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's useful, but it's only a vehicle, an illusion of something you have been told you needed. if you take it away... *you* should still be there.
  5. on days that you feel different. express yourself differently. the empress is a million things. the point is to be all of her things, all of your things, fully. 100%. change your mind ALL THE TIME. if that's what you want. consistency is an illusion. 
  6. cancel when you need to cancel
  7. show up when you think you aren’t included. if it means that much to you, invite yourself to the conversation with an open heart and see what happens. be willing to be un-invited. but also be willing to be embraced.
  8. call out when calling out is needed. then call in. we don't want to separate, but we can't get anywhere by keeping things nice and quiet.
  9. release stories, systems, agendas that keep you from working and living in a way that is not healthy or true. release all the stories that keep you believing in things or worshiping things that harm your soul, your growth, your heart {burn them, literally, take fire to the words on paper}.
  10. show up as the wise creator that you are, someone who knows that someday will be a wise elder, a grandmother, a person who holds the healing of the world in her old, weathered arms. this is how important you are. someday you will be the one feet are gathered around.
  11. be willing to be messy as hell. allow things to fall apart, all the way apart, including yourself. like, what would happen if you came totally undone. not just a little. but the whole way? allow all the chaos to happen and see how fucking cool it is, what a beautiful thing it is for things to swirl and become utterly unknown and allow for all the holding you need by placing yourself in trust on the earth floor. allow for that risk. be willing to risk a systemic and dogmatic world for a healing and beautiful and stunning place to exist.
  12. be willing and able to piss people off. sometimes sharing our passions rubs people the wrong way because they make it about themselves, because it makes them take a look at themselves, because it makes them look at you differently.  be willing to allow that to happen. say and do what brings you life, always, despite the reactions of others. do not appease people fro friendship or love or belonging. just don’t. you belong to you. your tribe will see that and come running.
  13. if you are privledged-a white empress- own it. if you are an empress of color-speak your story. a true empress will listen always, stand up, hold up, know that listening and looking deeply at the self and coming together is the only way we rise.
  14. stop feeling responsible for other people. you can only show up as an example. you are not here to safe anyone. trust that they can save themselves. by showing up as your own, living, personal savior.
  15. we are here rising. because we cannot help it. because it’s not just about us. it’s about this world. we are the ones here to make it better. to change it up. to shake it up. we are god in physical form, now, right now. it’s the empress who has been squashed down and locked out. this paradigm has distorted her body and created stories about her uses. we are the ones to open a new door. we have the key. we have the wings. we are the smoke that will rise up and inflitrate. we will be known. through our love of this world. through our LOVE for this earth. this is the empress. this is her. this passion.

There is only one more day to register for The Empress Sessions.  Join in the adventure if you feel called. It’s 7 days and filled with good stuff. Click here to register!

xx

mb

on becoming an ancestor.

I feel like I can’t write about my grandmothers, or the feminine behind me without the 100% investment of what is within me, that which birthed from me. 

This bloodline thing, it goes as far back and as far forward as we can imagine.

The purpose of this book I am trying to write-  which I still know so little about- but trusting my entire being around it, isn’t just about the ancestors that have paved my way.

It’s about the grandmother + ancestor I am training/practicing to become.

It’s about the mothers + grandmothers + ancestors I am raising in my three daughters. 

Let me be straight.  I don’t know what I am doing. This whole thing, raising these girls into the next level of age and evolution isn’t far off from raising a newborn baby… except without the primal attraction I seemed to have to the newborn cuteness. We are built with that internal love and protection for little helpless creatures that can’t do a thing for themselves so we bare with the night feedings and the constant clinging and the mysterious crying for hours.  The baby cuteness and this intense desire to protect often softens the challanges that are brought to the table.   At least for me it did.  That same feelings just isn’t as obvious for me while raising a cusping teen daughter. Mostly I just want to run away. I know as much {or as little} about this phase as I did about the newborn baby phase.  And yet when I held that little one in my arms for the first 6 months, it immiediately felt like “I got this”.   Well now, as this baby has grown up to a 12 year old beauty of all beauties and sass of all sasses… I can honestly say I don’t think I got this yet. I am lost and feel alone beyond belief.

And it seems like all the other phases from baby to now, although exhausting, seemed to fit under “child” and having a child for me felt like pure luck and joy for the most part- and primal, it felt primal.  We just went outside and played in dirt and in rivers and we got messy and we read and cuddled and slept as much as they would allow. I was the leader of the band and they played the songs.  This isn’t working any more. Things are very different. She is slowly leaving the band. And I know it’s normal, but that doesn’t negate the hard and confusing and the 'what's next?'

This phase does not feel primal. This feels like I was never equipted with any of the tools to be here and now parenting this blooming human.  Like, it’s impossible. How can we get into slamming door conflicts over how much I love her singing or asking her to just please help me put laundry away or just do the homework. {jesus fucking christ can we just fuck homework to hell?} or because I ask a simple question that triggers all the hormomes {ALL THE HORMONES!}.

All this is bringing up so much about my own coming of age- which really I see now- didn’t actually exist.  I don’t remember coming of age.  

There was no marking or conversation or rite of passage.  What it feels like when I look back is that a huge transition - the death of my childhood and the birth of my womanhood- was avoided. Or ignored. Or went unnoticed. Or was just not dealt with because maybe it was just too achey and grief-filled time for all.  Or maybe because the exact age she is now, I went through such trauma and grief and I am now being reminded of how maybe I need healing.  I needed to be mothered in a specific way as well... I don’t think my mother had any idea how that was, and she did her best, she did more than her best, but still- I floated, I was lost, I never let go of my child and I never fully grasped what it meant to flourish as a young woman. I clung to my mother and I clung to being a grown up and in all that clinging, I got lost.  {maybe this is just how it is? but does it have to continue to be like this?}

Becoming a mother myself was the first time ever in my life that I felt I owned a transition.  Because actual transition in birth will crack it all open and bring it all front and center and the fire that you feel literally on your skin, will burn a lot of shit away.  It is a rite. I finally felt like I had crossed a threshhold. I owned myself. And I was given the gift of a child.

And there is a big lesson here for me, a big crack with seeping light pouring through, a vision I have for myself and for my daughter right now- and I know there isn’t a right or wrong way but there is an energy we must walk together, the intentions we make, what we choose- and all of it- I am still a student of it.  I am still learning it.  I am so open to learning it.  I just wish I could know the words, or the actions, or the energy. I am searching. I am loving. I am feeling into it all. I want her to know I know she is changing, and I want her to know that I am holding the space. But I also know if I step too close she will push.  And if I back all the way, she will feel like I left. This dance is utter temperance, and I am no good at balance or patience- but I can walk between worlds. So maybe there is hope.  

I am becoming the new ancestor. And I am showing her how to become that, as well. 

And. There is always intuition.

The mom of the delicious and milk-filled baby at my breast, that mom had no idea what she was doing either, but she was so intuitive.  She just showed up.  And did it. And I am looking, asking, to uncover this next layer of mothering intuition, the knowing, the mother-voice, the one that holds space for her now. Her own breasts growing. Her own body shifting. Her own mind exploding into a million gardens of her own fruition. Her person, whole and true and strong and wild, emerging. The look in her eye when they meet mine.  We want to know each other all over again. And I am not sure we know how. But maybe in that not knowing how, all the love will be uncovered, something new will be born.  I must trust this new intuition that is rising up, and it’s harder, because there are so many more voices these days, and she has so many more influences. And there are so many opposing forces to my style of life and mothering and living. And there is still that little 12 year old girl in me, who feels alone.

