Pink Coyote

At Cliff's Edge

It was nine years ago last month that I took myself to Big Sur for the first time. I disorientedly rang up my friend Swirly and asked her where she loved to go when she needed space away from it all, and this is where she directed me.

I'd had a second trimester miscarriage two weeks before I phoned her and those around me were worried that I would go up there and fling myself off of a cliff. Which, interestingly enough, was where I received the healing I required to move forward in the light, and in a new kind of strength that I'd never before experienced, alone.

Traumatic and blindsiding loss made me feel as though I was standing on a precipice. I packed some art supplies and my journal, and took the curvaceous drive up the California coast to the place where artists have been taking sanctuary for a hundred years or more. In many places the road comes very close to the edge of the Earth, reminding me of my fear of heights, my stomach flipping over as I snatched glimpses of the waves crashing on the rocks below.

The room I stayed in had nothing but a bed and a bathroom. No phone, no tv, no cell service. I painted, journalled, slept long hours dreaming of this baby spirit that had chosen to gift me with this experience before gifting me with motherhood.

On my last day there, I decided to stand at the scariest edge I could find on the roadside and rage out my grief-all of it-all the way back to childhood. I recalled what I'd heard someone say about heights reflecting fear not that we will fall, but that we will jump. I wonder if, for me, it was a fear of soaring...despite what was happening in my body and in my injured soul at the time. I remember feeling a tremendous comfort-that the sea was like a big bowl, a container that could totally hear and understand my rage, my disappointment and hold my tears for me. I grew louder and bolder, and still she rocked me softly. The sea lions below barked and cheerleaded. The turkey vultures circled overhead, not in wait for me to lay down and die so they could pick at my bones, but to take from me all that would become toxic if I held it inside. The scent of sagebrush wafted up and cleansed me. I can't remember a time where I felt more held and safe. I closed my eyes and felt the rubble moving under my unsteady feet, and learned to trust for the first time in my life. Tears of rage turned to tears of gratitude for my life, for all that was possible. I felt it for the whole world.

Often I am asked how it is I came to this work-to my connection with the Earth as a healer, and to the creatures. I suppose in some part, it began with this loss, and then an emptying. The void inside of me filled with light and I felt a strange commitment to want to give back to the Earth for the gift of being held when no one could hold me. I wanted to know I could always come here as if to an altar and find my illuminated self waiting at the edge, trusting.

It was lifechanging to discover that between just she and I, a relationship existed that could keep me in the light. That every part of her was rooting for me. Crumbling, barking, splashing, crashing...daring me to live well, to thrive, to be fully expressed.

I travel back every year to revisit the cliff's edge and to reconnect with my own light. Oddly enough, it only rained that year, and I visit in January or February, ritually. Twice I've been pregnant. Every time, I am rebirthed.

Solstice Hangover Remedy & Giveaway Winners

Do you have a Solstice Hangover? That is to say, did releasing into the fire leave you feeling like you labored long and hard and now deep rest and restoration are required just two days before Christmas? What?! You're not alone.

I read this at Jen Louden's site this morning as part of her 2012 Predictions For You:

"I see you showered with spunk, powered by verve, on fire with desire. Stuck and stagnant, my friend, are junk in the trunk you drop off at Goodwill. Bye bye."

I had to giggle at her perky outlook, on a morning when I feel...less-than-spunky, after having made the big drop-off.

There is truth around the need to igniting desire within me, as I have just left so, SO much behind in the fire that I burned for twenty-four hours solid, so much so that I feel completely emptied out and ready to refill with that which IS invited into 2012, beginning with taking very good care of myself and my family for the next few days through the Christmas holiday, which we celebrate.

I'm going out today for the last few items, unafraid of crowds, wearing a bit of light protection around me, planning to tune into what it will feel like to take my raw self out into the world before I put the key into the ignition. While in the midst of ceremony, negativity feels as though it can grab us-we are in a vulnerable state and must bring some grounded intention to where we're now at and what we need to do to move to the next step.

We need not take on negative energy from the outside world, as we move back toward life in a new way. If you're needing some support around what type of protection to carry, let me say that donning armour is a heavy load...love is lightweight and so portable.

Envision a source of light protection around you if you are feeling raw.

Give yourself a visual, auric, cloak of permission to travel among people without taking their releasings on. The toxic debris of others, shed unceremoniously on us through various forms of howlers, media and physical transmissions need not feel disruptive-you cannot block them from coming toward you, however, when standing in truth and love, you cannot be shaken or stirred.

The New Moon is here, and her timing couldn't be better. We cannot stay in the energy of letting go and releasing, it is time to move into a space of envisioning and calling in. If you create a space of Love around you, no one will be able to harm you. As darkness attracts darkness, as does Light attract Light. My teacher said to me, "If you're in anxiety, fear or resentment, you will attract that." The law of attraction is always at work, and her simple words and love were an affirmation to me when we spoke this morning.

Candle Ritual for Calling in Positive New Year Visions

If you are feeling groggy, unclear, or in a crash, move into this exercise gently:

Anoint a new candle, blessing it with prayers and oils. Keep the oil to the outside of the candle and not right up on the wick. Envision yourself in the new way, post releasing ceremony. Think of what wondrous experiences come next for you, and see it playing out as you light your candle.

The soul, like the moon, is new, and always new again.
—Lalleswari by my love Carla at Zena Moon.

When you feel complete with your vision for yourself, imagine how your vision will integrate with the cosmos and ripple out through your family and the greater human tribe. Note what feelings are hugged up around you.

When you're finished with this ritual, blow out your candle and save it for use only with this meditation, to fortify you each new moon throughout the year, or whenever you need a boost to lift you back into your fierce and powerful heartspace and vision.

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The randomly selected winners for the Winter SouLodge passes are Stephanie Mitchell and Nina Ricker. Please send an email to [email protected] to let me know  that you are IN and ready to restore your soul in the North this Winter.

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Blessings to all, and gratitude to the Big Mama Earth and Sister Moon for their ageless feminine wisdom that is available to all of us, right here-right now.

 

Fire Mama Sistah

photo Brandon Campbell.

She's graceful, fierce, a huntress and protector. She doesn't take any shit.

What I'm Releasing: Scarcity Thinking (among other things)

The video for The Mother of All Releasings Ceremony is almost complete, and I'm so excited to share it with you I can hardly wait. The incredibly artful and meticulous Anne Carmack is in the final editing stage and we're chomping at the bit to talk more about releasing and raise the energy around this auspicious Solstice day on December 22nd. I'm imagining what it will be like to have fires burning all around the world, with women and their tribes tossing in what is absolutely not invited into 2012. Find out how to make your releasing bundles here.

I've been enjoying reading about conscious transition over at 13moon, and really love hearing what Mayan elders are saying about this time in history. Doomsday prophecies are a real bore, and Eden Sky has a bit of positive spin on the hype around the Mayan 2012 prophecy that takes the fear out of change.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if a huge congregation of us could step more consciously into unity with each other and harmony with the Earth, even if we're just inviting baby steps into this new way of being? Leaving fear and worry behind, we can truly risk our dreams if we can see them extending out and beyond us for the next hundred years.

What changes for you when you put down the five year plan, or even the twenty year plan, just momentarily, and embrace the idea that what we do now, what we're already doing, and what we're capable of, is to leave a legacy that ripples out from our core and into the future beyond our lifetimes?

I've been busy here, as per usual, -this is my scurrying time of year, nesting, holidaying, sending out orders, and planning retreats for soaring into the new year- but in the crevasses I step outside and breathe in the chilly air and consider what it really is I'm letting go of. I hold even when I don't think I'm holding, and I see it showing up quietly, a bit sneakily, and so I'm wanting to call it out and ask what the heck these little inner weights are really about. I'll start with a biggie for me, and share some more as we draw nearer to Solstice.

Letting go of this house: I catch myself switching on the light in my big ole pantry that we designed six years ago and thinking, dang, I'm going to miss this thing. Bit of grief, and longing attaching itself to me. While it's not wrong in my mind to anticipate *missing* something or someone meaningful, this is a pantry. What's it really about? Why am I projecting into the future unconsciously? I think that I'm carrying fear that I won't have enough space in our new digs, which we'll be moving into just after the Christmas holiday. And maybe that's really about general scarcity worries. This pretty much happens in every room of the house, when I do my banking, when I work in my calendar: space, time and money flow. So I'm going to let go of Scarcity Thinking to make room for clarity and abundance.

I'd love to hear more about what's coming up for you!

