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The Bicycle Ride that Changed the World
Bicycle Day is an international holiday that commemorates the date that Dr. Albert Hofmann first tripped on LSD (Lysergic Acid Diethylamide-25) and bicycled home from his lab in Basel, Switzerland on April 19, 1943. Dr. Hofmann had synthesized several derivatives of ergot, a fungus found on rye, in the process of searching for new pharmaceuticals for Sandoz Laboratories. Dr. Hoffman first synthesized LSD-25 in 1938 but did not become aware of its psychedelic properties until April 16th, 1943 when he absorbed a small amount of the compound accidentally either through his fingertips or by ingesting it. Curious about the psychoactive effects, three days later he performed a self-experiment to determine the true effects of LSD, intentionally ingesting 250 micrograms, an amount he predicted to be a threshold dose (an actual threshold dose is 20 micrograms) on April 19th, 1943. He started to feel the effects and asked his laboratory assistant to escort him home. During the bicycle ride home, he experienced the psychedelic effects of LSD, making this the date of the first acid trip in history, propelling the West into the Psychedelic Age. 🎉💜
The accidental discovery of LSD by the chemist marked a groundbreaking moment in the history of psychedelics. Hofmann's bicycle ride home after his first intentional trip is now celebrated annually symbolizing the transformative potential of psychedelic substances for scientific research and personal growth.
#thankyoualberthofmann #bicycleday #alberthofmann #lsd #psychedelicresearch #consciousnessexploration
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The Self-Love Checklist: 50 Ways to Self-Care Every Damn Day.
“How strange that the nature of life is change, yet the nature of human beings is to resist change. And how ironic that the difficult times we fear might ruin us are the very ones that can break us open and help us blossom into who we were meant to be.” ~ Elizabeth Lesser, Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow
I love this quote almost as much as I love this book.
If you have not read this book, then right now, break from reading this article and go on Amazon.com, or Barnes & Noble, or whatever your favorite bookstore is, and buy it, now!
This book absolutely changed my life. There have been many readings, movies, stories, and articles that have moved me—but nothing has changed me to the core as much as this book has.
This book taught me to love myself, through all my faults, mistakes, failures, and (of course) my successes. This book showed me what struggle truly is and how to rise from the ashes after hitting rock bottom. I learned life is truly a blank slate, and although you look at losses and failures as just that, the truth is they are what teach us our biggest lessons in life. Imagine never learning, imagine not having any experiences, imagine not having that one story that has defined who you have become. I can’t.
I am a self-love and self-care expert. I study it, teach it, but most of all, I put it into practice in every single way and in every little aspect of my life.
Self-love is not a trend; it is not something you do when you feel like it. You don’t just “do self-love” after a breakup or after a traumatic experience. Self-love is a lifelong practice that is a critical aspect of your everyday life. Self-love is the releasing of negative thoughts and self-criticism by embracing more of a loving and positive acceptance of yourself through forgiveness of yourself and others.
The universal concept is that our thoughts create our actions, and therefore those thoughts dictate the outcome in our lives. Self-love is a powerful and necessary practice and is critical if you want to have healthy relationships with others and yourself.
Self-love is not selfish.
Taking care of and loving ourselves and being a whole, sound, and emotionally healthy person allows us to take care of others without it feeling like a burden. If you aren’t taking care of yourself, if you don’t rest and relax your soul, then you will be of no help to others—especially yourself. You will eventually feel drained, and eventually there will be nothing left to give. You must give to yourself as well as give to others.
Below is a a simple self-love checklist that may seem overwhelming to you at first. However, I promise that if you commit to adding a majority of them into your routine—or practice, as I like to call it—every single day, you’ll see the benefits immediately.
Self-love ideas (in no particular order) that you can put into place, starting today:
Start your day with a protein or collagen smoothie every morning.
Sleep at least seven hours a day.
Start an exercise routine (yoga, pilates, the gym, take a walk). Increase those endorphins.
Say no, and be okay with it.
Pay it forward, always.
Create a quiet and safe space in your home (a corner, a closet, or a spare room), decorate it, make it your own, and enjoy every moment in it.
Make someone feel good whenever you can.
Smile often, even if no one is smiling at you (they may think you are weird—but that is okay!).
Change the way you eat. Eat more protein and veggies and less junk. Try different healthy options.
Get a massage and have them use essential oils.
Go for a hike or a long walk in nature.
Be confident (walk and talk with confidence).
Learn something new—dance classes, yoga, tennis lessons, start or join a MeetUp group, history classes.
Host a ladies night.
Grow a garden of fresh vegetables.
Buy yourself fresh flowers (or cut them from your garden and display them).
Explore something new and do something out of your comfort zone.
Go on an adventure/travel.
Buy yourself gifts.
Create a routine that includes something fun.
Join FabFitFun and get a surprise box of fun every month.
Read, take a nap, listen to music, sit quietly—please just rest your soul.
Buy yourself some new makeup and play with it, give yourself a facial, buy new clothes.
Create a daily bucket list and post it.
Repeat the following mantra “I love and accept myself.”
Make a list of all the things you like about yourself.
Create a gratitude journal.
Start your day with meditation and yoga.
Implement a “treat yourself” day (mine is Friday).
Dress to impress, even if you don’t have to; put on those earrings, scarf, and lipstick and show the world how beautiful you are.
Take a breath between your bites of food and savor the taste.
Make yourself a hot cup of coffee or tea and savor each sip (might I suggest green tea and ginger).
Call a friend and laugh for hours about nothing (no complaining).
Spend time with your kids before they grow up and move away.
Get a new haircut.
Eat chocolate guilt-free (maybe on treat day).
When someone offers you a compliment, simply say, “Thank you.”
Travel solo.
Set a no screen time in your house (e.g., dinner, after nine).
Set goals.
Take a day off and do something nice for yourself (go to the gym or a coffee shop, shop, meet a friend for lunch, take a walk, sleep).
Self-love mantra: “I am enough. I have enough. I do enough.”
Let go of what no longer serves you.
Buy a diffuser and infuse essential oils like lavender.
Write a letter to yourself and open it a year later to the date.
Host a dinner party.
Hire a coach or a counselor.
Take a hot bath with Epsom salt and lavender (or whatever your favorite oil is).
Make new friends (and remove those toxic ones).
Clean out your closet and donate clothes you no longer wear.
The biggest message I have is to be gentle with yourself, treat yourself well and often, and always honor where you are at every stage of your journey.
And, lastly, the best advice I have been given is to feel your feelings.
Painting by Albert Joseph Moore, A Summer Night, 1890
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Here’s to the gritty, truth-seeking goddesses who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.
Here’s to the brave, bada** females who have blasted through a nightmare of shit to be standing here today.
Here’s to the earthy mamas who think stilettos are a sick f*cking joke—
The luscious ladies who love feeling the raw earth beneath their bare feet, and bow down proudly to the supple, winding curves of their thick, fleshy hips.
~
Here’s to the creative vixens who breathe their sun-soaked, moonlit, windswept, star-dusted dreams to life, every damn day—rain or shine.
Here’s to the wise women who, time and time again, have chosen their own hearts.
I applaud you, with every fiber of my being. I honor you.
I am you.
We are strong and confusing, complicated and powerful, magical and maddening—we are meant for so much more.
We will never be happy stuffed in a sparkling white kitchen with a floral apron, a sleek bun, and carefully applied pink liquid lipstick to complete the wax mask of our fake smiles, playing the role of perfect wife or perfect girlfriend or perfect mother.
Our hearts will choke. Our spirits will scream.
We will never be happy sitting in a grey office working 9 to 5, watching the clock tick slowly, while our souls shrivel to the buzzing sound of fluorescent lights, unable to breathe in the fresh, muddy scent of gusty winds and the frantic, jeweled sweetness of budding cherry blossoms.
We will never be okay sipping champagne, trying on haute couture, and talking about ways to make our asses skinny and recipes for dinner parties and how to get a man to love us.
We don’t really give a damn about any of that—
We want to talk about soul. About dripping truth. About magic. About death. About struggle. About the world’s heartbreaking pain.
We wanna stand in the billowing breeze and decipher wise whispers of the wind as it roars through each singing strand of our thirsty, messy hair.
Yes.
But, for a painfully long time, we have denied who we really are.
