Which means it is the right place for me. I know I can do it. Because I’ve been loving them for so many years already, so I’m just going to continue. In my head, I don’t picture myself as the teacher, I just see myself kneeling down next to some small little darling and loving them wholly, while also trying to teach them, but really, simultaneously, letting them teach me. In other words, same old thing. It’s what I do best.

What am I going to do now, you might ask. I’ve been putting away a little extra for myself. Now I plan on celebrating in me style. A lot of ceremony was already happening every week of this last class and will continue over the next week, joined with a lot of tears - tears of relief, joy, and grief. Crying has been a superpower this last week - my gorgeous, well-loved body knows instinctively and naturally what it needs to do: release tension. And, not surprisingly, given the released tension, I have lost weight, as well. Today will be a spa day for me, including acupuncture and a long, long, long walk with a coffee, finishing with an evening overlooking the Salish Sea, being absolutely wonderful to myself. Tomorrow I will sit in my swing in utter amazement of what I just went through, without thinking too long about how it got done. I can rest my weary Soul and be held by the landscape who knows and loves me intimately. I need that.

And shortly after, another treat: I’ve rented a little cottage overlooking Mother Ocean for myself and I will be there for a one more glorious day than my usual summer retreat. Among what sold me on this spot was a hot tub overlooking Mother Ocean! Though, it also has a clawfoot tub as well and that is far more my style. Just what monk me needed! A whole extra days’ worth of words stowed away in my heart. I won’t have to use my found “extra” voice. No pep talks, no “have to do’s,” just a lot of relaxing and glowing and expanding and, likely, more tears. There is nothing more epic than an erotic, stripped naked to the bone, holy woman staring into Mother Ocean’s depths, mixing her own salty waters with Mother’s. I can already feel the Beauty brewing.

It is going to feel REALLY, incredibly weird to not have homework to do night after night after night. But I think I’m up to the challenge of figuring out what to do in its place. Everything I learned this year personally (and you would think academically, right?), during my period of intense introspection and silence, has weighed heavily into the present.

After ALL that, I finally, FINALLY, get to Be. Which is how I chose the picture associated with this post. I love this picture. I look so happy and carefree and beautiful! That IS me, and the me I can be more fully now. I can do my important work, yes, but I’ll have time to tend to my occupation of Being me, growing more of my beautiful Soul. Which is amaze-balls!!! I can’t wait! I need some very gentle and tender nurturing of my heart space, holding myself, and some Nature immersion to recharge and nourish myself. I have a lineup of four amazing books planned to begin, a deep dive into all the cob-webbed corners of my Soul.

I have the added bonus of knowing what I can do when I put my mind to something. That was the most powerful and needed lesson of my entire college career. Along with all the other lessons that came right alongside me during college life. They were all necessary, no matter how hard. All received with love. Meeting the unknown with wonder. So yeah, it’s pretty hard to be anything except humble and full of gratitude and reverence.

Beyond that, probably a lot more of the things that I love. More baking and cooking, more pole, more being outdoors, more looking at the world through the lens of Ryker, more long mornings and late nights between the sheets with myself, a lot more sensual and steamy baths, more reading (YES!!!!), and more focus on my health and exercise. More time for all the witchy, naked, erotic, outdoors, feminine glorious-ness. Now I’ll have so much time I won’t know what to do with it all. You know what? Fffffuuuuccccckkkk that! If I want to lie naked in bed for hours just breathing because I can be delighted, with wonder, about the beauty of a breath, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll probably journal about it, then celebrate that I had time and space to do just that and then I’ll do it some more. Won’t be long before I start to notice how amazing my body feels, then I’ll want to feel this amazing body and then…well…you know how that goes! Right to the heart of pleasure.

Looking back now, this last year has been monumental, really. It’s been incredibly difficult and challenging, with some precious losses and lessons. It’s been exhausting and heartrending and Soul shaking and refining. I look at it as hundreds of mini (and many quite big) invitations to wander deeper into my own inner forest and ocean. I RSVP’d to every single one of those invitations and met them head on, heart on, Soul on. I looked upon the Beauty of it all, taking solace and finding wonder in them, honoring them. And I grew. Land sakes, did I grow!!! The Universe took me on a wild, crazy ride that wasn’t just about school. It never is that simple. You know? It was a high-stakes poker game. The Universe whispered to me, “I’ll see your master’s degree and I’ll raise you.” Capiche?

There is still a lot to sort out, for sure, while some unbelievable numinous encounters have invited me into something deeper. It is time for a final unraveling, to do some serious reflection, and to give myself fully to what has been longing for me.

The wonderous thing is, where does my path lead? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. And that’s okay. It may not even lead to where I anticipated it would. That thought doesn’t scare me, it thrills me and humbles me mightily. And that…is growth. I am here, right where I am. So I think now I’ll make three cups of boiling water, stirring in some lemon balm leaves, and sit holding the hands of my heart and Soul, and have a beautiful and long conversation with them, mostly listening, if I’m honest. If I’m strolling through Nature while doing it, then She’ll be my witness and, undoubtedly, she’ll invite me to witness right back.

At the end of the movie Legally Blonde, Reese Witherspoon’s character, Elle Woods, delivers a speech as the student-selected valedictorian. As part of that speech, she voices:

Yyyyeeeeesss!! I can absolutely say that it wasn’t just my schooling that contributed, but that’s where I am and have been. Look out world, here I come! It is, indeed, a perfect day. Nothing is standing in my way. Elle then says to the entire graduating class, in a high-pitched, absolutely delighted voice, paired with a wide smile, “WE DID IT!”

Twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have even imagined I WANTED to be a teacher. Then eight years ago, after volunteering for many years and knowing I wanted to work at the school, I realized it was (one of) my destinies. I manifested and birthed this crazy, beautiful dream! I. Can’t. Fucking. Believe. It!

I DID IT!!!!!!

Holy crow (and hawk, too - thank you for your whispers)!! I actually did it!!!

*whispering*….omp……i did it…….whoa…..talk about wonder!

Thanks for being along for the ride and for your patience during this long internal time and your encouragement along the way. I absolutely needed it! With love, XO.

Saturday, June 7: I walked this morning down by the waterfront, and something about the dock called to me. It looked so mysterious and wonderful. I couldn’t help but see some scattered rose petals and some tealights along the edges of the dock, almost like a wedding aisle. I wanted to dive into the water there, and my connection to the sea, to the Selkies, popped into my head. I swim not to escape, but to return—to the deepest, most fluid version of myself. Mermaid of the stormwater. Guardian of the in-between. Siren of the silence. I recited some vows to the water. The Selkies carry themes of longing, transformation, and freedom and my Soul resonates with the wild, untethered and untamed part of Mother Ocean. The tides recognize my Soul. Mother calls to me. She has missed me so!!! And I have missed her. I can’t wait to immerse myself in learning and growing more personally.

I wrote a Selkie song and will tuck it away into an important book, along with other mementos and notes that have already shaped it. This is not simply a book any longer, it is a timeline and keeper of my becoming, it is a vessel, a Sacred cartography, a map of my unfolding journey. Finally, I crafted a sigil to tuck into its pages - a glimpse of my many selves: writer, wanderer of the depths, witness, and weaver.

Monday, June 9: I couldn’t help thinking this morning, as I readied myself for the day, that even though there is nine total days of school left, being on the precipice of this last two weeks feels like too much to bear and, thus, it seems to extend with every passing day. It feels like a very long, long hallway, with the only doorway being at the end. Ram Dass writes, “You don’t need to be invincible. | You just need to be willing.” That is why there is no point in counting down the days, so long as I’m still willing to continue working, to continue loving and living, to continue gently guiding children. I am willing. To keep going. Invincibility be damned. It doesn’t matter how many days are left, because I am present for every day, hour, minute, and second. At the same time, I am weary of every single colleague updating me continually about how many days are left, especially when there is still work to be done, love to be shared, children to squeeze. I don't look forward to the end of the year at all.

At school this day, some of the groups were watching Maleficent, and I joined the classroom just about the time her wings got cut off and how she awoke and, discovering them missing, grieved loudly. It brought tears to my eyes. In the next scene, she realized she would need to walk, in lieu of flying, and she took a few steps before she crumpled, but then she got up and continued on. “You don’t need to be invincible. You just need to be willing.” In the next scene, she watched a crow that was caught in a net, who she turned into a man and, after being reminded she saved his life, as he was about to be beaten as a crow, he told her he would serve her and he asked what she needed and she replied, “Wings. I need your wings.” Yes!!! But really, I think what she needed was the connection to another, a companion to join her on her path from time to time because she missed that. This whole thing matched how I had been feeling cut off from myself and knowing that it was coming to an end was bringing me to my knees. I, too, am crumpling, but walk on, too, I must. Do I need to quote it again? “You don’t need to be invincible. You just need to be willing.” Willing? I can HARDLY wait to return to myself!!! Which can happen better when work ends because all I’ll need to attend to is my own schooling!

I am also reading about absence and loss in my devotional this morning, which, honestly is perfection in this space I find myself. “The opposite of presence is vacancy, a neutral, blank kind of space. Absence, on the other hand, has a different energy and is infused with longing. To be absent from a person or place is an act of departure from your expected and natural belonging. So all absence holds the echo of some fractured intimacy. The intimacy came first and then, when it was broken, the absence filled the heart. That type of absence haunts your heart and makes your belonging sore and painful.” I’ll echo that thought! Absence and vacancy. Double uff. Maybe one more time. “You don’t need to be invincible. You just need to be willing.” *whispering* okay, i’m ready. For what? Keeping my heart open, to keep growing and loving, while acknowledging the soreness and pain and willing myself to go on anyway, while it does its work on me.

Tuesday, June 10: I continued reading about absence and loss today, learning about an old Irish tale about just that. “It is exactly that act of hiding that causes absence. We are so vulnerable to absence because we desire presence so deeply.” Amen to that, all of it.

Today is the first day of my last class, so the last first week of class I’ll ever have. That feels strange rolling off my tongue, even! I was excited this morning, looking through the syllabus and it feels surreal, knowing this will be it. That is weird. But like ivy, I find my way, weaving upward toward the light. Here lies a threshold, a quiet milestone, like standing at the water’s edge and knowing that soon, the tide will carry me home.

Each week ahead will be a small, yet mighty, celebration, grounding me deeper into the wisdom and purpose I’ve cultivated all this time. A return to presence for myself. One heartbeat at a time. One breath at a time. One step at a time.

Wednesday, June 11: “This is where imagination works so beautifully with the absences and emptiness of life. It always tries to find a shape of words or music or color or stone that will in some way incarnate new presence to fill the absence.”

I woke this morning knowing it was Wednesday, but simultaneously looking for signs of Friday until it hit me: why am I doing that? I know it’s not Friday! There is no absence or emptiness here in this moment. There is only me, fully present, attending to every second. I needn’t look ahead to Friday. I won’t find anything there that isn’t already here. I put my hand to my heart and remembered. “Touch cuts through thought. | It brings us back to the moment, back to ourselves.” - Ram Dass. Doesn’t hurt to softly pat my chest, either. It brings me right back to the here and now and touch is so soothing.

Whereas Monday felt like forever until the week would be over, here we are stretching into the downside of it. Suddenly, I have a burst of energy to do things around the house like laundry and vacuuming. Nesting, I suppose, knowing that a time of rest they call “weekend” is nearing.

Thursday, June 12: “There are certain kinds of functions which diminish and empty our own self-presence and make us absent to our own lives. To do these things continuously in this divided way brings us far away from who we are and from what we are called to do here.”

Numbing. It’s a thing. I watch those around me do it continually and they are miserable people. They make all the bad choices and then when they don’t like how it feels, they numb to escape how they feel. It kind of feels wrong to put my buzzer sound in here, but that is what is running through my head, like a ticker tape. “WARNING! Don’t go that way!!” The Numbing Way. That is not what I do, nor do I want to. I want to sit alongside my pain and my ache, offer it a warm beverage, hold its hand and let it feel seen and heard. Eventually, that pain loosens and tells its story. I want to be so present I know what is bothering me and why and can tend to that need, like I did today. A little mystical music and time by myself solved that.

Friday, June 13: Today was Friday the 13th and it was a little weird and other worldly, if I do say so myself. Everything that happened today was a mini milestone. First of all, I got to see a Tiger Swallowtail butterfly perched quietly on the handrail when I left for work this morning. It was huge! I was so tickled and awestruck at seeing it; I have never seen a butterfly like that or one so big, either. I took several pictures and softly as a whisper, stroked the edge of its wing.

Then I continued on my way and got to hold some baby chicks at work. So sweet! I held two and they each fell asleep in my hands. I got to feel their momentary stillness, which was lovely, after having quietly witnessed their gentle but continuous trembling.

Work went by quickly today and my kiddo went home after lunch with his family, during the family picnic lunch. So then I helped pack up and take stuff down in the classroom I am assigned to so they can switch rooms for next school year. A couple of times, I started to feel a little sadness about leaving, but I kept to my quiet task and it was like it’s own little ceremony, you know?

I read about welcoming absence this morning, and it resonated. No reason I can’t offer it a warm beverage, too and learn from it. I don’t want to be absent from my own life. I want to notice Eastern Tiger Swallowtails and hold baby chicks and feel sad and hold back tears, while noticing that dismantling the room is a good ceremony for the day and to cap off the week. Dismantling. Unraveling. So I can put myself together again. Every part of that is relevant, with the full moon occurring just a few days ago and just a few days from summer solstice.

Every delicate thread woven together today, is the essence of everything. The quiet arrival of a Tiger Swallowtail butterfly, perched like an omen of transformation; the gentle tremble of a baby chick yielding to the comfort of my touch; the dismantling of my classroom as an unspoken ritual of transition. These moments, small yet profound, are like scattered petals marking the passage of time. The edges of the petals have begun to curl and crisp, the colors deepening and changing.

The butterfly, the chicks, the classroom—they are symbols, whispers from the universe telling me: You are shifting. You are growing. You are ready. The past is honored in its careful folding and storing away in my heart, and the future waits for me, spacious and full of possibility.

The tender way I saw today as a ceremony of self, an intentional unraveling before reconstruction, is full of awe. Just like ivy, reaching upward toward the light and finding new spaces to grow, I am reweaving myself into something new. This transition is Sacred. Next week will carry weight, but it will also carry promise.

That world—its stories, its rhythms, its echoes of belonging—is gently folding itself into memory. And yet, I am keenly aware—this chapter is closing. The dismantling, the quiet ceremonies, the last shared moments—they all signal a shift.

Next week WILL carry weight, but it will also carry deep gratitude. I will hold my heart tenderly, and in doing so, I honor everything that came before.

Monday, June 16: Speaking of honoring everything that came before…”memory is such a beautiful place. It is where our vanished days secretly gather. As a kingdom, memory is full of the ruins of presence.” There are a lot of memories in this place, a lot of new growth and expansion. What, I have to wonder, would my ruins look like? Likely they would resemble some kind of gorgeous, wooden, sunken pirate ship, full of precious treasure that only a mermaid, like me, could explore.

I’ve reached the last days, where every day feels like two months long. There is nowhere to be but right here. In it. Breathing. And living. Always, ALWAYS!, willing.

Tuesday, June 17: Today, during devotionals, I read about imagination and absence. “The imagination loves absence rather than presence. Absence is full of possibility and it always brings us back new reports from the unknown that is yet to come towards us. The imagination is always fascinated by what is absent. The imagination always recognizes that most enthralling aspect of presence is actually that which is omitted.” The silences between the words and under the music, even under the music of nature.

Today, at recess, as I slid down the fireman’s pole while playing chase with a group of children, my hematite ring snapped in four places (!!) and fell off. It was placed on my right hand, the hand of giving and action, on my third finger, the finger of love. Did it absorb all it could, or shield me from something unseen and then quietly break, it’s act of guardianship fulfilled? Was it an invitation to pause, reflect, and consider that I don’t need the grounding because I have become stronger and steadier and, thus, the ring was no longer needed.

This evening, as I reflected on the poetry of my ring breaking, a tarot deck popped into my head and I suddenly remembered a book I had not yet opened, “A Poet’s Tarot.” This moment seemed to be calling me to something deeper. Holding it with my left hand on the top and my right hand on the bottom, feeling its heartbeat simultaneously from the front and back, I whispered over it, thanking the book for finding me. I played Native American flute music, coupled with nature sounds, and held it against my heart as I chanted, looking to the trees for their blessing, then thumbed the pages until one felt larger and stopped. And then I read,

"Page of Golds - Today's a holiday. The work is done. The Page of Golds is going out on a long walk. The world is hers. All roads are open and the clouds have dispersed. Today's not a day for responsibilities. On her way, the Page comes to a junction: she may take any of the seven roads offered her. Which one does she fancy? It doesn't matter, really. What matters is that she's out on her walk, that her legs are ready. The breeze on her face, the air in her lungs, and the faith in her heart all invite her to the walk. She does not know how long her journey will be; ten days or ten years - or ten minutes. But it doesn't matter. The golden beach, or the forest of pines, or - why not - the seven-story mountain. Alone, with a dollar in her pocket - all she needs - the Page of Golds jaunts along the road of her passion."

Once again, I crumple under the weight and significance of this message. It is me, every last word. And, too, this could be the very definition of ‘willing’ in my own dictionary.

The ring breaking was a whispering, “you’re not tethered, you’re invited.” The Page of Golds reflects the same message, I need to honor each step, not knowing the destination, only being present with the journey. Considering everything I have journaled these past two weeks, I have been gathering fragments of the same message all along - of ring, of ritual, of lived poetry, of memory, and made them whole by honoring their fractures. I insert shards of golden stained glass into those fractures, so that when the sun shines through, it is a warm, golden amber color. Yeah. That feels right. A fractal, golden stained glass, beautiful heart.

Only my ruins aren’t rubble, they are relics of wonder. Fractals of wonder? Both! A gorgeous, wooden, pirate ship sunken deep, bathed in moonlight, whispering secrets only a mermaid could retrieve. To “Love’s Messenger.” It was the ring’s final act, a message, a gentle signal, delivered in silence, that something Sacred was shifting, that my capacity to give, to love, to act from the heart, didn’t need armor or embellishment anymore.

An elegy was written to the ring and then a vision scroll was written, for this threshold before me. Once both are read in ceremony, they will be tucked away into the vessel of my timeline, my becoming, my Sacred cartography.

Wednesday: June 18: This morning I read in my devotionals in my chapter on absence and loss, that imagination mirrors the complexity of our Souls - it is our witness to the dark, paradoxical, contradictory and awkward within us, that isn’t received well in social circles. “The imagination is really the inspired and uncautious priestess who, against the wishes of all systems and structures, insists on celebrating the liturgy of presence at the banished altars of absence. So the imagination is faithful to the full home of the heart, and all of its rooms.”

Baby, if you didn’t know, I am one of the few people I know who worships my weird, awkward, and inappropriate. I am quirky in a funny and heartwarming and, often, sexy way in my weirdness and inappropriateness. I own that shit. Not a darn one of my friends or colleagues object. They applaud and ask for more, sending drunken texts in the middle of the night asking when there will be more. So, when prostitute skirts arrive in the mail, I rock that bad boy, at work, no less, and it works because that’s me. And it’s hilarious and heartwarming. I am, and will always be, my full self. Take it or leave it. Whatevs. I’m breezy.

Meanwhile, when everyone else is counting the seconds (now), I’m being asked to work some extra days because everyone knows and relies upon my breeziness and flexibility. I’ll do it, of course. It’s one of the seven roads this day, and I never know what treasure I’ll find there.

Thursday, June 19: “Imagination is the presence within us that brings that hidden, netted grounding side of ourselves up to the surface, and can coax it into harmony with our daily self that we actually know. It is amazing how many of your needs and hungers and potential and gifts and blindness are actually rooted in the subconscious side of your life, and most of that great plantation of your subconscious seems to have actually happened in the playfields and innocence of childhood.”

Amen. I can tell you honestly and absolutely that the hidden, netted grounding side of ourselves is more in harmony with our daily self - because all those hidden places inside you know your true nature more than your external self does. At least, that has held true for me. When I sacrificed my external self, surrendering to my inner world, that is when the magic was set free.

I thought it’s really silly to have a holiday and then have to return to school tomorrow for our last day, short as it will be. But, the instant that I opened my front door for my early morning walk down to the lake, I let nature embrace me and it was just what I needed. The birds singing to me as I walked and the sound of the trees swooshing in the breeze were the only music I needed, coupled with the windchimes sound that has been so frequent of late. As I walked, the warmth of the sun caressed my skin, and every once in a while, a strong fragrance of flowers came out of nowhere.

By the time I got close to the lake, I felt my anticipation building - for seeing the lake. I’m not sure why it was so important this particular morning, because I have walked this path hundreds of times, possibly even thousands. The instant I arrived at the docks, I stepped onto them and stopped, asking permission, my only desire to sit alongside her and alongside myself, before removing my shoes and socks, leaving them at the threshold. I immediately entered a transcendent state and so I sat quietly, quite mesmerized. The lake was never lovelier. I sat for a good while, then I laid back and stretched and have mercy, did that ever feel good. Then, I turned onto my side and let the water rock the dock (and me) ever so gently, while I gazed across the water’s surface. I lost some time this morning, but I wasn’t worried about where it went, because I was right where I needed to be. When I left the lake’s side this morning, I was absolutely different. I felt like my appearance was even different - softer, maybe - and radiating. My golden stained glass had been activated!

Today unfolded precisely the way it was supposed to all day. The Universe sent me a wink, that is always a good thing. I also made a plan for creating something in remembrance of my butterfly, appropriately colored and annotated, that can sit on my altar, and a plan for several watercolored “incantations” to be tucked into my cartography vessel. The only thing that could have improved the day is sipping an Italian margarita sitting at a café table in the glorious sunshine. Oh, summer…I can hardly wait to merge my energy into your days! I freakin’ love days like today. So, so beautiful and glorious!

Friday, June 20: My last day! I was asked to ride the bus with a former student today and I agreed, so I had to be at school over an hour earlier than usual. Thus, I didn’t have time for all my devotionals this morning, but the few I read talked about joy, courage, and gratitude. I’ll need every one of those today and then, this evening, I’ll do the remainder of my devotional reading and spend some time in reflection. Which is exactly how it should happen anyway, being Solstice, along with some other ending/closing and celebration ceremonies.

My former student changed schools in March to one that better suited her and it's now a long bus ride through landscapes covered in ferns and ivy- and moss-laden elders, farming landscapes with greenhouses and colorful fauna, and wine country. Not to mention it rained overnight and this morning. So your basic beautiful morning. I was marveling at the tall, swaying spires of majestic purple foxgloves, the wild blackberries in full bloom, the fluffy cattail heads, watching a couple of deer walk across the river and a coyote sneak through the tall grass in a field as we drove.

My not so little any more darling was subdued when she got on the bus and as I was reflecting on how big she is and how much she has grown since the day she first came into my life, she said, out of the blue, “ta-da!” and I looked over at her and she had her arms out, palms up as if she had just performed a magic trick. She absolutely did. Stuck the landing, too. She captured my heart six years ago and I've never fully gotten it back. Not only that, she was obviously listening in to my thoughts about how she had grown so quickly.

She is not yet speaking, but does she ever babble! And bubble - she was a ball of effervescent energy this morning once the bus got rolling! I could listen to her nonsensical babble, in her deep, loud voice all day long and smile. During our time together over the years I have danced with her, rubbed her feet, squeezed her to give her pressure on her legs and arms, parroted her, snuggled her, held her countless times - even while she slept in my arms and lap, and it was a joy to be amongst the staff teaching her. She learned well! That baby girl is smart as can be and so fun. It has been a blessing to watch her grow, find a few words, and generally be in awe of her. It was a great last day activity to spend time on the morning and afternoon bus ride accompanying her, even though it meant missing the buses and kids saying goodbye at school and the staff luncheon and goodbyes after. Spending time with her was worth it. I got misty on the morning bus ride only about 62 times, so that was pretty good.