Fear of Bees

A few weeks ago we took Miles to visit a little school in our new town of Ojai called Grounded By Nature. If you're familiar with Jon Young's Coyote's Guide to Connecting to Nature, or Tom Brown Jr., then you'll have a rough idea of where we want to go with our children's education. As soon as we arrived, I fell in love. It's set way back on an 8-acre property, complete with organic farm and a yurt for doing lessons in. The director was charismatic and sweet, as were her two sun-kissed children. For the first ten minutes, it was heaven.

Then, by the little solar-pump pond, Miles was stung by a Bee, and fell into my arms in a heap of sorrow for the remainder of our hour there. I didn't get most of my questions answered and felt helpless in the moment to do anything but try to transform his experience. To be clear, what I mean by that is that I wanted to control it. I really wanted him to move through it so that I could rest assured that this would be the right place for him. The director's daughter harvested yarrow for me to chew up and blob onto his wound. Her son came forth with an offering of clay to draw out the poison, and his story of how he, too, had been brought to his knees by a sting the week prior. Nothing would console my boy. And my gut was doing flips over it.

We left, making apologetic faces and receiving their full sympathy, with a promise to return on parent meeting day to hand in our paperwork and prepare for the school season. In the interim, I researched educational programs, surrendered my ego around conventional academics, agreed with his Dad to continue homeschooling for now, to supplement the loose, playful, exploratory, outdooring, experiential curriculum, and decided that this is what we wanted for him-that it seemed a good match for what his values are and also his love of the natural world.

Two days before meeting day, M came down with the chickenpox. Sign, or obstacle to overcome? My feverish analytics kicked in full force. Having passed on this vaccination and nearly all others, I was glad to see it arrive, as it offered insurance that he'd move through it at an age considered safe on the immune system and one hundred percent immunity from the virus in the future (as opposed to the 80-85% the vac provides, or so I've read). But it meant that he woudn't be able to come to the meeting with me, and wouldn't be able to attend the rapidly approaching first day of school until......"the last scab falls off".

Enter second stage control issues. He won't get to start with his classmates. What if he doesn't feel part of the group as everyone else does? WHAT IF HE FEELS LIKE AN OUTSIDER? What if, what if, what if?

Fear. Overreaction.

It gets better. I'd sent an email to the director the day the blisters appeared, to let her know that I'd be coming alone and that Miles indeed had the pox and were there any policies about contagiousness I should consider before driving two and a half hours to sit in on the meeting. She didn't get it, and so I phoned about twenty minutes out of town to check in and her response was that Oh, shoot, hmmm, dang, I should probably just drop off my paperwork and check, so that everyone else wouldn't have to worry about the satellite possibility of it creeping toward them. I caught her off-guard and then screwed myself. I agreed.

Heightened anxiety and confusion set in.

In that moment, I no longer knew what I needed, I sacrificed my needs to take care of others, I couldn't determine and ask for another solution-such as sitting way out on the sidelines or hanging around town to talk to her afterwards. When I walked away from the sweet circle of parents and children, having humbly slipped my papers under a grinding stone rock, I felt it hit me. I felt sad, angry, powerless. I sat in tears on the dirt road in a line of empty cars losing my shit.

My children had been in my mother's care back in the valley since six-thirty a.m. at a time when I really felt I should be with them. It was a truly frustrating experience and I couldn't let go. I gripped my big feelings like the inside of a boxing glove: I couldn't trust that we'd made the right decision without receiving their presentation. I couldn't trust that he would feel safe among the other children and families without observing them a little bit. It was all about me, and far less about Miles. Kids trust in the best of ways. Why can't I?

All I could do was shuffle to the local coffee roasters joint (because espresso and anxiety go so well together, right?) and sit in the park with a bagel. I came to a pivotal place, where my own trigger-happy immune inhibitors implored me to turn it around. That this was just Another Lesson in Letting Go. That was it-this is what I do. I talk about living in Trust and here I was sitting in it's rival: Fear. I had to make a choice.

My baby turns six tomorrow and I heard clearly as I walked back toward my car, texting a friend from my infant stage of clarity, that I am being asked to (crocodile tears as I write) let him go off into this new realm- to learn to ask for help from others, to find his way, to shine his light, to fail, and to succeed. The chickenpox cleanse, and a new school in a new town is a rite of passage for him. Yet I've failed to see, until now, that it's a rite of passage for me, too.

I got in my car and drove home to my babes. Later that day, the director was extremely apologetic about not helping me determine what it was I needed that day, and she dazzled me with her expert resolution skills- a bit of hand-holding thrown in. But I don't know that I even needed it. I have everything I need to begin, and my healing and transformation has always, and will always, require me to release my fear and take risks.

Coming back to Trust, always feels like coming Home.

Oh, and Bee? That little busy gal simply teaches us all about how to be part of a real community- working together, as a group.

I'm ready now. In order for my pup to grow strong, build immunity, find his community, and come to peace with her medicine, I've got to release my grasp on the only way I've ever known him.

 

Had I been looking, I coulda seen it comin' from a mile away.

 

Operation Tiny House: An Inside Job

The B-53 beckons with it's 777 square feet of petite beauty.

I'm pretty sure that my post entitled Little House has been the most read of everything I've ever put up in six years here. Before Jay Schaffer wrote a proper book on the subject, his tiny house offerings were little bitty hand-stapled pamphlets, which I ordered all of, after seeing a post up at Keri Smith's blog. It was so long ago I can't even remember when it was.

It's at least how long I've been itching to jump in my car, hook up my vintage Beasty trailer and beat a trail out of whatever two bathroom spread I was living in. The time has come to start walking my talk. As we search each week for homes, my sights keep focusing into smaller and smaller spaces. Ironically, it's expanding me.

A friend of mine is selling her small house in Austin, if you are one such Texan who doesn't need your home to be as supersized as your state. How in the heck did living spaces become so large?? And the expectation to fill it up with stuff has hit what seems like an all-time high.

Attending Squam Art Workshops really broke this issue open again for me last week. Any last reservations I had about giving up luxurious space were set free on the lakeshore breeze, and the path between a wee house in nature and the mystical powers of the Universe was cleared.

The RDC cabins are little and warm (once the fire's been lit) and when I'm there I yearn not to leave because it's a place where there is so little to tend to and so much creativity to be explored, especially outside those cabin doors. It was on the dock, under the illuminated ceiling reflected on the lake that I discovered I was ready to say it out loud. I didn't really know I was saying it, but I was. I did. Nothing else made sense.

I am open to receive a clean, smallish dwelling in Ojai with land enough for my tipi, the trampoline, three dogs, two cats, two fish and oh yes, one seedling daughter and a sapling son.

Now, how in the hell am I going to get two children in one room to share a bunkbed, you ask? Give up my dishwasher, my custom walk-in closet? I don't know yet how it's going to work or feel, but I can say that it's going to happen, and that we're going to have to push through it to rebirth a new way of thinking about HOME.

I got a letter last night from the firetender at the sweat lodge I attended a couple of weeks ago. In it he explained that the work we most have to do for the Earth is on the inside of us. In my own words, it's about shifting our perspectives as the Hanged Man would teach, healing our old wounds, dancing with our shadows until we can make a conscious agreement with them about how to let them express.

One of my shadow expressions is fear of confinement, that there will not be enough: enough of me, enough time, enough money, enough space. I think that these concerns present as obstacles on my path to being at peace with what is. Fear keeps us from connecting with our true needs, and so an entire lifetime can be spent living in the illusory future, hoping and waiting for that blessing of experiencing real abundance. Building bigger and better hasn't always proved to be better.

Radical downsizing isn't going to create vast amounts of extra time because I'm cleaning less. It's not going to be instant peace-I expect a period of agitated adjustment from the little roommates. But seeing as how I've been manifesting this change for about two years, it will be an interesting test to put myself and my family to. A challenge to rework my life in a way that is in accordance with my values.

It's humbling, too. Guests will have to sleep in the the Beasty or in the tipi on the ground. Oddly enough, this is what I have asked for. To let ego step down and take a rest from trying to protect me from not having enough, appearing enough, offering enough. My focus will hopefully shift to simply being, and doing what I do, instead of trying to be enough and doing what depletes me. Existing in fear of lack of anything sends a confusing message to the Great Mystery, which seems to respond when we clear out the fear boulders and trust the road in front of us with our whole hearts.

I think the firetender was right. The real work is on the inside.

 

 

A Manifesto of Faith

Faith, 2011.

