find your sun

Grab a cup of tea. Hold it to your heart. Let it warm your center. Bring the inside out.

Wrap yourself in a blanket. Up around your shoulders and drape it down your back. Imagine yourself a bear cozying up in her den. Reposition. Curl up. Exhale.

Close your eyes. Let your mind drift off. Just for a bit. See if you can find a place of balance. Like an egg perfectly resting in its nest. Like a baby perfectly resting in its mother's womb. Perfectly at peace. Not a thought. Not a care. We are finding the quiet place in our inner world.

Tap into the movement that brings you deeper. Remember there is richness in the stillness. There is depth in the darkness. There is a safety in the embrace.

The Sun's deepest and longest transit is now. Dipping into the vastness of the Underworld, he reminds himself that he will rise again. No matter how far down and out, he is always on course. The second he sets somewhere, he is rising somewhere else. This is the Sun's magic.

Find your Sun. Your place of brilliance and light. Your place of inner knowing and limitlessness. The place inside yourself that cannot and will not be extinguished. Most times our Sun shines brightest in the darkness. This is where we see our gift the clearest. We see the miracle.

Peace is holding onto your Sun even when it takes the longest route to rise. It is knowing that you are at one with the rhythms of the Universe. Flowing effortlessly forever, no matter light or dark. An endless loop of ups and downs. And you in the center of it all. Just you. Perfectly you. Always.

your presence is enough

Please do me a favor before you read this: FIND YOUR BREATH

Take a few really big deep ones to bring you back to yourself. Find where it lives in your chest. Find it's resting place. And expand.

Ask for your breath to move through your shoulders. To soften them. To lessen tension. To massage worry. To kiss the open spaces between the joints and blades.

Ask for your breath to slide it's way down your spine. Snaking in and out of each and every vertebrae. Feel it melt everything. Round you. Mellow you. Root you.

Ask for your breath to settle in your heart. To bring your awareness to center. To be both the bud and the blossom.

When ready: sharpen your eyes, focus your mind, and read this once more. Feel this for all that it is.

Y O U R P R E S E N C E I S E N O U G H

This was the message that came through in a middle-of-the-night-can't-get-back-to-sleep-spirit-is-calling meditation.

I saw the ancestors sitting around an eternal fire. The air was calm and electric. The teachers are humble and wise. Their teachings are simple and profound. Their faces were both ancient and new. Switching between the two with the same playfulness and predictability as fire. They have found the sweet spot. The place where anything and everything is possible.

I saw that they are opening up new pathways for me. For us. Ways of seeing and talking and relating to them. They are giving us much more direct teachings.

They showed me a place in myself that has opened up. A place in the collective that has opened up. It is time to remember the greatest of all teachings.

And then they said it... Your presence is enough. It's as simple and as complicated as that.

Your presence in this world is enough to move mountains. Enough to change the course of all things. Enough to shift the shit in your life.

Your ripple outward can be a tidal wave. Washing away the pain of the past. Leaving newness in it's wake.

They are behind you. Guiding you. Building for you. Speak to them. Ask favors of them. Trust them. Love them. Get to know them.

They are waiting.

spirit arrow in the sky

🏹☁️spirit arrow in the sky☁️🏹 We saw this beauty on 11/11-- appear and disappear in the skies over Albany, while approaching a four way intersection, just before sundown.

We read it as a message for the masses. A reminder from Great Spirit that we are all going in the right direction, no matter that direction. It's a reminder that even in times of darkness, brilliance exists. Messages come through. Perspectives shift. We welcome in.

You are enough, you are doing enough. Remind yourself of that. Return to that phrase. Repeat it quietly and out loud, right now. It is your mantra. Feel it.

We are all warriors. Those who chose to come here, to do this earthly work, do it with the greatest urgency and the deepest patience. The lessons you are here to learn are right in front of you. Mine them for wisdom. Things of brilliance grow in the dark and under immense pressure, over lifetimes. We are all diamonds.

