Authenticity – Bee the Light

Leaning In For Love

Mercury Retrograde, which began on August 4 and concludes on August 27, invites us into reflection. Yes, we can be led into misunderstanding and miscommunication during these three weeks with a 14-day shadow on each end, but it also urges us to review, reflect, revisit, and realign relationships. What I love the most is that we also have the opportunity to rewrite how a story ends.

Reflecting on this year so far, I realize how wonderfully love has resonated in my life. The greatest gift has been having the opportunity to grow more deeply into a relationship with my honorary godson. Though he is only in his mid-20s, he is highly intelligent, not just cognitively but also emotionally. Therefore, holding space for him as he goes through a difficult life transition has afforded me a deeper insight into the psyche and spirit of the embodiment of healthy or heroic masculinity (the opposite of the toxic kind). Imagine a man who chooses daily to be better, not bitter.

To identify with an apparently powerful segment of the American population this election cycle, I am a joyfully childless and happily single cat lady. The men in my life are great friends who also fit the healthy male description, however, the opportunity to connect over life events, which lead to deeply meaningful and bravely vulnerable conversations are rare. Much of the daily access I have to men, perhaps by design, comes through the news and it sadly reinforces the desire to keep my world safe and small. I’ve had far too many traumatic experiences with toxic masculinity to long for more of that in my life.

Something else I’ve witnessed this year that has been a revelation is platonic love. I am blessed to have so much of it in my life that it isn’t a foreign concept at all, but what was a real delight was to see it in the places that entertain me. During the months of May and June, that place was with Shondaland and Bridgerton. It wasn’t just the two-part reveal of season three of Bridgerton that kept me riveted, but the numerous interviews from the press tour. I’m pretty sure I watched them all while waiting for the second half of the season to be released. I loved the way that love was present everywhere, be it on set or in interviews with everyone in the cast. Many were interviewed while holding hands and speaking highly of one another with great adoration and gratitude.

The show leads for the season who depict the friends-to-lovers relationship shared in one of eight books written twenty years ago, show up throughout the junket with an extraordinary display of mutual respect, caring, and playfulness. I possibly enjoyed the exultation that the actors delivered on their world tour more than the eight episodes produced for Netflix. The energy they alchemize in each others’ company is joyfully infectious. I think a part of my obsession was a hesitation to leave that loving world behind, returning to a reality of divisive words and actions found daily in the news. We deserve better.

I recently found myself reviewing past trauma through what would have been a new trauma had it not been so familiar and easier to overcome out of habit. Even though I could intuit an expected outcome, I found myself believing in something different. Even though I was wrong, I don’t regret my ability to expect goodness.

A former service provider who had shown up in my life with kindness and generosity of spirit since before my Dad died, expressed an interest in getting to know me better. He was much younger, and since I have close friends of all ages, I felt inclined to accept the invitation, but I was also feeling triggered by the advance. In the past, when someone has expressed interest or attraction, it has ended in being psychically molested and then abandoned like a virtual rape victim. So, I was hesitant and consulted my intuitive soul daughter. We both concluded that the energy we felt was not dark and that he was possibly attracted to my light for reasons he didn’t quite understand. I told her that it made me feel uncomfortable and that I liked the simplicity in my life. I didn’t want to invite an experience that would lead to longing, expecting the eventual abandonment or disappointment that would follow should it turn out the same. She reminded me that if we are comfortable, we are not growing. So, I chose growth.

At first, it seemed there was genuine interest in friendship and I was excited about the possibility of nurturing another healing relationship with the masculine divine beyond my cherished godson. Sadly, the limit of his vulnerability was the fear of scaring me off for telling me about what he fantasized about ‘doing to me’, and then he was gone. Ghosted. No longer available to work that behavior into something that might be healing for both of us. When I shared that news with my soul daughter, she said, “Wow! That was a quick lesson! Now you get to process the totality of it.”

At first, I was mad at myself for believing it could be different, based on the way that each time we met I could sense that we both ‘lit up’ as if there was a past life or karmic connection. It was a sweetness that I certainly have never experienced with other home technicians. For that reason, I did not ghost him back. I maintained my confusion about the whole thing and decided to include him in my processing, regardless of whether he would see it or ever reply.

On my father’s 87th birthday, I sent him the blessing of a brief reading that my soul daughter discovered when entering his energy to see if it was safe after his first note of interest. And I concluded it with a blessing for his daughter, of which he had spoken from a past relationship that left him allegedly single for several years, and for him – because I prefer to lead with love.

“So this is my father’s birthday blessing to your daughter. May she never be mishandled by the harmful (intentional or otherwise) manipulation and abandonment of lesser men. May she be a magnet to all goodness and healthy behaviors from all beings who approach her. May she always be held with deep respect and great reverence. May she be eternally protected from all men who lack the character to deserve her beautiful heart. May she know that she is loved without condition. May you find the healing in your own being that brings a sense of wholeness to your soul. We all deserve that. Take care and thanks for the lesson. May it be my last.”

When I reflected on what I’ve learned about closure at the end of life, and how what we must release when we leave our bodies behind are the negative emotions of human construct, including guilt, shame, and attachment, I understood that I wanted to offer him one more gift. Forgiveness. “May you know that you are forgiven for all harm you may have said or done in this lifetime and beyond.”

After a week of silence while still carrying the burden of disappointment, I worried for his safety and wellness considering the nature of his job. What if this wasn’t a choice and something was wrong. Even though I’ve never had children, I totally know how to worry needlessly about irrational things. I discovered the deception through social media. Despite the beauty I had felt in his energy, there was a fiance and young children whom he had never mentioned. I wasn’t seeking a romantic relationship because he was born the year of my spiritual awakening – meaning I could have birthed him, but this finding turned his invasive and manipulative words to me into a horrifying assault on his family, as well. I guess I wasn’t finished with my monologue. I offer this next part as a suggestion to any man who might want to change the course of his karma.

“I realize now that I never got to tell you what I wanted. I don’t think you ever asked. Women are trained from birth to serve their fathers, brothers, and husbands (internalized patriarchy), and so we are often remiss in asking for what we need, because it is unlikely we’ve ever allowed ourselves to have needs. Women of a certain age have cultivated the capacity to both give and receive great pleasure, and frankly, we can serve ourselves with no need of a man. But what I would like from you, is an acknowledgment of your disrespect and an apology for your poor behavior. Your fiance deserves your loyalty and after offering you nothing more than friendship, mentorship, and loving kindness, I deserve your respect and to have my efforts met in some small way. I know I may not get what I want, but I might just get what I need… having spoken my complete truth after deep reflection.

Now that the veil of illusion is lifted on your personal life, I can tell myself a story of someone who works really hard to support himself and his family and how overwhelming and unsatisfying just living life can feel at times. Maybe he was looking for an escape from reality and to step into a fantasy for a moment, without accountability or recourse. Maybe he really did just want someone to talk to who could hold space for the heaviness of the responsibility that he carries, so that he might feel heard and held while life spirals in and out as it does, often feeling out of his control. But somehow, society taught him that the way to connect with a woman is through sex. He never learned about connecting deeply through honesty and vulnerability – by sharing the truth of every ache and wound, as well as the revelation of great joy. He had not seen the missed opportunity before him. He didn’t realize that innocent conversations of the heart could enable finding the truth of his own heart, which he could take safely back into his own committed relationship, without guilt or shame. I would have loved that ending. I would have cherished our friendship the way I cherish the trust my godson and I share.

Here’s how someone might begin reparation or repentance. “Dear M, thank you for the warm hand of friendship that you offered me last week. I was searching for some light, and I found it in you. I deeply regret that past traumas kept me from being able to receive your offer in a way that was safe and healing for both of us. Your trust and vulnerability were mine to earn, and I failed us both. I didn’t know what I was looking for and misunderstood the opportunity the universe had offered me. Thank you for your forgiveness already given, I offer you my sincere gratitude for helping me process the confusion we have both been experiencing in the past week.”

Okay. That’s it. I think I’ve processed all of the fog and confusion you left me with. I hope you will consider my respectful request. You have the opportunity to be a healer, dear. I know you wouldn’t want to miss that!“

There still has been no response. At times, I have considered being bitter, but thanks to my godson’s example I have chosen to be better. I feel that what I’ve managed to do here is to offer his daughter(s) a blessing from my father that was first and foremost a channeled blessing from my father to me. I have found no regret for leaning in for the possibility of more platonic love to enter my life, because it was not wrong to listen to the beauty of the sweet energy that existed between us. If I were to interpret the lesson as one that informs me I cannot trust myself and that I should remain closed to any future possibility of loving kindness when it knocks at my door, I would be limiting my life in a way that might truly feel like regret at the end. I deserve better.

I’m really sad for the loss of that sweetness because he truly felt like a blessing in my life from the first day I asked my angels to deliver an angel in the overwhelm of caring for my father at the end of his life. But I’m really glad to know that this kind of energy exists and that there is a possibility for more. Bring it on, Universe!

