The Justice Sessions

Equality. Awareness. Truth.

Connection. Action. Embody.

The Justice card shows up as card 8 or card 11 in the Major Arcana cards of the tarot, depending on different decks and schools of thought. 

The Justice card is aligned with the planet Venus and the astrological sign of Libra. 

It’s symbology often shows up with a women, often time a goddess, with scales, indicating a sense of balance, the act of practicing balance, or seeking and achieving fairness.

The word justice has latin roots in meaning “sacred formula” of righteousness. 

But what is that sacred formula? What is righteousness? What does justice mean to us from the inside out?  I started creating my own Justice card using an image of an ancestral rebel women of my cultural heritage who changed a horribly dangerous law in the old country, and I realized, at the root, while i was creating this card, and learning this story... that the formula, in essence is::::: Just Us. Us, in action. Us, in resistance. Us, in creation. Us, in awareness.

Just Us. We are justice. And our actions, reactions, choices, movement, stagnancy, blindness, programming, and prejudices all inform how justice shows up in our lives, in our world.

Justice:sliding scale

Justice is an archetype that is crucial to explore and embody right now. It lives within us. And rules outside of us. And the card is calling us in. 

But first. What does it mean? How do we show up for it? How does it show up for us? How are we able to find deeper spiritual understanding about the beauty of truth, the danger of lies, how we can become a seer, being a voice, being the LIVING EMBODIMENT of Justice? How can we become the reformation?

This card, when it shows up as number 11 in a deck, is the very middle card of the Major Arcana’s 22 cards. The middle, or center, of the body, is the heart. This card is directly connected to the weight of our heart. What is that weight? How can we release it? How can we deliver straight from the heart? And how can we become a part of equality and righteousness in our lives instead of being the burden that tips the scales, in the direction of alternative truths, injustice, and lies?  

We show up. We rip apart everything that holds us back from seeing. Blind justice is just a thing in the courts that isn’t even real…we cannot be unbiased in a world that has programmed us to judge unfairly...  but Seen Justice is what we want to embody and what we want to empower- for ourselves and anyone more vulnerable than us right now- in terms of race,  gender, religion, age, economics and disabilities. And this includes the Earth, who really does NOT have time for any more shit, who is asking us to become justice, in a living and breathing formation. 

And so I decided. It’s time. To explore the Justice card. Because it’s here, right now, and waiting in power. And it is also a very good reminder that in its wounded state- injustice- is about programming us, keeping us followers of systems that are not fair or equal, or right. In it's wounded state, it scares people into obedience to a moral or religious code that is not true to all. 

Justice, Lady Justice, is an energy to own, to practice, to converse, to help with shifts that are necessary, within our own lives and beyond. What does it mean to live justice? What does it mean to fight for justice? And above, below, within, without it all—— what do our hearts, the center of our beings, have to say... and give?

The tarot cards are a discussion piece for history, what has happened and what is happening. They are a timepiece and a story piece for the inner and outer. We get to create the stories of the cards-  as a matter of fact it is our responsibility to do so. Cards have always been used as a sacred and secret language to carry on the wise ways, the truth, the meaning of life, a language for the people - when things have been silenced, when everything was at risk.

Lets gather together, and unravel Justice. In the name of truth. In the name of love.

In the Justice Sessions we will:

-briefly discuss the history of this card, going back to Egyptian and Hebrew thought… as well as understanding that a colonization of the cards change the meaning, and that the cards, here and now, constantly continue to evolve and transmute meaning/story. 

-create our own justice card. 

-find an ancestral story of justice in the linage you most identify with. 

-explore journal prompts about our own relationship with justice- how we act or chose not to act. And how that effects the universal scale.

-explore how justice lives within us, as a spiritual force, as a divine energy.

-explore how justice in an action and a tool to understand intersection. 

-justice as awareness + community.

-we will write, write, write. because even though this is a tarot course, this is also an experience in creative expression. your voice matters.

As all of The Living Tarot sessions there will be:

-content delivered via email daily {some video, some audio, some written}

-a private, safe, listening community forum to share

-ritual, ceremony + writing prompts around this card/archetype

This session is wonderful for:

-anyone who is on the path to awareness, truth, and justice- both for the self and for those around them. 

-anyone who loves tarot

-who wants a deeper practice, one card at a time

-is a coach, reader, or midwife to others

-is interested in learning basic ways of connection to their ancestors

-who wants to feel into the process of honoring Justice

-who wants more awareness + truth and honors the cards as tools to reform both Self + world. 

The Justice Sessions will be 7 days. And I have created this course as a sliding scale. 50% of profits from that will be given to the ACLU. 50% of the profits will go to my overhead for facilitation of this course. Typically these courses are about $30-40. I want this one to be accessible to all. If you have no money, $0 will be available to you. If you have money, then $20 will be available to give.

AGAIN:: this course runs from 2/28 - 3/6 2017. Would love to have you in the circle. 

Thank you for being part of this cultural and spiritual tradition with me,  that has been passed on to me. I am honored to do this work. And I am honored to give back. 

xx, love, justice, truth. 
marybeth

Justice:sliding scale

i don't want holidays. i want holy days.

I don’t want Holidays.

I want Holy Days.

I spent a lot of time planning how my little family *would and would not* celebrate the holidays before my little family could all walk and talk.

Thanksgiving would be a harvest meal, shared at the farm, with the farmers, in gratitude and abundance of what the earth gives. And it wouldn’t be on Thanksgiving either. It would be on a different day. And Thanksgiving would be spent in reverence and apology, somehow, for the damage that was and has been done. It would be spent in repair, active, and loudly. 

I was sure we would celebrate solstice only, with the bonfire lit, the food prepared with love, maybe gathered with extended communities. Lots of ritual. Lots of flame. There would be gifts, of course, because who doesn't like gifts. But they wouldn’t be bought in the way we are taught to buy. They would be sought and cared for, they would be prayers wraped in old fabric. And they would be something to pass on, not to discard. 

Christmas would come and go, maybe we’d go to the hot springs or camp and offer our services to those in need, but we wouldn't celebrate it in the traditional sense. Because I do not practice this faith. I love Jesus. And I believe in Jesus. And I try every single day to embrace the resistor, rebel, love warrior, teacher, and wild fire he was. But he is not my personal savior. I do not believe he was the only one born to lead in love and peace. And I do know that December 24th isn’t even the day he was born. Common sense. And also, colonization of religion.

If all the pagans and pre-colonized spirituals were celebrating the Light and the Sun on the 21st, then why not bring in The Son on the 24th and convince people this is the new Way? Makes sense. Slow or fast, a take over, a colonization, happened. And that is enough reason that I cannot settle into the season, in the ways that are of spirit. I cannot celebrate, with good heart, a time that has been stolen from others. And most likely those others are in my blood, the women, behind the women. And so on.

Then there is that media thing.  In which we kept away from the kids as much as we could but then they get big and they see for themselves and begin to taste the sugar before they open their mouths and they want. They desire. This is human nature and a child doesn’t come here with the understanding of captiolistic brainwashing, they come here with wanting joy and family and community. They want to belong. And this is what is given, over and over again, through tales of Santa and commericals and radio and internet and just because these kids are sponges, they take it all in. You can hide them in a cave but the world will always find them. This world is ruthless like that. So we work on what we do, what stories we tell, what they see and feel from the inside out.

It wasn't until probably a few years ago, when my children began defining the season beyond what I would offer, when they began being seduced by what they were being fed.  It felt like Consumerism was a predator swooping in for a kill on my kids, eating away at them until there is nothing left but little wanters, and beggars, addicted to plastics and electronics. I didn’t know what to do or how to proceed. Part trust and part no and part yes and all things done in love. And yet still, much didn’t sit right. Like I had no choice. Like I wasn’t able to create what I wanted because there were bigger forces as play. And I didn’t know how to keep temperance among it all. I stuggled and still do. To live in both worlds. For them. For us all.

And of course all the sentimental leftover stories from my own childhood that somehow I was both pulled + triggered to re-create - but never really have been able to {my mother used to cook for like 18 people for 3 days in a rows and our front door was revolving and to be honest it was fantastic and exhasuting but how extended families and communities like our did it. I certainly don’t have a neighbor willing to drink his weight in whiskey and stand on the table and sing Sinatra until 3am- which was my holy day season as a kid. I can’t compete with an era that is now bygone, a history that is now only story, and I certainly cannot compete with my mother’s cannoli or Aunt Pena's sicilian pizza crust.  

It’s not like I want to throw away tradition. I don’t. I love ritual and what has been passed on.  But what has been passed on? I knew that along side my own stories about the holidays, I needed to create new ones. Because too much stress and obligation have been carried forth. To much "needing to do" and not enough just letting ourselves "be". To much belief in a religion, or a dogma, that does not even apply to me at this point. And I don’t want to be a fake. I don’t want to appropriate someone’s faith- I seriously respect Christians and Christianity. This is the time of year they celebrate their savior’s birth. This symbol is sacred to them in different ways than it is to me. I am not about to celebrate their holy day in ways that they do when it isn’t exactly mine to take. 

So mostly, I’ve struggled. I have struggled wanting to feel more connected around the holidays and also wanted to pull away from anything that felt gluttonous, wasteful, sugar-infused, and exhausting- and not align with my own very eclectic spiritual path- yet at the same time-  I want family but I don’t want overwhelm. I want abundance of food, but not at the risk of my health. I want to celebrate but not at risk of my own values.

What I do want is to connect around the seasonal shifts and the magical story of what’s available to us all during these times :: the moon making way for the sun, the heat instigating our voices to open and be ready to birthmup even in the quiet, to laim queendom of the underworld, to become the daughters and sons who roam a landscape of darkness, not out of force, but out of choice. To know the hope that shimmers against the blank space of death. It’s a mystical time.  Holy.  I have always felt this. It is my time of birth. The time of year I chose to say yes, to fertilization, to gestation, to growing, to birth, to my first breath.

I want to stop the shopping and start the making. Wood, glue, glitter, yeast. Yarn, paint, beads, paper. Paint, dye, wax, fabric.  I want to stop the doing and start the chopping of wood and spend the next 2 months stoking the fire in between sticking my finger in the honey and getting comfortable in the cave. It’s like I am nostalgic for a time I never was a part of, an era that has been impoverished in me, and know it as intimate truth.  I want to show my children what matters ::  Us. Together. A fire. Warmth. Hope. Faith. Light. Giving. Gratitude. Silence. Wandering. Receiving. Creating. Gathering. Being alone.

I am not sure how I got here where I am, or how my kids write these long lists of shit they want- though I will say that conversations over dinner has proven to make their lists shorter, more simpler than last year or the year before that. And no matter how hard we try not too, we still spend too much money that we really do not have to spend… only to maintain this sense of "belonging" to a culture that I am not super stoked on anyway.  And how I have no will power to say no to gatherings and parties that I just don’t want to be at so I guzzle a bottle of wine to cope. And the brie.  I don’t know how to say no to the brie. Please, tell me, how do you say NO TO THE BRIE? {maybe saying no to the brie is just too much to ask of me}.

And when I try to re-create anything else and change shit up…. everyone in my life whines and moans and wants to do things the original way {THEY WANT THE BRIE}. Because it’s addicting, to be honest. The holidays, in many ways for me, means addiction {for tarot people, check: the devil card}. 

Maybe I have become scrooge. A heartless empty human who does not want to belong to this season in the same way everyone around me seems to love. 

I do not watch Love, Actually.

And I do not really like Christmas music.

And I do not want a secret santa. 

Or maybe I just know what serves me and nourishes me.

Maybe I just know.

Maybe I just want to spend these days in honor of the season.  With nothing much to do but reflect on the past year. Knowing I am safe and held. And my kids are growing and thriving and cared for. That deep down they appreciate and respect this path I am trying hard to carve.

Maybe I know I can never have the holidays my mother and father gave us, it’s just not in my blood anymore.  And if I can’t then why pretend? Why try? Why relive? Why not just make something new?

I know what I need now, at age 42, what is needed to maintain health, vitality, homeostasis.  I need to *not* have another season fly by where in the end, I am just worn out, sick, and annoyed {and ten pounds heavier}.  And swearing on the graves of my ancestors that NEXT YEAR WILL BE DIFFERENT.

This year I am committed.

I am saying no to a lot of things. 

Even if my kids hate me {I know, I sound so mean}.

Even if the elders get angry when I say- no more shitty gifts, please. 

And I am saying no to too much control on my part as well.

and I am saying no to capitolism.

And I am saying no to the colonization of the mother and the father and the holiness that comes when we enter the in between of the two.