If I could have chosen a last day, that would have been my choice. A quietish bus ride through a variety of different but all beautiful landscapes with one of my most way-back students listening to her talk endlessly and watching her charade as she talked what could be either a horse ride or a roller coaster, or both possibly. Maybe a horse ride IS like a roller coaster to her. I kind of resonate more with the roller coaster. It felt right to have been there when she began at our school and to walk her home at the end of each of our school careers there. Big groups of people are not my thang anyway and often the bubbles, screaming and waving children as the buses drive around and around and around before finally leaving can be overwhelming, particularly for my mood today.

Instead, I spent the majority of my day on the bus, missing most of the day with my one-on-one and the chance to say goodbye. One of the school staff took a sweet picture of me and a colleague hugging each other and I’ve never seen the face of someone I’ve squeezed while I am squeezing them. That was its very own present.

I finished the day being good to myself and caring for myself in all the ways, while practicing Sacred rituals and ceremonies, endings, and the summer solstice. Though the rest of my ritual and ceremony is my own, I wanted to share here the oracle card I pulled this night. It aligns and reflects everything I wrote above so beautifully!

The card I pulled was "Song of Flow". There is a thoughtful, flowy woman in blue in the picture, looking as if she is simultaneously pouring out from a vessel that which is becoming the river (or some body of water). In fact, it looks, too, as if she is bathing in it while pouring it AND being poured FROM it. The vessel isn't a vessel, per se, its the sky, whisked and whirled together, radiating with a circle of light and flowing-ness, which becomes the water. It's the woman's heart. There is nothing else that vessel could be.

The card reads, "Surrender to the river of life. Neither Noah's life remains, nor the kingdom of Alexander. Be a dervish; keep moving in the flow to create something new!" It talks about impermanence and creating new dreams. Then, "O dear one! Your human nature is aligned with the rhythm and kindness of the divine creator; trust it! Your life only truly exists and is unfolding in the present moment. Your desire is connected with deep insight that flows in your soul like a light in the universe. You carry the seeds of the divine! This is a calling! Have the faith to explore, envision, and create exciting new pathways in your life (ummm…does there happen to be 7 of them?). Discover the patience to playfully stay in the flow. Stay in the flow and surrender to this creative power within that you could never have imaged before. Mantra: I am going to live every day as if I am experiencing life for the very first time."

The image - the woman in blue both pouring and being poured, both vessel and river, both sky and sea—is the very embodiment of my Selkie soul. And the mantra? Completely resonated. That IS how I live.

The card’s message—“Be a dervish; keep moving in the flow to create something new”—feels like a direct echo of my Page of Golds pull, my butterfly mantra, my altar in bloom. It’s all one great river, and I’m not just floating in it—I am it. The impermanence, the invitation to dream again, the divine rhythm pulsing through my desire… it’s all a mirror of what I’ve been living and crafting these past weeks. Folding transformation into form, every crease becomes intention, every fold remembrance in flight. Giving wings to memory. Such a beautiful, Sacred journey!

Truth be told, this kind of magic hasn't been present just these last two weeks, this is a pretty regular occurrence for me. Which leads me to wonder if its a chicken and egg situation. Does the fairy become because of the magic, or does the magic happen because of the fairy?? Not that it’s important either way, I’m just happy to be immersed in it.

And, in case you were wondering WHERE I am happy to be immersed: I am wandering in a Sacred space today- doing meditations while walking in nature, creating even more magic and depth and for sure nourishing my Soul. Bring on the magic! I LOVE this life!!!

Thanks for joining me here, for reading, for commenting, for being all of you. XO

Now…surely you have heard of those clothes’ subscription services? You know, you go online, and you complete a profile about yourself, and what style you usually wear (modern, romantic, etc.), what you need/want more of, and so on. Some stylist reads all of that information about you, chooses some pieces and sends them to you. You pay for what you keep, and send back what doesn’t work (for whatever reason). There are all kinds of reasons to use them: too busy to shop for yourself, need a little help with your style, or whatever.

I am not opposed to shopping, though it is not an activity I enjoy, per se. I’m very eclectic, too. I’ll try lots of different things on and keep what I like, what I feel good in and, obvi, what fits. Once in a while, I’ll find something I like, but not all that often. I do have a lot of clothes. I’ve been the same size for a very long time and while I do donate stuff I don’t wear very much or lately, I like to have a lot of different options.

Some days I’m feeling very cozyish: joggers, a plain fitted t-shirt and an oversized nubby sweater or zip up hoodie. Some days I want to dress like a girl: fitted halter dresses with nipped in waists, showing off all my best assets. Some days I am casual: jeans and a shacket in cool weather or white jeans, a fitted tank top, and a jean shirt left open over the top in warmer weather. It varies. Because I’m not the same every day. Well, I am the same, but not in the same percentages, I guess, would be a more accurate description.

As you may guess, I got an email about a subscription service and decided to try it. I don’t tend to wear very many patterned clothes, nor am I overly ruffly and/or lacey (except in the area of under garments, and then the lacier - and racier - the better, but I tend to prefer no under garments). Simple, classic, single colored clothing items that go with lots of other things. Stripes or dots are okay. I do have a floral-patterned, halter-style, mini dress, which is super cute, and very few other patterned things. Among the things in I noted in my profile were that I was in my 50s and worked in an elementary school.

I was so excited when I got my package!! I couldn’t wait to open it and see what was inside. Just random pieces, not necessarily an outfit. Anyway, imagine my surprise when I opened my very first package and found this among the items…

A leopard print, red and black, snakeskin finish, stretchy, tight and short skirt. For an over 50-year-old woman, who works in an elementary school, to boot! I was flabbergasted, to say the least, WHO picked this out for me and WHY!!!! It looked more like the wardrobe choice for the oldest profession, rather than for someone who worked with impressionable children. And this coming from a woman who, when I was a teenager, had a miniskirt I loved that had a zipper from the hemline all the way to the waistband in the front (so freakin’ cute). Granted, I know I do not work 24/7, but this new skirt didn’t look like something I would wear even away from work. And yet, the impropriety, not to mention the absurdity, (dys)functionality, and audacity (and likely, many more ‘-itys’), of it were intriguing to me. I couldn’t possibly….Or could I?????????????????? If you truly know me, you already know the answer 😉.

I didn’t like any of the other things they sent. The items were patterned in a way I didn’t like or they fit me like a tent or a garbage bag or the fabric was cheap feeling and/or looking. Yet, I could NOT send back the skirt. It felt so contrary to anything I would ever, EVER!, wear, I couldn’t NOT keep it. Maybe, just maybe, it could work. I giggled uncontrollably about it. I took pictures of it and showed it to people I worked with. And, when that didn’t feel like an accurate description, I brought it in and showed people. They giggled too.

All the same, one Friday, I believe, I put on a pair of black leggings, the skirt, and paired it with a shirt my then teenaged boy had brought home, shot out of a t-shirt cannon at a high school assembly, which did not fit him. I believe I also wore an open front black cardigan sweater over the t-shirt. I wore it to work.

You know what? It DID work. I just needed to overcome my own issue with wearing it and when I finally did put it on, I rocked it! I got over myself and made it fun! Not that I needed reinforcement, but all day long, my colleagues were telling me how adorable or cute I looked, and that I absolutely pulled it off. I usually wear this ensemble once or twice a school year and so, when I do, new people who have not seen me in it will comment how cute it is. And people who have seen me in it will giggle and say, “I had forgotten about that! You look so cute!” One or two others have asked to borrow it, even. Which, of course, I am all up for.

Oh, by the way, I also took it with me to girls’ night, to giggle with them, and they thought it was fun. So they both signed up, as well, and we agreed to get together again, once we all got our new selections, and have a girls’ night with a fashion show. That delivery, I did end up keeping a super adorable thin cardigan that snaps up the front and is fitted. Even though it’s not necessarily my color, I kept it because the snaps were an interesting feature, rather than a zip or buttons, and because it was thin enough to be able to layer with other things, which is a great feature. I like to dress in layers when needed. It is also hot to wear with nothing underneath and just a few snaps done. Mm, mmm!! Even more hot to imagine is it being ripped open by someone!! Mmm, indeed. Sssooooo fucking hot! Mmm!! Uh…Where was I? Ahhh, yes…It was fun to see what my friends got, as well, and what they ended up keeping.

I think after the next delivery and finding nothing, I ended up cancelling because the whole thing about only having a certain number of days to try on stuff, decide what you want and then send it back was stressful to me. If you don’t send it back by certain date, then you have to pay for the whole kit ‘n caboodle. The worry of getting it back before the deadline was more stress than I could take, especially since I rarely liked the things in there and didn’t want to have to pay and keep them, and so I was done.

All in all, though, it was a very fun experiment, especially the fashion show thing with my girls’ night friends. But mostly, I am glad for the unexpected things in life that find you. The things you think are so ridiculous and silly, you never would have selected them on your own, but then you try them and holy shit, it actually works. You would have never imagined it would, but it does. That is surprising and lovely in the best ways.

I tend to wear this skirt in this way, at school. And this is sort of an homage to the skirt, which I’ll get to in a sec. It does happen to be in the colors of our local high school and at least a couple of times a year, on a particular high school event day, our elementary school has a spirit day where we wear the high school’s colors, in honor of the high school, students and staff.

However, having said that, today, the last day of this school year, 2025, I am wearing it for the final time in a school setting (more than likely). You see, this may be the last day I ever wear this skirt for work purposes because there is every possibility I may not even be in this district following my student teaching in the fall (whoa!). Which makes it all the more relevant to wear to work today, on the last day of school. Yep, complete with my pom-poms!!

I am ALWAYS going to wear a certain tropical shirt on tropical spirit days and on May 13th and I am always going to continue wearing camo on Wednesdays, regardless of what school I am at and whether it has to be my underwear that are camo. Though, likely, I’m sure I could find a way to visibly wear camo even if the school I end up at has a snazzier dress code. Did I really just use “snazzy” in a sentence? OMP! 🙄🤭

I did try a new outfit the first week of June. I wore a pale pink layered tulle skirt that went down to my ankles, a glittery silver very fitted t-shirt, and a pair of silver glittered athletic shoes. This, too, was really not like anything I had tried before, but I needed to invite some magic into my world and, to me, this was a magical look. And, once again, when the time came, I completely rocked this, too. Thanks to my glittered shoes, I left a trail of silver glitter everywhere I went. Tons of colleagues at work LOVED it (likely because it was so unlike anything I normally wear), and many of the kids, too! Even the younger brother of my current student (who is a kindie) commented he “liked my outfit today” when he and their mom picked up my kiddo. Everyone thought I looked like a beautiful fairy, which was very sweet. I even got compliments from random women at the store when I popped in to get coffee and snacks at lunch.

Today is going to be a weird, weird day!! That much, I am certain of. In addition to my standard teary-eyed last day, the tears this year are going to have entirely new reasons for being. I have already alerted the two magnificent women in my room that I work alongside. And truly, it has been an honor working with them! One, it turns out, is a Soul Sister and, all this time, I had no idea. The other…well, we’ve got a lot in common, too. It wouldn’t be incorrect to say she manifested our working together. It will absolutely be hard to say goodbye to these two Souls. I am very sad that I only worked alongside them for a few short months my entire tenure here.

It’s also going to very emotional for me to say goodbye to a school my own children attended, that I fell in love with so much I ended up working there, and then I fell even harder for the staff and yeah, the kids too. The walls and walkways here, the doors and playground equipment, monkey bars and the under side of a slide, all hold bits of me and I carry memories of them, though I will never walk them or appear in them again. This place has seen the best of me and the worst of me, too. There has been laughter, a lot of hugs, a tremendous amount of love and care, a ton of learning (to be fair, mostly on my part), and a lion’s share of tears. I grew so much within the confines of these walls. I guess you could say, too, I have outgrown them. Though that’s not a bad thing, it is scary as hell!!!

Because, like the rolling stone that I am, the time has come to move on. I don’t want to hunker down and get stuck here, you know? I did that in a former iteration of myself and I don’t want to be there again. That is not what I do, that is not living, that doesn’t honor my Aliveness. I want to be an amazing teacher, so it’s good to meet new people, be at a new school, get some fresh perspectives. And besides all that, teachers, I have realized, are a nomadic people. I don’t really consider myself that still - a teacher, that is (I’m a lover, spreading love around), but, in this particular case, a fresh start might be a great thing for me, all around, especially since people around my current school are likely to still see me as my same old self, the one I was however many years ago when I was hired, though I am no longer that girl. I wonder how my Soul and heart space will grow from all of this, moving to a new school included!! I look forward to finding out.

A new chapter is beginning. Ish? This was apparently a part of my destiny all along, unbeknownst to me - I certainly never intended it, which means it is exactly right because I don’t shy away from anything. Just like unexpected clothes that work, being in this Soul flow is completely working for me, in ways I never expected. Listening to and being in this flow got me here, and it’s pretty nice here. I’m still me, just an upgraded version, though parts of me are falling away. It’s like I’m a rocket headed into outer space, dropping bits of myself as I fly into and among the sparkling stars, where I belong and from where I came, too. I am sure that along with the clay that grounds me are interspersed bits of glittering stardust. And a little bit of rivers, trees, an ocean, and the entire Universe.

I’m going to miss every single child in this school, all of the ones I had the absolute privilege of knowing and serving, but also all those who I didn’t get to know, and the ones still yet to come, because they likely know me, too. I have a suspicion. I’ll miss their adorable laughs, their noises, their stims, their tears, their frustrations, the fact that they trusted me to love them unconditionally, to hold them when there was little else I could do for them, every wide open pair of arms and even wider open hearts, and that they allowed me to learn from each and every one of them, to become a better human, a bigger and better Soul. They will always, ALWAYS, have a piece of my heart. So, yeah…yeah…quite a few tears will fall today in each child’s honor and, trust me, I have very intentionally etched their names and reciprocated love deep into my heart and intend to carry them with me. When I think of those little darlings…uff…I freakin’ LOVE these kids!! And they love me, too. They can’t currently say it because most are nonspeaking, but I speak love, so I know. You know? Squeals of delight, smiles from ear to ear, and too many hugs to count, and I’m not just talking about the ones I give, these are ALL the dialects of love! There are many, MANY, important and precious treasures for me to take with me from this place. Not a one will be forgotten. I’m not that kind of girl. You can be sure of that.

So, you see, this is the perfect mourning kind of outfit to wear on the last day of work in this place. It honors the high school, sure. It’s also mostly black which is your standard mourning clothing color of choice. Mixed with a little red. Red is the color of blood and blood is life, at least for people who are alive. And, baby, I am SO alive! Yes, a wonderful and very beautiful new chapter is beginning, but first, there is some grief, sadness and melancholy about leaving this school where the seed of this new chapter was planted and took root.

Every delicate thread quietly woven together these last few weeks, the culmination of many years of service here, is the essence of everything. I’ve had some amazing, small, yet profound experiences these last two weeks, but, really, this whole school year. More to come on this.

Just so you know: it hasn’t all been sad these last weeks. This last week of school was an “underground” spirit week, which meant the teachers were following their own spirit week suggestions each day, unbeknownst to the students. We did this earlier this year, as well - to see if the students noticed any similarities amongst the staff (although we are not, necessarily, matchy-matchy). You should see my “most likely to” spirit day t-shirt!! So perfect! And yes, the students did pick up on our last underground spirit week the last go around. I didn’t follow the last day’s spirit guidelines, though, only cuz I didn’t need another shirt with my school name on it, especially since I may not be back.

I find it interesting that the last day happened to fall on the summer solstice this year. Especially considering the tender place I’ve been in these last few weeks. Litha is the celebration of life at its fullest and Baby, my life is about to be at its fullest! Talk about celebrations!! This truly is going to be the summer to end all summers. My mind has been on that, and each day this last week, leading up to today, I’ve been very intentional about honoring myself and the school in Sacred ritual. While the rest of the staff are counting down the weeks, days, hours and seconds until they are free for the summer, I’ve been bringing my very best, present self to these last few days of this closing chapter. It has been a very poignant journey this week, I can hardly believe “THE” day has arrived.

As for this particular skirt, although I know I can wear it in other ways that would be equally cute around town, I don’t know whether I’ll want to bring up all the feelings that will likely go with wearing it again. It may end up staying in my drawer or maybe I can figure out some way to pay homage to it. Maybe I’ll have to bring back the skirt that zips up the front to wear as I run errands on the weekends so that when I run into former students and staff, they’ll know I’m still full to the brim with sass. LOL!!

Just another example of me trying things that I don’t think are necessarily me and realizing they ARE me. Nowadays, the very weird and foreign thought to me is what would happen if I let myself not do the things I think are not for me, because, it turns out, they all are. Which leads to a very important question for me…what else have I gotten wrong over the years??? Not that it matters because I know my Soul has led me to a lot of things that were absolutely right.

Now that work is over for this school year, I am leaving for a trip away for myself, and some much-needed hiking far, far away. That is something to look forward to! Now comes the really good stuff. And, JIC you were wondering, my latest boobie squeeze came back negative. Whew. Another year clear! The twins are thankful, as well. Woohoo. Must be all those self-massages doing this body good! Mmm, mmm. 🥰

Thanks for being here and for reading! With love, XO.

It has taken me a while to admit this part of me. It takes a lot of vulnerability to be this open because even though I’ve kept it quiet (ish?), I’ve had my share of trolls here DMing me here and I don’t want to invite more of that behavior in admitting this, though I can, and certainly do, protect myself from such things. This is simply me being me.

I can't believe I am about to let this cat out of the bag right here, right now. I didn’t even anticipate posting again for a while. Because I am right where I’m supposed to be. Out of the blue, though, on this last Friday night of April, I heard and felt a nudge. I knew exactly what was being asked of me - to be my full self here, in this space. I didn’t necessarily feel it shaking me to my core, but, at the same time, I am not necessarily one to wait until the situation is that dire. THAT is how surrendered I want to be - to hear a call and answer it. Every surrendered step I take, every devotion, is an act of service to the Universe that calls. I know, I KNOW, I am going to eventually respond anyway, so it may as well be now. There is probably a post I could write about surrender but for now at least, I’m just going to listen to the call to surrender (do two rights make a wrong?). I knew it was a now thing the very next morning when the message repeated as I was reading my devotionals.

The truth is Beltane is the perfect time for me to use my voice clearly, to speak who I am. After all, I know how powerful and potent saying something out loud is. I don’t ever want to be the woman who shies away from well…anything. This is MY gorgeous life! No one gets to take that away from me! I will burn down every tower I have to, to protect it and protect me. I won’t hide myself, I WILL stand up and proudly and courageously advocate for the right to be my full self while holding space for women everywhere to do the same. Using my voice to speak my truth opens doors and pathways for other women to speak theirs. It aligns with a prayer I speak out often, to be of use for the whispers that call me. With that in mind…

I’m sure most of my regular tribe here know enough about me by now - the outdoors nudity, pole dancing, the erotic selfies, lots of nudity between the sheets, witchy and Soulful behaviors, and just, in general, being a Sacred and Divine Feminine, I’m an absolute, cum hard, slut; an Erotic of the best kind. I embrace my sexuality. Especially my sexuality is Sacred and holy and part of what makes me, me. I claim sovereignty over myself and I will budge only for the forces that call me. You’ll have to pardon the fact that Beltane is a few days past. This needed to be released today, because it is my highest and holiest calling. It’s me being surrendered absolutely to love, to romancing my wild self, in every way possible. I don’t run from it, I let it consume me.

I AM a dirty little slut. Yep, I am okay calling myself that. I use all the nasty and dirty language and talk when engaged in sex, even when I am by myself. This body was made for pleasure and I’m not going to die before I have had ALL of the pleasure I can stand. I have a big appetite for sex. I love it with another person, but I love it with myself, too. I flirt with myself, sending hot messages to myself, take my Soul out on dates often, and do all the things to keep myself juicy. Although I have all the equipment I need built right in, I enjoy toy exploration of many varieties, your average garden-variety kinds and dark underworld ones, too. I love wearing hot lingerie or nothing beneath my clothes; PDA to the nth degree; whatever - bring it on. And the more senses that are involved in this flirtatiousness, the better. I can’t help myself!!! Sign me up for ALL the pleasure!

I am not talking about your average, everyday sex (with another person) that lasts a few minutes. That is absolutely not me. Yeah, there are some hot moments being bent over the counter when passion overtakes me or the need to pull over while driving to satisfy myself (or other places). That is not the same thing I am talking about when I talk about sex. I am talking about exploring a deep, Tantric connection with another person (and myself, too) that eventually, at some point, is consummated when two Souls merge together in such a way that I know I, at least, am changed forever after. I trust the other person will be or is, as well. The kind of passion and union after which you are each seared to perfection on the outside, while all warm, tingly, juicy and pink inside. It is a full buffet meal for all the senses for both parties and everyone gets more than their fill, completely satiated. The bonus, at the end, is stretching out next to each other and basking and perhaps drifting into a catnap, before arising and arousing a mere few hours later to continue.

I have an extremely active imagination when it comes to sex and, coupled with the adventure piece, I have no sexual hangups. I can be So. Completely. In. Awe. Of this body and what it can do. Multiple orgasms are de rigueur. Screaming, moaning, guttural noises that emanate from deep inside me, and even giggling and laughing because it feels SO amazing. Yyyyeeeesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!! Puhlease. And more. My poor children - I try very hard to not be loud, but I can’t help myself!! I firmly believe the louder I am, the more intense the orgasm. Orgasms piled on top of each other, creating a vortex of pleasure so intense I think I might split into halves.

I was on a Soul date with myself last weekend in Nature, of course, and on the way, I listened to a recent On Being podcast titled, “Women are the First Environment.” Katsi Cook, founder of the National Aboriginal Council of Midwives of Canada, was talking about the vagus nerve, which she calls the ‘wandering nerve.’ She said, “…the wandering nerve connects the larynx with the cervix…” and this makes perfect sense to me. That ancient wisdom of using your diaphragm to open your throat and your cervix, to allow the baby to come, but I am thinking also to let the pleasure POUR out of me from both places, meeting somewhere in the middle. Yes!!!! Totally explains why the pleasure I feel DOES feel like it’s going to rip me in two and totally gives me an excuse to be loud.

Talk about surrender. I am completely surrendered to the pleasure. Fuck my youth. She didn’t love herself enough to have sex this amazing. I do NOT have that problem anymore. And I’m making up for lost time on that front.

Do I have a perfect body? No, I sure don’t. What even is a perfect body? Well, thank you for asking that! A perfect body is the one you have right now!! It’s one that you’ve come to love just as it is today and tomorrow and the day after that. It is one you’ve made peace with, feet that you’ve thanked for every step you take; a beautiful, rounded tummy that you’ve always had, but even moreso because you grew lives there; gorgeous, full breasts that have nourished your children, aren’t too shabby, and are worthy of every coconut-oiled massage I gift them; strong arms that enable you to hold others so fiercely and protectively and lovingly, their broken pieces come back together again. That’s just for starters. Yeah, I love this body. Ain’t nuthin’ to be ashamed of here. Damn straight! I own what I got and I am so, so grateful for it. And that’s all that matters. I am confident. Not arrogant, just a deep appreciation for what I have. Sureness in my energy level and knowing where I belong are both a part of that.