Thanks, Mercury Retrograde! Move along now. We’ll see you again at the end of November. And thank YOU, dear gentle reader, for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

Sowing the Seeds of Love

What a remarkable thing it is to wake each day wrapped in the glow of the love that surrounds us and burns within us. My spiritual journey began in 1992 with the introduction to the feminine divine at a weekend workshop with Margot Adler. Though I had grown up in the Unitarian Church, I never met another Unitarian at school from kindergarten through senior year. Growing up in the bible belt (Central Florida), I was surrounded by many young people of varying Christian faiths, so I was often informed that my lack of faith in someone else’s belief system meant that I would burn in Hell. Of course, that didn’t scare me because I didn’t believe in that human construct either. But so much talk of a hateful God who would send good people into an eternity of suffering was a real turn-off. Frankly, I’m not into abusive relationships, so I moved on.

So, the idea of a faith or practice that included a Goddess and a God was a revelation at age 23. Admittedly, I continued to struggle with the ‘God’ relationship and decided to just ignore it for a while. There have been far too many experiences with toxic masculinity that offered objectification, disrespect, and misogyny to enable a relationship with a masculine divine. So, I focused on my relationship with the feminine divine and spent a couple of decades figuring out how to find Her within myself. I could really feel the goddess rising through the MeToo movement and the PinkPussyHat movement of recent years. What I could feel in my being is that She is kinda pissed, y’all.

In the age of constant news of white men in places of power working daily to rape and pillage the rights and bodily autonomy of women, it’s especially difficult to nurture a kind and loving relationship with the masculine divine. Though I have a good number of remarkable men in my life, I am a happily single and joyfully childless cat lady, so… I was beginning to feel that this was a relationship I wouldn’t get to explore in this lifetime. But that started to shift at the beginning of this year.

A young man in my life invited me to hold space for his suffering and vulnerability. Through his courage and emotional maturity, I got to see the beauty of a soul that lives in truth with respect for women and for himself. He strives to be a man of integrity and compassion. When he suffers a setback, he honors his grief with the support of a therapist and with the counsel of elders who love him. Instead of allowing his hurt to turn to bitterness, he chooses to go deeper within to become an even better version of himself. He has become my personal symbol of the masculine divine. My most Noble Truth. My honorary godson.

That divine nature is also visible in the deeply compassionate and sacrificial nature of our President, Joe Biden. Talk about a sacrificial king. For the sake of our democracy, he came out of retirement to use his half a century of experience and across-the-aisle capability to regain a sense of integrity and dignity for our country after four years of terror. And though he surely would have won another term to finish all he sought to accomplish on our behalf, he chose to step aside and elevate the feminine divine we find in his partner and VP, Kamala Harris.

Within a single week, the energy that surrounds this pending election season was elevated to a whole new dimension. This moment is way overdue, and we are fully engaged and ready to celebrate getting to vote again for a woman and this time to see her elected as President of the United States of America. And now, just a couple of weeks after that, we are steering by starlight. Kamala Harris has chosen a healthy father figure to join her in leading us out of the darkness of threatening fascism which already has a tight grip on our democracy. I live in Florida, so we feel it and see it every day in the toxic masculinity that runs rampant in harmful and oppressive policies pouring out of our state’s capitol.

The thing about the rise of the feminine divine is that unlike in patriarchal systems, there is more than enough room for the masculine divine. I mean, She is the Mother of us all, how could She possibly want less for Her Sacred Sons than for Her Beloved Daughters? There is archaeological evidence that women were worshipped and revered for tens of thousands of years, but for the last two thousand years of the Piscean Age, the world has been victim to the diminishment of women in society and the Earth has paid a lethal price.

The world is now getting to see how a brilliant woman leads with strength and joy, and how a heroic male counterpart who lifts her and supports her is invited to shine right along with her. Beloveds, I am so excited for all of us and the bright future that awaits. Tim Walz was completely unknown to me a week ago, and now he is among my favorite humans. I delight in knowing that girls are finally going to see themselves in the highest role within our country’s leadership and that boys, girls, and non-binary beings will benefit from the loving kindness and healing compassion to be delivered by the Harris Walz Administration. This is gonna be so good!

There is still much work to be done, for darkness still looms in the shadows despite all of this light. The age of Aquarius is upon us and we are bearing witness to the WE movement through communities that are gathering and building momentum in various groups on social media. There is so much love there, I hope you are finding it and feeling it, dear ones. People who are physically surrounded by cult members are finding comfort and solace in these spaces where we arrive for a common cause, to not go back, and to fight to win. What I especially adore is that people whose lives have been made physically and emotionally unsafe by the hateful rhetoric of the oppression party are bravely stepping into community spaces in their authenticity and are finding acceptance and celebration, as should we all. I LOVE THIS FOR ALL OF US! We deserve to live in a world where we are all accepted and celebrated for who we are.

So enjoy this beautiful chariot ride into liberation, friends. Keep showing up, keep speaking up, keep rising up, keep lifting up – not just Kamala Harris and Tim Walz as our next President and Vice President, but one another, as well! This is how we form a more perfect union. And if you’re interested in joining me and my tribe for our mindful practice of visualizing the future we deserve and command, below is our Blue Flame Spell for the Protection of Our Democracy.

When a Blue Wave moves through it leaves behind a lot of muck and debris in its wake, so we are invoking a controlled burn with this Blue Flame to burn it all away so that the light that is revealed can shine brightly upon our sacred foundation and give rise to the seeds of a loving society where we all have all we need with plenty to share. Just light a blue candle and speak these words each day between now and the election.

By this Blue Flame, we conjure zephyr winds, cleansing fire, healing waves, and stable ground to lift us, purify us, clarify us, and hold us as we witness our Nation’s joyful new beginning with the flawless election of Democratic Representation from the White House through each Statehouse. We activate and fully engage our highest selves, our devoted guides, and all unemployed angels, to awake and arise with the spirit of our sacred ancestors to deliver us from obstruction, oppression, and intended destruction. The feminine divine did rise, and will not tolerate patriarchal demise.

Blue Flame, burning brightly illumines the peaceful and respectful transition of power from the compassionate father to the fearless daughter. One saved us from drowning, providing healing respite, the next gave us wings and took us higher into flight. When women lead, the world is reborn. We celebrate the arrival of effortless flourish and flow, nurtured by truth, justice, abundance, wisdom, empathy, caring, and compassion for all beings great and small. Together, we are dancing, sharing, loving, and caring. This is the arrival of our new age as we rejoice, renew, and rekindle ancient wisdom,
progressive sage.

This Blue Flame burns away the ME and elevates the WE, aligning the earth with safety, security, equity, equality, liberty, harmony, transparency, integrity, unity, community, multi-dimensionality, and reciprocity.
Our time has come. We have overcome! It is done. It is done. It is done!

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

This quote from a longer poem spoke to me, as does this stunning artwork
by a favorite artist whose work is found on Etsy, Autumn Sky Art.

Half Full of Hope

Yesterday, a needle pierced my throat four times. I had a biopsy on my thyroid to get a better look at the discovery of a nodule that showed up in an unrelated MRI of my cervical spine. The second jab was the most uncomfortable, but it was hard to describe. We decided it may have involved hitting a nerve, and my reply was, “Well, I’m glad I have nerves.” My biopsy tech decided that I was a ‘glass half full’ patient.

He said that it likely was an unnecessary procedure since benign nodules are pretty common. I told him that I have a friend who caught covid before the vaccines were available and that a scan of her congested lungs revealed that she had an aggressive form of ductal breast cancer. I told him that I was not mad about my doctor being overly cautious. When we finished up he said that he was sure it was nothing to worry about and that he was sorry for whatever I would have to pay for the procedure. I touched his arm and said, “Oh, don’t worry. I have Obamacare!”

This was after he expressed dismay over the current climate in our country and his desire to immigrate elsewhere. I reminded him that most places in the world are going through something similarly distressing and that the best thing for us to do is to stay and work toward creating something better.

As I drove home, I was learning about the latest travesty committed by the US Supreme Court, while also reflecting on a recent conversation with my honorary godson. He and I are from different backgrounds with obvious differences in life experience and perspectives. While we frequently have deep conversations on belief, we have not previously dared to delve into politics. We each voice-recorded messages with our thoughts, and as expected, I got a little extra expressive on the ways that people can vote (or choose not to vote) which is ultimately harmful to society, and especially to women.

That poor kid, half my age, re-recorded his reply to me multiple times before sharing and declared it the last time he ever wanted to do that because it felt ‘icky’. His reply wasn’t divisive in any way. He just really wanted to know why he should vote when he felt there really wasn’t a choice he felt could represent him. Like many (his age or not), the choice of two elderly men has no appeal to him, and feeling limited to one party or another fails to reach what he longs to see in the form of our country’s direction. [This is actually a pathetic summary of a brilliant oratory, as his brain is far more capable than mine of thoughtful expression. I’m still overcoming brain fog that has blocked my writing for some time.]

What I could offer him, a young adult soon to vote in his second presidential election, is that if you want to see the country move in the direction of your dreams, the only choice at this moment is to vote for Democrats across the board. They may not be what you want for leadership, but if you want change that will serve you down the road, they will be the party to enable it. Abolishing the Electoral College will not occur under the party that most benefits from it through gerrymandering. Free and fair elections will not be possible with the current state of the Republican party, now so far from any form of ethical or civilized behavior, it boggles belief. The courts are corrupt, a direct result of proud efforts by the GOP, and that reform will not come with their majority in the halls of Congress. When a party shows you who they are, believe them. Then set a healthy boundary.