I will drink some.  I will eat well.  I will enjoy the company of others.

But I won’t over-give. Or over-eat. Or over-spend. Or over-commit..

And I won’t get drunk every night in order to have a good time.

And I will create new things for my children that bring in the Light.

And I will make fires.

And I will make things, beautiful things, from my heart, and give them as freely as I can.

And I will walk in the cold and wet, at night, every night, and do this as a ritual. As a way of bringing in the holy day ahead. 

I will trust myself.  And my body.  And my needs.  Because that is what these days are about.  Illuminating to who we really are- when we are in the dark.

Excuse me but I’ll be at the fire the next couple months, I will be in my cave. I will be writing. And I will be making. And I will not be taking in a lot of media. Or sharing a lot on media. You can find me, still, of course. I am never far from here.  I may not be too responsive. But my heart is with you. Promise.

And my prayer, for you, on this 12th day of Christmas, or Advent, or Solstice, is that you align your rhythms with your faith, that you honor what your heart has always known, that you are brave to make changes, and that you are gentle with yourself when you cannot. That you own these dark times, as a queen does, and you have chosen, to go here, to explore the terrain, on your own, as only you want to do. 

xx, mb.

*****

I have 2 more liminality sessions available for this month... and still have 5 open for January. If you are interested in working with me one-on-one, please enjoy looking over this page right here.

 

The Death Sessions.

The Death card in the tarot decks falls at card 13. 

This card, in it's old energy, means fear. It means we are blocked to life because we fear death. 

click here to purchase $20 - please ignore the dates above, it is not do-at-your-own-pace.

click here to purchase $20 - please ignore the dates above, it is not do-at-your-own-pace.

In the new energy, this card is about initiation. It is learning to release all that is already dead to you, that you continue to try to breath life into, that you struggle to grasp and grapple with. The things that are dormant and stagnant. There are some things that are not only in the process of dying, but there many things that are actually dead, that bring us no life, no energy, and we continue to put attention there. We continue to waste our powers on what is already crossed over, owned by the otherworld. But holding onto what is no longer ours, we keep ourselves from untethering our inherent ability to resurrect. We keep ourselves from re-birth. We stay too long in things that are far over with.

To allow for death, for that period of stillness, is allowing things to fall back to the earth. It is allowing for compost. It is a trust the process, that the earth will swallow all that does not serve us - and receives the power of it's death for us-  and with that alchemy, new life is released, risen, and transformed. This is the beauty of snake, to shed and shed and shed over again, and to grow new skin, always. It is the great feminine force of death. We get to *be* the powers that *be*. We get to decide what to kill. What do undress.  What to let go of. What to throw onto the forest floor or into the raging river or out to the darkness of the sea. We get to choose what needs to be stabbed over and over again. We get to *see* what we still carry that has not life, not force, not breath. We get to let go. And we get to become new life, eventually, after we say yes to the achingly beautiful goodbye + grief.

Death is also an archetype that is associated with Scorpio, the most transformational of all astrological signs. It rules over sex {which is literally life}, death and transformation. This time of year all that is temporal eventually breaks down into mystery, and we still have the rite and magic to be part of it, to be of both worlds, to be here, in bodies, in pleasure, in grief, in pain, in knowing, in unknowing. We are the resurrect. We are the transformation.  Know that we have part in what is now formless, seeking new life.

Our ancestors live within us. Dead as they are, they live in our cells and they live in our homes, they live in the soil, they live in the roots of the trees and they live as guides to allow us to make room for death, for grief, and in essence, to live a fuller life.

In the Death Sessions we will:

*practice allowing for what is dead to be dead. we will name what is dead, what no longer needs our breath. we will create ritual for letting go

*we will name all the parts of us that we must let fall to the earth.

*we will honor how to compost it. we get to hold space for it's new growth. we get a say what kind of energy it will alchemize as. what do you want now that you have buried what is rotting?

*as we creep towards All Souls + Saints Day, Day of the Dead and Samhain {and many other names depending on your spiritual linage} we will journey to be with our ancestors, during this time of gatekeeping and threshold seeking. we will invite them in, and help them guide us to a deeper meaning of death, so that we can live a deeper meaning of life. we will talk with the dead. we will listen and receive the messages from the unheard parts of our cells.

As all of The Living Tarot sessions there will be:

-written, audio + video content delivered via email daily

-a private community forum to share

-ritual, ceremony + writing prompts around this card/archetype

This session is wonderful for:

-anyone who loves tarot

-who wants a deeper practice with one card at a time

-is a coach, reader, or midwife to others

-is interested in learning basic ways of connection to their ancestors

-who wants to feel into the process of honoring death and what it feels like to let go of old life.

-who is ready for an initiation into this season, who knows there is darkness ahead, and wants The Death card as a tool, a talisman to hold as we enter the underworld.

In this session we will spend the first half naming death and allowing what must be buried to be buried. The second half we will be focusing on ancestral work + rituals. Yes. We will be communing with our sacred Dead. 

The Death Sessions cost is $20.00

in holy death, 

marybeth

TO PURCHASE THE DEATH SESSIONS CLICK HERE :)

 

 

A Letter TO Men

{this writing was originally published in Nailed Magazine. Please head over to there after you read this.. and check them out. They are a local art + culture magazine- and put out some incredible writing worth spending the time reading.}

***
Dear Men,

Please. Do not touch me. Or hug me. Or look at me like you have any idea what I am really feeling. I do not want anything to eat or drink. Please just let me cry for a minute here. Let me sob. Let me feel this scared. This hopeless. Just for this minute. Every part of me is bruised and aching. Every part of me fears for my daughters. And your daughters. And all the daughters. So don’t try to make me feel better. Just listen. Then I want you to do something.

I know that it will be you that teaches other men. I honor that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take a little bit of advice from a woman. Like me. Here it is.

Take a stand. Now.

Show up for the boys. Show up for the boys. Show up for the boys.

Teach them. Guide them. Give them what you never got. Give them rites of passage. Give them the space to be wild little shits and dirty primal animals. Teach them how to touch their dicks and let our their steam and love their bodies fiercely. Teach them that crying is good and holy. Teach them how to stretch a drum or hunt a deer or how to survive in the forest for 3 days. Teach them to know their urges. Teach them to master and transform them. Teach them how to tell a girl that he likes her and how to listen to her when she doesn’t feel the same. Teach them how to touch a girl, how to make a girl feel safe and seen.

Remind them that they never have to be what they have been told they are. Give them space to tell you their fantasies. All of them. Let them unwind what has been forced down their throats, all the stories that they have been fed. Tell them the world view they are shown reinforces this: they have more rights, they can make more money, they have more privileges, they have more dominion over my body than me, than my daughters. Tell them they are part of a system that doesn’t hold them responsible for violent behaviors, so they need to hold themselves responsible.

Tell them that if they are not poor that they will probably be able to get away with things. Bad things. Just by lying.

Especially if they are white. Especially if they rape someone.

Tell them that even if they would never rape a women, because they are good and their fathers are good and their grandfathers might have been mostly good – it’s still their job to do something more than just not rape women. Because that is basically doing nothing at all. Tell them about how women are blamed for what they wear, what they drink and where they decide to walk. Tell them women are punished for just being women. Tell them that women are punished for not being men.

Teach them about rape culture. That they are responsible for changing it. That they are supporting rape if they choose not to do something to dismantle it. That unless they do more, they will hold too many centuries of rape in their blood. That their cells will hold rape stories passed on from generations. And they will continue to pass it on. I do not want that for them or for who will be born next. I want so much more for them. But it’s up to you. To teach them to let those stories go.

While you are doing that, I will teach the girls to own themselves. And their sexuality. I will teach them to throw their sexual energy into their art and their activism. I will teach them to go to nature. I will teach them to masturbate. I will teach them that they are allowed to say no and walk away. I will teach them to see their bodies are sacred vessels. Because without their bodies, there would be no world.

I promise I that I will teach the girls to see the boys as beautiful, caring souls, because I believe that when we see each other at our truest essence, we can transform. This doesn’t mean they won’t be learning aikido, or how to throw a deadly punch. This doesn’t mean I won’t warn them that their skirt, even though it’s super cute and totally perfect, may be used as an excuse for them to be treated badly. That even though they are just playing a drinking game right along with the dudes, that they may be held responsible when one of them gropes her breasts and drunkenly tells her “wear a baggy shirt if you dont want me to touch your tit.”

I will teach them that their choices could be used as a reason in a court of law to blame them for violence that was committed against them.

Men, you might not know what you are doing as you stand in this role as a teacher, but neither do I. We still have to do it anyway. I’m 42 and spent half my life hiding and covering myself up and being scared to say no. I spent half my life scared to open my heart because of what I might endure if I trusted anyone again. Because when women say no, we are bitches.

Tell them this story. My young daughter told a boy she didn’t like him anymore. And the bullying began. He convinced everyone in her class to bully her. Girls and boys. Everyone was mad at her for hurting hisfeelings. Because she said no. Everyone thought she was a bitch. Because she said no. This is how it begins. For our girls. And for our boys. There are egos. And old stories at play. And roles that we attach to. This is when girls begin to deny their needs and doubt themselves and ignore their feelings in order to be liked, to fit in. This is how it begins. How we are taught we can’t say no and even if we do, we will be shamed and cast aside. When women say no, we get hurt.

Tell them the story how about how I had to prove that he didn’t let me get off that bed that night, that his elbow was against my throat so I could barely cry out for help. Tell them how I could not come up with any proof {except the blood on my underwear} and that somehow he even convinced my girlfriends not to believe me.

Tell them this story. The other day I went on a walk and I found a wallet outside on the street, in front of a house. I picked up the wallet and saw the photo of a beautiful 20-year-old woman on the I.D. I immediately did not think “Oh she dropped her wallet.” I immediately thought someone attacked her, raped her, and her wallet was laying there, and she was laying somewhere else, violated and ripped apart. I looked at the house it was in front of, and considered going to the door to see if it was someone’s that lived there. I immediately got scared. That I didn’t dare knock on the door. Because this is where our minds go. Because this is what it feels like to be a woman. To walk alone on the street. Early in the morning. Just to get some fresh air.

One in every three women are physically or sexually assaulted. By a man. We don’t have a lot of breathing room with those numbers.

I know you don’t have it easy in many ways. I don’t envy you. You have been robbed of so many things. I cannot speak of these things because I am not you. But I want you to know–I see you. I do.

I know it is important for men to remind each other how you do not rape women and how you know rape is wrong. This is good work. This is decent work. But this is just the baseline. This is just human decency. This is just how it should be. So please, I am not asking you to stop telling the stories about when you were drunk with a girl and you didn’t rape her.

Those stories are important. But the bar needs to be raised. Like a lot. Like Huge.

I am asking you. Raise the bar. I am telling you. Raise the bar. I am begging you. Raise the bar.

This is what I want.

I want you to share the stories of how vulnerable it is to be a man who expresses his woundedness, who admits it. Who admits being conditioned on how to view women. Because it’s in there. Underneath it all, you know you have been taught to see me as an object. You know you have wanted to take things that were not yours. You might not act on it, but you hold that teaching. That I am less than you. And that my body is not worth protection or freedom. And that women are stuck somewhere in between being owned and being disregarded.

I want you to share how fucked up it is to walk around every single day and not even have to think about how you walk in privilege and safety. That you don’t walk into a parking lot thinking you might be raped by someone hiding in the car next to yours. Share stories about how you don’t have to pretend you are talking on your cell phone when you walk by a man on the street at night. I want you to talk about how unjust and unfair this is. And how there is a need to recognize this. Because owning your privilege is powerful. Your privilege is power. 

Empower the boys to embrace their inimitable divine masculine, an energy that is outstanding and protective and true. Teach them that no human is an object. Teach them to tattoo the meaning of consent into their cells. Teach them to look themselves right in the eye and see the parts of themselves that are broken, the parts of themselves that have been formed by a culture of rape. Teach them to stand up and ask women how to be a feminist. Tell them they are such an important part of healing this world. Please tell them that.

And even if they would never, ever rape a women, this is still their work, from here on in, to move into the world rejecting the system that has created them. Teach them that we have all been made to be victims and perpetrators alike.

Hold them and help them find what it is they need so they stop taking what was never theirs. Ever. Ever.

Show them that in order to to change this world, they need to change how they let the world see us, by changing how they see us.

This is so the earth can heal. So our wombs can be at ease. Can I please say to you that we women need our wombs to be at ease. We want to create something new with you all. With you all. Not separate. Together. There is so much more to birth.