We have tried and tried and tried to squeeze our wild wings and paint-splattered hearts into the cramped plastic molds of what we “should” be.
How miraculously we have failed.
Why do we rip ourselves up into sad, feathery pieces, trying so hard to slide into pretty little lives that, quite frankly, don’t even appeal to us?
Normal won’t cut it— extraordinary is what we’re here for.
We are meant to merge with the moon, cry with the rain, rise with the tides, and shine with every goddamn slice of shimmering yellow sun.
We are meant to run through crowded streets, with love in our hearts and tangerine scarves streaming through our fingertips as we dance to the sobbing drum of the world’s crying tears.
We are meant to make art that grows gritty wings and inspires sad, closed hearts to break the fuck open.
We are meant to stick out our tongues in a fierce lion’s breath in the most unexpected moments—
Rawwwr!
Our dreams and visions and destinies must come first.
Always.
Because we aren’t here to play small; to be polite, people-pleasing pretty plastic barbie dolls with empty, lifeless hearts—we are here to make waves, to chase dreams, to stand in the blazing fires of truth—and we know it.
We are here to live from the harrowing depths of our souls.
Why deny it anymore?
Let’s reach inside our supple skin and taste the thick river of bubbling magic that pulses through our veins like rubies.
Let’s shed the suffocating lives that were never meant to be ours— the lives we’ve brainwashed ourselves into tolerating, but are slowing killing our souls.
It’s time to burn, baby, burn!
Let’s make a pact with our hearts—a vow to listen that inner spark of magic, of truth, of delicious fire that cannot be denied for a minute more.
Let us promise now—
To honor who we really are.
To be forces of light, of love, of sacred power.
To let our star-dust spirits rise— and soar and soar and soar!
Extraordinary flows through our veins. Normal won’t cut it.
We are meant for so much more.
Badaass, truth-lovin’, dream-weaving sisters, let’s stop smacking our spirits down and squeezing ourselves into suffocating roles that will never satisfy our thirsty, roaring souls—
We won’t fit.
We aren’t meant to.
Our wings won’t slide through small doors. We are meant for so much more—
Our dreams and visions and destinies must come first.
Always.
Please, answer the rain-drenched, whispering wolf calls of your wild soul.
Do not let your wings lie sticky and suffocated, in a sad clump on the floor.
Do not let your vibrant spirit wither into a colorless grey existence.
Do not let your jeweled destiny lie dormant and dead.
Do not live the life you think you “should.”
F*** should—
Live the life that makes your heart beat louder, the life that sets your bones sweetly on fire, the life you can’t stand not living—
Answer the blossoming calls of your wild soul!
Go, now—
Into the lush, emerald forest of who you really are.
Find yourself.
Discover your gifts.
Share your gritty magic with the world.
Follow the promising path of your courageous destiny.
Go—
Now.
Do not settle for an empty half-life.
Do not settle for good enough.
Do not settle for anything less than exquisite or extraordinary.
Oh, sweet wise, wild woman— do not settle—
At all.
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Root Into your divinity
especially when the energy is intense
this eclipse portal is a grand one and in the next few days the already intense energy will ramp up.
what can you do to move through this portal powerfully?
root into your divinity,
root into the roots of mother earth,
root into your humanity.
electricity is an interesting thing and every electrician knows that if it is not grounded, there can be devastation,
and you are a current of energy,
like electricity.
because of our nature we are constantly picking up on different frequencies,
we are connected to the energy of the cosmos,
in fact, we are the cosmos.
so when there is an extra powerful cosmic event like an eclipse, we feel it immensely.
to have this energy flow through you with more ease, there are some things that need to be in place.
otherwise it can create chaos within you, a chaos that is unproductive,
and instead of it catapulting you into your power, it can leave you feeling powerless, lost, your energy siphoned.
so for this weekend my invitation for you is to ground.
go into the forest,
walk barefoot along the grass,
hug a dozen trees,
listen to the birds,
feel the breeze,
dance with your hips,
close your eyes and imagine that your energy is rooted firmly into the earth.
be aware of when you want to react instead of respond,
cut out the unnecessary noise and tend to the necessary.
On April 8th set an intention for the next 6 months of your life,
(some questions you can answer to help with your intention):
what do you want to create for the next 6 months?
how do you want to feel on a day to day basis?
what do you want your inner talk to sound like?
what are two nourishing practices you want to implement into your life?
what are you ready to let go of?
what are you ready to embrace?
live as simply as you can for the next few days,
make space for your intuition,
your soul,
Great Spirit to speak.
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Lately, the energy has been heavy. On the wheel of the natural year, Imbolc marks the midway point between the Longest Night and the Spring Equinox (when day and night are exactly equal). It’s usually the time we start feeling a little more upbeat and active for the first time in a new calendar year, although translated from Old Irish it means ‘in the belly’. Because it isn’t until Ostara - the Spring Equinox around 6 to 8 weeks later - that we experience our full awakening into the new year. And this year, it has felt like this last violent stretch of winter has been crushing us with wave after wave, keeping us from making it to the surface to get a full breath of air.
I used to never talk about energies like this, let alone publicly, for fear of being called weird or crazy. But if you’ve been following me, you’ll know that such blocks don’t have power over me any longer. This took quite a lot of shadow work, deconstruction, inner child healing, and most of all, decolonization work - in which I am a for-ever student of Black and Indigenous women. It also took an immense amount of shedding.
Shedding expectations.
Shedding false personas.
Shedding false friendships.
Shedding excess.
Shedding entitlement.
Shedding judgment.
Shedding my inner oppressor.
Shedding egoic goals.
Shedding actual things.
Just two and a half years ago, I was still in the middle of this process. Or maybe just at the beginning. Or maybe both. "It's so inauthentic" said a new acquaintance about my new homepage - with which I wanted to position myself as a spiritual teacher & coach - as us white women all did during the pandemic. My immediate thought was "You've known me for all of a month, how can you possibly know what's authentic to me?!" I got really angry (I'm a Manifestormy not-self-theme is rage) but still took her criticism. She went on, "You're too smiley. Why do you smile so much if you want to talk about the darkness in our psyches?" I was just learning to overcome people pleasing and perfectionism, and going through several major life changes, and waking up to how this fucked up world of capitalism was exploiting me, so overwhelmed was my default state already. The added anger just threw me for a loop. I started questioning my goals, my plans, everything.
Just two and a half years ago, I was still in the middle of this process. Or maybe just at the beginning. Or maybe both. "It's so inauthentic" said a new acquaintance about my new homepage - with which I wanted to position myself as a spiritual teacher & coach - as us white women all did during the pandemic. My immediate thought was "You've known me for all of a month, how can you possibly know what's authentic to me?!" I got really angry (I'm a Manifestor - my not-self-theme is rage) but still took her criticism. She went on, "You're too smiley. Why do you smile so much if you want to talk about the darkness in our psyches?" I was just learning to overcome people pleasing and perfectionism, and going through several major life changes, and waking up to how this fucked up world of capitalism was exploiting me, so overwhelmed was my default state already. The added anger just threw me for a loop. I started questioning my goals, my plans, everything.
You see, I was in a brand-new relationship - learning to navigate the conscious union of two independent, strong-willed, Pluto-dominant Manifestors is not easy. We had just moved in together, he leaving his separate apartments and previous life in the city behind for a new small-town life with a new puppy in a rural, quite protestant part of the country. We wanted to be closer to his family and be able to visit his 90 year old grandmother. On top of that as if all of those changes aren't rough enough yet - we didn't know anyone in this town, and we weren't going to meet anyone at work either, because we had decided to start our own thing together: bootstrapping a company and developing a menstrual health app, among other projects. And all of this in the middle of a global pandemic with multiple active restrictions.
We had met at our previous city job. Nothing fancy, but a classic online brand with urgency dripping from every email, way too few employees for the mountain of ambitious projects in the backlog, exploitation evident in their hush-hush attitudes towards salary negotiations, and blatant misogyny and anger management issues in every single meeting. It was very millennial, with after-hour-beers and a free in-house bar. And also, it was a living hell of constant hyper vigilance around the all-male team of bosses paired with nonstop stress. In one infamous 1-on-1 meeting between my partner (a software engineer and architect) and our CEO, he was asked what he really wanted to do with his career. To this he replied "Grow trees and walk my dog." This sparked our infuriated CEO to yell, "Don't be cynical! I'm serious." So was my partner. He was done with the conversation at that point, however, which really threw our CEO over the edge. The meeting was over promptly.