It's been a long time since I've writ a manifesto. I've been hearing a lot of fear in circulation, so here's my response. If I missed one, feel free to add it in the comments. Let's make sure to cover it all. Here goes:

 

I have faith that because I am a woman, I am a fertile, creative being.

I have faith that my wild ways are teaching me valuable lessons about loving deep, exploring the frontiers, and transcending judgment of myself and others.

I have faith that my acts of creation have a healing effect on the planet, and that I do not need to personally deliver aid to a third world country in order to spread mass seeds of goodness and beauty.

I have faith that I deserve the time to create in my unique way.

I have faith that my children will be okay when I do this.

I have faith that my partner will be okay (and not abandon me) when I do this.

I have faith that creating my works is not, nor will it ever be, a selfish act.

I have faith that when something shifts for me, and I change, my dear ones will still love and appreciate me.

I have faith in my ability to connect with Source and download inspiration from Sky, Fire, Waters, and Earth.

I have faith that I will overcome feeling guilty about taking time for myself.

I have faith that I'll get to a place where nothing will stop me from creating when I require it.

I have faith that I can clear the obstacles that stand between me and my exquisite creative life, and I am not afraid to ask for help with this.

I have faith that my creative acts can sustain me.

I have faith in my ability to find out what wants to be expressed from deep within me that is my very own.

I have faith that I'll be able to balance my spiritual creative life with my family life.

I have faith that my creative babies know how to birth themselves, that I am the carrier and the nurturer, but ultimately they have a life of their own to live, and I must give it to them.

I have faith that I will find my creative community and spiritual sisters.

I have faith that I am not Too Much, Too Big or Too Vocal.

I have faith that I am not Too Little, Too Small or Too Quiet.

I have faith that my voice and my messages are important and create vitality for others.

I have faith that the vibrant threads that are my future projects are on their way to me now.

I have faith that my work, art and life will be well supported.

In this I Trust.

 

 

Wilderness Home Companion

Tonight I'm sitting up in bed and setting out to do some writing on a project that is very dear to my heart and a long time comin'. I washed my feet and pampered them with lavender sugar scrub (jarred up by a writerly friend) to ground myself. I smudged with white sage. I gathered my companions, an old journal, a new one, and a notebook from a most inspiring friend. I called out for Hawk, who has shown up to guide me through this process- taking a necessary dose of my own medicine. I brushed my teeth and put in earplugs. I kissed my babies goodnight and now here I am...

In the silence with my heartbeat. Facing the blank canvas. Soft paws ready to do some trekking into unknown territory. I'm beyond feeling trepidation about these sorts of things. My concerns tonight are with the distillation process, will I have access to the place of intuitive wisdom? I've enjoyed helping others to access it for themselves, as I experienced at SAW, but now it's my turn to head down into the hazy, sparkling goldmines. I'm excited.

Light a candle for me down there if you're walking this extraordinary path, too. I'll do the same for you.

Squam Part 3: BeaRaccoon

I'm still transforming and integrating back into home, as a friend put it, I've just walked  over a threshold into a very vital place and it's taking me some time to reassemble my home life/roles in a new way. Not unlike those dismemberment journeys I'm so fond of! I love the very concept of retreating in order to step through another door, to have that last little experience that issues permission to cross into the next adventure. So for now, I can only offer some personal anecdotes of what it was like on my end as I catch up with what's downloaded.

I wasn't planning on making a mask of my own when I packed my supplies for one of the classes I taught at SAW last week, Muse As Mask. I figured I'd be busy helping everyone with their masks. Made sense.

However, as the circle began I discovered that what I was asking each of my beautiful students to do was to deeply trust her self-guidance, even the bits that felt like mistakes on the piece. To check out of her left-brain analytics and quietly peruse with her intuition leading the way. And so it turned out that I sang them a Native American song and pretty much was no longer needed. *grin*

I cut my mask out of heavy blue cotton duck and then promptly sewed a piece of bright yellow felt over it. My third chakra spoke right up and I felt that I was working with the energies of my power center. Certainly just teaching this group was a test of how I could do what I set out to, and so I felt a Bear coming into being as I stitched, glued and assembled unconsciously alongside these women. I've painted, written and talked about Bear a number of times here-and she felt like a strong, natural guide for me to sidle up to and also embody. She is brave, sure of herself, plods along at an easy pace, and also very protective. I became aware of how protective I felt of my students and of the space we were working in.

Then I pulled a lamp over on myself, burned my hand at the fireplace and tripped over a cord.

My mask started to take on another face- still an ominivorous, curious creature with a penchant for scavenging through discarded treasures, but one who is known for...his mask. Was it Faulkner who said something akin to having to read what he's written about something in order to know what he thinks of it?

In this application, Raccoon uses the positive aspects of his Mask to become something he is not, or is not yet. He knows when to share information with others and when to hold it close. His mystery becomes magic when used thoughtfully and with good intentions. A little Merlin, he is an expert at disguise and secrecy. Raccoon is a powerful animal when change is sought. He can thrive in any environment, making his dreams attainable if he will but name and pursue them. Working under the cover of night, the nocturnal wizard finds tools for transformation in unexpected places. Shamanic journey, active imagination and work with the dreamtime can produce magical results when practiced diligently, and with care and reverence for the medicine. Raccoon's tricky nature can commit to this work, by making personal growth a fun and thrilling puzzle to be solved. As his dexterous fingers pick the locks of the soul's desires, wisdom and booty are uncovered with glee. At his best, Raccoon does not hide who he really is. Rather, he sets himself up for success, and follows through without revealing his methods unless it serves him. Raccoon people can avoid becoming overly secretive, isolated and surly in old age by being social and having fun with their friends. Deep change is inspired by what Raccoon discovers when he is out of his comfort zone, exploring and seeking treasure.

It would seem as though a tricky messenger wanted to let me know that just because I was teaching, I did not have to be perfect. In fact, I try so very hard not to try to be perfect, I felt comfortable in the discomfort of my bumblings (!) and actually, was able to become a bit more dextrous just by doing *what I do*. Silly me for thinking even for a minute that I needed to show up as anything other than a student of life myself. Together with my students, Raccoon and Bear reminded me that I can be in my power and show up as a strong guide and explorer just as I am. I am already outfitted for this job. This is the beauty of wearing our Muse, our inspirations, on our shirtsleeves.

In a nutshell, we can let ourselves off the hook. Once and for all.

Whale Medicine

Did I mention that when I go to Squam next week, I get to room with Maya? I'm um....SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS. Er, I've had a girl crush on her for a couple of years (she and her barn) and so this is kind of like a dream come true for me. I'm taking wine and Fearless Chocolate because our cabin (which is called Shelter, by the way) is going to exude fearlessness. And because I want to impress her with my knowledge of such things.

I've been thinking a lot about my own creative offerings here lately. It's important to me that I try as hard as I can to keep my work as original as possible. It means I have to glance into a reference book when I'm making a medicine bundle, but that I slam it shut after a few minutes so that I can try to create something that is really about my experience in communication with these elements and not about what has already been written about them. It can be very tough, especially if I'm worn out and busy-headed. My creative process is something I intend to sit down to with sacredness in mind-I want to honor the time and the process and not regurgitate what the experts already know best.

Today Ivy jabbed a bobby pin in her ear about twenty minutes after I sat down, stones and herbs in hand, and so I basically threw everything into the air and ran to beat her Dad into the bathroom. This is only one of the kind of distractions I face many times per day. Every mama I know has the same story, so, no pity please.

My question is how do we keep our visions and projects really authentic?

I was working on a Whale bundle tonight and I read in Animal Speak that “Creativity for creativity's sake is not what Whale teaches. It awakens great depths of inspiration...”

Right away what struck me is that I don't do very much playing/playing around when I sit down to get creative. I like to make a mess, but I'm very focused, even when I paint. If I'm not in somewhat of a trance state, I don't feel like I'm pulling up those reserves, which are so full of ancient information and archetypal goodness. Yet, it's very easy with an ocean of distractions surrounding me to get stuck and sit here creatively constipated and stalling, while I try to get back on track.

When I'm witching it up in the kitchen, it's a whole different ballgame. I can chew up a spiky root and spit it into a glass of vodka like a Yankee pitcher- it's intensely fun and I can integrate play with it. But there is something about painting and making bundles that makes me all serious-like. I think my chin scrunches up even. I can't multitask very well during those times.

I don't have a spelled-out answer for how to keep your work truly authentic, serving your deepest human intent. I don't know if I could ever name that intuitive process that you likely have felt, too, the ones where you feel your soul infusing the piece of art, music, food, etc. These often become our "favorite" pieces, right?