But first. Please. Listen. Own your shit. Then tell me what your promise is. Each and every one of you. Tell a women in your life what your promise is. Tell her what you have done to be part of this system. And then tell her what you are doing to make it better.

I am grateful. And ready to be relieved. I believe in you. You got this. You totally do.

***

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**We have a handful of spots left in Session Two and TWO spots left in Session One of Untamed Writing Circles. If you want to unleash some of your truth... as I did in the piece above, come and join me as we explore our voices and what holds us back, the stories we long to tell, and how to just get them to come out. I would LOVE to have you. It's gonna be simple yet profound magic. SIGN UP HERE.

I'm sorry.

{I'm sorry. a letter to my body}

{{if you would like me to read this piece to you, please click on below. otherwise, you can carry on downward and read on your own xx}}

 

I am sorry for betraying you. 

So many times. 

I am sorry for the first time I said I hated you. 

I was 7. And you could not cartwheel the way the way the neighbor girl could. And your thighs didn’t look like the thighs on TV. The boys at school called them thunder thighs and used the words bubble butt. I am sorry for hating you and blaming you for how they made me feel.

I am sorry for sticking band aides over your nipples to make them look like the didn’t exist and then hunched so far over to hide you that I spent an entire year looking at the floor. Hoping that nobody could see you and how you were poking out. 

I am so sorry for the times I covered you with my father’s clothes. Big old man clothes. Polo shirts that smelled like old spice. Because the length of his shirts draped over your ass and hips and breasts that were in formation and somehow made me think I was protected. And maybe I thought that if he didn’t see what was happening to you, he would still love me. And maybe the bigger the clothes I wore the less anyone would notice me.

I am sorry for the time I wanted to take knives and cut sections of you away. To subtract the excess of you. Wide thighs. Protruding butt. Puffy gut. I would trace my fingers along your too muchness and pretend that they could sever so many parts of you away. I am sorry for wanting to cut flesh out of my flesh. I am sorry I called you fat. I am sorry I thought you were too big and too much and that you needed to be subtracted. That somehow my raw open wounded flesh was better than my whole, large, full self.

I am sorry for all the days, day after day, I would stand in front of the mirror, over and over again, telling you to be small. To grow taller. For your legs to be longer. And your ass flatter. And your belly firmer. I am sorry I would punch you. Punch your skin. Pound it down. Trying to beat you away. Punish you for being what you were. Me.

I am sorry for avoiding the mirrors. For not looking in them as I walked by. For being so disgusted by even a tiny glance.  I am sorry for not wanting to see you. For not allowing you to be seen.  I am sorry for ignoring the reflection of your truth, all you were and all you wanted to be. 

I am sorry for the times I wanted to stuff your mind into the garbage can because you thought too much and and blurted out those thoughts and made me feel unlikable, unlovable. Because you thought too much and cared too much and were wiling to risk too much. And you wanted to change things. And there was no room for this. You took up too much space. All the ways you spoke differently, said things that you thought were true, made other people hate you. And so I decided to hate you, too, because I thought you were doing me wrong. That we were wrong. I am sorry for asking you to just be normal, to just be liked. To just be pretty.  To just be quiet. I am sorry for telling you over and over again to shut the fuck up.

I am sorry that I didn’t believe it wasn’t your fault when those thoughts and ideas, when your voice dared to quiver with your truth, ended up getting you hurt. Hit. I am so sorry I thought it was your fault, that your mind was a reason for a girl to get thrown down. That your voice was a reason to be pushed around. I am sorry my NO didn’t work. I am sorry for shaming you for shooting your mouth off much and that too much became a bruise on my arm and mark around my neck. I am sorry I didn’t hit back. That I didn’t fight. For your voice. For your skin. For your right to say what you meant.

I am sorry I blamed you for not being prettier. Everyone loves a pretty girl.

I am sorry I wished you could just sit still, be quiet and be pretty.

i am sorry for wishing you would stop being pretty and you start being smart so people could see you for more than the wide dopey eyes, the smile, the hair, the ass, the open heart. Everyone hates a pretty girl.

I am sorry I blamed you for nobody listening to me. If only you could be smarter, I would say, if only you could look like you really feel, which isn’t pretty. 

I am sorry I sucked your stomach in so much I stole you of breath, of life force, of filling up on cleansing air.

I am sorry I made you wear the girdle I found in mom’s drawer when I was 13. Bondage and jailed inside the heavy elastic, afraid to move freely, afraid the boys would see it under my short.

I am sorry for all the times I starved you. To make you fit into the room. To make you fit into the jeans. To make you fit between his legs in the way he wanted. I am sorry I did not feed you roasted figs and cheese. Fried chicken with gravy. Spumoni ice cream. Cream filled cupcakes. All the flavors in the world. I am sorry I didn’t feed you all the bowlfuls you wanted and deserved. I am so sorry I starved you, so that you became nothing but what you were suppose to be, nothing but what you were told to be. The jeans fit. There was nothing to grab and nothing to pull and nothing to put underneath them. I was too skinny to exist. Maybe I would disappear. Maybe my stomach would stop hurting. Maybe I could just pass by everyone without being seen.

I am sorry for all the times I stuffed you. So full. But if I stuffed you then maybe you’d shut up. Maybe all the thoughts and ideas would finally be pushed so far down that you wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. Maybe if I stuffed you full of everything that made you sick you would sit down and be good and be quiet and tolerate everything that was going on around you. What everyone wanted you to do. To make money. To make babies. To make the bed. To make things pretty. For everyone else. To ensure that nobody was mad or angry. And that the house stayed calm and clean. I am sorry that I continued to stuff you because I wanted them to stop looking at me. Stop needing me. Stop hating me. To stop reaching out and trying to take me away. From me.

I am sorry for all the times I let them get into you. All the times you tried to close yourself like a clam shell, to hide the jewel from the sea, deep inside. I am so sorry I let your treasure be taken. I am so sorry I didn’t kick harder or say no louder. I am so sorry I didn’t stop sooner. I am so sorry I didn’t hold you high and walk in the way that says fuck you, this is a queen. Do not touch. I am sorry I played with fire. I am sorry I let you be burned. I am sorry about the random places I walked you into that were not safe or right. I am sorry I thought it was your fault. It wasn’t. I am sorry for not seeing how powerful you were. And how frightened you were. And how resilient you have been for me.

photo credit: Danielle Cohen

photo credit: Danielle Cohen

 

I am sorry for the times, even after you held 5 children. Three of them born and living and breathing. Three of them coming out of you. With no help. From anyone or anyting but you. And them. I am sorry, even after you made milk day after day, night after night, year after year, that I didn’t see you as you are. I am so sorry I never treated you the way you deserved. A hot bath. A salt wash. Water. Sleep. A new pair of silk pants. Loving hands in massage. A day trip to somewhere beautiful, alone, to write. I am sorry that I did not love you more when you have done so much. You brought me everything that matters to me.  Everything there is. All the love that exists came from you.

I am sorry for all the times I have wanted to dig my hand deep into my chest and pull out your heart and rip it out because sometimes it is just too much to have a heart, to feel this kind of sadness and love. It is almost too much to feel. I am sorry I have wanted to rid you of your heart, your blood, your beat. 

I am sorry for all the times I have tried to beat you up under the disguise of exercise or try and tell you that fun was at the bottom of a bottle or endless rolls of tobacco. I am sorry for all the times I have punished you pretending that I am doing some good when all you wanted was rest. to be loved. to dance alone at night. with candlelight. to have your nails painted. and your maybe a decent hair cut. a deep slow stretch. or nothing at all.

I am sorry for all the times i dragged you from city to city, state to state, house to house, man to man. Trying to find the right place to be. And never seeing that you are my only home. That you are the only real home. That you are my holy homecoming. No matter where we are.

I am sorry for all the times I never said I loved you.

I am sorry for all the times I refused love for you.

I am sorry for all the times I didn’t trust you.

I am so sorry for all the times I thought it was you to blame.

I am sorry.

I love you.

Forgive me

From here on. You are yours. You are yours. Only yours. Mine alone.

There is nothing more and nothing less than this body.

This body will be free.

photo credit: Danielle Cohen

photo credit: Danielle Cohen

 

***

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Booty Shorts Are Not The Reason.

Freedom. {freedom freedom freedom}

In order to be free. We need to know. 

We need to know what it is. Exactly. That enslaves us. Or appears to. 

What is the story, energy, history, presence, routine, habit, addiction. Where in our bodies do we feel heavy and unable to release? What stories do our cells continue to spin out, blast into our bellies and rise up to our hearts, holding captive our throats? Holding us. Still. Stopped. Trapped. 

All that has been done. Can be undone. Despite popular belief. I have to know this is true.

The belief that we are chained to something and need to serve whatever that is that does not in return serve us back, is a belief that is just that: a belief. It is not truth. Our bodies can be reunited with our truest state: free. 

We can begin to believe something different. Once we do. We are on the open road.

***

My dilemma. 

“These girls need to know that they can’t dress like that. You know the statistics,” he said to me.

What statistics? That 1 in 5 of every single woman will be raped and 1 in 3 are assulated and that’s only what has been reported to the law? Those ones? I know them. So well. I am one of the 5 and one of the 3. 

I am so sick. and tired. {so sick. and so tired}. Of the notion that we, as females, need to change our physical appearances and clothing choices and body movements to avoid abuse and attacks. That we are doing something wrong and we need to change in order not to die or be injured or to walk away with bruises. Or body trauma. Or emotional and spiritual loss. So that we aren’t found behind dumpsters. So that we don’t need to ge to the ER getting scans and swabs. 

The notion that young girls are not allowed, should not, should avoid at all costs, the savoring and the expression of their newly blooming bodies and skin - is fucking preposterous to me. The notion that we have to teach them to “cover up” for the simple reason “we need to be safe” is literally twisting my brain and heart. 

I have been around many young and older teen girls. And in my humble witnessing, I find that they choose to dress the way the do, however that may look, because they are excited about their new bodies, that they actually are beginning to like them, not hate them, or are trying to like them, and are needing to feel like they own them. They are practicing liking they way they feel. The way they look. So they explore. Experience. All the things: makeup, clothes, hair, expression.  In my experience with young girls {and being one at one time and raising three of them right now} there is a raw and innocent sense of self love beginning to form within them that is post child love and entering a sweet and sensual maiden-like love. The half shirts may be stylish, a trend, but there is more to it. What I see happening are these small and subtle moments of self-knowing what lies beneath the surface of that skin- something has changed and is continsously changing within them. Things are stirring. Ovaries are popping. Blood is flowing. Sensations are changing. Power is birthing. When they bare their newly longer, more shapely legs, they are claiming a new walk on earth, walking towards being a woman, using their limbs to carry them however they choose to walk as themselves.

I hear a lot of stories about the “revealing” way a girl dresses being about their “low self esteem” or about being “slutty” or about pleasing men or about submitting to the Hollywood sexualization machine. I call bullshit on about 99.9% of that story. I am not saying 100%. I am saying 99.9%. I am saying that WE are making up those stories about our girls. Not them.

The notion that we “show our skin” as a symptom of a patriarchal invented “illness” {such as self loathing or promiscuity} or because we are putting out the message that we “want to get fucked” is stupendously damaging to the psyche of the The Girl. It is covering up the truth of who she is, who she wants to be, and how she longs to express herself and still be safe in this world. Trust me. I know.  You might also know what I mean if you are reading this and you also were a girl once or you are raising girls. All the bullshit is begining to rise and we can smell it.

When I was 15 my friends and I would dress in totally crazy clothes, taken from the attic from my friend’s mother’s more wild collection of 1970s fashion and costuming. We would mix and match and create wonderful ensembles and we would wear them out, and walk up and down on the street feeling beautiful and crazy and wild. We had so much fun. Like wouldn’t it be awesome if we could dress this way and just be? And we did it because we felt amazing. Sexy. Proud. Brave. Beautiful. Bold. Artistic. And then the Porshe drove up next to us. And he rolled his window down. And he said things. Because of course. Of course. We were 15 year old prostitutes walking down a small town residential street. Asking for trouble. Selling our bodies. Because we wore gold mini skirts and crazy oversized sunglasses and held hands while wildly laughing and enjoying the full moon in the sky. Together. As girls. As a matter of fact. My friend just sent me this photo the other day. About what we used to do on Saturday nights to be entertained. Here it is. This is truth:

thank you to my best friend for the permission to post this. i am in the red. she is looking fab in the purple.

thank you to my best friend for the permission to post this. i am in the red. she is looking fab in the purple.