I can't begin to describe the mix of sensations I was experiencing during the process of completely overthrowing our entire lives. Fear, most of all. Excitement. Shame at our audacity to believe that we could do it. Relief. Gratitude for the ability to make such changes. Stressed at the money situation regardless. Depressed to be leaving my frankly amazing life and friends. Anxious. Lonely. Overwhelmed. Skeptical. Selfish. Optimistic. You get the picture... It's not much different from how people describe their "spiritual awakenings" and in a way, it was a major initiation. One that is by no means done yet, but one that taught us how to jump our shadows-referencing a German proverb that quite intrigues me.
Almost three years later, I can say it was the best decision we could have made and I am so supremely optimistic about where we're headed. Not because everything's a full success in terms of its capitalist definition yet, or because it was the easiest thing we ever did. But because it put us on a path of intense ego deaths, shadow integration, and ultimately, authenticity.
Stripping away our limiting beliefs around what's possible in this life, defying cultural norms of how it's always been done and how everyone else is doing it, questioning everything we thought we needed and discovering we need way less, building a new (way of) life in which the goal is true freedom from power structures and time constraints...
In short, we discovered what #maincharacterenergy means: Self responsibility. Becoming the main character in your own life is about authorship and authority. Well, and authenticity.
Gabor Maté says the worst aspect of trauma is the disconnection from our Selves. Our core human needs are attachment and authenticity. He adds, "Your true Self never went away. Nobody's damaged goods. Nobody's broken."
So, what is authenticity?
Modern psychologists generally still debate whether "people actually possess an innate self and need to uncover it, or whether the true self is flexible and determined by the choices people make throughout their lives." (Psychology Today) They also don't seem to agree on a definition of authenticity, yet although this framework has been proposed:
1. Self-awareness: Knowledge of and trust in one's own motives, emotions, preferences, and abilities.
2. Unbiased processing: Clarity in evaluating your strengths and your weaknesses without denial or blame.
3. Behavior: Acting in ways congruent with your own values and needs, even at the risk of criticism or rejection.
4. Relational orientation: Close relationships, which inherently require openness and honesty.
This seems to assume that there is an objective measure of authenticity - and is probably what my acquaintance was referring to when she gave me feedback about my website. I'll admit, it's a little too complicated and clinical for my taste.
As if authenticity was a judgment that another could make about you. As if they had a certain image of a persona that you've presented to them for long enough which now somehow grants them permission to criticize you.
What if authenticity wasn't a yardstick anyone gets to beat me with (including myself)?
What if instead, authenticity became a practice?
A daily a constant practice of answering the question "What's true for me right now?".
And what if we dared to meet each other in this mentality, too? "Oh, this is true for you right now?! How fascinating. Tell me more."
Believe each other.
Believe your Self.
True intelligence is knowing where you are and where you are going.
Read that again.
Both as humans and as humanity, we have to constantly look harder and deconstruct more to really see where we are. We (in the West) have been lied to about where we are for a long fucking time.
Then, we have to find our actual soul path (guess what, it's not a career) to know where we're going.
This is what I call authenticity.
Truth is the only way.
Authenticity might be the hardest thing we can practice. And it is merely the first step towards a better life, a liberated world, true peace. Because once we've found our authenticity, we can work on authority (over ourselves) and authorship (of our new story), as well.
'In the belly' as in gestation, yes, but also as in 'we have stuffed ourselves too full of privilege' and now it's time for a purge. So maybe, this Lent - if you observe - we should focus our energy on shedding excess: patriarchy's 'power over and against', capitalism's 'hustle and grind', colonialism's 'us versus them'....
How do we author new worlds?
By embodying what we wish to see in these worlds.
How do we embody that?
By reshaping our conditioning and pulling our newly learned information down into our bodies. By living in alignment with our authentic Self - our essence - our soul. That's the only thing we have any authority over, being in that kind of alignment. "My higher Self" is not a millionaire version of myself - my higher Self is my most human Self. My most alive Self. My most loving Self.
That means I must author new worlds that are free for all in which all are free.
My spiritual teacher recently said "Let your essence take the wheel, shove your personality into the passenger's seat." And damn, my essence wants a liberated humanity and a mass reckoning with healing. Just as she wants freedom and healing for herself. As within, so without.
And then there's this Rumi quote that seems to have become my life's motto:
"forget safety. live where you fear to live. destroy your reputation. be notorious."
In this tiny protestant town, where no one truly knows me, but everyone has an opinion about me, I have succeeded at being notorious. And I have never felt more authentic in my life. And, sidenote, my partner grows trees and makes bonsai.
Stay tuned for part 2, in which I'm inviting you to create your own practice of authenticity.
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my hope for this Equinox
for myself, for you, for us.
my hope for this equinox is that you awaken slowly,
you take the time to let the mud settle
you bathe in it for a while
you inhale the smell of earth,
under your fingernails, in the strands of your hair.
my hope is that you witness the trees changing
you look, with awe, as the buds arrive gently,
and then all at once.
my hope is that you dance in a puddle or two,
you mourn what is gone
you pray for what will be
you swim when the rains bless the land.
my hope is that you loose the mind that says
it is not all holy,
my hope is you remember how much it all is.
my hope is that you kiss your body lovingly,
you treat it with sweet, gentle care.
my hope is that you love this life wildly,
that you love yourself too, like honey, like warm spring air.
my hope is that you do not give up hope
that this life is worth something,
that this life is worth something.
what do you hope for this equinox?
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Rumi is my teacher.
He helps answer the questions that bewilder us. He dresses experiences with words. He makes it easier for us to understand matters of the heart, the mind, and the soul.
Before delving into his poems, I thought Rumi only spoke of love— due to his eminent love story with Shams Al-Tabrizi. And while he nailed those love poems, he also spoke beautifully about spirituality. When he spoke of love and separation, he did so in such a spiritual manner that I was floored.
Rumi is a poet. But he is also a significant spiritual teacher.
It’s difficult for me to choose just one Rumi poem as supreme, but there is a poem that resonates deeply for me and my spiritual growth. I first read it in The Essential Rumi, a compilation of his poems translated by Coleman Barks.
The poem is called “A Great Wagon,” and the middle verse—my favorite—is below:
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other”
doesn’t make any sense.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.”
This verse highlights three pivotal ideas: the realization of the spiritual realm, and the exploration of non-judgment and oneness.
Some people underestimate spirituality or see it as a trend, but as Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said: “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
Rumi explored that truth in his poems. We don’t just live in the spiritual realm, but we are the spiritual realm. To see beyond our physical bodies and realize our true essence has been our purpose since the beginning of time. Rumi wrote about it eight centuries before the extensive spread of spirituality.
Additionally, Rumi establishes a firm reality: black and white are man-made. We are familiar with the beautiful and the ugly, the good and the bad, the true and the false. However, below the surface of black and white, there is a gray space we fail to see— a space void of conflicts.
We tend to judge the situations that occur in our life. We label the things we don’t like as “bad” and call the ones we like “good.” Our dualistic mind sections off emotions, thoughts, and events— and we automatically follow it. This mental division is often the main reason behind our inner and outer conflicts.
In this field, which is void of labels and judgments, there is absolute connectedness. As he puts it, even the phrase “each other” won’t make any sense anymore when we realize our oneness with everything and everyone else. In our own minds, we think we are separate from others, from animals, from nature. The truth is, we all stem from one source of energy.
But we can never truly realize this oneness without letting go of judgments first. Seeing every living being as part of us is a step toward gaining a higher realization that doesn’t know opposition.
I love, and connect with, this poem because of how Rumi weaves these ideas together. We must first let go of judgments before we can enter the spiritual realm and realize our “oneness.”
Thanks to Rumi, whenever I find myself quick to judge or label, I take a moment, create space in my thoughts and remember to head to that field. That is where I become one with everything and everyone.
Because when I see the world as separate, I only limit my own potential.
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Rethinking “Warrior” Culture: Why Life & Love Don’t have to be Hard.
I wore the title like a shimmering badge of honor upon my heart although it was more than a meaningful compliment. For most of my life, it was my identity.