If you want to see a future with more than two parties that lead to a viable chance of representation that serves you best, your only hope is to vote Blue in every race and keep doing so until progress is allowed to transform the broken system we currently maintain. Ranked-choice voting to remove toxicity and improve choice, which is offered in some left-leaning states could grow, offering you a greater sense of inclusion in democracy. It won’t ever expand if you don’t vote Blue.

Speaking or writing on politics is not within my list of strengths, and yet it feels irresponsible for any of us to sit in silence while witnessing the rapid decline of social justice and democracy. It’s okay to be mad about the choices before you, but it is not okay to act in a way that furthers that cause.

As an Aquarius, it feels impossible to lose hope in a brighter future. I believe in the goodness of humanity and our ability to care deeply for one another. I believe that we are meant to be interdependent beings. We are not in this earthly realm to learn how to fend for ourselves, we are meant to learn and grow toward the truth of our souls. When we return to energetic form, we flow back into oneness. Our challenge in human form is to remember that we are all one.

Harming ourselves or harming another is an act of violence against us all. From this moment in history, voting for any Republican is an act of violence against humanity and the greater good. To be apathetic and not vote against your oppressors is an act of self-harm. Such negligence may mean that you never have the freedom to vote again.

When I come back to the image of my proverbial cup, despite the chaos of darkness that threatens to swallow us whole, I still find it to be half full. I know that even with what is happening in our country through the corruption of the highest court enabled by the GOP, with the loss of privacy, safety, and security in women’s healthcare, among a million other transgressions, there is hope. I believe that people who love themselves and others will rise into action between now and November to ensure we have the opportunity to continue the experiment of building a more perfect union. I believe in us! I believe in love! I believe this cup is filled with the light of love and that there is enough to nourish and illumine us all.

Thanks for walking this path with me, dear ones. Cheers!

Born Again Goddess

Goodness, it has been a year since I last wrote within this sacred space. I have felt such a yearning to reconnect to my inner creativity guide to allow love and light to flow onto page. I’m not sure where she went. I’ve missed her terribly. In my mind’s eye, she has tattoos of blue woad that flow through her fingers into a fountain pen that pours out words from a source beyond my understanding.

There should have been much to say since last June, but perhaps it was too heavy to share. For one thing, a woman for whom I was providing once-weekly care, fell in her bathroom on a Sunday and could not call for help. I normally would not have seen her again until Thursday, but my swiss-cheese memory let a monthly checklist fall through the holes, and I didn’t want her mild dementia to keep her from taking her pills or feeding her dog. So, upon arriving the day before a new month began rather than four days later, I found her bleeding from her head on the bathroom floor, where she had lain more than 24 hours. I’ve written before that this memory thing can be a blessing and a curse. This time – a blessing! I spent weeks through her recovery, however, in great remorse over not having gone over a day earlier. It was a difficult trauma from which to recover… for both of us.

She did survive the fall, thank the gods! I visited her in the hospital and rehab throughout her recovery and when she was healed enough for travel, her nieces arranged for her to live in a lovely care facility near them in another state. She is safe and well and I’ve been able to visit her twice in her new home. It’s such a relief to meet the caregivers of those we love to see that the love we feel is mirrored in their care.

Immediately following her departure, I was invited to work with another beautiful being whose family needed support with her care. After my recent experience, I was able to convince her that it would be lovely to stay in her home, but that it would be safer for her to be where she could be watched over and cared for in a way that her family could not physically or energetically handle. She, too, is now happily settled into a home that she often reports is her new happy place.

In October, I started facilitating a Caregiver Support Group with my Unitarian Church community, which enables me to utilize skills I fortified and things I learned in Heather Plett’s Holding Space Leadership course that I completed at the beginning of the pandemic. The depth of love and caring we can develop for others in the process of sharing our fears and frustrations, strengths and sorrows is immense. We offer one another an empathetic ear and a judge-free shoulder to help carry each others’ burdens. We also share tricks and tools that we’ve learned as we’ve scrambled to keep our loved ones safe and seen by a healthcare industry that frequently fails the elder population. It is a great blessing to know that none of us are walking this isolating and complicated path alone.

In loving people with dementia, my strength(finder) of ‘Input’ led to learning about many medications we take as we age causing cognitive decline, including a medication that I was taking to improve my sleep. So, I’m going to place some blame on my disconnect from writing on that, plus a little bit of trauma and maybe just too much caring for others and not enough caring for myself. Having something beautiful to write about helps, and as we reach the end of Pride Month, I would like to share something, and someone, beautiful.

In March, I heard from my friend that her surgery had gone well. This was the final chapter in her becoming. From the age of five, she knew that the body ‘parts’ that defined her identity to society did not match who she was on the inside. It would take fifty years for her to manifest a sense of wholeness in her body to match the expansiveness of her brilliantly boundless heart and mind.

I know that many people struggle with the idea of being transgender. It can be difficult to understand something that is not true for oneself. For me, it makes perfect sense. Since my mid-twenties, I have lived in a body that does not express my truth but hides it. It is not the parts I have that are wrong, but the size and shape of them. Inside, I am ‘every woman’. I am happy, optimistic, filled with a sense of love for the world and hope for the future. On the outside, I am what our society diminishes and disqualifies from the worthiness of being heard, held, and loved. I have walked in self-loathing for decades, have had 80% of my stomach removed, and have on many occasions fantasized about cutting away my belly, hips, and thighs with a butcher knife. Many people engage in changing their bodies through liposuction, tummy tucks, nose jobs, facelifts, and such. We ALL want to see in the mirror a reflection of who we are so that no one can question our authenticity.

When I imagine myself with a penis, it feels like something I would add to my list of things I might change about my body. So, you can possibly see why when my friend shared her news with me, my reply was to suggest a sacred ceremony of celebration to mark her transformation into the fullness of womanhood she has always yearned for. I was delighted when she said, “Yes” to Rebirth.

I knew that my friend had been drawn to the archetype of Artemis, which happens to be my goddess, too, so as I planned a ritual of rebirth, I also planned an initiation into the Sisterhood of Artemis. Artemis chose my Tribe in 1999, and we have mindfully walked with her these many years. When becoming Artemis, one can no longer continue drowning in the false belief of self-doubt and unworthiness. If you walk with Her long enough, you will find that it all eventually falls away, and what remains is pure, unwavering love of self and others.

Planning a sacred ceremony for any kind of transformation is my happy place. But feeling so disconnected from that mystery of what moves through me when I create reminded me of starting up a gas engine that sat too long during the pandemic. Even now, I can see the valves and pistons in my mind spitting and sputtering while seeking clarity. I had ideas for powerful symbolism and quickly placed orders for two items that should arrive the next day. Had I not known better, I would have guessed Mercury was retrograde when I was notified that one item was damaged in shipping and had been returned to sender. I was able to order it again for delivery a day later, a day before the ritual. But later that day, when the second item was reported as delivered, I found they had given me someone else’s order and there was nothing to be done to acquire my own package. I tried to duplicate the order, like the previous lost item, but the new delivery date was too late.

I am a firm believer in seeing rejection as redirection, so I simply chose to look through my own collection of items gathered over 25 years to find an even more powerful symbol than the one originally ordered, which was now a blessing to a stranger. Ultimately, everything came together in absolute perfection, much as it did for my friend whose body had been transformed. I think the best part of receiving the wrong package was the message we received from the Universe in affirmation of the task for which we prepared. It was a sheet of round stickers that read, “IT’S A GIRL!” (I really couldn’t make that up, ya’ll.)

I know that traditionalists would never share the details of such a ceremony, but my hope is that someone will read this and be inspired to take what is offered and alter it or use it word-for-word to create something special for someone they love who would rise into the glow of their true self by the acknowledgment and care of those who value them not only for who they were, but for who they’ve become. A glorious being of divine truth.

For every sacred being who walks this path to wholeness, theirs is the way of the warrior. They have surely battled many for the right to feel joyful in their own skin, including their parents, their healthcare providers, their local government, their communities, and the most difficult challenge of all, themselves through feelings of shame, fear, and loathing.

Each and all deserve welcome, initiation, and celebration. May these words be a guideline and a blessing. May they spark a revolution of inclusion and homecoming.

On the altar: I had a sprig of dried white sage, a beeswax candle, a bottle of rainwater I had collected on the eve of Summer Solstice, a dish of flaked sea salt, a dish of strawberries for the full moon by that name, a ritual blade to honor the masculine divine, and two chalices to represent the feminine divine; one of cobalt crystal that my parents gave me at the beginning of my spiritual journey, and the other of copper, a gift for my friend at the beginning of hers. I also had a cameo pendant of Artemis on a silver chain, which came from my own collection when the one I ordered failed to arrive. A far more powerful offering, I think.

TRANSFORMATION AND REBIRTHING CEREMONY

Casting the Circle
We cast this circle upon the earth, within the astral, and in the realm of the mighty ones. This sacred circle has no beginning and is never-ending. Within this ring of protection stands a magickal forest. Within this forest, no harm will touch the children of Artemis. The circle is cast. So mote it be.

Invoking the Elements
We cast our gaze into the East, seeking the blessings of Her Sacred Bees. We stand at the Airy gate focused on setting our silver arrows into flight. We ask for clear knowing and seeing to direct us through this rite of rebirth, like a healing swarm of bees buzzing toward golden honey. Bring to us your blessings of sweetness and new beginnings. Hail and Welcome elements of Air.

