trusting {in flow}

Waning Crescent Moon in Cancer

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A puzzle complete; whole and sturdy in a deep knowing sort of way.

wild woman; opening portals, slamming doors.

Can you trust me to lead the way or will you startle at my roar?

Can you find you place amidst the folds of the great unknown?

Oceans of tears never cried— initiation {the beginning}

Never cease to be astounded at the strength of Her;

willingness to refuse to stay boxed in for others comfort.

A lifetime that says conform, and you lean in;

setting the box on fire and burning with it to the ground—

paving the way to the true—

leaving it— that comfortable and stifling known

stepping into new depths;

stumbling in the darkness.

Lead by intuition and trusting in the flow,

before you even know what it means to trust.

The head does not lead here— this is soul territory.

***

Day 28/28: I really left this one up to the last minute. Trusting in the flow [hoping for the best]. Today I’m feeling inspired by a session with a client; a divine reminder of the absolute power that is the feminine— blossoming in progress— coming home to the instinctual nature [as Clarissa Pinkola Estés would put it]. “The pain is great”— my client on the table, feeling… allowing herself to be physically moved to release amidst a sea of pain. This is a different kind of strength. It’s not how well we hold it all together and in, or how we put on an act to the outside world that we can do it all; how unaffected we appear to be by how much it hurts. How much weight we carry at the expense of self and soul in the name of being selfless creatures that make us worthy of praise and love [I write that as I roll my eyes at this stupid narrative that we have been spoon fed since infancy].

This kind of strength is in the courage. The knowing how much it’s going to hurt and doing it anyway— to find the way home to an unknown foreign land. For freedom and liberation. It is facing the abyss of a lifetime of grief unexpressed, and taking a step forward… and another one, and another one. This re-connection— to self and soul— is not some glamorous process. There are tears— bucket and oceans of tears. And lots of snot. Resistance. And discomfort so intense it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Oh, and nobody told you about the righteous rage from wounds unhealed— coming in as you recognize from a new paradigm of awareness and connection to the sensations of your body— that you were in fact violated, and it’s shocking, and it hurts. And simultaneously being faced with the tension of “good girls don’t get angry” when all you feel like doing is fucking screaming and roaring and burning it all down.

When I say this isn’t “all light and love”, spiritual bypassing sort of stuff, I’m not kidding. And wow. I am in awe of the courage I get to be in the presence of. I have such a deep reverence for the stories entrusted to me, that I get to witness and hold sacred as these brave souls navigate being, from a new, unpracticed perspective and awareness. And when I say courage, it doesn’t mean without fear. It’s not about not being afraid— it’s about noticing the fear, and leaning in when soul says “step this way”. And standing still, when it says to pause. It’s drawing your own damn roadmap, writing your life script one step at a time. And stumbling blindly in trust as you wait for the next best step to reveal itself, even when you don’t really know what it is to trust self and soul—but you know—even though you don’t. You know? [I know this may make no sense or all the sense— but there is a lot of seeming contradiction in this place too]. There is not a one-size fits all path to life. It is you and you. And more you. And the closer you get to the truest version— it gets easier to step in your highest good [which is subsequently in the highest good of all] to pivot and stand strong in all that comes along with following the path back home— and the more aware you become, the painful reality is that you can never go back to that small and comfortable space. You burned it down, and all is left, is you. And what a beautiful gift indeed that is.

So yea, I get to do this work. So I guess, what I’m trying to say is I’m steeped in gratitude for the unfolding that is my script, that through trust, I have been led. I’m grateful to the beautiful souls that meet me along the way and add color and nuance and depth— and so much love— to my story and practice. That trust me with a truth they may not yet fully realize, but that is dying to make it’s way to being expressed in the world. I could go on and on, but since I have about 5 minutes until midnight, i’m going to call it. On this last day of this 28 day challenge i’ve given myself. I made it. And I suppose i’m grateful for that too.

Thank you to each of you that read one sentence, or read each and every post and every one of you that falls somewhere in the spectrum in between. I appreciate you.

With immense gratitude and always LOVE,

{i went to sleep}

Waning Gibbous Moon in Aries {still}

 i went to sleep //

and woke up next to you

messy hair and morning breath 

limbs intertwined

bare skin; soft 

you whispered good morning  

pulled me in close, like you always do

kissed my neck

ran your hand down the side of my body 

as awakened eyes met 

and for just a moment

time stood still

just the two of us

A familiar feeling

wrapped in love

nowhere to be

nothing to do

the sweetest pause...

// and then I woke up.

{maybe one day we’ll meet again // somewhere other than in my dreams}

***

Day 21/28: This Aries moon + Venus in Cancer has got me feelin’ some sort of way these past few days. Emo love songs about distant love, heart literally aching and tears making their way out periodically when a certain song comes on, or lyric hits a nerve; day dreaming about love and connection those that came before, the ones i’m calling in; watching Netflix rom-coms. And what I don’t like acknowledging but will for sake of transparency— I don’t often feel lonely, but I’m feeling the craving to have a man in my presence, someone that I have an intimacy and trust with, that I can just snuggle up with and exist in the same space. I miss being held and touched [again, thanks Venus in Cancer for these vibes *insert eye roll here *]. So today, i’m just going to keep it short and sweet, and spend the rest of my evening enjoying being in this beautiful little hearth space that is my apartment, around my plant babies that all got new outfits today [translation: they got potted in pretty ceramics], watching more Netflix rom-coms. Love and extra tight distance air hugs to anyone who is feelin’ the— longing to be witnessed and embraced— sort of feeling. You’re not alone.

With gratitude and always LOVE,

why are you always leaving //

“Why are you always leaving me!”.

She screams. Silently. On the outside, she smiles, nods her head; mature acknowledgment of the greater purpose and lesson. Inside, fire. Just keep it together; don’t let them see your heart breaking.You have to be strong. You have to be understanding. You have to be gracious in the presence of pain and disappointment.

“But what about me!”, she demands.

“What about me?”, she asks softly; eyes cast down (don’t let them see you cry).

“Why are they always leaving?”

“Why does nobody stay to keep me safe?”

“What did I do wrong?”

Nothing little one, it was never about you. You are magic. In your kindness, your big, big love, your sensitivity, your pain and vulnerability. You don’t have to be strong. You can fall apart and fall down. I’ll be right here to pick you back up. I know this burden, heavy on your shoulders like 1,000 pounds of red brick; hot from baking in the sun; breaking your back, searing your skin.

I know it’s heavy.

I know it burns, deep.

I know little one.

You don’t have to be strong, but you are.

You don’t have to put on a brave face, or be good, or polite.

You can cry and scream and break; stomp around if you like.

You have permission to be big or small, to be loud or quiet; to be, You.

I know that weight is so, so heavy; why don’t you put it down here for a moment.

Rest your head on my shoulder; close your weary eyes.

I’ve got you, little one, I’m here.

-Conversations with my little Self; learning how to be here for Her, for Me, for Us.