Archetypal Feminine – Bee the Light

Showing Up for Love

Untethered in Time

Four years ago, as I wheeled my friend out of rehab and to my car to take her home after recovering from a fall that broke her femur, she looked up at me and asked, “Why are you doing this?” I suspect she wondered because though we had known each other for 30 years, we hadn’t been particularly close in recent years. What had changed was my freedom to be of service once I left the corporate world. Choosing to simplify my life in order to care for my aging parents, allowed me to be present for other loved ones. My reply was simply, “Showing up is my love language, and I love you. You deserve this.”

The next four years continued to be challenging for my friend and her wife, who was beginning to show signs of what would be a diagnosis of vascular dementia. They were blessed to be active members of their Unitarian Church community for over 30 years, and their friends showed up for them in many ways during those years. The hardest part about holding space for these two sacred beings was feeling as if there was so little we could do to help when so much of the struggle was health-related. But that never stopped dear friends from showing up to do whatever was possible to ease their burden.

When my friend ended up back in the hospital last October, I showed up to take her home after discharge. There were a few things going on in her body. They fixed one issue, and left it up to her to follow up with specialists to address the other issues after discharge. I had learned from my father’s experience in his final years that it would be best to stay in the hospital until you can be seen by the specialists, but for one reason or another, that didn’t happen. She made follow up appointments with three specialists and was able to see one within a couple of weeks. The other two, however, had nothing available until mid-January.

Tragically, by January 3, she and I had returned to the hospital to learn that she had been in heart failure for the last two months. One of the tell-tale signs was that her body had been retaining fluid. Her physical therapist had been wrapping her legs for compression, and when I arrived to take her to the hospital, she had a large water blister on the top of her right foot. You could see the fluid within sloshing around as if it were a snow globe. I told her not to worry about shoes, as I would once again be her wheelchair maiden and her feet would never touch the ground. The ER was quite busy, and as we rolled her from one spot to another in the waiting room, I noticed that the blister had popped, and we were leaving little puddles everywhere.

She was admitted that night, and we learned that a valve in her heart had calcified to be described like a ‘Ritz Cracker’ by the hospitalist. There would be a pig valve replacement required, but they needed to get some of the fluid off of her heart and lungs first. She lost 20 pounds over the next few days, thanks to Lasix. (We were both delighted and fascinated by the new device that vacuumed out her urine, rather than having to be catheterized.) But that wasn’t enough. When we thought we’d reached surgery day, her doctors decided they needed her to get a little stronger in order to have a successful procedure and recovery, so they prescribed a few days of in-house physical therapy.

I had been so focused on helping set-up constant communication to their loved ones, through Caring Bridge, and securing the line-up of compassionately generous friends who would take shifts sitting with her wife, ensuring she was kept nourished, nurtured, and safe, that I hadn’t gotten to the hospital the first week. When she and I talked on the phone the day the procedure was postponed, she told me that when she woke that day, she felt the presence of her Mother. To be clear, these words came from the mouth of my friend who found all metaphysical references to the mystery of what comes next to be impossible to believe. She then asked me, “Do you think that means I’m going to die?”

I assured my friend that her mother was standing by to support her healing and to offer protection, but I did worry. I probably felt that the answer was yes, but that didn’t feel helpful in that moment. Since one of our dearest mutual friends died in 2017, we have often talked through her feelings and fears about death. I once felt as she did, that when you die, that’s it… nothing. But as a skeptical believer, over many years of exploration and mindful practices, I have found resonance with firm belief in something different.

Ten days after arrival, my friend’s nurse called to inform me that her heart had stopped pumping and that they were taking her to ICU, that a pump would be installed at her groin, and I later learned that the installation procedure had caused her kidneys to shut down. They put her on dialysis. When they realized she couldn’t swallow without choking, because she had to lie flat with the pump in place, they inserted a feeding tube. For the next couple of days, she slept often and was difficult to understand when she tried to speak. Meanwhile, I was holding Zoom Healing Circles with people who loved our friend from all areas of her life and from all over the country. Each morning that followed, as we waited for the medical team to come by, I would play the recording of the voices she adored. I asked her if she knew how loved she was, and she said, “no”. She couldn’t believe that so many people were showing up for her.

Her sister decided to come from afar, and I offered her sanctuary. Later, we would tell my friend how lucky we felt that she had brought us together… her best kept secret – after 30 years, how much her sister and I had in common. One afternoon, a doctor entered the room and asked which one of us was ‘the sister’. My new friend’s reply, “I’m her bio-sister and she’s (pointing to me) her soul-sister.”

Each morning, we would pull an oracle card for our beloved, before heading to the hospital, and we would pay attention to signs from the universe. We were of one-mind, on the same page. One morning, my new soul-sister alerted me to a white rabbit in my backyard. I have lived in this house for 25 years and this was a first! What I heard in my head was, “I’m late! I’m late, for a very important date!” My interpretation was that we should not waste any time. Our beloved would soon be departing.

She had seemingly rallied at the arrival of her sister, so her step-daughter questioned whether she should tell her son to come now or to wait. I encouraged her to get him here now. Far better to have time with her while able to speak to him. He booked a flight to arrive on Friday. Exchanging a sister for a grandson… the changing of the guard.

On Thursday, we finally heard from the cardiothoracic surgeon. He said that we were running out of options, and that the remaining ‘Hail, Mary’ possibility would be to punch a hole in the valve to see if the heart would start working on its own again, but that procedure came with great risk. On the phone, he presented it as an option that must be taken ASAP. I told him that her grandson and sister-in-law would be here soon. I asked if it could wait until next week. His concern was that waiting would allow time for more to go wrong.

When I told my friend what the doctor had indicated, she understood it to be the only chance she had to continue. She decided that she wanted to do it. I informed the nurse and left the room. I went to the bathroom and cried. Then, I called her important people to come. I asked her about her fears, and she shared that she was afraid that when death arrived it would be like turning out the light. She didn’t want to leave because she hated to miss anything. I asked her to join me in suspending disbelief, and to consider that when she left behind her broken body, she would be unlimited as she would return to the light of truth. She would then be able to be everywhere, all at once.

We were all gathered around our friend when the doctor came to see her. His language was a bit different than it had been when we spoke on the phone. He suggested that perhaps she should wait, and spend the weekend with the family who would soon arrive. He also explained what the trauma of using every means to save her life might look like, and she agreed that either now or in the middle of the postponed procedure, she did not care to have a 300 pound man climb on top of her to pound her chest. We appreciated the way he added a bit of humor to the very real information he was giving her, which was… that he was highly recommending a Do Not Resuscitate order, because she was nearing the end of life.

And just like that, we understood that we were not going to lose our beloved on an operating table that day. We were simultaneously heartbroken and relieved. Together, we sang the most stunning rendition of “Spirit of Life” by Carolyn McDade, that I’ve ever heard. I call it the Unitarian theme song. It goes like this: “Spirit of life come unto me, sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion. Blow in the wind, rise in the sea, move in the hand giving life the shape of justice. Roots hold me close, wings set me free, spirit of life come to me, come to me.” We would sing that song several times more over the next few days.

During these difficult days in the hospital, friends were holding space for her wife. We wondered how much she would retain about her wife’s condition, as her memory was challenged to retain much of anything from moment to moment. In one conversation with a friend, she had reportedly referred to her wife as being in the hospital and having a lot wrong with her, looking forward to her getting better and joining her in their future home in assisted living, not knowing if she would ‘make it’, and that she was already dead. I felt so fascinated by this recounting from our mutual sister-friend, as it reminded me of a sci-fi series that featured a quantum traveler being unstuck in time. It seemed as if dementia could possibly be described as such… being untethered from reality, while being able to visit the future, as well as the past.

Also happening during this timeframe, was the parallel hospitalizations of my life long friend’s mother. The day after I was in the ER with my friend, my favorite tomboy was in the ER with her Mom. Understanding the second half of life is certainly cemented when we find ourselves walking mindfully with our aging loved ones, wanting to ensure their safety and wellness, while holding our breath to prolong the number of days we will be blessed to share. Her mom would be in the hospital a few times that month. I visited with her, upon request, to help determine her wishes for care, as her kids worried she would choose rehab so not to be a burden to them. I advised against it, knowing that she would just be left in bed as a fall risk for all but 30 minutes a day. I knew she was better off at home.

My favorite tomboy told me that after that visit her mom said to her, “I think Missy thinks I’m dying.” I hadn’t really felt that she was, but I did realize that having walked so mindfully with death these last few years allows me to be in a constant conversation with it. It seems to me that death is always near and that it is worth our time to honor it, make peace with it, and then get on with living.

Back in the ICU, I was there each morning to greet the team of doctors and specialists who would brief each other on each patient in the unit. Each morning I would ask if we were at the point of hopelessness, and each morning they would indicate that we may be close, but not yet.

One afternoon after the decision to do the procedure had been postponed, my favorite tomboy (MFT) and our other childhood angel sat in my living room discussing the health concerns for both our mutual friend in ICU and MFT’s Mom. I looked out my front window to witness a flurry of wings, as a frenzy of birds danced at the feeder. There were Grackles and Titmice, and something else… maybe a Wren or a Warbler. I’d never seen anything like it! My logical mind considered that it might have something to do with a migratory path, but that didn’t make sense. I’m in Florida, and these birds are here all year. What I heard in my mind was that the spirit of our friend was gathering strength and preparing to fly. Looking back , I can feel the flutter in my chest and the truth that was being revealed.

On Sunday, I pulled an oracle card for my friend, and it felt ominous. Since I had a lunch date on the 22nd, I had planned to go to the hospital later that afternoon. I checked in with my friend’s family during their morning visit, and they reported she had discomfort in her belly, and an x-ray appeared to show possible constipation. During lunch, another friend who was visiting called me to report that test results had come back on her platelets that revealed her body was destroying them. That would mean any procedure would be prohibited due to her inability to clot. I set down the phone and cried into my hands. I was also told that they were taking her for a CT scan of her abdomen because her pain was increasing.

Shortly after my arrival, our medical team arrived with the results of the scan. Our beloved being had received her final blow. A perforated bowel. Of course, they could do nothing to repair it, as she would have bled out. Once again, I had to give my friend the bad news. As I explained it to her, and asked her to tell me what she was thinking, she expressed feeling baffled by how things went downhill so fast. She said to me, “So, there’s no hope?” “That’s right, my love. The doctors say we have to let you go. They will protect you from the pain of sepsis, and you will not suffer nor be alone.” I asked her if she knew how loved she was, and without hesitation, she spoke a resounding, “YES!”

Reflecting on that moment now, it feels as if, after weeks of waiting, we were suddenly on fast-forward. Things seemed to move so quickly. I called the family and closest friends to come. Paperwork was signed. I asked our beloved community to read the Phowa Practice for the transformation of our dear one’s soul into the Light of Truth. I let my mother know that I would not be home that night. Like my father before her, I would walk my soul-sister into the underworld.

The vigil was long. Twelve hours from her last words to me, “So there’s no hope?” Our beautiful being was tended by her wife of 43 years, her sister-in-love, her step-daughter, her soul-daughter, and her grandson. Her minister and her friends were there to sing her through the process of letting go. Shortly after 5am, I found myself following her breath with rapt attention. Just when I wondered if there would be another breath, it would come. I knew that her soul had already found its freedom, but that sacred vessel that had carried her light for so long was so loyal that it refused to stop doing its job.

Throughout the night, we had taken turns speaking our love into ears we’ve been told can still hear our words. One soul-sister sang to her, another joined me in reading aloud the Phowa Practice for the transformation of her soul back into the light of all that is. And I finally read to her the oracle card I had pulled the morning before everything had gone so wrong. From Alana Fairchild’s Journey of Love deck, I read, THE VOID:

“At the ending of every cycle, and the beginning of every cycle, there is a moment of transition. It may last for any amount of time – a moment of feeling, or many years of deep inner work whilst feeling displaced. The transition may require patience to endure the absence of knowing, the lack of certainty about who you are and why you are here on this planet. A void may open up between one moment of meeting with your lover and the seemingly endless stretch of time – even if it is only days that seem as though they are eternal in duration – as you wait to reconnect again.

