Category Archives: deep soul dive

hair, heat, and human design

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Episode 9: Tea Time Behind the Curtain

This week I talk about a hair cut as a metaphor for letting go of the old, the joy of having heat, and:

I have officially opened the doors on my newest service: Human Design Readings!

A synthesis of the mystical traditions of Astrology, I Ching, Kabbalah, the Chakra system and quantum science, I look at the Human Design chart as your divinely designed energetic blueprint. A map of how you are at your most essential core.

Intrigued?

I hope so. Watch the video to learn a bit more and then click here for more information!

the gritty side of abundance

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I wanted to play an abundance game with myself.

Like how some people look for hearts, or notice a certain time or number, or collect feathers as a way to bring more awareness to something. Love, whispers from the Universe, signs of guidance or the like.

A couple of months ago I tied the few feathers I had with a piece of yarn creating a mini garland of four. It hangs on the window sill of my living room and I love the energy that bit of wild nature brings. I imagined how wonderful it would be for that garland to grow and reach across the entire sill- an altar to found abundance.

I could open my awareness of abundance and manifesting energy by looking for, receiving, feathers!

I’ll do it, I thought. I will start intentionally calling feathers to me! It was going to be fun, easy, magical.

Before I went out into the world that day I visualized finding beautiful feathers. I asked the unseens to place them in my path. I imaged my garland full and beautiful.

I felt good, hopeful, a bit the witchy conjurer.

15 minutes later I pulled into the parking garage downtown anticipating easy parking, a lovely visit to the farmer’s market and of course, feathers.

What I saw was a dead pigeon.

Yes there were feathers, but No, no, no, No, NO! This was NOT what I wanted.
I wanted feathers, not a dead bird! I wanted gracefully delivered, delicately floating feathers. Feathers cosmically and gently put before me as offerings from the loving and generous universe.
Not. A. Dead. Bird.

I tell you, I was a bit freaked out. I drove past the bird and around the first level of the garage and finding no parking had to circle around again to go up to the next level.

Past the dead bird.

Which I did not want to see.

So I looked the other way.

Nope, no dead bird here, la, la, la…

You can probably guess that I did not found any other feathers.

I was left unsettled.

It stayed with me, leaving me uncomfortable. Like there was more to this story than I was allowing. Like seeing that dead bird was important, not random. Like the greater mystery of life was at play.

That bird was a power symbol, it wasn’t letting me go, and I was not comfortable with that.

A few days later still feeling weird about the whole thing, I told my husband the story. He listened patiently and then in his shaman way (yes I am married to a shaman, it comes in handy) points out the difference between the result of abundance (feathers) and the source of abundance (the bird). You can get feathers in two ways: by the bird shedding them, or by the bird dying.

Can’t have the feathers with out the bird. Can’t have abundance with out Source.

Okay. Right. Light headed perspective shift time for me. I was looking, wanting, the result of abundance. The feathers. And when presented with the source of that abundance, the bird, I looked the other way. I actively avoided it. I rejected it. Because I didn’t like the way it presented itself. Because I was only interested in the result. When I turned away, I also rejected the gift in the death of this bird.

I saw Source and I rejected it.

I was unwilling to see the grittiness of abundance. The rawness of Source. The fact that sometimes, abundance comes out of death and endings. Sometimes you shed tears of pain before the tears of joy. Sometimes the miracle is well protected in the brambles of life.

Houses are built because trees are cut. Chicken soup is only possible it the chicken dies. The inheritance making life easier comes at the loss of a dear one.

Sometimes we are beat up and bruised by the ride of abundance. Ask any mom joyously holding her new born. Ask any farmer harvesting her fields. Ask any hunter who takes a life so others may eat. Source is the all of life. If I want to truly know abundance as more than a convenient parlor trick, I have to be willing to be with the all of Source. Cycles, rhythms, timing, birthing, living, dying, waxing, waning. Triumph and failure. Shine and grit.

I can’t avoid the sometimes harshness of abundance by wanting less, paring down my desires. But I can willingly open to the tenderness and vulnerability of deep gratitude and reverence for that which is sacrificed or lost.

This dead bird in a grimy parking garage has taught me see and honor the source of the abundance. Even when I don’t like how it is showing up. As I do it strips way all pretense that I am in this life alone. It illuminates the edginess and giddiness of belonging to a world where loss can be the portal of generosity of being.