My voice quivers as I write this. 

I am crying in grief. Of what I am losing, that wild and dirty little girl. Of what I didn’t have back then, no memory of becoming.   About how the two are intermingling.  And knocking together. And I am walking that line of projecting and validation and knowing and unknowing.  

I am crying in grace.  Because god damn it. I am so grateful for this, for what is next.  And to know even this much, right now.  

I wish I had a list or something: 12 ways to parent a 12 year old girl. or. How to survive these teen years. Or. Uncovering the next phase of mother intuition.

But I don’t. I just have this. My words. I don’t have answers. Maybe you can just live in the question with me. I could use some good company.

* * *

{a letter to my daughter. a letter to myself. a letter to the blood behind me and in front of me. in words, i will figure things out.}

Dear Mia, 

It’s me. Your mother.

I just wanted to let you know, wanted to tell you, that I can’t stop listening to this one recording I took of you when you were singing in the studio the other day with your dad.

I wanted to tell you that, without you thinking I was some weirdo sitting around listening to a shitty recording of you singing a reggae version of Katy Perry. And I wanted to tell you this without you immediately thinking I am saying this to you because I am your mom and you are my daughter and because of that I naturally just think you are an amazing rock star.  It’s not that.

I am listening to it over and over because your voice has a quality to it that is both sweet and soulful, healing and powerful. It’s one of those voices that feels infectious, that makes you feel really good when you listen to it.  I mean, I’ll be honest. Maybe it’s just because you are my daughter and I am a totally creepy fan mom.  But mostly it’s not. Mostly because when I listen to it, I feel beautiful, I feel healed, I feel nourished.  Which is an odd feeling because you are my daughter. But I am saying this because I want you to know you are such a gift.  There is a light in you.  And I can feel it when you sing.

I want you to know that I never want to pressure you to sing or do anything that your entire being doesn’t want to do.  Sometimes it feels like my enthusiasim around your singing voice or anything you do translates as being controlling or pressuring you or trying to make decisions for youAnd I never want to do that. I don’t want to be that person to anyone, ever, especially you.  You are the kid that wouldn’t let me hold your hand or tie your shoe or teach you a thing.  You always said to me when you were so little “I DONT NEED A TEACHER I AM MY OWN TEACHER MAAAAMMMAAAAA!”  You have been wise in your own body for a very long time. I trust you. I do.  This doesn’t mean I have any idea what I am doing sometimes.  And also, it means I must know something, because here we are, doing this beautiful life together, still.

I never want to sound like I am dictating or pushing you. Because I know you and you can’t be pushed. All I want is for you to be happy, to find joy in your expression and to play. To really play.  And live creative.

So really girl, your voice just sounds damn good.  And I like it.  Please don’t get all mad at me for saying it.  It’s not any differnt then me loving any other singers I listen to all the time. It wouldn’t be weird if Gwen Stefani was around and I was all “omg please sing for me more!”  You just own something beautiful and unique. You bring a quality that just feels good in my heart, hits me in my heart.  It’s emotional. Expressive.  And really, it heals a part of me.

So if It ever feels like I am pressuring you to sing more, or go out there and share your voice, its not because I am trying to tell you what to do - it really is because I think your voice is important.  To you. To me. To those around you. And that said… never do a thing with it that you don’t want to do. Don’t listen to me. Listen to you. {isn’t that hysterical because I am always complaining how I really would love it if people listened to me more?}

Just sing for the love of singing.  Keep loving it. Ignore your creepy fan mom.  Just keep using your voice because it makes you feel good.

Because truly, I believe it is one of your super powers. 

Love you more than ever, 

Mama.


our lady of subtle miracles.

{Do you want to listen to this post? Click below... or read on....}

 

Everyday I *try* and wake up thankful for the small things. The way the gray casts down on the mountain's peak. The woosh and crack of the evergreen brances on the windiest mornings and how glad I am that they are staying on the tree and not breaking off and flying into my window.  My youngest daughter still asleep, breathing, alive, drooling on the pillow.  The chatter of the older ones learning to get ready all on their own. The warmth of a floor under my feet. Running water. Food in the refidgerator. Electricity. A car. Fuel. Privilege. Love. A family.

Sometimes I get caught up with *not* having the larger things.  A home that we own. The farm I have always dreamed about and craved.  The big huge barn filled with hanging lights and a massive table for gatherings. The yurt in a tropial place that we go to heal and rejuviniate. The book that remains unwritten. Not having good + true leadership in this country. Rampant and unforgivable racism and sexism. A shit storm of an education system.  The lack of spirituality and the forward drive for organized religion, still. After all the wars, still, there is this need to be right or wrong.  Violence against women and children.  The fact that every time I walk out my door I hold a sense of fear on my shoulders because as a woman in this world, that is my burden to carry.  We get raped. Assulted. Killed. And to hold that fear on my shoulders for my daughters as well. How were are facing a culture that wants to lock out instead of open up and embrace.  

The big things. Whoa. They can go on and on they can really get to me, ya know? And the more I focus on them the bigger they appear. So big that I forget to remember the subtle miracles that happen every day. To me. 

Like breathing. And a smile from a stranger. And how whipped cream really does make everything better. And how my ass is shaped even at my age. And the how I have someone to kiss me long and hard. And his hands. And their laughter. And muddy paws of a loyal companion. Text messages from good friends. There are so many subtle miracles every day and the more I go on and on the longer the list gets.

It’s the subtle miracles and paying attention to them that invite me to grow into the biggest thing of all:: a better person with the ability to give more love and understanding to everyone I meet.

*

I started making rosary beads last month.  I thought I was going insane and my anxiety was higher and tighter than I would like to admitt. I was smoking a lot. Drinking as much as I could to drowned it all out. I was getting mean and angry and just ugly.  The cultural hatred born out of fear felt like is was clinging to the air and every breath I took I was inhaling it and forgetting to exhale. And I was keeping it. Sharing in the toxicity. Becoming it.

I don’t even remember what brought me to the bead store.  It might have been a little box of old scapular pieces I have had since I was a kid and thinking :: I should make necklaces out of them.

Maybe it was because after chanting in sankrit every morning I woke up and realized what prayer it was I said every time I got on the plane and repeated it over and over until we were at an elevation of 30k feet and also chanted as we descended until we were safely on the ground. And what I chanted in transition for all my children, as my body got as wide as it ever would to bring down their heads and bodies into my hands.  And what I chanted every weekend for a decade as a little girl sitting with my grandpa and going around the beads in candlelight.  And maybe because my Aunt Betty always said to me “Our Lady is always with you, Mary, talk to her. She listens. When your mother was pregnant with you I prayed to her every day to keep you close to her and for her to surround you in her love."

Maybe it was just a conversation around all that - that I needed to have.

But it was simple. The Hail Mary is the mantra prayer of my roots.

And so I would say it, with the lights dim as the fire crackled at night and I would say in the morning before anyone woke up, as I dropped bead after bead after bead. Creating an active prayer. And making something beautiful, infused with peace, peace that I found in me and a peace I know the world can find as well.  Making these were the only thing that dismantled my anxiety.  That lifted the weight of depression.  It gave me hope. It showed me mercy. It was self compassion in action. 