We cast our gaze into the South, seeking the blessings of Her Sacred Hounds. We stand at the Firey gate with accomplished arrow, piercing passion. We seek your gifts of right action, burning away injustice, illuminating our empowerment. Bring to us your blessings of radiant transformation. Hail and Welcome elements of Fire.

We cast our gaze into the West, seeking the blessings of Her Sacred Stag. We stand at the Watery gate, reflecting on lessons learned and wisdom gained. We seek your gifts of abundant love and flowing temperance. Bring to us your blessings of cleansing rebirth. Hail and Welcome elements of Water.

We cast our gaze into the North, seeking the blessings of Mother Bear. We stand at the Earthly gate with our feet planted firmly to pull back our bows of intention. We seek your gifts of mountainous strength and the protection of forest sanctuary. Bring to us your blessings of ancient truth. Hail and Welcome elements of Earth.

The Charge of Artemis
You come to me in sacred grove and forest glen and run with me to the beat of my beloved King Stag’s hooves. We are illuminated, body and spirit, by the radiance of the sickle moon. As night and moon wax, so does our power. Together we wander the hallowed wood and rest at the soft belly of the Great Mother Black Bear beneath my sacred Cypress.

It is clear vision you seek; focus for desire. With my arms around you, together we grasp the ancient bow of the great harvest. Your hand in mine, we pull back the glistening string that holds the silver arrow at attention. Precision is ours, as we become one, your desire is mine, and mine is yours… we take aim, and send our arrows flying swiftly to our goal.

Long ago, you tended my shrine, a sacred Bee, devoted to bathing my essence in honey and wine. No longer standing are the shrines of old, yet still, you return to my altar at nature’s womb. As you have always belonged to me, I have ever been within you. When you were hurting, I was the strength that flooded your being. When you could finally rise, together we set forth through the unknown mountain scape seeking the right and true path. Once you found your yearning, I brought you clear vision and focus, bringing ambition into action, which led you promptly to fulfillment. Together we shall dance in celebration of unbridled truth.

Holy Maiden Huntress, Artemis – We bid thee Hail and Welcome!

Ritual Purpose
This ritual is a celebration of my friend’s transformation and becoming. The deeply personal journey of over a decade, in actuality a lifetime, has come full circle into new beginnings… once a longing for wholeness, now fully manifest.

She wishes to honor her journey with gratitude and to relish rebirth with reverence as she is initiated into the sisterhood of Artemis.

Honoring the Former
The Initiate enters the circle cloaked and reads a letter she has written to her former self. It reflects on the gratitude to the vessel and to the mind that enabled good health and great success.

Officiant Honors the Former
You came into my life over 20 years ago. It has always felt like a gift to know you and to bear witness to the fullness of your ability to live your life not only open to receiving but with an insistence on attainment. You grab life by the shoulders and live it. I love that about you. Thank you for inviting me to be your friend.

Honoring Her Wholeness
Initiate drops her cloak, to reveal her body transformed and reads a declaration of intention to her new self.

Officiant Honors Her Wholeness
Dear one, I always felt honored to be invited into your journey of self-discovery. For so long I witnessed your dance with finding your true expression and what must have been monumental decisions to be made about what constitutes your personal sense of wholeness. Today, I honor your truth and celebrate your glorious transformation into womanhood. Welcome to the light, beautiful being. If you would grace me with the honor, I would invite you to be my sister. Are you ready to be initiated? [Dedicant replies, “Yes!”]

ARTEMIS INITIATION INTO WOMANHOOD
The officiant stands before the dedicant and says: “Better ye fall upon this blade than to enter into this rite with fear in your heart. Who are you?” [dedicant speaks her name]

“Why have you come?” Dedicant replies,
[“I have come to be initiated into the mysteries of womanhood and to pledge my devotion to Artemis.” She shares her story of how Artemis came into her life.]

Dedicant is asperged with salt water, “By water and earth do I bless and consecrate this sacred vessel.”

Dedicant is smudged with burning sage, “By fire and air do I cleanse and purify this sacred vessel.”

Officiant washes Dedicant’s hands with rainwater, and states, “The light of Her moon illuminates your path. She brings you the gift of clear vision and deep knowing.”

Officiant annoints Dedicant’s forehead with Artemis Oil and states, “The light of Her moon illuminates your path. She brings you the gift of being authentic to the world and true to yourself.”

Officiant pours from her own chalice into the Dedicant’s chalice, a symbol of womb wisdom shared, and says, “The light of Her moon illuminates your path. She brings you the gift of healing wisdom and nurturing comfort.”

Officiant places the Artemis amulet at the Dedicant’s throat and says, “The light of Her moon illuminates your path. She brings you the gift of being grounded, centered, and one with nature.”

Both raise their chalices and recite, “Hail Maiden, full of grace, Power is with Thee. Blessed are you, Artemis of the Moon, and Blessed are those you have chosen. Holy Huntress, Protector of the Wild, be with us now and always. Blessed be.” They take a drink.

The officiant says to the newly initiated, “You have been in liminal space these many years. You have been the caterpillar inside your holy chrysalis in a state of sacred becoming. Now, you are the butterfly. Artemis is the ancient and wise midwife of souls and She has seen you reborn. Daughter of Artemis, WELCOME TO THE LIGHT! You are perfection in your wholeness and you are loved without condition. You and I, we are Sisters of Artemis. Hail and Welcome, [NAME] of Artemis!

Blessing for (Re)Birth
(slightly adapted from John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us)
Blessed be the mind that dreamed the day the blueprint of your life would begin to glow on earth, Illuminating all the faces and voices that would arrive to invite your soul to growth.
   Praised be your father and mother, who loved you before you were, and trusted to call you here with no idea who you would be.
Blessed be those who have loved you into becoming who you were meant to be, Blessed be those who have crossed your life with dark gifts of hurt and loss that have helped to school your mind in the art of disappointment.
   When desolation surrounded you, Blessed be those who looked for you and found you, their kind hands urgent to open a blue window in the gray wall formed around you.
   Blessed be the gifts you never notice, your health, eyes to behold the world, thoughts to countenance the unknown, memory to harvest vanished days, your heart to feel the world’s waves, your breath to breathe the nourishment of distance made intimate by earth.
On this echoing day of your rebirth, may you open the gift of solitude in order to receive your soul; enter the generosity of silence to hear your hidden heart; know the serenity of stillness to be enfolded anew by the miracle of your being.

Farewell to Artemis
Holy Maiden, beloved goddess of moonlight and wilderness, we are grateful for your many blessings and for your presence in this sacred rite of rebirth as your devotee has been initiated into your holy company of sacred beings. May she forever be protected by your bow, may her every endeavor be pierced by your silver arrows, may she receive your messages of guidance with clarity, and may she always be grounded in the foundation of your love. With reverence and grace, we bid thee hail and farewell.

Farewell to the Elements
We are grateful to the Great Bear of the North, to the King Stag of the West, to the Wild Hounds of the South, and to the Golden Bees of the East. Thank you for your blessings of bone and blood, spirit and breath. That you surround us and become us is not lost on us. With reverence and grace, we bid thee hail and farewell.

Opening the Circle
This circle may now be open upon the earth, but it is ever cast in the home of protection within the realm of the mighty ones. There, our souls are eternally gathered in sisterhood and in togetherness. Now our minds are one. Now… we are one.

Dear ones, if you’ve been feeling disconnected from your true self and yearning to feel connected and whole, may you be blessed with coming home to yourself and the grand celebration of your beautiful truth. Be sure that among your offerings of great care that you are freely offering that goodness to yourself. And always remember that every day brings another opportunity for rebirth.

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

Compassionate Curiosity

I wonder what our world would look like if each individual could see all others with compassionate curiosity instead of brutal judgment. I grew up an agnostic Unitarian, and this religious foundation offered me the freedom to explore all religions and spiritual paths with a sense of mindful awareness. I could go to church with a friend and ‘try on’ being Lutheran, Baptist, or Catholic (that was the basic diversity of where I grew up). When all those things felt itchy and too tight, I chose to look into Wicca / Paganism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Metaphysics, and Native American beliefs.

Being curious opened doors that were previously blocked by my fears or disinterest. I glory in the freedom to choose the spiritual path that best suits the truth of my soul and in allowing that truth to evolve. I walk through the world with a view that has been crafted and curated with the courage not to settle for the dictates of others. I understand my privilege in doing so.

Being curious rather than judgmental also guides me to a deeper understanding of people and cultures who may be experiencing the world in ways that are different from my own experience.

I live in a State that has recently passed legislation that harms and brutalizes the safe existence of multitudes of its residents. I find it impossible to put myself in the shoes of those who have enacted such psychic, emotional, and horrifically, physical abuse upon others. I can imagine that they feel threatened for some reason, but I fail to understand. Maybe they see their lack of understanding for the individuality of others as a reflection of stupidity (for which they must stand and fight), instead of an opportunity to learn, love, and grow.

June is Pride Month, and also a painful anniversary for our beloved community. Seven years ago, on June 12, 49 sacred souls were taken from us by a single gunman. They were celebrating within a safe space. They should have felt safe anywhere, but right-wing rhetoric destroyed that possibility. So, they went where they felt wanted, appreciated, valued, and invited to be joyfully authentic. A single being, cloaked in self-loathing chose to massacre those who felt the freedom that he denied himself.