But only if I let it.

The grittiness of abundance, we don’t often hear about that.

I saw that pigeon because I needed to. It was the response to my witchy conjuring, was the gift of a loving and generous universe. That pigeon was a message from greater Source to not get taken in by the parlor games of abundance, the glamor we over manifestation. It affirmed for me that I am here to know Source, full on, even the bits that leave me shaken and a bit roughed up. Even when I want to turn away.

I want more light, more ease, more beauty and will continue to look for and create that.

I also want to honor and receive the gift of grit when it comes.

 

through domesticated windows

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**********

Today the birds sing away my headache

They call to each other with such insistent joy and syncopation
my body can not help but respond

Their rhythm soothes me, lulls me, entices me

I release my
thoughts
plans
strategies
expectations
worry
urgency

The wild enters my domesticated life through open windows

Reminding me my body holds sway over the workings of my mind

My body is nature

She needs her song

The birds know this, they remind me I know this also

**********

sacred vessels and my mom’s move

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sacred vessels of soul nurishment
sacred vessels of body nourishment

“It’s like the love is gone.” My mom said.

She is getting ready to move into what will most likely be a much smaller space. It is an intense period of change and readjustment as she waits to see where her next home will be. Going though 14 years of accumulation and memories, choosing which to keep and which to let go, it is no small thing. Especially for such a sentimental and sensitive woman.

A friend helping her noticed a small rocking chair with a teddy bear and remarked that her sister had one just like it. Generously, my mother gave it to her friend. After all, my mother logically thought, there would not be room for such things in her new place, her friend would cherish the gift, and the whole point of packing early is to Get Rid Of Stuff.

Except.

My sister gave that little rocking chair to my mother years ago and every time she looked at it, sitting there behind glass on the top shelf of her entertainment unit, she thought of Donna. Her heart and presence would fill with her love for my sister. When this humble little tchotchke left with her friend, it felt as if all the love in the space left with it.

I heard the tears in my mother’s voice. The sadness of letting the memento go, the regret on acting too quickly, and the guilt of giving away a precious object. There was confusion about why this small thing was having such a big emotional punch. After all in the last few days she has purged bags and bags and bags of clothes, more pictures than she could count and has boxes set aside filled with far more “valuable” things for us kids if we want them. None of that bothers her. Why this little thing?

“It is like the love is gone.” She kept saying.

Of course the love in my mother’s home is held in her heart, not her things. It is in her generosity and ready smile. Her stories and “everyone is welcome” spirit. Of course her home still overflows with love even as it is changing form. She knows this and yet, “It feels like all the love is gone.”

Because, for my mother, that little rocking chair held, holds, everyday sacred power.

Sometimes in our consumer vs. minimalist world I think we can underestimate the emotional and spiritual anchors and containers our things can be. Certain things. Those things we invest our essence into.

Those things we elevate beyond well cared for material objects into sacred vessels.

Vessels that hold our love, intention, dreams, memories, connections… Touchstones of our deeper selves.

Not every knickknack, every gift, every picture, every piece of jewelry. But some, maybe a handful. Quality and price are not important. It is the love and attention, the using and engaging with the object that animates its soul.

It is why my friend’s grandmother’s wedding ring gives her confidence and strength.

It is why I write better with a certain beach stone near by.

Why I don’t replace my first set of cheap wooden spoons; bent, burnt and split with use and time.

Why my brother wants my mom’s old frying pan, long missing its handle, because of the sound it makes.

It is not “logical” and it is not always practical, but it is real.

My mother’s pain was not in letting the rocking chair go, but in doing it with out honoring what this humble physical thing held for her.  “I just gave it away,” she said over and over. Unspoken, but felt through her tears and heavy voice, “as if it meant nothing.” She let her logic override her heart instead of inviting both into the process.

How often have I done the same? In the spirit of getting on with it, of clearing things out, get the job done, not getting wrapped up in emotion. I have overridden my heart in order to be more efficient and practical. Code for not feeling and being in the messiness of change and hard choice.

Have you?

Pain is caused when a sacred possession is gotten rid of with out proper reverence.