 

Mary is here. And she is for everyone. This is the message I clearly received when I was making the rosaries. How can we kneel before her, with her, co-create, collaborate, recalibrate? 

She doesn’t care how you pray the Hail Mary around the beads {I will post soon the version I use}. She just wants you to call her in. That is all you need to do.  Call her in.  And be ready. She is available.  The world aches and she wants to work with us to soothe and heal the pain.  She is pouring a baby blue river of light around us all, empowering us with her divinity, with our divinity. Because it is one in the same.  She is the Mother of God, which means she is the Mother of All.  Queen of Heaven. Empress of Hell. Gatekeeper for the middle ground.  She is 10,000 faces and 10,000 names.  But she is ours, in this time, this era, the human goddess who walked the earth a mere 2000 years ago.  A priestess who channeled a prophet.  A woman who was of her own power and accord.  The feminine who rose and now wraps her arms around us.  We are in need.  And she wants to give.

*

I wasn’t going to sell these. I had no intention at all.  I just wanted to give them away.  And I have given many away.  But I want to make more of them.  I am called to.  At a pace that feels right.  And so when I talked to Mary, she said, receive for the gifts you give, and make more.  I want more and more people to call in Mary, make it a movement.  Make it a mission.  Make her your own. Use the beads.  Wear them. Pray with them. Lay them on your altar. Pass them on.  

*

This rosary was made with the intention of remembering the small miracles of the day.  The easy stuff that we forget.  The subtle stuff.  I was told the large beads are yellow turquoise, the small white ones are yak bones.  There are golden wood beads along side a faceted gemstone I know nothing about but is milky and gorgeous and rich.  The relic is Our Lady Of Miracles made in Italy.  It’s all subtle colors…gentle.  But you can definitely *feel*  them on… not heavy… but noticable. The subtle colors and the heavier weight :: a  reminder of the simple miracles of everyday. To make them big.  Make them be seen. Pay attention. Hold them with reverence. Because the small and subtle are the greatest things we have.

If you are interested in this rosary you can purchase HERE.

Each Mystic Rosary comes with a personal Message From Mary reading for you.

From my heart, my grief, my joy, my mystery... to yours, 

MaryBeth xx

Hope <<>>

The first week in advent has been all about Hope. The girls and I have been talking about it a lot- about what it feels like to have hope, how important it was for people of the past to have hope and how utterly important it is to have hope now. We've been doing some fun rituals around hope, simple, because they are kids.  And the Star card has been our totem this week. And Star chocolates too of course......


* * * 
The wild storm that took down all that we stood for has exploded. 

There is such peace and stillness after the storm.

There is hope.  Hope may be even more important than love. 

This is the Star.

Think of all the stars you know.  Write them down.  Ones that come to mine off the top of my head:

Mary the star of the sea

Sirius the dog star

Star of the magi

Star of Bethelahem 

The morning star 

* * * 

What makes a star for you? What are it’s qualities? What magic does it bring? What does seeing stars evoke for you?

What does the light and heat of a star feel like against your heart? 

The Star shows up now, in the darkest month of the year.  The Star is the return of the daughter, she who brings the worlds together, who teaches us how to receive from heaven and also how to generously give to what lives above. 

She rises, just like persephone, such great hope for the mother that life will continue, that light will prevail. After a long journey of falling down and cracking open and seeing all the shadows and all the broken bones and all the brokenness of our foundations, The Star explodes into Light, a promise of spiritual evolution.  A gift of spiritual inspiration.  An invitation to move beyond.  And all is well, all is good.  Have this hope.  Trust this path.

* * * 

In many tarot depictions of that card a lush and fertile maiden goddess is both giving and receiving water.  The Star can shine when we offer our trust and we can receive back the gift of hope. 

How do you long for The Star to show up right now?

What does it give you hope for? 

What is it asking you to do, to put into action, to become The Star herself?

What do you have to give?

What are you waiting to receive?

Do you have hope? 




capture this.

Capture this feeling right now.

The feeling of soft saddness. Of having to surrender. Of not knowing what to do. Of vulnerability.  Of anger. Of passion, seeking, questioning.

That feeling of wanting the other person to go first at a four way stop sign.  And the feeling of giving them a big smile as you wave them through first.

That feeling when the sun that hasn’t been out in several days slices down into a small line on the sidewalk and you run to stand in it, to walk through it, to carry it with you like it’s the most precious thing you have ever walked through.

Capture this. Capture this feeling.  I will not tell you everything happens for a reason because I think that is bullshit. But here we are.  Now what will we do? This feeling that we know something is next and it depends on us.  And our trust.  And our love.  And our cracked open rib cage revealing the heart of our souls.

Capture this feeling. Because somehow, as intense as it is, this is how we should feel like a lot of the time.  Craving connection. Wanting to do our part. Looking at each other in the eye and wondering what’s next. 

Capture this feeling.  This is what it feels like to be alive. Grateful. Knowing how easy it would be to not be here, in a moment’s time.

Support each other in the darkest of times.

Support each other in the darkest times.

Why do you need to be right? Or your right to cancel out someone elses? The greatest lesson in this entire thing, in this time of confusion and fear, is not the who or what or why.

Please choose to heal and connect and listen and care for each other.  Please support each other with the subtle sense of sameness even when we cannot see eye to eye or heart to heart.  Support each other in the differences.  Our cells are 99.9% the same.  The .1% of difference is this fucking jewel, the essence, the nothing-else-in-the-universe like it.  It is our wise one, our teacher particle, and in each one of us not only should there be a student ready to learn and listen, but a teacher ready to be vulnerable and share what it is only they have to speak in truth. 

We support each other in these darkest times by realizing there are no more sides, no flips of the coin. Instead we are all on the same island, a sacred and holy place, and she is alive, she is holding us up.  And somewhere deep down every single one of has the same original intention, the nameless reason we came here, this reason we want to love. I have to believe it. And it has a different name and expression for each of us, but down to the dancing helix of our identity, it is all the same.

And the only way it evolves it’s way from being embedded deap into the bedrock of our cells, is for us to support the ones around us, the ones that come into our lives, intimately and casually. To say: I UNDERSTAND YOU. And may that be permission for them to understand you as well.

Somehow, reach out. Ask a question. Listen. Tell a story. Tell your truth.  Without it having to be a direct opposition to anyone elses. Why does it have to be?

Be ready to make people crack open and fall apart and get angry and get sad and also get blown away in gratitude and receive you.  Get ready to be questioned.  But… be ready to be Love.  Be love. More than anything at all. Be love.

It’s dark. The embrace we are capable of will heal us. It will. This is where my blind hope and faith have to come in. Where I grasp to believe.

Because even though I have a million choices I can make, I have to make the one that carries me on, uses my imagination to create a world I know is possible.  The world I came here to make true.

Today ::Receive a story from someone that makes your blood boil.  Receive it for what it is worth to the other.  Do what you need to do with it on your own.  Later. Burn it down. Breathe it out.  Know it’s not yours to own.  Trust.  And let it go.  