I am curious about what those who support this harmful legislation are denying themselves. Who would they be if they refused to be put inside a tiny box of someone else’s construction. Maybe their parents, their peers, or their church communities told them that they could not belong if they dressed in a way that made them feel more alive or spoke their truth about how they were feeling. I wonder if they imagine who they might become if they would choose to toss away the banner of hateful righteousness and find belonging in their authenticity. They might be surprised to realize that they can be loved for being real.

So much of today’s animosity is pointed at the LGBTQ+ Community. Transgender humans and Drag entertainers are being especially terrorized, and those who support them are being targeted, as well. I’d like to imagine a world where the haters could consider compassionate curiosity, rather than close-minded disrespect.

I am a middle-aged, white, cisgender, straight woman. Full disclosure: if I could choose, I would be a lesbian. I prefer the company of women, and I have deeply loved a specific woman, but my sexuality has a mind of its own, unfortunately. Regarding the middle-aged part of my self-definition, I did not grow up with access to the identity terms that our youth are claiming today, as are those who felt they never had the choice before. I understand the resistance that some people feel to allowing individuals the freedom to be recognized, acknowledged, and validated for the declaration of their own truth. It’s hard to learn to use childhood grammar lessons differently. It’s hard to imagine a child, an adolescent, or an adult who has never felt right or safe in their bodies. Or is it?

Compassionate curiosity led me to spend time getting to know the stories of people I’ve grown up with, in the popular culture setting. Chaz Bono and more recently Elliot Page, have courageously, and also necessarily, stepped into the bodies and lives that make them feel safe, authentic, and joyful. My ‘aha’ moment with Chaz was when his mother stated that she found understanding by considering how she would feel if she woke up tomorrow with a penis. She knew that it would feel wrong and that she would want to have it removed. But even more deeply, I felt the truth of something Elliot spoke to Oprah in an AppleTV interview.

Elliot shared the overwhelm he felt at the thought of simply leaving his house. If you think about it, the world expected him to always be seen in drag. But also, just sitting down in a chair, he was painfully aware and deeply self-conscious of all that felt wrong in his body. One’s first thought might be outrage… as ‘this’ body is considered by society to be enviable and perfect. Any young woman should delight in a body that is healthy, fit, and petite. Unless, of course, your soul does not resonate with being a woman.

But what I felt instead was affirming recognition. Not because my private parts don’t resonate with my soul, but because for most of my life, every time I sit down in a chair, I am painfully aware and deeply self-conscious of all that feels wrong in my body. I believed I was fat when I was a size 10, and as my body grew with metabolic disorder, there was no room for a sense of belonging, acceptance, or especially confidence in the body I was born with. I have fantasized for most of my life about having a different body. I have dwelled in the pit of despair with visions of hacking away the flesh of my hips, belly, and thighs. And I have literally had 80% of my stomach cut away for the dream of possibly transforming the body that would make me feel safe, accepted, and loved. Not to mention the truth of having a female body automatically deems one a higher likelihood of being sexually harassed or assaulted. It is rather confusing to want to be seen and loved, while also hoping to be invisible to those who would deliver harm.

Of course, my compassionate curiosity is still limited by my time and ability to get to know the stories of others, and Chaz and Elliot are just two sacred beings among many who are either longing for, seeking, or moving through transformation. What I know for sure is that they each deserve to feel safe and to be nurtured and celebrated for the exploration and work they’ve endured and the truth they’ve declared. There is nothing more beautiful than witnessing the joy of an individual who walks through the world unflinchingly as themselves.

My longing has always been to be loved and accepted for who I am, whether I am seen as flawed or perfect in the eyes of others. Though I cannot relate to an identity other than cisgender, I can imagine that every human longs to be loved and accepted for who they are… not who others expect them to be.

Until those who fight to limit the freedom of authenticity love themselves enough to love others, it is up to the rest of us to be the fierce allies and protectors of those whose lives fall under their hateful aim.

I know a lot is going on astrologically right now, and that a shift is happening. I have been feeling the evolution of my soul in big and small ways. This Pride season, I am flying an all-inclusive flag in my garden (well, it would be a garden if I didn’t have a brown thumb). I had not done so before because I felt it was not my own, it was not within my identity to claim that rainbow pride. But now, I realize that every one of us is represented in these vibrant stripes. Those who see a rainbow and feel outrage must be carrying so much self-hatred, to be unable to see and celebrate their own true colors. May they find peace and comfort in their own divine beauty and no longer feel the need to persecute those who have already found it for themselves.

I’m also feeling led to share a Unitarian tradition of non-violent defiance regarding the pink triangle. I’m attaching a link that tells the story, but I’ll simply acknowledge that flying my pride flag is more than informing others that I care, I am letting them know that I am standing with them. I am enormously proud of who they are, and of who I’ve allowed myself to become.

https://www.brazos-uu.org/post/the-pink-triangle-story

You are loved exactly as you are. You are worthy of safety, freedom, and authenticity and I celebrate your divine truth with gratitude for your presence in this world which is made more colorful and vibrant with you in it. So, please… stay!

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

HAPPY PRIDE, YA’LL!

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.

Pop’s Pilgrimage

Two big things happened in my life a year ago. My soul-sister fell in love, and my father died. That time in my life was proof that we humans can hold space for every emotion, all at once. I was simultaneously heart-filled and heartbroken.

I held space for my dear friend through her darkest depths, and was blessed to bear witness to the moment she found her person. I had never seen her so happy, and knowing that her darkness had finally found illumination brought me enormous joy and peace. Meanwhile, I was holding space for my father’s physical decline, his struggles with body betrayal, and finally… an end to that struggle. Death is always bittersweet when the ache of a loved one’s suffering is replaced by their absence.

Since my friend also cared for my father, she was painfully aware of the limits of time with those we love, and she did not hesitate to take action, once she had found the soul who brought her spirit back to life. She sold everything and moved north. So, for nearly as long as I have been missing my father’s physical presence, I have also been missing hers.

From afar, she held space for all of the ‘firsts’ without my Pop, and as the anniversary of his death and her birthday grew near, she invited me to come up for a weekend adventure. They had plans to RV over to Provincetown (MA) to see friends, and it wasn’t long before everything fell into place as magick was revealed.

This journey would allow me to be in the state where my father grew up on the anniversary of his death. Further, a stop in a place he had written about in his #MemoirsForMelissa would be easily on our path, either to or from. I knew I was being led to carry some of his cremated remains back to a place he cherished in his youth. For me, it felt like a pilgrimage.

Once again, my lifelong friends supported my journey with inspiration, enthusiasm and great care. When you find the people who are genuinely happy and supportive of your own happiness, and will do everything possible to see you through every opportunity to attain it – you know that you are truly blessed. One asked me if there would be a ceremony to honor Pop on the trip, and that’s when that seed was planted. One generously booked my flights with her buddy pass. And one was my driver to and from the airport (actually, she sent her hubby on the homebound trip, which was a nice surprise). Also, my brother came up to care for Mom, and they both delighted in having each other to themselves for a few days. And of course, my friend and her wife graciously made room for me on their previously scheduled journey. The Universe clearly conspired to make it happen.

It is not every friend who chooses a partner to whom I feel immediately connected. But finally meeting in person the love of my friend’s life, felt like a homecoming. We are family, and it was written in the stars. These two were blessed to find each other, and I feel blessed to bear witness. They carried me with them on an adventure and held space for the surprising emotions that would rise and the magick that would be revealed. I am grateful.

I flew into their hometown and we loaded up the RV (christened The Honey Pot) with provisions and two golden retrievers, then drove eastbound toward the Cape (Cod, that is). In North Truro and PTown, we met up with several of their friends, many of whom were meeting in person for the first time. Each were warm, welcoming beings who made me feel included despite this being my first introduction. They have built a caring, mindful, loving community through social media, and this technology reminds me of the harm it has caused, but also the beauty of connection it has delivered. Like we humans, the internet holds both darkness and light.

Provincetown, to me, was a mixed bag. I seem to have lost interest in shopping since having chosen to live more simply. Mostly, I was delighted by the people watching. In this beautiful place, people feel safe to be authentic. Nothing fills my soul more than seeing individuals express their true nature with confidence and acceptance. Our society’s insistence on conformity is confounding. I would rather die than be subjected to a world filled with sameness. When you find yourself surrounded by a community that has left behind the places that punished them for their truth, you cannot help but feel overwhelmed by the joy of their expressive realness.

We were in PTown for Dad’s death anniversary (July 17), and found a delightful outdoor spot for lunch. As I was looking into the eyes of my dear friend with gratitude to be sharing her birthday with her, I suddenly burst into tears. I’d been told how grief sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and there it was. As she comforted me, my friend glanced at her phone and said aloud, “It’s 2:02. Pop is here.” And we knew it was true. It was the exact moment, one year ago, that his heart stopped. My angel number. When I see it, I know he is near.

Later that afternoon, one of the kind and generous souls in their group swung by the campground to pick us up. As we drove to the beach where we would gather and bounce upon salty waves, the radio did that thing it does. The night before we let Dad go, I set up his tablet to play music he enjoyed. I had asked him to find a way to communicate with me in ways I could understand. As I questioned whether he was ready to go and if I was being true to his wishes, he played three songs for me. The first one was the same as what came over the car radio… Sailing by Christopher Cross. The line that stood out to me on that difficult night at his bedside was, “Soon I will be free.”