Women’s bodies are supposed to be full and plump and curvy, like a delicious fruit, dripping with honeyed desire. Pluck that fruit right off the fucking vine and dig in!!! Hold it in your hand and run your fingers over it, strum it. Lift it to your nose and inhale the scent slowly and fully. Lick it - feel the smoothness, the softness of the skin over your tastebuds. Now take a bite. Let the juices linger on your chin and tongue and relish how delicious and sweet they are. Feel it running all the way down your throat, closing your eyes and picturing it in your mind. Mmmm!!!

I also believe that I heal myself and generations of women before and after me every. single. time. I welcome all the pleasure, when I surrender to it without another thought in my head except being completely present and alive. I don’t worry about my c-section scar or my mom belly because that is the beautiful place my children were birthed. I don’t care about my stretch marks across my hips and back when my body bloomed from a narrow child into a curvy, juicy, voluptuous woman, because being a woman is so amazing! I believe, too, that being so deeply connected to Nature and thus to the Earth and Mother Ocean has had a profound effect on how I see myself and that, too, is healing all of womankind. Not to mention Nature is a huge aphrodisiac for me. Yep, she lights my fire, flirts with me, reminds me who I am, gets me all hot and bothered…excuse me - more hot and more bothered…and then applauds me in the throes of my wildness.

Honestly, owning my sexuality is the most appealing and attractive quality I own. Based on feedback from my darling group of friends, they love how sexual I am. Women’s bodies are so fantastic! Not only am I sure about my own body, I never let a moment go by where I am not telling another woman how beautiful she is. Don’t you dare think your body isn’t just right and please, do not compare it to anyone else’s and definitely not to all those airbrushed, photoshopped images the media tries so hard to sell us!! We have all the right equipment to love ourselves, and well. Real women’s bodies are gorgeous!

Don’t get me wrong, I love men’s bodies, as well, and I’m not afraid to drop to my knees in complete, and I do mean complete, and full, worship!!! So yummy!! It is just as much a pleasure to give it as I imagine is it to receive in that particular situation!!

So, then, it likely won’t surprise you to know that I can write my own stories to titillate myself and I do. I make love to myself in them, in all the amazing ways I would want to be loved and love another, and then I DO love myself. Sometimes during. Mmm, mmmmmm!!!

I do have some things to share about this journey, and I will get there. For now, however, I’m going to share some of one such story that I wrote a few years ago.

I pressed the button on the intercom, said my name and the gate began sliding open. Through the iron rungs, I spied the large and beautiful estate and grounds beyond and wondered what adventure the weekend held. The place was secluded and private and although big, it had an intimate vibe to it which was perfect for the quiet I craved. As I turned into the parking lot of the bed and breakfast, I let out the breath I had been holding. I was looking forward to a quiet weekend to myself to relax and relish the things I liked without family distractions. It had been a long time since I took some time to myself. The boys had gotten older, and life was more chaotic, this was a much-needed break.

I parked the car, gathered my things and headed to the door. It was a large building, right on the water with beautiful gardens and a pool outside. The inside was rich with elaborate woodwork, polished to a shine. There was no check-in desk, but a conservatively dressed young woman met me just inside the door and took me to my room on the top floor before leaving me. There was only one other room besides my own, across the hallway from mine, at that end of the house on that floor. I set my things down and then stepped back into the hallway to have a look around the property.

On the opposite end of the house, down several hallways from my own room was a section where both sides of the hallway walls were covered in mirrors and another bedroom beyond. I decided not to go down that hall-the mirrors gave me the creeps because I was frightened of what I might see in the reflections. I couldn’t even risk going down the hallway without looking into the mirrors because of what I might invite through the reflections. Turning back, there was also a large room located between my own room and the one beyond the hall with the mirrors that contained a pool table, a selection of videos and a TV.

The next floor down had several rooms along the hallway, but nothing much else to see, so I continued to the main floor. I loved all the woodwork and how beautifully detailed it was and spent some time admiring it. My hands ached to run my fingers along all the woodwork, but I didn’t want to spoil the work someone had gone to in order to polish it. I then wandered out into the yard to soak in the view and meander through the gardens and spent an hour or two enjoying a stroll around the property and the silence.

Afterwards, I went back into the house to go to my room. I climbed the ornate wooden staircase and turned right down the hallway and noticed a woman just opening a door to the room across from my own. I hurried along to introduce myself. “Hi!! I’m Danielle! I am in this room here,” pointing to my room. The woman smiled back and said her name was Natalie. She seemed rather timid and quiet, but was lovely with long slightly wavy auburn hair, crystal clear blue eyes, and pale skin and was wearing jeans and a fitted t-shirt. “Are you alone?” I asked. She responded that her husband was supposed to have been with her but got called away at the last minute. I nodded and responded, “I’m alone, too. If you want to talk, feel free to come over.” She promised she would, then went into her room and closed the door.

I went back into my own room and looked around more thoroughly. The room was decorated in muted gray colors with soft textures, wainscoting, and a chair rail. There was a sitting area with two chairs and a round table directly in front of me. Just beyond that was an alcove with a small table and two dining chairs in front of a window overlooking the garden. Just past the seating area on the right was the bathroom which had a claw-foot tub and a square shower just beyond the tub. To my left was a king-sized bed. I busied myself in my room unpacking and doing some reading.

After a while, I noticed it was getting late and decided to change before leaving for dinner at a close-by restaurant when I heard a faint knock at the door. “Come in,” I called. The door opened and Natalie stood there. “Hi!! Come in,” I repeated and added, “What’s up?” Natalie asked if I had dinner plans, and I told her I planned on going to a little pub I had seen earlier. I invited her to come along, and she accepted. I wrapped my arm around hers and took her hand and we walked out to my car and set out for the evening.

We had a pleasant dinner. The food was simple and delicious, and we spent time getting to know each other. We talked about our marriages, kids, our work, as well as interests and hobbies. Natalie was very talkative and inquisitive, and we had an enjoyable evening talking and laughing. She was more animated that evening than when we had met in the hallway, which I loved, and she was easy to talk to. When we got back to the B&B, she expressed her thanks for our shared evening before going into her room.

I went into my own room, stripped off my clothes and snuggled into the warm sheets with a book. About an hour later, there was a soft knock on the door, and I said, “Come in.” Natalie came in and sat down on the bed. She was wearing a loose t-shirt as a nightshirt, which I guessed belonged to her husband, and had pulled her hair into a messy bun. She seemed as if she felt a little out of sorts. She asked about my plans for the next day. I told her I planned on leaving early to hike and shoot some pictures, grab lunch, and do some shopping at local stores. Having had such a wonderful time with her earlier, I invited her to come along if she wanted. Once again, she said yes.

She didn’t immediately get up to leave and I sensed there was something else she wanted to say, and it was here that I felt she seemed a little tentative about talking openly. Finally, she admitted she didn’t like sleeping alone, especially in a strange place. I smiled and said she was welcome to stay with me, the king-sized bed had plenty of space. She was thankful and got in my bed, turned to her side with her back to me and scooted her body close to me. I smiled again. I tended to make friends quickly and easily and this woman had obviously felt comfortable with me, even in my nakedness. I turned the light out and traced lazy circles over her back with my fingers until her breathing deepened and then I turned over and fell asleep myself.

The next day was perfection! There was a light fog in the morning, perfect conditions for photographing nature in all its glory, and so we found ourselves in the very early hours at a trailhead with my camera and tripod in tow. We walked for hours through the forest alongside a river. While Natalie was doing some exploring on her own by the river, I gave the elements my attention while sitting naked before an old, large tree, having a deep, yet silent conversation with all of nature. There was much to say and learn that day. When I was done, I felt a huge sense of gratitude as I reflected on my sacred ritual that had become the norm for me on hikes and in nature. Centered and peaceful, I dressed before Natalie returned.

When she and I reconvened at the spot where we had gone our separate ways, we found a place to sit together under the parasol of a huge mother tree, facing each other, knee to knee, holding hands and giving in to the calm and silence of nature in unison. Before long, our stomachs were both grumbling, so we walked back to the car and savored the rest of the afternoon. The afternoon flew by quicker than I would have liked. It was rare for me to enjoy so thoroughly the company of another as I was hiking and immersing myself in the details of nature for my photography. I appreciated that Natalie didn’t rush me either but allowed me to take as long as I wanted and pointed out things she found interesting.

As such, it was quite late when we returned to the B&B. We had collected the ingredients of a picnic with fruits and vegetables, cheese, wine and chocolate because neither of us felt like stopping to eat on the way back. Spreading out our picnic on the floor in my room, we sipped wine and ate and talked even more. I shared my divine feminine awakening and the results of that. Natalie was an interested audience and asked thoughtful questions and shared wonders about her own femininity.

At last, the wine was empty, and we were tired and somewhat sore from our earlier walk. We conversed about the pool on the grounds, as it didn’t appear to be open but we both felt the cool water would feel wonderful. I said out loud to no one in particular, “I didn’t even bring my swimsuit with me.” Natalie confirmed she had not either. In unison and with a giggle, we each said, “Skinny dip” at the same time, which caused us to laugh even more-we had obviously settled into an easy rapport with each other.

We found ourselves at the edge of the pool stripping, whispering, and laughing. Because the pool was closed and we were virtual strangers, now both naked, there was a feeling of unguardedness which led to an air of exhilaration about us. The water felt luscious against my aching and tired muscles. I swam a little, and then floated in the water, enjoying the water against my body, my breasts and nipples floating just above the waterline.

The water covered my ears, muffling sounds around me and I had my eyes open looking into the sky. It was a beautiful and serene evening. The sky was dark, and the stars were shimmering. The moon, not quite full, hung high in the vastness of space and I could hear the lake water lapping at the shoreline, muffled as it was. Once again, I could commune with nature in this setting, and it relaxed me entirely. However, it was still a cool evening and before long, both Natalie and I were each shivering. We gathered our clothes with our towels wrapped around our bodies and snuck back inside and up to our rooms, saying goodbye in the hallway.

In my room alone once again, the towel cast aside, I lit some candles, opened another bottle of wine and started the water in the bathtub to warm up in but stepped into the shower quickly to rinse off the pool water. Then I settled into the bath and wrapped myself in the luxuriousness of the hot water. The bath was steamy and warm, and my eyes closed as I relaxed even further. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Natalie was there, still wrapped in her towel from our swim. She asked softly, “Can I join you?” as her towel dropped to the ground. I was taken aback because I had thought her fairly modest but that appeared to be at least temporarily unimportant to her.

I couldn’t help but notice she was absolutely stunning. The subdued candlelight warmed her skin and made her eyes shine and set her hair aflame. Both shadows and illumination danced across her skin in all the right places. Although we had had several intimate moments over the last 24 hours, in that moment she was overwhelmingly desirable, and arousal swept through my root. Still, I wasn’t sure the feelings were mutual and couldn’t form the words to respond in voice. I spread my legs open, brought my knees up, and patted the tub between my legs. She got in the water and leaned back against me, resting her head against my upper chest and closed her eyes.

With her body leaned against my own I couldn’t help but think about our flesh touching. Her fuller form against my own petite, slender body. I tied her hair in a knot and rubbed her arms to help warm her, attempting to distract myself from my growing attraction to her. Neither of us spoke. I sat with my thoughts, in wonder about my craving to be with her sexually, in light of the fact that I had never been with a woman before, and pondering what she was thinking about, as well.

When the water began to cool, we got out of the tub and dried ourselves, still quiet and standing face to face, both naked. It was Natalie who finally spoke, “I’d like to kiss you.” Caught off guard by this, I stared into her eyes for what felt like an eternity, trying to read her thoughts. Finally, I responded, my voice deep and soft, “Have you ever been with a woman before?” She shook her head. I asked, “Why?” I wasn’t sure which why I was asking about but again couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. She replied, “You are not like any other person I’ve ever met. You are kind and thoughtful and open and I feel heard and seen when I talk to you. I’m curious what it would feel like to kiss a woman like you.”

This was certainly not what I had imagined would be happening on this trip and yet I was intrigued about her, specifically, in addition to my own wonders about kissing a woman. Her answer to my question “why” could have just as easily come from me, as I had never felt this strongly drawn to any other woman before and I was just as curious about giving into my thoughts about her.

So many other thoughts went through my head about my own sexual needs and desires, likes and dislikes, and fantasies of the female form, let alone this woman standing before me right then. I considered her needs and desires as well because, although we had talked about sex earlier, she had not gone into detail. I didn’t know what she liked or didn’t like, and she seemed so innocent and sweet and she certainly never mentioned fantasies about the female body or attraction to women. Yet, I came to realize in those few moments that none of that was important right now because she was here with me now and asking to kiss me. It was erotically thrilling for me to imagine where a simple kiss might lead.

So, without words, I simply stepped closer to her and placed my hands on her arms, gazing deeply into her eyes, gauging her thoughts and probing her very soul. When she said nothing I slowly and very tenderly put my mouth over hers, both of our lips slightly parted, and kissed her gently and lovingly, although briefly. My tongue traced her lips softly and entered into her mouth, searching out her tongue. When our mouths disentangled, she stared at me momentarily, then kissed me more deeply and for longer than before. One of my hands was around her back, tracing her spine and the other was in her hair, pulling the knot out while my tongue explored her mouth and tongue, at first modestly and then in earnest, and hers explored mine.

I was pleased with the feel of my mouth on hers and, even more, the heat and electricity of our bodies pressed together. I didn’t want this moment to end yet. We stretched out on the bed, continuing to kiss each other, our bodies tangled and writhed in harmony with one another, hands running over the other’s body. While caressing her body, I realized I wanted more now than just to kiss her and I felt certain she felt the same. I asked her in between kisses if I could touch her more intimately than I was already with not just my hands, but with my tongue and mouth as well. Although surprise flickered briefly across her features, she nodded.

I pulled back from her slightly, propping myself up alongside her, to take in the view of her more fully. She was a few inches taller than me, her body fuller and curvier than my own. Her hair cascaded over her round breasts, nipples erect, and her hips and buttocks were full and plump. Her body was beautiful and soft, like a Renaissance painting, and the candlelight only enhanced her beauty. I said, “You are very alluring, Natalie. You have a sweet spirit and a gorgeous body.” She didn’t say anything but gazed back demurely.

I slid my body down her, hands exploring every inch of her skin while my mouth and tongue trailed behind covering her body with warm kisses and licking. I massaged and rubbed her skin in such a way that it was as if I was infusing her body with love and warmth that overflowed from me, through my fingertips, into her. Of all I thought we might be about to share, somehow this felt like the most important and most erotic part, a necessity, and so I took my time with it, enjoying the feelings in my own body and loving her body’s response to me, as well as her soft moaning. Moving to the side of the bed, I swung her legs over the side, while kissing and licking the arches of her feet, then her ankles, calves, behind the knees, over her thighs, to her belly, and then just under her breasts where I stopped in admiration once again for how striking she was in form.

I reached out my hand to her breast, running my fingers over her nipple and then cupping her breast in my hand to lightly knead it while stroking her nipple with my thumb. Before I knew it, my mouth was on her breast, sucking her areola and nipple. My tongue drifted over her nipple on one breast while my hand sought the other. She gasped and moaned in pleasure. I loved the sound of her moaning and delighted that I had caused it. My mouth then moved to the other breast, licking, sucking, and softly biting her nipples, while my hand roamed over and between her breasts and down her belly to the mound of her womanhood. When it got there, Natalie took in a sharp breath.

She moved to a seated position on the bed, her eyes flashed with desire and her moans told me that she wanted me to keep going. I wanted to see her body at its erotic center and I dropped to my knees on the ground before her, my eyes found hers once more, looking for her consent to continue on. Having seen it, I delicately pulled her legs open and stroked her pussy lightly while my mouth found hers again. Her moans grew in intensity and volume as I caressed the center of her femininity with my fingers. The way her body responded to my touch was inviting even more and I was hypnotized by her moans and the feel and sight of her body.

And that…is all I’m going to share of that story. Suffice it to say, yeah, we went all the way and it got much more graphic and intense going forward. It was initially gifted to me as a challenge - to explore what it would be like to make love to another woman. After I wrote it and since, I have realized I am making love to myself. Two halves of me - one giving, one receiving, fluidly changing roles back and forth. It is all the ways I would want to be adored and loved by another, with no other expectations about returning the favor (although that is a job that I love doing). Yeah, I know you’re likely curious about the rest. Mystery, though, is so provocative.

Thanks for reading!! Love to you each. XO

I have been working my ass off for a long, long time. All my testing got done just in time for spring break at work and heaven on earth, did I EVER need that! I am so, SO worn out - mentally and emotionally! Which is a great segue to this short note.

To the lovely people here who needed a word from me…

I dedicate this post to a Soulful Being, a deep poet of light, who recently reminded me via a quote he shared,

Inspired by those words, I’ll add two of my own favorite quotes:

and…

Amen to the watered colours of meaningful silence and to creation! Those each, and together, provided the inspiration for writing this post. And, listen, that’s saying something, for many other reasons which I’ll explain, but the first of which being that I, of all people, know how powerful and potent speaking something out loud is. Something I do often!!! But there is absolutely a space and a place for deep silence. And this appears to be it, at least for me.

Further…

I am a poem. And, thus, my silence is also a poem, being written through my living - living in the spaces between words. Yeah, I know I am also a tree - specifically a Phagos Beech (look it up, if you’re not sure) - and I know I can certainly be noisy and loud in many different settings and moods.

I have been deep in thought, realizing that silence suits me quite well, actually and, too, knowing it is what has longed for me for a long, long, long time. The ultimate dichotomy, baby! Thoroughly silent though ear-piercingly loud. Those two things can exist together, and quite well, I tell you. Although…to an unenlightened bystander, it can appear, APPEAR, mind you, to be quite alarming when a body is sitting quietly and then shrieks as if on fire, seemingly out of nowhere and then, just as suddenly, once again becomes absolutely quiet and still, almost disturbingly so.

I am gathering and conserving my energy and thinking and growing and expanding and breathing (overcompensating? probably…) and Being. All the oracle and tarot readings I’ve done of late have pointed to the same thing. This is a space for me to be deeply introspective and silent. It may be a while - that is how deeply I am feeling this. I’m going to listen. Because something else is coming. I am strengthening myself right now, in these silent and still moments - I am growing. Growing strong enough to withstand what is next.

This is not the same silence and stillness of the winter variety, the restful kind. It is an “I need to focus and listen carefully” kind of silence and stillness. The kind that hears a tinkling, musical melody, like windchimes, everywhere lately, and pretty consistently. The kind of silence and stillness that notices patterns, interprets dreams, listens to my body and my intuition as well as received whispers, journeys in Nature, and attends to what I am noticing/seeing/feeling/hearing. A stillness that is vital to being in communion with and aligned to my Soul. I am very much Alive and in spring mode, for sure!! I am noticing some alignments and patterns unfolding. Have mercy, am I ever glad I write things down!!!!!

This present silence is my complete surrender to the process of being a Sacred and Divine Feminine. It is a hushed silence in awe and wonder and worship of watching the natural world around me unfurl and open. Yeah, it felt a little awkward in the beginning because I was fighting it, but I have been completely surrendered to where I am supposed to be, and it is perfection for me right now. This is SO what I need in these moments. To be surrendered to all the Beauty of the natural world and feel immense gratitude for how my own rhythms are becoming mirrored in hers. Keeping it simple…one breath at a time. Even as I type this, there is a pinkish-yellow glow over my computer screen that I might see in a sunrise, though sunrise is long over. These are the kinds of things I don’t want to miss. Over the next week, in reverence, I’ll be deep in thought and reflection and celebration about how my surrender to what longs for me will surely be fertile ground for all that will grow in me. It is the perfect approach to Beltane. All the oils and potions that I make have been growing in potency these last few weeks in preparation. I have been growing in potency in preparation for this moment in time.

Everything is beginning to come into focus now…and I am realizing I am exactly where I am supposed to be (especially now that college is close to wrapping up): focused on growing my beautiful Soul and firmly planted right in the center of my femininity. For me, that means relying on my strength, wisdom, and intuition; loving my emotions and feelings for what they teach and awaken in me; and doing the things that help me grow as a Being and a Sacred Feminine, as well as being fully and totally enveloped in pleasure. My own Wise Mother (that my Soul has grown, likely that I’ll also birth at some point, along with her already birthed three siblings, who are waiting her arrival) is also watching over me, to make sure I am safe and held. Things couldn’t be any more magical, or ecstatic (!!!), for that matter! Now that I fully understand this space was meant for me and I know everything is right as rain, I can close my eyes and settle deeply into my own Wild. Yyyyyeeeeeeeeesssssssssss! This I can do - being my normal, introspective mermaid self.

This is a deep, deep dive inward. I know my Soul’s name now, or one of them. I know my genus is Phagos Beech. There are no books or websites I can access to trace my lineage; to uncover to what I belong and what belongs to me. This is unchartered territory. Instead, I have to be deeply in tune with what is calling me. Things like journeying in Nature last weekend and as I drove, the realization I was called back to a landscape where I uncovered the plant name that had called to me the summer before (is this a new Sacred spot?). These are synchronicities, wisdoms, of where I am being called to, peppered with what I came from and who I am. Opening and closing curtains of life. What will be revealed?

I had a vision out there, in the Wild, journeying through the forest last weekend that coincided with my tarot reads this last week. I was supposed to be there. A lot of wild things happened during this journey. Ending in a ritual during which I prepared myself for things coming my way, fortifying myself within and pairing nicely with my Phagos Beech. Let’s just say I am more Wild than ever and more connected to my elders of the forest. All of these things that happen I don’t want to miss! These are essential pieces of me. I have a feeling the second half of this year is going to be profound.

Also, to be completely honest, I don’t really feel like writing right now. A side effect of all the academic writing I’ve been doing for a long period of time, which has taken the wind out of my sails. I’m going to add the exception of infographics to that statement. Those are fun, and I am proud of those assignments, in particular. I’ll admit that sometimes I open them and look at them because they are art, in some form - brightly colored, logical, concise, ordered - and, in some ways, I see myself in them. They are snapshots of my masculine traits and that is something I don’t behold much anymore because they come so naturally to me. It’s been exhausting trying to keep my energies balanced because I am expending so much of my masculine self into schoolwork.

I want to focus on my feminine traits and growing and admiring those instead. Those are the traits (and parts - yum!) that need my attention most, the ones I want to attend to. I love seeing those traits (and parts, too!) come to life when given the attention they wanted so badly. Mmm, mmmmm!! Those parts have deep desires written into them, and who am I to overlook them? I am very focused and intentional in interpreting those desires, so I can attend to them appropriately.

Yeah, I know that academic writing and the writing I typically do here are two entirely different things. Academic writing is a process of reading, information gathering, ordering, and taking captive my thoughts as they march through my brain. It couldn’t be me without sprinkling a little love, some fairy dust, and beautiful colors into them, like a watercolor painting, then running them through a finer filter of what these children (my students) mean to me, before I set them free to be graded, all while keeping things reined in a bit, for academic purposes. Heaven forbid my Soulful, feminine, mermaid self gets her words peppered into academic words. Gasp!! This is not simply an education for me. It is born from a deep and eternal love for my students, with an everlasting promise of commitment to them. Children come to me even in my dreams for help! To say I have taken this seriously is a brilliant understatement.

Whereas, in my regular posts here, I capture my feminine side beautifully. I haven’t addressed her in her entirety yet. My protective Mother is standing nearby with her arms crossed as I think about the passionate streak which runs deep in me, that dirty, Soulful, slutty vixen who rules my femininity and so beautifully and often, I might add. I love her! The writing I do here is freer and sensual and emotional, set loose in an ocean of love of my own making. It is more about feeling into writing, as my darling Soul Sister, Simone, would say. It’s not so much what I write, as what I let my Soul speak through me to say, as I capture the words and sensations from that beautiful place. These captured pictures take more time to develop, more work in the darkroom, as I run my hands over them, the sentences and impressions and feelings trailing through my fingers. I LOVE the darkroom!! So mysterious, creative, provocative. And dark. Duh. As I’ve shared on here, there is nothing like processing your own film and printing your own pictures, finally releasing into sight, what needed to be seen with my beloved camera. Which, I am realizing just now, is a little like dream interpretation, yeah? What needs to be seen and found? Not me.