Yet if you can accept that entry into the cosmic void as preparation for your next cycle of manifestation, if you can accept that darkness is holding you with love, not with unfeelingness, then you can relax and let the preparation be what it must be. Then you can be well equipped for the next steps forward on your glorious divine adventure this lifetime, meeting the beloved – whether divine or human lover – in a fresh new moment, excited, open and curious, always.

This oracle brings you guidance. There are parts of your own process unfolding that you simply cannot know about yet. It will not always be this way, but for now, it is most helpful for you to only deal with what is immediately before you. All else will be shown when the time is right. There is growing to be done and then the void will bring forth the next step on your path to meet you. You do not have to worry and you do not have to search. Be present. Be patient. When you can do something, do it, when you cannot, just be. Your time will soon come. If you are holding a question about relationship – surrender it into the void and let it become what it must be according to spiritual wisdom and love.

A coming together
A blending of one
Where understanding
Spans the space between
And separation disappears
To form
Anew”

As others rested their eyes, I laced my arm through the bedrail and placed her left hand over my right, then stroked her hand with my left, as I spoke aloud. “Thank you, sacred vessel, for carrying the soul of our beloved these many years. Thank you for breathing life into this remarkable woman who was a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a wife, a step-mother, a grandmother, a musician, an artist, a counselor to many grateful hearts, and most importantly to me… a true friend. I know it is hard for you to let go of the sacred responsibility you’ve carried these 78 years, but it is time now to let go. For as long as we have breath, we will sing your name to the stars. Our beloved is now one with the Light of Love, and it is time for you to finally rest.

I must have gasped as I recognized her final breath, as everyone came to the bedside to hold our sweet beloved as we tried one final round of “Spirit of Life”. But we choked on our tears and quietly witnessed the slowing heart monitor until it transitioned into stillness. As I type these words, I look at the time to see it is 9:11. It was her birthday and it is now my new angel number. When I see it, I will know she is near.

When she was gone, her wife asked me, “What do we do now?” I explained what next steps would look like, and a few minutes later, she asked again. I know that her consciousness, clouded by dementia, was really saying to me, “What will I do without her?” As the nurse was doing her final exam, I lifted the sheet to see my friend’s feet. I felt a cord at my solar plexus pull me backward in time as I saw the bandage still wrapped around the site of the water blister on her right foot. Suddenly, she and I were rolling through the ER, leaving puddles everywhere. It was now January 23, and this was not the outcome either of us expected twenty days before.

Together, we exited the hospital, an exhausted tribe of devotees. It was 6:30am and our beloved had been gone for an hour and seemingly forever. I went home and slept for a few hours. At 11am, my phone rang and I heard the voice of my friend’s widow, “I’m calling to let you know that Sharon died.” “I know, honey. I was with you all night. Do you remember?” “That’s right, I remember now. Thanks for all you’ve done for us.”

The next day, I met the family at my friends’ home. The neighbors came out to ask about our beloved, and her widow told them that she had died. I affirmed that we had just lost her yesterday, and her wife was shocked to hear it, for she felt it had happened two weeks before. I continue to be curious about this affliction. The brain that is starved of oxygen seems capable of time travel. I am hopeful that it helps with grieving, for this beautiful being lost so much more than her wife, she has also lost her home, having moved into memory care for the lack of a constant companion and the need of greater care. I cannot fathom the shock of it all.

There is still so much to write, but I will save it for another post. What I am most grateful for is that I was able to show up for my friend during the most difficult days of her life and throughout her transition into the mystery of what comes next. Further, I am so enormously pleased that I had the opportunity to be mindful with my love and gratitude for the gifts my friend had unknowingly given me. By loving her, I was given the opportunity to speak with and write to her many friends and family members over the days that followed our fated final ER visit. I have met her people and now claim them as my own. I got to thank her for it while she could consciously acknowledge my thankfulness, with a reply of, “I’m so glad.”

In a recent text exchange with her sister, she signed off with, “I love you most”, and I replied, “As your sister would reply to me, I love you best.” She told me to hold onto those words, and I assure you… they are mine for all time.

Thank you for walking this path with me. And thank you for sending your love to surround the widow of my dear friend. May she have all she needs to feel safe and cared for until she is ready to join her wife for their next grand adventure.

Crowning the Crone

In 2019, I led a series of workshops that were planted at Imbolc with ‘Seeds of Intention’. Every eight weeks a group of beautiful beings gathered for mindful connection, meditation, and personal growth as we marked the changing seasons. When the pandemic entered our lives, a number of my ‘sacred gardeners’ chose to continue meeting weekly, to stave off the sense of isolation that covid-19 threatened.

[Image created via collaboration with Dean and Delaney Delp with MidJourney]

Three years later, despite every member being vaccinated and boosted, for some reason we had not made efforts to return to meeting in person. Every Saturday we nurtured our commitment to gathering in sacred, safe, and brave ‘virtual’ space. Each gathering started and ended with an oracle card that might inspire conversation or speak to a mood that often resonated with many. In recent months, one of those cards offered a message that reminded me of how one of my sacred gardeners had inspired, supported, and nudged me into creating those workshops that gave birth to this group. It felt like a new nudge from the universe to return to a physical sacred space.

One intention I had been considering for some time was the idea of my own croning. A croning is a rite of passage in the life of a woman when she moves beyond her former roles as a maiden and mother. As I have gotten to know these women on such an intimate level over the past few years, I was aware that many of us were on similar journeys at varying stages of aging. So, the suggestion was made, it was well received, and then a date was set.

Once the focus of our first in-person gathering was decided, the synchronicities began to arrive, as they do, to affirm that we were on the right path. From oracle cards pulled in weekly gatherings to random social media posts, guidance, inspiration, and messages kept rising to help build the outline for our rite.

I knew that for a hands-on craft, we would create our own crowns. I had a very simple idea for a floral circlet, but I wondered if I could find other, less practiced ideas to share. I found a few generous designers on YouTube who demonstrated the task, shared with my group for feedback, and then called a couple of experts for a slumber party crown experiment.

If you are truly blessed in life, you will have at least two life-long, childhood friends who are always ready for adventure. They gladly embraced the task of a crafting rehearsal, to see if it felt possible to do this work as a group within a reasonable timeframe. As we measured, nipped, smoothed, and twisted aluminum wire, we discussed the concept of croning.

In the life of a woman, she moves through three stages that mirror the moon. She is the maiden throughout her youth, a glorious waxing stage of innocence and discovery. She is the mother when she has moved into her fullness, not only by giving birth (which many of us choose not to do), but by creating a path, a home, a career, a purpose. And she is the crone when she is ready to leave behind what wisdom has taught her no longer matters, as she moves into the waning phase.

Three of my gardeners argued that they were not sure they were worthy of croning. They felt unsure of their readiness to claim it when they felt there was so much more to learn, or there were still young-adult children in the house. But when I read to them the inspiration piece for the power portion of the ceremony, they each changed their minds.

I understand that some may argue with my logic, but I know this to be true. The time of croning can be when a woman’s blood has stopped flowing. Another time may be at her second Saturn Return, around age 56 (depending on her astrological natal chart). It can be when she retires from the working world, or simply when she is ready to evolve into a deeper life experience. I stopped bleeding at 48 (thank the gods!), retired from the corporate world to care for my parents, and walked my father through the end of his life (to walk with death is an undeniable crone journey).

Our youngest is 51 and our eldest is 86. We are all in varying stages of cronedom. We are either serving our parents through the end of life, or preparing for our own. We are learning that we no longer carry the burden of worrying about pleasing others with how we look or behave, and are focused on learning how to please ourselves and love who we’ve become, especially after a lifetime of trying to be something society expected of us. With the war of beating ourselves with the unrealistic expectations of others, we are done!

We spent our Saturday virtual gatherings in the weeks leading up to our big event discussing who we were as maidens and as mothers, and what from each stage of our development we would choose to leave behind.

Our lives and stories were different in many ways and similar in others. I found myself reflecting on my youth and could immediately see so much that felt unpleasant. I could see my innocence as naivete, my longing as weakness, and my moments of confidence as arrogance. On first reflection, I found mostly regret in my ignorance, while a few others saw their maiden experiences as nearly idyllic, some, quite the opposite with a lost youth having to parent a parent. It took me a while to dig through my own darkness to reveal the buried treasure of being young. That process informed me of what I was prepared to discard from my maiden phase, and what to hold onto.

Motherhood was oddly easier for me to review. I’ve never been pregnant and am very happily childless, but I did give birth to a tribe in my mid-twenties (and I guess I did it all over again in my late 40s). That has long felt like one of the most important things I’ve done. I nurtured and cared for three bosses over three decades who gave me a sense of identity and purpose, they were my sacred beings to nurture and support.

So much light came through a sense of belonging and opportunities to contribute to something larger than myself. I found my people and myself during those formative years. But I also struggled with self-love and acceptance. I fought a long battle of self-loathing for never being thin enough, attractive enough, organized enough, or loved enough. It took me so long to figure out that every little thing that could deliver true happiness was always mine to give myself. I knew that I was ready to claim my cronedom when I stopped objectifying myself and yearning for the validation of others to believe I was worthy of being loved.

[Image created via collaboration with Dean and Delaney Delp with MidJourney]

As we collaborated on crafting a communal croning ceremony, we also discussed music that spoke to us, and how we would honor the elements and archetypes of the divine that resonated with each of us, and of the wise women in our lives who had nurtured and inspired us.

Among the many synchronicities that crossed my screen was ‘The Thanksgiving Address, A gift from the Haudenosaunee to the World’, which I first discovered while reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s remarkably beautiful book, Braiding Sweetgrass. We realized that it had everything one could seek in honoring the sacred within us and which surrounds us. It would work for casting the circle, calling the quarters, and invoking the light of truth. I would love to begin every gathering with these blessing words.

The morsel of goodness that was the foundation of our rite and the climax of our journey was a post that offered a declaration from Dr. Shefali’s book called Radical Awakening. It prompted me to purchase the book, and hear it in her own voice through Audible. It feels like an assertion of defiance to internalized patriarchy. I hope you’ll look her up for yourself. I adapted her words to meet our needs, designed to roll more easily off the tongue. I’m grateful to Poet’s Corner for posting them.

I don’t think I had imagined how it would feel to welcome 12 sacred souls, live and in-person, into the sanctuary of my home. It has been so long since more than two extra people have graced this space. Their arrival, by ones, twos, and threes felt warm and momentous. We were all helpers that day. Some helped set the perfect spaces for our togetherness, some helped prepare the food for our sustenance, some helped by driving our loved ones who are no longer driving, some helped with crafting supplies, some helped with financial donations, one drove four hours partially through rush-hour traffic to get here the day before, and absolutely everyone held space for the truth and beauty of each and every life journey that was shared, with reverence and grace. That feeling, I was reminded, was the warmth of love, the support of family, and after a very long absence, it felt like a homecoming.

In the beginning, we agreed that the beauty of becoming the crone meant that we would not be attached to outcome. If we had intentions for this gathering that were forgotten or failed to manifest due to timing, that would only mean that we would have exactly the experience we meant for us.

We passed the script of ‘Thankfulness’ until every paragraph had been spoken, until ‘Our Minds [Were] One’. We spoke of the women in our lives (or men) who offered us wisdom and nurturing, and we brought into the circle the archetypes of the goddesses who most resonated with our souls. Surrounded by images in artwork, mine were obvious. It was the young Persephone that I called into the birthing of my Tribe at Imbolc of 1994, and she in her underworldly guise, as I studied holding space at the end of life and walked my father through it. And it was Artemis, who found me in 1999 through a Drawing Down the Moon ritual with my Tribe, and never stopped revealing herself through my own independence, fierce loyalty to my Tribe, a constant sense of being protected, and a groundedness that has served this archer well.

We chose nourishment and connectedness before starting our work of crafting crowns, and then moved outside to the tables where we took our time in the act of creation. My life-long friends, having practiced the elven circlet made from aluminum wire, offered support and guidance to those who chose that style, while others took to other materials. The idea of choosing simplicity at this stage of life bears great resonance. Whatever each woman chose for herself was exactly right and a work of perfection.

