There’s a time after heavy snow when nothing moves.
The skyline is tender, wild and soft. The air is fresh and thick with Presence and the cold light glides in and out of your pores.
In those moments you chord with the deepest truth within you. The silence isn’t lonely. It’s everything and weighted.
Every fractal of emotion melts, held in amethyst visions of trysts forming from new beliefs.
Where desire can grow from the true groundswell of your own heart.
You are centred — cording the eternal — and it opens you up to the entire soul…
Down she goes: Inanna, Queen of Heaven, Goddess of Sex, Justice, and War, forging a mission to reach her big sister Ereshkigal of the Underworld.
The latter is intemperate, untameable, and blisteringly powerful — the shadow self who’s grieving her own loss and staying put in the cave of unknowing.
The Descent of Inanna, the archetypal ancient Sumerian poem (c. 1900–1600 BCE), chronicles the often fraught journey home to wholeness.
Inanna expects a civilised funeral and firm word with a tricky sibling.
Instead she gets the very opposite — limbs of certainty torn away and a husband back home who…
I need the rest and unknowing place
where I can’t see ahead,
just twigs and the moon
and dark truths long kept.
I need these layers
of time mulched too deep
and emerald wise caves
with dry roots turned sweet;
with rebirthing looms
threading new waves,
weaving cold nights
of thick red seal tales.
I’m choosing to smuggle
this permission beneath stars,
of listening womb’s sleep
and owls guarding lands.
The Womb is the keeper of the inner mysteries which in the old ways was seen as the living matrix of life, the dark portal, the void.
Wriggling around in busyness and avoiding my emotions last week I found by Friday there was a tense fog surrounding me like that haunted thundercloud scene in Ghostbusters — where the ectoplasm slimes Liberty!
It created a dissonance from my heart and wobbled my hopeful stability.
Then came the enormous ghost zapping rescue that is yoga class and a tennis ball.
I’ve done bodywork — pilates, somatic yoga and a bit of dance — throughout 2020, mainly via zoomland and I’m a bodyworker myself.
I never fail to be awed by the everyday denial I can live through in terms…
Seeing as we’re heading into the cosy underworld that is Winter in the Northern Hemisphere I thought I’d share my favourite foods for supporting health and healing during this season (plus my ‘guilty pleasure’ as Dennett prompted us Weeds & Wildflowers followers).
As some of you know I am a moon loving mermaid who skips close to the sea.
So imagine my delight when I discovered our body’s own osmotic balance — the internal salt-water distributive tide of our cells — is highly affected by the circadian rhythm and lunar cycles.
Every night when we sleep something rather magical occurs within every cell.
Electrolytes are juicy essential minerals that carry an electric charge when dissolved in a liquid like blood. At night — to create balance — ‘pairs’ like sodium/potassium hold a little oceanic line dance and swap over.
They move with…
A hurricane, a force
blows through the lake’s eyes
and knows turbulence will shine
a dissipation towards galaxies,
tingled in dust
cold grass and purple cirrus
blowing through the years
for the royal self antennae
bestows a glass of god
and Love has chosen a formed
your own fluid emotional skin
resting upon a brave receptive
Yesterday I felt so much turbulence in the collective energies on this planet. …
“Crows are more sincere than they look, you know.”
I remember having an ‘experience’ with a crow about three years ago.
I was carrying a rook feather in my bag after camping on a meditation retreat at Gaia House where the rooks in the trees woke everyone up around 4am — mating season I think.
I must have been carrying some corvid (not bloody covid) fertility energy with me!
Not long after this I was walking along in a little village, outside Hassocks near Brighton I think, and a crow literally hovered one meter above my head like…
I want to skip down the street. I want to play on the swings like I did as a kid with skins of all shades gently pressed.
I want to feel awareness and the cavity of my chest blow open with enough love to feed the world. I want everyone to remember how we breathe the same air. Every cell of our body needs compassion.
The lungs can’t discriminate. Neither should we.
Last night I sat on a couch with three super smart Tibetan teenagers.
I am jokingly their ‘bubble aunty’. During UK lockdown we can form a support bubble…
‘The world is such a gloriously multifaceted, diverse place that there are people in the world who will like you, the real you, as you are.’
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Self love can be a messy, joyful paradox— cultivating honest boundaries and the softest of hearts can feel contradictory — and for years I thought it was a marketing Me-Me-Me ringtone.
I was tired of the boxed pronouns enclosing my world, the ‘I’, ‘Me’, ‘You’s’. No verbs, no flow, no relationship with the loamy soil beneath; language like a concrete wall banishing out the world’s tragedies and deep messages of earth.