Sure, there are already written posts that are lovely that could be shared, but I’d like, instead, to be me and rather say, “Hey, be patient, I am mindfully paused. I am under construction.” That, in my mind, is the honest and authentic approach to what I’m feeling - to share it, out here in the open. I don’t want to continue on as if nothing is happening with me that I need to attend to, that’s not honest and that’s not me. I am still a Sacred Feminine, so you can bet that I know creation is a part of me. I am exploring other creative things right now for sure, just not writing, per se. I do have a wonderful journaling/writing project lined up for this summer and, separately, lots of prompts saved and plans for lots of new adventures, not to mention my summer retreat, all of which are always great windows into my Soul. Instead, for now, I’d like to continue exploring what comes to me and honor what/how I’m feeling.

My gorgeous Soul needs tending, and my heart needs some seismic upgrades, to better withstand all that life has gifted me. This year, thus far, has been a lot, especially the first three months - so much happening in my family around me, it’s been a roller coaster. Making the need to care for myself even greater. I am caring for myself, of course!!! I need a lot more misty, foggy mornings to wander in, more luxurious baths and piles of blankets against and next to my nakedness, more time deep in thought, held and healed by Nature. In general, more space directed inward and tending to myself and my desires without apology.

In that same honest and vulnerable vein, I’ll also share I took my last post down shortly after sharing it (around the end of February-when I began to quiet) because something felt off to me; something that I couldn’t put my finger on and, thus, couldn’t be edited, so I unpublished it until it came to me what needed my attention. Then I realized, I wasn’t in any hurry to figure it out and, subsequently (or, perhaps, concurrently), I developed a laissez-faire/c’est la vie attitude about reposting it at all. Quel dommage!

The thing that needed to come…did. It brought some clarity to the post and also onto me. A whole bunch of tearing up has taken place and spoken/thought/felt WHOAs, too. I am embracing that and myself, holding space for me. The share was still valid and authentic, so I may repost it. Someday. Or not.

That’s where I am. Floating. Silently. Like a lovely blue feather; a sliver of sky. Drifting lazily. May I land…soundlessly…nested/nestled in the arms of my Phagos Beech tree, providing warmth and softness to some baby birds! I’ll witness their birth, and they’ll witness mine. We’ll sing together and nourish each other with our song and then like any baby bird eventually must, we’ll tentatively extend our wings and take flight, testing our independence.

In the meantime, know that I am holding myself tightly, just as I should and want to, Be-coming even more wild than the wind, gathering strength, experiencing delicious tsunamis of pleasure along the way, dripping deeply into my feminine roots and center, anointing myself for the journeys ahead, luxuriating in the fertile soil, connected to all that is (and that I am) and will be.

And so it is. And so it is. And so it is.

And now…

With love, XO.

I am not ashamed to say there has been a lot of nudity, whether in the sauna, a bubbled, eucalyptus oil scented bathtub, or in my retreat bed-heavy and plump blankets and covers piled over me, lounging, lazing even, reading what I want (no textbooks), becoming one with some new books in my life, sipping coffee, living each and every one of my own moments to their full height, width, pleasure, and Beauty, honoring every sense I have. Well, the ones I have remaining. Even when I woke on Christmas morning with the full-blown flu - body aches, fever, stuffy head, etc., I viewed it as a gift - the Universe extending permission to take excellent care of myself, engaging in more solitude and stillness.

You know that deep kind of introspection I mean? Where you stand still and you feel the absolute weight of your own gravity. Sometimes, you lie down and wear your gravity like a weighted blanket. You notice the curvature and texture of your body in your space, you feel every bone ground into the floor that holds you and cradles you. You stand absolutely still under the shower head and feel all 10,031 drops of water pounding against your face and head. The pressure and temperature of the water soothes you. You run your hand against the curve of the soft skin on your thigh and hip, just to notice how that feels. The way this soft furry blanket feels against my skin versus that knitted, textured one. My world is very soft and slow and full of the feels right now. Taste and smell are temporarily missing, so touch, sight, and sound are so, so rich and vibrant. *sigh*

Needless to say, I have been doing some serious, very focused and intentional self-care, pleasuring in and nourishing this body, mind and Soul in full; holding myself and logging some much-needed rest, while reflecting on this last year. Sitting with my thoughts and wonders, noticing what feels good, holding myself, considering possibilities, resting, engaging in communion with myself and Nature to uncover some deep truths. I SO needed this! Mmmm, mmm! In fact, I needed to go out and run a few errands yesterday afternoon. As I was leaving the house I realized, with surprise (?), it had been a week since I left the house. Sheesh. I clearly need to start venturing out again. The point though is that I am in a better space - mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally - than I was a week ago. I can hardly wait to be here again in seven-ish months, in the thick of summer, minus the heavy covers and taking my nudity outdoors!!! That will be magic of a different variety. Like this narrative, and it DID take place in July, as a matter of fact.

On a day in July over last summer, I planned on going to the top of the mountains nearby me to hike. There is a wonderful hike there, where I am practically on top of the world, at least in my corner of great and beautiful Pacific Northwest, and it calls to me. Mid-summer and fall are the only times it is accessible and, every year, before the snow even melts off enough for me to venture here, I feel myself being pulled, checking the trail reports weekly.

The morning I left was a perfect morning. It was supposed to be mid-80s that day, but I always hike early so I am home by noon-ish at the latest, or thereabouts. It was cool in the morning, and it takes an hour to drive there, so I set out very early. I’m glad I didn’t miss it because there was fog when I left and the sun was not yet peeking over the mountains, so everything - the skyline, the mountains, the fields, the sky - it all had a very muted and soft color palette and was so lovely and serene looking. Then you layer in some ground fog over the fields, and it was a wonderful drive for me and my senses. There were pockets of very dense fog as I headed into the mountains, which is just so magical and mysterious.

Fog. I love how it weaves in and among the trees, creating layers upon layers of mist and trees, which make the trees look like they are floating. It’s just right. The mountains and trees never look more ethereal and majestic when they are veiled in the sublime cover of fog. I’m not sure whether to love the fog more or the trees more. In the end, I opt to love both. I love disappearing into the fog. It swallows me whole, massages the pressures away, and holds me, caressing my entire Being. It is here where I am found by what is longing for me. Yes!!!! Nature - trees, fog, and rain - longs for me! They dreamed me. They call to me. Chthonic resonance. That deep, deep pull within me, those dark under and inner places and where ancestors and my younger self are always whispering their secrets, holding it until my inner landscape comes into alignment with my outer landscape. They want me to come so I can believe more fully in the me that I am discovering myself to Be.

Sometimes I think I am on the spectrum a little, which would make sense because of how my kids at school and I get along so well; how I understand them so well. After all, like attracts like, right (the Law of Attraction)? As I drive, one of the things that drifts, like the mist around me, through my mind about fog is that it is like a visual representation of mindfulness. Fog reduces the size and saturation of the world to just what you can see directly around you, causing you to be firmly in that moment and nowhere else because especially in thick fog, you can’t see anything else. I kind of prefer having a more narrowed perspective of the world. It is more soothing to me. As are mornings when the colors are muted. Or mornings when the fog is SO thick, everything farther than 50 feet away is just gone.

This particular hike is very unlike any other hike I go on. It is a favorite that I go to year after year. And yet, though there is a creek or river down the mountain a bit from the trail, at no time while I’m on the trail can I get close to it. I almost always look for hikes that have 1) old growth forests and 2) water of some kind. This one does have water, just not how you might expect. And there are ghosts and totally awesome tunnels. And I am on top of the world. Those are many of the reasons it calls to me.

*whispering* When I am in Nature, I need Earth and I need Water. Earth, to be reminded of the clay from whence I came and to where I’ll return at my end and Water, to be reminded of the journey. Water is the whole of life, flowing cradled between the banks of landscape that hold it, as I’ve written, of Sister River. Clay, from my birth; water, the journey of life; clay, to my death. It is the representation of my whole life, from start to finish and everything in between, where I am found by what is waiting for me there. That is why Nature is magic. I never return the same. Ever.

This hike is at the top of the mountain pass closest to where I live. The awesome thing about it is the snowsheds for the railway that used to run through here. Some of the more recent ones are still standing, approximately 100 years later. In fact, that is how the hike starts, going through one of the snowshed tunnels. This is the only one we are permitted to go through.

There used to be a town here, founded in 1893 at this very location for the Great Northern Railway. The town had a train depot (of course) that became the site of the deadliest avalanche and worst train disaster in US history. A passenger train and a mail truck, on their way from another town further east to a western town just beyond the mountains, were stuck at the station in this town because a freak storm had hit the area, a nine-day blizzard, dumping tons of snow. Then, overnight one night, on March 1, sometime after midnight, the conditions being as they were higher on the mountain (clear cutting of timber, which opened up the slopes above the tracks), the rain and the thunder caused an avalanche. One of the railway employees, Charles Andrews, described it as follows (Washington Our Home, 2021):

“White Death moving down the mountainside above the trains. Relentlessly it advanced, exploding, roaring, rumbling, grinding, snapping — a crescendo of sound that might have been the crashing of ten thousand freight trains. It descended to the ledge where the side tracks lay, picked up cars and equipment as though they were so many snow-draped toys, and swallowing them up, disappeared like a white, broad monster into the ravine below."

“White Death.” This whole description so poetic and tragic. Or is that tragic and, thus, poetic? Or am I just a big tender heart? Yes!! Yes to all of it. And those are the parts I welcome with wide open arms. That beautiful and holy Sacred feminine that is me.

The train was swept downhill 150 feet into the river and valley below. There were 23 survivors. And 96 deaths. After this event, 6 months later, the town was quietly renamed so no one would associate it with what had happened. Granted, most of the town’s occupants were railway employees. The town was located just to the east of this snowshed.

One of the 23 survivors said this:

"There was an electric storm raging at the time of the avalanche. Lighting flashes were vivid and a tearing wind was howling down the canyon. Suddenly there was a dull roar, and the sleeping men and women felt the passenger coaches lifted and borne along. When the coaches reached the steep declivity they were rolled nearly 1,000 feet and buried under 40 feet of snow."

Once the town was renamed, new snowsheds, like the one here, extending over nine miles (synchronicity?) of tracks in this area, were built to protect the trains passing from future avalanches. Not too long after, a second tunnel was built, which is still in use today, so that trains wouldn’t even need to pass through the town and the town was abandoned after. You wouldn’t even know there was a tiny town here. No evidence whatsoever. To an average person. But someone has got to account for those 96 Souls.

This is where I enter. Stage left? I always look at the board that contains all the names of those who died here, and at least one will always stand out, that I can’t help thinking of. Perhaps, in so doing, I can give them each a good death, honoring them, in some small way, not letting their stories fall on deaf ears or a stale heart and sprinkle my offerings to them. This particular day, I looked at the list and two someones stood out. According to the list of names, the youngest was eight months old, Francis, along with an older sister, Lillian, on the train, traveling with their grandparents. I thought of a nine-year-old girl and her infant sibling, eight months old. I can’t help but wonder what adventure they were on. My heart weeps for them. I feel the nine-year-old wandering through the snowshed tunnel, in such a way, I catch partial glimpses of her - her skirt billowing behind her and dragging something behind her. Today, I talk to her as I walk through, barely holding my own tears back.

When I walk through the snowshed, I imagine it is like a funeral processional. I can’t help but think of each and every one of those 96 Souls as I walk through. It is a very long snowshed, too. I just feel very somber after passing through this first snowshed, this trail having a deep, deep effect on me. I couldn’t not visit it every year. Though the scenery is beautiful, I honestly feel like it is this trailhead snowshed that calls me. Placing my own Aliveness in that tunnel feels important to me.

It’s why I like to wander, too, in old, overgrown cemeteries, with headstones that lean to one side, the words etched there too time worn to be read. I like to talk to those who have gone from this plane, ask them what I should know. These nuggets of wisdom offered are the things that help me live more fully. Likely, these same nuggets help me love more deeply, as well.

At the other end of this very long snowshed tunnel, it looks like this:

There are holes in the ceiling, it is collapsing. It looks like some sort of out of place art exhibit, there in the wild, of concrete and rebar. “Ode to a horrific train wreck,” the plaque might read. Or an homage to the wreck that my heart is in this moment, glimpsing Lillian while walking through the snowshed tunnel. It is cool as hell, this out of place and yet not, unexpected art exhibit. It’s just the thing for me to appreciate, after having been in the tunnel. To have walked through a hall of 96 Souls (even one is reason enough) and to be faced with the precariousness of my own at the end. It is the ONLY appropriate thing to be faced with after being in the snowshed (and believe me, this hike isn’t done reminding me yet). The very dark thought HAS occurred to me many times on this trail, and yet, within it, there is a little light (two little ones, to be exact, on my mind today), which I am sure you can also imagine, coming from me. It doesn’t scare me, it is called for when you are fully in your Aliveness. It deepens my Aliveness. The wall is still completely intact, in case you were wondering.

It is beautiful up here! You can hear the train from up here when it passes by down below.

The thing that has changed since I was last here is it has gotten way more wild! As have I. Beautifully so. All the plants were taller (obviously) but the paths had yet to be cut back (with the exception of this small section). I was covered head to toe in pollen and a bunch of plants at the end. Had I not been to this trail many times, I literally could have fallen right off the mountain because you couldn’t even see the trail in many spots.

The forest in this location is like a secret hideout. It is completely quiet. Somehow, the volume of the world shuts down here. Perhaps held in the fog in the lowlands. Where the trail is located through the forest isn’t a dense bit of forest at all, so it feels wide open and, yet, quiet in there - no birdsong even. The air is dry and cool. There is not a whole lot of undergrowth or bushes, not even ferns or flowers through the forest bits of this trail. You pass through alternating landscapes of dry, open forests and wild, green fields thick with bushes and wildflowers. The weird thing, to me, is how quiet it truly is here, even with the lack of underbrush through the forest. It is almost as if the forest denies the wild green fields entry into itself - I have never witnessed forest like this in any other place. Wild divided, segregated, even. It’s almost like the whole forest of the mountain is in mourning - it can’t allow the Wildness and Beauty of the fields within. Not yet. Which, too, would account for my mood here. Mostly, I am of the same heart as the wild, lush fields, verdant, chaotic, overgrown, thick with Beauty. But, frequently, my heart wanders into a mourning forest, where the trees, even, feel so separate from each other.

After a while, you come to some other tunnels. These others are not meant for anyone to go through.

There was a sign? Wwwwwhhhhhhaaaaattttt???????? I didn’t even see it!! Sorry 😟. I. Can’t. Help. Myself. They are SOOO mysterious!! Long, dark, pitch black, tunnels are amazing! I did not walk through it this day, however. I have before, several times, and it’s truly wonderful.

Instead, this day, I walked around it, so I could sit on the rocks on the outside edge and read a story to all of Nature there and voice my truths. Perched on a rock from a previous landslide on the edge of mountain, looking straight down onto a landscape of the valley below and layers and layers of mountains over each shoulder, as far as the eye can see. Somber to a fault, on the precipice of a good cry, while holding any wailing back (for safety reasons), with this view around me and this heart heavy inside my chest. Sit in that sight for a moment. Cuz that’s just me. Why I get called here, why I respond, how it hits me…and yet I come back again and again and again. Faced with those 96 Souls for a good portion of my entry and exit out of this tender landscape, coming face to face with my own, which always causes me to pause, looking deeply within, to ensure I am fully living. And I wonder why I can be truly gloomy sometimes…

Continuing on my way past that, I don’t know what possessed me, but I came upon a sign, and I’ve never really gone that far on this hike before, so, naturally, I followed it, because it said there was a lookout. Down the trail, which turned out to be down the mountain. Through a shit ton of switchbacks. Laawwwddd, how I dislike switchbacks. More precisely, how my KNEES dislike switchbacks. Which is why there are two compression sleeves in my bugout bag. I didn’t realize it went all the freaking way down to the lower trail end. Did not occur to me that these were THE switchbacks that connected the lower trail to the upper one (as I have been on both ends of the trail). Until I got to the bottom and could see the parking lot of the lower trail through the trees. Ugh. The tunnels on the lower end of the trail are a lot more sketch. I have (ad)ventured through some of them, but many of them are impassable.

So…ta da…I had to go back up the mountain. Yay. My right ass cheek dropped off somewhere mid-way up the mountain (I assume, because that particular cheek was burning like a mothah). I wasn’t going back to retrieve it; I’d just have to live without it. Better yet, spank a few servings of delicious cake or decadent cookies directly onto that spot and it would be right as rain.

I was carrying my own ecosystem along with me, sweating like crazy, by the time I got to the top again. There was a pack of mosquitos circling me. The switchbacks wound through some pretty dense forest. Here the humidity went way up, thus the profuse sweating. Sheesh. Sweating like this is a whole ‘nother thing for a sensual Being. I can feel every single drop along its whole path. In fact, it’s hard for me to focus on little else.

Going down and then having to climb back up the mountain was both the dumbest thing I have ever done and the smartest, at the same time! I was literally talking myself up the mountain, “You can do this, baby girl! I know you’re tired, I know this is kicking your ass, but you are going to get there! Don’t stop now, keep going!!” And get to the top again, I did. That was a celebration, too!! Was it ever!!! Today is not a day where I thought to myself, “WHAT did you do today that grew you?” I. Climbed. A. Fucking. Mountain!!!! Literally. Whew!

I ❤️​ LOVE ❤️​ this quote. It’s my new favorite. It applies to everything. It gives me the inspiration to get my tits up and do the hard things. I’m going to repeat the important part.

“I need it to be worth it.”

Was climbing a mountain worth it? Hell, yes! Baby, it was SO worth it! Because at the end, I believed in myself a little more. THAT is how I grew. I need it. To be WORTH it. I needed the hard climb back up because at the top, I grew my belief in my own abilities - I unexpectedly saw, with clarity, my own strength and determinedness. And I knew it. THAT is a valuable lesson! Suddenly, some things I wrote in my last post come to mind, and my heart just sighs and whispers, barely audible, “YES! It’s ALL worth it! YOU are doing exactly what you were MEANT to. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop!” Mmmmm! I can’t tell you how many times I have reflected on this moment since.

Once I got back to the top, I took a little break and allowed my heart to stop pounding and the sweat to dry a bit (oh, mama!), then I was able to enjoy the rest of my walk. Especially knowing all the goodies that were waiting for me back at the car, my genius hike hacks, like my flip flops and clean and dry clothes. Stripping down will feel amazing!!!! I didn’t even wait for the car for that one. I did it when I got back to the top part of the trail, to cool off; stripped off all my top layers that were remaining, down to my sports bra. On my way back through the wild, that sweat made the wild stick to me like glue. I was covered in leaves and petals and pollen and who knows what else!

Back through the snowshed to the parking lot. Not one other person on this trail today, it was just for me. A shower, a self-massage and yoga when I returned home NEVER felt so good!!! This trail is a favorite, for the mysterious tunnels and history, the ghosts, lost Souls, as well as the Beauty, including out of place, “pop-up” art exhibits. I’m pretty sure it’s more than just the mountains that beckon me here and that suits me fine. I am not without my own ghost stories. Every time here is a different adventure. I never know what I’ll see or experience.

Of course, every place I have ever been in Nature is just right and so, so beautiful, for a variety of reasons. I do love the solitude on this one, especially because it feels like I am literally on top of the world.

My problems look so small from up here!! I see the bigger pictures. They are just as lovely as the macro ones. I love them both. Sometimes, I do come out of the fog and the rain; I need to find myself on mountain tops. Even when I have to unexpectedly climb one; it almost felt as if I were being pushed up the mountain, likely for the lesson. It grows me. It shows me what I am capable of and then the world shows me how that works into life, how much it is needed and how much Beauty and Soul and Aliveness I can eke out of it.

I am extremely grateful to Nature, not just for all her Beauty, but for the many lessons I learn from her, as well as the way she holds me, accepts all of me, and requests more. This truly is a beautiful landscape and a blessing, as well as being a Life-Affirming walk in the wild. Believe me, baby, I AM alive. Glad to Be and glad to be Alive.

A mountain is awfully big. And beautiful, to boot. Not to mention an adventure. That is how I live - having adventures. Sometimes, when I think I am (only) having a great time being my best self, BOOM. I am gifted a new perspective, a new challenge, a new way to grow.

What about you? Is it worth it?

Thanks for reading! With love, XO.

References:

Washington Our Home. (2021, March 01). The 1910 Wellington Train Disaster. https://www.washingtonourhome.com/the-1910-wellington-train-disaster/.

“Purpose is not “the thing” you do, it is within you.” - Jess Lively

These last few weeks, I’ve been draped in shadows and silence and blessed (and Sacred) fog (for two whole days, without end), honoring the need to go deep within and rest, nourishing and renewing myself, taking refuge in the fallen leaves, noting the sparkle of frost across the landscape in the early morning light and the crispness of the Wind’s caress, capturing some foggy morning photos, meandering into the forest, marveling at the Beauty (such that I needed to play hooky from work), and looking forward to the long sleep of winter. Which is closer that I can wrap my head around. These next few posts are nourishing to me, as well, in deeper ways, where my Soul and my Being are in harmony, flush with the Sacred. They are timely reflections as I look within and wonder over the rich compost of these memories and lessons, turning them over to prepare for rest before the new growth of spring and beyond, into summer.

It has to be noted that I had planned on sharing this post today. Last Saturday, I went to a holiday event in my area; it was at a location I don’t go often, so I used my maps to tell me the fastest way to get there. As it happens, when I worked at the insurance claims office I talk about below, I lived in a different town south of where I currently live in the Pacific NW, and I took backroads all the way from my then house to work, which was 25ish miles further south (from my then home). Wouldn’t you know that the map feature told me the fastest way to my holiday event last weekend was going south, from my current house to the exact neighborhood I used to live in, passing by the street I lived on, and going the exact backroads that I used to take then, though not all the way to where I used to work? Synchronicity, much? Obviously, this story was MEANT to be shared now. That was literally a trip down memory lane!! As is this story.

Stay with me on this one, while I meander. Years and years ago, I was doing something entirely different for work. To be fair, it was work that I had not chosen. As of yet, I had not found my chosen work, I just kind of fell into jobs. It was a domino effect. I worked in insurance claims because a friend of the family suggested it. Then I worked at a television station in marketing because someone else I knew worked there and there was an opening. The television station was fun for a time, with lots of amazing perks, especially being a very young adult, but not for me long-term and so when a co-worker from the television station left and then called me and asked me to come work for him, I agreed.

That was a mistake (ish?) because that job was definitely not for me, and I knew it almost immediately. But it set me up to quit without finding something else first (yep, it was THAT bad), and so I ended up temping. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because I got to go to lots of different places and try different things. A hindsight note: those were all the wrong things, as well.

Anyway, through that temp work, I landed in a commercial insurance company as a receptionist for a long-term temp position. My boss, who was a very sweet and kind older man, encouraged me to apply for the position (he was the one hiring, after all, wink, wink.) because I had previous experience working with another insurance company in claims.

