Boho Girl

“…let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.” ~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

A dear friend sent this quote to me yesterday. Its as if reading it gave me permission to be okay with my quiet. Most days I have a lot to say, a lot to share but most times words do not adequately express. So I’m embracing the quiet of my days. The need for less words. The welcoming of gazes and sighs, of touch and holding, of lingering and breath.

In our culture, we are so accustom to needing to fill spaces with words. I know in my life, mostly in my writings, I fill fill fill…so many words and yet when in the flesh, I am drawn to quiet. I am drawn to sitting back and soaking in the feeling of the moment, the essence.

When I feel utterly safe with someone, they experience my comfort with quiet. I have surrounded myself with souls I feel safe with the last few years and there is much more quiet and pause in my life and in theirs.

So here is a gaze for you…the utter peace and light I felt in this moment as I captured this image of myself. I needn’t share all the reasons I arrived at this place of peace. Can you just see it in me? Sigh. Yes.

What does quiet feel like for you?

I’ve been reveling in touch lately.

A few weeks ago my naturopath asked me to lay down and her hands made their way to my belly. I laid there with my eyes close surrendering to her touch, I felt our breath synchronize. The heat of her hand felt so so very good. So tender. I had no idea what her intentions were but that helped me practice trust and my intuition was telling me my body felt desperate for this caress. She cradled my thigh and applied gentle pressure onto the skin that protects my ovaries…my lower belly… and that is where the emotions surfaced for me. I know my reproductive organs and the muscles and skin that protect them hold so many memories, so much ache, so much need for validation that they are enough. Its almost as if I’ve been afraid to cradle them, afraid to go there just yet as I go about my life and what is in front of me. But what is inside of me there…there…is tender and needs my attention, my love, my grace…even after all these years. I’ve been a bit quiet with them.

Later my naturopath told me she was doing Craniosacral therapy. I nodded and took a deep breath, told her it felt good but wasn’t ready in that moment to talk about what had just transpired. I got to my car, sat down in silence as the rain danced across the windows and the tears spilled. So much. So much emotion in those parts of my body. Endometriosis, cysts, (in)fertility…now that I allowed myself to pay attention to the emotion that rests beyond the physical pain, there was this tremendous release. I have known for quite some time subconsciously this needed to happen, this attention, this love…but honestly, I’ve been so afraid of it. Afraid of what would happen if I surrendered to it because it feels like it would be a flood that drowned me. And as I sat there in the car releasing what my naturopath had moved around, I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t as frightening as I had imagined. It was good. So good and dare I say even a bit freeing. As cliche as that sounds (and the cliche of it has kept me from believing that freedom could really happen for me), it is true. The days following I have felt a lightness I haven’t felt in years. Something has loosened. Something has awakened.

I’ve been touching those parts more. Laying my hand there whenever I can. Sending affirmations. Touch. Healing touch. Now I feel more aware when Cedar brushes my hand with his or my husband cups my face in the darkness of night to kiss me goodnight. I feel more alive when touching and being touched.

To my ovaries, my uterus, my fallopian tubes…(laying my hands there) I love you…and you are perfect for me, so very perfect for me, so very enough.

I will leave you with a little prompt droplet to think about what part of your body needs your love and affirmations…

clearer, self portrait

The past few weeks I’ve felt clearer than usual. I think its a combination of things: An awareness that this year, new age marks a greater consciousness for us humans. I have felt it in the streets and in stores when out and about. A bit more kindness and softness. More smiles and warmth exchanged. A deeper gratefulness to be here. People seem less afraid to engage in conversation. In fact just a second ago, a lovely woman sitting near me at the coffee shop leaned over and asked me a few questions. She didn’t really feel like a stranger. A barista brought me my drink and he said giggling “Here’s your foggie!” in reference to the London Fog steaming in my mug. We both laughed. It was such a kindred thing to say! Something I would call my drink. This is what I mean about not being strange-ers. I just feel this Universal shift of oneness. Perhaps just on a small scale right now but I have hope that these vibrations will expand out to all humanity.

Speaking of this gig of Being Human, today I read this…

poem by Rumi

Oh how this brought a newish clarity to me, even though this awareness and wisdom has lived in my heart over the years as I’ve navigated some ache from relationships. Recently, I felt it fully sink in on a deeper level. I needed this shift in perspective of feeling wounded to feeling grateful for that ache, pain, separation, rejection, whatever it may be between me and another human that didn’t go as I had longed or hoped.

“Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.”

Our pain and sorrow, our hurt…it offers us compassion for those around us that may be going through something similar. It give us an opportunity to love deeper and wider…ourselves and others. It brings us to our knees so that we can reMember our strength to stand and be brave in allowing others to help lift us. So much, so much! Our pain and sorrow are gifts. Sometimes I grasp this concept immediately and the healing moves faster through my body, my heart. Sometimes, depending on the layers, it can take days, months years for me to recognize fully why I am grateful something happened the way it did.

But now I have Rumi to remind me.

And in that pain, when in the thick mucky gook of it, when we find ourselves in a spiral, there is goodness in that too.

The other day, I reached out to a friend spilling some anxieties and fears, knowing my thoughts were completely unraveling and out of my control in the moment, I said “These feelings are so unfamiliar. Am I spiraling?”

And she sent me this passage…

passage from Jack Kornfield in his book After the Esctasy, the Laundry

I felt myself lay back, arms wide open…fully embracing the spiral because spiraling is human and we all do it and how healing, how validating is it to just surrender? Surrender to the dance with an awareness that we will eventually come back to our center? And in that returning to center, we will be fuller and wiser? Sigh. Good good stuff.

“In the course of this great spiral,
we return to where we started again and again,
but each time with a fuller, more open heart.”

Mmmmm…I wanted to share these nuggets with you as they were shared with me. They offered me compassion and patience, surrender and relief for mySelf, for others and especially for those “guides” that come into my life. ; )

art above is a beautiful gift from rain, created by messycanvas

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

~ David Whyte ~
(House of Belonging)

I am so grateful to this beautiful soul in my life. For offering this quote by David Whyte at a time when I needed to meet these words and this truth.

Ahhh. The idea that the cocoon, the darkness I have surrendered to the past few years has been a WOMB shifted everything for me.

Moving to the Pacific Northwest meant a new beginning for me in many layered ways. I chose this as a time to strip myself slowly of that which didn’t bring me life and the figuring out of why it didn’t and what truly does bring life was a unexpectedly painful process. My pulling back and peeling layers was nothing personal to anyone or anything. It was all me and my own soul work, all inward and inner. My intentions were to live more in the present, in the flesh and learn to not rely so deeply on online connections for attention, validation, and ego strokes. To relearn how to feel LOVED and worthy and purposeful in my silence. It was full of ache and loneliness. It almost felt like a detox of sorts. Yet it was also very FREEing to create and honor such a simplicity around me. I know this type of lone-quest is not for everyone, nor needed by everyone. It was just what it took for an empath like me to hush the noise and be naked and pure about my choices. To live intentionally, inspired by my own intentions and not influenced by others feelings about me or outside of me. I was quiet and nourished in this womb and the rebirthing process is beginning. I am surfacing with a deeper awareness of boundaries needed to protect my heart and what surrounds me and my family and acceptance of my sensitivities and needs and those of my family. Acceptance of self. Oh, that’s a big one for me.

These words specifically from David Whyte spoke to it all for me; “Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong. Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness to learn…”

Sigh. Yes, oh yes. My aloneness. My quest of unbelonging, which is leading me to my belonging.

I am forever grateful to those that stood near me in my silence, who saw the vastness of my heart and met me in my own quiet, along with their own quiet, each in our own wombs, aware of the other but with no expectations. This woman below is one of them.

My soul-friend Rain, wrote these words for me, for all of you, may you soak them in and let them marinate as a New Year begins:

***********

all images by rain

Winter’s dark casts long shadows over a reluctant dawn. I am soaked in laconic light. I write these words within days of December’s solstice, always grateful for year’s end, this quiet space for reflection and closure. The past twelve months have been my own kind of (soul)stice, the gift of one long, dark night designed to heal me from what I always feared most.

That’s what darkness has become for me. Healing.

We are conditioned to consider darkness as something to run from. To avoid. We think of it as the opposite of light, in terms of good versus evil, or horror versus bliss. I grew up with a crippling kind of Dark in the form of deep, abiding fear. At a very young age it became the bread I tasted, the water flooding my cells, the breath I inhaled and held. Fear of God and man. Fear of myself. My future. Fear of the wayward longings of my heart and even my heart itself. It was the kind of fear, I wrote once, that picks apart everything sacred and beautiful until nothing holy remains.