[My cat, Neville – blessing the crowns]

When we returned to the center of our circle, we honored those who had long ago been croned, and affirmed that in this phase of life, we are continuing to learn and grow, to release and receive, and therefore, we may choose to claim our crowns again and again. One who was croned at her second Saturn Return has now reached her third. She would be the one who anointed us all with essential oils symbolic of rebirth.

Each of my sacred gardeners were anointed, then sat to read her words of release and declaration, and then she was crowned with her own crafted headpiece by the woman seated to her right. It meant that we were going counter clockwise in circle, which felt quite right for this phase of life and moon. The following was my offering inspired by Dr. Shefali’s work, which some altered with their own deep meaning.

From the Maiden, I maintain a sense of wonder and curiosity, as I release Her sense of insecurity and not-enoughness.

From the Mother, I maintain an ability to face every challenge with patience and compassion, as I release Her need to put the needs and comfort of others before Her own.

From the Crone, I claim healthy boundaries, confidence in my knowing, and the power of my divine authenticity to expand and call forth joyful experiences of deepening growth and grand adventure.

I am a woman living in the fullness of my truth. I have curated and crafted my sovereignty.

In this moment, I release unworthiness and fear. I part with obligatory servitude and passive acceptance. I divest what is untrue to me, along with unhealthy boundaries of my own and of those who would cross them. I refuse to pretend to be something I am not in order to please others.

In this moment, I now command that I will ascend into my highest power. I will embrace my greatest autonomy. I will celebrate my deepest worth. I will embody my fiercest courage and manifest the most authentic me.

Today, I claim my crown!

[Image created via collaboration with Dean and Delaney Delp with MidJourney]

There was such power in witnessing these words through the bodies and voices of each of my sacred gardeners, and there was deep beauty, as well. Our eldest crone is 86, and living with severe vascular dementia. We have seen rapid decline in her memory and abilities over the last year. Though this was the first time they had met in person, she allowed herself to be cared for by our dear one who had driven so far to be with us. She literally took our elder under her wing and read the words of affirmation, prompting her to add her own life experience into the words provided, and then allowed her to read the words to claim her crown. It was so tender and dear, and this is why my greatest wish for all the world is to know this blessing of heartfelt belonging.

When our circle was open, a couple of dear ones had to depart, but many stayed for homemade dessert, and a mesmerizing fire. There was meant to be music and song, but that was one of the things that fell away. I will add the words of one meaningful offering that may find voice in the future, and a link to another. Both have long been sung by members of our local Unitarian Church, where many of us have also found belonging. We feel that both resonate with the gratitude we hold for the honor of being in this latter phase.

Cup of the Moon by Carole Etzler
Cup of the moon, filling, filling, shining in the night. Cup of the moon, spilling, spilling, spilling out her light. We dance in the light, in the silvery light when the moon is at her fill. And when the cup of the moon is empty, we wait her listening and still.
In the dark of the moon we grow more in tune with the earth and the sky and then, we watch and wait and find joy in knowing the cup will refill again.
We dance in the light, in the silvery light, when the moon is at her fill. And when the cup of the moon is empty, we wait for her to refill.

Carolyn’s Party by Ann Reed

It is now Monday, and evidence of our Saturday celebration in my home is less obvious. The circle of 13 seats has been broken, the kitchen is not quite as recovered as the living room, but what truly lingers is the love. For 26 years, I have hosted gatherings of women (and a few special men) in this home, and I believe it is the residue of all of that light, love, and magick that can be felt upon crossing my threshold. I am grateful for it, and enjoy basking in it. I know the energy of our communion will hold me close for all of my days.

May the season of light deliver all you need with plenty to share.
Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

Rage to Page ~ Our Right to Light

The book I published in April was dedicated to the archetypal feminine in Her form of Goddess of the Underworld. Persephone is both goddess of death and springtime – dark and light. As women (also true of men), we carry this duality within us. We carry light and darkness, joy and sorrow, happiness and rage (just to name a few) which find expression through life experience as we learn and grow.

When my Tribe was birthed at Imbolc of 1994, we each brought into the circle the energy of a specific goddess. I remember moving around the circle to greet and honor each altar, and being astonished by the number of dark goddesses represented. I had to check my notes to see which maiden goddess I identified with at the time. Any guesses? It was Persephone, sacred daughter whose arrival delivers the beauty of blossoms. I’d forgotten that historic morsel of goodness, and it filled me with delight to realize how She has been with me and within me through a 27-year evolution of my soul’s purpose.

I remember feeling a sense of mystery around the dark goddesses. Not quite fearful, but somewhat trepidatious. It was an energy that felt unfamiliar to me at that time in my life. I was 25, and just at the precipice of my becoming – ready to dive into a spiritual journey that would make my life so full, it was beyond my imagining.

I’ve certainly come to understand the dark goddess in an intimate way in the last three decades. She is Hecate, Goddess of the Crossroads; Kali, the destroyer who clears away what no longer serves us; Cerridwen, into whose cauldron we are received and renewed. She is the Crone. She is the wise one who knows all. She is the bringer of death who initiates us all into the mystery of what comes next. I have come to love Her in ways my 25-year old self could not. I had so much to live and learn. She has been the innocent maiden who was violated, and the young mother who was fiercely protective of her young, and now she is a survivor who has seen it all and fears nothing.

Last week’s news from the Supreme Court about the horrific overturn of the ruling that has protected the reproductive rights and health safety of women for most of my life, brought that day of rebirth immediately to mind. I will share the truth of my thoughts and emotions to paint a picture of how the dark goddess archetype rises in the soul of a woman who has been betrayed and brutalized by her own countrymen.

She is rising with fierce rage for hard-won freedoms that were stolen in an instant. She is the hunter with her bow, sending arrows flying to take down her oppressors. She is riding on the back of a tiger, with scythe and spear to protect those who will surely come to harm for their careless action.

To be clear, I do not advocate violence. You could say that I am Christ-like, in the way that I believe that all beings are worthy of love and should be treated as such. The way fundamentalist Christians these days fight harder for their right to carry a gun than for the safety and protection of our school children, I wonder what kind of gun they think Jesus would carry. I’m not Christian, but it is my impression that he would rather die than bring harm to another sacred soul. That is how I feel. If it is my time to die, I will go. I will not dim my light through fear and violence.

However, when I heard that on the same day this despised court (currently at a 25% approval rating) removed the federal protection of our right to not give birth, they affirmed the right for us to carry concealed firearms, I thought… GOOD! With this news and the ludicrous ‘Stand Your Ground’ law that freed the murderer of Trayvon Martin, now, women can carry a pistol, and when a Republican man comes anywhere near her, she can shoot him in the testicles because she feels unsafe and threatened by his presence in her personal space. After all, any pregnancy has the potential to kill a woman. That is the bottom line. How dare anyone force that possible outcome on any sacred being! She must only go there by CHOICE!

As they removed our right to privacy (still confused why HIPPA laws don’t protect the privacy of patients and doctors for ALL healthcare and medical procedures), I thought, COOL! No more privacy. Now women can learn a man has issues getting it up, and decide not to swipe right! Better yet, she can choose only men who have verifiably been snipped. Vasectomies prevent abortion nearly 100% – it’s better than birth control!

When the news broke, I received a text from a friend who could not stop crying. She was angry, sad, scared, and she wondered if I also wanted to burn the patriarchy to the ground. Well… yes. Always. I do.

With the news of what we have lost, I immediately thought of the many times I have held space for the darkness of others. Were it not for Roe V Wade, someone I love would have been forced to give birth at the age of 11. So courageous was she, to survive and continue to thrive after a horrific beginning of sexual abuse… how different it might have been had there been no other option but for this child to give birth to a child. She called me, as well. She saw the news while in a meeting, and later puked up black bile. We cried together as she drove home. She gave me permission to speak her truth. It must be known what has been stolen. Republicans must know what horrors to which they have condemned our girls.

My favorite tomboy and I already had plans to meet after work. When she entered my home, we hugged each other longer than usual. We met in kindergarten, and share a similar world view. We both felt the horror of what was to come in 2016, when the US election became an abomination. Any intuitive being on the planet could see what was to come. We felt it. We marched for it. We cried about the probable future. That future is now. We are still crying. But not for long. The dark goddess is rising.

The next morning I prepared for my weekly call with my Sacred Gardeners. I pulled two oracle cards as a kind of meditation to begin our call and end it. The cards are inevitably perfect for setting the stage for deep conversation and holding space. They were exactly what we needed to hear in this moment. The first from Alana Fairchild’s Sacred Rebels Oracle and the other from her Rumi Oracle.

From Sacred Rebels we drew, RELAX THE HOLD OF DARKNESS AND BE AT CAUSE. An excerpt: “If the sacred rebel is not awakened, we will continue to live in a culture drenched in fear and distrust of nature. Those without awakened hearts don’t yet understand what nature knows – she knows timing, she knows life and death, she knows the creative process, she just knows – and can be trusted to support us, her own creations, in becoming all that we can become.”

From Rumi we drew, SACRED SOUL SISTER. An excerpt: “No matter how out of control life may seem, she’s letting you know all is proceeding just as it should and that her will shall manifest. Her will is your wholeness, your completion. Her will must manifest and shall, because her will is nature. It is growth. It is God. She is God, in you, now. Remember that and you’ll realize (f you don’t mind the ending being told before the last chapter) that everything’s going to be okay….”

As we each checked-in, after grounding and centering in sacred space, we shared in brave space how we were experiencing the heartbreaking news of the day before. Those present were no longer threatened by the possibility of unwanted pregnancy, and yet, we all carried the same weight of sorrow and rage.

I was profoundly affected by the testimony of one of my sacred gardeners, who at 86 with severe vascular dementia, has long been my personal hero. She and her wife, long before I met them, were extremely active in the National Organization for Women (NOW). She reminded us that when she was born, women had gained the right to vote, but were still living limited lives. She can’t remember what she has spoken moments ago, but she remembers growing up during World War II, and how women stepped up to fill the needs of a country at war, as men left to serve overseas. She witnessed women stepping into their power and then the expectation they should simply give it back when the war came to an end.

It took my breath away to acknowledge that she was among those who fought for my right to choose my personal autonomy over the expectations of others, and that she may not live to see that right returned to her daughter and great-granddaughters, and all other girls and women for whom she marched, and fought, and served in her lifetime.

When I served in clinic defense with other warrior women (and a few men) in the 1990s, I met a woman who had three children on three different forms of birth control. She was there to protect and serve the girls and women who were choosing a different path than the alternative outcome of unwanted pregnancy. I was reminded that I was an IUD baby. What I know for sure is that if my mother had chosen to end that pregnancy that she and my father had not planned, it would have been the right choice. Every argument against a woman’s right to choose her own autonomy is wrong. Period. The End.

The US has been on this trajectory of destroying women’s freedom since the Reagan era. If you listen to the words he used to manipulate the masses, they were filled with false rhetoric to build on the fears of those who carry a lack-mentality. They bought the lies that would take us further from caring for one another because they were certain there was not enough for them.

In recent years, I found myself stepping carefully through the field of terminology. When a former roommate became defensive when I posted a meme of gratitude for having not become more conservative, he wanted me to understand he had not voted for tRump, but that he voted against Hillary Clinton on a third party candidate. I decided I would refer to the ‘GOP’, instead of ‘Republicans’ to differentiate those who were elected and those who were supportive of enabling an admitted sexual predator, domestic bully and terrorist from those who were decidedly not liberal Democrats.

From this point forward, I no longer care to be cautious with my words. The truth, in my lifetime, has always been that the Republican party stands on a platform that is solely committed to destroying the protection of women’s reproductive healthcare, removing affordable healthcare from those who need it most, enabling domestic terrorism through unrestricted rights to carry weapons of mass violence, murder, and destruction, removing the rights and protections of LGBTQ+ American citizens, and filling their pockets while stepping over those who lack the privilege they possess and ensure.

If you are reading this and are offended by the way that others see you, I challenge you to take a good long look at the truth of the party to which you have sold your soul. If you say that you don’t agree with what I’ve written, but that you are fiscally conservative, and therefore a Republican… you are lying to yourself… and you deserve better. Every Republican administration in my lifetime has blown the national debt to oblivion, while the Democrat administrations have reduced or even completely resolved them (Clinton left us with a surplus – immediately destroyed by Bush).