Today :: Let your story be received.  How you feel.  What you want.  Tell someone who sees it differently than you.  But trust that you will tell it as your own, as your own personal experience.  Tell it with your heart wide open.  Be vulnerable. Be you. In your eyes, show love, as you tell the story, know that whether or not you are heard or not…. doesn’t matter.  You are worth telling it.  

Before you receive or give your story today- surround yourself in a protective shell of light.  Bring yourself deep inside yourself.  Ground into the Earth. And let what needs to be said be filtered through that light and all that comes from outside of you, let it only enter you after it is filtered in that light. 

It is all practice.

But we need to do this for eachother.

We need to get over ourselves.

By trusting ourselves.

And trusting others.

PHOTO BY DANIELLE COHEN

when you write.

photo by Danielle Cohen

when you write, write with your womb and heart all out. 

this means the fall out, the land minds, the broken down trucks, the look outs at night, the loss, the water, the running, the diving and wrapping around.  the aching hollowed and shaken hallowed. this means the going big, bigger, biggest of all because there is nothing too large for your heart and your womb can fit an entire world.  and knowing that in the small,  in the quiet barely there moment of you, a seed was planted. and it will grow. this means there is no hiding from yourself. because you will break the surface. because when you write with your womb and your heart on the page, you, the real you, the voice you, the essence of you, will always be found. 

write with the darkest sky coming from your hip. 

shoot it out from the place under your skin, from a place under the underneath layer of it all. and don’t hold back. get the gun out. blast the shadow to the page. see it there. raw and untamed. not careful. not considerate. not polite. this is the story of your blood, of your truth, the deepest darkest most expansive hue of the nothing and endless and you.

unzip yourself and don't hold back. 

and let the doves fly right out and land in the sky as heavenly beings and otherworldy energies. you don’t know whats inside there, deep inside there, like deep, deep, deep inside there,  until you get your skin undressed and let it loose against your ankles and go undereath the rib cage and unbotton beneath that bottom layer and open the window up and let the winged ones tell a story about a time when the cosmos was your original home, let them fly there and gather something good and bring it back to you.

there is nothing that shouldn't be said. 

nothing. everything is game. even what isn't fair is still game. why do you care what the paper thinks? why are you scared of what you have to say. write the one or one million things you think you are not allowed to say. write all the things that will cause trouble. write everything that will make you cry. write the stuff that would make others back down and die. it's okay. it's just you.

your words are a prayer to yourself. 

what if you just sat down and knew that. that you are your god. and your words are the beads. and each one is a healing force.  every nine words in a line is a novena unto the world. hail mary full of fire the lord is you. {that’s 9}

they are sewing together a new world. 

the amazing thing is you get to pick the color and the language and the sound of the sea and the crackle and pop of the vinyl.  you get to design the flavor and the intensity and the after tastes and after thoughts and after lifes. this is all you. 

your words are stars shooting through your veins and rolling down your fingers, flames and waterfalls. 

i mean really does more need to be said?  what if. and what if you did. and if what if you believed that this, all of it, coming out right now was everything that brought life into light? everything that everyone is meant to turn into? what if it was more than words and more than electrical current and more than all the water we know exists. what if it was more than you knew?

your words are constellations blown out in front of you. 

and every time you just let it go, without a care, without a plan, without a knowing, without thinking you are smart or have something to teach or something important to say -- but instead you just made a huge mess on the paper.  and you let yourself creating 3 billion new stars for three billion new light years for 3 billion new feelings of innerbeingness.  rely on more than your eyes and ears and memory. rely on something more. there is more than you. there is only you.

who are you to say no? say yes. let this yes be the art that explodes you.

let this be your art.

stop letting it be something else.

we on graced on this earth to create. we chose this. knowing this.  this is the love we bring. this is the truth we tell. we are limitless ways to transform and transmute obstacles into messages, into living symbols, into songs, into sounds, into something we know and want and must true. this is the art that is making a new world. this is the art that your words can do.

photo by Danielle Cohen

{both of these photos were taken of me in my most precious element by my dear friend Danielle. Over time, the work she creates so effortlessly, becomes such a muse for my words. My words want to dance with her vision. I am grateful. All of creation is so beauty and worthy and a real life story of the Divine}

Interview with Carrie-Anne Moss at Annapurna Living

If you know me personally, you will know how the gorgeous human and creatrix Carrie-Anne has gifted my life in many ways.  So- it's an *extreme* honor to be featured as one of her  Annapurna Living Women today on her healing + lovely inter-web-home.

Here is a little slice of the interview...

photo of me and my girls by my beloved sister and personal visual historian: Danielle Cohen

photo of me and my girls by my beloved sister and personal visual historian: Danielle Cohen



HOW DO YOU START YOUR DAY?

It’s always changing. One thing I have learned in these almost 42 years is that I don’t do well unless I create the freedom to change things up. So I take it day by day. No rules.

But I always take a big inhale and let out a big exhale. And then I begin. I smile at my husband {if he’s still in bed} and make eye contact. Connect. And kiss my youngest daughter, who may or may not be in between us.

My bed faces a west facing window and on the sill there is a white ceramic statue of Our Lady, Mother of The Sea. I have seen this statue my whole life; it was always somewhere in my house growing up. She was my first image {besides my own mother} of the Feminine I ever saw. I spend a few minutes in bed looking at her, the sun and Mount Hood waking up behind her and I have a very simple practice of saying “Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” These words come from the ancient Hawaiian + South Pacific forgiveness practice of Hoʻoponopono. I make it my own by saying “Thank you,” because I always want to start my day with being extremely thankful for being alive and breathing. A human here on earth—what a gift!

I used to have a very strict practice of yoga every morning before I had children. I taught yoga for a decade and owned my own studio. So I have this devotion to it. And after kids...if I didn’t practice every morning—alone before anyone woke up—in the way I thought I was “suppose” to, I would be annoyed and I would feel like a failure. What kind of practice is that?

I realized—and I hate to admit it took me longer than I would have liked—that my yoga practice is now my life practice. My spiritual practice doesn’t happen on the mat. It happens in buttering the toast. It happens when we are woken up in the middle of the night by a little girl who had a nightmare.  It happens with my pre-teen and hormonally-inspired daughter pushes me to my edges. It happens as soon as I wake up, yoga or not, and choose to breathe in and out. I have learned to let go of expectations about how things look.  

Living in the rainy Pacific Northwest, most of the year we like to start our day with warm drinks—so it makes sense that coffee is so popular here. It’s delicious. But my adrenals don’t always like it. I run high in the anxiety department and I don’t need to amp that up even more so I make my own warm elixir of raw cashews, matcha {green tea powder}, dates, coconut milk and a bit of honey. Elixir making is a ritual for me that says :: I am this important :: to take up space and nourish myself in this way before I nourish anyone else.

There is a reggae song called “Smile” by The Silvertones that goes “It’s best to rise with a smile on your face, just like the sunshine all over the place…” My partner and I made a pact when we got married that those lyrics would be our morning theme song for each other and for our kids. Even if we just rise with a smile, we are doing something good for ourselves and everyone around us............

Go here to read the entire interview and to browse through Annapurna's amazing website - specifically check out Carrie-Anne's meditation e-courses- they are utterly simple and yet profound, life changing. 

with love, fire, grace- 

MaryBeth

photo by Danielle Cohen.

Do You Know Who Your Ancestors Are?