Nevermind that I'm going to teach this very thing at Squam next week. How to tap the intuition, how to get to the bottom of the ocean where the Oracle Muse lives to share her stories with you so you can bring them to life. I trust that as a class, we will find our wild way together... and alone.

Whale is about going deeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I can hear her sounds bouncing off of the ocean floor as she communicates those sacred messages up. I hope you enjoy her- I felt really honored to be working with her. She is so lovingly intolerant of fear and stuckness! Flowing big and bold with the currents...

WHALE: Stepping Into Vibrant Potential

This bundle is about allowing your true colors to come forth and be expressed. It promotes vitality, longevity, and fruition of creative vision. It is about tuning into YOUR authentic offerings that are unique to YOU, and trusting that deepest voice that speaks only truth. It is about discovering the courage to share that song with the world.

Colorful Bornite is an iridescent mineral that captivates attention with it's reflective magentas and chromatic blues. Stone expert Melody says, “This mineral can bring freshness and newness to one's life. It stimulates the inner spirit to seek further heights and substantiates ones ability to enjoy happiness in the moment". It is a very positive and supportive stone which is experienced energetically as a loop that circles around transforming negativity into what she calls “pure beneficial energy”. When I read this, I immediately thought of the sonic waves whales send out, and how that mimicks the ripple effect we experience traveling outward when we're doing the work that serves our divine human intent. This stone speaks of heart and harmony, which is akin to the contract we make when we commit to our creativity and the soul-nourishment it provides. It is also known to stimulate adrenaline, which is a rush often felt when on the right path. Bornite provides energy to move towards vitality in life.

Kelp is included for it's protective qualities on the immune system and it's ancient healing properties. Kelp contains iodine, necessary to good health, but often forgotten from the diet. Kelp feeds many species of undersea and seaside communities, providing essential nutrients to the body and protection from free radicals, including those caused by nuclear radiation. When our creativity is under attack from the doing and thinking-too-much mentality so common in patriarchal societies, it is not unlike fallout. Reaching our full potential can feel impossible. Kelp is a swaying reminder, deep in the waters of the Earth's womb that growth is not only possible, it can also be all the nourishment we need.

Pansy is here to bring cheerfulness, love and beauty to the magic of this bundle. It is commonly associated with “loving thoughts”, required when embracing the potential that lies ahead. It is ever important not to turn on the Self when discouraged, and Pansy is here as a heartsease, (one of it's common botanical names), to offer comfort and protection when facing obstacles. Pansies re-seed themselves, thus they are prolific. They seldom have problems with disease and insects, which tells us that they are hardy and tolerant, despite their delicate appearances. Beautiful Pansy is used medicinally to treat afflictions of the skin, and as soon as I read this I thought about how sometimes we're “itching” to share ourselves and feel fully expressed, yet we lack the trust in our own voice to speak it out and take those risks. Pansy is also used to induce labor, which, when used as a tonic, strengthens those notions already within us.

Whale is the Mother within the Great Mother. She is a magnificent and feminine songstress of the sea, using her ultimate gift of sensitivity to sound to communicate and “sing” to, and with, her tribal pod. She does not hold back, breaching out of the water and showing her shiny skin to the Sun, rejoicing in the vibrancy of life by sharing that which she has discovered down in the deep blue. Whale does not re-enact what others are doing. She is brave in tapping her own vast intuitive resources for inspiration. Whale is a creature of great depth, reflecting that we each have the power to swim down into the unconscious for strength and life-enriching nutrients that are seasoned with what is most true for the individual. She teaches us how to TRUST our own voice and not look to others for too much direction. Whales communicate with sonar, and can perceive themselves and those around them authentically and without projection. Whale does not get caught up in that which does not serve her deepest intent. She has perfected the art of knowing what her gifts are and is unafraid to breathe them up into life for the Earth and Sky to receive.

 

Coil Up and Rebirth

Snake Medicine Bundle. Ssssss.

I find myself repeating this thought: I'm learning what I teach. There will be, in my opinion, no time in the future where any one of us has all the answers. I can't remember if I've every fantasized about "arriving" to that seat of wisdom one stooped over, white-haired day, but I probably have at some point.

What I have learned... is that there is always more to learn.

Snake is good medicine for learning all you can in one mode and then shedding the pile-up and beginning again, even if in just a slightly new way. It's humbling, this one, one of being bitten and poisoned by the stacking up of thinking gone too far, of insulation. Snake asks us to let it all go, like a robe at our feet and step out afresh. A friend to change, she holds the bar high for courageous releasing.

 

Road Warriors: More Lessons From Dogs

Willow: Luxuriates in the freedom to be an open book.

Willow accompanies me in the car on my daily trips to the post office, and most of the time Hank, too, if he feels up to having his tired bones lifted and loaded. But Morgie is another story. She does not cotton to getting into the car.

Hank: Oblivious that he's 98 in dog years and living it up.

When I found her, she was lounging on the roadside, awaiting her pick-up. Dogs hanging about in this neighborhood, though, come in on a one-way ticket only. I would have to be her next best thing.

I decided to haul her slinky rump up into the cargo area today with Willow, just to see if she'd be open. It crossed my mind that every dog I know has loved to Go For a Ride, so perhaps her trust was so disrupted by being abandoned that it will take a bit of time to show her that it will always be a round-trip with me. Soon enough, she got sucked in by the hype and hung her head out the window, and barked at a few passersby. She seemed proud when we arrived back at the gate, and even moreso as the beneficiary of treats and praise to the tune of, "Who's my brave girl?? Who? You are! You are!" and more dog-loving talk that would cost most of you a headache in eyerolling.

By the way she behaves each time I open the hatch, I don't know if she would have ever gone for it without the firm nudge. Too scary, too hurtful- the abandonment wired in her so completely that she did not have any interest in following the lemmings over the edge, even though each day they return tongue-wagging, kings and queens of the road.

All afternoon and into this evening I've been thinking about how our experiences wire us. We can begin to expect a certain failure each time we set out to:

*try something risky

*name our dream

*fall in love again

*move to a new location

*outgrow a behavior

Sometimes that wiring leads me straight, but most of the time it doesn't. It's just a set up to get pulled asunder by unconscious paranoia.

I studied Morgan's apprehension and fear, recognizing that I had to force her to try this, asking her to betray her right instinct, in order to allow it to transform and create a new bond between us, and a new joy for her.

Taking a risk and overcoming doubt takes courage. Beginning again, as so many of us do in so many ways, can either be colored by fear or it can be a rainbow of possibility.

I've been practicing laying down my sword and embracing a transformation back to divine feminine ways, and that has come with a lot of resistance. What I often want to do is slice my way through every obstacle that stands in my way, but instead I am asking myself to sit in a place of patience and reflection in order to honor the re-wiring process that wants to occur without pushing it. There are days when it's easy to do and others in which I become absorbed by workaholism, riding the caffeine train, and brandishing my sword around above my head like Joan of Arc.

The lesson here for me is again about trust. Trust that I will find my way, even when I'm smackdab in the middle of taking risks. Trust that the answers are contained within me waiting for the right moments for light to rain down and release them. Trust that I am protected, if only by my own teeth and fur, and my willingness to explore deeply, in order to unearth the truth.

Morgan: Cautious, yet curious and open to love again.

Nor a Cage

 

Hawk has been one of my favorite allies to work with since I started studying shamanism almost a decade ago. They're quite common to spot, it seems everyone has some kind of relationship with this mighty bird. What peeved me so much in the beginning about this solar king is that his messages seem to elude me by asking me to be responsible! How dare he! Each time one would whiz across my patio, hunt my pasture, or perch above the road as I drove by, I would curse it, because I knew that whatever I was toiling with in that moment would only be resolved by going inward for the difficult answer, and not the easy one on the surface.

Hawk has shown up in several of my paintings because I'm constantly turning over the notion of honing the intution. It's become a mantra of mine, and I reckon it's due to the fact that I have become more trusting of my own inner guidance. When he comes around, waving his giant wingspan at me, I know that I'll soon be asked to make a decision or seek clarity about a matter.

Angelica is the herb inside of the bundle above, nesting along a boulder of beautiful blue sodalite. Both of them felt so good in my hands. Angelica smells earthy and a bit like licorice root. Her message was for the seer, in favor of the intuition, of dreamtime. She is akin to St. Michael and I've always made a connection between Hawk and St. Michael, and now I have something to go on.