Our life history shapes what darkness means. Our stories shape what haunts us. But darkness doesn’t have to be scary, and when reach the end of all we know, perhaps the end of ourselves, we discover the most surprising thing of all: that this darkness? The vast unknown? Everything we’re frightened of, the thing we construct our lives around to avoid?

All. Gift.

Let the sun fall in your cupped hand. Today be only this: the thing that holds the light. ~ Shawnacy Kiker

My humble, gentle, you-can-do-this secret

The truth is, all life begins in the dark.

What is a cocoon, but a dark place of protection, safety, and transformation?

What is solstice, but a place of reflection and rest?

What is the earth, but a dark place for germination of seed?

All darkness is a womb if we allow it to be. And what is a womb, but a hollow space for light?

What healed me from fear also healed my heart from an intensely negative concept of darkness. It became a brilliant invitation to my own awakening, and I? Witness to my own birth. You can do this too, love. I will tell you how:

• Take a deep breath.
• Exhale.
• Gather moonlight and spirit. We all need a little magic.
• Nourish your heart with the bread of comm(unity).
• Pack the hollow spaces in your bones with deep, divine Love.
• Drench your cells with the water of life.
• Your guides are Truth and Spirit but the journey is yours alone. Kiss your feet, place your soles on the earth. Let your toes become alive.
• Go there.
• Yes, there.
• Go. There.

Whatever it is you fear most, whatever your darkness means to you, whatever haunts you and desperately needs healing, move directly into it.

You can do this. You are stronger than you know. Life is on the other side.

Everything you want

is on the other side of fear.

George Addair

I chose unafraid as my word for 2012 and it was only when I embraced for the first time my reality of fear did I begin the arduous yet hopeful task of healing it. Because, truthfully? Fear means this matters. Fear says, this is meaningful to your deepest self. Fear is a wise old woman who knows us better than we know ourselves and who can help guide us home. She tells us, wherever I am, dig deep here. Right here. This is where you need to be. Pay attention. Fear is like an internal systems analyst adjusting her heavy black framed glasses and speaking soft through bold red lips: darling, this is really really really important and you are dizzy and sick because the whole universe of you hangs by a tender silver thread and anyone could come by and whisk it away like they were brushing a spider web off their face. It is that vulnerable.

And when fear’s panicked fury subsides and we take deep, shaky breaths, when we bravely melt into the shuddering silence after a storm, this is when we discover something new and wholly unexpected: we find, all along the dark and pummeled seashore of our tender earth-selves, the most radiant, moon-holy of pearls. Rain-soaked and gleaming.

But before we can find them, we must listen.

Darkness is the most sacred portal to life. To become vibrantly alive, leaping from a flat page of black and white into a world of vivid color ~ colors we can taste, breathe, savor ~ we must listen to the secrets of darkness. Remember this, the next time you look around and see no light.

For what is faith, but a journey through the dark?

And I promise you, love, that the day will come. You will, in the words of Rilke, break into being. In the words of a dear friend and favorite poet, that day will come, when

the fear-voice grows small
like an echo
or a photograph from atop a distant hill
50 years ago,

and when
the joy, and the life voice grow strong
and near
and full of strange woven music -
turbulent and prophetic.

from Anthem, by Shawnacy Kiker

Fear, like darkness, has a quiet voice, a grown up kind. And our darkness has something to say, all whispery with promises and barely there:

Honey, can you hold on?

Because if you sit with me a while, I will teach you something sacred.

Yesterday, Cedar whispered to me that he needed quiet but wanted me to join him. So we tip toed upstairs and I tucked him into our bed. I laid near him just marinating in the quiet. The shifting rhythm of the holidays has been a lot for him, for all of us. Us visiting family, family visiting us, the house transformed into sparkly twinkle newness. This transition and this shifting, this “change” that this holiday brings is something I am more aware of than I have ever been in my life.