Any vote for a Republican, from this point forward (as ever), is a vote for the murder of women and children (either by forced pregnancy, life-threatening despair, or gun violence). One must come to terms with the internalized patriarchy and misogyny that leads one to be able to sleep at night knowing what horrors you have enabled.

Women and girls will die from ectopic pregnancies or naturally failed pregnancies that become septic. You will say that you are protecting the souls of the unborn, but that is a lie, too. The soul arrives with the first breath, not with the dividing of cells (affirmed in your Bible, as well as by psychic mediums and channels). More children will be born into poverty, a burden, and unwanted. These will be the ones who carry their ‘God-given’ guns you protected into school rooms to murder the children who were wanted, cherished, and chosen. You will not support these burdened women and girls, nor the children they were forced to bear. You will vote against their welfare, their living wages, and their physical and mental healthcare. You will not choose to become a foster or adoptive parent. You will blame the women and girls for the rising crime rates, too. Your religious beliefs will never be valid as long as you are voting Republican, for there is nothing Christ-like about that party. Please, prove me wrong.

If you are of the mind that minorities are becoming a majority, and that feels frightening to you, I hope you have figured out that white women of privilege will have the ability to travel for the requirement of their autonomy (paid for by married politicians, no doubt). You are, therefore, celebrating at the loss of Roe, a future that ensures you will be in the minority sooner rather than later. Personally, I can’t wait. The reason you fear being a minority is that you might be treated the way you have treated others. May your karmic reward be made manifest!

Sooo…. that was an example of channeling the dark goddess. I won’t take it back. I will, however, find my own balance that mingles with light. I will honor the rage and horror while nurturing the love and light that harkens the arrival of a new age.

The eyes of the world are watching what happens next. Mid-term elections have been fortified by this SCOTUS decision. The intuitive way-showers I follow assure us that this moment in our history is a catalyst. Fundamentalism and Fascism have partnered for American destruction of democracy and fundamental freedom. This moment has revealed the shadows hidden by darkness and all is illuminated. Women in the US have been living in the illusion of equality, when it was far from reality. That is going to change! We became complacent, taking for granted the hard-won right to vote has brought us to the brink of losing it, along with others. For now, we still have a right to light.

You brought the darkness. We have lit our torches. The light is returning.
Prepare to Burn!

Welcome to the Light – A Rebirth

To me, today is a holy day. Not because of something that may have happened thousands of years ago, but because it marks an important, life altering anniversary. Nine months ago today (April 17), this small family gathered around a white haired and bearded sacred being of earth and sky, and witnessed his final breath and heartbeat. None of us got to see him come into this world, but we were so honored to hold space for his grand departure.

Symbolism is powerful in my life. You could say it is my second language. In the metaphysical world of intuitive gifts, I fall somewhere in the range of empath and claircognizant. I’m a feeler and a knower. Since I have asked the Universe to speak to me in ways that I can understand, I have found that if I pay attention, that line of communication is always open.

Four years ago, I saw the signs and followed the synchronicities. It was nine months after I danced out of the role that had long sustained me in the corporate world. The symbolism of that timeframe is obvious. It is a gestation period for human birth. In February of 2018, a courageous friend shared in brave space his diagnosis and prognosis. Brian opened a portal for me at that moment, and I picked up my torch and mindfully stepped through the door.

On new years eve, at the portal between 2021 and 2022, I shared on Facebook the final words that my father left for me in his “Memoirs for Melissa”. It felt like closure of some sort, to come to the end of his written page in the year that he died. I said to the Universe and my father’s energetic being, “Daddy, thank you for these stories. Thank you for showing up and for bringing other sacred beings to join you. Thank you for taking those painful lessons and difficult challenges of your youth and becoming a kind, compassionate, patient, loving, beautiful being. Now that I have heard your story through your words, I wish to tell our story through my words. It will be a book about making friends with death, about eldercare and self care, about the power of sacred ceremony to transform sorrow, about respecting the autonomy of those we love as they journey toward transition, and about giving the love that heals.”

Since I had been writing for the last four years, it didn’t take long to build my manuscript. I found the very best publisher with whom to partner by following the signs and synchronicities. A doula assists with transition and transformation. I had been my father’s end-of-life doula, and Sharon Lund at Sacred Life Publishers became my book doula. She helped bring my book to birth. I had already reached out to her because she had published another book on this topic, but I knew she was the one when she called me and the first three digits of her phone number were also one of my angel numbers, 808. I see these numbers frequently. They are in the email address of the Boss Who Loved Me, and I associate a sighting as a strong reminder that I am loved.

Sharon and I discussed the process and determined this project would take about three months to complete. An astrologer I follow (Annie Botticelli) had stated that the days between March 3 and April 27 would be ideal for the launch or birth of creative endeavors, as all planets are direct for this brief period of time. I may be a skeptical believer, but when messages arrive in actual words that don’t require symbolic interpretation, it seems prudent to follow. As we completed multiple edits and my dear friend crafted the cover from a beloved artwork gifted from my Tribe-brother, I considered the timing. April 17 would be the nine month anniversary of my father’s death. What are the chances that this exact date, with this symbolic meaning, would be remotely possible? According to Sharon, the chance was slim.

The final version went to the printer on April 14. Experience informed my book doula that it could be three weeks before it appeared for sale on Amazon. I knew it was going to be impossible to have my book officially published and available at Dad’s anniversary, but hoped it would at least occur before the planetary deadline on the 27th.

Because the seasons are shifting in Florida with the arrival of higher temperatures, I went ahead and secured the memorial tree I wanted to plant in my front yard. It would be dedicated to filling, somehow, the absence of my father and of my beloved ailing oak. So on the morning of April 15, the landscape professionals arrived, and were so patient and kind that they allowed me to read aloud my words and intentions, while also sprinkling some of my father’s ashes into the open womb of earth that would receive the tree I’d chosen.

“Hail to thee, sacred Traveler:

Nearly nine months have passed since your beautiful soul crossed through the veil of starlight. Your physical presence is terribly missed. Your spiritual presence is deeply felt with enormous gratitude.

When you left, our sacred oak, too, fell. The loss of you both has left a punishing light and sorrowful emptiness to fill the chasm of your absence.

May this tree be a symbol of rebirth. May these branches hold space to nurture and nourish the birds that bear your loving messages in a language I can understand. And may she grow taller, fuller, and more colorful throughout the years, providing shade and serenity for all to behold.

May the flowers that surround this keeper of your memory be a blessing to all you’ve cherished in life. May they blossom and bloom for your delight, with sweet memories of your grandfather’s garden.

May the sacred earth of my father’s former vessel bless these roots and hold them close, feeding beloved tendrils with the healing light of love.

Blessed be beloved beings. Your presence upon this sacred land will be a blessing for all my days that remain. Thank you for being healers, protectors, nurturers, and sentinels of peace, love, hope, and rebirth. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

As I poured the ash into the earth, I looked to find they had fallen first into the shape of a crescent moon, and with the final toss to empty the vessel, a straight line. My father’s remains had fallen perfectly into my own personal sigil (a magickal symbol I may use instead of my name) and also in the form of a handheld crossbow. This was something Pop had said to me after he broke his hip. He thought I should have one, and I figured it was the pain medication. But maybe . . . just maybe it was a portent.

Later that evening, I was having dinner with a friend inside a restaurant (a rare thing since the start of the pandemic), and I heard someone say my name. It was the Boss Who Needed Me and his wife. I can’t tell you how mushy I get when I see them, it is so rare. But he is such a significant part of my story, that my heart just melts in his presence. Though he was addressing my friend, I took what he said to heart. “I want you to be sure that when Melissa’s book is available, I will be informed. I want to be the first to buy it!”

So, last night (April 16) while hanging out with my Mom, I popped over to Amazon and typed the words that had only been mine for the past nine months. Mommy’s little secret until her arrival. And much to my surprise . . . she was there! Sharon says that Pop made magick happen for me, and I know without a doubt that this is true. I texted the Boss Who Needed Me to let him know that if he really meant it, this was his chance. He texted me back and said, “Melissa, we ordered it this evening.” So now… I am free to share the news with you.

Exactly nine months from the day my sweet Pop became one with the light of truth, he is being symbolically reborn in the form of a book that shall ever be his memorial. That this date also falls on the Christian celebration of rebirth could be a coincidence, but who would ever believe that? Dad sent the signs and I followed his guidance. He has always shown up for me when I needed him most.

Dear Universe, thank you in advance for allowing this work of love and light to be a blessing to others. The journey itself has already been a great blessing to me.

Welcome to the light, Persephone’s Passage! I’m so glad you are here.

PREFACE
“I once asked myself why I write and discovered that as much as I wish for my words to offer light and healing, I write for myself. I’ve determined that what I call a Swiss cheese memory allows me to live in the now. Accessing memories for me is a challenge, so when I read what I’ve written, it gives me the access I crave. Seriously, I have Googled things I’ve written to be sure they are mine.

The reason I’ve published these words is to give birth to something of myself that will remain when I am gone. It is a memorial to my father, and a tribute to the same care I intend to offer my mother, as I walk with her into the underworld (may it be a long, long journey).

Though I have loved and cherished many children and goddess babies, I have no children of my own. As I offer Persephone’s Passage to the light, I do so with reverence for its perfection. When I think of what ideal parenting might look like, it is to keep it safe, feed it well, and provide a firm and balanced foundation from which it may launch itself into the world. Once it is out in the world, my only expectation is that it exists in authentic truth and joy. I will not judge it by its number of pages, by its popularity and how many people call it friend, or by its income. I will not weigh it down with expectations of any kind. I will simply be grateful that I was blessed to have this creation of pure love move through me. I love it without condition.

May those who find it feel the depth of the love that resides within, and know that they, too, are cherished, valued, and sacred. Namaste. Blessed be. Amen. So mote it be. Aho. It is done.”

Thank you for walking this path with me, dear ones. Many have been extremely supportive of this endeavor over the last few months. Some have been more than supportive, and I am overwhelmed to the point of lacking words to describe how completely loved they have made me feel.

A mantra that I have engaged to help with feeling worthy of receiving, is this: “May I be a blessing to others; I am open to receive.” I am open and grateful!

When Dad died, I realized I would once again have to shift my self-identity. I am no longer his full-time caregiver. I am forever his daughter and also . . .
I am Melissa Baker, Author of Persephone’s Passage: Walking My Father into the Underworld – The Spiritual Journey of an End-of-Life Doula.

Persephone’s Passage may be found on Amazon, and soon will be available through other online sellers and even possibly in bookstores as Ingram distributors update their catalog.

Floating in the Light of Love

It has been quite a while since I’ve written in this sacred space. One reason is that I’ve been nurturing a project that will soon come to birth. Another reason is that in a world of chaos it is difficult to find clarity through which words may rise. My writing moves through me, and begins with fingers on the keyboard with a request to the Universe for the gift of words that might bring light. Today, the image and words that arrived were related to the familiar phrase–sink or swim. My logical mind immediately chimed in with the awareness of another option. . . to float. It’s my favorite!

At Imbolc this year, I planted my seeds of intention. One seed which has already taken root is the intention of togetherness. Physical togetherness has been a rare joy since the start of the pandemic in early 2020. Though I have maintained connectedness with phone calls, zoom meetings, and letter writing during this time, seeing loved ones in person has been at a minimum. Since planting that seed, however, I have been blessed to have face-to-face time with many of my loved ones. It feels like such a blessing! To be clear, I never took these opportunities for granted. My soul sings with gratitude for each greeting.

Many of these gatherings have revealed a similar sentiment. We are all feeling overwhelmed by world news and local awareness of discouraging trends. It seems that the schoolyard bully archetype is looming large over the entire world these days. They are rising up to conquer a peaceful nation, to squash the hard-won rights and freedom to be authentic and safe for those who have had to spend their lives pretending, and to ensure that the promise of autonomy, equity, and equality for all beings gets ripped out of their walled gardens of self-servitude.

Feeling and witnessing this oppressive energy daily is soul-crushing. It is difficult to find the light in such darkness, let alone knowing how to BEE the light. (See what I did there?) For me, the best way to cope with looking forward is to reach into the past.

