Sacred honoring of your own creative way of being. Of leading. Of serving the world. To gaze at this calling with deep knowing and respect that is not and does not have to be like others. Stay curious about giving yourself the ultimate radical permission to see, create, develop in your way.
What have I come for? My feet have hit many a textured ground, I told you we have been tired by this life, with it’s schedules and it’s consumption. Are we both perfected in our acceptance or are we doomed? Perhaps a mixture of both, swirled and besotten. A woman that says no thank you,…
Effectiveness: A beautiful skill of self knowing, effectiveness asks us to be present in getting our needs met. To skim the surface and give a little taste, effectiveness (not to be confused or misunderstood with the harmful, consequential demands of constantly being productive or highly efficient) invites us to not assume that others know our…
To the star sparkle shine, the artists, the dwellers, the mystics. To those that tried, even though it got fumbled and tangled. For a minute, for a second, I thought it wasteful to step into my own skin–you worked hard, albeit blundered-to thrust me into more. Silly child, the whispers came, will you make it…
I did a wholly (un)responsible thing. A thing (un)like me. I didn’t suffer through a duty that I had originally agreed to. I said yes in a rushed way, a familiar way, I gave my affirmative from that neon spot in my brain that fires SCARCITY. If they are asking it must be because they…
The light burnt out in the downstairs hallway, I fretted you wouldn’t find me should you awake. Yet, there you were at 5am, by my bedside, warm and sleepy, my body felt your presence before my brain caught up. I lifted you up, your hand brushed my cheek. Hey little man, I say, you ok?…
For all our lovely people who have fed us and loved on us when times have been tough Ikea cinnamon rolls, sticky and sweet, hard at the edges, aflame with cinnamon in the middle. Poblano enchiladas, dotted with meaty cremini mushrooms, flaky croissants from the local bakery, chocolate chunks snuck behind the open pantry door….
God, I’m a miserable shit when I don’t write. I look everywhere, upside down and right side up. I look enraged. My kids see me as a person who blames, enflamed. Remember that poem by Shel Silverstein? “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout, would not take the garbage out” Her life a big and peely mess, trash…
Rituals feel like a sturdy shoe, Bouncy soul, duty worn, made for mileage. When I used to hear the word ritual I thought it full of sexy magic, sensual light flicking on shadowy places. In this season I feel it exists more in the Earth. Lumps and clumps of soil, sediment and rock. Layered in…
Healing from trauma has been like jesus going into the depths and getting the keys of heaven. There have been many three days of traversing before the stone was rolled away. My sorrows, bodily reactions, fears and numbness, deep, deep loathing had to be swathed and wrapped with linen and spices, packing the side wound,…