I did apply. And, yada, yada, yada, I ended up being with that company for 20+ years. I started at reception, then moved up to typist, then to underwriting, a short stint in sales, and then back to underwriting. The work was…meh. In the end, I kept doing it because eventually I got to work from home (the last half of my career there), I was good at it, and I was making a lot of money with large bonuses. None of those were valid or even appropriate reasons to keep working there. Hindsight tells me I stayed because it was convenient to. Comfortable and convenient. And blind. Until the Universe placed within my heart a seed of discomfort. The longer I stayed, the more it troubled me until I could not keep ignoring its truth.

The one and only thing that kept me there were the people I worked directly with, not the insurance agencies, but my co-workers at the company level. After 20 years of working side by side, hell, after 5, even, those people start to feel like family. I for sure saw them more than my family. And, yep, just as in any family, there were the normal family politics. I am still in contact with a handful of my beloved family members and that will never go away. They are precious, wonderful people who knew and loved the whole me.

The real truth was, all the while, though, my beautiful Soul was withering. The job was sucking my Soul dry, and I knew it. I was not growing and was suffocating my Soul. There was a constant tension present that I absolutely dreaded. It was more in me than the work, this work just did not light me up. At all. Again, I was good at it - I made lemonade with my lemons, it was like being a detective, that part was fun in some ways, but it was so, SO rigid and predictable! The work was overall monotonous, without joy, and was, in every sense of the phrase, a daily grind. I told my “family,” the truly precious ones, that it would be a blessing if I were laid off. And so, I did get laid off. I manifested that in full. But then my co-worker, one of those precious ones, fought to keep me and so they did. Until I manifested it to me again - reorganization that caused the closing of all existing offices and opening of three brand new centers. I could move or be laid off. I chose laid off.

Granted. My wish was granted. It took me months to fully expel that breath that I had been holding. And now began a different kind of work. The work of getting to know me and perhaps, I could find work that I chose or, at least, that was a reciprocal choosing and work that created purpose and meaning for me. It felt awkward as hell at the beginning, when I was first laid off. I wasn’t expecting those feelings that I “was” my career and who was I, when I wasn’t that career anymore. After all, I didn’t even like the actual work, so why would I have felt awkward about not being that person anymore?

It is always a deeper answer, of course. Mainly, it was just that I didn’t know (or, more truthfully had been ignoring) where to go now because I just ended up in that job and had never really chosen any path of work for myself (outside of what I had chosen when I was a kid - what I wanted to be when I grew up) and now that it was gone, it was forcing me to look deeply at myself and figure out who I was.

It also felt weird because I had been working non-stop since I was 16. That’s when I started paying rent. I like being useful and having a task to perform every day. Some of those things I was good at. Some of them I wasn’t great at in the beginning, but then I got better and better. Looking back, I was, in some ways, the same me I am now, as far as being calm, peace loving, and gentle. Except when I’m in a mood and then I get a little “Broadway”ish, particularly if it was a long week (gotta love a Fri-yay). Alright, alight. Maybe it was a little more class clownish. With dance numbers! Either way, you know what I mean. Anyway, I learned some important lessons along the way, of course, about working. It felt good to put myself through school, and pay for some major things on my own, and buy a car that was new to me. I loved ALL of that. There was a lot of fun, of course! It is me, after all.

I have never, not for one second, regretted my decision to choose to be laid off, it has to be said. Yes, it absolutely was a scary thing to be without a job for a while, even with a generous balloon severance package because, as I said, I do like to work. I do miss seeing and hearing from some of my friends regularly, from that period of my life. I know that it was the wisest choice for me, in the long run. It should have happened many years before, but the next part of my journey wasn’t yet ready for me, it was under construction. There were things that still needed to be done and aligned, people that needed to join hands with me on my path for a time that also weren’t yet ready.

Anyway so, naturally, I began to ask myself some gentle questions like, “Who am I?” and “What do I want?” and even “What are the things that I gravitate to?” or “What lights me up?” And, keep in mind that, at this point, I was volunteering at my kid’s school, had been for some time. Often, as I have shared before, I would cry in the car on my way home after volunteering because that work felt so meaningful in a way that was a little overwhelming to me, even if I was just making photocopies - I was freeing up the teacher to spend more time with her students. I didn’t even understand at that point it was because that work was calling me. Rather, I chose to ignore it because I felt like I didn’t have what it took to be a teacher. But try not to fixate on those thoughts right now because I know you already know the outcome. I wrote this post over a full year ago and lived it just over 10 years ago. The answers to these same questions have changed several times since I first asked them of myself and, I’m sure, they will continue to. Thankfully. I am grateful for that.

I began writing and realized that was a great release for me. I was working through the lay off and leaning into those gentle questions I had been asking myself. That’s what I do with writing. Through that writing, also naturally, parts of me I didn’t even realize existed, came out. I was studying in The Word and writing out devotions and other thoughts. Being immersed in an inner silence and writing through it enabled me to learn to re-member the music of my own Soul singing.

Whoa! It wasn’t just writing, it was any creative endeavor that I engaged in that felt more like me and it also relieved stress and created joy for me. Painting, doodling, sewing, cooking, baking, crafting, making jewelry, doing glasswork, home improvement projects, staging homes, and pottery projects. You name it, I did it. Well. My family encouraged me to start selling in farmer’s markets or begin a catering service. I poo-pooed that idea because I was too vulnerable to share my creations with the world. That would open me up to all the people who didn’t like what I created, which consequently, I inferred, meant they didn’t like me. I didn’t think I could take the rejection of either myself or my creations, and so I never did it.

You need this, don’t you? I need it, too!

I know, I know! I still had not entirely embraced this idea that I wasn’t what I did for work, or even what I created. I was an entirely separate person from that. I will say I don’t regret that decision, either though, to not sell at farmer’s markets or cater or even do staging and/or decorating. Those are things I go to that relieve stress for me and make me feel good, I don’t want to create pressure around them by having to do them for work. Besides all that, I found even better things where my Soul sings even more.

It was during this liminal time, while I created and gained joy, where wisdom (and intuition) began to gently remind me, through my writing, from where I came and became a new way of living for me. I was reading a ton of new stuff and beginning to rely heavily on my intuition and wisdom. Not wisdom, as in “I am so wise,” but the wisdom that you naturally gain as you discover who you truly are and what naturally complements who you are, calibrating my exterior environment, relationships, and way of Being, to my inner environment, and to that absolutely gorgeous Soul of mine. Which is also why not one other person can tell you who you are or how to be. Only you can know when you're in the right spot.

WHY would you want someone to tell you who you are anyway? It is so much more fun and exciting to find out for yourself by doing that deep inner work!! At least, I think so. I dislike having wisdom handed to me on a platter. I much prefer figuring it out myself. Multisensory learning is a teaching method whereby you are using several different senses during learning. Research has proven that this method engages more of the brain than using just one sense, and, as it happens, it is excellent for students with sensory impairments because it provides more access points to learning. So often, the children that I work with happen to have sensory impairments. I know it works because it is how I learn more about myself and why what I’ve learned has been well-learned and embodied. It’s also why, while listening to three plus hours of PowerPoint slides being read to me on a conference call when I worked in insurance, it was so super hard to learn or retain anything. It was positively mind-numbing!

Along the lines of what I said above, not that I needed more evidence this was the right time to share this, my Sacred Feminine devotional’s reading yesterday morning was titled, “You Don’t Get to Say Who I Am.” Don’t waste your own beautiful life by letting others define you. Be the author of your life. Claim who you are in all of your potency now. Create an intimate relationship with yourself, study yourself, become an expert in you. So that when someone comes along and says who he/she sees you as, you absolutely know the truth. No one else can know all the nooks and crannies, all the interior thoughts and desires. No one gets to say who you are but you.

One of my favorite authors writes something about how wisdom is a way of Being - how we inhabit this world. The gifts (and beauty) of wisdom are being in harmony with the world, knowing you belong right where you are; that wonderful combination of thought and action from your heart and mind.

With my deepest regards to my previous faith, this was the birthing of a new me. Or…was it? The more I thought about it, the more I believe I was recalibrating to the younger version of me. THAT girlfriend rocked!!! She let the beauty of music connect her COMPLETELY to something bigger than herself, the Universe. She was protected from many storms, secreted away for such a time as this.??? Providence is such a powerful thing. Particularly when you are older and reflecting back and realizing all the shit that could have gone wrong and yet did not.

In that season of life, though I had a handful of acquaintances, I spent the majority of my time by myself, doing the things I enjoyed, which mostly amounted to music and dancing. That taught me deep lessons about life and love and myself. Honestly, that DOES sound a bit like now and so, it has to be said, I am just a kid at heart.

Looking back now, I can see that in all the “pauses” in my life, the places where my life that I had been living up until those points was paused for one reason or another, caused big growth spurts in me as a Being, and I circled back to the “who” I was when I was a kid. I was more aligned then. It seems I am to return to an iteration of my earlier self and that is okay with me because I don’t have to live through it all again, I can just summon her sweetness and tenderness and just Be, coupled with the me I am now and all the wisdom I have gained along the way.

The Universe obviously agreed, because things began falling into place, the more I was called back to that younger me. I was being led to do things I would have never thought possible. It is where I found my calling twice over and in two completely different things. Yes, there are other things I am good at, not just these two. And, technically speaking, one I do for my own pleasure, not for any other reason. The other, obvi, is my important work. Something I never would have, EVER, imagined myself doing or being acceptable at doing, nor would I have ever believed I would want to get my master’s degree in this field.

And yeah, like putting my creations into the world (in the form of THIS blog) and not being worried in the least that most people are not going to like me. That is virtually a guarantee! No worries. I am going to make sense to very few people, even family, I know. Honestly, especially family. I am totally okay with that. The people that do understand me, will REALLY understand me.

Life IS a beautiful, wide, empty, open road. There are bends and S-curves, dog-legs to the right (or left), and detours and closures. It is a wonderful journey, with plenty of Beauty to take in.

I have NO idea what is ahead of me. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, whatever comes my way, I’ll rise to it. With all of the wisdom I can muster, relying on my intuition and whispers, as well as inspiration from Mother to help me along the way. I know it’ll be beautiful, whatever it is. I know I’ll embrace it wholeheartedly because I’ve learned and embodied that “Life is messy and painful, beautiful and unpredictable. The endless practice is keeping our heart open to the whole of it.” - Mark Nepo.

Do not misunderstand me or underestimate me here. I may not know what is ahead of me, whatever it is does not matter, because I did mean what I said just above. Even still, not knowing, and without needing to know, I simply raise my heart to the sky and ask the Universe to prepare me; to show me what I need, to use me, so I can grow in such a way that I'll be ready when it arrives.

Yes, I am emotional and have big feelings. My heart hurts sometimes. Things are messy and ssssuuuuppppeeeeerrrrr unpredictable (boy, howdy!). But my goodness…is life ever beautiful! Scroll back up and look at those pictures! Fucking gorgeous!! Would I rather close my heart off from all that? No way!!!! Yep, in all that messiness, hurt and unpredictability, there is always beauty. Always. And, as I’ve written before, “I meet what comes with the full force of my heart.” - Brenda Shaughnessy. That, THAT, is ALWAYS a beautiful thing because I am living fully within my Sacred feminine self. She is a crazy, sensual, wild, sexual Being. Make no mistake, she is Sacred and holy AF, every single bit and last drop of her. And I love her wholly and unconditionally!!! She is so, so, SO alive that it brings tears to my eyes.

I want to park on that, for just a moment here, a little sidebar, a little lesson from these last few weeks. Not only do I know myself deeply, but I know the worth of who I am, even while still working on ALL the things. It doesn’t change based on how I look or what I do or any other thing. I am still me and that is a worthy thing to be, you know? Who needs a mask? When I am my full self, secure in my own worth, THAT is the most beautiful that I can be. My inner beauty radiates outward.

The beauty of who I truly am. It took me a long, long, while to get here, but now I have found several great loves of my life. “These are things that have made me come alive. And the world needs people who have come alive.” - Howard Thurman. These loves are worth every bit of my patience. And, say it with me, worth the hurt, the mess, the unexpected. Every single time. Every single day. Every moment. Because it means I am living. Living with more aliveness than ever before.

I am living my life’s poem. My poem is told through my living. I wouldn’t have it any other way and, as I’ve discovered, I couldn’t anyway. THIS is the life I’ve been gifted. The only thing I can do with such a gift is live it to the fullest. I didn’t open that gift and say, “This is the worst gift ever!” or make a face.** I opened it and said, “This is the gift I’ve been waiting for!! Just watch what I’m going to do with it!” The only person I needed to fulfill it was me all along. For the gift of my life isn’t one size fits all, it is sized to fit only one. It fits me like a glove and is the most beautiful thing I could ever wear. This gift was meant specifically FOR me and me alone. I open it each and every day and wonder anew what it means for me, and how I can make the most of it, while asking the Universe to show me more. That is how I choose to receive it and live it.

**Well, maybe I did, because I am super expressive. Likely though, it was a face born of joy and deep pleasure, rather than a grimace.

Going back to that opening quote, I finally discovered my purpose, all along, had been becoming me. In full. Your darn tootin’ my purpose was in me all along! It was waiting for me to BE more of myself - to realize my way and to keep growing. THAT is my purpose. When I did that, a whole new world began to open, and it is beyond my wildest dreams! So…when people ask you what you do, and your answer is something along the lines of I am Be-coming me, then that, THAT, is an absolutely valid, perfect answer.

Thanks for being here and for reading! I pray you are each living your poem and that it is beautiful. Have a beautiful week. With love, XO

I don’t even know how I found my Sacred spot. I want to say I was out on a hike with my boys and I happened to drive by it on the way home, but, to my recollection, I’m not sure that I’ve ever taken the boys out on a hike here, where I found my Sacred spot. And so, I have to believe I was just called there. To this particular landscape. Really, that seems like the most plausible scenario to me. Because I don’t think, even, I have been anywhere along this road to hike anywhere near this spot, although I have found some hikes along the way SINCE I found this Sacred spot, that are equally beautiful.

On the one hand, it’s kind of out there, you know? Far enough that it is not inundated with people. It, in itself, is not a hiking spot, just a roadside stop, so there is never a lot of people around. Ever. And, given the rare number of cars that I hear going by when I am there, I could probably count them on one hand, I would say it’s just far enough out of the way not to be somewhere people want to stop. It’s also far enough out of the way where there is absolutely no telephone reception. Not that I would hear it anyway, because I have had my phone on silent for at least the past ten months or more. That suits me just fine.

On the other hand, it’s not so close that parents are packing large picnics and all their kids into their SUVs and minivans to take them out to this spot for the day. There isn’t all that much to see or do. It truly is just a stop along the way.

What I do love about this spot is that is it easily accessible, I don’t have to walk far to get to the riverside, where I’ll sit for quite a while during which time I talk and read aloud. Though, it is far enough from the road so that I am not visible from the road. It is accessible, and still provides some measure of being secreted away.

And those are all the things that make it so perfect. It is the perfect landscape that puts me into stillness, solitude and silence. At least, when I am done primally screaming and crying and talking. Its where I am moved to bare my Soul (and the rest of me sometimes, too), and time expands there. More appropriately, you come to know that time is not even a thing, when you are in a landscape that knows you so well.

Sitting silently by myself in stillness, enables me to return to the warm, dark womb of the Earth, from where I came and where my Soul Belongs. Sister River has a contemplative grace about her that matches my own moods. Not to mention she is poetry in motion. As well as speaking, with fluency, the same language as Mother Ocean, because they are connected, and therefore deep, flowing passion arises within me. Nature was the very first scripture and, thus, being immersed in it has helped me uncover the holiness and juiciness of my body and Soul. Time gets real stretchy and thin here. It’s why I was meant to be here, to be in stillness always, but especially alongside my Sister River.

Sister River is life. Not just a slice of it, but the whole of Life, from beginning to end, the whole journey, all flowing freely within the banks of the landscape that holds her. She doesn’t stop flowing. She is an unbroken, always flowing song that just keeps going and going. She meanders and flows effortlessly. She is a deep through line in the landscape to Mother Ocean. You can see why we’re Sisters.

Yes, this landscape knows me. It has a deep, intimate, and long remembering of me and of us, and all that has been between us. She is the holiest of my landscapes because Life happens here…and so does Death. It’s where I honor the versions of me that have died and gone and I close some still-open circles. I come here to give them a good death, to whisper a prayer, to weep, sprinkle some flower petals over the water, and seeds over the soil. I have emptied myself in so many ways here. The soil, and the water, the fire, and the air accept it all.

Then…I allow Life to come in. Even while those things that have gone are rotting and I am still grieving. Life goes on. Some things HAVE to die away, to make room for the new things. It is The Cycle. Witnessing the Sacred and Beauty of those moments, the beginnings and endings, meeting each other and dancing together is a life affirming act and a blessing and doing it alongside to my Sister and Nature, surrounded by their wildness, their aliveness, nourishes my spirit.

On the road to my Sacred spot, every so often, the road bends and the farther reaches of the mountains come into view, nestled and layered behind closer mountains. The farther away ones are sometimes snowcapped and, thus, gorgeous. When I get there in time for my own “sunrise service,” and the sun comes up and lights up those snowcapped mountains, it’s like they were planted there specifically to get the spotlight treatment when the sun comes up because it is lovely. It NEVER fails to capture my attention specifically with the intention of taking my breath away, because it always does. The purest-white, untrodden snow beams against the dark ruggedness of the mountain side, all captured in the spotlight of a ribbon of sunlight unfurling onto just this mountain, a lightshow seemingly for my worship alone, and it is perfection.

One particular early morning in February, as I parked in my Sacred spot, I noted a truck parked along that same area, in the vicinity of my Sacred spot. It was visible from where I usually park and it didn’t feel safe for the space I needed and wanted for myself this day. I didn’t want to come across anyone else or have someone stumble across me. I also wanted to be by myself to read and talk out loud and to primally scream without being heard by ears that weren’t my intention to share with.

And so, I sat there for several minutes before I looked over into the trees and river view and was enraptured by the beauty, even in the cold bleakness, the absolute wildness of the forest floor. I just huddled up in my seat, knees drawn up to my chest, lost in the beauty of the scene before me. So grateful to be here, even though I didn’t want to get out of my car and wander with the truck so close. I looked into the trees and saw paths worn in and over the floor of the forest. There are several hollowed, charred pits of fire, now empty, ashes for ghosts-not that I could see them from where I sat, I just know they are there. The fire’s remnants of ash and charcoaled wood, surrounded by rock barriers.

I couldn’t help but think my heart must look quite similar. Well-worn paths through its ultimate wildness, dripping with lichen and moss and ferns, and covered with deeply rooted old growth forests of trees. Off towards the sides, the edges are charred from the fire of my passion that burns brightly and warmly there. All surrounded and walled off by low rock walls that have been taken down purposely. Perhaps a sledgehammer leaning up against a downed hill of rubble, as a reminder there is no point in rebuilding. And, so, I was quite taken in just sitting and beholding my Sacred spot, holding her inside me, closely, letting her begin to loosen some knots within me, on my behalf, even if I didn’t wander there this day. I didn’t let it affect me, for Nature always takes a message and passes it along.

Finally, the truck still there and no one inside, nor coming along to get in, I decided to venture further along the road - to find someplace I could empty my heart and eyes to the air and Earth and landscape, as an offering. I felt like there might be some screaming today out loud and uninhibited today, so I needed to be entirely alone. Though there have been random times I have gone just a bit further east on the road from my normal spot, but I haven’t ever ventured far. Until this day. I just kept driving, looking for another, another (because my second alternative spot was also too close to the truck) alternative spot.

Eventually, I ended up in a spot where I couldn’t drive any further. So, I did the only thing I could and turned around, driving back the way I came. Shortly after I turned, I came upon a spot to park along the road where I could converse with Nature properly. It was beautiful: with downed and fallen trees over, across and alongside the river. The mountains in the distance, the ones capped with snow, were visible to the south and east of where I was and they were a perfect backdrop to my emotions because snow comes and goes. Just like my emotions. And the seasons.

I got out of my car and, the first thing I noticed was the air was cold and very crisp. it was a wakeup call. You step out of your car and the cold takes you by the shoulders, shakes you, maybe even slaps you across the face, and says, “Here you are! Now, be HERE fully!”

I climbed down the embankment through and around the riparian underbrush and then alongside the river until I found a spot to sit. The water was a crystal-clear blue-green color. It was lovely. I usually find a place where the water has more movement, rather than a “still” place. In this scenario, I am meant to be the background of stillness whereas the river is the movement. River water is supposed to flow, so I let it do what it is supposed to do. Being in a place where it is rushing more always feels more appropriate to me. Because seeing the water rush by in its beautiful and poetic way reminds me that I can do the same. I can find my way around and over and, over time, even through the obstacles in my path. It’s also a reminder to keep my emotions and energy flowing freely. Not only that, Sister River tends to drown out my voice, while, at the same time, listening to the water helps me to listen more intently to my own internal thoughts, desires, heart, encased in my beautiful Soul.

The more the old barren deciduous tree branches are draped with the long wispy, pale green lichen of the “old man’s beard” variety, the better. It makes me think of forgotten tinsel, left on derelict trees of Christmas past. Seeing them that way opens the wish box, deep inside me. What deep desires do I want to breathe into the mist and vapor, with blown kisses and love? What needs to come to the surface? It also gives the trees a very noble and wise appearance, in my humble opinion. I need to be sure there are wise beings in my immediate vicinity, for the more experience, the better the advice I’ll be sure to get.

And so…I sit and read out loud to Nature and share and listen. It is just what I need. Every time. It is always its own devotional.

Speaking of that, if you’ve read me for a while, you know that I follow some very focused and intentional devotional times throughout the day. They are not set in stone, for nothing in Nature is, they are flexible and alive and flowing, the way Nature would intend them to be. Here again, I am meant to be the stillness in these moments, for engaging in them enables me to know movement deeper. And those moments of stillness will, absolutely, call me to movement. In other words, they both move me and they require me to move, as in take some sort of action. They are designed to make my whole life one big moving prayer. And it is. I am in a deeper place that is simmered down, to a concentrated version of meaning for me. A place where my heart is always open to Nature especially, but to life itself, too. I am such a person that appreciates that. Diluted living or Being is not for me. Oscar Wilde once said, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” I want to LLLIIIIVVVVEEEEE this life! To the best and fullest of my ability. Not only that, but I want this: “We do not think ourselves into new ways of living, we live ourselves into new ways of thinking.” - Richard Rohr. Yes!!!

Devotional time is such a rich, lovely part of every day. And so incredibly meaningful to me, while we are on the subject of Sacredness. As I mentioned before, my devotional time includes three books - a poetry book, Beauty, and a sacred feminine book. It also includes a video, from David Whyte, Blessings (which is very fitting), and the word of the day from Grateful Living. When I start my day with my devotional time, it fills me with Beauty and it speaks a blessing over the whole day. Beannacht. Benediction, even. I’ll say it again; when I seek Beauty during my devotional time or next to Sister River or anywhere, it spills out and flows out from me. It’s no accident I see Beauty everywhere, it is getting mirrored back to me because I am full of it. The same way I love myself so well, that love gets mirrored back and I attract love.

Now that I’ve said that, that is a routine I follow, but it isn’t necessarily set in stone. There are variations.

Sunday mornings are my absolute favorite. I hold my own version of worship, right here from the comfort of my bed, with scant or no clothing, bed head curly hair, and a dewy, radiant, fresh face. Of course, there is a cup of coffee (or two) handy. I read and relish my favorite posts that I have saved throughout the week, after my devotional time and it is “The Bomb!” I can watch a video from The Green Renaissance Group and, finally, do some writing of my own; the overflow of all the Beauty I take in on Sunday mornings. Those writings are pure Love. Then I’ll get out of bed and walk to the lake to finish this part of my morning. Nothing else can begin until all of that is over. It is perfection.