{excerpt from my latest writing at Over The Moon Magazine}

As we enter Fall and get closer to All Souls Day (Day of the Dead, Samhain, Hallow’s Eve; depending on your culture/religion), it’s time to prepare ourselves and our space to receive the wisdom from those who guide us from the other side: our ancestors.

There is a power in having a connection with your ancestors. These are the spirits in a realm directly connected to you. They watch over and protect you, they help ease your suffering and  if you listen closely, they give you great wisdom and help light your path.  I believe they are always guiding our ways and the closer our connection with them and the more clear our communication is, the more ease and clarity and peace we have in life.

But first, you have to identify them.

Not all of us feel connected to the memory of people who were once alive and in our lives. But there are ancestors waiting for us way beyond remembered history who are asking us for a connection. Maybe your grandmother or great-grandmother wasn’t a nice person. Or maybe you didn’t even know her. Maybe you’re adopted and don’t know your real bloodline.

None of this matters. Beyond any memories or any stories we know, there are wise beings in the heavenly realms whose soul purpose is to help us with our karma. And they may be hundreds, thousands of years back, but they speak through your lineage. They will speak through a familiar face  or come through someone who was close to you. And this time of year, we can tap in and nurture these relations, honor them and give them space to come forth and love us even more.

But here is the thing: not all who have died are ancestors. Not all spirits are here to guide us. Some are still lost along the way.  They are seeking ways to become an ancestor from the other side.

Being raised Catholic, I see these souls as ones we used to “pray for” in “purgatory” so that they can elevate and get into “heaven.” (I only use quotes here because these would not be the language I would use now, but it’s still relevant and makes sense.)

So we need to spend time in prayer or meditation, visualizing who is near us, who is totally lifting us up and shining a bright light on us, as well as who might be in our space and weighing us down. They are not bad or evil, they are just lost and they can’t guide us. Get clear. Ask those who are not yet ancestors to please leave your space and that you will pray for their ascension. Then focus on your bright guides, those who are clear, and commit to connecting with them.

It may all sound crazy, but it’s truly only our culture that doesn’t revere and communicate with the dead. It’s really only our culture that doesn’t talk about this kind of stuff like it’s totally normal.  We have no atlas or teachings anymore.  And there is a huge gap in our spirituality when we don’t make honoring our dead a daily prayer.  This our closest connection to the other world.  Those who have been called to guide you from the other side and literally waiting to co-create with you.......

 

TO READ THE WHOLE ARTICLE VISIT THIS AMAZING MAGAZINE HERE

my mess is my power. {thank you flora bowley}

Your mess is where your power is.  The chaos, the mess on that canvas… that is your brilliance.

 

We stood there, in the middle of her studio, looking at my canvas with over 3 hours of layers, 5 different color pallettes, and 3 different types of medium. My insides layed out on a square, a big square, trying to fit it all in and finish it, so it looked “right” or “good”.  

It’s always an experience just to be in her studio, an almost unreal place to be.  Two thousand square feet of magic and altars in worship of color and expression and the world over are everywhere. Enough space for more than two dozen canvases, a dance party, a live music show and a potluck... and I am pretty sure my whole family could live there happily forever. Her and I are standing in the middle of it all, people buzzing around us in creation mode, I’m in paint splattered overalls and she’s standing there :: tall and graceful, fierce and gentle… and so unbelieavly grounded and real.  And she is telling me that my mess is my brilliance.

My eyes fill with tears.  I get the chills. And I nod.  I stand there for a minute and let those words be real, be okay, be believed.  I look at her. I hug her.  Tell her thank you for seeing me, thank you. I tossed out all my wantings to “finish” my painting. And I went back to the canvas.  And let the mess be a mess.  And made it even more of a mess. 

Because that mess is me.  And I refuse to be anybody else.  

 

I have spent all my life trying to tidy up my messes.  Trying to organize myself.  I’ve always been told I had “so much potential” if only I could work neater or plan better.  I was always told I was too wild, too dirty, too foul mouthed, that loved too large and I wanted too much.  I am a writer and I often second guess myself because my writing, even though I am told over and over again by people who read it that it lands directly in their hearts in a real way, the reality is:: it’s a mess.  And I judged it. I judged my “mess”. With all the briliant writers out there- with proper spelling and well formed thoughts and what seems to be good grasp on grammer-  I was always a bit like- shit, I better figure out how to clean this all up. Go Pro. And that judgement, I realized, wasn't just about my writing, it was about me, because my writing is a direct expression of who I truly am.  So when it came down to my art, my words, my life, my full expression, I was continously judging my mess and struggling to make it better, spending so so much time trying to figure out how to clean it up. 

My friend Flora's words that day gave me a kind of persmission that I had never heard before- or at least was never told to me in that way until then. It was empowering. It was the truth.  It was funny that it all happened around painting,  because I just don’t consider myself a visual artist at all {which of course is another silly story}.  But I realized that it didn’t matter: paint, letters, food, fashion, parenting, life.  When I express myself: my first and rawest emotion is A MESS.  And that mess is my unadultered power.  It is my brilliance.  It is the raw essence of what I want to say. It is who I am.

And why the fuck would I want to clean up raw power?  Why would I want to tame a true wild mess?

 

I believe there are people out there who have profound space holding and healing powers without even trying, without training, without saying it or marketing it.  They just show up and do what they do.  And somehow they change people’s lives by giving people permission to do they same.  To show up and trust deeply. To show up and create madly.  To remind you that your creations are a direct expression of your soul- and to ALLOW it to be part of the gorgeous mystery of Art, the mystery of this life.  I don’t see my beautiful friend Flora as an “art teacher”.  She’s so beyond that.  She’s an art giver.  She’s a magic keeper.  She’s a leader of an exquiste kind of light that is utterly contagious.  I have watched people walk away from her workshops totally transformed.  I know I was. 

Flora Bowley kinda changed my entire artistic path that day, in those 2 sentences that casually rolled off her tongue.  And any time I have painted with her in her studio, the following days and weeks, things have become radically mystically, my lap opens and all that I desire seems to fall in.  She’s one witchy woman with a heart of gold.

So please.  Think about how it is you create.  How do you express? Is it really loud and you find yourself always quieting down? Are you super anal and feel like you should loosen it up?  Do you go big and feel like you are suppose to make it all small? Of course there is nothing wrong with testing out all the waters, but pay attention to your most original and natural way you express yourself. What is the first thing that unfolds, unleashes, and wants to be seen?

Trust yourself.  That is where your truest power lies.

{{thank you flora. thank you}}

Flora also has a new website that just launched and OH MY GOD IT'S INSANE.  If you are interested in creative expression and allowing your entire being to become an artist, go check it out.  Trust me, it’s better than an evening of Netflix. Better even than HBOGO. SERIOUSLY.  The amazing Zipporah Lomaz is responsilble for the beginning short film and the supreme photos throughout the site.  And all the writing in there? All Flora. My most favorite section is “JOURNEY” where she tells her story- from the very beginning.  It’s so beautiful to learn about her choices in life and the twists and turns she made, the trust she had to have, and what she had to let go of.  There is also this incredible new offering on there called:: The Studio Diaries.  It’s one of the most accessible {as in doable, affordable, fun} artistic adventures I have seen.  I was almost shocked at how much of herself and her life as a working artist she shares- along with inviting in other artists to chit-chat, recipes, yoga, painting inspiration.  It’s her generous gift to the world.  