The next day, we packed up the RV and made our way to the place I had most anticipated. Twenty years before his death, my father showed up for me. I had asked him to write down stories from his life that I could have when he was gone. Mom had reported that he had been honoring my request, and though I knew they were out there somewhere, I waited until he was gone to find them and read them. My brother found them last Thanksgiving (our first without Pop), and I shared one story per day with my friends and family on FB.

This is the story he left, that inspired this sojourn… from Bill Baker’s Memoirs for Melissa

From the Family Archive – Bakers by the Shore

“One of Dad’s customers owed him a couple of hundred dollars during the war years and signed over the deed to a “summer cottage” in Humarock, close to Scituate near Cape Cod. It was a little box of a place on an island between a river and the Atlantic with a bedroom, kitchen, half-bathroom, living/dining room, and a little porch. No electricity. No bath or shower. Icebox. Gas stove. No heat, no A/C. Loft above the bedroom and bathroom space for 2 kids to sleep. Ladder to pull down and climb up to go to bed. Comic books for color entertainment. (Dad had a customer who did PR for a bunch of Buster Brown shoe stores and he would bring Dad all the comics as he replaced them each month). We would go there when school was out (The House in East Milton, and later the big house on Elliot St would boil in the summer (No A/C remember), and stay until the weekend before Labor Day when school started in the fall.

I remember one night at the beach, the air raid marshal knocked on the door to tell us our lights were showing through the black curtains every window had. He was afraid the light could be seen by a submarine out in the ocean. Beth and I turned out the light in our upstairs bedroom and went to sleep. The next day, I was running along the sand dunes on the ocean side, and when I jumped over the top, down into a little depression, I was surprised by a huge German shepherd and a coast guardsman watching over a big machine gun. He was there to keep Germans from coming ashore from submarines. I stayed away from the dunes after dark for the rest of the war.”

I had reached out to one of Dad’s cousins who still lives up north, and her eldest sister reflected warmly on those years, visiting her cousins on the beach. She was able to give me a better idea of where they spent their summers. The cottage was to the right after crossing the bridge, and on the river side, rather than the ocean side.

My friends and I left the RV in a parking spot at the bridge’s edge and walked past where my Dad and his brothers fished when they were kids, and out to the oceanside beach. I read Pop’s words above and offered a cup of his ashes to the waves in which he once played. A gentle rain began to fall. Then, we walked over to the riverside. I didn’t have an address for their cottage and imagined it would have been replaced by something more modern. We turned at the fire station and walked by the first house from the bridge to a public area with access to the river. My friend and I each offered what was left of Pop’s cremains to the water, rock, and mud of another area I was sure had carried his small feet, once upon a time.

I didn’t take many pictures but captured videos to share with family. The three of us then popped into the Irish Pub on the corner, between the ocean and river for a late lunch. I met a man named Don sitting at the bar as I passed to wash my hands. I told him the story my father had shared and he assured me that my grandparents’ cottage was still there. He’d been living there for 65 years and knew that if a house had changed, it was never torn down, but added to. Maybe someday I’ll learn the address and visit once more. Don also let me know that the restaurant we were in would have been the post office and a small general store during World War II, so my father would surely have been there, as well. When I sat down at the table with my friends, I looked at my phone. It was 2:02.

After lunch, my friend wanted to stop in the gift shop across the street. To be honest, I’m not really a shopper anymore. But I was happy to pop in with my sweet friend who helped manifest this moment for me. The first row to the left offered shirts and sweatshirts branded for this beach. As I stepped around to the next aisle, I found a carousel of jewelry. There were two necklaces at the top that faced me, one was an arrow (a significant symbol in my life), and the other was a name… Melissa. You can poo-poo synchronicity all you want, but I know for sure that magick was afoot. Pop was present, as always.

My friend purchased a souvenir for each of us, and as she checked out I told my Dad’s story to the clerk. She said there was a local historian I would love to talk to, and said he had even written a book about the history of Humarock. I felt compelled to purchase a copy to take home to Mom and share with Dad’s siblings. I later handed it to Mom, and she said that Dad would have loved it. I said, “I know! He made me buy it!”

We would have loved to linger in that sacred place, but we had a long journey home and I had a flight to catch the next morning. I felt so blessed to have walked in my father’s footsteps with my darling friend and her beloved. It was a moment filled with a history, a present, and a future of the manifestation of true love. My grandparents’ love for each other brought into this world my father and his siblings who spent their summers in this place of beauty. My parents’ love for each other brought my brother and me into this world, and the love that my friend found by divine providence brought us three together on this pilgrimage. And though my father is no longer physically in this world, his love and our love will continue to resonate and grow for all time. Like the restaurant that once was a post office, it may change but it never goes away.

View from the Honey Pot (RV) – Long and Thankful Journey Home

Thanks for showing up, Pop. You know that’s my love language, and you never let me down. Keep sending me the signs. I’ll wait right here.

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!

There is Magick All Around You

I wonder how often the dreams of others actually come true. I don’t mean the random kind, like a young girl dreams of her distant future wedding day, but the kind that was so specific that it seemed impossible. I am not referring to the kind of dream that one manifests through hard work, like saving money to take a trip or buy a car. I mean the kind of thing imagined in youth, but never even contemplating placing on a manifestation board because it seems so unlikely that you’ve decided to dream of things more feasible.

Last week, it happened to me! I’m still processing it all, and my gratitude to those involved is impossible to express.

The dream was planted in 1986. I was in my final year of high school. I discovered the second recording of a concert. The first Stevie Nicks concert I saw was in 1982 on HBO. I was 14 and immediately fell in love. The next big event was Stevie Nicks – Live at Red Rocks four years later. I can’t recall if it aired on television or if we rented it from our local Video Village on VHS (pre-Blockbuster). What I can tell you is that I eventually owned it on VHS and later on DVD. It was THAT important.

I’m really not a crazy fan girl (well… maybe I am. I’ve seen her with and without Fleetwood Mac several times). But this woman does play a significant role in the spiritual journey of my life. I had heard the rumor in high school that Stevie was a witch. When I asked my brother about it, he said that she was a witch to Wicca as a Catholic is to Christianity. At the time, the only thing I could find in the library on the subject was in an encyclopedia. I made a copy of the pages and tucked it away. What I found in those pages didn’t draw me in, but I remained curious and open. My mom was paying attention (as always).

In February 1992, my mom signed us up for a women’s workshop at the Unitarian Church for a weekend emersion in neo-paganism with Margot Adler. A few weeks later, she signed us up for a 6-month class on Wicca (mom moved on when she knew I was not getting involved with a cult). Whether or not this was indeed her spiritual path, Stevie had influenced my life in a significant way. In that workshop and in the class that followed, I found my people. My life was forever changed for the better. There’s more synchronicity to unveil, but I think I’ll keep my visions to myself. (wink)

At the end of 1993, I called together a group of new friends, and we birthed our goddess group. Each of us at the beginning of a new path, we dedicated ourselves to exploring devotion, mindfulness, meditation, and spiritual growth, and to nurturing and celebrating the rites of passage through which we would each pass. Over time, my goddesses moved away or moved on, but we have never lost the deep connection that we chose to weave with one another. There is a deep, abiding love between this Tribe of beautiful beings. The magick circles we cast in our youth remain in the ether, and when anyone is in need – we simply step in and place them at center.

On April 29, I woke up before being ready to climb out of bed. I scrolled through Facebook and was reminded of my Tribe Sister’s birthday. Moments later, the phone rang to reveal her voice. “Happy birthday, birthday girl!”, I said. She laughed, the way she does which ignites my heart. She then proceeded to tell me that her husband gave her a birthday gift that she wanted to share with me. Can you guess what it was? Here’s a hint. My Tribe Sister lives in Colorado.

Prior to this call, I had been working on a plan with my favorite tomboy (my buddy since kindergarten) to take a road trip. It was slightly complicated by the difficulty of leaving my mom on her own for several days. But everything had finally fallen into place with our plan for escape. We would drive up to Georgia for a surprise birthday party for her mother-in-law, then stay a couple of nights with the boss who raised me, spend a day in our favorite art city, Savannah, spend one night on the beach with a friend and former colleague, then head home.

The problem was that the gracious invitation I had just received fell into that timeline. Now, I have responsibility in my top five strengths, so when I make a commitment, I keep it! My favorite tomboy knows this. So, I texted her to tell her about the call I’d received, and I was working through my mind a way to do both. When I told her that I was being given the once in a lifetime, dream-come-true opportunity to see Stevie Nicks, Live at Red Rocks, her reply was… that I must go.

At this point, my heart was already overwhelmed. My immediate thought about receiving this much goodness all at once was to wonder if I had done enough to deserve it. Could this really be happening? One dear friend had offered me a gift, and another dear friend offered me forgiveness, encouragement, and support. Meanwhile, as I began to figure out how to get there, a third dear friend arrived to make it happen. She is a flight attendant who just so happened to be flying to Denver two days before the big event (only 12 days away, at this point). She booked my flights and would hold my hand (figuratively) there and back again.

Now, the reason my lifelong friend and I were planning that road trip was that her husband was too stubborn to go (one of them would need to stay home to care for their pets and he tends to feel he is the better choice). When she told him she would be going alone, he changed his mind. He didn’t want her to drive that far, so he would go instead. This, my friends, was the big arrival of another gift. We knew that the Universe had conspired to, not only make my dream come true but to do the same for one momma whose only birthday wish was to see both of her sons. Don’t you just love the way magick happens?