An identity that served me well in that it helped me to survive complex trauma, but at 40 years old I’ve long reached the point where I’m ready to finally lay my inner warrior and her high drama, seemingly constant conflict and defensiveness to rest in peace.
As in, “And it is peace I give to you and peace I leave with you— ashes to ashes, dust to dust and thank you for your service.” Peace out.
Morbid though it may sound, I’ve simply outgrown the need to be in a state of combativeness.
My two most recent pieces I've written have brought me face to face with the reality of war culture permeating every human experience, from aging to disability.
Like buying a cherry-red Subaru and suddenly the freeway is crawling with the exact same car, now that I’m aware of it I can’t unsee it.
“F.U. Epilepsy” or one bold middle finger on a shirt with the epilepsy ribbon is the sentiment, or lack thereof, illustrated in this post. “Combat signs of aging!” The media aggressive approach to time that the media splashes all over advertisements for creams, serums, and lotions is the theme drawing attention to in the post prior to that.
I realize I might offend people who are encouraged to persevere by the David and Goliath narrative that permeates society, and that’s fine too because the problem with being offended is that you are playing offense, which puts someone else in the position of defense. It’s like an athletic sport but without the rules and regulations that distinguish friendly, safe competition from genuine barbarism.
I grew up watching Final Girls in 80s horror movies take down their antagonists against all odds, and watching a certain blonde teenager on TV “save the world… a lot.”
Female identified heroes were sparse in my childhood and adolescence, and I clung to any role model I could find to give me an example of femininity that didn’t shrivel up apologetically in the face of constant adversity in a patriarchal world.
And then I discovered music. Not me, personally— I didn’t put it on the map but I discovered music for myself by female artists who bolstered my courage and gave me a new identity in a female-driven utopia far removed from the infantilizing, mansplaining, pre-#MeToo society I grew up in during the 80s and 90s.
Like Fiona Apple, I was a “Shadow Boxer Baby.”
Like Tori Amos, I believed in “peace, B*tch!”
Like Shirley Manson, I couldn’t “use what I can’t abuse.”
Like Poe, I apparently grew up “mean” because someone messed with my dreams when I was little.
And like Gwen Stefani, I was ready to have the pink ribbon taken off my eyes.
But before all of that, there was the long overdue Riot Grrrl Movement challenging the sexist world of punk rock just south of my mom's hometown, in Seattle.
I do not for one moment regret the empowering messages my younger self internalized from my favorite female artists in all mediums. They showed a petite, young girl from a broken home that she literally had “A Fighting Chance” through what was, at the time, a revolutionary lens that has paved the way for so many women and female and femme-identified artists to come, as well as paved the way for not only content that would truly shatter the deeply embedded gender stereotypes of society but generate conversations and institute social change in life and legislation.
So what’s the problem?
There is a quote from Michelle Rosenthal, author of Your Life After Trauma:
“Survival mode is supposed to be a phase that helps save your life—it’s not meant to be how you live.”
The problem is not art and it’s definitely not social justice; the problem for me was that I continued to experience the pressure of being a badass warrior long after it had served its purpose and when it hurt me and my interpersonal relationships due to the fact that I was (and still struggle with being) combative and defensive all the time. Being in a constant state of hostility and an “us or me against them” mentality did a number on my cortisol and adrenaline levels, and ultimately my central nervous system, which meant “taking the bull by the horns” and not letting PTSD “mess with the wrong woman” and “teaching it a lesson” by “showing it who’s boss,” even when this was 100 percent defeating my purpose and actually making my symptoms worse. Oh my!
The mentality that had helped me survive domestic violence, sexual assault, being unhoused, being an adult child of alcoholics, generational poverty, and more was suddenly destroying me.
I was literally foiling my own best efforts, or to use a more modern analogy, “Shooting myself in the foot.”
Swords and guns were the metaphorical violent accessories I wielded skillfully throughout the three decades prior to my life-saving brain surgery. And they worked. And I was applauded.
“I will survive” (Gloria Gaynor) because “I’m a survivor” (Destiny’s Child) and “stronger” (Britney Spears) and “a fighter” (Christina Aguilera) and all of the “Slay” Queen anthems that inspired Rocky Balboa training montage vibes that motivated me to “rise up to the challenge of our rival!” (Survivor)
You’re welcome?
I was out here in a custody battle, battling addictions and other so-called “personal demons.” Pow! Mental illness, I’m going to “knock out” my to do list and “tackle” my grey hairs while “crushing” my “unforgiving” morning workout before “attacking” my thesis and “whipping” my house into shape.
Yikes.
So much hostility. And for what? Why?
I’m no longer in harms way and I’m not sure how much I was actually accomplishing besides living in a perpetual state of fight or flight mode that hurt me in the long-term more than any of my adversaries, real or imagined.
Because that’s the thing: I was mostly at war with myself.
As the song goes, “there is a time for peace and a time for war, which is actually a biblical excerpt. I am grateful to all of the social justice “warriors” out there on “the front lines” as I was once as a “trauma-informed survivor leader” but I’m no longer interested in survival of the fittest being central to my identity.
The integrity of my beliefs hasn’t changed, but my approach to them has as I continue to learn to stop beating the war drums for no one in particular, take my armor off and shift from my sympathetic fight or flight nervous system to my parasympathetic nervous system in order to heal.
“The parasympathetic nervous system, also known as “rest and digest,” can be thought of as functioning in opposition to the sympathetic nervous system.” (1)
My old MySpace tagline was: “Walk softly and carry a machine gun,” a derivation of Theodore Roosevelt’s “walk softly and carry a big stick.”
These days, I just walk softly, sans machine guns and big sticks and I don’t “pound” the pavement either.
“You’ve gone soft” was always an insult in the working class, Boomer/Gen X culture of toxic masculinity that “made me” until I took back the night, and then, as time passed, learned to just lay down and go to sleep during it.
Going soft is one of the wisest, healthiest things I have ever done for myself and my loved ones. It’s also a journey, one that requires me to lay down my machete, which is not always easy as it leaves my heart open to wounding. My body doesn’t need me to beat it into submission, which would be completely unacceptable for anyone else to do to me or anyone.
And I don’t have to w-rest-le satisfaction from life.
Approaching my sons with an aggressive, authoritarian attitude just puts them on the defensive and results in a power struggle when we are all seeking connection.
Love needn’t be “tough.”
Life needn’t be “hard.”
And crying is extremely brave, powerful, and healthy.
“Researchers have established that crying releases oxytocin and endogenous opioids, also known as endorphins. These feel-good chemicals help ease both physical and emotional pain.” ~ Leo Newhouse, LICSW
Interesting how something so beneficial still has so much stigma and shame attached to it.
Though the warrior part of me got me this far and I am both grateful and extremely proud of myself for that, I’m also ready to release what no longer serves me: my “armed guard” being one of them.
I’m learning that it takes more strength to listen to and honor my body and its needs as well as the needs of my loved ones, to open myself to love as well as rejection, to embody the courage of daily living and practice healthy habits, cultivate patience, and laugh at myself.
Brook Siem wrote: “Happiness is a most rebellious act.”
I’ve learned that acceptance doesn’t mean rolling over and allowing myself to be abused, nor does it mean wallowing in my pain or, conversely, denying my negative emotions. I’m not advocating toxic positivity or denial.
Genuine happiness, for me, means accepting that life is a spectrum and not creating false expectations of perfection, setting boundaries while opening my mind and heart, making peace with my past, and realizing that not everything deserves my time, energy, or attention or even my response because I am not responsible for saving the world. Not even a little.
Whew!
Now I’m just taking care of my little corner of it and being kind to others in my pleather pants, Dr. Martins, and a friendly wink.
I would be completely remiss if I did not quote the brilliant Jaiya John:
“The softer she became with herself, the softer she became with the world, which became softer with her. She birthed a new generational cycle: Peace.”
~
~
(1) National Library Of Medicine
Physiology, Autonomic Nervous System
Tyler LeBouef; Zachary Yaker; Lacey Whited.
Last Update: May 1, 2023.
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SETTING NEW YEAR INTENTIONS ♡︎
A NEW YEAR. A NEW DECADE. A NEW OPPORTUNITY TO CREATE WHAT’S POSSIBLE.