I also have had mornings where I included only one or two of my regular sources and then went with my gut. Sometimes, I put off the rest until later because I feel like I need or want more time to digest the message. Still other times, I pick an instrumental version of a song and then read the lyrics to the song after, like reading a poem. That one ALWAYS takes my breath away, probably because music is such a big part of me.

And so, as you might imagine, often devotional time occurs at my Sacred spot, yep, early in the morning, or, at least, the spot that Nature picks for me. I will read aloud all my regular devotionals and add in what is on my heart. I usually bring offerings for Nature and those vary, depending on my mood for the day and what might be on my heart. Sometimes, I create my own offerings, there, in the moment and they are each and all perfection for the moment and the mood. Nature smiles that I am always my whole self. I’ll also allow PLENTY of time to listen and feel the message that is being whispered to me. I’ll look for beautiful rocks to commemorate the day and I always make a note in my books, with a date added, when I read aloud to Nature, along with any reflections that may come back to me during my time along Sister. Because those are important to me.

Why would those be important? I write dates in my books because they are windows into my own timeline in the uncovering of my Soul. My books are especially meaningful, we are particularly intertwined, so I inscribe them with my dates and notes. Which, is ironic because I was terrible at history in school because memorizing all those dates was both a complicated and mind-numbing task.

Even the bookmarks I use in my books have meaning. Anam Cara has flower petals for bookmarks, left for me by an Anam Cara. Another book has a treasure I found the morning after a full blue moon ritual last summer in a secreted away cabin all by myself. One more has a feather that was handy when the book was given to me tucked into its pages. Another bookmark is a coaster from a coffee shop that is, yes, dated. Some have meaningful quotes written on gorgeous postcards, etc. All my books have similarly meaningful markers in them. All these, too, are meaningful and create and carry their own Beauty and enhance my devotional time.

Because I pay attention to seemingly small details, which enable me to see so much Beauty, it also creates meaning for me. There are days that hold special meaning for me that I recognize. For example, I wear camo every single Wednesday to carry someone special with me always. I am NOT, so not, a girl who ever owned one item of camo clothing in my whole life, so this is significant. Some Wednesdays, I allow that someone to carry me. She also inspired the tarot deck that I use most. I also carry a heart shaped rock to commemorate someone else. My tattoos are all meaningful, obvi, sometimes mixed together in perfect harmony. Those are but a few of the examples of things I hold close.

I have a special connection with Nature. We all should and the invitation is always open. Being in Nature balances me. I’ve said before it’s a clay returning to clay moment; because I came from clay, and I come back to it again and again. It’s home to me. It IS me. Along that same thread, it helps me feel connected to the Universe and brings me into a rhythm of life that I can sustain through daily time outside. Remember, we are ALL pieces of the great puzzle of life, we are all interconnected. Being outdoors helps me tune into that. It is where the veil between that Universal world and this one, where my feet walk, is thinner. And as such, I can sense Nature and other spiritual Beings speaking into me there. All of Nature is Sacred and it is all connected, through that mycelial network, so I don’t have to go a particular spot, but I do because I want to have a spot for my own, my Sacred spot, that is more intimate, for those days when I have big feelings or big shares or Nature has something important to tell me.

Thanks for bringing that up, self, let’s talk about that. Sometimes, Nature does, in fact, call me to her. It might be because She has something to say, or I haven’t been to my Sacred spot in a while or simply because She senses that I need to share. For instance, when I was on my morning walk to the lake one morning last summer, a sign came on my way home. I was walking by a fence and the sun happened to be shining through it, casting a shadow on the ground. As I looked at it, I couldn’t help but notice it looked like fish scales. A sign the water is calling me. And, I know it was a good call, because it inspired “calling back the pieces.” Sometimes, the word ‘lighthouse’ reverberates onto my heart and I know I need to visit one, and I do and it’s beautiful. Sometimes, the mountains are highlighted in a certain light that beckons me. Often I’ll just get a sense in me that I’ve come to recognize as a call.

I am inspired in Nature often and in different ways, shapes and forms. Sometimes, a poem comes to me (which is why I’ve taken to carrying pen and notebook with me always, even in my bugout bag). Sometimes, a whole essay comes to me, at least the beginnings of it. Or maybe it started as a poem and was lengthened into an essay, upon reflection. Sometimes it starts with just a picture. I rarely carry Ryker (my Nikon) with me however, so I use my phone which is not the same, but it’ll do. Its recently settled on my heart that my photographer heart needs more stimulation, so I’ll try and heed that.

So, that is a little more about me and my Sacred spot, as well as my views on Sacred in general, in addition to how I sprinkle meaning like fairy dust over my life, throughout every single day and moment. In doing so, I AM celebrating life and holding it Sacred and myself holy and Sacred and creating meaning and purpose in my world and life and growing my Soul, while uncovering parts of it that are yet to be discovered. To an average person, I probably appear downright boring and simple, but when you start peeling back the many, many layers and rings of me, you get a glimpse of how deep that ocean of love is, perhaps. I am grateful for my Sacred spot and for the way I hold things Sacred, it lends Beauty to life.

This song seems to go with this particular post. It’s a great song, and David Draiman’s sonorous voice is stunning, it adds to the song and my time in my Sacred spot does, indeed, entail moments of silence so I can listen to the whispered messages. The “she” that I carry with me by wearing camo has loved ones, who contacted me the other day to request that we go see David Draiman in concert together. And so we will. And we’ll honor our girl and have an amazing time!

Thanks for being here and continuing to read. I pray that your life plays a lovely song filled with Sacred and beautiful moments. With love to you all, XO

Mmmmm!! I LOVE this suggestive picture!!!! Okay, really, ANY suggestive picture. LOL! And the verse. So very, very true! And yes, please. Soul Ink Poetry and Poetry by Onur are two of my favorite sensual and lovely poets that I follow on Pinterest. Delicious!

Since my last post was about a book reading, let’s talk about books!! There was a book pictured in the photo above. Even if your attention went elsewhere. I love to read. I started with a particular book many years ago now, and all others after and since have been completely organic, inspired by the book just prior. It’s been a lovely path. I used to read fluffier books and those are nice once in a while now, but mostly it is books that feed my heart and Soul and make me a better, more well-rounded person. Trust me, I am well-rounded. 🥰

I have a stack of books on my nightstand. Technically speaking, two stacks. One of them always has three books in it - the three books that make up a part of my devotional time every single day. A book about the divine feminine, always a poetry book, and a book by a poet/philosopher.

The other stack on my nightstand are my well-loved books, which, of course, include those in my devotional time (except it IS, technically, a separate stack and the poetry book changes, as does the book from the poet/philosopher). My well-loved handful of books cannot be put away in a bookcase or anywhere else, for that matter. I NEED them close by me at all times. I refer to them often.

When I am sad, I open them. When I am happy, I open them. I let them whisper, speak, and scream into my life. Often, I whisper, speak, and scream back. I eat the words and let them become me. I smile into the books. I laugh and I cry. I hold them in my hands or against my heart when I can’t do anything else. I carry them with me in my car and in my bag and I read them aloud in Nature, to Mother and to trees and rivers and birds. I have them when I hike and when I stroll alongside Mother Ocean and all the moments in between. I read them out loud because I think I have nothing else I can say or I don’t believe I can say it adequately. But, in all honesty, they are the opening dedication, followed by my own words and, often, tears, sometimes wailing, and yes, even screams. It is all directly from my heart and Soul, all the aches and happiness, all mixed together perfectly into one beautiful life.

I pray that you, too, have such a pile of books in your life. I hope they are stained with your tears and embellished with the strawberry-lavender jam from your fingertips or drips of the coffee you sipped while you read or even, perhaps, smears of your blood on a few pages. And so much more! I hope they bear witness to your unraveling and your becoming, too. Because, if you know a book, that is their secret wish. To be a part of you. And those same books, filled with their Soul and now sprinkled with your own Soul, become a masterpiece when you give yourself to them.

My point is those are the books that are in you, and that you have also put yourself into them. Your whole self, from your very Soul, all the way into those deep, dark parts. I hope they are intertwined with you like umbilical cords and that one day, you will find yourself birthed anew from them. Really, I pray that happens over and over and over because life is a journey, not a destination.

And then, there is the even bigger pile of books to be read. A few of these are interspersed into my nightstand stack, because I’m sure I’m going to love them. The real pile of books to be read is in my closet. My actual closet, not some proverbial, imagined space, interspersed among bones tossed there. I don’t really have such a closet. All my laundry is hanging out for people to see. Even those delicate parts 🤭

Sometimes I select a book from this pile. But darn it all if I don’t go to the bookstore all the time and find new ones that come first, before that growing other pile of books. I really SHOULD read some of those, but there are so many good books in the world!! And so little time, currently, to read them all.

Did you think I was actually going to recommend books to you? No, silly!! Though, technically speaking, I DID kind of recommend a book in my last post. So there’s one. And, likely, if you’ve paid attention, you could name at least a handful of others.

Find your own books that speak to you, that help you build the life you want to build. And, if when you are reading such a book, that author recommends another book, then read that one, too! That is how I started this many years’ journey of book reading that I have been on. If you really wanted to know what I am reading, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out some of those. But, again, read what inspires you, and helps you on your own journey. I wouldn’t expect our path or our journey to be exactly the same or the same things that jump out for me in books to be the things you also notice.

If, while you are reading whatever book you choose, you think of me, then, by ALL means, please reach out and tell me what you are reading, why I popped into your head along with it, and tell me about the book. Maybe I’ve read it, maybe I haven’t. Maybe I will someday. Perhaps I will want to after our discussion about it. And I will, then, share one of my many go-to books with you there.

I will share this little story nugget, relating to books. I know!! I’m actually going to tell a side story that relates directly to the thing I’m talking about. Gonna keep it linear today, folks. LOL! Life is an odd little thing, sometimes. Well, most of the time, yeah? Often, patterns and odd happenings occur. You know? It’s like the curtains of life don’t close all the way between acts and you happen to catch a glimpse of something you weren’t exactly meant to see. However, having grown up performing in musicals has taught me to be very focused in on the curtains of life, so it’s not unusual that I see things often.

Just last month, as a matter of fact, I was reading through my devotional books and strangely, they all happened to end at the very same time. Which isn’t possible. I have read them all before on multiple occasions and they are not exactly the same number of days in length to read, if I read one selection at a time. I finished my divine feminine book again, my poetry book, and Beauty all at once. And so, the next day, which happened to be on the 22nd of September, fall equinox, I restarted my divine feminine book. I am once again re-reading Anam Cara as part of my devotional series, and I began the book of poetry that I purchased on one of my recent trips to Mother Ocean - the mermaid’s voice returns in this one.

And, P.S., I am loving this book of poetry because it really isn’t like what I might have imagined it would be, based on the title name. I thought it might contain a lot of sea shanty-type poetry, sprinkled with some mermaid dust. It is actually dark and moody. Which, if you know me, is also well-suited to this particular mermaid because I can be quite dark and broody. Turns out, it is precisely the book I was meant to read in this season.

Right out of the gate, the first poem in my book is “warning I” and it starts off, “this is not a mermaid’s tail tale…” and it goes on to say there is no sea-maiden or sea-sky and so on. Which I strongly disagree with. This particular mermaid is filled with Mother Ocean; I carry her with me. As you recall from my post about her, we are alike; like mother, like daughter.

The poem ends, “is the story | of how | they tried | to quiet her | & how her screams | dismantled | the moon.”

Mmmm. I love that -- Dismantled the moon.

Dismantled the moon.

Dismantled the moon…

That, my friends, if you know nothing about the divine feminine, is something. We ARE the moon and so, to dismantle it, would mean we were dismantling ourselves. And that is precisely what needs to happen when you are a divine feminine, you need to dismantle the you that you think you are because you are about to birth a new you. Why am I telling you all this?

It is crazy ironic, that I happened to begin reading this on the fall equinox, because the feminine is about being aligned with the cycles inherent in life and being in flow with the Universe, so it all makes sense in one of those odd little life moments, where I get to dismantle myself beginning on this particular day. On a day that is aligned with deep reflection, transformation and letting go of what no longer serves us (in other words…dismantling). For such a time as this. Huge! I wonder what the new me will be like?

Messages along those same lines continue to pop up for me and, as they settle, it feels as if I am being called to something. I don’t know why, exactly, but the morning I came to that realization, an old and beloved song from my youth popped into my head. The lyrics feel like something I might say to myself, as I begin to unravel, so that a new version of me can be birthed. I do tend to look back at myself for ways to move forward, so the message feels like I am not to forget about my younger self and, indeed, it feels like WHY I am doing this - for my younger self, which, of course, benefits my now self.

This book of poetry, too, is really speaking to me right now. Did I say it was dark and moody? Yep. It’s whispering into places I can’t ignore. It’s growing me and sharpening my wisdom.

So, this, then, is WHY I say find your own books and find and then follow your own path. Whatever that path is and however you find it will be up to you and you alone. Yes, I could recommend some very amazing books, but that isn’t doing you any favors because you aren’t needed on my path. You’re needed on your own. It’s calling for you. P.S. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t love to have a companion on my path briefly. I would, absolutely, hold your hand and off we’d skip together. Eventually, though, either our paths are going to split and/or I'm going to send you off, with kisses and warm hugs and blessings, to your own path.

I think you’ll find, though, if you read a book and you enjoy it and you read another book that is recommended in that book, you’ll likely enjoy that book as well. Before you know it, you’ll have this complex labyrinth of a book path, where you may not even remember what the first one was and that is totally okay. Books are not jealous Beings. They feel entirely comfortable remaining themselves while you look at other books that are not them. They just want you to keep going. That is their most important directive. Sometimes, it feels like the books whisper amongst each other, on the shelves, and insert their own book recommendations right into their own pages, specifically so I can follow their path. It often feels very handpicked. I’m not even kidding.

Now…if you want to talk about movies…some of my most favorite movies follow a very simple pattern, cuz I am such a Romantic. Duh. Because love conquers all. And is eternal. I’ll leave you to imagine what those may be. But I will mention you can NEVER go wrong with Meryl Streep. Or Steve Martin, who are both in a movie I love. But you also can’t go wrong with Diane Keaton. Or Jack Nicholson. I could go on and on. Those four, however, are in some of my favorite movies, sometimes together. And, yes, there are other actors I adore, but I don’t need to list them all.

Again, you didn’t actually think I was going to list movies, did you? Weirdly, the ones that really stick with me are those love stories with a tragic ending, because love never really gets to unfurl completely, it only ever just begins and then is cut short. Yep, I know. But…then again, if love is eternal and goes with us, then I have to believe it continues after we’re gone.

Speaking of love, I love you each and I am so blessed and humbled to have you here with me!! Have a beautiful week!! XO

Alrighty. Let’s dig in. You know a few things about my very far past now. Which is a great point to circle back to this post. Let’s talk about me coming to the end of my dark period and the insight and lessons I received. I’ve had some time, now, to let all that sink deep into me and it’s time to share more about that, as well. I needed you to know some background about me, so I could be very gentle, extremely vulnerable, yet full of Soul and all heart in telling this part of it. You’ll see why.

But first…I’m going to add in again this wonderful quote from David Whyte, just as I had originally posted it in part I - with some lovely music to listen to in the background and a whole lot of Beauty. Once again, from David Whyte’s Nostalgia (you can read here):

Before I share about the quote and article, just a reminder of our secret language phrase: “Danielle, tell me just one thing.” I’ve been taking care of myself, making my own decisions, paving my own way, and raising up myself since I was about 8. It is really hard for me to include other people in on that because I’ve been doing it forever. When I am facing something big and I would normally do it myself, remind me to tell you just one thing so that I remember there are people around that care about me and I can share my life with them. I am going to stumble here, but please don’t let me fall. Or, at the very least, help me back up when I DO fall.

First things first. As part of the article and the book excerpt that I am going to share, there is specific language there that is used and I’m just going to quote it and share it like it is. Then I’ll address the elephant in the room. K?

I began reading this book about archetypes in women over 50. It was lovely. I learned so much about myself. Errrr…confirmed (?) so much about what I already thought I knew about myself. Yeah, that’s it. The book dives right in with the topic of wisdom, in various forms, as seen through four goddesses. There is an introductory phase for the wisdom topic before it addresses each of the goddesses and what specific wisdom they held. No surprise here, but several of them REALLY resonated with me.

Then I came upon this quote from the book that I read by Bolen: “In my practice, I hear how children who were neglected or suffered abuse drew solace and wisdom from an inner source. As a result, they did not identify with their oppressors and so did not grow up to become like the adults who neglected or abused them. Drawing from wisdom beyond their years, they could survive such childhoods without a loss of Soul.”

Whoa, right? I mean that deserves a moment of silence. Start now. Even if it is just one second for every year I’ve gone around the sun. Minus 8. Or whatever; math isn’t required. Just give it some silence.

That is big! That is SO much bigger than anything I thought I did for myself when I was a kid, and I did some very big things. All by myself (but with guidance from the spirit world Beings, of course), relying upon my intuition. In reading this quote, I KNOW, without a doubt, that is exactly, EXACTLY, what I did. I drew wisdom from an inner source. That, right there, boggles my mind; how a kid could connect with that!!! WTF? And secondly, I absolutely did not grow up to become like the adults in my life then. As if those two things were not enough, I ALSO did not lose Soul. In fact, I think I gained a whole lot of it. Whoa!!

Maybe another moment of silence is in order…

So, it goes without saying, when I first read this, I reflected again on my childhood. From a celebratory standpoint. Yep. Neglect is a very strong word. One I wouldn’t use when I talk about my past. I also try very hard to not use the word hate. Another strong word. I’m not saying I was, necessarily, in fact, neglected. I would never. But let’s talk about the reality, first of all.

I was home alone way more often than not. Mom was a single mom, raising two girls and working full time and she was going to school to try and get her bachelor’s degree, to make a better life for herself. So, she was rarely around. She was either working or at school or out letting her hair down. I completely get it, being a mom and a woman. Raising two kids on your own is super hard and is never ending. You get exhausted and need your own space because it’s hard to get a break. I am completely understanding of what my mom may have been feeling at that point in her life. I don’t fault her or place blame on her. At all.

But, given the amount of time I was at home alone, and, thus, what I had to take care of on my own, it occurred to me that I might possess some of these same traits. Again, neglect is not a word I would use to describe my situation, regardless of how often I was on my own at home. I want to repeat, though this is what brought me to my lesson(s), it isn’t the focus of what I want to say. I want to celebrate the gifts associated with it, as well as look for ways to grow. Positive framing. That’s what I do. I also need to say, though I can certainly connect with how my mom felt, I am nothing like my mom (or dad) when it comes to my kids.

Okay. Elephant addressed. We talked about “the word.”

Instead, I see my childhood as a time that I was connected deeply to something bigger than myself. I didn’t choose this path as much as it chose me. Way back when I was a kid. It just took a lot of time and space to tenderize me enough to get to this point, where I can be the me that I am now. In full. More about that in a bit (hint: it relates to my mermaid self and my ocean of love). Who or what I am now is the collateral beauty of what I endured as a child, the great gnawing aloneness of my childhood. That was the ultimate gift for me to be here and be the me that I am. Now my Soul can express itself through me in some pretty cool ways. I see that now and I am letting her shine.

In addition to those profound reasons, I have been cooking and baking for myself since I was 8. There are some people in my life now that think I am making this up. Even when my dad recalls a Father’s Day when I made him spaghetti and a lemon meringue pie from scratch, all by myself, when I was under 10 (somewhere around 8). He brings it up, still. And often. I am pretty amazing at cooking and baking. When my sister moved out, she had no idea how to cook. Like, she couldn’t even boil an egg. I did not have that same issue.

I am also pretty amazing at being connected to Soul. Obvi. Shouldn’t even need to explain that one. If I do, then you haven’t been reading me long enough :-) No, that was not a gratuitous plug to read more of me (as if!), just a simple statement.

I also learned firsthand how to solve problems on my own, making me very self-sufficient and independent. Totally not bad traits to have. It doesn’t take long, when you are on your own, to figure out how to get stuff done. Or how to handle situations that present themselves: like waking up one morning to the sound of strangers, who have broken into your house, rifling through drawers and pacing around the house and you are all alone in handling it. Yep. I’ve handled more than my share of stuff. Cuz I’ve had to.

Yes, I had a roof over my head and there was food - I just had to figure out how to make it myself. I knew how to (because I was expected to and I had to) take care of my own needs - showering, caring for/cleaning up after myself, taking care of myself when I was sick, and basically making it as if I never existed in the way that I left no trace of myself, etc. The only downside was that I really needed some emotional and physical closeness to others (I still do, maybe even more so now). Those were the parts that were severely lacking in my childhood, the ones that got neglected. Uuufff…just saying it makes me feel bad. Overlooked. The emotional and physical closeness aspects were overlooked in particular, but mostly I, as a person, was overlooked.

Nevertheless, I look at the whole thing as an adventure in getting to know myself and what I was capable of. That, in my mind, is NEVER a bad thing. Plus, I’d like to think it made me very empathetic and compassionate as a mom and a woman, gave me some insight into the kind of mom and woman I’d like to be, and it made me a lover because when I was finally released into the world, I had some knowledge, some wisdom from all those lifetimes before me, and this time helped me discover how much love I have to share with others. All wonderful gifts.

And then? THIS article came into my perspective, after having seen that quote from my shiny new book, the one I shared from above, within a few days of me seeing that quote. In case you didn’t feel like clicking the link, the article is titled, “15 Habits of Adults Who Were Victims of Childhood Neglect.” Here is a link to the article I read (though it’s in a different format).

I know! I have said that I don’t see it as neglect, and I don’t. But since the quote got me started thinking about the neglect aspect, and that I may have some similar traits because of my time alone, it seemed right to follow along with it now. Granted, most of these traits don’t apply to me. This is one area where I don’t want a high batting average necessarily. However, it DOES make me see that there are things I need to loosen my grip on a little at first, and then, perhaps, I can settle into an even deeper mindset about it.

If you open the link, cool. Totally not necessary, though because I’m about to admit my habits to you that are a part of this article. If you’ve read me for a while, perhaps you’ve figured them out for yourself. Independence and self-reliance are two of the biggest ones. I’ve pointed these out plenty. I put them in my first “just one thing” post, and I repeated them above. I talk about them a lot. One of the other habits listed, trusting others, also stems from that other thing in my past.

Again, independence and self-reliance are two amazing traits to have, there is nothing wrong with them. Except when you put yourself next to others, as I obviously do. Because those traits scream at the top of their lungs in a most disagreeable voice, “Don’t get near me, I don’t want (or need) your help!” And so, as you can see, it makes it really hard to get close to other people. Not just close but intertwined and intermingled close. Yeah, in order to get some emotional and physical closeness, which I am hungry for, I need to take down these walls or, at least, have them be less screechy, so others will want to be close to me.

At first, after reading this article, it felt like someone peed in my Wheaties, the high I was on, after having read that quote and seeing the positive side of my childhood situation. The bubble had certainly popped, withered, and deflated, looking all wrinkly, like a raisin. I did the only thing I could. I put that raisin someplace I could see it, then I climbed into my retreat bed on the other side of the room and pulled the covers up to my eyeballs as I inspected it, rather suspiciously and with a healthy amount of caution, from a distance. I spent some time reading and re-reading this article over and over in the few days after I found it. Checking in with myself to ask whether I WAS any of the things on the list, other than those glaring at me, and really wanting to learn the answer. Truly. I even asked the bestie. Of course. Just to ensure I was accurately seeing myself.

