What happens when you give yourself permission to change your life?
There’s a fascinating phenomenon I’ve observed with my students and, in the past, with clients: once someone signs up for a program, whether it’s for wellness or witchery, their life starts moving and shifting. It’s as if they’ve given the Universe the thumbs-up and the Universe responds with a resonant Hurrah! and gets to work.
While this sudden momentum can be uncomfortable, most folks who sign on to work with me are looking for knowledge, growth, change, and a deeper sense of authenticity. When I worked with clients, I’d ask six questions to ignite this inner-journey. These innocuous little questions would appear in a potential client’s inbox to start their energy moving in a different way:
“The result was like a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders and illumination of new and old spaces in my mind and spirit. I felt like I reconnected with past dreams and hopes and made some amount of peace with my current life transition. I cried as I read and since the reading I feel healed and energized in a very powerful way.”
Simply working with these questions is a journey in and of itself. If you’re feeling ready to shift and grow, read on! (more…)
When I arrived, she washed my feet in flowered water and dried them with her long red hair.
This is how my studies in Ireland begin.
(Admit it: you thought I was working on a sappy romance novel! Hmmm…..)
The trip to the farmette, where my teacher Gina lived, involved an overnight flight, a transfer at Gatwick, a couple hours of airport time, and then a bus ride which took four times longer than the same trip by car. As the driver had jovial reunions with aunts and cousins at seemingly every station stop. I arrived at Gina’s exhausted and a bit disoriented, like my soul hadn’t quite caught up with the adventures of my body.
Gina sat me down in the dining room with a cup of tea and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a basin of water swirling with petals. Rose and calendula, lemon balm and borage… the colors formed kaleidoscope designs as she set the basin at my feet. The scent of rose geranium essential oil wafted on the steam. My eyes welled up as Gina gently removed my low leather boots, slipped off my socks, and cradled my feet as she guided them into the basin. Relaxed and drifting, the experience felt dreamlike and surreal as she rubbed my feet with oil then tenderly dried them with the ends of her waist length hair.
What if you could feel what you feel… guilt free?
You could savor anger, lick up loneliness, and relish frustration. Roll it in your mouth and caress it with your tongue. What if you knew that tears cleanse the palette and bitter fuels the fire? What if no one ever again smiled and sweetly told you you’re “so sensitive”?
If you’re an emotional being, an out of the box thinker, or (oh, dear) both, people have probably tried to convince you that thoughts or feelings that weren’t sunshine and buttercups were not only character flaws, but a slap-down to the whole hierarchy of happiness. And we all want happiness, right?
Snow is a nuisance if you plan to celebrate the New Year in high heels and a little black dress…
… but for those of us who are staying home by the fire to dream in the New Year, the snow lends a certain surreal softness.
With the edges blurred, it’s a easier to envision possible futures. Are you ready?
For those of you who have been following along with the Guide to the Darkest Nights series (Finding Joy and Burn Your Past), you’ve been sorting and sifting for the past few weeks. Hopefully you’ve been asking yourself the important questions like what is the song of my heart? And what makes each breath taste like fairy dust and chocolate stars?
Or maybe you’ve stuck with less flowery prose and asked How do I want to live this one beautiful life?
Maybe you’re beginning to see the shape of your desires and have a word or phrase, a color, or a feeling that you want to guide you as you move into the new year. (more…)
There’s something about the dark that lets us find our deepest truths.
As the nights get longer, I find myself whispering dreams and knowings, letting them surface in the gentle dark. Things which can’t yet bear the light of day, can find their way to the surface of my being where I can begin the tentative work of exploring and holding and breathing them in.
I’ve always loved and celebrated these darkest nights.
When I lived in Beacon, NY, just a short walk from the Hudson River, I would hold a solstice vigil every year.
There were fairy lights on the porch, holly adorning the doorways, and the mingled scents of soup and baking bread wafting from the kitchen. I lived on a quiet street with few lights, so the house became a twinkling and magical space, a boat we boarded to carry us from one sun cycle into the next.
It was always an unusual gathering, quiet and contemplative. We spoke in hushed tones and somehow, together, drew into our deepest hearts.
Here’s my secret:
There was no master plan.
I didn’t visualize herb shops in two states, a couple of books, and a vibrant online community (online??! says ten-years-ago me, that’s crazy-pants!).
The year destiny wrapped me ‘round her little finger and tugged my life into a new shape, I was happily renovating my 1870’s Sears and Roebuck kit house, spending evenings rocking on the wrap-around porch, and making gluten-free mulberry-peach pies with berries fresh from the trees in the back yard. I loved my house somethin’ fierce and swore they’d carry me out in a coffin.
I was 33. Thirty-three is three 11’s, the number of visionaries and dreamers, ideologues and spiritual seekers. Think about your own thirty-third year (and if you’re not yet there, pay attention when it comes!).
I hit my thirty-third birthday and life got officially weird.