The end of the year can often bring up many different feelings. It is only natural that you may find yourself sentimental for what was, discouraged for what wasn't, hopeful for what is to come, shouting hallelujah for what will no longer be.
As we begin to say goodbye to 2023, take a moment to stop and reflect back, so you can then move forward with clarity, gratitude and intention. Use these four simple practices as guides to get still, get curious and get clear on where you are, where you want to go and who you want to be in the new year ahead of you.
THE PRACTICE | CHECK OUT TO CHECK IN
Put your phone down, step away from your to-do list, go to a quiet place and be with the moment, as you are, in all that you are. Find a comfortable seat that allows you to feel both comfortable and connected. Sit up tall, place one hand on your chest, the other resting on your belly. Close your eyes, unclench your jaw, relax your shoulders and begin to slowly inhale and exhale in a fluid movement that feels expansive. After a few cycles of breath, scan your inner landscape and repeat this rhythm until you feel a sense of calm and ease.
THE PRACTICE | GET REAL
Grab your lucky pen, a cup of tea, your favorite journal and take a few minutes to reflect on the past year by asking yourself the following questions:
What were the high highs and low lows?
What moments brought you fully alive?
What moments made you feel small?
Did you let go of any belongings, beliefs or relationships?
In what ways did you use this time to grow? Or maybe, stay stuck?
Did you ever say yes, when you wanted to say no?
No, when you wanted to scream a loud YES?
Is there any goal you didn't achieve that you still want to?
Is there any goal that you conquered, you forgot to stop and celebrate?
In the next year, how do you want to feel?
THE PRACTICE | UNCOVER THE MAGIC
Now, with the answers you wrote down, where can you find the learnings? The gratitude? The growth? Do you see any patterns? Any invitations to go bigger? What discoveries have you feeling heavy or light in your body? What do you want to take with you into 2020, and what do you choose to release and leave behind? What do you need to commit to right now, so you can feel the way you want to feel? So you become the you, you know you can be?
With these questions in mind, and all the information you just gathered through our reflection practice, write a few declarations down -- affirmative statements about yourself that are written in the present tense as if they are already true. A few examples are:
I am learning.
I am at home in my body.
My work is needed, and it matters.
My past does not define me, it prepared me for this moment.
I choose to let it go and make room for the new gifts that are making their way to me.
THE PRACTICE | TELL THE UNIVERSE WHO YOU ARE
What are your declarations? Who do you declare to be? What kind of life do you declare into existence? Keep your declarations close and alive. Write them in lipstick on your bathroom mirror, post them on your refrigerator, use them as a silent mantra while you're stuck in traffic, give them a voice and enroll the world in what you're calling in for yourself.
You can revisit these practices throughout the year as needed. Allow your declarations to shift and evolve alongside you. They are here to serve you, acting as guiding lights that help you move forward fearlessly into choosing your best life. A life that is yours, moment by moment, crafted entirely of your own design.
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“Here is a truth you often don’t hear:
Traumatized women have the potential to become the most powerful people in this world.
The most ignorant members of society call this type of woman “damaged.” But she is the most powerful type of woman there is.
What they forget is that survivors have the most dangerous advantage of all: resilience.
When you try and you try but you can never bring a woman down, you’ll know there is no going back.
Don’t fool yourself. You could never defeat her. You never will.
This is the woman who will always rise from the dead; Lady Lazarus, after going through hell and back.
This is the woman who has burned her feet in the flames time and time again and always lives to tell another tale – even if she has to crawl back to life. . . .
When someone tells her, “You can’t do it,” she says, “Watch me.”
She is fiery light birthed out of wintery darkness. Brought into the underworld by Hades, Persephone brings forth spring and rebirth when she reemerges finally from the cold.
She owns her shadows and seamlessly weaves them into the fabric of her freedom, creativity, imagination and independence. . . .
She lived all of her nightmares in high definition. She was given every reason to give up, handed every justification to never believe in herself or anyone.
But there is raw magic in the ways in which she cultivates a faith in herself, to manifest the dreams her soul was meant to bring forth.
Despite it all, she still conquers.
She still survives and thrives.
The “damaged” woman is capable of immense manifestation not just in spite of, but because of the traumas she has gone through.
There is no one more motivated than a woman who has constantly been told what she cannot do or who she cannot be throughout her lifetime.
There is no one more determined to succeed than someone who has nothing left to lose.
The “damaged” woman doesn’t sign up for the hardships of her journey – but she plays the hell out of the cards she’s been dealt.
The “damaged” woman is not damaged at all – she is wounded, and in channeling and healing her wounds, she becomes the source of incredible energy, the site of unbelievable potential for abundance and change.
She possesses the power to use her wounds for the greater good and her highest good.
She builds her own success and becomes her own rugged hero; tends to her own scraped knees.
She uses every stone thrown at her to build the foundation for her empire.
Brick by brick she builds – and despite every attempt to tear her walls down, she rescues herself again and again.
Despite it all, this type of survivor may still face hatred, envy, greed from those around her. . . .
As a result, she becomes the survivor of countless witch hunts, the target of many persecutors. Yet when they try to burn her at the stake, she does what comes naturally: she resurrects herself. . . .
Now when she creates, she creates new worlds and transforms and manifests on a level that cannot be recreated by someone who never had to struggle to survive.
When you hear the voice of a powerful survivor and the will of a warrior – there is nothing you can do but to stop and listen.
She is the voice of a million lifetimes lived.
She is the voice of the hopeless and the powerless when the fire is brought back to their eyes. She is the harbinger of the justice that the voiceless have longed to hear and feel and touch.
Regardless of how much you try and how it may seem, you can never truly bring a survivor like this to her knees; she already knows the value her scars bring.
She knows how to fill the cracks between her wounds with gold.
She knows how to transform each bitter word cast upon her into an iron-clad will that will set her and other caged birds free.
You can’t ever defeat a “damaged” woman, because she knows exactly how to save herself.”
Artist: Cosmic Svasti
Namaste
#spirit #starseed #awakening #ascension #guidance #oracle #spiritualawakening #spiritualgrowth
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Farewell, my summer of green
❀ ODE TO SUMMER ❀
Summer is drawing to a close, but I can earnestly say I have loved it well. And gratefully I can say it has loved me as well!
I am not yet ready to wrap my cloak around and do nothing but sip cocoa by the fire, but I am listening to the whisper of the changing leaves, feeling the tug of contemplation deeper in my heart, and musing on the more meditative season to come…
For the truth is, much as I love, Love, LOVE summer, I also love the gentle quietude of the darker time of year.
Her riches of insight, digestion of the whirlwind of seasons past, time to revision, pause, let go…
For me, the warm months can be quite a whirlwind! Even as I pace myself gently, beginning with the stirring winds of spring I become swept away – by new things budding, all the human activity, wildflowers that can be glimpsed only for a moment…
Oh precious life! But I would not trade you for a thousand, thousand winters, even as I treasure their slowing down, deep rest, and long dreaming nights…
So I will gather your seeds and hold them close to my breast, keeping them until in pre-spring’s light we meet again in dark soil softening, stirring…
And in the dark night, I will remember you with a heart full, write songs to you, paint pictures of light, and continue to muse on how I may best serve you in the cycles to come…
🌻 Thank you, summer! 🌻
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"My name is Sinéad O'Connor.
I am learning to love myself.
I am deserving. I deserve to be treated with respect.
I deserve not to be treated like dirt.
I deserve to be listened to.
I am a woman.
My name is Sinéad O'Connor.
I have something to offer.
I am and have always been carrying a lot of grief from my lost childhood.
And for the effects of its horror and violence on my life, I find it hard to be myself, to show my feelings.. To get to the joy, I need to release the pain which is blocking me.
If I do not do this, I will not survive.
I was angry before because I was frightened,
but I know that if you could really listen you'd see that we do not know what we are doing when we mock the expression of human feeling.
When we scoff at the sound of our children's keening, there is a mirror to which we are not looking."
Here is her writing, in THE IRISH TIMES, Thursday, June 10, 1993 Open Letter it was signed with: Love Sinéad O'Connor.
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Saint Sinéad
Shuhada, May you fly free.