After a few days, I put aside that bursting bubble feeling, coming to the realization that only those few, the ones I first thought, applied to me, and it could be entirely different than that. I can use some work with them, yes, but I can still turn it around, even being an old dog. After sitting with it a while longer, I realized they were still a blessing for me because it helped me be the me that I am now and I CAN do something about them, which is where the phrase (and my previous post), “Danielle, tell me just one thing” was born. Throwing the covers aside and rising from my retreat bed, I walked to the raisin, picked it up and said, “It’s just a silly raisin. Duh!” And so, I threw it out. Over my left shoulder. Outside. Maybe a bird would come along and carry it far away.

That was also the impetus for seeking Beauty. To heal, to bring joy and gratitude and so on (see below). I needed to re-engage with life, dissolve isolation (especially in light of my childhood) and celebrate life. Every part of it. I need to be around others so I can be vulnerable and honest and open and, in short, be me. To put the action into Beauty for myself (and others). I can’t know it, unless I’ve lived it, yeah? And then I can’t share it, either. I’m sure you’ve also figured this out: it also helped me engage in some emotional and physical closeness (at least, temporarily) with others. And THAT is always a beautiful thing!

I laid eyes on this quote about Beauty, which I love, from Plotinus:

Yeah? I declare. I SSSSSSOOOOOOOOO declare!!!!

There is so much to appreciate about this quote. The first thing that stands out is the word induce. Induce. Induce. You see where this is heading, right? Because when else is the term “induce” commonly used? With a pregnant woman, who is about to give birth. Beauty puts us, the right Souls, these keen feelers, these Lovers, like me, in the right place to begin birthing something spectacular and delightful.

And, P.S., you may remember from my first “just one thing” post this line, about how I was feeling after having come out of the period of darkness: “Tender in a way that is filled with awe and wonder and joy and gratitude and certainly love.” Whoa! That sounds a lot like the quote above. You might even say I have birthed all new levels of all that loveliness.

I’m going to be my whole self here, for a moment. Close your eyes or skip ahead to the next paragraph if you can’t tolerate any mention of the erotic. Because I AM erotic. I can’t help but think of a lovely, full body, all the way to the toes, full release orgasm when I read the quote above. I mean ‘induce’, ‘delicious trouble’, ‘trembling that is all delight’, ‘delight in the beauty of the body’ and ‘known as Lovers’. Yes. Yes. Yes! YES!! And YYYYYEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! Mmm, mmmmmmm!!!!

Let’s go back to when I was a kid and all I wrote about my mom above. Listen, moms get none of the glory. Being one, I get that. I have two of my own children still with me, along with 350ish of the not blood related variety. Relationships with our moms (parents) can be difficult because of all the stuff, yeah? All of this gives me serious insight into my relationship with my mom, yes, but also my sister’s relationship with my mom. In a way, all that overlooking served me well because it brought me to here.

I’ll admit that, when searching through my past for the truths therein, I still get triggered. I didn’t have anyone to talk with or to help me when I was younger and dealing with hard things. In most ways, I still don’t. I think in those moments, that I’ve been branded “alone” and that it’s a life sentence. I KNOW that’s not the truth. I love myself fiercely and my bestie is the cream of the crop. I also have a very close relationship with aloneness as well as belonging and I am riding the threshold between the two, quite well, actually. Since that nightmare two years ago now that made me feel extremely alone and isolated and coming out of that with some positive lessons, though I do still want and need emotional and physical closeness with others, I’ve now come to a beautiful inner landscape where I feel more comfortable being alone than I ever did. That’s not to say that sometimes I don’t still feel alone. I do. Then I remember all I’ve come through and that helps. A lot.

I recently heard a quote that resonated: “Creating a life of meaning combats pain.” Right? It’s what I’ve been doing my whole life - creating meaning. The beautiful life I’ve made for myself outshines any pain or suffering. Not to mention I’m so connected to my Soul, I found that inner wellspring of love, that makes even the absence of external sources of love, as well as all the damage from my past, understandable and perhaps even necessary because it makes me love myself even more. There is an inner, deep part of me that has never been damaged by anyone else, it is THIS part of myself that I have nurtured back to its fullness and how I live so completely. It is the best part of me because it has never been hurt, it is fully alive and innocent, full of intuition and wisdom.

Having no one to share with, I learned to hold myself, listen to those Beings, and I poured myself into my music (music held me, too) and into honing cooking skills. I developed a lot of self-compassion, patience, grace, and a lot of capacity for listening to the whispers of the Sacred Beings around me. I cultivated the growth of my own Soul. And, yes, also becoming more independent and self-sufficient in the process because I HAD to be. I know I don’t have to be as much anymore because I have a precious few people now that I can rely on. Not to mention knowing your own triggers helps you be more mindful and compassionate for yourself and understanding of feelings that seem to come up out of nowhere. It also makes me gifted in working with children with disabilities who feel very interiorly isolated. I totally understand them. For reals.

I think about my younger self, and I comfort her. I give her the attention and the mirroring she wanted and needed as she grew. I tell her I love her, and she is worthy of love. All that compassion directed inward helped me learn to love myself for who I was and who I am. It softened my heart for myself and, thus, for others.

I just have to say it again. I “drew solace and wisdom from an inner source” AND “without a loss of Soul.” Right? I grew my beautiful Soul during my childhood. I connected with my essential self, that inner source, learned and became fluent in two ancient languages, and I grew this absolutely gorgeous Soul of mine. Oh!!!! I also learned some really cool shit along the way, like being strong, courageous, compassionate, and, most importantly, say it with me now, how to love myself, as well as developing my own magic and wisdom and intuition and spiritual and non-spiritual strengths and gifts.

*whispering* I am NOT perfect, and I never will be. And I love myself just the way I am. Perfectly and beautifully imperfect with a big, full, gushy, floppy heart and a Soul the size of Texas and a gorgeous mermaid tail. Sometimes when the same people cancel plans over and over or they are just not present, I still get triggered (triggers that overlooked feeling). Because I’m human. But I know why I get triggered, so I sit deeply with it and I soften to myself and, more importantly, to others. It grows my compassion for myself and for others, which, in turn, grows my heart and my Soul and my mermaid tail.

Écouter!!! Yes, I was not emotionally or physically supported during my childhood. I did not feel safe as a result. I daresay it wasn't just a matter of feeling safe, I wasn’t safe. Period. When some pretty tragic and unpleasant things happened, I had no one but myself to rely on to talk to or to help me through it. But that inner source I sought wisdom from, and, thus, the growing of my Soul, allowed me to carve deeper canyons of love for myself. And then I filled those canyons with water, not just any water though. The water that I love. Water made of thunderstorms and downpours and gray mist and my own tears and fog and melted snow, perhaps a little water from the garden hose of my youth. Not to mention a little borrowed water from all the rivers, lakes, oceans, and waterfalls I have frequented throughout my life. I made my own ocean of love in the deep canyons of love that I had carved for myself. What else could I HAVE done, except shed my clothes, grow a mermaid tail, and swim in it? *whispering* What else? Now. Now you get some idea of just how deep that ocean is, and how saturated with love it truly is, and why I am the ideal mermaid to swim there. And, not that I need a reason or an excuse, either, but it’s a great thing to be a frequent crier - my ocean of love needs to be topped off now and then. It’s not my personal ocean anymore (hasn’t been for a while now), it’s open to anyone and everyone.

Anyone and everyone? Through “Danielle, tell me just one thing,” through exposing my vulnerability, beginning with my bestie, who I met over 20 years ago now, and through these essays, I have learned to let others hold me and show me I am loveable and, sometimes, on good days, I even believe them. Sidebar: I always believe the children I work with because they tell it like it is, without pretense or ulterior motives. In little baby steps, I’ve let myself be more and more vulnerable and more and more loved. Even while, unbelievably, I keep discovering new pockets of love for myself. Which, as you know, attracts even more love to me. And I’ve learned to trust others again (cautiously), as well, while listening to my intuition.

I am still learning this. And you know what? Turns out that a woman with a big floppy heart, a Soul the size of Texas and a gorgeous mermaid tail is just what others needed. I can support myself and others, with tons of love still to give, and, at the same time, also be supported, too. Mostly by people I never saw coming to support me. People who also have big floppy hearts, Souls the size of Texas and their own gorgeous mer-tails, looking for an ocean to swim in.

Oh, and by the way, I happened upon THIS article when I was done typing this post. I didn’t go looking for it, it just appeared - this message in a bottle that washed ashore on the beach of my ocean of love. I much prefer it because it is a lot more positive focused than the other one. As I go through these traits, I DO have a high batting average. The only thing I am not is a people pleaser and I will say that I prefer no drama over thriving in drama (though I am a pretty level-headed and calm person, even in the face of drama - someone just reminded me of this the other day at work). This is something I can get behind and celebrate!!! ‘Scuse me…continue celebrating. I wholeheartedly suggest a swim party celebration. I know a nearby ocean that’s perfect. Bathing suits optional. Duh. Mermaids don’t wear bathing suits. Capiche??

Dissolving isolation. Celebrating life. It’s what self-made mermaids swimming in deep oceans of love are made for.

Thanks for being here and for reading! 🥰❤️ I hope you are well, wherever you are. I love you! XO

It had been an absolutely delightful nights’ sleep. Granted, this was my own bed. I was used to the inhabitants’ activity in THIS place; this was normal. I could sleep through the typical noises I was used to. I rose, visited the loo, and immediately started dressing so I could go outside. I looked forward to getting out, to getting back on my own routine, after having a girls “weekend” away with my mom, having just gotten back the evening before, quite late, actually.

Believing that she would be moving out of state soon, my mom had asked me to take her to the “peninsula” before the end of summer. One last hurrah before she left. I’ve been in this place, this “I’m moving” place, many times, actually. I’m not sure she will EVER actually get to move, given the number of years this has happened. Nevertheless, how could I say no? She rarely asks for such things from me, and we won’t get many more opportunities for these kinds of things. Also, she absoLUTEly asked the right daughter. Right? I mean, I live for the ocean. And, more importantly, my sister isn’t here to take her.

Back to my “return to regularly scheduled programming” business, I was delighted, when I came upstairs briefly, to note that there was heavy fog outside. Likely an indicator why it was hard for me to determine what time it was when I first woke, because the fog was veiling the light. I looked forward to getting out even more. It was blissful walking in the fog down to the lake.

The landscape here missed me, that is what it is telling me, as it takes me by the hand and walks with me down to the lake. It’s showing me all the Beauty that I love here, and how that, too, is a part of my innermost landscape. The two of us mixed together? Absolutely stunning. I whisper, “I see you!! I’ve missed you, as well. We are within each other. Truly, we have never left each other. I can always, ALWAYS, count on you to hold me, just as I hold you.” We walk silently, then, wrapped in each other.

When I got down to the lake, the rowing crew were just appearing at the dock, cloaked by the fog. The world’s volume was turned down; everything was muted. A big fluffy quilt had been laid over my slice of the world, dampening the sounds and colors and brightness of the world. Until I was out in it, I hadn’t realized this is JUST what I needed. Providence had once again made itself known to me. After being on mom’s schedule and being a private tour guide (one of my more amazing talents, which is quite odd, for such an interior gal) for three days the last week of August, I needed the quiet and the solitude that fog gifted me, to refill my Soul. The fog did its job beautifully. And thank you, Mother Nature, for taking such good care of me.

It gave me an itch to leave the lake and take pictures but again, providence interceded on my behalf. As I began walking away from the lake, blowing it a kiss goodbye, magically the fog began to disappear at an alarming rate, such that, by the time I would have returned home, there wouldn’t be any fog left to photograph. Mother did not want me running off and making more “to do” for myself, but instead wanted me to remain immersed in this quiet and subdued moment and so she took away any distractions from that.

Returning home from my walk, I lit a yummy scented candle, murmuring a prayer, and got right into a hot, oiled and bubbled bath for a very long time. My youngest teenager knocked on the door several times, wanting my attention, and wanting it now and, then a little later, now again, but he needed to wait until I was ready. I was on “Danielle” time this morning, not tour guide time or mom time or daughter time. It is just as important that I model to my kids that taking time for yourself is essential. It was the loveliest morning, tending to my needs and nourishing myself. I love immersing myself in silence and getting lost in solitude. It softens me and melts away impurities - it’s pretty hard to be anything except authentic in solitude. :-)

There was a change of plans, just a few days before we left, mom and me. Unbeknownst to her. I realized the place I had chosen was not going to do. At all. And so, I changed location and reservations and made new plans. The new plans were to another place that I have also been to at least half a dozen times (if not more) and is quaint enough, given that I am an explorer, that I know it well. There would be more to see and do in the updated place, along with a better choice of restaurants, than the original place I had chosen. The instant I picked her up the morning that we left, as soon as she settled into the car, she said she was looking forward to “XYZ.” For the record, where we were going didn’t necessarily have that thing available (and wasn’t really available in the former place, either - there just wasn’t a way for her to “have it all”). Never mind. I would figure it out.

There was a lot of time to talk as we drove the morning I picked her up to leave. A lot of time. We talked. I was trying to mine as much information as I could get, it felt important right now. She’s always been a little forgetful. She had a transplant surgery a few summers back and some of her meds have awful side effects, including some memory issues. I’ve noticed each time I see her, things get a little more blurred, at least in her short-term memory. So I wanted to know as much as I could without feeling like it was some kind of grand inquisition. Some things I knew, but I wanted to hear them again. I asked her about the men over her life. We talked about motherhood and womanhood, about menopause and about our youth, about sisterhood and daughterhood. We talked about my hub, her sharing some truths I had already discovered, and about her hub. We talked about life. And death.

We stopped for lunch after being on a road a few hours and had an absolutely scrumptious (dilly umptious, even) meal. Mom does not follow my same pattern of eating in a regular day and for sure not what I do when I am away, my usual MO. It is all okay, though. This trip is not about me, but about her. We had also made a stop at a grocery store to grab a few essentials - not groceries! Mom loves eating out, especially in new places. Few things excite her more, actually, than the prospect of a meal out.

After a long drive, we arrived at our location. We had just enough time to walk around town a little and then we found a place to eat dinner there in town. After dinner, we returned to our cabin, then set out to walk down to Mother Ocean. Mom didn’t feel safe, so she wanted to return to the cabin. Then I returned to visit with Mother Ocean. It was an absolutely gorgeous evening, though it is always windy here and, thus, chilly.

I, of course, wanted to see Mother Ocean in all her glory during the sunset, so I stayed long enough to bear witness to that, tucking her in and giving her a kiss - something I don’t often get to do for her.

When I returned to the cabin, mom had been worried for my safety. I reminded her I am never more safe than when I am in my element.

The next day was full. We woke and readied ourselves for the day. First things first: Mom needed breakfast and a coffee, so I took her to a nearby little place that had a delicious breakfast and a drip coffee for me. Here’s a secret: I’m a closet diner coffee lover. Ah, hell. I’m just a coffee lover. You’ll learn more about that soon. Then we set off to a nearby bay to visit a rainforest. We were gifted with one huge tree after another. It was a beautiful walk!

Just so you get an idea of how big these truly gorgeous cedar trees were:

Yep - that is little old, tree-hugging me. Granted, I am a tiny fairy, a tree sprite, a wood nymph, or dryad. The trees were massive. And ever so beautiful. I plopped down in front of them and read a story.

We departed here and set out to visit a lighthouse, which mom was really looking forward to. It was a little bit longer walk than I anticipated (for mom’s sake, right around a half mile), because mom required lots of stops to rest, so it took a long while. Again, this was not about me - it was for mom - helping her wish come true, and so I waited patiently and lovingly for her.

Along the way, we came across this beautiful little cove, called “Dead Man’s Cove.” Mom couldn’t walk down here to the beach, it was too steep and too much detritus to navigate, so she waited for me, continuing to walk on so “I wouldn’t have to wait for her,” as she told me. I could see how someone could be in danger if the water came all the way up and you were caught in there. At the same time, it occurred to me it was a secreted away haven if you happened to be a pair of lovers. Ever the romantic! Who else could think of such a thing in a place named after death? Only a romantic. Only me. I see a darker alternative there, also, but I needn’t dwell on that.

Not that there is a damn thing wrong with being a sensuous woman or a romantic, for that matter! The only thing missing is my lover and a full moon. I thought deeply about it, though, as I enjoyed the cove and walked along its edge and over the driftwood gathered there. I could clearly picture myself, wrapped in my lover’s arms, on the beach, locked in a passionate embrace and kiss…for starters… 🤭 With warmth in my heart, I climbed back up the hill to mom and on we walked.

The lighthouse was gorgeous up close, time worn you could even say, with softened edges. Although I have been to this area many times before, I have never walked up to the lighthouse itself. It was even more beautiful up close than from a distance. I do truly love how time worn it is. In my humble opinion, that makes it even more beautiful! I could have bowed to it, for all its service! It has been standing steadfast since 1856, when it first came into service, THE oldest lighthouse in my state. It is planted on a slice of rock where a great river meets Mother Ocean. I DID however, stand with my hand upon it and ran my hand all along the outside of it, gathering energy and visions of all it has borne witness to. SOOOOO good!!!! The last time I saw it, it was at one tip of a horseshoe shaped cove, and I was at the other. Lighthouses, too, are EVER so romantic. *SIGH*

There is a nearby interpretive center which was another walk. Mom offered to wait for me, but I opted not to go. This was about her, not me, remember? After that walk, seeing her frailness, I didn’t like the idea of leaving her side. It’s not like I would never be back. Lighthouses, mountains, forests, and the ocean all call to me on a regular basis, and I always heed their call.

After that walk, guess what? Yep, mom was ready for another meal. On our way, we stopped at a lookout and were gifted a lovely view of the ocean. I ate as lightly as I could (and my food was a masterpiece and delicious, too)! I already needed some detoxing (belch…’scuse me). After lunch, we shopped at some of the stores we had not been in the evening before. Then, mom decided she needed to rest, so I dropped her back at the cabin and walked back into town, so she could have some quiet. I opted to drive back and park at a distance from the lighthouse and take a walk out on the jetty so I could again read a story to Mother.

I returned back at our cabin just in time for another meal. Yikes! So thankful for the walks this afternoon. Even though it was a warm day, soup is what I chose to eat. I was sure there was no more room in my stomach. After dinner, we drove down, as far as we could go, to the oceanside, so mom wouldn’t be fearful about walking but so, too, she wouldn’t have to walk far. I used my camera to zoom in on the other lighthouse here, so mom could see it.

Then, we went back to our cabin for the evening. I had some homework to get done, while mom did some reading. After I finished, I asked mom if she wanted to hear some of my writing. She did. And so I read to her. Her comments, and the discussion that followed, are only meant for me, so there they will stay.

The next morning, we went to another restaurant for breakfast. This meal was not the best. I will say that, though I am not a big fan of eating out, we had visited some very good places. This particular place is one we happened to drive by the day before and so we tried it. Most of the others I had researched ahead of time. Mom is very selective about her food, in some interesting ways. Sadly, they did not offer espresso, so afterwards, we made a stop at a stand for mom. Then she wanted to go see the second lighthouse here, before we left for our roundabout journey home.

So incredibly beautiful!! I opted to go to the top. I wanted to take in the view that the lighthouse has had, lo these many years. A headland is situated southwest of this lighthouse and obscures the light from the other, when coming from the north, so this lighthouse was constructed in 1897 to correct that problem, only two miles from the other lighthouse we saw yesterday.

Sadly, they no longer use a Fresnel lens, which is beautiful just on its own. The first order one that used to be here is on display, however, at the interpretive center that I didn’t get a chance to go to this trip. I absolutely will, though. If it was part of this landscape, and it was, then I need to lay my eyes on it. The view did not disappoint! Duh! How could it be wrong?

Beach as far as the eye can see! The way it should be!! I am entirely sure this is where I should settle when I am older. Seriously. I have been here a number of times over the years and it has everything I love. Mother Ocean, tons of forest and hiking trails, lighthouses, and it is close enough to a ton of other places I can adventure to. Also, this particular place is known to have up to 100 days of fog every year. SOLD!! Teachers are needed everywhere. Something for me to think about!!

We headed over the border into another state to visit another quaint little town that I am familiar with, and I took my mom to a place she hadn’t even known had existed. Again, I climbed to the top of a tower to get these videos (couldn’t get one long continuous one because there were other people at the top I had to skip over). The view takes my breath away.

After this stop there was, you guessed it, yet another meal. Again, just a place we happened by, but it was tasty and yet another masterpiece. Followed by a very, very long drive home. And, as you might imagine, it was just long enough to need yet another meal.

Mom and I had a very lovely time. I don’t think I disappointed her with my choice of destination. There was plenty for her to do and eat (belch…’scuse me) and we learned a little bit more about each other and, likely, about ourselves, as well. In a way, I needed this time with her, for her to see me in ways she hadn’t before, but, too, so I could know this older version of her more fully.

Mmmm…an out of the ordinary and “surprise” post for this week. Which is becoming a thing lately. My youngest woke with a sore throat the weekend after the start of school. Yep, just after three days of school. I have had a couple of my own surprise experiences, too, this last week. One involving a spider. The other one the very next day, I very clearly heard someone whispering to me, as if right next to me, “You have a prayer,” as I lie down in my bed one school night evening and in a voice I recognize. Not out of the ordinary, mind you, just a surprise.

In school (my work) news, as of 7 days into work this school year, my assignment has changed three times already, beyond the assignment I had on day one of this fall. I could tell my boss felt really awkward having that third conversation with me, to tell me I was needed elsewhere. It's totally okay. I'm just going to be sunshine and love, no drama, no pressure. That's why she keeps asking, and I am okay with that. I WANT to be approachable and good at my work and, of course, breezy (which she did point out). On the same day she asked me to change rooms again, which happened in the morning, she asked me to ride the bus with a former student, due to an emergent situation, late that afternoon. I smiled and made lemonade. 🍋🍋 I was thirsty anyway! I'll do whatever is needed, with a smile on my face and love in my heart. I was gifted extra time to appreciate some lovely kids, over my normal work day this day. I’ll take it!! I also discovered a pole sister is a parent of a student at my school, which was a nice surprise. She invited me to watch her dance in a few weeks, which, of course, I jumped at the chance of doing.

Finally, last Friday afternoon, I was being a little extra. It was a good first full week at work. I came home to read a lovely story Stack written by a dear Soul that made my eyes well up; followed by another Stack post written by a Soul sister that made my eyes well even more; followed by opening my college work, to find a recent assignment had been graded and the teacher sent me a personal note about my work. This has happened with one other teacher before, but it touches me deeply. Part of it is just how tender I am. The other part of it, maybe 65%, is that I am at the end of Week Three in this class. I am noticing that is usually the tipping point in each class, where I’m ready to move on to the next class because I’ve gotten to the point where I begin to wonder what the hell I’m doing and/or believe the amount of nerve that I have is ridiculous and that I can’t do this. Which is just plain dumb because I love my work and the KIDS! So, the personal note was just that added bit that pushed my emotions over the edge and tears spilled. This heart of mine…sheesh.

Thanks for being here and for reading!! I love you. XO

As I mentioned in my last post, at the end of this last school year, I had made plans to travel to a nearby city in a nearby state for the day. I had a very specific purpose in mind when I went. I had also planned a trip to the “way back” place from my past, to visit my dad, scheduled to leave a couple of days after I returned home from this one-day trip. It’s funny how the Universe will take my best laid plans and drop a bomb right in the middle of them. In the best possible way, mind you, things I needed to know, but may not have learnt so soon, had I not gone. The Universe ALWAYS knows what I need and shows me and, essentially, I must be paying attention. Providence is powerful. The lessons turned out to be so profound, when I was reflecting on my trip, the specific purpose went into the background and I thought to myself, “Self, why did I go again?” And then I remembered. “Oh yeah! That was a super important thing, for sure. So were these other things,” as it turned out.