Have you ever had an issue and had to "sleep on it"? My friend and I were just speaking about our tendencies to allow some of our issues to resolve in the dreamtime. He and I both agreed that some things have to come from so deep within, that we cannot even be awake lest we intervene with the process. There is a sweet freedom that comes with letting the inner wisdom do the work. As I keep hearing myself say aloud, I trust this process.

I so enjoy exploring my relationships with the creatures, and as I make new friends with the Stone People and Plant People, I welcome you to come along and share and learn, too. Mama Earth is so rich with teachings, I feel blessed to live on this beautiful planet with all of them and you, too.

 

I will not be clapped in a hood,

Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,

Now I have learnt to be proud

Hovering over the wood

In the broken mist

Or tumbling cloud.

 

-from The Hawk by William Butler Yeats

 

Firetending

Creative Fire, by Aimee Dolich of Artsyville

 

"I hate quotations. Tell me what you know!"

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

It seems the topic of authenticity comes up quite frequently. I don't know much about the Laws of Attraction, haven't read anything about it, but I knew I wanted to write about it when I overheard a friend talking about how when she stretches herself toward her own authentic voice and vision, really great results come of it.

The drive to locate and then tap that special something within oneself is strong. We have the knowledge we have gifts unique to each of us. We trust that, right? But how can we express it? I've observed many artists, writers and creatives around me who play in different mediums and settings to try to find that magical sweet spot where the work really looks, sounds and feels like their own. Sometimes I find myself satisfied and sometimes I can see where I need to grow.

So what's the deal? Why does the universe seem to serenade us when we hit the mark and create from our guts, or when we make radical decisions from our power centers? When we strike upon the holy bell that tones through us, when we tap the most precious resource of who we are and what we're about, all the fairies do a happy dance and make the flowers bloom.

Do you ever find that you have to take a break from looking at or listening to what everyone else is doing in order to hear your own voice? I do. I don't want to be influenced by others amazing thought processes, rituals, color palettes or rousing poetry when I'm tending my soul's vision, and feeling vulnerable and wide open. Tracking my own inspiration requires my attention. Tough to do when there is so much uplifting work flowing around a body.

It can be very tricksy. Yet, I have a grounded belief that when we're doing exactly what we do best, living our dreams, and not someone else's, or wearing a mask of their vision- then lead becomes gold, if only until it's time to begin again. It is the reward we receive when we've tuned our wild ear to the strings playing in our own divine and worthwhile hearts.

For me, it comes down to trusting what I sense. When the Muse's voice starts whispering ludicrous and untimely suggestions up at me, I've been making notes, promising to honor her and get back to them as soon as I can. Meanwhile trying not to call her crazy. I keep proceeding, as I've said before, with my walking stick forged of trust.

I know the way. I know it when I feel it. This is a gift we all have.

Eyes up, nose to the ground.

Worthy Cause

There Could Be Holy Fallout

 

We are often in battle.

So often defending every side of the fort.

It may seem, all alone.

 

Sit down, my dear.

Take a few deep breaths,

Think about a loyal friend.

Where is your music,

Your pet, a brush?

 

Surely one who has lasted as long as you

Knows some avenue or place inside

That can give a sweet respite.

 

If you cannot slay your panic,

Then say within

As convincingly as you can,

"It is all God's will!"

 

Now pick your life up again.

Let whatever is out there

Come charging in,

 

Laugh and spit into the air,

There could be holy fallout.

 

Throw those ladders like tiny match sticks

With "just" phantoms upon them

Who might be trying to scale your heart.

 

Your love has an eloquent tone.

The sky and I want to hear it!

 

If you still feel helpless

Give our battle cry again,

 

Hafiz

Has shouted it a million times,

 

"It is all,

It is all the Beloved's will!"

 

What is that luminous rain I see

All around you in the future

 

Sweeping in from the east plain?

 

It looks like, O it looks like

Holy fallout

 

Filling your mouth and palms

With Joy!

 

-Hafiz

Open Season: Squam Art Wonderfest

Photo: Thea Coughlin

Oh, dearest Squam Art Workshops, how I love thee. Let me count the ways:

In 2008:

You were a place for me to show up and meet others like me.

You were a safe place for me to dream freely among my kind.

I felt a communal motivation behind me, in front of me, all around me! to name what I most wanted to express, and then DO IT.

I made friendships and face-to-face connections with creative women that I'd been blogstalking for years.

I met new friends who work with mediums so different from my own, but whom I've called upon since for insight and inspiration.

I got a sweet taste of what it would be like to show my work, which I knew I wanted more of.

I pioneered the effort to include Miles and Brandon, which made following creative dreams a priority in our family and bound the medicine.

I took a class from someone I'd been admiring the work and style of for years, a wise one whose spirit I adore.

I ate amazing food, danced on the docks, celebrated with my family, and listened to the quiet artistic stirrings within, who were having a powwow with a wee little Ivy-bud in there.

I birthed my business and Etsy store eight months later, with a two month old in a sleepy wrap and every bit of faith and encouragement from my community that a girl could ever wish for.

In 2009:

I stayed onsite with my family, with every Campbell in tow, including six month old, Ivy Lu. That account can be found here.

I watched my son absorb and imprint the creative energy which was spilling out all over every trail and dining room chair, every roaring fireplace and sketchbook. I realized again, how much art, life, and family are ONE.

I took a class from amazing Lisa and pushed myself to crank out a mixed-media piece with her secret awesome time-saving transfer technique, and picked her brain about supplies and ways to show work.

I made a book in a day with Christine and Marisa, which left me inspired to make prototypes of all of the books I'd like to publish.

On the way out of town, I dropped a card off at the local gallery, who would contact me the week I returned to invite me to do three shows the following year.

I sold every painting I took with me at Saturday's vendor night, and prints and postcards, too.

I met and communed with artists that I'd later be in seven group shows with, and handfuls of other projects including two books and a magazine article in Somerset Life.

I made a deep connection with the woman who will be doing photographic magic on a book project I'm working on.

I met two women who would later hire me to teach mixed-media process and spirit-led painting at their retreats.

In a nutshell, SAW gave me what I enjoy most about being an artist today: treasured community, willingness to risk being seen, courage to stretch myself, and tools which fortify my confidence as an artist.

*****************************************************

Registration opens up 1/11/11, apt, I think, with so many ones shouting out about new beginnings and possibility.

I couldn't be more thrilled to bring my enthusiasm and my classes to SAW this year.

Meet me in a warm, room in the woods to break the rules of art, to forget what you know, to leave your critics behind, to explore your muse, to indulge in a variety of media and create intuitive compositions that thrill your senses and your spirit. Meet me in the dining room and share an ice cream cone. Meet me to light a fire under your courage, but most of all, come to meet yourself and your obstacles... and begin the process of overthrowing them.

 

 

The Splits

Several times in my life I've felt as if a part of me was missing. The first time I recall it was twenty years ago, after the devastating loss of a mate, which triggered all sorts of abandonment injuries, or perhaps reinjuries, to my soul. I felt like the walking dead for many months and I can look back and see how it affected me for years.

Loss comes with regularity now, and each time it happens I can feel how something I no longer need strips away off of me and falls back to the Earth. It drifts lightly down, like a snakeskin. The letting go can be an exhilarating experience when the lessons become clear. When my Grandfather passed last year, it marked the beginning of shedding major layers of stories that had been paining my family for generations. Since I am the keeper of ceremony for my family, I processed those events for us, releasing the pain in solitary rites and gifting them to the Earth for transformation, like a fall dandelion releasing its featherlight seeds to be reborn.

I went to a circle on Friday night, my first with my treasured women since May. Our teacher had moved to the city and is now making her way back home. In an exercise with a partner, in which we stood face to face, then back to back, receiving readings and messages, I felt very open and vulnerable. I could feel the void within me. I felt like I'd been seperated from my twin and in this moment, I was reunited as a tree from which roots shot down into the deep Earth and arms extended to the Sky and grew taller, taller, until I could look down over all of the grove and feel my evergrowing commitment to this work.

I have to say that I left with a lingering feeling that my soul is in a bit of disrepair, and seeking a part of herself that got split off, as if scanning the rubble for the missing bit. I intend to ask for a soul retrieval from someone qualified, to bring in some insights, or I may conduct one by myself. My dreams and experiences this new year all seem to point in the direction of bringing a cleansed aspect back in that somehow got lost in all of that shedding. Since the exercise (that felt more like a healing) I already feel less exposed and more protected, but in a very soft, not-armored way. That thing that was depleting me feels less internally demanding, as well.