{This is my friend Flora Bowley blowing our her birthday candles this year.  Isn’t she gorgeous?}

And here is one of my many messes  that has been born in her space.

HONOR YOUR PROCESS> it is who you are.

HONOR YOUR PROCESS> it is who you are.

warning. mama rant.

Please stop saying things like this to my daughters:

“look, there is a girl playing soccer and she’s kicking ass!” or “that female basketball player is probably better than all the dudes on that other team.”  “see, she’s a girl, and she’s a badass extreme skier. girls can do anything boys can do!”  and “you can be anything you want when you grow up, honey, anything!”

IT HAS NEVER EVEN CROSSED THEIR MINDS THAT THEY CANNOT DO ANY OF THESE THINGS OR BE ANYTHING OR THAT ITS COMMENT WORTHY.

seriously. 

i am so sick of hearing shit like this.

i know you mean well. but my daughters. they do not need that story planted in their hearts.

they have no idea what you are talking about.

for them. there isn’t a question.  they need no validation.  

THEY WERE BORN BADASS.

and apparently unaware of what this world thinks of them as females. thank goddess.

maybe your generation needed to hear this. or maybe you needed to hear it.  maybe you grew up thinking “yeah i can do anything a boy can do” or maybe you grew up a male in apology for being raised in such a sexist culture and treating girls like objects instead of fully formed human beings. regardless. my girls do not need to come in and fight to be as good, or better. they are already good. better. the best. 

and i am sorry. i am going to rant.  because i am one pissed off bleeding out my vagina mother-fucking-mother. 

my daughters were not born seeing any kind of limitations.  they do not understand sexism or that they were born into a world that finds them less than everyone else.  they do not get the story that has been passed down forever that they really don’t have the same kind of rights as their male counterpart.  they do not get that there will be people who will try and silence them and ask them to deny every ounce of their sexuality and sensuality and intellect to make other people {men} feel bigger and better. they do not understand that they probably will fear their lives every time they walk down a street alone.  they do not yet know they will feel the need to apologize or explain every time they don’t want to have sex, say no, or disagree with someone of the opposite sex.  they will not know that they have turned in their key to feminism as soon as they decide to take on a role, any role, because there is no room for them to be all the things.

mother.

leader.

sexual.

sacred.

earthen.

blinged out.

wild.

tame.

silent.

loud.

masculine

feminine.

rude.

kind.

angry.

compassionate.


they don’t know it, but they will be asked to choose something to be. and they will have to fight to expand their choice into wholeness and they will have to burn down the word "goodness".  they don’t see yet that most likely they will be asked to back down when they speak their voice against this systemic system of "isms".  and i say most likely.

but i have hope. i do. that this is my story. not theirs. and nobody can touch them.

they are not yet living this. they are gold still.  we are living these things, us, as adults. US. not them.  and we refuse, somehow, to let go of these old stories and we continue to pass them on and on.  until we stop.

how about right now. it's one easy thing you can do.

so i am asking you.  please just let it be.  when you see a girl doing some awesome shit that typically not part of your history, or part of your media story, something has not been shown or promoted in your world,  please just say: that person is amazing.  say that.  say what an amazing talent that person has. or maybe just wow. cool. or maybe even shit i would like to learn how to be that cool. 

the thing is, females have been doing amazing shit forever. THE MOST AMAZING SHIT FOREVER. WE DO NOT NEED TO BE REMINDED IN COMPARISONS.  we are physical enigmas.  we are strong. fast. mysterious. powerful. we are fire. we are water. we are lightning. we are volcanos. we are earthquakes. we are sex. and we are grandmothers. 

OUR VAGINAS OPEN UP AND HUMANS COME OUT.

AND ALSO WE CAN ALSO SAY NO TO THAT.

MILK COMES FROM OUR BOOBS.

AND ALSO. WE CAN SAY NO TO THAT, TOO.

please do not take away their power with stories that have not even occurred them to be possible. because my daughter’s hearts hold the possibility of their world, that they are girls, and they are the best.

it’s going to be a hard road. because i love them so fucking much. i love all our children this much.  and this work, working with them, for them, is the biggest thing i have done and ever will do.  and if you have a daughter, you know what i mean. i know you do.

and if you don’t have a daughter.  please do your part to remember that these kids have no idea what the fuck you mean when you say “you can be anything you want when you grow up, little girl!”

THEY ALREADY ARE EVERYTHING THEY WANT.

EVERYTHING I WANT TOO.  THEMSELVES.

Thank you. 

xx

mama marybeth.



empress is rising.

The Empress is rising. 

Do you judge the explosions of the earth? Do you condemn and try to silence the waves? Would you call nature rude when she decided to crack and shake and shift everything that was "known" and turns everything into chaotic mystery? Do we play down her fierce cleansing fires and her waters that have the power to take away all life? 

We fear it of course.  We don’t want it.  We aren’t comfortable with it.  We try to create sciences that can predict, but we never can be sure. We revere it.  And we bow down and say have mercy on us.  And no matter what we are given, in return, we always receive love in the form of shelter, nourishment and exquisite beauty of nature’s depth and expression, the love of the most enamored Mother.

When the Empres rises and speaks, she might sprew fire. She may be loud and seething.  She may be wild and sad.  She may be hysterical and nurturing.  She may be quiet and still with a crown of flames.  She may be intelligent and intuitive.  She may be erratic.  She may be jumbled words and raw, messy emotion. 

She is showing up, rising up in any way she can- to show her love for her children, for this earth. Her messages unearth what is beyond the broken bones of this system and reveal what has been hidden underneath, what has been rotting, what is coming into light.

Why are we so taken back when she speaks her mind? Why are we so quick to judge her? To shut her down? To ignore her sentiments because her emotions are so strong, so strong they can cause discomfort.  Why do we try to dress her within confining clothes and give her schedules to adhere to and water down her messages in forms and figurations? Why do we condemn her voice?

When the empress rises and looks the emperor in the eye and says No with truthful cries, unruly howls and yells of freedom, when she begins to scream accusations and testaments of love, we act like we don’t want to hear her. We put our fingers in our ears. We call her crazy.  Insane. Out of place. Because she means real change is coming. Something new is to be born. 

But when do you call a volcano crazy?

When do call a hurricane rude?

When do you call a wildfire manic?

The empress is here. And she’s ready to start fires.  And we need these fires.  She is also ready to flood us with tears of history, herstory, ourstory.  She is ready to stand up, as a leader and be true, to herself, and to all of us, as she is.  She isn’t going to hide.  She isn’t going to remain polite or do what is expected of her. 

She is not an emperor in a dress.  She is not empress speaking the language of emperor. She is an empress.  She is the flesh incarnate of the divine feminine.  She is the living body, the vessleof the great dream of god.  She is who carries creation and births it into her hands and offers it to the world.  This is not a mellow or easy feat.  This takes blood and guts and tears and feelings.  She also wants the wounded emperor to heal. But he needs to make some space.  He needs to be a throne she can sit on. He needs to be the chariot that brings her words and language and ways to us, drives it all back home. 

We are living in a time of systematic bullshit and every ‘ism’ possible is being brought out into the unforgiving light.

We are defining a new economy and running our businesses in ways that seem counter productive but certainly not counterintuitive.  We are told we are doing it all wrong and we need to do xyz to make 17 figures and we need xyz to market and succeed.  Well this is bullshit.