A dear friend of mine has reminded me the importance of asking for what you need and that can be done in so many ways. Just the awareness of our needs alone is a journey in and of itself. Cedar has been a reminder…sometimes fierce reminder, sometimes a gentle one: of how important it is to simply ask. Whether its a howl or a whisper…to just ask for what we need. I need quiet. I need alone time. I need the lights off. I need to be held. I need less talking across the table. All things Cedar has learned to ask for. All things I am remembering that I need too. And even if I am unable to have those things in the moment I need them, just knowing I need them alone gives me permission to be gentler on myself and others.

I know I haven’t been here much. But I have been here (see image above).

Monday morning I went on a walk around a lake. As my pace became faster under a canopy of forest, I realized I hadn’t moved my body like this in over a year. The life pulsing through my veins and bones felt so deeply healing and good.

Our move to Washington paralleled some huge awakenings about my life. Choices needed to be made to marinate in and live in my own truth but more importantly, to protect my heart and to feel safe. I just ached to feel safe. These choices to free myself from that which didn’t serve my heart and my soul were not easy and were full of some grief and separation and loneliness. It felt like a peeling that left me raw and needing to cocoon and rest and be still. I didn’t have a lot of expectations of myself beyond learning to live life more in the present, settling into an entirely new h*OM*e and loving my boys and my family with all I had. I surrendered to the aches and pains of going from being so seen, very public and constantly-connected to less seen, more private, inner and solitary. Just recently, a dear friend going through a similar transition of online to offline said to me “I’ve felt very much out of site/out of mind”. I knew intimately and had compassion for what she meant about feeling a sense of being invisible to others. I was living it and yet it was okay, it was so good, what I needed and it was deeply humbling.

Humility has been my companion this year along side gentleness. Humility has been my constant reminder, that gentle whisper throughout my life but most especially now. Being a mother to an intensely wild and beautiful and sensitive child has brought me closer to humility. Stepping away from and losing relationships I thought were deeply rooted in trust brought me closer to humility. Quieting the noise and the influences and constant adoration has brought me closer to humility. To me, humility has always been a home where my true self is. A place I can surrender to egolessness. A place where right now, in this moment, I am enough. For me, in the midst of humility there is less striving and more being, there is deeper compassion and loving. There is less temptation to be anyone or anything but my true self. There is an inner strength that comes from within rather than with-out. To me, to continue to empty my mind and soul of the ego…that is where wisdom and enlightenment set me free. Yet, it is my constant practice to create boundaries where this process can be honored and lived. It can be messy, oh so messy and full of pain because of my humanness.

Throughout my life, in any kind of institution or following of sorts (school, church, blogging community, online media, etc), I have had this awakening. I find myself (not by intention) being swept up by very human desires: the glamor, the attention, the praise, the acclaim and consistently, I have a very similar experience. I pull back, I grow quiet, I do my inner work, I renew, I reinvent. Part of it is the gypsy in me, the wanderer that does not follow, nor do I lead, I just drift because I know there is so much wisdom to gain by exploring. Part of it is that I am a deeply sensitive soul and in circles or tribes, religions or followings, there can be exclusion to that which is outside and I am not comfortable being part of anything that excludes. Part of it is that I see clearly that so much of that need to be seen and heard comes from a very achy, hurty place in our hearts, which makes us all equal and teachable to one another. Part of it is that I witness those that are guiding or leading become so consumed with their leading that their own lives, loves and hearts are not given needed attention and care and therefore, what they are teaching is not what they are able to live.

All of this causes me to pause and reflect. It brings me to periods of stillness, of rest, of letting go, shedding and renewing and surfacing again.

So as I was moving my body to a faster rhythm under the trees the other day, there was this awareness of how every pore on my body felt heightened, alive. I could feel my heart expanding, chest opening, face to the sky, limbs stretched. I felt my whole being surfacing from the safe, still place I have created and begin to move again…through the light…and also through the darkness. Fear came to me and my face grew wet with tears. But the tears did not come from the fear. The tears came from a knowing I haven’t quite felt so intensely before. The tears came from love. A deep love, a tenderness for and an embracing of my fears.

I wiped my tears under my sunglasses and laughed to myself. I heard this whisper. Perhaps my inner voice, perhaps the Divine. It said something about walking through fear in gentleness is possible. I don’t have to be fierce because fierce is not my nature. I can greet fear with gentleness, with compassion and with humility and will still be able to walk through to the other side stronger and rooted and yet free.