[Pictured above] The new norm, unfortunately. I sense that this is temporary. This is a past due Wake-Up call and it's needed more than ever right now. And I’m not saying this because I am dismissing the actual hard and painful stuff happening to our fellow humans right now, I am saying this because I’m feeling and experiencing that hard, painful stuff yet a wiser part of me is, reaching for me, holding me, gently patting my back and softly petting my head saying...I love you child, now come into the comfort of me and be okay here.
I honestly didn't want to add to the overwhelm. Every post out there is demanding the next best ten things you "should" be doing and even all the helpful information suddenly became a burden. Way too much. For us sensitive, big feelers, and those in soul recovery, you may be feeling overloaded and experiencing energy exhaustion. Our anxiety is through the roof, our biggest fears come to life. And, many are having to be out in the world, working, exceeding their energy reserves to keep the world turning. Bless them. Bless them. May they be protected, replenished and well.
I wrote some poetry. With tears and ink. One early morning when all was quiet, except for some bird chatter outside my window. With steaming coffee, seeking solace, I wrote some words.
We stand still.
Time feels different. The air is empty, but soft.
When the realization is that the clocks have not been the observers,
because they've been reciting predictions under a subtle breath.
Everything seems irrelevant, but Life seems crucial,
Almost important enough to be held sacred.
Some just noticing.
Others, ready to create art, new paradigms and brilliant songs of renewal.
We stand still.
We can't see, but we sense the earthquakes in our bodies.
And overflowing channels of worry and anxiety burst like little
volcanoes in our mind.
We keep using sanitizer.
To keep clear all the things we've allowed to happen up until now.
Soiled hands of yesterday's habits.
We stand still.
Because we are too cloudy of information and feel the dizziness
of a life out of control about to swallow us whole.
Pausing only happens to machines, not humans. It is a function
in need of repair.
All the laundry is hung and we try to read for five minutes before
our attention caves and we reach for the next bit
of distraction, the next spoonful of poison.
Because we find it hard to
To be continued. Catch up with me on instagram!
The soul steeps.
Keeping the best for the right moment.
Until, it matches the sun with an exhale
and burns with the fire at the core.
is a rhythm that is mastered with experience and patience.
The waiting is soft and light
full of meaning.
The work is messy and daunting
full of disarray.
Out of the great pain, lives the greatest and brightest awakening.
This soul and her rising is like first breath
and the stillness on the lake's watery surface.
and at the same time...
Coming into, returning from.
with a grip that holds power to take back,
to throw white daisy petals into the iced over water and
Wake up little soul, wake up.
You are emerging...
At night I feel the ache of things that will never be met. I feel the unfinished. The big adjustments that come up with raising children. The imperfect life I will live, maybe lifetime after lifetime. Each one growing richer in beauty, and lush experience of live wisdom unfolding right before me. I don't know what's next. I do know I won't ever be done. I'll never get it down a certain way or molded into a finished shape. I embrace my weathered, my rustic, my old, my scarred, my creased, and my tattered pieces. I will never tame the wild of this life journey. I am learning to be at peace with this. This is what it's all about: untamed and perfectly undone. These grips on perfection melt away as the night sleeps. The dreamworld is where the healing and mending is done. It's folded over, tucked in and fashioned with a vibrant light blessing. I will awake to another promised day of incomplete.
It's like the window you left open as it rained.
It became a portal for wild things to drift in
and splashes of color to messy your hands with.
Over and over, smearing and breaking open cracks of new space.
It becomes your story, the unfinished one.
The one that longs to be retold...
right by the fireside of your heart flame.
It becomes your practice and you return to it...
Over and over, splashing and whirling new paths towards unnamed destinations.
It frees you.
And holds you in darkness. Asking you to sing your dream to find the way home.
One by one, the steps appear and the flashing light,
gives life to your truth.
And the colors that rise up...
Over and over, stream in with heavy sweepers that clear a way back into the deepest you.
Welcome to my Virtual Journal. Here you will find #fieldnotes of a Medial Woman. I write unabashedly imperfect, mostly short, even one-line word play. I share story. I share- first, my process. I view my life-living as a grand experiment and I am taking notes, mapping a trail by moments, stories and synchronicities.
I write about...