It is a denial of self, of the personal meaning we infuse into our life. I am not saying a three day holy ceremony is needed in order to part with a cherished object (unless it is), or that you should never part with something of deep emotional importance. But the awareness and honoring of the energy and spirit it holds is important. It allows you to make the right choices about when and how and if to part with something.

It allows your sacred vessels to do their job. Keeping you in touch with the deeper and more of You.

My mom is fine. In her wise way she allowed herself to feel the regret and guilt of her action, get the lesson and is now sorting though her things with more inner connection and guidance.

I know her new home will have all the space needed for her sacred vessels meant to still be with her. Everything else will find its new right home.  Whether that is with her or somewhere else.

What about you?

What are your sacred vessels? Those objects that bring you present to your deeper realms?

Honor them, use them, cherish them, allow them to work their soulful magic on you. I will do the same.

 

life sometimes calls for silence, and the subtle senses

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Sometimes I want to reach out,
yet no words come.

Trying to talk though the void so the world doesn’t forget my voice,
more painful than being forgotten.

So I stay quiet.

Still working, loving, caring, dreaming,
but in the background of the noisy world.

Less outreach, more inner reach.

Sometimes I need to be quiet,
to sink into the comfort of silence,
for awhile,
until my world upends itself again.

I allow the bumpy flow of life to pull me along as it sees fit,
until I find I have found my feet again,
my voice finds her true resonance again,
the words can be found,
again.

Here there is no void to reach across,
instead a rich space craving new life to be grown.

And just like that I know my world has upended itself.

As it always does,
when I trust my rhythm,
my life,
and the quiet,
to do what they will always naturally do.

Allow me to find what is true,
now,
what is essential to say,
now,
where the treasures are,
now.

To remember newly,
how the creative flow is never dry.

It just sometimes calls for silence,
and the subtler senses to lead the way.

 

 

honey, are you easy for magic to find?

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Oh Honey, Honey,

You think it is about you. You think this stuck, wandering place is about you and all that is wrong with you. It lets you hide out. Sleep late. Not get all the good stuff done.

You are trying to trap magic like fireflies in a jar and it just doesn’t work that way.

Magic is intention, allowing, revealing, focus. It is inspiration, wonder, surprise, and wanting. Oh so much wanting. The fancy word for this is desire. Also known as hunger, craving, longing, and yearning. Magic is not released by waving a wand or chanting over a crystal. It is evoked though clarity of heart and wanting, wanting, wanting. Unabashed wanting mixed with decided action.

Magic is not interested in being impressed.

No mindless doing, no distracted busyness, no filling each second with the striving energy of trying to earn your deserving.

Magic floats on the breeze, it goes where it is welcomed, to the places easy to enter.

Don’t ask it to maneuver around showy displays of desperation and entitlement or to compete with showy performance and drama. Are you easy for magic to find? Have you cleared the path to your door so magic can dance right in like a long anticipated guest?

Honey, what do you really, really, really want?

Why? What will having this give you? Love this yearning and let it become part of you. Let it lead you to be brave in action in just the right way that opens the door so magic can do its wondrous creation. I love you,

Your Inner Wise Woman who knows you make it though this.

(Are you are finding blocks to magic in your life right now, The Guidance Sessions will help. Take a look.)

sometimes my soul needs a baptism of nature

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CIMG6788As write this it is raining and gray outside.
 I am fighting the urge to curl up under a quilt and nap the afternoon away. While I see nothing wrong with a good afternoon nap, especially on a soggy day, this soggy day I took a tiny walk outside instead. The fresh, cool air and the chilly rain lifted my spirits as much as I imagine it is nourishing our drought parched soil.

Sometimes my soul needs a gentle baptism of nature.
A reminder that I am part of her, that she has power over me, that I can always find myself in relation to her. I need her. I forget this. My clever, clever mind convinces me that my memory of nature can bypass my direct need for her in the present.

So I walked in the rain.
With out an umbrella or hat even though I am feeling a bit sick. Just enough to feel the moisture in my lungs and the dampness on my skin. Long enough to appreciate the shinning drops of water hanging on the leaves.

I let myself be in the rain, willing to be rained upon, becoming another part of nature the rain hangs on.

Instinctively I knew it was my medicine.

To be part of.

What is your world calling you to be a part of?