***

We show our skin. If we do. If we choose.  Because we are understanding something. We are skin. And bones. And blood. And minuscule and enormous miracles forever and ever loaded into our cells. We show are skin. Because we are finding a love for our body. Past childhood. Past abuse. Past trauma. Into womanhood. And we long to feel safe, we want to be sure we are safe.  Why wouldn’t we be safe? We are sure it’s going to be okay, like being a child, like trusting,  like being free. It can still be that way.

We show ourselves because we have not yet been told that we shouldn’t yet. Or maybe we do so in rebellion of being told that we shouldn’t. Either way, we do so thinking we can be safe. Or even if we know we aren't, we do so anyway despite the fear, to prove we don’t need to be scared. But then we are told we are not safe. Nope. No way. And we are shown we are not safe. And somehow, even though it’s “not our fault” we need to dress differently. To cover up. To shut up. To stop walking like that. To ease up. To hide. To not invite in trouble. To not be “too much” or reveal the multiple layers of what being a women means. The feminine and feminist. The breasts that begin to burst out and up. The mind that slowly unfolds into it’s own brilliance. The biceps that are learning to carry all the things we begin to carry, as women. Trust me, it is a heavy load.

These are the bodies. And they are us. And I am so sick and tired of so many stories being told about them. And how confusing and complicated it becomes when it is decided to dictate how we should all dress. And when people start saying “send her to her room and make her change her clothes. She can’t go out like that!”

I am not sure of anything. But I am sure of something. Our booty shorts have nothing to do what has been done to us. 

Our booty shorts mean nothing but whatever it means to us. Whatever our reasons are. And it never is the reason that our bodies seem to continuously be ruled over. And pushed over. And taken from us. We have been told that when we wear them we will get raped. And if we don’t wear them we will be ugly. If we do wear them we must not be feminists or smart. And if we don't wear them we must not like men. And if we do wear them we must hate ourselves. And if we don’t wear them we must hate our bodies. 

And if we wear what we want, we shouldn’t if it makes others uncomforatbale. Because we don’t want to make others uncomfortable. Or make them look twice. Or make them question their own integrity when it comes to young girls and their skin. 

We have been told so much. And so my response to my dear male friend who claims we need to teach our daughters to dress in a way so they won’t become part of The Statistics: Dear One, Please fuck off.

You can dress anyway you want to. Without being hurt. Instead of you telling me how to tell the daughters how to dress, how about this: you stand on top of your very comfy soapbox and you start telling men to stop raping girls. Now. Despite their urges. Despite the stories you have been fed. You deal with the boys. You tell them that our girls and women have every right to wear what they want and walk how they want and dance how they want, and it’s THEIR job to get their shit together. I got my girls covered. They know they drill. You better get the boys in line. Now.

But. Here is my real dilemma. 

I don’t actually want my daughter wearing half shirts and booty shorts and such. I am terrified of the time when she decides she might. I am still thinking that newly formed women need to cover up in order not to: looklikeaslutorattractbadshitfromhorriblemenbecauseit’sutterlyinappropriateandtheyshouldwearlauraashleyandwoolsocks. gah. 

I know. 

I am stuck. 

I am caught. 

Between the paradigms. 

And conversations. And language. And not knowing how to say it or do what we need to say or do. 

I am caught between fear and freedom. Still.

Clear as a glacier: I want her safe. 

Clear as a glacier: I want her free.

Clear as a glaicer: I want change.

Clear as a glacier: I want to do right by us all.

But do I arm her with those fake tiger claws and a depth of knowledge of how to poke a person’s eye out with a thumb? And teach her about the eyes in the back of her head that always must remain open and let her know that most men will look at her inner thighs and feel ways we don’t understand, as women, but to be very warned that our inner thighs will be seen as not our own, but as someones to spread apart and take what is between them?  And. Then. Let her wear what she wants.  And trust the fuck out of her. Because who am I to tell her what to wear? I never did when she was a younger little girl. She was free to choose. Socks and no shoes and bathingsuits under snowsuits and fairy wings and roller skates to the store and mismatches and toplessness- lots of skin showing. Especially when it was hot. Once she asked me "why does daddy take his shirt off at the park and i do and you don't?" And I always thought “how amazingly creative and brilliant she is”. And now. I am going to say to her, in this impressionable and glorious time of her life: “no way in hell, get back to your room”. Or even “Honey, that is too much skin. That’s not appropriate.” {as I pull up my off-the-shoulder shirt and cover up my beloved shoulder on my own body. and run to my instagram account and delete all the skin + poetry.}.  And I am going to say to her: "It's just they way it is, it is not considered appropriate for your belly button to show right now" And then I feel shameful. Because it's a belly button. And under it the entire world exists. And then she feels shameful too. And scared. And I stumble back and forth. And try. And we both dance the dance of figuring this shit out. I am trying to do the best I can do. She is too.

Do dress codes and boundaries around her dressing style perpetuate the message: 

We must change. Our ways. To feel safe. We must dress in another way. From the beginning. To be saved. From our sexuality? Or from a world that doesn't understand it and therefore rips us bare of it's sanctity.

I have no interest in that. None.

First off. I do not need to be saved. My sexuality is all that I am. All that I came from.

It isn’t our ways, our dress, or holy fuckability, or our desires + longing and feelings that must change.

But what it is. That must change. What this all comes from. This whole thing. Instills such a deep, imbedded fear. Still. In me. I am a terrified young girl again. Approached by that porshe. Assuming I am there for him, that my body isn’t my own. That it’s my fault because I have always had the innate desire to walk this earth feeling free, in my own skin, and safe. That it’s my fault that I was born that way. Born to feel that way. To be that way. 

I am chained to this fear. Because it is real. But what are the chains? I am half chained to believing it is our responsibility to do whatever we need to protect ourselves and our daughters from sexual abuse and violence and predators. And I am half chained to saying absolutely fuck no. We should be able to walk outside naked, topless {it’s the law in some places} and be safe, sound, protected, honored. REVERED. RESPECTED. LEFT THE HELL ALONE.

I want to feel free. Safe. Powerful. Ass cheeks hanging out or not. 

This is the shadow part of myself and this world I am trying to look at, straight on, and figure out why I struggle, why I grapple, why I grasp, why I remain chained to living in between, chained to not knowing exactly how to handle this.  And what it will take to feel the freedom. And safety. In these bodies. Because this is what this is about for me. The liberation of my body. And so my daughter’s will experience it as well. 

There are no answers. There are only questions in this moment.  I am living them.  And the ones I am most interested in, are not what I will say to my daughters, not the rules and regulations I will give them about how they should look and behave and dress.  But what we plan on saying to help and heal the sons, to help us all feel like we belong here, together, safe, in this skin.

the devil.

The other day I was hiding in the woods across the street from my house smoking tobacco {I roll it myself. i don't know why i feel i have to always say that. like it makes it better, i guess}. I was hiding. Because I was disgusted. Because smoking is gross. And I don’t do it a lot, but when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I tend to find myself in the tobacco shop buying a loose bag of the stuff and then hiding. Because. Gross. And the kids. And unhealthy. And all the things, right? 

I am not addicted. Not to tobacco at least. Not physically. But emotionally. I am addicted to a need, a desire, a longing. Something that is behind the smoke.

I can easily say no. My body doesn’t freak out in withdrawal.  But I don't say no. I say yes. Because I want it. I am addicted to the want. I am addicted to the chain.

There are a lot of things that live in me like this. Where I know it’s not the best. Where I know something needs to change, to shift, to transform. And no matter how obsessed I can be with trying to transform, sometimes nothing really works.  To kick the shit out of me often takes a lot, something seismic. Something powerful. Sometimes something extremely dark. Because when we are chained, we are chained.

I have chains. Lots of them. 

Chains that attach me:

Being right.

Being wrong.

Being good enough.

The idea that my intuition is off.

That I make the wrong choices.

That people don’t really like me.

To conflict + lust and  mixture of those too together like fire and blades across my skin.

To sugar, in all it’s shapes and forms, late at night, eating my gut apart.

Late nights. Way late nights. Being a vampire. Refusing my body the sleep. Forcing myself to stay open eyed and waiting for something.

To love. But not the good love. Or the bad good kind of love. The kind they warn you about.

The pain of love.

The struggle of love.

The slice broken heart.

Not breathing enough.

Not making enough money.

The idea of always not having enough money.

Lack + scarcity.

Not believing in my path.

Refusing to work on clarity. Because I don’t believe I know how to get clear. Because I am chained to a subtle, constant fog.

To coffee. Like not just because I like it. But because i cannot even function in the morning with out. Or even now. I need dark as dirt coffee to write. This is what I tell myself. And I will get up, and not finish this, and make coffee instead.

To systems of beliefs that I feel are superior to me. That feel like they weigh me. Pull me. Stop me. 

To prudence. Just too much. Of a good thing.

To righteousness. Because my fist is up. And mouth open. Sometimes too much,

To guilt.

To anger.

To aggression.

To anxiety.

To depression.

To a deep sadness of the world. The ache in the core. 

My white fragility.

Ancient and expired ingrained beliefs. 

All these things. And many more. Are stories I tell myself. That I don't like. That I feel that I cannot stop. That I feel like it’s some kind of bad karma, from the realm of lust and bottom earth burnt gravel. That they own me. That I live behind them. Under them. They keep me down. Unable to breathe or make changes in my life.

And then also I know. It’s all an illusion. Purely. Illusion.

It’s all the process of life. Of the balance of self judgment and self discernment. It's not all bad. It's not all good. It's mostly just a dance. Because as soon as I realize there are no chains. That I can make choices. That I can conjure the energy I need to stand up. To push up. To release the stories, I can shift. As soon as I realize the chains are the stories, none of it matters much anymore anyway.

This is the energy of the devil. The longer we think we are chained to what stops us, hurts us, lowers us to vibrations of the Heavy, the longer we stay there, telling ourselves these stories about ourselves. And believing them.

It does not take a lot to see the chains that are around our necks are not really connected to anything much at all. I mean it feels like. They feel real. And tight. But they are not.

The one True Master of your life is You. 

That even with our primal addictions. Our taste for lust. For blood. For matter and flesh. For money and gold. For revenge. For booze. For smokes. For recklessness. For self sabotage. For co-dependence. For love that is just wrong. For all the darker sides of our being.  

We can enjoy all that we are. All that we like to do. All that we like to make. Take. Feel. Ingest. But we get to master it. Or be master to it. 

We get to decide the volume of our temptations. 

This is The Devil Card. 

The Devil is about the material world and the chains it can so easily claim us with. It is about lust, power and abuse. It isn’t about stopping yourself from fully enjoying the flesh of the material world. And maybe it’s about not enjoying it enough. Maybe The Devil Card is here to ask you step closer to the fire. Or maybe it’s here to remind you, you are not chained to anything, you are free, you are balance. The Devil card is also about consciousness. We are the control. We are the bosses of our actions. We get to choose active consciousness. We get to act on our wants- not our wants acting upon us.

THE DEVIL-6.png

The Devil Card is here to remind us: we are in charge. we are not servants to anything or anyone. we can serve. but we make choices. we get to call the shots. we get to own our lives. 

If you are interested in diving fully into the magic, energy + archetype of The Devil Card, we begin on September 1st and go until September 10th. 10 full days of The Devil. Who is he? What does he want from you? Why do you stay so close to him? How can you step away? Who really is the master of your life? This experience is for:

*card readers

*card lovers

*healers

*coaches

*those obsessed with transformation

*those who love writing, ritual, meditation

*those who love telling stories

*those who just want to know more

*those who want to go deeper

*those who aren’t scared of a little fire

*those interested in alchemy and ancient spiritual practices

*those who want a safe place to explore their own primal wants and to practice balancing living in the real deal flesh on earth with spirit + soul.

:: CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE + JOIN::

 

::THE DEVIL SESSIONS ::

 

 

Wake Up.

{{From The Tower Sessions}}

WAKE UP.

{this is how Kali says good morning}

We are going to allow the ash of yesterday to settle for a bit and continue on the journey. For some clarity. And understanding. About why destruction… why the NO… is so necessary.

Kali Ma. She holds the power of the destruction of negative ego.

“At the dissolution of all things, it is kala {time} that will devour all. But it is Kali that devours even time, the original form and devourer of all things. Resuming yourself after the great dissolution, you retain your own nature, dark and devoid of form. There, you remain ineffable and inconceivable. Source of all form, you are the multiform power of illusion, the beginning of all, creatrix, protectress, and destructress.” - The Maha Nirvana Tantra

Just like the tower card... Stories were made up about her  to instill fear, in hopes she would loose her power. Stories were made to think we were separate from her, that she was outside of us,  in order to avoid her wrath, we needed to stay away or use her energy for harm. Stories were built up as walls around the actual truth and power of things- the power of the destructive force that comes in the form of fire and sword that come Love. Through Love. Because of Love. 