In the early 90s, a friend shared her understanding of our astrological move from the Age of Pisces into the Age of Aquarius. I know, we’ve been singing about it since the 60s, but if Mercury Retrograde lasts three weeks and has a two week shadow period. . . imagine how long the shadow period is for an approximate 2,000 year cycle. Feels like forever! The wisdom shared was that we are moving out of the patriarchal, war-mongering, money-obsessed era into one that feels more nurturing and inclusive. In this time, those who feel their perceived power slipping away are doing everything they can to prevent the arrival of such peace and balance. They are like rats in a toilet bowl, trying to lift the closing lid. They are terrified and THEIR fear is what we are feeling.

There were two big moments in my life that I identify as important lessons for my soul’s journey. I’ve written about them before. The first was in 2001 when a new boss arrived to end my 10-year career in a company where I’d been valued, appreciated, and fiercely loyal. The day I chose to leave was after a period of feeling unsafe, paranoid, and downright miserable. My Tribe and I had just celebrated Ganesha’s birthday and asked him to remove our obstacles. I never would have dreamed that my job was what held me back. But it was all of that discomfort that pushed me forward and into that next place, that better space for the growth of my soul, my income, and my future.

The next big moment was spectacularly similar to the first. In 2017, with the arrival of a new boss, darkness returned. I felt every portent of dread that I had felt before. It was a gift from an intuitive guide that informed me that as an empath, one can read the way our bodies feel to interpret messages from the Universe. I was feeling anxious, uncomfortable, paranoid, and miserable. There were moments when I feared I might suffer a stroke as I felt my blood pressure rise with shock and disbelief in what was happening.

When those words of wisdom were shared with me, it was a revelation! My whole body shifted out of fear and into peace. I understood in that moment that the Universe was telling me it was time to go. Something better is on the way. . .just like before. I instantly let go of the fear that was harming my mind, body and soul, and when that departure opportunity arrived, I joyfully danced out of the building.

Of course, something better did arrive with the unexpected discovery of the ability to retire from the corporate world. I never would have dreamed of it or sought it, because I was stuck in that old belief of what living (and surviving) looks like. Both of those life lessons taught me that when I feel uncomfortable, change is coming–and it will be for the better.

In these places of panic, when it feels like our world is falling apart, we often move into that sink or swim mentality. Either we violently scrape at the edges of a slippery slope with the hope of climbing out so that we can remain in that place where we’ve always been or we can let go and sink to the bottom because life is not worth living if it can’t be the same as it was. I say, screw that!

I don’t know about you, but I am quite buoyant and I intend to float through this current chaos. Surrounded by atrocities throughout the world, and right here at home with hateful and harmful legislation and rampant gun violence, I feel extremely uncomfortable. It feels impossible to find comfort and peace within when there are so many sacred beings who suffer at the arrogant and hateful hands of others.

If we are to understand that everything is made of energy (including us), then it feels far more helpful to reach out with love instead of fear. The Buddhist Art of Tonglen would have us breathe in their suffering and breathe out deep peace. Let me take in your fear and give you my comfort.

I am choosing to believe that what we are experiencing right now is the discomfort that informs us that change is coming. . . and it is going to be good. We are about to be liberated from working for an ungrateful boss so that we can learn to better serve ourselves and those we love.

The aftermath of the rise and fall of historical monsters was a renaissance of accountability and peace for the generations that followed the tyrannical downfall. The hard part is reconciling the devastating loss and destruction that came first. It is especially difficult when we are watching it unfold on every screen within our view.

So we focus on what we can do to nurture the source of light. We exercise our freedom to vote. We honor courage and heroism. We lift up the sweet songs of children finding safe harbor. And we float down this river of light with the vision of the stories of peaceful endings, joyful liberation, grateful celebration, and mindful rebuilding. We see this for countries at war and in our own country at war with itself.

We ignite that radiant green heart light from within and allow it to expand beyond the reach of our physical bodies, to encompass our neighborhoods, our communities, our cities and states, our countries and continents, our planet, our galaxy, and our universe. Everything is illuminated by the light of our love. See the face of the one who has made you feel most treasured, safe, valued and loved in this lifetime reflected in the faces of every being you meet. Know that you are safe and loved in this moment and that all is well and all shall be well.

Wherever you are in the world, and however you are feeling in this moment. . .if you are struggling to swim and feeling like you are about to sink, I hope you will choose to lean back and float, instead. May you feel yourself filled with and surrounded by the healing light of love. Everything will be okay. I promise.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

Deep Grief and the Ailing Oak

For nearly 25 years, I have dwelled within the shade of two oak trees that stand sentinel at the front edges of my yard. Neither are the healthiest of trees; likely accidental volunteers that were permitted to take root and reach for the sky. The one that sits mostly in my neighbor’s yard is particularly special to me. Its branches reach nearly across the entire breadth of my house.

It is a squirrel super highway leading to the neighboring oak, and a diverse bird haven. The branch I spy directly out of my living room window is a perfect perch for our local hawk, and its leaves dance with the grasp of tiny tufted titmice, who grab seeds from the feeder before returning to a loving embrace. There is so much life happening in and around this beautiful being. I celebrate it daily.

Having recently purchased the house next door, my neighbor has had a number of people over to assist with projects required for a new beginning, and each has mentioned a concern for the wellness of the tree that also stretches limbs over her roof. This is a considerable worry in the land of annual hurricane season. To be honest, this beloved tree has been dropping bits of rotted limbs for many years. The Water Oak, we were told, tends to rot out in the middle, becoming a split risk.

So, I informed her that I would grieve deeply, but that I would offer my blessing for her to do the thing I could not do… tree removal.

Yesterday, grief settled into my core. I started researching sacred ceremony for the loss of a tree. I found a beautiful offering from another wordpress blogger, Druid’s Garden (link below). I stepped into the morning air, and spoke words of adoration to this glorious being, and took photos from every angle. I cannot fathom the emptiness that will be left behind. I cried for our pending parting, for the home and shelter that will be taken from so many creatures, and for the horror of chainsaws approaching to tear into diseased and struggling flesh. The thought of it haunts me.

https://druidgarden.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/druid-tree-workings-holding-space-and-helping-tree-spirits-pass/amp/

To come to terms with this inevitable departure, I’ve been considering how we help our pets to move on, when their bodies are no longer serving their spirits. It is an act of compassion. I have regretted waiting too long, to make that impossible call to the vet. Extra hours of suffering that I might have prevented would be that thing… if I could do one thing differently… it would be releasing my selfish hold to allow the arrival of peace.

The most memorable wisdom from studying the End of Life Doula path was Stephen Jenkinson’s chilling words about palliative care prolonging death. Much of his book, Die Wise was sometimes shocking to me, but I took to heart that I would not choose to prolong death, when that time comes for me. My neighbor and I discussed with the tree expert possible plans for making her house safer, but I realize now that anything other than complete removal would be doing what I would not choose for myself. But still… I grieve. Further, I reflect on the five statements of letting go from Ira Byok’s book, Dying Well. “Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. Good bye.”

This song was playing on Pandora when I entered the house following my tear-filled reverie. Spiral Dance, my favorite Australian band, sing about The Oak and its many gifts to us. “For shelter and shade has the oak tree grown. The ship, the cradle, the hearth and home. Arms so strong they hold the sky. Stood so long that the heart can’t die.” My heart is singing a dirge, but The Druid’s Garden suggests something different… music that eases suffering, and I feel this song will be on my personal playlist. Our playlist; for the tree and me.

I don’t know how much time we have left together, but I have started tying cords, ribbons, and bells to branches within my reach. They represent adornments of my gratitude. When the time is right, I will scatter offerings of dried rose petals and white sage at the base of its trunk, sending my love into deep roots, which have kept us safe through many storms. I will scatter stone beads of Morganite, which will bring healing of trauma to the land which will have lost so much.

When I binge watched Marie Condo’s series on Tidying Up, I was inspired to write a love letter to my home, based on her tradition of greeting a home with gratitude upon entering. I would also offer this gesture to my beloved oak.
https://beethelight.blog/2019/01/04/ode-to-sanctuary/

Beloved, sacred, holy being of earth and sky,
Thank you for loving us. Thank you for extending your beautiful branches into my life. You have long stood sentinel near my home, offering shade and shelter for myself and many. Every summer, you host the return of our screaming cicadas and I am transported to childhood with memories of freedom. As years have passed, you have lost limbs and branches, and I have feared the day when your leaves would drop in the spring, and not return. And yet, you have continued to bloom… thriving through adversity… a body dis-eased but stubborn.
Every day, you remind me to thrive. You validate my own choice to nurture and support the lives and well-being of others. My own scars, bulges, and flaws are held in the light of love, because I have learned to love myself as I have loved you, even when gravity pulls you downward.
In this moment, I cannot fathom your absence. When you are gone, I will feel empty. Many will become temporarily homeless and afraid. Cicadas will rise from slumber and discover the lack of you. The view from my window will be naked and bright, and my heart will be curtained no longer with branches and leaves, but with sorrow and longing. I hope you will forgive me for being powerless to save you. I forgive you for not being strong enough to ensure your safety. I love you for the roots that have broken concrete, reminding me that Mother Nature is more powerful than anything man can do to limit Her progress. I love you for the trunk and branches of holding, which have been the playground of squirrels that have long entertained the cats who live here. I love you for your leaves of change that remind me that everything is temporary – as old leaves fall away to reveal fresh new growth each February.
Everything is temporary. Everything is temporary. And so, I must also say goodbye. I have to let go. Thank you for loving me and for inviting me to love you back. I will miss you when you are gone… every. single. day. But I will also remember you with gratitude and great pleasure, for the memories you have provided. New growth will come again, you have shown me that truth. And just as you have embraced my home and property with your kindness, love and protection… I will be open to receive.
Because of your love, I have no choice but to love again. I love you. Thank you. Hail and Farewell.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

Gratefully Exhausted

I cried… first thing this morning as I saw images of his departure. My whole being relieved with a sigh, a shudder, a sob. I was bullied as a child, and the last four years have felt like being on high alert, awaiting the final, fatal blow from an abuser.

That 73 Million countrymen and neighbors would have brought such a beast back into my home, after witnessing the bruises and scars of the last four years, gleefully handing him a bat to finish the job, remains something to be dealt with. Forgiveness must come, for we know it will only ooze beneath the surface – and look what happens when disrespect and loathing is left to fester – January 6, 2021 – another day of infamy. But still… accountability is necessary for forgiveness, and healing comes as words meet action. Trust has been diminished, but hope has been rekindled.

A woman who was once a boss, recently died. She remains an important part of my life’s story, despite having been one of those bullies and abusers. Her behavior and actions led to my departure from a workplace I thrived in for a decade. As time passed, I could see the beauty of that blessing. Her tyranny pushed me forward. What started as defiance to make a point to her, became the open door through which I walked into a new and better life. So, I have said a prayer of gratitude to her departed soul. Thank you for revealing to me that life can be so much better.

I feel that these last four years have been that sort of lesson for this beloved nation of ours. Pulling back the veil of denial and darkness. No longer willing to sit idle in apathy while our fellow Americans are brutalized, bullied, and abandoned – we are invited to ‘rise by lifting others’ [R. Ingersoll]. As we witnessed in our pandemic stillness that which we could not turn away from, it was up to those of us in privileged (if unintentional) ignorance to educate ourselves, to be vulnerable with our truth, to seek the forgiveness of those whom our lack of consciousness may have harmed, and to do everything in our power to make it right.

Those first tears of the morning were a release and a relief. My body informed me of the tension she has held these four long years. The abuser has left the building. Thank you for revealing to us that we can be so much better.

Millions will surely write of today’s Inauguration. I feel that my words could never do it justice. I felt a sense of pride and gratitude to see that though it was far from normal, sacred ceremony continues to be a balm for healing… even when masked and physically distanced.

Every choice was made with intention and purpose, and every element delivered hope and glory. I cried… a lot.

Our country should have celebrated our first female president in January 2017. I am certain it will be revealed that the popular vote would not have been her only win, as more and more truths are revealed in the years ahead. But without the chaos of the last four years, I’m not sure that we would have progressed as much as we are about to. So many of us would have missed the opportunity for enlightenment. Gotta love that pendulum swing!