I should have known the morning I set out. I had checked the weather in the city and state I was headed to, as any reasonable person would have done. Good thing I did because my area had a very different forecast than the one I was headed to. So, as I drove, I was noticing how it seemed like I was driving through the eye of a storm, but it was moving along with me. Which, I guess, is another way of saying, “There was a storm brewing around me.” Really, not an inaccurate statement. Granted, the skies around me weren’t clear and blue, they were also cloudy, but I noticed in a circle around me that rain was falling in those areas. The clouds had that pulled down appearance that told me it was raining in those outlying areas. But not over me. At all. I was in the eye of it. Not even a drop on my car as I drove. Another moment of providence. It was just so interesting. Eventually, I passed into a different weather system altogether.

All the while, as I drove, I was listening to some beloved podcasts. They do help me travel in an awakened way, as well as arrive refreshed - life being lived in full! Truth be told, they were podcasts within a certain program that I listen to often, and I had saved several podcasts there of late, but it’s long drives like this where I get a chance to listen to them, though, admittedly, usually one or two at a time. There again, the Universe had intervened because had I listened to one of them on my way to someplace closer, I would have missed the bigger picture altogether, because the messages came to me while listening to them strung together. The weather may have been an indicator, as well and conversely, the strange sense of peace I had while I was there and then an absolute understanding of what I should do next. I’m starting to think my initial reason for going down there wasn’t so random and strange at all…

While I was there that day, in that city that wasn’t too far away to drive to and from in one day and that I hadn’t visited in a very long time, I had the occasion to visit a local botanical garden, amongst the other things I did that day. It never hurts to add a little Nature into every day, wherever you can squeeze it in. I mean, when you realize the words ‘Earth’ and ‘heart’ have the same letters in them, it ALL kind of makes sense in a non-linear way. It was extremely peaceful and lovely. Just the thing I needed, as it turned out (and when isn't it, you might wonder. The answer, for me, is never). There was a feature there called a “tree walk,” which turned out to be this elevated half-moon walkway among the trees. I couldn’t help thinking it felt a little like Endor, yes, the remote moon system from the Star Wars series, Return of the Jedi. I would not have been surprised in the least had I come face to face with an Ewok. I was pretty sure I was the Wistie in this equation, based on comments from the woman who collected a paltry fee for my admission into this wonderland that suited me so well. Anyway, it was truly magical.

Wandering around over the paths and trails, getting to know the place, I ended up sitting on a bench, in front of a tall, gorgeous Evergreen, with a river flowing in front of me, reading a story to all of Mother Nature. I can’t even tell you how lovely and peaceful it was in the proper words. Well…maybe I can, but I don’t have to because the poem I included above says it all. “Alone in a different way, more attentive now to the self you bring along…to create a crystal of insight you could not have known you needed to illuminate your way.” Yyyyyaaaaaaassssssssss!!!!

I imagine, knowing myself as I do, that having listened to those particular podcasts on my way here, and then sitting among my arbored family, brought me to one of those “here, but not here” places in life. The Beauty and peace inherent to this haven, let those words settle onto me in precisely the way they were meant to, to receive the lesson in full while completely unaware what was happening as I sat there, transfixed.

When I was on my way back towards home, I had to replay parts of the last one, to make sure I understood correctly, that all the messages had aligned the way I thought they did. I began to see clearly then, once I understood the lesson before me, the effect it had on my immediate future, which I’ve already shared some of in my last post. There was absolutely no doubt. I needed more time, needed to create some space in my heart and tend to myself, and going to that “way back” place was not an option right now. That would only create a load on my nervous system that I didn’t want or need right now.

Perhaps I should have seen it, being a person who lives largely interiorly - always looking within, noticing how I’m feeling. Honestly, though, in a public school system time goes so fast and I am also working on my master’s program, so this year went by even more quickly. I mean I had noticed that the days had begun to wear on me and I was deeply tired. I (mistakenly) thought it was just the fact that I was constantly in motion, rarely having a chance to slow down, there was always a deadline looming. That definitely WILL take a toll on a person.

There was also this constant pressure of acquaintances and colleagues who wanted me to do this or that, things I wouldn’t want to do even if I weren’t busy. I disliked needing to wield a winnowing fork, so to speak, so much this last year. That was exactly what was happening though. I was realizing the things that didn’t resonate with me any more and pulling away from those and, with that, as a consequence, the people who went along with those activities. There were many storms and drama I didn’t want to be in the middle of, like that morning I was driving, if you know what I mean. Which is why I decided that the trip to my “way back” place was not for me at this time, because that, most definitely, would be me having to do things I didn’t want to do and, with family involved that I don’t see often, it would be hard to wiggle free from those obligations.

I wanted to pursue more pleasure, and less pressure (and no numbing activities) and I was realizing more pleasure came with different activities and different people and I was wholly focused on making my life closer to what I wanted and needed. Unapologetically, too. I had been strengthening my own nervous system by focusing on pleasure and sensuality, by being more compassionate for myself and my body, and more focused on what I needed. It was making me cranky always having to explain my focus was elsewhere, though. I imagine once my own school is over, there will be another period of this, but it will be more natural because I’ll start my student teaching and end up at another school teaching most likely.

So, I drove and the dawn of realization settled over me. I did what I do: I cried. Not because I was sad, but because I was feeling overwhelmed that I had been doing exactly the things that were serving me in ways I hadn’t yet begun to understand until now. It was a celebration cry and a release any leftover emotions cry. It felt damn good. Then I set my mind to other things I could do in celebration.

There is a quote from Rumi that says it all, “The Soul has been given its own ears to hear things the mind does not understand.” That’s where I was. My mind finally caught wind of the whisperings my Soul had heard long before and shared with my heart. All my parts were on board now.

In short: I had crossed a threshold this year. I mean, duh. John O’Donohue writes this perfectly (of course):

“To cross a threshold is to leave behind the husk and arrive at the grain.” Mmm. I have definitely arrived. Not accidentally, either. I have done that by looking within and learning what I needed to learn.

Then I’m sure you know what happened next, cuz it’s obvi and cuz I already told you in the last post and I talk about it all the time, silly. Loving myself. What I needed was more time engaged in the things that fill me up, a more balanced state of mind and body, more aligned with what I want for myself and my life, also like I talked about in my last post. Which is a relief, because that is what summer is all about when you work in the public education system. Summers are all mine.

When I returned home, I got right to it the next few days. The very first thing for me was to engage in some solitude. This trip had been the start, and boy, had I ever needed the solitude. Ending the school year and getting away from home and just Being and by myself. I wanted to think and feel. I wanted to think about my relationship with the world and my belonging there, and how that worked alongside other people, too, and which people it DID work with. Without anyone else intruding into my thoughts or trying to tell (or suggest, at the very least) me what to think or how to feel. Right? “…You will hear what your heart would love to say.”

Spending lots of time outdoors, walking and savoring the breezes, the rain, the birdsong, and the lovely way morning skies are painted each and every morning. I also spent time fully engaged with Goddesses in the dance studio and it was absolute perfection. Step one.

As it happened, step one led right into step two, which was some healing work. Calling out the things which had been bothering me of late, thus taking away their power, and releasing them, so I could be my full self once more. Getting that solitude, that time alone to think, helped me reconnect with myself more fully. Which allowed me to see the incorrect paths I had gone down, or, was about to go down, and begin to make better choices and decisions.

The remainder of that next week was spent engaged in scheduling out more Beauty for myself. I signed up for several writing workshops over the new weeks, to explore new ways of writing and flexing my creative skills. I also signed up for some painting/crafting/cooking events and some talks, as well. The last thing on my list to do was to get out more with Ryker and scratch my photographer’s itch.

As it turned out, this journey had become very Sacred. In a way, my original intent going there had everything to do with infusing Soul over something specific, and it did in the way I expected AND in ways I had not expected, too. Not only that, but the “compass of my Soul HAD directed me toward territories of Spirit where I discovered more of my hidden life.” I certainly arrived home more enriched and freer, with my voice fully exposed and in use. Boy, howdy, was it ever! That was the second part of my lesson: holding MYSELF in such a way that I could end things that were no longer “for me.”

I know you are wondering about my work. The first morning of school, I woke to a super thick, absolutely gorgeous morning of fog. It felt like a blessing for the day. These first few days have gone well. My teacher, who is new to my school this year, is good. Amazing, actually. And I have two colleagues returning from last year in my room, in addition to two new colleagues. Not only that, but my sweet little darling from the beginning of last year will be in class (and WHEN she needs to be held, I WILL hold her), and also last year’s cuddling/dance partner, I am super glad to see them. There are kids that are new to me, and it will be fun to get to know them and work with them this year. All in all, a very good start to my year. I have already been pulled and reassigned, to be of service to another darling every afternoon, because of my background and experience. Away we go! Such is life in the school system. It has a side benefit: I sleep like the dead. My youngest also started his first year of high school and that has been going well. He is even getting up (so far) without me needing to hound him every single morning. THAT is a victory I will take!!

I hope you have been enjoying this season, as well! Thanks for reading and for being here. I love you. XO

Which also means tomorrow officially begins the ‘summer of me.’ Just so I’m clear, EVERY summer is the ‘summer of me.’ Because I make the most of every summer. And every fall, winter, and spring. Every morning and every 2:26 am awakening and drifting back to sleep and every 10 (ish) bedtime. Every full moon and every new moon. Every day I wake up is the day of me. Every moment I am my full and authentic and imperfect self is my moment.

Let me just take a minute to honor this passing year. The end of a school year is the second time each year where I turn into an even more introspective mermaid. And this year that is now ending…wwweeeelllll…whew. Just whew. As I alluded to in my last post, lots of space for reflection there - what I can take away from the school year and what I want to get rid of altogether and the things I’m still thinking about, in a passive way. In other words, the things that I need to release in order for my real feelings and thoughts to bubble to the surface, where I can skim them up and sort through them.

I’m not really a countdown kind of person, like much of the rest of the staff at school. Because home life for some of these kids is not all sunshine and roses. My heart aches for them. Counting down the days until the end of the year means I am counting down the day to release them to what could be a very unpleasant 2.5 months for my students, and it means I’m not bringing my very best to my students because I’m too busy counting the days until I am on break. That is not a good point of view for me. If I am busy counting down, I am going to miss out on some pretty precious moments. I won’t even notice them, let alone call them precious, because I’m focused on my touchdown dance.

I am called to my work. Denying myself the ability to focus in on the students and being present with them in every moment is denying myself of the pleasure of doing what I am called to, what I know I am good at, and what I love doing. Part of what makes me great at what I do is my intuition and deep observational skills, being attended to the kids, letting THEM teach me. So, denying myself that, will never do. I think of ALL the precious moments I’ve had over the last year and I would have missed a lot! And so…I don’t count down. But colleagues get fixated on the fact that I don’t and they purposely rub it in my face all the time. Poo!

This last week, I have been unable to concentrate on much else. Between work and school and the last days of school, I tried to read some of my favorite Stacks, but it felt like it was too much to take in. My mind was busy, finishing up the last of my in-school observations for this week and reflecting on each, while also planning and carrying out a mini lesson on speech/communication for this last week of school. All while working, being a mother, doing homework and taking care of my needs, too.

And that…

…is how this post started. Absolutely, and very clearly, not the way it ended up going. Because I was going to take the weekend before school ended to finish up my thoughts on this post and publish it so that it came out early Monday morning on the last day of school. As it turned out, there were 2 wrenches that needed to be dislodged firstly.

(1) It wasn’t ready. And, more importantly (2), I didn’t want to rush it just to get it out before then. So not me. I do pleasure, not pressure. So, I stopped. And when I did and looked deeply within, I realized, the thing was, I had been struggling these last few weeks and that needed to get resolved before anything else. As David Whyte says of trouble, “Trouble is a source of revelation.” I needed things to slow way down, so I could look at them closer. The most important part of that equation is slow w w w a a a y y y y y down. That is essential, actually. I wrote some about that already. Even if you haven’t seen it yet. Between work and college, I was so busy, it felt like trying to run through quicksand. The end of a school year is a busy, BUSY, time. There are so many things happening, seemingly all at once. It felt like a lot just staying on top of all that, especially if you are, like me, a fairly mellow introspective and reflective Soul. I won’t lie, either. All those countdowns other people were doing were really becoming a bee in my bonnet.

Part of what was tripping me up lately is that I needed to birth some of my own creations. I hadn’t done that enough lately. I needed to move all that creative energy. I also needed to get into Nature, for long periods, in a very bad way. We had things to discuss, she and I. It simply was not going to wait. And, yet, it had to. I was becoming grumpy and easily distractable about doing my own homework as a result - it was becoming another task that needed to get done. Ugh! Not the perspective I wanted to have about it.

First things first…let’s correct that homework perspective. What do I feel is wrong?? Hmmm…all that intellectualizing and logic and reasoning, coupled with not getting enough Nature time, was beginning to feel like I wasn’t honoring my feminine side of myself enough and It. Was. Hard. Learning all the facts and data and behind the curtain teaching stuff is good to know, essential even. However, it felt like I was splitting my masculine and feminine right down the middle and, frankly and honestly, it sucked. I needed them to canoodle together, to intermix and intertwine; to be reasonable and logical while being playful, and sultry while being intellectual. I absolutely can (and should) have both. That keeps my most authentic self in a flowing state that suits me best; where I would have puhhhhllleennnty of time for ALL the pleasure and none of the pressure.

Then, how could I fix it? I needed to really focus and breathe during homework. Every time I felt myself feeling crazy, I made a point to slow way down, and breathe and ground myself into the moment, which helped expand my heart and mind space. If I was busy homeworking and suddenly found myself getting scattered, I would move my studying elsewhere, where it was quieter and there were less distractions. I started playing music to soothe my Soul, setting a timer and focusing in on my schoolwork for that amount of time before getting up to move and do other things. Sometimes, it would be a 1:1 ratio of work time to play time and sometimes it was more like a 1:3 ratio - one hour of work, followed by three hours of play. Or three hours of play, followed by an hour of work. That helped me feel less split in two and more focused, because I was honoring both sides appropriately.

While I was thinking about expanding spaces, I already knew, courtesy of last summer, agreeing to plans with acquaintances who then canceled again. And again. And again. Was not sustainable for me. Constantly in a state of not doing/waiting on others until I said enough. That was not going to happen this year. I am a firm believer that people who want to be a part of my life, will be and those who don’t want to, won’t. It’s pretty simple. Yep, it may turn away some people who are maybes, but probably only until they decide one way or another. I know it sounds harsh. I won’t apologize, however, for how fiercely protective of myself, my energy, and my time that I am. I assure you, it goes into the making of me and increases what I give back to others. I’ve been by myself my whole life though, so it’s what I’m used to. In the meantime, it gives me more time to engage with the things and people I love. I truly was going to make it the summer of me.

My “unplan” was to take the whole first day of summer break and spend it in bed, writing and creating and reconnecting with myself (and I can tell you now, I didn’t write or create that day, nor did I do homework, but it was the best day ever reconnecting with myself-completely present with myself and what I wanted and needed to honor). Day number 2 would be doing some of the errand-type things that I needed to do. At some point that first week, I planned on dressing like a girl…’scuse me, woman, and taking my mom out somewhere to eat. I had a trip planned for the weekend ahead already, and another forming for early the following week. Thus began my perfect summer.

John O’Donohue’s poem/blessing “For Presence” in To Bless the Space Between Us writes this beautifully:

That is exactly and precisely what I did this summer - reinstated a harmony and symmetry between my life and my Soul. It became my mantra each morning as I woke, whenever that happened, stretching out my nudity nestled in the comfort of my retreat bed. Not simply just waking up, but greeting each morning with new wonder and beannacht, not knowing how the day would unfold just yet, what magic I would get to be a part of. Welcoming every single day like a gift to unwrap. First admiring the loveliness of the wrapping, noting the texture against the tips of my wandering fingers, and then, taking hold of the Beauty and slowly unraveling it in a swirl of deep feeling, dripping with anticipation, as I open each day.

Devotionals. Walking. Yoga/Pilates. My swing. Acupuncture. Hiking/nature walks. Photography. And pole are absolutes. Those figured prominently into my days and weeks, sweet nectar that fertilizes and nurtures my Soul. Those fill the well of my Soul to overflowing and then that abundance flows onto others.

Meister Eckhart writes this beautifully, as well:

All I need to do is simply be myself. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less.

Schoolwork is a must. I think I may add back in some doodling each day. Writing. Obvi. And plenty of time on solo getaways to secreted away cabins by the ocean, and walking in the forest and by the river, time at my Sacred spots. Definitely fewer (and no) clothes!!! That is how my summer is always just right and always just for me. It tends to be all the things that fill me up and, of course, are Sacred (because I am Sacred-duh).

It’s also how I live my life fully. These are all the things that make it so full (and so amazing). I am not stuck in a state of unliving, I am fully engaged in living my life to the fullest that I can. It wants me to. It is in this space that Beauty comes in and it transforms me. “But Beauty interrupts restrictions in every place and thing.” - Stephen David Ross. I am living in such a way that my Soul is being expressed and when She leads, everything IS beautiful. When I am focused on those parts of life that are magical, euphoric, and beautiful (with synchronicity on every horizon, I might add), the Universe just keeps giving me more Beauty and more magic and more euphoria. The results are orgasmic. Literally and figuratively.

I’m looking forward most to the writing. That is something for me to say. Chances are, I’m going to be inspired at least once during that period and then I’ll actually have the chance to sit. And write. And dream. And manifest (and I have some thoughts on this in another post). I won’t have to bang out a few notes in hopes that the fire of inspiration will stay kindled long enough for me to finish my thoughts, or at least round them out more fully, later, hoping all the while that flame is not extinguished when I get back to it. I’ll have time and the presence of mind and body to look at and feel my inspiration in full. That thought makes me happy.

At the end of the first week off, I drove to another close by city in a different state for the day. By myself. Where I could be in solitude and listen to the whispers of life flowing through my body and Soul and notice patterns. It was perfect timing because I had tune up treatment in acupuncture the day before and my body was singing. As it happens, my body had some things to tell me as I drove. It was a fun day, and I met some lovely Souls, laid my hands on their beautiful trunks, read a story to a river, and admired the quiet and lush surroundings.

It’s kind of ironic that it happens to be summer that I have off because that isn’t really my best season. I like the gray and the rain and the cooler weather. But you would never know it to see me over the summer, because I surrender so fully to Nature. I need to be held and supported by Her; she guides me. If I don’t surrender to this, then I’m not surrendered to my life. I only get back what I put in. And so, I practice more courage and more faith. Control dissolves away. I am just present to what is brought to my attention because those are the things that WILL refine my spirit, bringing me closer to the me I need to become.

When time gets real bendy and stretchy during the long, warm days of summer, the heat rippling up from the ground, the rays of the relentless sun penetrating deep into my bones, life takes on a whole new perspective. I may have been feeling like I was tiptoeing across a rope bridge hung over a deep divide, dangling precariously, hanging on for dear life. Then suddenly, summer comes and the fog rolls in and the bridge is more mysterious and inviting. I can’t see what’s below me and I have no idea what’s on the other side of this bridge, but it’s a mystery worth exploring. I don’t even have to tiptoe to the other side, I take flight. Swirling in lazy corkscrews around the ropes, my gossamer wings glistening with dew and sparkling, while I am humming and singing. The possibilities before me are endless and captivate me entirely. I willingly give myself to them.

It’s not like I am saying I don’t want to go back to work at all, though it may seem that way. By the middle of week two of summer break, I was already missing my littlest darlings. My lil squishy, my lil cruise director, my lil BFF, and my lil dance partner/cuddler. Like I could very clearly picture their adorable little faces looking at me with joy and could hear them saying my name. Ugh. I wanted to squeeze them all!! Yesterday morning, I ran into the mom of my lil BFF and she told me her daughter had been asking about me all morning. I promptly ran out to the car and was met with the LOUDEST squeal of delight from her! It was so sweet. She grabbed my hand and nestled it to her cheek. I told her I loved her and I would see her tomorrow (today), while my heart soared!

Though, when I completely lose myself in summer break, to traipsing through tall trees; rust, emerald, carmine, and ochre-colored needles and leaves strewn and gathered over the forest floor, the sounds of a river flowing close by, shielded from the heat of the day under the inviting umbrella of my arbored friends, I am actually preparing my heart for the fall, right here, in these moments of summer. I increase my devotion, showing up over and over again with intention, which helps me fully align with myself and the flow of life, and it is all in preparation.

It’s like an ancient ritual of preparing a body for entombment. I cleanse my flesh and Soul in rivers and lakes and the rare downpour of rain. I anoint my skin with oils, perfumes, and flowers, and then wrap myself in the shadows and mist of the wild beauty of the forest where I am gathered, tended, and embraced in belonging and love until I can be rebirthed next.

In return for my devotion, I receive the whole world and every delight it offers with a full heart. Every. Single. Day. And that, for today, the first day back at my work, is exactly where I need to be for the year ahead and being present with my little darlings. The final year of schooling of my own, before I begin a different journey as an educator. One that could take me on quite an adventure! I look forward to that. When I’m not tying myself in knots over the idea, to be clear. Fully Human and knowing that is likely precisely the reason I SHOULD continue. There is a spiritual component to this. I’ll focus on the positive: What is rising in me IS what the Universe has in store for me. Not just relative to my work, either. However, birthing this new me has been hard and vulnerable. There has been a lot of moaning and screaming and kicking and breathing and grasping. In more ways than one 🤭.

With everything I’ve come to realize these past few months, since the end of the last school year, I know I need to be very mindful this coming year about caring for myself and my needs. I HAVE to nourish and nurture myself, take care of my needs and wants and celebrate every victory in a very big and intentional way, creating rituals around them, and celebrating (!) life. There just isn’t any other way for me to get through this last little bit of college, to counter those internal voices that say, “You can’t do this,” or “What the HELL am I doing?” or even, “I must be out of my mind!” The nurturing me, comes alongside, takes one hand and puts the other in the small of my back and whispers in my ear, “Yes, you can, Danielle! Don’t stop!!!”

And so, when I returned home after my first full day of training prior to the beginning of the school year, I got right into a hot, oiled and bubbled bath to take care of me. I shunned homework. I did some restorative yoga and finished the evening sipping some chamomile tea with some of my own lemon balm leaves mixed in, while reclining and listening to soothing music, whispering affirmations to myself. The next day, I purchased a book I would need, and scheduled some Beauty for myself, because those things are going to help. I can’t do them as often, but I am going to continue them. For me, to continue growing, even as I am birthing a new me.

It has to be said, I finished a class in my master’s program, Special Education Assessment and Interpretation on August 26. Amongst the topics included in this class (and there were a lot), was statistics. If I had not already shared this, I am very much a math nerd and statistics, in particular, is my jam!! I think it’s pretty hot, too: to be a woman who is a Bonafide math nerd - there are not too many of those around. Then, on August 27, I promptly started the next class, Characteristics of Autism Spectrum Disorders. As of this post, I am on Week Two of that class (six total weeks). I have SIX (!) total classes left after this one on autism. I am seriously going to be celebrating the end of every last class. I have honestly been working my tail off!!

As I look back on this post, where it started, and then how it ended up - especially considering how I was feeling when I started it, compared to how I was feeling when I finished it. Talk about Beauty :-)!! Also, look at what happens when I am caring for myself, being devoted to nurturing myself so lovingly. 🥰 I pray that for each of you. And so, when the sun set on this particular summer of me, I was ready for all the Beauty beyond (and I DID have another acupuncture tune up yesterday). Say your prayers that it will be an amazing school year.

Thanks for being here and reading! What was your favorite part of summer or what do you look forward to the most during summer? I love you! XO