“Children say that people are hung sometimes for speaking the truth.” Joan of Arc, 1400s
“Put your fucking seatbelts on ’cause I haven’t finished yet.” Sinéad O’Connor, SPIN 1992
Singer. Banshee. Advocate. Priest. Theologian. Mother. Bold. Brave. Muslim. Life-long nonconformist. Feminist. Human.
I’ll never forget the SNL episode when she tore the pope’s photo in half after singing Bob Marley’s War. No one did that. No one was brave enough to speak truth like that.
I bought combat boots that year and later wore them out walking all over town during the national changes in 1992. Inspired to be a social sciences major and music minor because of the spirit of the revolutionaries, from the 1800’s and 1900’s—youth, women, men, poets, writers, the truth tellers, the artists and musicians who spoke truth- real truth- against hypocrisy, against insanity, against a system that would kill them or exile them for having the audacity to speak truth. To be a free thinker.
I thought the most incredible destiny at the time was creating art because of and despite the insanity of the lies, the struggle of the human condition. And the journey of the one, the artist inside a collective sea, despite and because of persecution or being gaslit, silenced and all manner of atrocity, yet living on through and beyond. Their art, an eternal message of possibility, freedom and hope.
I’ve been reading a slew of articles that paint Sinéad’s portrait and highlight the spectrum of her human journey through her music, political activism, mental illness, motherhood and spiritual truth finding. She journeyed deep and wide, high and low. She was that destiny, not ego in the harmful sense, Artist. She was not going to change or be what the industry wanted her to be. Her music, her songs lifted up so many of us— the voiceless, the broken, the afraid, the confused, the troubled. She gave feelings and words to millions. She was an angel and a waif, a punk and a rebel, a truth teller and her own wild wolf. She howled and gave us permission to feed and feel the moon.
She was unapologetic. She did not care that what she said or did for the sake of truth and freedom, impacted the socially constructed ideas of what fame or fortune in the music industry are supposed to looks like. That they impacted her musical ‘career’ as the industry explains it, mattered not. Sinéad was a woman of her own making.
“I didn’t have time to think about [becoming famous] before it happened,” she says. “I was singing in clubs and pubs, pubs and clubs… I was just singing for the sake of singing, ‘cause I had shit to get off my chest. I feel like that’s the only reason really [for anyone] to make an album is because they’ll go so fucking crazy if they don’t. If you’re making an album for any other reason you shouldn’t be fucking making it.”
I played her albums on repeat. Some songs and albums more than others, through my youth.
“When I sing, it’s the most solitary state: just me, and the microphone, and the holy spirit. It’s not about notes or scales, it’s all about emotion.”
I cut my hair short. Swore off my insecure, boy-crazy teenage low self esteem superficiality. There was Pre-Revolutionary Angie and then Post-Revolutionary Angie. Like Baba Yaga said, to know too much is to grow too old too soon. I saw too much about the human condition, the cost of freedom and it’s opposite on the human psyche, felt and saw one world dying and another world rising— a world that was being made a golden child— Capitalism! And all I could see and smell was lies and hypocrisy. Yes some of the old needed to die, but some of the soul of the old was being raped by the dollar and that seemed insane to me. I didn’t know how to put in in words or digest it. It was a bone to choke on.
I was only a kid. I struggled mentally with anxiety and depression. An awakening of sorts. But no bearings back home to make sense of it. Sinéad’s music and Russian literature, poetry and music of the revolutions of old helped tremendously during that time. Dr. Zhivago. The Master and Marharita. Anna Akhmatova. Learning about the artist/writer and the struggle for freedom amidst censorship and death. Life, the world didn’t make sense. All the things that didn’t make sense about being a girl becoming a woman, American capitalism, not speaking truth, following social norms, political bullshit, pretense, Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose place… I rejected all of it. Mostly quietly, silently. While imploding inwards on myself because I didn’t understand transition or how to wake up fully boldly inside of it. Mental breakdown was the label that made sense. Yet it was more, it was that so much of the system was insane. So much of the conditions the inheritance the American myth the gender this and that —-it was insane.
Sinead was like a beacon of sanity amidst all that nonsense. They said she struggled with mental illness too, but she didn’t shut up. Did she have mental illness or did she grow up into a world that was completely entirely a nut job. Sometimes it’s a both and but sometimes the mental illness is the result of being fed insanity.
She didn’t stop saying through music what needed to be said. It was felt through my pores even if I wasn’t fully listening to the words. I freakin loved her. I cried to her songs. They resurrected me.
“Whatever it may bring
I will live by my own policies
I will sleep with a clear conscience
I will sleep in peace
Maybe it sounds mean
But I really don't think so
You asked for the truth and I told you
Through their own words
They will be exposed
They've got a severe case of
The emperor's new clothes
The emperor's new clothes
The emperor's new clothes
The emperor's new clothes”
Sinéad had a hard life. A difficult insane mother. A fucked up religion with its Massoleum of ghosts and secrets. She fought hard against child abuse, sexual abuse, hypocritical lies in the name of god and more. She became a priest. And she sang her own songs in her own way. In one interview decades ago, she said she thought Americans were wussies and needed to be more brave and speak out more against the lies and injustices. She was changed by motherhood. She lived through the painful suicide of one of her beloved children. That changed her. Some stories break you harder. And some stories don’t have a medicine that makes the pain go away.
She converted to Islam and changed her name several times. She took on the Muslim name Shuhada' Davitt – later changing it to Shuhada Sadaqat – but continued to use the name Sinéad O'Connor professionally. Shuhada means martyr.
From what I understand, Islam was the culmination of her spiritual journey as a theologian. She felt home inside of it. She found contentment.
“I never made sense to anyone, even myself, unless I was singing. But I hope this book makes sense. If not, maybe try singing it and see if that helps.”
I haven’t yet read her memoir. I somehow forgot about her in my 30’s and as I lost touch, I didn’t pay to much attention to her music. Her death wakes me up to her story, to my story, to our story of waking up inside a machine, waking up to truth, to life/death/life. May she fly free. May her passing be a wave of wakefulness over our heads, reminding us to be more bold. More truthful. More real.
And lastly, Shuhada… May the words of the great truth teller Pasternak carry you into the arms of Allah and beyond.
“And now listen carefully. You in others-this is your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life-your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on that is called your memory? This will be you-the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it.”
Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago
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Drunk on Summer Nostalgia
Nostalgia is the summer our midlife awakenings are made of.
The swirling rush of looking back and looking ahead
forever with our toes in the water and our head in the clouds
Summer is for pulling threads of original selves and past lives
until they pool at our feet.
Piles of that girl, that woman, that spirit, that soul
I’ve been out with lanterns looking for.
She still there.
And there.
And there.
Right where I left her.
salt water dripping from her hair / orange blossoms on the breeze after dark / salty eyebrows / sun-kissed skin / freckled nose / neon sunsets gnashed between her teeth / splashing in fountains / constellations fill her eyes / shells around her ankle / sand between her toes / a board under her feet/ surface of the water overhead/ soul aglow
last week
last month
last year
last decade
last century
light years away
far away, so close
Nostalgia pulls the threads of me begging to unravel
that cord running through her
and her
and her
all the way down to the sandy floor of me.
Strips of leather and strings of shell, drawstrings and swimsuit ties
twists of a cord I will never cut leading me back to the surface gasping for breath
A trail of loose ends may be frayed at the edges,
tattered and threadbare from the desert wind and coastal waves.
Perfect for the pulling.
Perfect for following and tracing and mapping
for pattern-finding and braid-making
for the work of weaving back in
the golden flecked threads that have always been mine.
over-under
over-under
Nostalgia is what our gorgeous midlife awakenings are made of.
Longer days settling under horizon lines, under water, under hotter and hotter nights
Thin spaces where the lines between what was and what is get blurred under the strangle-hold of electricity and heat
Perfect threshold for the telling of tales
Secrets of sirens and pirates, nymphs and sprites
whispers from the magic of BEFORE.
Before heartbreak and grief.
Before shipwreck and soul rot.
Before drowning in riptides, strong currents pulling out to sea.
Before walking out of classrooms and straight into sanctuaries.
Before folding an ultraviolet double helix neatly into boxes.
Before erasing every trace of ourselves and our breadcrumb trail of dreams.
Before exchanging intuition and instinct for kingdom keys.
Before corner offices and altar calls.
Before seeing behind the curtain, those little men at the mic.