What if we all knew and understood we had The Tower and Kali energy within us? To direct ourselves and the universe into a more evolved and conscious state? Destroying the negative egos left and right? Chopping the heads off war? Slicing the flesh of shame? Torching the {inner/outer} systems that enslave us? Burning to ground the imprisonment of the one true and holy self?

Years before the Catholic Church thought of doing so, Brahmin priests achieved a level of infamy by selling {for the right price} rituals to make it hail on your neighbors crops, or make their cattle become your cattle. They used the image of Kali The Fearsome to manipulate frightened souls into buying into the priests’ racket. Because she was a goddess and not a god, she was very useful in a society that held women as 2nd citizens. Her unsavory iconography enforced prejudices of women and of the dark and mysterious and turned it into a story to fear. She is represented as ugly. She become something we didn’t want.

images.jpeg

photo of original Kali artwork by Jenn Grosso of Perils Of Living. 

When really she is something that lives and breaths within us. And she is a tool, a gift, a source from the endless fountain of energy you contain. 

Here is some truth about Kali.

She is the destroyer of negative ego. The more negative the ego the greater the destructions. No job is too small for her. No destruction too large. This is why her mantra is so powerful. This is why when working with this energy, you really must choose to be intentional and use with utmost integrity.

She's a protectress. She is a voracious warrior who can conquer demon after demon by the square mile, spilling blood into the soil... but if on battlefield she hears a child cry, she transforms into The Mother and thinks only of the welfare of the child, cares and protects with all her love.  Her destructive side is “modulated in a benevolent way, as a force that removes outer and inner obstacles, demons, spiritual blindness and grants the highest realization beyond belief.”- Tantra: The Path Of Ecstacy

So sit with Kali, if you haven’t been singing to her already since day 2, and begin to tap into the destroyer protectress within your own bones.

And then write something. About it. Find a language for her through you. Ask her "what would you do?" and then listen.

Write all the powerful stories of yourself, the destructive protectress creatrix goddess that history has re-written, that someone has re-told. The stories that have somehow turned you shameful, guilty, loathsome, ugly, sick and powerless.

 

*What stories have been  told about you, what outside yourself history do you carry?


*But really, what is your true story? The one you know is you? The one that cannot be told by anyone but you.

Use Kali to demolish the first one. Use Kali to protect the second one.

OM KLIM KALIKA-yei NAMAHA.

OM KLIM KALIKA-yei NAMAHA

OM KLIM KALIKA-yei NAMAHA

OM

Shanti

Shanti

Shanti

OM

Below is an audio of me chatting about chanting. as a tool. and the Kali mantra inna mi own style. 

om and salutations, i attract the dark and powerful one. the dark and powerful one lives in me. i am her and she is me. you are the first one, the dark within your own reality, the supreme primordial feminine who cuts through illusion to the unabridged truth of existence. i invoke you.

Be prepared to face your fears. Be ready to expose your heart. Make space for the changes. Make space for the destruction. Do not pray this until you are ready to do so. Do not pray this until you are ready for bravery and courage. Because for great peace we must all have great courage... {ps. I know you so.}

 

The rest of The Tower Sessions {14 days of content} can be found here, on sale, for $15.

the tower card. bringing it down.

for the next couple days i am going to give away some content from my Living Tarot course: the tower sessions.

it was created last summer and blew up a lot of things in my life and i was told the lives of some of the people who took it.  i feel like it's an appropriate time to share some of it's content on a wider scale. we need to burn so much down. so much of the cultural brainwashing and stories that are just not The Truth. so much of our own attachment to the stories that we cannot just make the connection from stagnant to change. i want us all to change, in all the ways we want to change. i want the world to be a better, safer place for all, not just some. i want to do what i do best to help that. and i am beginning to think it's ritual and magic, it's writing, and it's showing up to heal the womb, which is THE womb, ya know, the place where we all decide if we want to be born or not. 

here is a combo of 2 days content of  The Tower Sessions. if you are interested in all 14 days of content, it's on sale now for $15 and will be just for a little longer. 

much love, xx MB
 

PART ONE:: 

Now is the time to call in Destruction.

I love words. I love their roots. I love etymology. The word destruction means “to bring down”.

We are going to bring some stuff DOWN.

What is not healthy for you or this world must be brought down to the ground. In fire. In prayer. In a mutual understanding. In honor. In rage. In knowing. It is now over and it can grow again into new, fresh life.

You want to bring whatever down that keeps you from:

Living in a body that feels wealth and health.
Living in a body that feels safe and honored.
Living in a body that is free to feel and release without grasping or holding or attaching.
Living in a body that knows boundaries.
Living in a body that receives pleasure.
Living in a body that is not abused.
Living in a body that remains open to The Gifts.

You want to bring down what keeps the world from:

Living well fed and sheltered.
Living without clutching our hearts in constant grief and fear and anger and desperation.
Living without gags or chains or bars.
Living where lies finally are exposed and brainwashing is revealed and we can begin with a fresh heart, a fresh story.
Healthy breathing and healing.
Being ready for Love.

LIVING IN FREEDOM THROUGH BRAVERY AND LOVE.

What you will write today is a list.

Of what you want destroyed.

Take note: There are going to be symptoms. And there are going to be energies that create the systems.

Right now, you can write down both. But keep in mind, we *must* burn down the root cause, the miasim, the dis-ease, the energy that enforces the symptom. We can burn down the symptom, too, because who wants to live in pain? Not I. But if we don’t start at THE SOURCE - the CAUSE- then we will only appease, and not destroy.

So write.

What do you want to scream Burn into.

{maybe you scream it and write it}

What so you want to hold in sacred, dark, powerful space before it becomes a fire.

Let it all flow.

This will be an on-going list. You can add to it daily. Remember. You can move fluidly back and forth from what you want destroyed in your *own inner world* and that of the *outer world*. {more than likely you will find direct connection between the two anyway.

This list is the naming of our stories. The stories are the walls of The Tower. The stories of the larger systems at play. The stories that keep us from being free.

You are the Destroyer Archetype. Right now. Hold your head high. You are the Gods + Goddess of destruction.

You also can do this work without causing harm. To yourself. Or anybody else.

Look around. Look inside. Know that you know.

Make a list. This is your intention setting.

These are things you want destroyed. Just know that. And feel it out. Don’t go back and erase things. Trust your first expression. Trust what you write down.

Then go back and circle the biggest things on your list. At least 3. Or as many as you want.

and write or find notice in ::

1. the presenting symptom of this thing, as in, how does it look form the outside?

2. the feeling it gives you when it arises.

3. and then… dig deep and name a root cause, name the POWER behind the sympton. This power can be an energy, and event, a human, a history.  

Sit with this list today and tonight.

And we will do more work tomorrow.

 

PART TWO::

I am sitting here writing. In between chopping some really hot peppers I got in the mail from NY from my 86 year old father.

Apparently he has no idea you aren’t supposed to ship produce across the country.

Anyway I am making a recipe passed down from him to me. Passed down from my grandmother to him. Passed down from who knows who to her. And I am thinking about my culture, which is a mixed up bunch of craziness that spans across lands, but all rooted on the island of Sicily. And I think about the energy that has carried in my blood. And I think about when my father, who had so many demons, and so much rough luck, a shitty immigrant hand, would sit back with his drink at the end of the day and say to me “You know what, Mary? You’ve got to learn to bury this shit that messes with you. Just burn it and bury it.”

Today we will be having a burning ceremony for the list we made yesterday.

You have nothing to loose. But your chains to these things.

And if they want to come back to you, without needing chains. They will.

Chances are, you are done though.

{trust yourself. even if it’s scary to let go. allow yourself that fear. and be ready anyway.}

 

This is something to be done at your altar. Or wherever works for you, to be honest. But if the altar is there and it feels powerful, then go for it.

Grab the paper that you wrote your lists, the words on.

Cut it up. This is the first act of destruction. You are dismantling the power of the lettering.

Cut them up into pieces as big or as little.

And then throw them in your vessel that can handle fire.

You can sit for as long or as short as you want.

You can chant.

You can meditate.

You can stand up and pound your feet on the ground around it.

You can cry as you say goodbye.

When you are ready, throw in an offering {herb, tobacco, hair…etc}

Say a prayer. That for the highest good of you, this is over with. For the highest good of your family, this is over with. For the highest good of your community, this is over with. For the highest good of this earth, this is over with.

May the destruction be fast. May the destruction be swift. May it all be burned, may the Tower card offer the crumbling.

And then light that bowl on fire.

And watch it burn.

Down to ash.

Maybe drink your special drink.

And let the ash set.

And get a good night’s sleep. {but drink 3x more water than usual first}

And you proceed today and tonight, feel your exhale, your release going into that bowl of ash. As you walk, feel your feet stepping out the power of that ash.  As you speak, allow your voice to vibrate down the power of that ash.

riotess. some new prayers to wear.

There are no failures. 
There is just great wisdom.
Those who wish to live intuitively must know this.
When we appear "to fail" we are only finding our way back on path.
We are only listening. To the voice within.
It may look crazy.
It may look wild.
But we are victorious. We are all ladies of victory. What does that mean? We live by the womb and that way will prevail. Always.

As I was stringing these beads I began thinking about all the places and times I feel like I messed up. Like I failed. Like I was utterly lost. Then I had this deep, deep knowing, this peaceful wave come over me. That is all an illusion. I live by the moon and the womb. I live by the trust in my heart. I live creatively. And I am constantly finding my way on Path. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes there are falls. There is bleeding. There is aching. But there is never failure. Because failure doesn't really exist.

This mantra infused this strand: Hail Mary Who Shows Me The Way. Blessed Is The Fruit Of My Knowing.

Our Lady Who Knows Failure Is Just An Illusion is here to protect you, remind you, guide you in following your instincts, allowing you to fall, but always holding you up, always showing you the way, as odd or as scary as it might look. You got this.

Made with love and:
Magical Tree Agate
Spectacular Spotted Agate
Heart healing + Root Activating Carnelian
Ethiopian Bronze
Smoky recycled glass
Our Lady Of Victory medal {made near my hometown and shrine in Lackawanna, NY}
And Vintage "M" centerpiece, an ancient symbol for Mother.

 

Our Lady Of What Can Never Die was also born in the forest {so many things are born in the forest for me}. One day as I sat down on the ground, looking up at the trees from the wet, dirt forest floor, I swear the tree was looking down at me.  And this tree was probably like 600 years old and had been through it all, ya know? All the things that happen in the forest: lightening, woodpeckers, windstorms, bears, fires, etc. And yet, there She was. So tall. So alive. So wise. So beautiful. Vibrant. And she said to me, "we can never really die". We just drop down and become something else. This forest is made of all there is. The roots are holding it all in place. Together. Together, we all remain alive. Somehow.

And so this mantra, this prayer was Hail She Who Can Never Die... and may her spirit live on in the trees and the dirt, in our hearts and in our stories. Keep this sacred, keep it alive. Keep it alive. Become this living prayer.

This rosary style amulet is crafted with:
-exquisite tree agate
-smooth, grounding heart opening carnelian
-vintage 1970's crystals from the bling stash of a family grandmother- total spitfire- who is in the process of passing on. may her style live on... 
-Ethiopian bronze seed beads
-bronze center piece of the holy mother immaculate heart
-our lady of Guadalupe medal to seal the magical deal.

No Dogma. Only Love.
 

When our hearts are broken, there is such a beauty that grows from the cracks. When our hearts have been bruised, we soften, surrender, and relax. It hurts, yes, but we know that there is such wisdom and light seeping through. We know there is beauty in the broken hearted. We know that as always, our hearts, heal.

Mantra infused with each bead: Hail Mary, Mother of All, heal my heart. 

This hand strung, magical creation includes: a spectacular spotted agate, smooth and grounding carnelian, vintage recycled smokey glass beads from Africa, Ethiopian brass, and 2 amulets: one milagro from South America and one Immaculate Heart from Italy. 

For more photos and info, you can hop on over to an etsy shop here.
all love. no dogma. forever.

i love love love you.

xx

mb

redeem. unsilence. re-tell. {writing prompts}

I wrote this while I was walking in the woods. In my head. It started as a prayer. Then became a song. Then became a meditation as I sat on a nurse long and breathed in this air, the cleanest and freshest air, I swear. There is nothing. Nothing. Like the air in the forest here after a few days of rain.