There’s so much more to say and to consider. We now have a President who is responsible and compassionate, and our first (but not our last) female Vice President, who is brilliant and strong. I will not pretend that they will always be the perfect leaders, but I am certain they will lead with mindful compassion for people and the planet, with truth and integrity at the core of each decision.

I believe the world is slayed by the poetic perfection of Ms. Amanda Gorman, whose words carry the weight and the hope for where we’ve been and where we wish to be. I am physically and emotionally spent from four years of fight or flight survival. We all deserve a hot bath and a nap today!

So, here’s to the end of an error, and to the light of new beginnings. May there be accountability and justice, woven with healing and growth. May we continue the hard work of creating a more perfect union bolstered by equality AND equity. Let this new decade finally begin, and let respect and caring help bring this pandemic to a close, as we grieve those we’ve lost, and lift those who continue to fight for the lives of those they took an oath to serve and save.

Thank you for walking this path with me. Please stay safe and well, for you are sacred. I love you!

Faith in Foundation

My parents were watching the news when I stopped by to prepare a late lunch for them today. As I was stepping back out to run an errand, my mother asked: “Don’t you want to watch the death of our country?” My reply: “No! We are witnessing our rebirth.”

I cannot tell you why, as we watched domestic terrorists attacking and entering our sacred halls of Congress, mingled with horror and disbelief was a sensation between my heart and stomach that felt like… well, excitement.

The truth is, anyone with an ounce of intuition and an ear for actual news, rather than the faux-kind, could see this event coming. So, even though a seditious mob ransacked the halls that house our laws, the fact is, there were already a number of seditious traitors inside. So, one can hardly be surprised that the behavior of those within felt like an invitation to those who left the rally at the White House to follow their leader’s instructions.

That’s how I see it from where I sit, anyway. I keep hoping Randy Rainbow will do a song about GOP sedition to the tune of “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof.

As the news was unfolding, I could not shake that odd feeling of anticipation. I had this overwhelming sense that this was it. We are witnessing the final death knell of the GOP. Maybe even the beginning of the end of the patriarchy. As friends expressed disgust and dismay, fear of civil war, and the likelihood of things going badly, I did not lose my sense of awe.

So many images have come to mind today. One is of the Hindu Goddess of Destruction, Kali. Another is the Celtic Goddess of Rebirth, Cerridwen. Both archetypes inform us of the beauty and necessity of destruction. One cannot rebuild on a cracked and broken foundation. It will not hold.

In order to rebuild a bathroom, you don’t just remove the wallpaper, you take it down to the studs to see what might be cracked or rotten beneath the facade. That mold that festers can make you sick down the road, so it must be revealed and then sealed.

Other images that have risen for me today are from film favorites. I could visualize the invasion of our democratic process today in clips and photos, and it was met with a scene from Lord of the Rings. I saw the Ents arriving to liberate Isengard. That scene matched the feeling in my body. When that scene arrives, it is the beginning of the end. There is still darkness ahead, and many orcs to be vanquished, but even though the work remains difficult, one can tell that perseverance will be rewarded. The light returns and chases away the shadows. It always does.

The other day, a friend of mine was doing a tarot reading for herself, and into her future fell the Tower. (It is an image that seems unsettling, with a lightning strike and people falling as the building crumbles.) I squealed with excitement, which was counter to her sigh of dread. I reminded her that the most important moments of my life were ‘Tower’ moments. They were occasions when the rug was pulled from beneath me, but revealed a stunning hard wood floor.

To be sure, there is darkness ahead for our country (at least one person was killed in today’s terrorist attack, and it feels as if justice failed to remove her blindfold, not to mention that a lack of leadership has cost us hundreds of thousands of lives to Covid-19), but there is also light. The dark tower is falling. The gift of this nightmare presidency will surely be that the facade of our beloved country has been peeled away, and every crack and spot of mold has been revealed. There will be new foundations poured, and stronger supports installed.

Last year’s word for me was TRUST. I wanted not only to be surrounded by those I can trust, but I intended to be trustworthy, and above all else, I wanted to learn to trust myself. So, I have to say… this odd excitement that is rising within me on a very dark day in American history… I trust what she is telling me. She is teaching me about FAITH. She is informing me that the word for 2021 is TRUTH, and that we shall indeed… build back better. Bring it on, 46!

The Empty Calendar

Today, I pulled down the 2020 calendar to be replaced.

It was a gift from my financial advisor, featuring paintings from The Saturday Evening Post. Once upon a time, I would have passed on such a gift, seeking something more me… with artwork from a Pre-Raphaelite artist or Mary Engelbreit, but since I owe my current lifestyle, in part, to the compassionate insight of my financial advisor, I liked the idea of holding him close. (Thanks Tony!)

What a strange thing… to flip through the pages of a bygone calendar year like the one we’ve just narrowly escaped. To be honest, the world I manage resides mostly on google, but the big things would usually go on the wall calendar. Like a visit from my brother and his family, a trip that might take me out of town, or a workshop I designed to share with others.

In this case, January reminded me of a friend’s knee surgery, Second Sunday Supper, Book Group, and my 51st birthday. February boasted my second annual Seeds of Intention Workshop (where we would assess the different areas of our lives to determine where we wanted to focus our intentions for… the year ahead), filing my taxes, and what would be the last time we would get to see my brother and his wife, who had come up from South Florida.

Then, I flip to March. It’s kind of eerie to look at. There’s a trip to San Antonio for a wedding, followed by a countdown. 14 days to wear a mask each time I entered my parents’ home. Somewhere in this wordpress account, is an unfinished post about the beautiful wedding I attended. It remains unfinished… much like the calendar.

Page after page of 2020 is blank. Void of significant pronouncements. Right up until October 20, which reads: “Dad Broke Hip”. Then, “Pop to Rehab”. In November… there was one weekend marked with something completely different – a two-day escape with a friend to Merritt Island. Then the day before Thanksgiving, “Dad Discharge”. December, again, is blank.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I did nothing with my days. They were filled with enormous care, and loads of love. I have no regrets for the extreme caution we have chosen, in order to keep ourselves and those we love safe and well (not to mention those we don’t know, but care for just the same). Many of those days were filled with learning and growing, with spiritual deepening, with virtual connectedness, and the acquisition of new tools and new skills in the art of eldercare. We miss our people, but so far… though physically distant, we are still all present and accounted for.

But so many are not as lucky as we. Those blank calendar pages remind me of all the lives that were brimming with to-dos and check marks of accomplishment, with no more pages to be flipped. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones this year, whether to this virus, to dis-ease, despair, or the horrors of brutality. I grieve not only for those who were unable to have the hand of a loved one holding theirs at departure, but for those they have left behind, without the opportunity to be surrounded and held by those who love them, each longing to ease suffering in the smallest, but most meaningful way.

I remember feeling so lucky that Dad had remained relatively well all year, because I couldn’t imagine him being in a hospital or rehab facility, should there be covid restrictions prohibiting visitors. When that fifth fall in a week broke his upper femur, I was relieved to know that he could at least have one visitor each day.

My parents and I have stopped doing the whole gift thing for Christmas. So, this year I bought us the box-set of the 90’s TV series, Northern Exposure. We’ve been watching two episodes each evening. It is a delightful way to end each day. A gift that keeps on giving.

One of the episodes we watched tonight was an old favorite. I think of it each year around the solstice, as the town gathers to celebrate the birth of the Sun, through the indigenous tale of the Raven. The episode takes us through the lives of our beloved community, each unique and fantastic… valued for their individuality and authenticity. Each honors the season of light in their own way, and their community holds space for all of it.

I could weep to remember that this world my parents and I are diving into, with intense longing, is fictional… but frankly, it reminds me of what it means to be Unitarian. I was blessed to grow up, not in a dogmatic religion that excludes the ideas of others, but in a loving community that honors all traditions, and has space at the table for everyone, including Mother Earth, herself.

In a year that has made consumerism feel rather foolish, I was struck by a quote from the town DJ and philosopher, Chris in the Morning: “Happiness doesn’t come from having things… it comes from being a part of things.”

Being a part of several sacred circles this year has delivered great light and joy, in the darkest of times. The big events on the 2020 calendar were few, but commitments to weekly or monthly gatherings on Zoom were consistent and sustaining. We all long to gather again, in safe spaces that are free from shields and obstacles, but what I know for sure is that we can do hard things. We can love others enough to keep them safe for a few more months… or several, if necessary.

As I hung the new calendar where the old one used to be, I opened it to a blank January. So far, it is marked for Inauguration Day and my 52nd Birthday. These pages are holding space for hope. One day, I will get to mark a square with ‘Vaccines’ for the three of us. And then, maybe… at some point… my brother and his family will get a few squares. That will be something to celebrate, indeed.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I am grateful for your presence in my life. Please know that if you are walking through your own darkness, or living with the ache of longing due to a loss that cannot be whispered or spoken, you are held firmly in the light of love. May the Raven soon carry the light of the Sun to brighten your heart and sky. I love you.

Beloved October

This morning I woke with a sense of joy. My favorite month has finally arrived. I greet it with enthusiasm, as I do my cats (GOOD MORNING FLEUR AND NEVILLE!), my sanctuary (GOOD MORNING HOUSE!), and the lizards on the porch, as I step outside to check the weather (GOOD MORNING LIZARDS!). GOOD MORNING OCTOBER! To all of them and to you, I say: I’m so glad you are here!

Living so close to the equator in the state of Florida, October isn’t really so different from September. Really, it is just the idea of it that brings my spirit to a glorious new vibration. I mean, we don’t even get to enjoy the striking color display of states just north of us. We pretty much experience different shades of green throughout the year, until the dull green oak leaves get pushed out by the vibrant green leaves in February, when the world seems coated in yellow-green pollen, and no one can breathe for the code-red pollen count.

Still, I know change is happening somewhere. I can feel it in my bones. For example, the high today is expected to be only 82 degrees. We’re actually having a cold-front! It makes me want to step out of the air conditioning and twirl as I burst into song.

I think the animals are doing the same. I’m in a suburb, so wildlife sightings are limited, but today I was delighted by it. As I walked to my parents’ home to help my father with his morning routine, I happened upon a grand celebration. No less than nine squirrels were dashing around the trunk and branches of their neighbor’s tree. I tried counting them several times, but then three would dash up and to the left, while three more went up and to the right, and a few more came down the trunk and into the yard… and back up again. I stood there, as witness to an abundance of joyful activity and I laughed until I cried.

Since I pay attention to synchronicity and seek messages from the universe, I am taking from Squirrel spirit that I am prepared for the future, I am abundantly blessed, and now it is time to manifest more joy in my life. I mean… NINE SQUIRRELS! One cannot ignore Mother Nature when she is trying to get your attention in such a remarkable way.

Thank you, dear universe, for the abundance of joy in my life, for providing all I need with plenty to share, and for the blessings of beauty that surround me every day. I am grateful.

To be sure, I have struggled with despair in recent weeks. I live in a state where Covid-19 restrictions are being lifted, while thousands of people are testing positive, and more than 100 people die each day. It is painful to understand that life is so meaningless to so many. I have felt oppressed by the realization that in order to keep my parents safe, we will all have to continue living in exile for the foreseeable future. I miss my people. I miss hugging them. I miss seeing their smiles, in real life… unmasked and radiant in the reflection of mutual affection.

Oh, and then there’s the awareness that there are people trying to get rid of the best healthcare coverage I’ve had in 50 years. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how anyone could believe this is a caring thing to do. Why don’t people care about the safety and wellness of others?

But today… today is the beginning of October! And even if I can’t see it… I can feel that change is coming. The things in life that no longer serve us are beginning to shrivel on the vine, and soon it will all fall away. There will be a time of naked awareness as the pile at our feet exposes the truth of what wickedness once grew unhindered and fed by poison.

Then… one day soon, we will bear witness to new growth and vibrant blossoming of new beginnings. This life thing, on the earthly plane, is comprised of a series of cycles, and all things must end. I, for one, value the darkness, and I do not fear endings. In my life, every ending has delivered clarity and greater understanding of where I’ve been and how I’d like to pave my path forward. It shall not be an easy task, but imagine where it will take us!