Before winding roads and hitting dead ends.
Before unspoken rules turned into epitaphs.
Before faith floated up to the surface empty and dead.
Before choking on the smoke of bridges burned.
Before crisis stored itself in every single cell.
Before survival mode dug its claws into dendrites.
Before denial and spin and damage control and betrayal knew us by name.
Before fear taught our bodies to shake.
Before sleepless nights and sleeping the day away.
Before ash and bone settled in our wake.
Before time of death under neon skies.
Before rounding our shoulders concave.
Before carrying weight that was never ours.
Before turning down the light.
Before reigning in the wild.
Before knowing our place.
Before playing a role.
Before quieting our voice.
Before keeping the peace.
Before pretending to be unaffected.
Before tempering our rage.
Before bracing for impact.
Before holding our breath.
BEFORE, but also throughout.
Over and under.
Woven in between.
We are there.
And there.
And there.
Nostalgia is a key to our gorgeous midlife awakening.
To our unlocking.
our reintegrating
our releasing
our resurrecting
The green ribbon* around our throats, talismans belonging to us alone.
We pull loose our threads until they pool at our feet,
swim in their waters,
free to dive down deep,
all the stories are ours,
we are every river
we are the entire sea.
And one by one, thread by thread,
we choose what to release downstream and what to re-weave
back into ourselves YET AGAIN.
Yet again with love.
Yet again at sea, a phosphorescent glow.
Yet again at the helm, on course navigating by the stars.
Yet again intellectually honest.
Yet again twisting and stretching out end to end.
Yet again collecting artifacts among ruins.
Yet again flinging open cage doors just to witness flight.
Yet again under cathedral skies.
Yet again under our own authority.
Yet again in wide open spaces.
Yet again out gathering bones.
Yet again swimming under supernovas.
Yet again gathering old wood to light new beacons.
Yet again filling every shriveled cell to bursting.
Yet again acting on our own behalf.
Yet again licking our incisors and singing full-throated under full moons.
Yet again breathing deep.
Yet again choosing rest.
Yet again keeping a hot wick and a whole heart.
Yet again sunsets reflecting on the lake bringing us back to life.
Yet again taking up our space.
Yet again straightening our spine and carrying only our own work.
Yet again a fireball burning across the sky.
Yet again reclaiming feral territory.
Yet again trespassing everywhere.
Yet again playing simply for the sake of delight.
Yet again trusting my voice.
Yet again riding waves.
Yet again allowing ourselves to feel it all.
Yet again dragoning.
Yet again softening.
Yet again metabolizing light from 93million miles away and breathing free.
Nostalgia is the gorgeous summer our midlife awakenings are made of.
Who we’ve been, pointing us to who we still are.
Said to be “the wistful or excessively sentimental yearning to return to some past period or irrecoverable condition” (shoutout to Merriam-Webster)
or maybeeee…
Nostalgia is the drifting through what has always been true
the currents of BEFORE and YET AGAIN
swirling of fingertips in the waters of our own stories
rewriting endings and maybe even some beginnings
keeping some tales tucked into back pockets (alongside our matches)
letting others float away free downstream toward the sea
Nostalgia is the reveling and remembering and releasing and resurrecting
coming back for seconds and thirds and letting the juice of it all drip down our chins
drunk on our own lives
in true summer fashion.
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5 Important Questions to Uncover your Soul Purpose.
We all come into this life with a soul purpose and with gifts that we are here to share with the world.
This is also known as our dharma, or our act of devotion to the world. For many of us, life before discovering that purpose is… utterly purposeless.
Personally, the search for my purpose completely consumed me throughout my adolescence and into my early adulthood. I had this burning sense deep within me that there was something I knew and came here to do but somehow forgot.
I could not rest. I would not be satisfied until I found it.
I was relentless in my quest to uncover it, constantly asking, “Why am I here?” “What is my purpose?” and “How can I help people?” I was turning over every stone, going on many random forays, and journeying down every pathway possible to find the answers.
I was wildly unhappy and felt a gaping hole within me until I found the path that I am on now and began connecting with my soul’s purpose.
There are no words apt to describe the joy, the magic, the bliss, the excitement, the abundance, the fulfillment, the miraculousness, and the alignment that comes from being connected with your purpose here in this lifetime.
I am incredibly grateful that my soul contract saw me connecting with my purpose so early on in life, as many people go their entire lives searching and never finding this purpose. And part of my purpose is helping others uncover theirs!
Here are five windows that you can look through and make a self-inquiry in order to uncover your soul’s gifts and purpose:
1. What are you naturally good or gifted at doing?
We are conditioned to believe that we need to work hard in order to succeed. It’s hard for us to believe that we could be celebrated, paid, and appreciated for the things that we find easy or natural to do.
On the contrary, our soul’s purpose and gifts are actually something that come easily and naturally to most of us. That’s why they are considered our gifts.
Look at what comes easiest or naturally for you and you’ll quickly uncover some of your core soul gifts. These could be skills and talents that you have, such as public speaking, healing, dancing, painting, cooking, musicianship, writing, or being good at math or science. Also, they include your inherent personality traits.
Soul purpose is not only about what you are doing but who you are being in the process.
Traits that come naturally to you, such as emotional intelligence, empathy, compassion, problem-solving, leadership, creative thinking, or even esoteric wisdom that you simply possess without knowing how you know also count as soul gifts.
Perhaps, people always come to you for help and support and you’re great at helping them solve or work through their problems.
Perhaps, you’re amazing at lifting the vibe when those around you are sad.
Perhaps, you’re a natural-born leader and people tend to respect and look up to you.
All of these are traits belonging to your soul signature, and being an authentic embodiment of them is an important part of your soul’s purpose here. If you’re struggling to answer this question, ask your friends and nearest and dearest to help by asking their opinion and what they perceive your strengths to be.
2. What bothers you that other people aren’t good at doing, or that other people are naturally embodying?
Often it’s the gifts that come naturally to us that we can’t for the life of us understand why others don’t have them. We take these traits or talents of ours for granted, assuming everyone else should find it as easy or natural as we do. Therefore, we are often frustrated or impatient when someone around us isn’t embodied in a soul gift or trait that comes naturally to us.
Look at where you become easily bothered or annoyed at someone for not understanding, being good at, or “getting” something the way you do.
Does it trigger you when people are slow at doing certain activities?
What can you not tolerate other people lacking, for instance, emotional intelligence, the ability to grasp concepts, and the ability to take action on their desires?
On the inverse, are there certain things, positions, roles, or traits you see others embodying that trigger you?
We are often triggered by somebody who is authentically, unashamedly expressing an aspect of ourselves that we have repressed. For instance, you may see a woman who is radiant and unashamed in her sensuality, and that might trigger you because you repress your own.
If you see someone who is a powerful speaker, it might trigger you because that is a gift that you have that you are not using. Our triggers are wonderful doorways and windows into the deeper truths about ourselves.
3. What can you lose time doing?
Our soul purpose and gifts activate the flow of the life force within us. When we are fulfilling them, we become open vessels, channels, and conduits for divine inspiration to flow through us. This energy heals, uplifts, and brings joy and love to others and to ourselves.
In a flow state, all worries and thoughts melt away and you become completely present—devoted and immersed in the activity you are doing. You seem to slow down or lose all sense of time completely. You look down and begin writing, and then when you look at the clock again it’s been five hours.
Look at the hobbies, interests, activities, and talents in your life that you can lose all sense of space and time doing, and more importantly, the things that bring you immense joy. This brings me to…
4. What lights you up, what brings you joy, and what are you passionate about?
In order to find your purpose, the most important barometer to follow is:
What brings you joy?
What feels good, juicy, pleasurable, and exciting for you to do?
What brings you genuine joy?
What takes you into a childlike state of wonder, play, and curiosity?
If you can’t answer these questions, this is a good place to start.
Our souls will always be speaking to us through little pings of joy, tingles of excitement, and feelings of pleasure. Follow the fun crumbs!
Abundance, joy, and love are our soul’s natural state of being, so anything that gets you in touch with those states of being is going to be in alignment with your soul purpose. Yep, even if you can’t figure out how to monetize it yet. (This comes later, as you’ll always be supported to fulfill your soul’s purpose. It’s literally stipulated in your soul contract.)