I'm enjoying the soft gust of information that comes from sitting in a sacred space, holding the questions and awaiting the download. As I deepen my trust of this process, and hold fast to my intention to allow my body and Spirit to lead the way, my mind is getting a much needed break. It feels a bit floaty-dreamy up here, but I'm in no rush to get back to the ground yet. Maybe when my Mercury goes retrograde on Tuesday. *wink*

Change

I knew last Fall that change was coming. I kept referring to 2011 as Year of the Fox without knowing exactly what that meant, and I still don't...exactly. I sit in the ultimate unknown, wondering what aspects of my life will really shapeshift and turn corners, knowing that Fox's giant fluffy tail will comfort me through the moments as change rolls in and over me. All I can do is take refuge and cozy down in my den with my kits when necessary.

Change, 2009.

I learn and re-learn my own medicine again and again. Night before last I had a crazy dream with many animals, including a Mama Bear and cub, three warrior-like deer, and lots of Spotted and Bald Eagle feathers, which I found lying on the ground. The feathers were half the length of my body and the Bear was about 5 times the size of a grizzly. Larger than life, these symbols were.

At the end of the dream, I pulled a piece of artwork I'd made from my bicycle basket to share with some activist artist friends of mine and it was a small latch-hooked (yes LATCH HOOKED) rug with a word hooked into it. That word was CHANGE. It was bright orange like the fiery, creative sun, in a nest of shaggy white loops.

I'd thought my motif for the year was going to be something completely different, until my dream showed me this message. And though I have a knee-jerk fear about how it might play out, it's plain that change is not a threat. Just as the giant animals in my dream sat stoically as I contemplated running from them, change is something I can sit with, learn from and observe without panic.

Last year it became apparent that self-care would be a large part of the medicine, and OH BOY, did it present in a way I didn't expect. Experiencing that, I leave myself open this year for this lesson to come in, even if it brings me to my knees. Just writing it gives me a shiver! But I'm committed to knowing when I'm meant to. I think I want to create a ceremony to hold this openness, while placing a layer of soft insulation around me.

January is back to grey, after a few days of glorious sun, making self-reflection and curling up on the sofa with the babes very easy to do.

Medicine Bundles + Mad Rant

I set out to make some amazing bundles to fill my shop with and sneakily added them like a thief in the night last week thinking I would wait to share them until the holidays had passed. And then they all got bought up (not sad about that at all) except for one and so I'm setting out to make some more. This time I am adding some colorful vegan ones as well, because not everyone loves leather and I will be no slave to tradition.

Speaking of which, I have to kvetch for a long moment.

I was surfing blogs yesterday. One thing led to another and I was face to face with a beautiful woman who owns a beautiful store and takes stunning fashion photos of herself wearing daily outfits. You may know her. I don't know her personally, but my impression was that...she's lovely.

All this to say that her friend had made her a "cute teepee" as a display for her boutique, which she was decorating with the words "Fort Lovely" and painting some hippy flowers on, very peace and love and all of that. She also had photos of herself with overdyed bright, primary colored chicken feathers in her braided hair, the sort of which one would buy a plastic bagful from Michael's.

Stay with me, I'm not going where you think I might be. And I'm a terrible storyteller, so I'm sorry this is so damned long. I'm a card carrying American Indian (at least part of me is legit) who wears dreadlocks and suffers a mild form of Yiddish Turrets. I should hardly be trusted in these matters. But here's my best shot:

There were many comments on this teepee post. Among them, offended peoples, who were, I believe, non-Native with the exception of one (maybe two?) who accused her of appropriating Native customs in an offensive and fetishizing way...need I say more? There were links to sites which specialize in such matters, mainly an opinion blog, as well as a Jezebel article which shamed fashion designers for using tribal inspiration for their Spring collections. Also among the accused were cheesy pop performers who slung off fake headdresses and pranced about in faux moccasins, twisting the knife for the easily offended, but making asses enough out of themselves not to require any follow up lecture.

Oh, this is taking way to long to tell. I've got to make my point here. My ancestors probably killed a bunch of my more colorful ancestors, so I think I'm in a fair position to say: GET OVER IT, PEOPLE.

There was much guilt among the various websites, shaming and blaming, assuming, projecting and overprotecting. I get it. I do. But lighten the fuck up, already. I was disgusted at the amount of displaced emotions still floating about on the interwebs about stereotypification in art and fashion, etc. Natives today face major issues, most of them health and housing related. If the focus were taken off of fashion designers and one really wanted to help preserve a surviving, diminishing culture, wouldn't it be more productive to get active with those reservations or nations and offer your services, rather than henpecking about what's turning up in fashion and doing nothing else? Taking fashion seriously (remember, this is my first career) is a fruitless enterprise. It is based on trend, whim, and hype, nothing more. Coyote at work! (insert cackling yip).

The notion that a sacred way is the only way, ever, is ridiculously uptight. Letting go of the tight grasp on self-righteousness might be taken into consideration over there, in all of those discussions I can't bear to link to.

I've interacted with many non-natives over the years who are called to practice a more traditional way of life. Some have suffered guilt about using the medicine, wearing the garb, burning the herbs, beating the drums, sitting in the lodges, etc. All of which I think is useless suffering. Doesn't everyone have a tribal ancestry from somewhere? Don't we all share a primitive undercurrent handed down thousands of years to each of us, they whose customs were so similar in many ways though continents divided them? Does it forward our connection to each other and to Creator to continue to loiter in the past and fingerpoint? Don't some of us who live on this continent naturally jive with the vibe of the history of this land and it's people?

Blood does matter a great deal to some who are preserving an extinct people and their ways. I understand, and I honor it as sacred. And I don't know very much about it, as I was not raised in a household that showed me the sacred way, so let it be said that I only know what I know right now, what I've been taught by my teachers and the Earth Herself.

And in honor of oneness, diversity, evolution, and moving ever-towards the collective light shining on us all, I say, if one wants to braid and decorate her hair in a traditional way, or any other beautiful act of her own choice, that she should do it and do it fearlessly.

Love rules. Live in kindness. Walk in Beauty. Aho, Mitukaye Oyasin. The End.

 

I'm smudging this blog page. ;)

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

Blizzard

 

 

The Baba Yaga

Sami storehouse, Stockholm, which bears an uncanny resemblance to the chicken-footed hut of the Baba Yaga.

 

I'm totally headed for the hut again. This time I'm working to expand my toolbelt. I'm currently facing a challenge of rather large proportion that I feel extremely ill-equipped to handle alone-which is the only way I can do it.

I am in the process of creating a list of trials to complete during 2011, which I hope will help me to gain the skills and ego-strength needed to overcome my fierce adversaries. I don't think I'm ready to appear swordless in front of the two-headed dragon, which is how big my fear of this feels at times.

There are many, "I can'ts", "I don't know where to begins" and "Why didn't I get a degree in blahblahblahs", as well as scores more obstacles on the road ahead that I'm already hearing about in a series of strange cartoonish inner voices.

I'll be seperating a ton of black grains from a ton of peas, spinning flax into gold, questing for fire, and collecting the golden fleece. Attempting the impossible-doing the things I never thought I could do. The scary Baba Yaga, flying through the air in her mortar, paddling the air with her pestle, while threatening to eat me alive will no doubt test my courage and trigger my deepest fears.

As the solstice approaches, I'm growing my list of everything to be released. I'll be attending my first sweat in years, since I began having babies and nursing them through, which seems to be another aspect of this transition I've been experiencing between one who has babies and one who is finished having babies. At the top of my list to release at the lodge is that grief. I cry each time (like right now) I acknowledge that I am moving beyond that sacred place. I didn't see it coming when I was in the earlier stages of my mama bliss. It really hit me when I was weaning Ivy back in the summertime.

The body holds on to so much, doesn't it? And the mind spins a story that works to hold on, too. Unravelling those tales to find the meaning underneath is not easy. I'm asking for courage and endurance. I'm asking to stay open and vulnerable.

And so the Winter Solstice preparations begin as the light readies to return to the earth. Change flickers in the lantern, which I carry with me down the wooded road toward Her.

 

 

Honest Enough

What
Do Sad people have in
Common?
It seems
They have all built a shrine
To the past
And often go there
And do a strange wail and
Worship.
What is the beginning of
Happiness?
It is to stop being
so religious
Like
That.

-Hafiz, "Stop Being So Religious"

 

I love this poem, though I'm a big fan of wailing until the wailing feels complete. And then, that's enough wailing for me about that.