I kept seeing all these mushrooms growing in groups everywhere. Together. And then I thought, those mushrooms are family. All fungal species within the kingdom have the same common ancestor which is unicellular.  All goes back to One Cell. This ancestor is believed to be the point in time in which animals diverged. So these mushrooms. Are closer to humans than they are plants. They are my ancestors. They are a part of me.

In this blood, in the broken down bark of the tree, the decomposing of everything around me. The life that is only moving towards death.  There is me, my family, our family. All of us, really. Actually, we are more closely related to everything. That there is. Everywhere. I am no scientist, so someone can tell me how all that goes. I cannot explain in science what I feel in creative fire. But I feel it. Don't you. Look around? What isn't a part of you? What isn't your family? What hasn't been part of your blood?

Somehow, though, it was the humans that brought me here. Humans with some very recent history of craziness and scandal and trauma and glorious creative beauty and undying and unconditional love. You know, probably like your humans, too. We cannot escape what it means to be human. We can only do better, heal more, be present, and learn to release. 

Redemption is needed.

I don't even know what that means but yesterday all day long I kept saying "how can I redeem us" and I had no answers. But I am living the question. Because we all came from extraordinary people. They were adventurous. And brave. And also I am sure they made choices we wouldn't ever make. Maybe because they don't align with our ethics, because they were awful, racist, murderous, un-evolved choices.  Maybe because we are scared shitless to live like them because they were braver than us and were not scared to make sudden and wild moves.  Maybe because they had no choices, zero choices, were forced, threatened with death. Maybe they had no voices. Maybe whatever they did fucked generations to come. Maybe whatever they did gave you a trust fund. Maybe whatever they endured weighs you down and calls you out constantly, staining your experience with something that has nothing to do with you. Maybe. I can't say. All I know is this: those choices and the experiences they brought, it all lives around our cells. The good, the great, the amazing, the bad, the ugly, the painful. What needs to be forgiven. And what needs to be healed.

I am finding more and more things about me that are not me. I am seeing patterns rise that I know I didn't bring consciously into this world. It makes no sense. I know there are many ways to handle this kind of ancestral work. For some reason just saying no isn't working. So I breath into my being. I stretch. I drink a ton of water. I make altars. I say thank you. I say I am sorry. I sit still and let myself remember there is nothing - there is no past, there is nothing of a future. There is only now. And I am free.  But let's face it, I am layered and complex and I am a work in progress. I stumble. I trip. I fall. I hold shit that tends to break my back and bones. 

Redemption. How can I live my life redeeming choices they may have made? How can I live my life in a way that is redemption for them? For me? Because it's something I feel and do not claim to know. I write. I write and write. I invite you to as well:

{{prompt}}

*Write a story about how your ancestors are redeemed through you. Write a story of what they did and why and what is the new story now?  And write a story about you, and the choices you make, that are different. In honor. In gratitude. In grace and forgiveness. How can you forgive them? How can you forgive those who hurt them? How can you forgive you? 

Unsilence-ing is needed.

I constantly feel like someone is trying to talk to me. Talk through me. That I am missing the point of the stories. That my ghost of a grandmother doesn't matter as much as the ones that come way, way before her. There is such a pure line of matriarchal bad-ass behind her, behind all of us. We have a warrior tribe of mothers in line - to learn from- to draw from. Recent history may have sucked. But go back farther and see the stars on earth whose womb created us, birthed us, and dreamed us into being.

{{prompt}}

*Go back. Go as far back as you can. Past the grandmothers that you knew. Past the ones you only know in names. Past the ones that are imprinted in old cracked photos. Past the days of cameras. Past the days of patriarchy. Past so many days. And then sit there for a moment. Close your eyes. And meet up with your original mother, the one that Began You. Write what she would like to say to you. Write what you would like to say back to her. Give voice to both of you, beyond this life, as you sit at the portal and drink from the original waters of creation.

 

Right now. It's in the words. The journal. The lit candle and the letters I am writing to them. To me. To the ones who are coming of age. 

We are all related. We are all here to heal, redeem, and give voice for the other.

Let's begin.

By creating.

bread of life. + a spell.

My sister told me that when my parents were finally able to afford their own house, somewhere in the mid 1960s- and all 7 of them {with one on the way} moved out of the upstairs apartment of Grandma Salvatrice's Prospect St. house and into their very own home at 345 South Main Street, they would still have to walk by Grandma’s house to get home from school. Before, when they lived with her, for years, every day after school they would come home and she'd have bread baking for them. Ready for them. 

After we moved. We would hide. We knew she had baked bread and would want us to come visit her. But I was getting 'too cool' for that and when we'd walk home I'd rush by her house hoping she wouldn’t see me… I feel bad about it now. But I would literally hide and walk across the street. I just didn't want to hang out with my grandma.

I will have to admitt. I was pissed at her, well not her now, but her teen self. That had a grandma. That had grandma's bread. That had that history, that living wisdom of my own father. Where he came from.  Who stood up for him incessantly. Who yelled. Who loved. Who had a big belly. And undo hair. And nylon hose.  I had none of those things. 

I have some things. Her cheek bones. Her deep set eyes. Her entire face mostly. And perhaps some of the hot blood. And some of the feelings. That might not even be my own. But that live in me. As her.

And her ghost. That I can’t seem to get rid of.

And her ghost. That makes me bake bread. Alot.

I wonder if my grandmother's bread was filled with every emotion she carried. If her fears and her anger and her unconditional, ungrippable love was in each and every crack of dough. I wonder if her slightly crazy was held in each air bubble. I wonder if her rebel was infused in the crust. I wonder if she day dreamed about her lost daughters. Or prayed for her lost sons. I wonder if she thought of home. And what it would have been. I wonder what it would taste like. If I could just have one bite of her bread. 

It's 80 degrees today and I am baking bread. Because I cannot think of another thing to do. We all need to eat the stories. Some way or another.They need to be digested. And passed around the table. Food is truth.

I found out today that I didn’t get the artist grant I was hoping to get to send me to her dirt and find her and find her mother. And write a book about her. About grandmothers. And daughters. About being a daughter. About being a mother. About the portals of existence. Of coming from women. About seeking something, anything, that ties us to humanity. Blood. Bones. Songs. Reminders we had power, we had voices, that we had ways. That we had bread.  Stories in food and dirt. If I look back on my roots-  I feel this combination of extreme bravery and extreme stress and fear.  I feel anxiety and magic. I feel a strong sense of silence. I feel something that was undone and unfinished.  I feel women who had to endure the between story, for me, for my daughters. I feel like before the between story there was something else. Something other than poverty and pain and fleeing. Something I have forgetting to tap into. I also know there is no before, no after, there is just now. And this is my now. Living it all at once, no past or future, just all of us, within my blood, my cells, my DNA.

Who are we without a full past within us, without long, deep roots. Who are we if we do not know we had blood of rivers and flesh of mountains. Who are we if we don’t understand that we come from those who were not afraid to be strong, to be soft, to create, to walk with no shoes for miles in prayer and grace to build temples for the future and to let go of our daughters in ceremony and rites. Who are we without those temples. Without those ceremonies. Without knowing our rites. 

I don’t know. And I do know. Because there is nothing seperate. There are no lines in time. Just an undying curiosity of a life. Of a place. Of a time that doesn’t even exist except for in a fictional memory. And in this ghost. The one that will not leave me alone. She is asking me. To remember when there were no pictures or documents or names known. She is asking me. Telling me. Something. I am listening.

I didn’t get the grant. I was mad. All day long. Sad. Cried. I baked bread. The first loaf was filled with my anger. It did not rise well. It was dense and too sweet and fell apart and the girls ate it with smashed beans and butter on it to get it down. They were nice and said it was good but they know my bread is usually better. I could see both their kindness and lying in their face. By the time I made the dough for the second loaf - which is still rising- 14 hours later, the anger was gone. There is always that. It always leaves. Mostly. And something else rises.

I wonder if she had to make a lot of loaves of bread, too. Because some didn’t rise. Because she was all alone. So far away. Too many kids. Her skin imprinted by someone else anger and decisions. Widowed by the time she was 40. But who was she before all that. And who was her mother. And her mother’s mother. And her mother’s mother. And her mother’s mother.

And who am I. Now. Because she is me. And my daughters are her. 

I will get there. I will write it. She will not let me sleep until I do.

I am not ready yet, to go there alone. Something is waiting. Something is coming. I trust. But I am writing it anyway. Now. From here. Because this ghost won’t let me go.                                                

have you ever had such an intense urge to "go home" and yet you are not sure what that means. because you've never been there. but you are sure olives are involved and cracked earthen walls and endless hours of sunshine. and naps. right when the sun slits the lower part of the sky. and where the wine doesn't give you 3am panic attacks. and the morning comes slowly, easily. and riddles are solved of why your cheekbones rise like they do and why your heart has a funny tingling feeling in the top left corner when you are sad and why your anger feels like love, always, like the turn over of love. and where your insatiable hunger for the smell of jasmine in the morning is satisfied. and why the volume of your everyday voice is no big thing, because everyone likes a loud bold woman. you feel like you belong. like you are recognized. like you've been so very missed. and every day is a welcome home party. with bread. and figs.

this is how i feel.

And so it is.

step outside your doubt. protest your fear.

Step outside your doubt. Protest your fear.

I spent a lot of my years doubting my ability to create. To be an artist. Because I thought it meant being good at it, being outstanding, being mind blowing. Being super cool. Getting paid to do it. Having insane amounts of confidence. And wearing awesome clothes.

I have always created. But I hid my work because it was a mess. I felt it was a mess. I felt it was awful and ugly and made no sense. I doubted every last word. I feared that I wasn't made to do this.

And then there were years where I didn’t create, because it was such a mess, and I couldn’t stand anything that came out of me {oh if I could turn back time...} and I was scare I was wasting my time and resources and that whatever it was I was doing wasn't really worth my time... 

When I did get back to writing and making art, all the rules that I learned in school got shot out the window, not on purpose, but just organically, just because if I was going to sit down and do this I was going to do it my way. I didn’t have time for rules. Because I was writing from my body, I was writing from a place that wasn’t truly conscious. I was writing untamed. Because that is what my soul needed- for peace, for healing, for evolution. I could not be bothered with making sure it was right or that it even sounded right. I couldn't even question if it had worth. It had to have worth {to me}.  I had to trust that it was an action, an act, a process, a ritual, my self care, my healing. A place to unwind and be totally feral in a world that was constantly trying to tame and me and stuff me into a box.

There are different paths of devotion and healing and coming back home to your body. We all have our ways.

We all find our own way. I fiercely and consistently believe that. 

And some of us are here to make a mess {I know I am}. To create a beautiful, unruly, divinity inspired, flesh instigated, heart exploded, deliciously feeling mess of art. I believe we are all here born into this world as artists and we all learn to express it in our own way. There is no terms or definitions here, it's that we came here by creation and we came here to continue creation. Maybe like me you can’t draw a perfect human hand or capture the eyes on a face. Maybe you forget grammar and say fuck it to spelling. Maybe you just like to dance regardless of your size and shape or choreography, but dance because the sweat and sound and vibration of your hips winding around convince you that you are making magic into the air. Maybe like me, you just like to sit down and let your spirit pour out any way it wants to, apologetically. Unconditionally. Without reason or cause. Or maybe you like to make lines and lists and and having match up. Maybe you are thoughtful and careful. And that is right, too. You get me?

There are so many rules in this world. There are so many laws. There are so many definitions and regulations and paperwork and check lists. So many things we have to do the “right” way.

But this is not the case with art. Or with creation. There is no way to do it but exactly the way we do it. There is no rulebook. No guidebook. There is only you. And you. And what you feel like doing. And that is exactly it. 

I know you feel like you are not good at it. Me too And you feel it isn’t for you, that you can’t create. Or your analytical mind works overtime. Or that maybe you don't have time and being an artist or writer is for the privileged few?  That your life is jam packed and you must survive and work and feed and clean and sleep? Yes, I know that, very well. And so I steal time. Middle of the night. Early in the morning. When I am suppose to be doing something super boring. And you can too. Maybe your need to keep things organized and neat makes it impossible for you to let go fully and create? Your OCD have the best of you? Yeah, me too, me too.  You scared of what will come out? Are you a little frightened to see yourself in a formless, shapeless, way? The stories and the words might burn into your heart and sting a lot, the colors might be nameless and you will get lost.  But there will be truth. I can promise you that. There will be some truth within each moment you breath out into the making, writing, creating.

This is how we get closer to ourselves. This is how we connect. To our hearts. And in some ways, how our truest heart can connect to others.

Fear and doubt and the only things in your way.

Step outside your doubt. Protest your fear.