When we are in a state of joy, excitement, and passion, it is infectious to those around us. You can’t help but feel excited and uplifted around someone who is passionate and joyful about what they do! In doing things that bring us excitement and joy, we are giving others permission to follow their bliss and do the things that light them up, by allowing them to activate and share their soul gifts.
When looking at this window, ask yourself:
What could you talk about or do until you’re blue in the face?
If you were stranded in the desert and could take or do only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?
For the record, I want to say that there have been times on this journey when I’ve had no clue what actually brings me joy, particularly during my experiences of the dark night of the soul. I was feeling super disconnected from my feelings of joy, happiness, and a desire to live at all.
So, if this is you, and you can’t connect to or figure out what brings you joy right now, that’s okay. I invite you to go out and try a whole heap of new things until you find activities that do. You’d be surprised at what you might find. I didn’t actually know half the things even existed that now bring me the most joy.
A beautiful mantra you can use every day to connect to this intention is:
“Soul (universe/higher self/God), guide me to what would truly nourish, fulfill, and excite me today.”
Last, but certainly not least…
5. What traits or gifts of yours, when you are authentically expressing them, bring joy, peace, love, healing, or activation to others around you?
As I’ve already pointed out, our soul purpose and gifts are given to us to share. In the act of sharing these gifts, we are uplifting those around us, and as a result, the vibration of the planet.
When looking through this window, ask yourself: What is it that you do that people often express their gratitude toward you for doing or being?
For instance:
Are you naturally thoughtful and kind?
Do you enjoy nurturing, helping, and supporting others?Is your presence uplifting or inspiring?
Do people go nuts for your cooking, or become overwhelmed with emotion when you play the instrument you play?
Do people reach out to you to thank you for inspiring them with your writing?
Or, do they simply appreciate you for holding a loving, non-judgemental space for them?
What is it that you do that you know brings a positive impact to others?
These are five windows you can look through in order to uncover your soul’s gifts and purpose, but in no way is this an exhaustive list. Your soul purpose is multifaceted and is not just what you are doing but who you are being.
Allow that to sink in. It’s less about doing and more about being.
In order to fulfill your soul purpose and mission, literally all you need to do is: be the most authentic, unique, You-iest version of you that there is and share that with the world. Any work that you can do to connect to your true self, or the self beneath the conditioning, the limitations, the masks, the stories, and the identities is inevitably going to align you with that sense of fulfillment and purpose within.
And don’t forget, your soul’s purpose is your authentic soul expression and the art that you share in the world—no matter what form that comes in.
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Text
I was midwife of birth and death.
My medicine grew in fields and forests:
Mandrake.
Yarrow. Henbane.
My heart beat in time to the spin of the earth.
I spoke only truth.
I would not be silent.
I would not speak the name of their god.
So they cut out my tongue.
I was an oracle. I was She Who Sees.
I saw the tracks of the stars and the path of the swallows,
The sun rising in the stones and lichen on tree trunks.
I would not cast down my gaze in front of their masters.
So they burnt out my eyes.
I was Creatrix. Pleasure was my magic.
My body writhed, moss against the arch of my back
As I howled my ecstasy to a strawberry moon.
I knew no shame.
I birthed when I chose.
I bled on the earth.
I would not hide my blood.
So they ripped out my womb.
I was sovereign. I knew no greater power than that of my own body.
I was not afraid of the dark.
I was Shakti.
I was wild, untamed.
I ran with the wolves and swam with the seals.
I raged with the wind and wept with the rain.
I would not be controlled.
So they bound my hands behind my back and slaughtered my children, one by one, in front of me, As I begged and screamed and sobbed.
“Help me,” I cried.
But my sisters whispered and turned away,
Their own children too precious to lose.
They hung me from a sacred oak.
As the blood dripped from my broken body, staining the blackthorn pyre beneath my feet,
I made a vow
Of silence.
And the terror settled into my bones, like sand.
II
For hundreds, thousands of years, I slept like this:
Obedient, chaste, demure.
Tamed.
My voice, my eyes, my blood, my magic, my power, my truth, all hidden in plain sight
In women’s bodies, coiled like a snake,
Concealed
By shame and fear.
They knew that I was not dead
So they masqueraded a parody of me through children’s dreams:
grotesque, warted, cackling
and bad to the bone,
A role model for no-one.
This was their greatest subterfuge.
When they heard my name, people trembled,
The truth was forgotten:
That I was a healer, a seer, a force of nature, a woman free of shame.
III
I slumbered on
But I could not sleep forever.
I heard a sound, what was it?
The death song of a shrike perhaps?
The padding footsteps of a lonely tiger?
And then I felt the blood.
It swelled in my womb and gushed from every cell in my body:
The blood of shame, the blood of pain,
The blood that forever kept time with the moon.
The disobedient blood that kept flowing from a wound that would not close.
I howled in agony
And opened my eyes.
I blinked
And looked around in disbelief at the withered, treeless earth,
Her arteries clogged with a filthy waste,
Her lungs choked.
She was not as I remembered her.
“Where am I?” I whispered.
The earth answered:
“You are home.”
The clothes they had dressed me in, I tore them from my body.
I put my hand to my breast to check my heart was still beating.
I reached down to my vulva and caressed her
And dipped my fingers inside that long forgotten passage.
At first, I felt nothing.
I persisted.
The numbness gave way to pain.
I pressed my cervix and the cries of a billion women,
Raped and beaten and silenced and murdered,
All over the world and through all of time
Seared my flesh with white heat,
And finally,
Finally,
I unleashed the rage that had built in my body for a thousand years:
A terrible screech, an animal howl, a guttural scream,
That split the sky
And rained back down on the earth as shattered glass.
And then the honey.
Sweet, orgasmic waves
Merged my body with the earth and the stars
And I was almost whole again.
There was work to be done.
I broke a branch from a willow to use as a wand.
My pelvic bowl was my cauldron.
I made magic.
I remembered that I had not always been alone.
I called out to my sisters: “Where are you?”
And their sleep muffled voices echoed back to me through the mist:
“We are here.
We are here.
We are here.”
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Text
One by one they walked
through the woods.
Eyes watching them,
they knew they were not alone
as the animals and spirits of the night,
Ancestors and Cosmic Beings held the
Realm of the eternal cycle.
Hands enjoined and circle cast,
libations poured out to the
Elementals and Land Guardians,
ancient energies flowed as
the drums found their beat and
the women began to dance and chant.
Isis
Astarte
Diana
Hecate
Demeter
Kali
Inanna
Over and over their voices filled the air
calling in these and other Ancient ones,
their energies, magic and wisdom,
their rage and righteous anger
as shouts of No More and Never Again
filled the air.
Voices invoked the battle energies
as the Warrior Goddesses arrived
Lilith
Andraste
Durga
Hel
Oya
Pele
Ixchel
Freya
The Morrighan
Boudicca of the Iceni
Zenobia of Palmyra
Lakshmi Bai of Jhansi
Yambe-Akka of the Sami
Through the night they chanted
the invocation "show us another way"
to the ancient Mothers, Queens,
Warrioresses, Witches.
Voices raising power and
raised IN power as the Zorya,
Queen Boudicca, The Morrighan
and the Valkyries held the circle,
swords in hand, symbols of
both peace and truth as well as
strength and protection
Eyes of the night still held vigil
for this sacred activist work
as each woman plucked
her part of the web
weaving new threads of hope
and spinning the wheel of change.
Fox, wolf and coyote
opossum, turtle and deer
bear, raccoon and hare
held vigil as the
moths danced,
spiders wove webs,
and serpents shed skins
no longer needed,
all while the calls of the
owls and night birds echoed
in synchronous harmony.
As the darkness of night
gave way to the light
of a new dawn, the Ravens
and Crows and birds of the day
arrived calling out as the
women prayed their work
had been enough to alter
the events of this day...
they prayed it was enough
to alter the events
of the Coming Days.
As they walked back
through the woods,
sunlight streaming through
the trees and with eyes still
watching, the women held the
Rim of the Eternal Circle
safely in their hearts and womb space,
encased in a deep knowing that
Whatever this new day held...
Whatever and Whomever was to come...
Their work, the ancient ways and this
realm of power would always continue
For the Circle never ends and the
Weaver always weaves.
____________________________________________
Art by Autumn Skye Morrison
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