I double clicked out of a photo grab earlier, and erased an entire post on truth. My truth, and what it has felt like to go through the mill and out the other side this year. And all about knowing I'm headed for more grinding in the coming year, as I face more of my own disquieted stirrings- no longer in agreement about keeping still in the dungeon I've exiled them to.

At first I said the familar words and phrases as I looked to my drafts folder to see it missing, "You've got to be kidding me..." and the urge to toss my laptop out the window rose mightily in me, as it does several times per workday. Then a quicker-than-usual surrender came in to sit with me and I walked over to paint and ponder my grief at the words and 45 minutes I'd lost forever. Wailing and worshipping quietly.

I've been painting since then, a series of soft, wintry holiday sentiments who have been swirling in me for months. I love painting in blues and whites...maybe a little ochre. If I ever had a quiet room of my own, I would unconsiously paint it these colors. The winter palettes are my favorite ones to create with.

Returning to this "page", I wonder if all that I said about my truth was worth sharing. I can already feel the energy of '11 coming in loud and clear. At the beginning of this year, I sort of noticed that self-care would be my focus. That this would be a time when I would truly make my health and my time a priority instead of saying yes to everything and wearing myself out, leaving me grouchy and unfulfilled.

I can sense that it opened the doorway to honoring my short life here; it would now seem as though I've climbed out of all of my safe boxes and I am standing right here naked in the rain, with no choice to go back and live among any of the illusions I created for myself. I can tell you that I didn't exactly see this coming.

I've taken a shotgun to those constructs made of old wounds, and I remember, each time I begin to put on the old shroud, that it isn't worth it, that it is incongruous with what I've already learned. And I find that I am left with a short-lived ache, and then a wide open life in front of me. And being one who has in the past suffered a mad case of blank-canvas syndrome, I have shot that to pieces as well. And so I don't even have fear of the unknown to cradle me in it's trembling fluff. Even that, so reliable in the past, is a useless string that makes distracting music no more.

I'm feeling it again so strongly this day. In the stillness I sit. No shroud. No protection. No umbrella. No old story to save me or make sense of it all.

In the lack of it, I feel no void, no hunger. I'm just sitting here, enjoying the silence.

 

 

 

Goodbye Social Media

 

I actually had to get out of bed to write this because I feel so light by the pure simplicity of making this decision that I couldn't wait.

I have had so much fun at Facebook. I've LOVED reading everyone's funny posts and seeing amazing photos of you and your children there-having a one stop shop to share my work and see yours in a fraction of the time it would take me to go to each of your blogs or websites, or email you to get an update, or wait for your newsletter to come through.

I have enjoyed reading your recipes, having long threads of ongoing jokes with you, receiving your friend requests and planning dates with you there. I've loved reading your comments about the funny things my children say and do, and I've loved commenting on your posts and videos.

I've had a whirlwind love affair with you all through Facebook and Twitter. But I have to tell you I'm so excited to delete my account, so that I can get on with living my life in the way I feel strongly pulled to do so.

At first, I balked at myself because this time of year doesn't make the best sense to pull out of a gigantic conversation where I can sell you my artwork for holiday gifts and tell you all about my newest Etsy listings. But as I began the conversation with myself, I literally became giddy with all of the things I envisioned I could do with my time instead of...networking and connecting in warp time.

Facebook and, less so, Twitter, so innocent and sweet in the beginning, have become a major time suck for me. I commented to this defector yesterday, when I read her announcement that she was leaving: "What a great idea! One set of social media claws will release their hold on you!" Note that I didn't really put it together that I could unleash myself just as easily.

Shortly thereafter I wondered, if that's what it really feels like, then what the hell am I still doing on here?! And the answer for me was a fear of being disconnected from many of you. Because social media is so quick and easy, I didn't want to be forgotten by you, and I didn't want to forget to check in with you. Which I will, because I suffer multitasking induced A.D.D. and can't even remember to get my coffee out of the microwave for the fifth time if I'm doing something as complex as say, staring at the countertop. Facebook is one more thing to juggle.

I have to trust that those who enjoy what I have to share will come around to this soul kitchen.

I am letting go of my fear of being without Facebook. It feels very freeing...

When I began blogging 5+ years ago, it was such a novelty. And then a backlash happened, just as I see now with social media. Bloggers disabled comments because there were distasteful words being broadcasted, quiet wars were being waged with other bloggers against rival gangs, some were getting too attached to how many comments were being left for them, and how much traffic they were receiving. It was too much for them.

I didn't really have that experience with blogging, but I'm having it with Facebook. It's happening again, just as it does with most things-the pleasurefest peaks and then...the crash.

During my ecstatic moment of realizing that I needn't wait until the end of the year to cut the cord- I needn't have other options in place for people to "find me" and "friend me" other than what I already have going-Etsy and this blog, basically-I had wild visions.

Wild visions of playing outside with my children and swinging them "Higher, higher!", taking more pictures and sitting somewhat attentively without my smartphone flashing me to let me know someone had FB'd me in some way. I saw a slow motion movie playing in my mind of hitting the delete key on my account and running outside to play with my patchwork skirt flying up in the air on the way out. I saw myself interested in cooking dinner again-actual meals with various items on our plates. I saw me looking at my husband when he's talking to me. I saw fewer reasons to check my email while I'm working hard doing the work I love to do.

Facebook isn't on the hook for my spousal or culinary neglect, I wouldn't dare blame that on anyone else, but here's the deal: my mind thinks in "facebook-ese" now, and friends, that is simply too much real estate being taken up in there, which I would like to use for other enterprises.

So I say to you Facebook and Twitter, farewell. I've had some of the best memories and met some sweet, kindred souls at your virtual house party. Being there was never a mistake, and I have no regrets about my time spent there-I've learned so much about what works for me by showing up to the party in my best dress, ready to grab a glass and flit about.

My hope is that if you enjoyed connecting with me there, you'll visit me here and stay in touch through my blog and shop.

Thank you all for understanding, and thank you, Marisa, for shining a flashlight on a subject that became instantly illuminated the moment I read your words.

Meet me in the field of dandelions where we can really get to know each other, face to face and heart to heart. I would love to share some time with you that way.

Protection

photo by denise andrade

It is an act of love to stride out into the weather naked.

What is protection anyway but paper-thin skins piled on top of each other upon us, placed there by injury and fear?

To peel off the crackled drying things is to expose the beauty underneath, to allow the truth to see blessed daylight; to come into contact with, perhaps, a lie, that became an imposter and hung on for too long: summer's last zucchini gathering a white coat in the crisper.

To cast off is to *brighten*, and I could well use a bit more brightening. Could you?

I've been surprised by the most recent shedding layer, which feels injurous, and intermingled with gashes from my own sword, as well as those unintentional, unconscious lacerations from someone close to me. How I'm working through it is by declaring freedom from it, and holding onto hope-the notion that it will be possible to repair that which was sacrificed and make something new out of almost nothing.

If I start with my own soul, though, it isn't nothing, it's a little ball of light I can hold gently and birth into fresh butterfly-being. I'm coming to believe that it was Protection which caused me to sustain the injury, by putting me into a long sleep so I couldn't feel what was being done.

To feel awake is to feel warmth returning to the stone figures, as when Aslan breathes his magical exhalation.

Protection isn't needed when it's not raining.

And as I've learned from my friends in Portland, it's not needed even when it is.

Gratitude

This painting has been a very long-time coming. As with most of my work, I have to work the medicine before it will agree to come into being. This one is big.

Summer found me examining the whitewashed bones of my remnant dependencies and my deepest fears. As I bedded down to figure out how to deal with what was coming up, this message came through. Again and again. And again.

Let go.

Release it all.

You don't need to know.

You have nothing to defend.

Nothing to hide.

Nothing to protect.

Let go of what you are holding onto so tightly.

It will be okay.

You won't die.

You'll see!

Let go...

 

Gratitude, 2010. Acrylic on 16" x 20" maple panel.

When Red Tailed Hawk reaches maturity, it's tail feathers deepen to a beautiful warm red, awakening consciousness at the seat of the soul. Only gratitude remains when true awakening occurs, because the work that must be done is well underway. Though the road ahead contains unseen obstacles, acceptance settles in that the soul is forever safe and aligned with Spirit. Dependencies are shed when it is realized that we are the keepers of our own souls, and why should it be any other way? The one who connects with Red Tail trusts his own insight, seeks answers first from within, and enjoys the warmth of the everlasting creative fire. The gratitude felt when this level is ascended to, ripples out in a divine expression of love and altruism from which the whole Earth benefits, creating a never ending circle of healing, receiving and giving back. All is well when Red Tail graces the sky in front of you.