Thank you for walking this path with me.
May October bring you an abundance of blessings and endless moments of joy. I love you more.

An Unusual Harvest

Today is Lughnasadh, or Lammas, in the northern hemisphere. On the Celtic calendar, it is the cross quarter holiday that marks the midpoint between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox. When we lived in farming communities, it was considered the first harvest.

Since some of us were born with brown thumbs and outside of farming communities, as many do in the current era, we can still find value in these calendar pages through the power of metaphor. And so, once again, I ask… What’s in your harvest?

My Sacred Gardeners and I met in February for the annual workshop on intention setting. At Imbolc, we planted our figurative seeds of intention. Even with a brown thumb, intentions can grow when nurtured with mindfulness and attention.

We anticipated gathering again at the end of March, for the Spring Equinox, and even had a Beltaine retreat planned in my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains. It was to be a weekend dedicated to falling in love with ourselves, right down to a commitment ceremony with rings and circlets of flowers for our heads.

But sometimes, something happens in life that takes our attention away from the garden. A loved one dies, a job is lost, the path forward becomes less clear and uncertainty enters like a thick fog. 2020 has certainly been that kind of a year, ten-fold.

But every eight weeks, the wheel of the year turns to remind us to come back to the cycles of nature. Everything changes. All life is temporary. We remember that though these days are challenging, frustrating, disappointing, sad… they, too, are temporary. This pandemic will come to an end. This physical distancing from those we love will come to an end. This financial insecurity and horrific failure of leadership will come to an end. In the meantime, we are free to set our fears and worries aside, to come back to our gardens of intention.

So… this would be the time of year, the midpoint Imbolc and Winter Solstice, to assess the status of our intentions. What is ready to be harvested and stored to sustain us through the long winter? When I look back at my own lifechart completed with my gardeners, I can reflect on the key words I chose to adorn my candle of intention.

I realize that what I might have pictured to be a result of these intentions may not have manifested in the ways I had intended, but I can usually see that the Universe conspired to bring them to fruition in glorious and unexpected ways. The beauty of the garden is always found in the eyes of the beholder. One gardener may prefer something tediously manicured, while another may delight in allowing Mother Nature to do Her own thing.

What I have found is that my word for the year is RECIPROCITY. and I have found it in the ways that love is offered and returned, as friends and community respect and care for one another. We wear masks, we connect by phone, text, and Zoom. We don’t take personally the necessity of our distancing. We do what we can to deliver kindness, compassion, and togetherness in new and innovative ways.

I wanted to EMBODY TRUST. Which was not just to be the friend and daughter that those I love could depend on to hold their truth with gentle reverence, but that I would do the same for myself. That I would trust myself completely. That I would hear the sacred voice of my own intuition, and never doubt it.

I intended to continue to HEAL AND GROW this year, and I certainly have. Gratefully, much of this work can be done out in the world, but is even more succinct when done in solitude or isolation. In silence and without distractions of others, we can hear the cries of the oppressed, and ask ourselves what we don’t know. How is my silence harmful? How might I do better and be better as a trusted friend and ally? Oh, yes! I have learned so much… and I am still learning.

To CULTIVATE JOY was an intention, and I can see the many ways this has grown. Right before our world shut down, I was reunited with the boss who loved me, at the occasion of her son’s wedding. When he later wrote me, he said that it was so obvious to him how much she and I loved and cared for each other. And even though that was the last time I’ve gathered in a room with others… I have continued to find joy in the beautiful moments of each and every day… in a brief chat with a neighbor, having a giggle with my parents, witnessing the bats fly over my head as I walk home from tucking them in. So much delight can be found in living a small and simple life.

I wanted my year to be GROUNDED IN LOVE, and though there are many days when anger and outrage rise to greet the news of the day, it is always love that grounds me. Primarily, self-love. Each time I enter my home, after caring for my parents or doing the bi-weekly grocery run, I greet my kitties, and I walk through a mist of homemade balancing spray. As I do, I feel my shoulders drop, and my whole body relaxes. I can feel my roots reconnect to the earth through my sanctuary of home, and all is right with the world.

The final word on my candle of intention makes me laugh. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, always reminds me to be careful what you wish for. The word is RETREAT. Well… my intention was to host TWO retreats this year, in those sacred mountains. At first, we thought we would just lose the opportunity in May, but now… as my home state has skyrocketing Covid cases, it is clear that none of us will be traveling in October, either. But still… this intention surely did manifest. Just… not as imagined.

We have retreated into our homes, to keep our loved ones safe. I am in a daily retreat, really, as each day when I return from caring for my parents, I enter my home, and come back into myself… each day a little deeper. I can remember hearing about silent retreats or going on retreat alone, and thinking it had no appeal. And yet, I have found myself here over and over again, not just this year, but in the two years prior, as I endeavored to create a life beyond the corporate world I’d always known.

What I’ve found here, is that though I may be alone, I love the one I’m with. There is no one I’d rather be secluded with when the world is plagued with a potential plague. That’s kind of a pleasant surprise, for the girl who searched long and hard for a love she deserved… to have found it within herself.

Finally, all of these intentions manifested in the form of a new kind of togetherness. With our worlds becoming so small, during self-isolation and continued extreme caution until a vaccine can be discovered and broadly shared, some of us have chosen to see more of each other. Since March, I have been virtually meeting weekly with a Thursday night group of International friends from a course we took together, a weekly Friday night group of intuitive friends, a Saturday morning group with my Sacred Gardeners, and a Sunday night group with my goddesses.

So, I no longer meet people for lunch, but I do take an occasional masked-walk with a friend, with a hip-bump greeting instead of a hug. I write random letters and send them the old fashioned way, in the mail. My friend, who lives on the opposite corner of the country, and I have become pen pals, and last week she sent me sealing wax and a spoon for melting – so our letters are both sealed with more than just love.

I don’t know what I thought I’d find when I decided to walk through my garden of intentions, but I have to say, I’m pretty darned pleased with what I’ve found here. I allowed Mother Nature to do her thing, and as always, she has WOWed me beyond belief.

I hope that you and yours are safe and well. I hope that despite the unexpected twists and turns of an unusual and extraordinary year, it has been kinder to you than realized. I hope that your personal harvest is filled with light, love, and laughter that nourishes, nurtures, and sustains you throughout the coming seasons. Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.

A Song for Summer

The cicadas have finally returned to the embrace of my sacred oak trees, which stand sentinel at the edges of my yard. Their chatter makes me giddy. They have always represented the sound of summer to me. The return of afternoon thunderstorms adds to the joy that rises through every cell of my being. I love these evenings, as I walk to and from my parents’ home for our evening tuck-in ritual.

There is a gentle breeze that brings the wind chimes into song, and I wave to neighbors who are on their porches or chatting with others in a driveway, as I go by. I left my folks watching a new series of short films on Netflix called Homemade, which were created by people around the world while in Covid Quarantine. Each episode reminds me of the importance of community. I am grateful for the art that is coming to birth during these difficult days.

Speaking of birth… one of my dearest friends is expanding his family. His beautiful wife is expecting their daughter by early August, so their precious new being won’t technically be a quarantine baby, but virus related layoffs and pregnancy-related health concerns certainly complicate this new beginning. I would give anything to be nearby in order to offer support and help boost morale, but we are distant by geography. So, I aimed to pull us closer energetically.

Because my friend lives over 800 miles away, I have not yet been blessed to meet the woman who stole his heart several years back, other than through social media. But I have been witness to their love, to the birth and growth of their children, and so she is already planted firmly in my heart as sacred.

When I sat down to write a letter to a woman whom I’ve never met and who is earlier on her life path compared to my position, further ahead… I started with an introduction, but was delighted by what rose to my fingertips, when I asked the gift of words to flow. She gave me permission to share. I’m changing their names for privacy. I googled ‘mythical good husband and father’, so that’s where I’ll start… Hector and Andromache (don’t read anything into the choice beyond that, because nobody in mythology that I’ve studied had an ideal ending… [maybe I should have gone with Harry and Ginny]. Anyhoo…

Dear Andromache :

Hello love! Mother Goddess, sacred vessel of new life, beloved of my beloved. You’ve been on my mind and in my heart. I wish geography would allow us a kinder distance. Alas, we are forced to get to know one another and care deeply, from afar.

You probably know that your Hector and I met when we were young. Our lockers were nearby in high school… and we shared a class, but our friendship grew after he graduated, a year ahead of me. Here’s what I can tell you about that younger version of the man you love: He has always been authentic. He has always been the kindest, most caring being you could ever meet. He has always been compassionate, considerate, supportive, smart, talented, and loving. Another thing? Vulnerable. He was always courageous enough to speak his truth. Yes, I know you realize that you have captured a rare jewel of a man… and I know that he treasures you, Andromache.

So far, I’ve been witness to your glowing and growing family only through social media. I know that you are a devoted partner, a loving mother, and a gifted artist through the medium of photography. I asked Hector to tell me more, and he shared that you have both been walking a spiritual path that is earth-based. So, here’s where I tell you a little about me.

I grew up Unitarian Agnostic, but discovered an earth-based spiritual path when I was 23. I attended a women’s conference hosted by Margot Adler (one of the movement’s American foremothers) and then took a 6-month class on feminine spirituality. In 1993, I called together a group of beloved beings, and together we birthed a goddess group. We met weekly for 20 years, in varying numbers- as loved ones moved away.

Those early years, though, were blessed with focused intention, as young women transitioned from maiden to mother and older women from mother to crone. We celebrated rites of passage as Tribe sisters married, got pregnant, gave birth, as tribe legacy reached the one-year mark there were blessings for our babies, and when blood stopped flowing and wisdom kept growing, we celebrated the transformation of our sacred crone.

During those years, I often wished that every woman could have what we had. We were learning about ourselves and the goddess archetypes that we embodied, and we were honored and celebrated by other women for all of our similarities and all of our differences. It was glorious!

I know that you have been facing some complications with your current pregnancy, and I wish that I could call upon a circle of sacred souls to surround you and to hold you close. And since my spiritual understanding has grown through these many years, formerly a skeptic in all things until proven, I realize that I actually can.

When my Tribe sisters were full-bellied, we had a birth blessing ritual that included an art project. We would follow the guidance found by our Crone, words would be spoken, and then our sacred vessel would get naked and we would slather her with Vaseline and plaster. Once well-dried, we would have another gathering to paint and decorate the belly-cast. When our last local tribe-legacy was born, I actually arrived at the hospital before Mom & Dad, and the staff let me enter the birthing room to wait. I was able to cast a circle and invite the elements and Artemis to guide and support this final journey, as my friend had decided this would be her last daughter.

Artemis had come into our lives in 1999, in a really big way, and She is the goddess of childbirth – protector of women and children. If you welcome it, I would call upon Her to do the same for you.

I thought I would also share the words of The Blessingway Ritual that we would do before each birth. I’m afraid I cannot tell you from where the original guidance came {I will add here when I find it!}, or even which words are ours and which words were found in another source, for we have made them our own. In the time of pandemic, your health and safety is paramount. I wish you could have a circle of friends gathered for this rite. Perhaps Hector can read these words to you, as you sit with eyes closed, envisioning the circle I am calling to surround you.

Andromache’s Blessingway

The Beginning

The most holy one created the world like an embryo, as an embryo grows from the navel, so she began to create the world by the navel, and from there it spread, grew, multiplied in all directions… she was both seed and flower, both primordial and final. The first vibrations of the egg of the world, which unfold to the edges of the universe, are both expanding and contracting, emerging from the source and pulsing outward to disappear into a spherical vortex. The still center (the heart) is the axis of creation – universal continuum perpetually unfolds, pulses outward, contracts – perpetually spinning through its own center.

The Meditation

Three cleansing breaths, release and relax.
See the egg divide, become the fetus, and grow inside the womb.
The fetus develops and becomes a child.
She is born, grows into yourself, grown up.
The cycle starts again with a child in the womb of Andromache.
Ask the child for a message.
Send her blessings and love.
Wish her well in her beginnings and come back to now.

Take time to share and write the messages you receive from your daughter.