We do things as we do them.  We show up as we feel necessary and true and right and good.  We do it our way.  17 figures or not.  Because the point is to be fully expressed.

We are raising our children as wild wolves, allowing them to be who they are and nothing more, nothing less.  We are loving our loves with liberation, letting go with no grip.  We are eating intuitively.  And we aren’t buying into anything anymore. 

We create the new truth.

And the new truth is Love.

We are the leaders and changemakers and we are right there, on the edge of the paradigm.  And the only way to cross over is to make sure those crowns are on high.  Get ready to be heard.  Stop caring if it sounds too wild, too womenly, too feminine, too erratic, makes no sense and feels out of this world.  Because it is.

And it’s good.

And the world needs it.

All of it.

Be disruptive.

Be emotional.

Be truthful.

Be threatening.

Be dangerous.

Be safe.

Be loud.

Be silent.

Be present. 

Be heard. 

Runs things like an empress. It’s time.

photo by the exquisite empress  Danielle Cohen.

photo by the exquisite empress  Danielle Cohen.

Next Month I will be traveling to Salt Lake City and speaking about embodying The Empress energy.  It's very special party thrown by some very special people.  If you are interested in coming to hear me and a few other insanely fantastic feminine leaders while having some drinks in a gorgeous space in Salt Lake City :: PLEASE let me know.  I can tell you all about. I would love to see/meet you! 

 

Truth is mutable, stretchable, flexible.

Truth isn't an absolute

Truth is ever bending.

Mutating by the millisecond. 

We know this.

So when we speak our truth :: 

Allow for its pores to open and receive fluidity and its joints to gain space for movement and depth and leaves to fall for its death.

Allow for it to catch broken hearted flames and burn and spark to the ground. 

Allow your whole truth be the in breathe and let an entirely different truth straddle and ride the exhale on out. 

Allow your whole truth to hold the mystery and stories of the entire world, not just your own, the collections from the bones under the bones under the bones. 

Allow your whole truth to be meshed with someone else's, fully, and allow your truth to have the courage to stand in isolation, fully alone. 

Allow for parts of your truth to be borrowed by others for the growth of the highest good, for the flame and beauty of this truth to spread generously, in conversations of all kinds. 

Allow your truth to be un-truths and part fiction, woven and stitched together by you, for you. For them. For each of them. 

Allow for your truth to be a tapestry that can hammock and rock a bye the entire world to sleep.

Allow your truth to rest.  

Allow your truth to never harm. 

Allow your truth to be unsafe. 

Allow your truth to be a threat.  

Allow your truth to be dangerous.

Allow your your truth to be incarnated art. 

Allow your truth to be nothing. 

At all.

To be refuted so many times over and over, changed and negated and birthed again that's it's just the essence of Truth, anyway, filled with every particle, every cry, every sense of what's left. 

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Something must be {un}done: The Tower Sessions: only 4 spots left.

There is this burning inside me.

Hot fire kind of burning.

It’s been there all my life but lately it’s more intense than ever.

And it makes me want to scream. 

It makes me want to thrash and kick and light fires outside myself.

And it makes me feel desperate, like I want to change things and I am not sure I have the tools or the path to change them. 

And it makes me want to know whats under the burning, what is the skeleton left when the flesh singes off.

This burn is power. This burn is energy. This burn is change.   This burn is making space. 

This burning, especially right now, is productive. It is creative destruction. It is in-between here and there.  It's what keeps saying yes, what moves me on, gets me going, keeps me strong, unafraid of the heat or the impeding collapse.  Because the burn will makes things fall. It's inevitable.  This burn wants to live. This burn wants to destroy shit. Torch it. Be done with it. End something. 

Something must be done.

And I know I have the power to do it.

There are some things left to float. And some things that just work itself out. And some things, we are here to burn.  To take down. To excavate until a pile of nothingingness.  Some things we just don’t need.

I know this much is true:: 

*we have been telling {and living} a ton of old stories. 

*we have been *told* and *listening* to a ton of old, broken down, toxic and useless stories. 

*we are still part of an old belief systems, whether we want to be or not.

*we have lifetimes of brick walls built up. Built by you, me, built by culture, built around our truest selves.

*we can't truly show up in the world until we break down and burn some stuff that holds us back

*we are ready to fall into a new paradigm {trusting we all can fly}.

*our voices and personal work matter and are part of the beauty of this burn.

*we have the power *to* be part of the burning down of this world of systemic bullshit. 

*using ritual and re-telling stories *can* change things.

*ceremony is powerful. like really powerful. especially when done collectively. 

*speaking truth and not swallowing passion helps the burn go big and wild.

*we have the power of tdestruction to create + birth new and beautifully profound things.

*our anger is power, a catalyst, another expression of the deep love and passion we feel. 

*we can change this world.

*there can be justice + equality.

*there can be healing + vulnerability. 

*there can be a naked rawness, a newness, a beginning, a liberation, a discover that we all crave and need.

*this house that has been built around us can be demolished. And we can finally see what shines inside it, in the core of the core of the truth.

* * *

The above words birthed The Tower Sessions.  The words that came as soon as I said, okay, fine, I hear you loud and clear.  The Tower card is calling me right now.

I am so entirely excited to circle in the sacred + holy act of conscious + intentional destruction and liberation.  There is a brilliant circle of humans who are ready to show up and say no to what is not working for them... or the world, and taking the time to consciously light fires- from their hearts on out.  It’s love + compassion and also a fierce act of warriorness to care take the self and the Oneness of this universe.  

There is a beautiful story about Durga who comes out of the sea with her sword and chops off the head of the unLovers, of the men who create the wars- in the world and inside their souls. She beheads them out of love, because from their heads, new beauty can be born.  This is work of the Tower.

There are only 5 spaces left for The Tower Session.  If you feel called to do this work, check out more info here.

And remember to ask yourself today :: 

what must burn?

what must come down in the name of sacred chaos?

what no longer serves you?

what longs to be exposed and revealed?

Here is a video of me the day I decided I need to create The Tower Sessions. A wickedly wild winded day at the Oregon Coast- on the Solstice this summer- when I decided I must work even hard to strip down to the truth :: 



Her. or. My Manifesta for Raising A Rising Empress.

I wasn’t expecting this.  I’ll admit it.  And it’s almost crazy.  How she’s growing so fast.  Becoming so much more Herself. Whole. Knowing. Separate. I feel elated.  At ease. Grateful. 

With a huge pang of grief.  And a side of uncomfortable mystery. 

There is a new kind of powerlessness that happens when our children begin to be maidens. 

I dove into the tunnel of love, full bodied and with my heart wide open.  The mothering part.  Not even so much parenting, but Mothering.  A specific kind of way and thing that we do, as mothers. Those early days, weeks, months years… it wasn’t about “learning how to parent” it was becoming the mother I was which meant releasing all grips and allowing for each Thing to Arise.  In my postpartum blur I was initiated into something without even asking or trying. I was initiated into the mystery, from my first contraction to their first steps. It was all them. And also all swollen breasts. Sore yoni. Intuition sharpening like a new knife against the shadows of the world  Waking up 45 seconds before they did, knowing a scream, or a cry, or a shit, or a puke was on it’s way.  