She's The Moon

A few months ago, my energy was high and I felt productive, engaged with everything around me, inspired, connected. This is the life cycle-the Springtime of the creative process which makes me thrilled to be alive, affirmed on my path, open to all that wants to pour in and fill me up, allowing me to give back out and keep the generous circle moving.

When the death cycle begins, that Skeleton Woman time when the moon disappears for a few days, I feel depleted, blocked, disconnected, disengaged. I don't even want to be in the same room with anyone. It feels like grieving. Nothing works. The discomfort of being dormant causes me to seek solitude in a near-desperate way.

This has been a fucking hard year. A year of loss and surrender. All of the shedding and letting go of the outmoded has left me feeling stripped, raw, vulnerable. Everything feels outmoded-babies are going out with bathwater left and right.

I ask myself, what am I left with? It's surely how a tree feels when all of it's leaves have fallen off and the bitter cruel of winter shuts down it's warm bark, sending it into dormancy. “Don't look at me!”, I imagine it to say. Which is about how I feel tonight. Leave me alone to sit quietly in the dark and the cold to sit and wait for Spring to come again.

In the early days of pregnancy, it's unbelievable that anything is actually happening in the womb at all, (until the queasy desire to smell nothing and hurl at the thought of everything provides a subtle reminder). Those first six weeks are spent hoping, waiting anxiously, feeling a bit grouchy, peeing on sticks and not believing what they say either way.

Working as an artist to me is no different. It requires so much trust, as well as a courage and willingness to take risks, some which will disappoint. It also brings quiet periods of reflection, nurturing, and contemplation without getting too attached to outcomes. Birthing is exhilarating, but exhausting. It's easy to forget that this cycle never ends. As soon as creative energy comes to fruition for me, it births, and the whole process begins again, in a dark and quiet emptiness. The vacancy of possibility exists, but I cannot see it or even feel it. I can only trust it.

During the various emotions of life-death-life-death-life, trust is the only thing that gets me through the death part. I'm not afraid of the dark and quiet. Perhaps it's that daily life and relationships don't mingle well with the death phase. In moments of doubt, employment as a barista starts to sound heavenly.

I'm wishing I had a profound conclusion to insert here so that I would sound wise and all-figured-out. But this is where I'm at. Standing at the dark, uncomfortable crossroads of stripped and vulnerable. My walking stick, which helps me tap tap my way across the intersection, is forged of trust.

 

Crossroads, Jen McCleary.

 

Medicine Show

Wouldn't it be wonderful to roam around on wheels with just what you need and nothing more? What would you make sure to bring along?

Keep it light enough to travel.

 

Transformation

Many times in my life I have chosen to cling to a symbol, a piece of jewelry, my dad's old coat, that represents where I'm at on my path in this life. There is something about wearing a special something that serves as a reminder of my intention here and the depth of that particular experience.

Tomorrow I'm going to the city, to my cherished, old neighborhood, to sit for a while in the afternoon.

When I walk out into the warm, Los Angeles night, something will have changed. Something not unlike a butterfly which has spent her due time as a liquefied caterpillar.

This year hit like a hurricane in January, (when I declared that my motif would be self-care) with my children and I becoming sick with something as simple as preschool-contracted sinusitis, but that turned for the worse into acute bronchitis, then gave way to hacking asthmatic symptoms that lasted until the very end of June.

Not being able to cure us was very humbling for me.

I had to keep learning again and again and AGAIN that the children and I were going to be okay.

I had to trust.

Two seasons saw me finding my way, my tools, my wings.

Along the road I picked up more trust, and placed it in my reeded basket. I learned some things about myself, gathered some confidence while I kept asking for help, kept trying new remedies, altered our diets, eliminated, added, detoxed, sweat, slept, said no, asked for more time, canceled commitments.

The things I still felt poorly about deep within myself came waterfalling down, out loud. I was losing all control and had to learn how to go on through six months of days not knowing what I was made of, and six months of nights with a baby gasping for breath. Not knowing when we would get better. Or how much I could continue to surrender.

I am crowning myself for the additional things I've overcome, the generational hurts I've ceremoniously healed this year, one of which is over fifty years old. I am honoring that when I get out of my mind and back into my body, my feet, my heart-I can find the surrender necessary to go on, sometimes even joyfully. Because, while I was in the quagmire of shit, I found a goldmine in the fact that I don't have to know.

Building confidence by feeling proud of what we've overcome is a slippery slope. We are told not to be too full of ourselves, not to be too...too...too. Some of us keep our proud moments secret so no one will think we're bragging. We keep our tongues wrapped when we want to shout out about our triumphs. We feel ashamed if giddiness overcomes us when someone notices our possibilities. As my paws have found the road this year, I am letting go of unnecessary thinking, and embracing that when I recognize my power, it smiles back at me.

In honor of trust...and growth, I've chosen to make an exhibit to myself. Not to the world. (I can't take care of myself properly when I care what someone might think about my choices. This has always been so.)

I don't feel one hundred percent at ease sharing these thoughts out loud. But I'm doing it anyway, because to not share would be to do myself a disservice. I am proud of myself. And of you. We both battle for our own confidence each and every day. I see us.

Maybe my exhibit of love for myself will inspire you to wrap yourself up in your own adoring, that you may own how beautiful you are, claim your self-respect, and stand eyes-up in your divine relevance to this spinning orb I love so deeply. 

Aho, and Bless.

And most of all...

Awrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Eyes Up

Warriors learn to trust their own judgment about what is harmful and, perhaps most important, they develop the courage to fight for what they want or believe in, even when doing so requires great risk--the loss of a job, a mate, friends, social regard, or even their very lives.

-Carol S. Pearson, The Hero Within: Six Archetypes We Live By

Surrender

I get asked a lot about what this tattoo is a symbol of. Love? Harmony? Trust?

It's sort of all of those things, but I never find it simple to explain.

In 1998 I walked into the local Vermont Ave. tattoo joint with a copy of the Tao Te Ching in my hand and pointed to the symbol. I sat for about forty-five minutes while the artist inked and scratched the moving shapes into my left deltoid. This was a bold move for me, a tattoo on my arm; I'd hid the others below the waistline: the wolf's paw print in 1990 and the Warrior's spear in 1994. Earlier messages to my then self from my further-along self that I am still learning about. Funny how we reach back and teach ourselves from the future, isn't it?

The direct translation of Tao means, literally, the way.

Like so many things I've done, I have no real clue why I'm doing them until it manifests years later. I only know in the moment that it will be significant, though I can't say precisely why or how. Releasing and surrender have been big for me for a very long time, but I'd say that this year has been the token year of letting go. Letting it all go...

This piece, from the essay Surrender Into Mothering, by Chris Pritchard, says much of it for me:

What I know now about parenting is to "surrender." I've learned how childbirth brings with it self-discovery, self-healing, and adaptation to the new selves we become every single day of our lives. No one ever told me that, as an adult, I would keep on changing. I would have to move and flow with changes in myself, as well as all around me, for the rest of my life. No one ever explained that this process never ends, that it is infinite. Learning to surrender means learning to go with change. And change requires surrender.

From the first days of pregnancy, when the beautiful creature inside your body begins to puff out your belly and your breasts, makes you nauseated and tired, makes you have emotional depths and heights, radically affects your relationship with everyone around you, you are asked by this tiny new life to adapt to all these changes, If you resist you will suffer. You must give in. You do let go. You shed your old self. Perhaps pregnancy, more than any other period in a woman's life, enables her to understand the complexity of this requirement in life--to change and to adapt.

Pregnancy enables us to open a multitude of doorways--into ourselves, into our ancestral past, and into our future. Sometimes walking through these doorways can give us insights that can shift old patterns on this planet. The gift of childbirth challenges us to take nothing for granted, and to flow and to move like a great ocean, around any rocky obstacle.

 

I begin my fortieth year wiring in Coyote's way- to enjoy having without possessing, to revel in loving without boundaries, to delight in surrendering my defenses, to laugh when I might reflexively admonish myself, to freely release all that I create, to dance around the fire which burns up the old, to drink in breath without fear, to trust it all and take nothing for granted. To do less, to want less, to need less. To practice it over and over again.

To yield.

Whatever is soft and yielding

is a disciple of life.

The hard and stiff will be broken.

The soft and supple will prevail.

-Tao Te Ching