I don’t think I immediately realized the power of this moment. It slowly dawned on me as I was processing the overwhelming sense of being loved and held by those who were rising up to make it possible for me, that I had held onto this impossible dream for 36 years. I was afraid to share it with others, because so much could go wrong, and loved ones would be forced to witness my disappointment. But those with whom I did share, each celebrated with me. There’s nothing like that feeling of genuine joy expressed by others as they witness your own dreams coming to fruition. Even my mom, who had seemed a little hesitant about my absence for our planned road trip, was delighted by seeing me get to have time with a Tribe Sister I rarely see and for the two of us to share this experience. This time, she worried that I wasn’t going to stay longer.

I had this strange sense of what that love coming at me felt like. I pictured a door. It was open, but there was a brick – not propping it open, but keeping it from flying all the way open. You know, intending to keep too much from entering. I’ve had this sense recently that when we protect ourselves from being disappointed or betrayed, we are not only keeping harm out, but also love.

When I experienced that sense of love flowing toward me, I wondered what it might feel like if I tossed that brick away and threw the door wide open. I still don’t know what receiving that much love all at once would feel like, but I’m open to the possibility. I challenged myself and my Sacred Gardeners to experiment with that visualization – and I hope you’ll join us!

Each morning, picture a door that is pleasing to your senses. Is it a wooden garden gate, or a door similar to your own front door? Feel the skeleton key in your hand and see yourself place that key into the keyhole of that door. Then turn the key, the knob, and finally throw that door wide open. Don’t be hesitant with worry about what may be found on the other side. Just push it with all of your strength and stand with your arms wide open to say, “Here I am love! Come and get me! I am open to receive.”

This was the first time I would travel by air since the beginning of the pandemic. The number of people lined up for the TSA security check at the airport was kind of terrifying. There were so many unmasked people, I hoped that being quadruple vaxxed and double-masked would keep me safe. After all, my body looks like those who end up on ventilators. I thought about calling my brother with instructions on caring for mom, should I not make it back.

But all went well. I was reminded of the way I chose to travel overseas many years ago, not as a tourist but as a pilgrim. When on pilgrimage, it is about the journey and what magick is allowed to happen along the way. It is never about hurried timelines or holding onto rigid plans. So, when my dear one informed me the flight was oversold and I may not have a seat, I repeated my little prayer, “Thank you in advance, dear angels, for getting me there and back again with grace and ease.” When I was handed my seat assignment, I said three ‘thank yous’, to the gate attendant, to my sweet friend, and to that unseen force that always wants the very best for us.

It was so cool to witness my lifelong friend on the job and to experience a moment in the life of a flight attendant. I stayed the night in her hotel room, where my Tribe Sister fetched me the next morning. One of the things that never ceases to amaze me about these deep soul connections, is how easily we fall back into one another’s lives as if no time has passed at all. We may go years without being together in person, and yet, here we are in this moment feeling as if we have never been apart. I’m certain that is because the distance in geography is nothing compared to the closeness of the heart. When you hold a piece of someone’s soul inside of you, you are always together.

A major bonus of our three days together was getting to have a little time with her two kids, my goddess babies, now grown. As the women in my Tribe brought their children into the world, I always felt it a blessing to bear witness in one way or another. Being childless and single for most of my life with a soul-purpose of being of service, has left me feeling more like an observer in life. I have watched friends fall in love, get married, have children, and live fully committed lives while holding space from a distance. When the legacy of my loved ones seem to hold me close, I guess it makes me feel included. It surprises me every time. I will never take it for granted.

On May 11, we woke with anticipation of the day ahead. We headed through the mountains to Golden, where we had lunch and enjoyed popping in and out of shops (something I’ve not done for as long as I’ve not flown). Before we got back into the car to drive to Red Rocks, we stopped for a couple of iced beverages to keep us refreshed for the three hours we would wait in the parking lot. Being a Florida girl, I grabbed napkins for the inevitable condensation and was shocked when my Tribe Sister declined. She said that condensation doesn’t exist in Colorado. Nope! Unbelievable. I could not comprehend this idea. I kept my napkins close. I did not need them! I’m still a little WOWed by that discovery. I never imagined it to be a thing – no condensation on an icy cup! I wonder what other wonders await.

I’d been to Red Rocks Amphitheater as a tourist many years before. It was in the afternoon and there were no events happening at the time. I had imagined at that point what it might feel like to experience a musical performance while seated within this glorious lap of Mother Nature. As I ascended and descended the earthy red structure, I heard in my mind and spoke aloud the words from that well-watched video from 1986 – “Thank you, Red Rocks, Colorado!” This danced through my memories as we sat in camp chairs within the shade of the car to watch people lining up to ascend a long and winding ramp to the entry point. I sipped from my amazingly dry cup of iced chai, and enjoyed the view.

When the invitation first arrived, the weather forecast was cold and rainy. By the time my flights were reserved, things had changed and 90 degree weather was expected. On the day of the event, however, everything was perfect. It was a cool and sunny day with a delightful breeze. I carried a sweater for when the sun went down, but it was never needed. It turned out to be a perfect day.

We decided to take the shuttle up to the entry point. I would call it the top, but it was actually the stage level with 38 rows to climb, for us. That may not sound like a grand challenge, but when you live at sea level, already being a mile high means that your lungs are extra challenged by even a few steps upward. I could feel the lack of oxygen in my lungs for a while after we settled into our seats.

I recognized immediately our good fortune. The 38th row may not sound like a big win at a concert of someone you adore, but in the case of this venue, a great deal would be lost to be closer to the stage. From our center of the row location, we could see the stage clearly, but also everything that surrounds it and that which lay beyond it. As darkness fell, the lights of the city on the horizon danced above the stage like an intentional light show. It was stunning.

Stevie had asked her friend and mentee, Vanessa Carlton, to open for her. They had both been in serious lockdown throughout the pandemic, and this was the beginning of stepping back into the world they each loved after the extended exile. As Vanessa performed “A Thousand Miles” at the close of her set, we could see her facial expression change as she searched for the words of a forgotten verse. Later, as Stevie twirled into her third or fourth song, she paused. She said that the next song was a surprise… even to her… as her team sorted out the setlist. I had not previously considered the consequence of a performer’s return to the world they were forced to leave behind. It was a joy to see them find their way back to this sacred space.

When Stevie’s opening tune began, my Tribe Sister and I looked at each other through tears. We hugged one another with gratitude for all of it. That we were in this sacred space, on this perfect evening, manifesting-dreams formerly believed impossible, and most of all, that we were together. As overwhelmed as I was by the invitation, she felt the same about my willingness and ability to be there on such short notice. I think that may be one of the most beautiful things in life. To feel so deeply a sense of love and connection with a sacred soul, and to be met with reciprocity – to know without a doubt that someone else holds you in the same beautiful light. Stevie Nicks was amazing, but the light in the eyes of my beloved friend was what made this whole adventure priceless.

Getting to behold an evening of live music with my favorite, favorite of all favorite artists, while being held by the elements of earth, wind, and sky, next to one of my most sacred beings was enormously soul-filling. I hope my swiss-cheese memory never lets a single moment fall through the holes.

Stevie closed the evening with an apology to her audience that her set may not have been as long as it once was, acknowledging she is nearly 74, after all. She also wanted us to know there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

As I sit here in my living room, I imagine myself at 74. I definitely won’t be dancing on a stage in front of nearly 10,000 people. However, if I manage to live that long, I know that I will be deliriously happy to find myself sitting next to any and all of the beings in my life who either helped to make my dream come true or who loved me enough to celebrate this moment in my life as if it were their own triumphant glory. I hope you have friends like mine.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here. I hope that you are considering the position of the door to your heart and are inspired to throw it wide, while opening to receive the flood of love that is coming for you. May your wildest dreams, even those previously thought impossible, be made manifest with grace, ease, and delightful surprise. What I wish for you most of all, is that you are blessed to have friends who show up for you in that moment to assure you that you deserve this.

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.

Stories from Beyond the Veil

Nearly 20 years ago, my parents and I attended a journaling workshop at the First Unitarian Church of Orlando (1U). I can’t recall exactly what I loved about it, but it involved a binder with tabs, and a specific suggestion for how to mindfully access memories in order to write them down.

We shared things we’d written, as we felt comfortable, with the class, and though I cannot recall (read: swiss cheese memory – things fall through the holes) exactly what my father read, I can tell you that it had impact. I asked my Dad, at the time in his early 60s and recently retired, to consider continuing the journaling project. I told him that I would love to have stories that he would share, even if a little tough to tell, that I could hold onto when he was gone.

I can remember my Mom telling me how enthusiastic he was about the project. She said that he was really into it. When he started having issues with neuropathy in his fingers (he typed with two forefingers on a good day), he acquired Dragon Software, so that he could speak his words onto the page.

My parents moved closer to me in 2014, and it was divinely timed. My father’s health gradually deteriorated, and I became his full-time care giver in 2018, until he died in July of 2021. During that time, I would often think of that project, and ask if he could tell me how to find it. He couldn’t.

When he was gone, it was foremost on my mind, to find the pages he had crafted. When cleaning out his office to turn it into a hospital room at home, so that we could bring him home as a virtual paraplegic after he broke his hip, I was mindful not to misplace or throw out any CDs that might have contained sacred data.