See it like a cage. And the cage door is wide open. You are a wild animal, fur and fangs and claws and gorgeously shifting eyes.  You have permission to leave the cage and enter an unknown territory where anything goes, where you rule the domain, where you just move to create a new life and every move you make is bringing you closer to freedom. You now are untamed. The leash is gone. No matter who you are or what you do, you get the right to leave the cage and make what you want, with nobody holding you back. 

This is YOUR RIGHT. To be free to create. Who cares if it’s good or looks good or is spelled right or you break every grammar rule or you say things that you cannot believe you would ever say? Who cares if you crack open and shine your light so bright that you get so addicted to what is made and you just want to keep going and going and you spend every last dime you have on paint. Who care if you crack open and ooze out the darkest shadow there ever was and it’s so mysterious and intense and scary that you have to keep going, because you know it’s guiding you back home, to you, to your riotess heart, to your artist’s soul, to the illuminated truth of you.

Step outside your doubt. Protest your fear. You are a creator. Now create.

we are all Mothers.

My 8 year old, who just got home last night from surgery looks at me and says

“I am so sorry, Mama. You have to spend your mother’s day taking care of me.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the best gift ever. It’s what being a

mama is all about.”

“But I want you to be able to do something fun for yourself.”

“This is for me. Having you here and being part of your healing. It’s the only place I want to be.”

I love this work. This mothering thing. It is an honor. I may not love some of the other things that seem to be attached to role, the domesticity our Velcros on to it {I suck at that part, truly} but I love the energy of nourishment and healing, to sit still and listen, to show up in love. I love knowing my intuition is based on this feeling, that I am here, holding space for others. Them. But even beyond them. Into the world. I am a mother in many senses of the world, beyond my own children.

WE AREALLMOTHERS.png

This mother thing isn’t about being a certain kind of person.

It isn’t about being a women or even a mother.

I was thinking today, Mother’s Day, about all the humans who were not mothered. All the humans who have not had children. All the humans who don’t relate to “motherhood”. All the humans who feel entirely left out of the celebration and honoring of today. Just all the humans. All of us. This is inclusive. We have too many groups and cliques to separate us. This is something for everyone. Th is is something to bring us all closer together.

I also was thinking about how our culture attaches such strict definitions to things and we have defined and given this day a clear set of rules… that this is about woman who are mothers.

But I want to step back.

I want to break the rules.

I want there to be no rules.

And I want to try and re-define this day. And every day really, this is about something that is living, a living prayer of mine. About honoring something beyond a role or a gender and look at it as an opportunity to embrace and practice embodying an energy. A day to expand our awareness to take hold of this energy- that is less and less respected, honored and cultivated in our culture- in our fast paced, capitalistic, masculine, goal oriented driven world. On days like today we like to think we understand it, but have made it into a Hallmark holiday. 

Mother’s Day, for me, is a day to remember who shows up in service, with a specific vibe about them. Mother’s Day to me, is invitation for us all to become Mother. To own the energy. To do what Mother {as an energy} does: rises up, loves, and protect.

There are so many schools and programs that “teach” us how to be leader, how to be a better leader in our community and our world. How to coach, how to run business, how to make money.

But in my opinion, you cannot lead or teach unless who have some connection to The Mother Energy. This is an energy given to us by Earth, it is the ability to honor rhythms, to show up in nourishment, to hold up and to shelter with love. To refuse limitations and to change what we don't believe in. A true leader will always have service down, first. To serve, from the heart, is to mother.

This Mother Energy has nothing to do with if you knew your mother, or if you have a womb, or if you have carried life in your womb. It has nothing to do with if you go to work full time or stay home, if you breast feed or bottle feed. It has nothing to do with what kind of work you do or if you cook dinner or order take out. It has nothing to do with how "powerful" you are. It has nothing to do with your size or shape or how creative you are.

But instead it’s about all our capacity to serve. Especially for the men. Who tend to step up today and honor the mother in words and actions. But can they show up, in honor of their own Mother Energy? Can they teach it? Can they follow it? Can the see it as the guiding force in their lives? Can they embody their own version of Mother Love? Can they allow that to be their new atlas?

It is a form of Love. And the most divine and powerful kind.

And we are in dire need of more of it. There is a hole in the heart of the world that is wound that can only be healed by this kind of love. 

We all came from a Mother. We all go back to The Mother, the earth, the dirt. 

Mother Mary was always a guide for me. Her prayer was the first one I was ever taught and uttered. She was my first vision of "god".  I have been in conversation with her my whole life. She is my teacher. There was a tree in my front yard and I would lean against it for hours, daydreaming, but always talking to her and listening. The greatest message I ever received was to show up in nurturing compassion, to be a healer through opening the heart and to serve the world, to do whatever it takes to serve the world, the whole world, not just parts of it. Not just where I came from, but also what was unfamiliar. There was nothing in the messages about leading the world. But to serve the world.  Not serve in perfection. But serve in raw,  unconditional truth, the truth of the heart, the ugly mess, the passion, the love, the multi-emotions, the wild, the crazy, from the gut, from the hip, wickedly smart, sensually sexual, all the things:: To serve:: As a Mother.

I have been lucky and blessed enough to have three of my own daughters. I have also be gifted a wonderful, kind, and wise mother who birthed me. Trust me, I have lots of wounds and bullshit I carry around. My life hasn't been perfect. I have major issues. But this isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us.

For those who haven’t had similar experiences as me around mothering, I see you, and I feel you. I do not know how you feel, but I feel you and I honor you. You hold The Mother energy as well. And it is this energy that heals all the stories that have hurt you. How to begin? By mothering yourself, by loving yourself, and by knowing, deep in your heart, you are The Mother, and the world needs your mother energy, more than ever. As much as it needs mine.

There is nothing I know more than this: this practice embodying this energy is effective and powerful. It is an energy we all, in many ways, have been denied. But we have to bring it back. Begin with your heart. Look inside there... it may be cracked and bruised and it may hurt... but you have the most beautiful and giving heart. For those who feel like they don’t have the “mothering” gene, know that you actually do… it is the gene that brings your heart and your compassion forward. It lives in you {and it's not just for making babies}. For those of who think you aren’t a good nurturer… you are. Hold out your hands and give. You have a basket full of otherworldly gifts and wisdom. Pass it out, freely, let the world know them. For those of you who don’t have wombs, who don’t identify as “woman”- know this has nothing to do with gender definitions. This has to do with the energetic of Love. The Love of Mother. It has to do with you. Today is about you, too.

My prayer today, is that we break free from all the stories that keep us from feeling and becoming Mother.

My prayer today is that we all meditate on becoming The Mother.

Because The Mother wants to live in all of us. The Mother wants to be expressed from all of us. The Mother wants to serve the world.

This is how we heal the planet. This is how we care for each and every one of us.

I am calling for leaders, all kinds of humans, who embody this. The ones who don’t close doors and create boundaries. Those who don’t allow for death to be the way to freedom and justice. Those who are brave enough to vibrate the story of forgiveness and compassion, revolution and change. Those who are not scared to be led by intuition and heart. Those who are not scared to hug an "enemy" and feed a stranger. I am calling for those who surround, heal, and open their hearts, and are willing to risk their security for the entire earth population. Who are willing to risk their bank account so other's can simply eat. Those who are willing to let go of themselves, the ego, the expectations - to be there for others. Those who are not scared to cry and let the tears wash away the pain of the world.

As  my little 8 year old winces in pain in bed, I stop everything, including writing this, to wrap my arms around her and hum a song softly into her hair, not too loud becauseshe is so sensitive and not too tightly, because she is so tender. But to practice knowing how to show up, just right, in service to her. Exactly where she is. I will make mistakes today and every day. I will get angry. I will fall on my face. I will struggle with guilt and shame. I will doubt my worth. I will doubt my abilities to embody Mother. For her and for all my work in the world. I will doubt my words. I will doubt this writing. But this is my guiding force. To meet her, my daughter, and all that I meet, exactly where they are. Eye to eye.

I would like to eradicate today as a Day only for those who have been physical mothers. Not that we are not worth an entire day of honoring. It's not that at all.  We should get that kind of honoring daily, we are bad ass bitches. But instead, if we allow today, and all days, about practicing balancing all the other energies we have with The Mother Energy… if we learn to infuse The Mother into informing our decisions and how we work and lead… we become servants. Of Love. Of this world. Natural leaders. Without having to lead by control, force, or greed.

And this. This is my prayer.

That we, as people, all of us, learn to live this life in this basic truth: we are all suffering somehow, we are all dying, we are all trying. And each and every one of us can embrace and show up as The Mother. Divine Mother. Holy Mother. Mother of God. Mother in all her many, many faces. Mother of all. So we can live good and feel loved and be held and be fed… in this very short, very fleeting spec of dust we call Life.

Be the mother. Everyday. Be the one you wish you had.

Be the one that taught you love.

Be the one you wish you were but actually are.

Be The One. Be the One we all want.

We all have it in us.  It is us.

So today, I bow to you. All of you. The Mother in me bows + give thanks to the Mother in you.

photo by Danielle Cohen

photo by Danielle Cohen

Happy Mother’s Day.

love, MB

NEW MOON POP UP READING

NEW MOON {in taurus} TAROT READINGS

THESE READINGS ARE SOLD OUT. so much gratitude...... so much love. Come back next month!!


[excuse the typo in my graphic. i have no idea where the word 'up' went to. but maybe the better name for these is tarot pop]

I haven't had a pop up in a while. It's been one of those things. Like the cards asked for a break. And so I put them on the window sill or under my pillow and cleansed them a lot, and left them alone...  until they told me it was time to come back out again. I trust this process intensely. There is no forcing the creative or energetic portals. There is no forcing this life. There is just leaning in, trusting, playing with all the yeses and nos. And so I did. And here I am. Hi. I love you.

This round of readings might even have another deck involved besides TWU. I have been casually playing The Hermetic Tarot for a little bit here and there during my "divination break" and it's pretty alchemical and powerful and whoa-like. So I am thinking to bring those out as well.

This new moon is a good one, a big old open one, dark and earthly and real. It's actually quite practical as far as moons go. One that asks us : what are we really doing? what are we really calling "our truth?" when there are so many faces four truth. Is what we are living right now "truth" or is it leaning into old stories, old memories, old patterns that exist to keep things "level" when really we want change, or need change, but we are wary about the upheaval and the chaos of change? Are we sticking to something that doesn't serve us, because our ego is telling us stories about failure or fear... or we are refusing to step into something that is calling us because we carry around too many feelings of unworthiness or we are confused and don't have clarity around what is happening right in front of us, guiding us down our path. I am looking forward to doing ritual and readings around this new moon - and would love to do one for you, if you feel called to receive....

Only 10 readings available.

This month's new moon theme:

\\\the many faces of your truth///

*some goodies about the next few days from

mystic mama via Sarah Varcas :

 

“A New Moon in Taurus on 6th/7th May presents a choice: to live by the light of truth or the power of ego. In many ways this is the very crux of every spiritual path. The development of a healthy ego alongside a courageous spirit ensures we have all we need to navigate this world. 

“Ego is not the demon it’s often made out to be, but a tool to be used wisely. When healthy and mature it knows when to speak out with confidence, when to remain silent in humility, when to act, when to wait, when to grasp and when to let go. It becomes a wise and trusted friend who sustains us through times of emotional and spiritual drought. 

“If, however, we pursue ego transcendence before understanding its true nature, we falsely bypass a process to which we must return. Truth is as much an aspect of ego as of soul, of the mundane as of the spiritual.

“We are immersed in relative and absolute truths all the time and tasked with discerning the two, knowing which to honour, when and how. This New Moon reminds us that truth has many facesand a mature ego serves it even at its own expense.

“7th to 16th May sees a string of Grand Trines in Earth providing stability and substance. They anchor us as we process some of the more challenging emotions we may encounter, keeping us in touch with the earth and rooted in our inner space where all wisdom exists, awaiting the right moment to make itself known. 

“Jupiter stations direct in Virgo on 9th having been retrograde since 8th January. Efforts made this year to live more authentically begin to bear significant fruit from hereon in. It takes often mighty courage to honour the truth as we see it, especially when it sets us apart from others or challenges the status quo.

***
This month's pop up reading energetic addresses are:: 

what are the faces of your truth?

what is the truth of this moon, this phase for you?

what was once truth but now isn't?

what do you need to tap into the courage to face your truth, head on, heart on, full force?

 

I think truth is relative. I also think it's part story and part destiny. I think that at any moment it can change. It can morph. We can make it what we want. But we have to walk that line, of ego and non-attachment. We have to be able to dance and sway to live the question: what is truth? Let's tell your truth story for this moon, what is the next cycle of truth for you?