The Blessing

We are here to honor Andromache, who will become mother to a new being. She is the Mother Goddess, and we kneel before her in reverence. We are here at the edge of the waxing moon to invoke the gifts of Artemis with Her blessings of protection for a safe birth, guidance for a strong, healthy child, strength and wisdom for happiness and fulfillment in motherhood.

The maiden lays a green cord across Andromache’s womb and says: I am Maiden. I was the secret you carried inside you in the beginning, when you belonged only to yourself. Long before you could feel life inside your womb, and long before others would look upon you and know, it was I who danced lightly in your heart. When you dreamed your dreams of youth and renewal, it was I who was there to dream with you. Though I have changed, I have never left you.

The mother lays the red cord across Andromache’s womb and says: I am Mother. When the life inside you was growing, and you began to feel it stir, I was there. As all the world watched and tried to feel with you the mystery of new life, I whispered in your ears and helped to comfort your deepest fears. My kiss placed a gentle blush on your cheeks, and my hand held yours when the child within cried out. Time has passed, and now you know me in yet another form. I have never left you.

The crone lays the gold cord across Andromache’s womb and says: I am Crone. As your time approached, it was I who helped to prepare you. My strength sustained you as the wheel turned on. In order for you to understand the beginning, I taught you about the ending. As your grandmothers before have always been midwives to their daughters and granddaughters, I stood by you. Slowly you came to understand that for your child to be born, a child inside of you must give way. I allowed you to cut your own cords to your past, as your inner child’s cord was cut when new life began. Though I have done my job, I wait for you in dreams. I have never left you.

The Tribe (maiden, mother, crone) places their hands upon Andromache’s womb and speak words of commitment: “We have never left you. We have been with you from the beginning, and will be within you always.“

A symbol of gentle birth is charged with healing, protective energy and placed upon the altar. (I’ve enclosed a malachite rubbing stone that is already charged with my energy. Consider having the girls and Hector add theirs, as well.) And loving symbols are painted on the belly in essential oils or henna. Then celebrate with milk and cookies.

The Closing

We offer our gratitude to the element of air, which will deliver our daughter’s first breath upon the light of new beginnings; to the element of fire, which will warm her perfect body and rise through cries of the announcement – “I am here!”; to the element of water, which has enveloped her and kept her safe from the very beginning; to the element of earth, which aches to feel her feet and hold her close for all of her days. We are grateful to Artemis, who guides and protects mother and child as they transform from one being who holds a sacred seed, to two beautiful beings, each Her own unique magnificence. Ever be with us on our spiritual journey. WE bid thee Hail and Farewell.

So, now you’ve been initiated as an honorary member of my Tribe. You can call upon this sacred circle, which resides in the ether, whenever you are seeking warrior strength and support through overcoming any obstacle. Oh! And here’s my favorite factoid, learned while my people were having babies… when your milk comes in and your breasts feel engorged, you can place a cabbage leaf in your bra to reduce the pressure. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve heard it works. I love to share that sweet morsel of wisdom. [Seriously, this fascinates me!] I hope you don’t need it, for the flow that your daughter calls shall always come with grace and ease.

Andromache, I know you don’t know me, but I hope you feel cherished and loved. I am grateful for the joy and unconditional love you have delivered (figuratively and literally) into the life of my sweet friend. He deserves this kind of love, and I’m so glad he gets to share his remarkable goodness with you.

I am also enclosing a book from my own library. Our babies are all grown now, and it would only remain as a resource to offer others, so I’d like you to have it. I hope you can get good use of it with your own tribe of little women. Circle Round by Starhawk offers music, activities, sacred ceremony, and wisdom for raising children on an earth-based path. There is also a poem that we would read to our babies upon arrival and at a one-year ceremony, which would offer our dedication to their emotional wellness for this lifetime.

Know that you are always surrounded by the energy of those we cannot see with our eyes, but feel with our hearts. I look forward to watching the evolution of your family from afar, and I hope that we will one day be able to safely gather for a celebration of rites of passage, either for you and Hector, or for your girls.

Love and brightest blessings…

And the poem…

Thank you for walking this path with me. If you are feeling isolated or alone during this challenging time, may you find yourself surrounded by loving community that holds you close… even from a distance. You are so loved.

Global Fam-demic

I wonder what beauty you may be finding during these difficult days.

For me, life is not much different. I had already made my world very small, by choosing to live simply, while serving my parents. The biggest change for us, is that I now do all of the shopping, with great care and more frequent hand-washing.

There has, of course, been great loss… in the form of up-close connectedness. I miss hugs more than anything on this planet, and what I know for sure, is that it is the one thing I will miss when my body is done and my spirit moves on.

But there have been many extraordinary developments that add light to this shadow. For these gifts, I am grateful.

If I start with what is really close to home, it would be a continued growing affection between my parents and myself. Our commitment and care for the wellness of one another is now our primary focus. There are few distractions from this imperative intention. We are not ready to lose each other, therefore, we will continue to do whatever science and healthcare leaders recommend to keep ourselves safe and well. And we will also do it to help keep others well.

To open the circle a little wider to our surroundings, there is the delight of getting to know my neighbors. I’ve lived in this house for nearly 25 years, and because we were all working outside of the home, there has been little to no interaction. We might know we had neighbors simply by the presence or absence of a car in the driveway, noticed in passing.

I’ve been around full-time for a couple of years, but now that they are home, as well… we are not just waving as we pass, we are stopping to say hello and check on our mutual emotional well-being. And we are eager to offer kindness, in the form of a text to say one of us is going to the store – is there anything you need?

The other day, the guy across the street noticed tree branches brushing my roof, and offered to cut them back. He even took the cuttings to the curb, and blew away the leaves that had gathered. I thanked him with a gift-card and two pints of his favorite ice cream, and he gave me a bag of avocados he’d picked up in plenty from a nearby store. Seriously, anyone would be blessed to have a neighbor like mine. He once witnessed a fallen tree branch hit my roof in a rainstorm, and climbed up before I got home, to be sure there was no damage or to secure a tarp for protection.

Then there’s the lady who was out one day, as I walked up to my folks’ house, who had been here for 29 years – and I’d never seen her once. She started watching for me, and stepping outside to take a walk with me. Yesterday, she texted and said… “I know you can’t walk tonight, but I got you something, and I can’t wait to give it to you.” It was a few minutes before my online meditation group gathering, but I met her half-way. I opened it late last night, and then used the illumination of this warmly given flashlight, as I made my way back up the street for bedtime ritual with Mom and Dad.

I learned that she worked for our local grocery store for 30 years, and that on Monday, she is having her port removed, because she has defeated cancer. So glad that she will now have another neighbor cheering her on.

Then there’s the neighbor across the street, who is there because I begged the homeowner to let me pick his next renter. He is in his 70s and on furlough (because for many, social security is not enough to live on). He has not been able to file for unemployment in the last nine weeks, because we are in Florida, and the Governor who created the system is a criminal. The other day, I asked my lawn guys if they could cut his lawn, and today, I helped him to file for the benefits he needs and deserves.

Expanding my reach even more, there are the circles of friends whose hugs I dearly miss. Some of us would have been seeing each other every 8 weeks in my workshops for mindfulness and creativity. I remember asking them if they would be interested in meeting more often this year (imagining a small gathering in my home, as needed), and now that we cannot gather, we are even more connected than before. We have a weekly video conference scheduled, and I’m using some of the skills I’ve learned in a course I’m taking to facilitate a safe and brave space, where everyone is heard and held for every joy and concern.

In fact, I have multiple circles like this. One with a spiritual, intuitive focus. One to nurture a loving bond, of a group that has met monthly for decades, to cook together and raise a glass, as we share the depth of what is happening in our lives. Now, we are having a monthly virtual happy hour, instead… and we each offer a toast to the camera with our gratitude for the safety and wellness of each sacred soul.

And then… there’s the community of remarkable beings with whom I have been meeting weekly since the end of October. We have lately remarked on how we felt drawn to this online course for reasons unknown… until now. Now, we can see the guiding hand of the Universe, that led us each to sign up for Heather Plett’s Holding Space Leadership Program last fall (or spring for those of us in the southern hemisphere).

In the beginning, we were told that we numbered about 50, and were given a pinpoint map of the world to show where each of us are physically located. We are in Canada (east and west), we are all over the United States, we are all over Australia, we are in Japan, Singapore, Norway, and Belgium. There are other countries on the map, but I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few people that are learning and growing with us.

Through five modules and seven months of weekly connectedness, we have experienced so much. We started by learning about the basic concepts and symbolism in Holding Space, then moved into learning how to hold space for ourselves. We did a deep dive into the foundation of The Circle Way, as one form of the container we can create for the courage and vulnerability of others. Next, we moved into the module to which I most looked forward… Holding Space in Complexity. Friends…. I learned this lesson years ago when I asked Ganesha to remove my obstacles and had to leave my job of 10 years the next day… BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.

Right before this module started, we were holding space for our friends and classmates in Australia, for their country was burning. With them, we prayed for rain and an end to the nightmare, while listening to their fears and concerns without judgment, deepening our skills for holding others in a space where we know we cannot fix it… and understanding the power of remaining present, rather than looking away from that which we cannot control.

In the months before, we were sharing our stories with depth, honesty, and vulnerability, in groups of 20, groups of 4, and one-on-one. We were finding resonance with these stories, and reaching out away from the class meeting time and separate from the homework, because we wanted to know more about each soul who was speaking to our own. Slowly, the news was shifting focus, from the natural disaster down under, to classmates in corporate roles who were preparing for pandemic.

And then… it happened. The whole world shut down. Only, we were not just seeing it in the news. We were witnessing it through the stories of our new friends and classmates. We found gratitude in seeing each face in a tiny Zoom-square every week, with a breath of relief – thank goodness she/he/they are safe.

Talk about complexity! We thought the hardest part would be unveiling our implicit biases, and peeling back our privilege. But imagine being in that deep dive and learning that so much death is occurring in places denied the privilege from which you benefit… like on Reservations and in black communities. It’s a painful process, but worth the effort. It might just free you from inertia and give you the strength and courage to do more.

But wait… there’s more. Some kind of magick occurred in this process. Our remarkable and big-hearted teachers and facilitators, who are on their fifth go-round with this annual class, have informed us that this level of bonding has not happened before. They had not previously seen members creating new groups of their own – like our Thursday meditation circle that meets before class. They wonder if we can pinpoint the factors that supported this cohesiveness. I’m not sure if we have an answer. It feels spiritual to me, as if Mother Earth commanded it.

Let me tell you, this love runs deep. There is something powerful about vulnerability. When we have the courage to go deep, and to peel away the layers of pretense, daring to speak our truths, and to be held and heard by others with respect and caring… falling in love is inevitable. This is where we find belonging. Together, we have learned that when we show up for one another, even in the silence of meditation, the strands that are the fiber of our beings become interwoven. We have no doubt that this bond will only grow stronger. With two weeks left of class, we have already committed to continue.

I’ve had trouble writing this year. My words normally flow easily through the simple action of placing my fingers on the keyboard, but lately… the flow has been blocked. Whether it is because of my body’s fight or flight response to the constant pounding and vibration of nearby construction or the empathic space holding of fear and chaos for what is happening for the collective, I am unsure. But what I do know, is that I didn’t want this time to go by undocumented. I don’t want to forget, should the world normalize in any way, what magick we’ve created in this liminal time.

I’ve been thinking about this pandemic, and how it has affected the world. It rapidly spread across continents and changed everything in an instant. But when I seek the good in the situation, which I always do, what I acknowledge, value, and treasure is the way that when our personal lives have gotten so very small… our love has gotten so very big.

The family that I am working to protect started as three people in two houses on one block, and has spread across the entire globe. It’s a fam-demic!

I have no doubt that if so much love can be nurtured and expanded through a series of sacred circles, it can surely ripple out across the world. And really, loving one another is the only thing that can bring this suffering to an end.

I love you enough to wear a mask. I love you enough to wash my hands. I love you enough to keep my distance. I love you enough to offer my care. I love you enough to help where I can. I love you enough to show up, even if virtually is the best way, for now. I love you enough to speak my truth. I love you enough to honor your truth. I love you enough to hold this space for you with the light of love. Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.