My brother came home for Thanksgiving. It was the first time we’d been together since he said goodbye to Daddy in the ICU. Mom and I had a few tasks for him, and my personal priority was finding Dad’s pages. He had to do some updates, but we were finally able to open and forward three documents to be reviewed. The first one is titled, “Memoirs for Melissa”.

When I started to read the opening of the first document, I glanced at the bottom left of the page to see how few pages were there. Only 6. There were only 6 pages in that first of three documents. That’s when I knew I couldn’t read right through them. I had to savor each paragraph. For once those pages were complete… the pages of each document… it felt as if my father’s story would also be complete.

I decided to share one story per day with my loved ones through facebook. I tag his five siblings, my mother and brother, and one of his cousins who still lives up north. I even initiated a hashtag, my first, as I’m really not a social media conformist. But I did realize how handy it might be to find the series of posts, once they were separated by anything else I may share on my timeline (mostly art that speaks to my soul) on any given day. So… #memoirsformelissa was brought to birth, by and for my father.

When I finished the first document of six pages, I opened the next. Only 9 pages, but some of the stories were simply cleaner versions of those in the first document. So, I opened the third and final document my brother and I found on Dad’s hard drive. There are 12 pages in that version. It is obviously the same document as the second, but waxes on a bit longer. I’m still not reading ahead, though. I can’t. I cannot bear the thought of an ending.

These pages, are delivering more magick than one might imagine. My first thought is about the priceless nature of these simple words on paper. My love language is ‘showing up’. I show my love by committing to be present, and by being reliable, trustworthy, patient, and kind. I ask for nothing more in return, and realize that this is not something everyone can offer. When I asked my Dad to consider dedicating his journal to his own stories he might leave for his daughter… he could have loved the idea, but failed to make the time to bring it to fruition. But that’s not what happened. My father showed up for me. He always did. Even months after his body was left behind, his spirit is rising from the pages he blessed long ago. This is my most valuable inheritance.

My next thought on the magick of Pop’s pages is the way his words, and mine combined, are inspiring and touching the hearts of others. I’ve received several private messages from friends who tell me how much they are enjoying Pop’s stories. One friend is even inspired to do the same for his daughters, realizing that we are now in our 50s and access to our memories is fleeting. He’s not wrong… my Dad started writing things down in his 60s. When I asked him to tell me stories in his 80s (after he’d broken his hip, and I feared our time might grow short), he could talk for a good hour, but the stories were less cohesive and not quite as full.

I love that people who knew my father, and people who are just now getting to know him through his words and mine shared on facebook, might just choose to leave behind their own magick to be unveiled by sacred beings who are hungry for their presence, long after they are gone.

I don’t really have anyone to whom my stories will have meaning, but I’m glad for my ability to write things down these last few years. My father’s stories from childhood are revealing to me the many hardships in his youth that paved the foundation of his becoming. His early childhood illness and disability (with asthma and epilepsy) carved out the future of a compassionate, patient, and kind husband, father, social worker, scout leader, dungeon master, and Santa representative. I can almost see each of his stories as the crafting of a single flagstone that is laid onto solid ground, and as my father steps forward, he crafts another and sets it down. Each of these stories, however far they may come from his past into his future, bring the man he was, upfront and center, into the life of his two children.

Speaking of his children, we have not made it into Dad’s storytelling, as of yet, and there are so few pages left. I am guessing that my brother and I will have to write the chapters that follow. I suspect our parents see so much of what they wish they’d done differently, they sometimes overlook the many things they did so well. For example, I know that Dad’s parents had personal challenges that made things difficult for their children. But those are not the stories that held the mind of my aging father… it was the goodness on which he focused. What a gift it is to hold space for every truth, not just the ones that hurt.

There you go again, Dad… still teaching me, even when you feel so far away. You just keep showing up! I’m so grateful for every little thing. I love you most.

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

The Burden of Light

This week has been so heavy. It has been filled with monumental loss. Not unexpected, like the loss of my father just ten days earlier, but horrifyingly painful, nonetheless.

The ailing oak in my neighbor’s yard, which has blessed my property with glorious shade, beautiful wildlife, and extraordinary character for decades, was suddenly scheduled to come down.

My angel-neighbor, who had been fully present for the care of my parents during my (supposed) respite weekend, felt the stress of it all. She was warned of the insecurity of a tree with wounds that would not heal. There was risk to both of our homes. She was aware of how deeply connected her new neighbor was to the tree for which she had the responsibility to secure.

I knew it would be hard. I struggled with whether I could be fully present for the dismantling. It felt like the honorable thing to do… not to let a sacred being pass from the world without holding space and bearing witness. So, I stayed.

I missed the beginning of the work, due to a doctor appointment. I had one request for keeping a section intact, a branch that extended like a fork, where the hawk would perch, and the tufted titmice would gather to fly back and forth to the feeder. I would trim the leaves and create an art installation, so that it would remain in my life, in a new form. When I got home, that sacred limb was already in pieces on the ground.

The tree guy tried to comfort me. There will be more light. You’ll be able to grow grass. It is of no comfort to me, though. I don’t believe in grass. I find it to be a waste of valuable resources. My tree had been cultivated over decades to block out the light and the crowded lawn of the car-lover across the street. Its arms gave me the illusion of being in the middle of a woodland, with dappled daylight. The sun hurts my eyes, and I am struggling not to pull the curtains.

I sobbed uncontrollably the day Her trunk came down. Her branches showed no signs of decay. They were strong, and could have seemingly gone on for years. But the trunk did eventually reveal that deep wound. It was deep, dark, and smelled of rot. It revealed the threat, the risk, the reason for my suffering.

My sweet angel-neighbor felt every ounce of my suffering. I didn’t mean to make her hurt, too. I kept saying, “this isn’t logic, this is love.” I had given her my blessing for the removal, but I warned that I would grieve deeply. I was not wrong. I felt with my soul the teeth of the chainsaw chewing my flesh, and the descent of my broken body with each thud of falling wood.

The tree removal crew tore up my yard with machinery and severed limbs. It was a nightmare in every sense of a nature lover’s world view. Now that the work is nearly done, there is so much light that it hurts my eyes. It feels hot and unkind. I feel tired and defeated.

But I am also held and loved. Friends came on day one to say farewell to our tree, with a bottle of wine. Another friend came on day two to select bits of sacred wood, to later craft into a vessel of holding for my father’s cremains. He sat with me for a few hours, as I told stories of my family’s history on this land, near this tree. He held space for the loss of my father and the loss of my oak.

He listened as I worked through all of my own hard-earned wisdom. About how history has taught me that the worst things that have ever happened to me have mostly turned out to lead to the best things ever. That if I had not been catapulted out of one space, I wouldn’t have been open to receive when something wonderful came along. He understood the struggle of comparison between taking my father off of life support, and taking down a tree before it has fallen in a storm.

And my angel-neighbor… she got it all, too. She would never have chosen to do something that would cause me pain. She was being responsible to the safety of us both at the beginning of hurricane season. The tree guy seemed unavailable, and then he was suddenly onsite. We both knew it would be hard.

She came over with pizza and vodka the night before. 18 days apart in age, with a shared love of campy movies, we sang together every song in Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The next morning, she held my hand as I said goodbye. We scattered rose petals for love, white sage for cleansing, and chips of morganite to heal trauma. We burned sage and three kings incense as an offering. We shared our gratitude and asked for forgiveness. I couldn’t ask for a better neighbor.

In fact, she is the neighbor I never knew I longed for. She is kindred. She is another soulmate (I have a few). So, after a day of distress and uncontrollable sobbing… I walked out to greet her. I hugged her and told her that she is my soulmate, and that we will create something new together. She was already working on a plan, a friendship tree that we would select and plant between our two homes. We will create a path from her front door to mine. I will plant a tree for my father’s memory at the center of my yard to block out some of the offending light, and new life will blossom on this holy land. And the soul of our tree will live on in new ways.

I have kept many branches and bits, for I could not completely let go. A large segment of trunk will become an altar, and at the Winter Solstice or at Imbolc, the element of fire will be nourished in memorium. Everything will be okay.

It may seem like melodrama, to display such dismay over the loss of a tree, but I hope you’ll see it as an extension of my love. One who loves deeply must also grieve deeply. So much has been lost these last two weeks. And yet… so much has yet to be brought to birth, and I cannot wait to bear witness to what the universe has in store. Everything will be okay.

Today, there is a great big hole between our two homes. There is a flattened stump where a sacred being once stood. Like photos of my father, there are only scattered logs and sawdust. The absence of them both leaves me with the burden of light. Maybe I should close the curtains, and forget for a moment that they are gone. It feels like too much empty space. It is sometimes hard to breathe. Everything will be okay.

The tears arrive unexpected and unbidden these days. Not long ago, I could not cry, for it seemed I might appear to the universe to be ungrateful. I was always grateful! And now… tears flow freely. Because… I am grateful. I am grateful to have known such love and to have felt such love so deeply. I am grateful for the shadows these two larger than life beings cast upon my path.

Today, I hate the light. Today, the light is too heavy. Today, bright light illuminates terrible emptiness. I am grieving. I am heartbroken and filled with sorrow. But I am also loved deeply, and held compassionately. I am grateful. I am tired. I am at peace. Everything will be okay.

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