It was my second skin.  Somehow I was better at it then anything else I ever did.  I didn’t even want to be good at it or had any idea there was good to be. I just got thrown into the tsunami and let it take me out to sea.  It was who I was and it became me.  A mother with her boobs hanging out and her pores dripping musky sweat-  and babies, multiple ones, wrapped against my skin, and the ability to be present and function and create without an ounce of sleep running on a new type of energy called exhaustion. 

I look back now and I think.  Holy fuck.  If only I can capture that power and put it in a bottle and sell it.  If only I could tap back into that tidal wave of superpower energy and carelessness and simplicity of doing nothing but surviving in this very specific way- when I just was able to do it without thinking about it. At all. 

Where is the tsunami for now? Where is the wave I can just jump on and ride.  Right now I feel like we, her and I,  are sitting on a little wooden boat, stuck out at sea. Fighting over the oars. 

She is almost 12. TWELVE.  And she is more Herself than I think I ever could possibly be.  To be fair, she has always been and when I look back there has never been an ounce of her that has ever doubted herself.  Her willfulness to not take a breath until we brought her outside and introduced her to the sky and the gray marine light and gave her a name, the right name, in which when she heard she finally decided to breathe a big scream for us.  Her undeniable strength in kicking off that swaddling bullshit because she wanted her long limbs to be wild and free and not bound.  Her magical powers to suck and suck and suck and suck and still suck some more until my chest was so enormous she had to suck even more to let it all out.  And her eyes.  The not quite brown and not quite green and how they looked at the world like the world was the treasure she has been hunting down for lifetimes and finally fucking found, twisting my nipple in full circles to get a good view of everything and continue to suck down milk. 

 

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I want to do this right.  

I have to do this right. 

I am doing this right.

And that is my first lesson in this ancient newness.  There is no right. I know this but it still feels like a want to, like I have to-  be right and true and good.  There was never a right when she was in my arms and her skin was still rose petals.   She was just in my arms.  And she was just at my breast. And she was just curled against me as we slept. That’s all.  And it was everything. And it was no biggie.   

And now she is almost as tall as me and my shoes are a wee to small for her feet and her style is part raggamuffin part pop queen and she sneaks my mascara and red lipstick.  Her hips are widening.  Her sass is burning hot. And her words that are as sharp as the knife against the shadow of this world.  She is a seeker.  A freedom fighter. A righteous bitch. Tender. Soft. Still smells like roses. Still plays in the dirt. Still wants to cuddle at night. 

And I want to do right by her.

Give her space.

Give her ritual.

Give her the grace she is worth. 

Give her the right words at the right time. 

It just feels like I am playing in all new territory and the stakes feel so much higher than ever before. Maybe it’s all illistion. 

Maybe it’s not so different. 

Maybe the edge just has a different view. 

I want initiation.  Like birth. I want another birth. To open the new vision to who I am now as her Mother, my firstborn moon daughter, who is close to bleeding down life force and can stay home alone. Who is this mother I now? And who will hold me through this? What is my birthsong?

Where are the rites for us? For the mothers who embark on this new journey, as we are witness to one of the most powerful and confusing times of our daughter’s lives? When I was her age I began a long path of wandering lonely for years. I was miserable and sad and felt ugly and abandoned by God.  I felt like I would never be good enough or skinny enough or wanted enough. Certainly I was sure I would never be smart enough.  And my daughter? She isn’t me. I know this. She is far from me. 

And yet here I am, reliving it all. 

Who holds this emerging between mother and daughter? Where is the healing?  Because if I don’t heal those years now,  I will just pass them on to her.  The healing between my mother and me and me and her and her and her daughters and my grandmothers and their daughters and all that is before and all that is after. The motherline.  Must be healed. Must be honored. 

Must be trusted. 

Beyond the patriarchy and into the new paradigm of this bloodline, of newly rising empresses, I am working on trusting: myself, her and the world.  Even with the sex at the supermarket line and in the insane lyrics on the radio and the scriptures of the media that are preached without even a word being heard and held in the tender hearts of our girls, I am practicing trust.   Despite the internet and immediacy and the accessibility, I am trusting the slowness and the mystery of the forest in the morning.  I just have no idea, about anything, and I am trusting that. I come from a long line of Mothers, and in that, I must trust. 

And so I sit here and type this out and I think: fuck.   I am exactly where I am and she is exactly where she is and it’s a beautiful place to be.  I just need to remember.  What I believe.  My ceremony is my own re-membering of my manifesta of motherhood. My rituals are these words hitting the page without knowing what will come next but allowing new stories to be born. I can just show up.  Knowing my heart.  Knowing my children. Knowing my love.  And even though I have no idea, I have every idea.  I know what I believe.  At least in this moment, I know what I believe to be truth. 

My Manifesta For Mothering A Rising Empress. 

I believe in freedom.  

I believe she is fully her own and not just an extension of me. 

I believe in comfortable and uncomfortable containers, big ones and smalls ones. 

I believe in flexibility of boundaries. 

I believe we can make up rules as we go along. Break them. Make them. Break them. Honor them. Re-make them. Call them anything we want.

I believe in the power of nature and when we need to get back to ourselves we go to the sea or the forest and we lie on the ground and we remember what silence is like. 

I believe in music and playing it loud and dancing our aches out and laughing our pain through.

I believe in art. In making it. In witnessing it. In living it.

I believe she is learning without being taught. 

I believe she is listening without being silenced. 

I believe in stepping out of the way. 

I believe that when I step out of the way, I learn more about her, her wants and needs and path and desires.  

I believe when I learn more about her I learn more about me.

I believe in good night’s sleep and the healing power of sleeping in. 

I believe in late night movie marathons and the medicine of popcorn in bed. 

I believe in whole food and that a lovingly prepared meal can forgive a bad day or celebrate a great one. 

I believe in open windows and burning incense and letting her name the houseplants. 

I believe in surrounding her in as much beauty as possible.

I believe in her style of beauty,  even if that means letting her hang hunger games shit all over her bedroom walls. 

I believe that she is ready to also see the ugly in the world in a deeper way, to know her privilege and stand with her fist raised for humanity. 

I believe that she will see the ugly and pain with her most precious and loving eyes and her heart will be safe and sound.

I believe she needs to see me owning my own shit. 

I believe she needs to see me taking the time to live my visions. 

I believe that taking the time for me will give her permission to take the time for her.

I believe this act will heal so many wounds passed on and on.

I believe that wine is a good thing as soon as the sun begins to set. 

I believe there is limitless truth and endless space for us to be all the things we are. 

I believe it’s important to be manic, to be willing to make all sorts of choices and express all sorts of feelings and not box ourselves in. 

I believe she can put her own laundry away.

I believe she will learn how to fold someday. 

I believe in reading books that are paper. 

I believe in the words thank you. 

I believe in experiences over things.

I believe in conversations over demands.

I believe in silence. 

I believe she is empathetic. Compassionate. A whole hearted daughter of love, a wild being of the moon. 

I believe eventually she will not plug her ears when I try and talk to her about sex. 

I believe all is well and as it should be. 

I believe she is more than well. 

I believe in my no{s} and my yes{es} 

I believe in my fierce and gentle mother power. 

I believe in my gut as the most important parenting text there is. 

I believe in not knowing

I believe in The Mother. 

I believe in The Daughter. 

I believe in our Blood.