Call forth that bright light. Remember where you came from. Honor that place inside yourself that still touches the infinite. Remind yourself that we are all here, now, to share our experiences and our teachings with the world. We are collectively working toward something. We are birthing a new planet. A paradise.

Remember the process to bring forth life is primal. It takes every ounce of our energy, every s i n g l e moment of focus. Trust the waves. Trust what your body is telling you. Trust the release. You are the gateway to the future. Hold your hand on your heart, pound your chest, and fucking roar.

But also take care. Cherish your moments of calm. Nourish. Relish. Love. Drink something warm. Write something down. Share your story. We are here to hear.

We are not alone. We are in this together. This is as much for me as it is for you-- these little prayers that come through. Spirit says share, so that's what we'll do ❤🏹

work life is life's work

Morning magician with the tools of her trade in the space she creates: I have been playing with words. Reversing their order to see an other side-- shining some light and allowing for just a little more breathing room. Some of the word shifts have subtle changes, others are seismic. The one I've been dancing with is: work life and life's work.

I have been given a unique opportunity to undo a lot. It's a harrowing and heart opening process. It happens when you let grief take you into it's depths. But it's a deep and dark sea.

I've made the trip a few times, both voluntarily and involuntarily. This time is the most painful, the most scary, and it holds the most treasured rewards. Grief and I are dredging. To get to those depths-- to reveal the deepest and darkest see-- you have to trust the process. You need to remind yourself that you will come up for air. The light will get brighter. You will resurface.

In that underwater space you begin to find that every relationship, every behavior, every habit, every interaction is up for review. Things that are precious, things that are close to your heart-- the untouchables-- are now exposed. In death, nothing is off the table. You find yourself an open book. What is meant to survive will and what needs to be put to bed will go to sleep.

I have defined myself by the work I put into the world. No matter the scope: picking a pint of currants on the farm as a young teenager carries the same weight as filling this week's massive wholesale orders. Work is a point of pride. A source of integrity. A purpose. So, during this insane review, I knew my work life would be on the chopping block. I delayed as long as I could. Ignored the stirrings that bubbled up to the point the pot overflowed. I was terrified to let go of Happy Belly. But I knew that if it didn't fit in this new life, I didn't want it. Letting go is not easy.

That's when I heard the reorder of words: "work life is life's work".

My mind has been blown.

How many of us are happy with our work? What holds us back from stepping into our essential and natural power? How can we help you see yourself clearer? What will it take for us to change? We are enough.

illusory magic, manifested magic

We are all blessed with messages and downloads from the divine. My most cherished transmissions have come through rainbows.

I had recurring dreams as a child where I would walk a rainbow path to the clouds--- encountering family and strangers and animals and wondrous creatures who occupy this liminal space. It was my favorite.

Rainbow medicine has been very close to my heart since losing Callum. Rainbow memories have been flooding my mind. Special moments all punctuated by the appearance of this most magnificent mystery. All surrounding Callum's conception, growth, and death. Spirit punctuating our journey together through symbol.

Navigating grief is a bizarre journey. Navigating a full term stillbirth is a beast. A nightmare actually.

I thought the presence and prominence of rainbows throughout my pregnancy meant I would finally be able to bring through a baby after multiple physical and spiritual losses. I felt betrayed by my own medicine. I felt like I trusted something that was transitory in nature. I trusted a trickster. Something that appears and disappears without any care or attachment. It is indifferent to those who watch and hope and pray.

But it's good I see an other side.

Rainbows are both illusory magic and manifested magic existing side by side. It is individuation. It is integration. It is the divine brought to ground. Able to witness. Unable to get close. It's a different type of balance.