*PAYMENT FOR POP READINGS, AS ALWAYS IS 'PAY WHAT YOU CAN'. 

PLEASE click link to donate for a reading.  If you are wondering... on average, the donation is about $25... but some people offer way less and some people offer way more. I trust you will pay what you are truly able. Paying less doesn't mean less of a reading. Paying more doesn't mean of one. I just truly believe in a shifting economy where we all can be served. And I offer gratitude in advance. 
 

SOLD OUT!!!!

*THESE READINGS SELL OUT QUICKLY WHEN SOLD OUT, IT WILL BE WRITTEN AT THE TOP OF THIS POST.

*ALL READINGS WILL BE DELIVERED VIA EMAIL THROUGH PHOTO + VOICE OR VIDEO RECORDING. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOUR PAYPAL EMAIL IS THE CORRECT EMAIL TO SEND YOUR READING TO. ALL READINGS WILL BE DELIVERED ON SATURDAY MAY 6TH AND SUNDAY MAY 7TH.

Bless. Love. Fire. Release.

MaryBeth

the moon sessions

The Moon Sessions.

We all live under the rhythm of the moon. She keeps time under a dark sky. She tells the tales the tales of the tides. She reflects the light that lives in the shadow. She is the compass of wild. She is the intuition epicenter of the world.

7 days of exploring The Moon card. $40

7 days of exploring The Moon card. $40

This 7 day journey explores meanings of The Moon card and also dives deeper into the archetype of The Moon. It is an invitation to us to use The Moon as a tool and energy to call upon when she is most needed. When we feel stuck.  When we need to invoke our intuition.  When we need to understand our primal, emotional, raw beings.  When we need some crazy.  And when we need divine darkness.  

What does this card mean? There are so many conversations around it from insanity to fearlessness, from wild to psychic. And everything that may fall in between.  The Moon card is a mystery, if you ask me, and one that we often back away from.  She is DARK.  She is FEMININE. And she is a bit UNKNOWN.  These are things most people in our culture have a hard time with.  We tend to want to bask in the sun. OR. We tend to get stuck in the shadows.  How can we find a healthy realness to honoring the moon of our souls, the moon in the sky, the moon of the womb?

The Moon Sessions contains:

  • daily emails for 7 days {maybe even a couple more}.
  • meditations/rituals.
  • private FB community for conversation + creation + collective unlocking.
  • videos + storytelling.
  • living questions to embody.
  • tarot spreads around lunar wisdom.
  • prompts to practice living The Moon.

investment: $40

7 days of rhythm + questions. $40. 

7 days of rhythm + questions. $40. 

In these 7 days you will be invited to live the moon, to embody the energy of The Moon. To know her shape- from dark to round.  To feel her rhythms in your own bodies.  To understand “as above, so below”.   To know the parts of you that long for her, to howl at her, to uncage her from your soul, to remember you can say yes to taking a walk to the darker parts of your self, because the moon, she will always be your guide.  

The Moon card is an invitation, an initiation.  It is calling us to loose some parts of our over-domesticated selves and enter into the dark forest of our wild animal.  

The Moon card calls upon us to pay attention, to see the moon as our dreams, our intuition, or psychic evolution.  The Moon is our emotions, and the moon helps us remove the blocks that stand in our way for emotional + psychic maturity, the ownership of sensitivity, and the magic of subtlety.  The Moon is our map to the unknown parts of our most raw, fluid, feminine form.

$40 investment

$40 investment

This 7 day living tarot session is for you if:

  • you love tarot and want to be part of creative tarot community that goes beyond traditional meaning.
  • you want to get to know the cards... and one card at a time sounds like just the right pace
  • you want to embody the archetype of the moon
  • you want to dive deeper into the spiritual wisdom of The Moon
  • you love the moon and the energy it holds
  • you want to explore and ignite your own intuitive tarot practice.

THIS LIVING TAROT JOURNEY IS FOR EVERYONE- FROM BEGINNER TO SEASONED.

7 days of being with The Moon. $40. 

7 days of being with The Moon. $40. 

The Moon is how we re-tell the stories of the oldest part of our brain, the story of dulaity, the story of not belonging, the story of lunacy, the story of seperation from all our beings-from angel to beast.  Why do we need to split into two? Why have we been asked to chose between The Sun and The Moon? Between animal and human? Between heavenly and earthly? We can become both the moon and the sun.  And together, we get to birth new stars.

$40 investment

$40 investment



how much do you love yourself.

I love myself enough to say enough.
To say all my nos'.
To say all my yeses.
To do all things despite
Being told my whole life
I am not allowed
Too risky
Not appropriate.
Not for a woman/mother.
Can't. Shouldn't. 
I love myself to erase those words.
I love myself enough to
do nothing, for days. and days.
And I love myself enough to
To not give myself
even enough
room to breathe
because i am so taken
and swallowed
by the hours of hungry creation.
ignoring everything
but the muse
who is breathing down
the back of
my neck.
I love myself enough
To make it be known
in this living room
to every person sitting right here
that i live in love, in love, in love
for myself
first for myself
and what kind of mother
does that? me.
and that love
is the most important gift
i can give to them.
it is the teacher i have.
a mother, who loves herself
enough to live this life
with her special style
of fire, burn, song.
and a lover, who gives a love that is born
from a whole me. not half. not part. not good.
but a whole me. 
a sister, who knows i cannot
circle until i have fully circled myself
with myself first. heard and seen myself. 
then i can hold her.
this is not selfish.
i am burning down selfish.
i am burning down humble
i am burning down vane
i am burning down the roles
i am burning down the cages
of definitions and expectations
and ideas and systemic stories
the ones that keep
me away from me.
i am burning down the walls
the ideas
that there
isn't an ounce of me
than can be
what she is not.

self seduction is liberation.
it is the ultimate practice for self-lessness + non- attachment.
it is a very large gift for this very love deprived world.

i love myself so much, that tonight, on this visionary new moon, i am going to map a trip i have wanted to take since forever and put all my favorite AirBnB spots on the island of Sicily on my wishlist and i'll sit here with the candles lit and embody what it will feel like to lay my cheeks against the dirt, and to write under the smell of jasmine and citrus and sea salt. what it will feel like to be home. i will begin turning this wheel. now. 

magic happens when you love yourself so much that you are willing to say yes to not only what you need, but what you want. usually they are blood relatives. you are not one dimensional. you are not your roles or your jobs or the systems that try and define you. you are you. with an immaculate messy heart. inimitable. an imprint. the most amazing particle of dust, along with the rest of us.

if you want to re- activate your forever practice of self-love through stories, rituals, recipes, and paying darn good attention to your heart, i'd be honored to send you 28 emails to remind you that the love your turn inward, toward yourself, will magnify and potentize the love your send out there. the earth turns because of this kind of love, the love of you.

28 days + 28 revolutionary emails.

SELF LOVE IS A REVOLUTIONARY INTERVENTION. CHANGE THE WORLD WITH HOW YOUR TREAT YOURSELF.

Seduce Yourself {a 28 day journey}

 

SEDUCE YOURSELF.

I am not messing around.  I am for real.  Come along with me and make love to your fine self.


Every day, for 28 days you will receive an email:

  • with questions + stories + propositions

  • simple potions, seductions, rituals

  • mantras, visions, love letters.  

  • very simple, organic ways to live in the seduction of the self, to be good to yourself, easy on yourself, feel good, and know that you are worth this love. 

Seduce Yourself-2.jpg

{this is a loud call out to the universe and an invitation for you to join me in a unique + unified Voice}

I have spent years looking at myself in the mirror- and what I saw- I didn’t love.   

I saw was an over-worked, exhausted, hadn’t showered in over a week, bags under the eyes, loneliness in the eyes, half-present, half-alive, wound up too tight, impatient, unenergized, undernourished little girl who had been ignored.  By herself. 

I was tapped of self-love. Maybe I felt I wasn’t worth it anymore. I know I had it before. But it seemed to be hidden, gone.

You cannot love others deeply or be loved by others truly unless you shower yourself with love that comes from the seed of your heart and the essence of your blood.  You know all the “things” that come into your life when you aren’t madly in love with yourself? I was constantly trying to release it all under the dark of the moon or into the ocean's waves or burn up on little pieces of paper in the fire? I went through all the motions, trust me.  But I did not embody self-love. I lived it on the surface, but wanted to skip to the end results without putting in all the work- the work of using LOVE as an action, a vibration, an offering towards Self. 

 I was so busy mustering up the energy to love and care for others,  that I lost connection with self love and made a mess in my relationships.  There was literally no reserve or care for myself and so my people suffered too.  

So here I stand.  With a gorgeous, vibrant daughter cusping her teen years.  Another old soul of a daughter watching my every move very closely.  Another wee daughter who hasn’t even come out of her self-infatuation incarnation, her beautiful love affair with herself hasn’t yet been interrupted. I am fully responsible for them and their own love journey.  

I want to Love myself like the kind god has.  Like the kind you have for god. Love like Our Lady’s Love, like Quan Yin's Love, like Oshun’s Love, like Kali’s Love, so fierce and so strong and so bold it can sever the heads off Hate. Love like you love yourself more than anyone can ever love anything in the universe. Love Yourself like that.

I want to get turned on by not only by *how*  I feel, but turned on to why I am here. 

 

I want to love myself back Home.  Love myself back to my original and delicious sin.  I want to taste the apple.  Bite into it and let the juice splatter everywhere and get me all sticky and wet and strip my clothes off and lay on the earth and say "come and get me, mama, i am so ready for this coming paradise of myself." This is my desire.  

I will need to buy nothing.  I won’t need a room of my own except the room I create in my head/body/heart.  It involves more writing, less thought.  More touching.  More sensing.  More attention. More nature. More solitude. More community.  It involves less time in front of a computer and a phone.

This isn’t about being seen by others.  This is about being seen by ME. 

Join me on this journey. $28 for 28 days riding the self love wave.

Let’s make a powerful love revolution. 

Smashing the patriarchy by rising The Empress.

This work is continous.  This work isn’t easy.  We are literally unschooling ourselves from a wounded masculine paradigm, the patriachial system we have been raised within and educated with.  the system that piggy backs our DNA and tries to re-tell the story of our truth, of our original creation, that of the divine feminine coming to earth and making a full body for herself to create with, to enjoy, to savor, to feel all the feelings there are to feel. the feminine is stunning in form and worth, and that story has been hidden, buried, burned.

This is deep stuff.

The Empress, I believe, is a healing archetypes that allows us to rise above but also stay rooted down and solid, not flighty as she rises, but grounded.  She is of The Earth.  She is the physical emobodiment of the divine.  She is us.  We are her.  This is our job, to heal ourselves, to bring her to the forefront, to bring back the original intention of what the feminine hails and then some.

I started writing this for content for a course I am leading this coming week, but it was way too much for such a short time period. I wanted to keep things simple and easy for people to flow through it, to get a good grasp on The Empress energy without overwhelm. But I couldn’t just trash some of the extra content. So I thought I’d share here. Why not.

Here is a list I came up with, just doing some fast and furious writing around all the ways we can rise this empress energy {which in turn makes some serious shifts for the patriarchy} and all the questions we could be living, and all yeses we could be saying, along with all the nos.

  1. We must begin the process of unschooling. Everything we have been taught that does feel whole or complete or true. Unschool.
  2. This means showing up in our family/community unlike any role that has been created. we must create it for ourselves.  this means not explaining ourselves when we show up as we feel called to. this means not cutting ourselves off at the heart to make others comfortable. this work is about being a comforting, nourishing human by doing things that are uncomfortable. discomfort creates change when we get to the other side of it.
  3. this means giving Her a voice. what does your voice sound like now? is it clear? do you feel comfortable expressing it? do you feel another voice, a deeper voice, a truer voice inside you that is rising and aching to be heard? is it a scream? a whisper? a howl? listen and show up in that voice. say what you mean. don’t hide it within a respectful silence or because of ocietal expectations or politeness. be difficult because your passion is WORTH IT. because what you believe in MATTERS. let your voice shake with what you mean not what you think you are suppose to say. be a threat. be dangerous. be radical. be true. know there are endless layers of this voice and you get to keep unearthing them as you wish.
  4. think about business and the whole concept of “branding”. that is a masculine system in itself. what if your “brand” was a story, something fluid, moving, changing constantly to honor your needs, your process, your voice, your love for making things different every single day. what if you didn’t box yourself in, but instead expanded and became all you are, something so you that it’s nameles, formless, raw expression. art. and use the brand chariot as the masculine system that carries you along all the edges of your world. it'