Rainbows have taught me to let go. To trust in right timing and right conditions even in my darkest days. I invited this piece into my kitchen (thank you @wideeyeddesigns 🙏) as a way to remind me to see myself as a rainbow. To open my heart. To grow as wide as the sky. To shine in both the boundless and bounded. To create magic in the rain and the sun--- the space between shadow and light, pain and joy. This is where my brilliance lies. This is where my hope lives. This is love. This is life.

raw and wild

let elemental magic do it's work-- it grounds and roots our hearts and bodies; it calls us home

we've never camped at the ocean before-- there is something wild and raw, and altogether soothing, about this experience

last night we talked at shorebreak under the full moon light/ we fell asleep listening to the restless but calming Atlantic/ we cooked meals over open fires, having to test and trust and respond to the flames in order to eat/ we've both created lots of little beauties from just shells and sand prints, playing like kids

we are enjoying our days under the big blue sky and the bright warm sun-- with salt water and wind on our faces, eyes on the horizon

part survival, part play, part prayer

embrace your spiritual lineage, find your ritual objects, see the light and shadow of it all

Brandon and I spent a few hours at the Met yesterday after Comic Con. We specifically went to see the "Cosmic Buddhas of the Himalayas" exhibit and the Oceania and Americas wing.

All of these relics have a life and energy-- a past, a present, and a future. Even behind these hermetic boxes. Even eons from their original creators and their homelands. Even beyond these bounds, you can feel their pulse.

Every single time I go to a museum I imagine the history behind these objects-- it might be fanciful daydreams but there is potency and reason to it. It brings me closer to understanding my spiritual lineage. These are totems and idols I know. They come to life.

I can hear their songs. I can see the prayers and mantras done in their honor. I can see the people who worked with them. These are all objects of worship meant to bring us closer to source; closer to the reason for this all 🌌

The concept of masking and unmasking stayed with me yesterday after leaving Comic Con. In the spiritual community we are taught that to get to our authentic self we need to remove the masks we wear-- we need to be naked to be seen; to be more real.

Masking serves a purpose. It's a biological function: part survival, part play, part prayer. Being human and navigating our culture is far too complex a task to be unmasked at all times. Just be conscious of the show you're putting on. See which character you're playing, which energy your calling up for a specific purpose, whether you're standing in light or in dark. Our energetic masks are close to Source/Spirit/God. There are whole museums devoted to the skins and personalities we have donned over the years. It is our original ceremony. It is our original possession. It is who we are and we are meant to reclaim it.

you can handle much more than you think

from Brandon

"I don't know how you guys are doing it. I would never be able to do that. I'm not that strong."

I'm moving through grief by opening up and talking about it. That is what has helped.

It has been raw and painful to talk about the death of Callum, but we have faced the truth head on. I believed and trusted it would be worthwhile and therapeutic. We believed in ourselves and the kindness of those around us.

It is a leap of faith every time I have to tell someone we lost our baby. Sometimes the best thing to do is to believe in yourself and just jump.

You can handle much more than you think.

let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes

GROWING EYES IN THE DARK

The most recent passage of grief has been
Iike walking in darkness. I have journeyed to the other side to find myself here: harvesting potatoes in the early morning, hearing their song while daydreaming about Callum.

I spent days in labor-- from Monday to Friday-- punctuated and prolonged by Callum's death. I found myself both broken and held together; in between everything and somehow holding strong.

How did I dig this deep? How did I find the strength to walk my darkest pass? How did I advocate for myself and clearly see the road ahead? I still have no idea what pushed me while I pushed him. Giving birth to my son was my rite. To grieve fully I needed to honor this passage for the two of us. I needed to pull death through by birthing it. I needed to complete our physical journey to begin a new. I needed to bring light out of darkness, the greatest of all magic acts.

I remember stepping outside of the hospital for the first time after birthing Callum. I felt like I walked through a portal, like I slid through to another dimension. Everything that was familiar was now slightly not. I felt like a baby. Everything was raw, everything needed tending. I was using my eyes for the first time. This kept me close to Callum. I kept thinking: I now remember what life is like as a new born.

I sit here in the early morning, in my early mourning, not wanting to change a thing. Allowing the words to flow while my milk flows. The little potato reminded me that your eyes eventually adjust to the darkness and you begin to see. You grow roots and stems, each reaching for the vastness before them.

Let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes.