The Lost Feminine

Yesterday, I read Judith Duerk’s Circle of Stones. It is not a lengthy work but it is packed full of power. The power of women. At the end of each chapter, in bold print, she poses a question. The question usually begins with “how might your life have been different if there had been a place for you. A place of women. A place to go to…”

I am not one to ‘what if’, personally, but that is not what this book does. It is not a book of regret. What it does is pose these questions to touch something within you. Deep within you. Forgotten for millennia. To wake that something up. To cause you to remember. And in causing you to remember, it causes you to see. See how far off we are from where we once were. To know in earnest, in the deepest crevice of your soul that it has not always been this way. And with the knowing comes pain. Not pain that is rooted in negativity, but pain that is now being honored. Pain that comes with finally, FINALLY being validated. Pain of release, of recognition, of acknowledgment, admission, and affirmation. Pain of loss, of longing, of soul-cries.

And with the pain comes tears. Weeping. Soul-weeping. But you are not weeping alone. You are weeping with every woman who was and is, praying with your tears for the women who have yet to come, that the world will be different for them. Praying that you can help to create that difference, that new world. That world where the Feminine is Sacred once more.



I’ve been writing about all these changes I’ve been experiencing the past few months, feeling as though I’m transitioning to a new stage in my spiritual development. I’ve got the whole butterfly metaphor thing going on in addition to the one about standing on the edge of the precipice…I think they all really say the same thing.  Before (I forget when I wrote about it and am feeling too lazy to go back and read all my posts), I said something about being on the edge of this precipice.  I wasn’t on the edge then – I was a solid few feet away. I know this because I recognize that in the past several weeks, I’ve moved significantly closer to the edge than I had been.  And because I can’t seem to get enough of metaphors, I’ll specify my precipice like this: I feel like a little kid standing at the edge of the pool wanting to jump in but not quite being totally ready to yet and summoning up the courage to just go for it.  That’s me.

I was going to say that it’s not just all spiritual that it’s life stuff, too, but really, in my mind, there is no difference when I really get down to it. The two are inextricably linked.  They are, in fact, the same for me.  Separating them would be like trying to separate the body from the mind, except in this case, it’s all of that from the spirit.

So, what am I waiting for?  I have a few things left to process.  I think of this as time spent building up the energy before releasing it into the Universe.  Right now, I am grounding and churning that energy within me.  I need to taste it, to breathe it, to feel it course through me, to hear it and smell it.  I need to honor it so that I can be it.  Because that is the only way it will really be released.  How can we truly release something and let go of it if we don’t know every inch of it, are able to recognize it from every angle and perspective, see how it plays on the stage of our life and recognize it despite all the disguises it wears?

I see myself as having been partially open here and there throughout my life, somewhat receptive to what the Universe was offering me.  I’ve accepted a handful of its gifts and lessons.  But I’ve never fully let everything go.  Never fully trusted.  Never had the courage to be completely open in the way I know I need to be.  And that’s what I’m preparing for.  That jump.  That point from which I will never be able to return.  After which I will never be the same again.   And while I’m focusing this energy that I am preparing to release, I am also coaching myself to get to the point where I really want this.  Knowing that it might turn my world upside down, that it may come with sacrifices.  And the more time I reflect, the more I want it.  The more I crave it.  And when the time comes, I will blend that deep aching and yearning with that which I will release and then…we shall see.

La cucaracha?

One of the joys (sarcasm) of living in the south that I have discovered within the past month is cockroaches. I’d never seen any before I moved down here, and after unsuccessfully, of course, trying to kill one I saw climbing up my wall one night about a week and a half ago, I called my mom. Because that’s what you do when confronted with nasty insects in your home that you’ve never encountered before. In my high-pitched, extremely annoyed and astonished voice, I explained to her the event of seeing the cockroach, grabbing a shoe, slamming it against the wall and thinking I killed it (but oh, no, as those of you who have confronted cockroaches know, they are nigh invincible) only to discover it hanging out on the backside of my bookshelf, attempting to get it again with a spatula (and failing again), and then its disappearing act. Having moved to Georgia herself last November, she was quite familiar with this evasive little insect and co-miserated while laughing at my outrage at my home having been infected by them. The kind around here aren’t the massive black mutant cockroaches (thank Goddess because I think I would have a nervous breakdown if I saw one of those on my wall), but rather the small-medium orange-ish reddish ones. Either way, they still freak me out.

I write about cockroaches because one has decided to approach me as I sit out here on the patio by the pool, though it knows better than to get to close and is keeping its distance at a good 3 feet. The only reason why I’m not killing it is because we are outside and all and I have issues with killing most bugs when I’m outside (seeing as it is – or should be – their territory) unless they’re hurting me in some way. Like mosquitos. I’ll kill mosquitos anywhere I am. Alas, I digress. Back to roaches. I remember my mom telling me that scientists have somehow figured out that the cockroach would be the only living thing to survive a nuclear holocaust. Now how the hell do they know that? A nuclear holocaust isn’t something you can exactly create in a lab. Well, I did a little research (read: I checked wikipedia because I’m lazy), and this whole nuclear war thing is because they can withstand much more exposure to radiation than we can. Also, their cells only divide when they’re molting (which happens either only once a week or once a month – I forget) which also helps in this regard. But, not to worry, the cockroach won’t be alone post-nuclear holocaust. Its companion will be the fruit fly, who has an even higher tolerance for radiation. Lovely.  But hey, I won’t be there, so what do I care?
I’ve been slightly torn in regards to my hatred of cockroaches, though, cause I’m trying to embrace this whole idea of respecting every creature and living thing. And I really only respect cockroaches after they’re dead. Even with other insects and the like that I’m not particularly fond of (like bees), I recognize they have a purpose, and that purpose is important. But what do cockroaches do? For that matter, what the hell do mosquitoes do? Gnats? Chiggers? All those nasty little biting/stinging insects? I mean, sure, they’re food for other animals, but seriously – if they were gone, I’m sure their predators could find something else to munch on. Alas, it seems as though this may be one of life’s great mysteries…so, in the mean time, Combat and Raid are still my best friends.

Sidenote: that popular Mexican song – yeah, the translation is “The Cockroach.” Though, supposedly it’s about some prostitute that would visit Mexican soldiers or maybe about a period in Mexican history when the soldiers marched in triple time. The research is a bit spotty on the soldier bit, but cockroaches are indeed fast little buggers. Sucks to be that prostitute, though.


About a month ago, I was sexually assaulted. The experience turned out to be a bizarre blessing in disguise as my reflections on it and processing of it have led me to new depths and deepened spirituality.  The other day, I received an e-card from my assailant expressing how it’s still bothering him and apologizing again (he had already done so in an email a day or two after it happened).  Sit with that for a minute.

If your reaction was anything like mine, your jaw dropped and the first words that came out of your mouth were “Are you fucking kidding me?!”  An e-card.  A fucking cheesy-ass, free, 1-2-3 Greetings e-card complete with cheesy-ass music.  To be honest, I’m not quite sure where to begin to talk about the many, many things wrong with this situation.  For starters, I’ll say that it only confirms my suspicions that he is in need of serious, professional psychological assistance.

I’m still processing this (read: this post will be very stream-of-consciousness and consequently a bit incoherent).  Initially, the emotion I experienced and then immediately resisted was rage.  Un-diluted, full-blown, boiling over fury.  And to be honest, I haven’t let myself fully experience it.  I laughed at the absurdity of it all.  Hysterically.  (caveat: in counseling, we talk about incongruence where there is some discrepancy between what one feels and says or feels and does or says and does, etc.  One of the most common incongruencies is laughing when you’d rather scream/rage or cry.  People do it all the time – now that I’ve told you this, you’ll find yourself laughing inappropriately all over the place.  We do it because processing the emotion we are really feeling is too hard, we think it would be inappropriate or wrong, or we’re generally afraid of what might happen if we do let ourselves feel whatever it is we’re resisting feeling) Why?  Because I kept trying to figure out how it fit in to the ideology of everyone being One that I’ve embraced.  I was so happy to get to this new place spiritually that I didn’t know what to do with this feeling of rage and I thought that if I let myself experience it, I would regress.  It didn’t feel like my rage fit. I felt like I had to choose one or the other.

I’ve gone on this tirade about how the reason why there is such ugliness in the world is because we have misunderstood our darker side and tried to separate ourselves from it. The universe needs this balance, so the end result is that darkness taking on a whole physical form of its own which just makes the world all the more hurt, not healed.  And yet (and I’m just realizing this as I write this and grinning to myself in recognition as I stare up at the misty moon), by separating myself from the rage I am feeling toward this person’s actions, I am not helping heal the world and reunite it at all!  I’m just perpetuating the cycle!  The cycle that is the heart of The Patriarchy.

My wise friend foxchild realized that I had not processed all of this when we spoke about it a day or two ago.  I imagine the expression on her face was one of concern as I laughed about this and allowed myself to say, at most, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!  This is absurd!”  She had told me yesterday I think when I had intentionally stopped myself from swearing (it really did happen -I promise) that swearing can be really good for the soul.  It allows us to release deep emotions that have little other way of being so potently expressed.    And in releasing those emotions, we allow ourselves to feel them, to live in them, taste them, honor them – whatever they are.  In light of that…to my assailant:

You are a fucking sick-ass bastard if you think that sending me a fucking e-card exonerates you from your pathetically based and fucked-up attempt at controlling me and making yourself feel better about the sick fuck you are.  You think you could ever really dominate me?!  ME?! Me who carries within me the essence of The Supreme Goddess, The Creatrix, The Queen Of Heaven, She Who Was Before All That Is, The Destroyer, The Dark Mother, She Who Makes The Earth Tremble And The Seas Rage, She Who Is Knowing, She Who Is Reborn Of The Flame, SHE.

You sad, pathetic excuse of a man.  You know nothing.  You are emptiness and meaninglessness.  You are the meager and pitiful product squeezed out of the anus of the Patriarchy.  AND YOUR TIME IS OVER.

We interrupt our regularly analytical post to bring you…

I’m mulling over the content of a real post right now, so, in the mean time, here’s a little something for your entertainment, courteously stolen from Greenwoman:


1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)

Duncan EX
2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)

Chocolate peanut butter Oatmeal chocolate chip (if I were a gangsta, I think I’d beat me up)

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)


4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)

Green Phoenix

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)

Erin Johnstown

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)


7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)

The Blue Water

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)

Tom Norman

9. STRIPPER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)

Jasmine Mint

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )

Ellen John

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)

Essay Ellsworth

12. SPY NAME/BOND GIRL: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)

Autumn Orchid

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)

Raspberry Jeanie

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)

Oatmeal Willow

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)

The Reading Rain Tour (flashing back to ‘reading rainbow’ days…)

Out of whack

Today made something very clear to me: I am completely out of sorts right now.  After booking my flight for a conference in VA for the same weekend I had already bought tickets for a conference with the Dalai Lama here in Atlanta and a whole host of other absent-minded things I’ve done recently that, ironically, I can’t remember right now except for commenting on the wrong post on a new blog I found (Caroline – my comment was supposed to be to the women’s language post!), it hit me when we ‘checked in’ during my group counseling class today.  It felt like treading water and getting very tired.  Also, I’ve been having headaches for the past week or so (my stress always manifests in some somatic way).

I think that my frazzled feeling has multiple roots.  First, school.  I only have class on Mondays and Tuesdays (3 classes total).  That means 3 other days of the week with little to no structure, aside from kickboxing and jujitsu classes, which seem more to throw my schedule off than help organize it.  I am the kind of person who needs structure.  Hard core.  If I don’t have it, I have no idea how to spend my time or organize it.  So, I spend it sleeping in, reading for fun, and doing a whole mess of other things that, while they might be good for the soul, are bad for the GPA.  Structure grounds me.  Add to the schedule my new assistantship which is just about entirely independent work (again, on a scholastic level, bad for me), and I’m just floundering.  It doesn’t help that two books for one of my classes were late in arriving so I have a ton of catching up reading to do.

So, I’ve got real life, annoying practical shit going on and then I’ve got awesome life-shattering-and-rebuilding spiritual stuff going on.  Since the latter is far more interesting, and I’d rather spend time musing about it, I find myself dreaming of hogans in Native American villages (though, to be honest, I don’t quite know what a hogan is, but they were mentioned in 100 ways, and it sounded really lovely – complete with a Great Mother, of course).  I feel like I am just reaching a new level in my spiritual development, and I wish I had no obligations other than to nurture that but I can’t.  Mother Wintermoon over at Romancing the Crone recently posted about metamorphing, and I see myself as the newly reborn butterfly that has just eaten her chrysalis (and is consequently rather full and a little bloated feeling) and is eagerly drying her wings in the sun, but overanxious to fly so she’s just stumbling around on some tree branch.

The result of not being able to devote concentrated attention to either of these areas leaves me feeling murky, blocked and imbalanced in both, which is really frustrating.   I’m trying to figure out a way to sort myself out, and I think it needs to begin with organizing my life in the practical sense.  If my classes won’t impose structure on me, I need to impose it on myself.  I need to look at my schedule and block off study times for each class as well as my GRA, I need to look at my syllabi for upcoming bigger assignments and start planning, and I think I need to cut out one of my kickboxing classes from my schedule at least until I have this under control again.

As for the spiritual side, I need to get back into doing my twice daily meditations.  I also recalled part of a previous life recently that I have felt my entire life but didn’t have as many details on until the past few weeks.  In this life, I ran into a major conflict in that I completely abused my power in a loss of control and deeply wounded my soul in the process.  Also, I get the feeling that the repercussions taken against me were severe.  Since then, I’ve had major issues with control – never quite able to find the right balance – and have shackled that memory and life’s experience to me as a reminder. I feel as though I need to figure out what control really is.  I realize now that there is a time for both holding on to control and letting go, and while I have a better idea of which to do when, it’s still not terribly clear and the lifetimes of locking myself down feels like it’s made me not remember how to healthily let go of control.  I feel like my jumping off point needs to first be compassion for my previous self in understanding my mistake committed in ignorance, though I wish I knew more about that life to put it into better context so as to understand it more fully.  I think that all of this translates into sitting on that branch in the sun, drying my wings, and getting my bearings around myself before flying off on adventures…

Perhaps that’s what I will focus on this weekend when celebrating Mabon…in between study sessions, of course.

The promise of fall

Well, the paper is done.  Nothing to do now but turn it in and wait.  I think I did a decent job, but I never really know how the professor will grade, so there’s always that hold-my-breath-and-brace-myself period.  Now, it’s on to study for a quiz tomorrow, though attempting to decipher Jung’s Man and His Symbols is a bit more appealing.

It appears as though fall as begun to unfold and reveal herself a little more.  Her beauty seems to begin subtly before the flashy and vibrant red, golds, and oranges decorate the landscape.  The humidity has vanished from the air in the past couple days (hopefully until next summer), and what remains has been clear, warm sunshine accompanied by soft, cool breezes.  I reveled in the bite that was in the air last night and the need to put on a hoodie over my t-shirt when I went to check my email down by the pool at about 10pm.

I can feel myself beginning to retreat inward as the wheel of the year continues.  Mabon has totally snuck up on me.  I’m glad it falls on the weekend so I can be sure I’ll devote some time to thoughts of balance, harvests, and quiet reflection.  Have to say, I’m also looking forward to having more variety of clothes to wear.  My wardrobe is not equipped to handle southern summers.

I know I could use some deep breathing…

Did you hear that? I’m referring to the thud my previous post made. In saying that, I am not mocking my readers, so please, if you take nothing else away from this post, take that. The concepts I discussed in that post are among the more chewy and weighty floating around in my head that I’m still munching on myself.

I have an assignment for a class on Monday evening in which I am supposed to write my about my beliefs regarding psychopathology, personality, what mental health is, how change is affected in people’s lives, etc. Really, to me, this sounds like a clever way of saying “Create your own theoretical orientation” which is both crazy-exciting and beyond daunting, particularly given that I’m in my second semester. As part of the 5-7 page paper I am to answer certain questions that have aided previous Counselors determine their theoretical orientation like, “Are people generally more good than bad or more bad than good?” I’m not sure how it bodes for me that, as I approach the first question, I find myself dissecting it and disagreeing with either option.

I think people are neither more bad than good nor more good than bad. I think the tendency to side with either of these choices is really a method of categorization so one can determine how to approach treatment more easily. But my thought is that it doesn’t make it easier, it oversimplifies it and limits one’s perspective.  For example, if one tends to believe that people are more bad than good, then it seems likely that one is more concerned with bringing an individual back to a place where they can survive within the confines of society in addition to correcting major aspects of the personality. But because one believes they are more bad than good, what is the goal? Restricting human nature and binding it in rules while attempting major personality transformation and restructuring? Personally, I think that’s a terrible way to live and to approach one’s vocation. It doesn’t sound remotely compassionate, and for me, that’s where therapy and counseling should begin. Compassion.

However, I disagree (though maybe not as vehemently) with the idea that people are more good than bad as well. While this approach might signify leaning toward minor correcting of problems and healing and be a generally more hopeful perspective, I find it still problematic.

I find myself tracking the problem back to the very words ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ What are they supposed to mean? Who decides what is good and what is bad? More than likely, we all have varying definitions. For me, the whole issue comes down to certain traits and behaviors as having been decided (at some point in time) to be valuable while others were not. That which is valued becomes the “good” and that which isn’t becomes the “bad.” But valuable to what? To maintaining the homeostasis of society? Mainstream culture? And why do the rules that define how modern society keeps it together (laws and such, mind you) completely dictate people’s mental health treatment? Because I don’t think mental health should be about maintaining homeostasis, especially if that homeostasis isn’t healthy for the individual. I think it should be about trying to help people achieve optimal mental health.

I think people have a natural tendency to self-actualize. I think that they get tripped up along the way (think Maslow) and aren’t always capable of reaching that actualization. I think that mainstream culture is the Oppressor of many, and that some people must focus on surviving and struggling to reach the optimal level of mental health considering their circumstances. And mainstream culture isn’t the only nemesis with which to contend. Life experiences, trauma, and other circumstances can be monumental obstacles as well. But I think that the tendency and the innate desire to self-actualize is maintains a place within many of those people. Otherwise, they’d give up. And sadly, though understandably, some of them do. Whether that means by taking their own lives or stopping dreaming of something better, something bigger, something that they deserve because they are human.

And if I were to really go into what I think makes people tick (which is all based on spirituality, archetypes, incarnations, sacred contracts, the nature of balance and everything in my previous post), they might not let me into the profession. So, basically, I need to find some way to articulate how I feel and what I believe using very careful wording. Considering Fowler’s spiritual development model and Wilber’s model, the majority of the population are in the middle levels of development and the further (note that I am not assigning a value to these later developmental levels – in my mind they are chronological but not hierarchical) levels contain less than something like 5% of the population. Thus, it’s like trying to speak to someone in a language they don’t speak. There are some things you just need to let go of. If that means that I use different wording to describe something than that which best conveys my idea to the intensity with which I wish to convey it, so be it.

Nuggets of wisdom #1 and 2

“It is the knowing we avoid at all costs and search for at the same time. That all things are one.”

100 Ways to Sunday, Robin Rice

I decided I’m going to start featuring little snippets or “nuggets of wisdom” from this amazing book that have spoken to me as I read it and continue to re-read it. It is filled with such wonderfully vast goodness that the first time around is only the tip of the iceberg. It needs to be revisited again and again to truly savor the delicious depth of truth it offers. I’m letting my intuition decide which nugget to present, and this one piped up this afternoon and volunteered. These first two lessons are among the more difficult.

Deep within us all, we are capable of anything and everything we witness, experience, think of, and dream of in this world. Both dark and light. We are as capable of saintliness as we are of genocide. All of us. Most of us, though, would rather swim through our existence denying what our potential darkness can manifest as and only acknowledging its lesser likeness: cheating on our insurance claims or tax returns, thinking ugly thoughts of ourselves and the people around us, neglecting those we care about, indulging our tempers and hurling insults out the window of our cars as we drive down the freeway, etc. The source that fuels those actions is the same source that fuels what we categorize as much meaner and revolting actions like murder, rape, and other terrible violations of ourselves and those around us.

Before I continue, though, it’s necessary to distinguish what darkness is, because darkness is not only the most terrible things we can dream up like those actions I mention above. We assign darkness an evil connotation and only associate it with such things because we fear it. We fear it manifesting in ourselves in any way, shape, or form. So we ostracize ourselves from it and say “I would never do that – that can’t possibly come from the same place as these other things (which we happily rationalize so we can give them another title and categorize them in a lighter place).” It’s also the same reason why we fear death. There is destruction for the sake of destruction, which is a hurtful thing, and then there is destruction for the sake of rebirth, which can be a very good thing. This is the arena of the Crone, the Dark Mother. Light and dark, yin and yang, life and death, up and down – our universe is constructed on the balance of these forces and trouble will come whenever we emphasize one over the other or misunderstand them so as to only value one half of the whole. We reap as many problems from overemphasizing the light as we do when we distance ourselves from the dark. It is when we run away from understanding our darkness that we are more susceptible to its bastardized form which is destruction for the sake of destruction.

It is when we stop fleeing from our darkness that we are truly able to experience compassion. “Superiority is born in the light, leading to hate. Compassion is born in the darkness, leading to non-violence. When we allow that we are capable of darkness ourselves, compassion is our natural response.” This is not an easy lesson because most of us are so terrified of some of the things we have seen, some of the things we have experienced, and we desire nothing more than to separate ourselves from those perpetrators as much as we can. And that is an entirely understandable response. Who wants to get close to a child molester, a rapist, an abuser, a dictatorial leader who condemns half his country’s population to death? But we will never heal this world until we can understand them. We are all capable of such acts. We all possess both dark and light, in fact need both to survive. We are all One. Acts of compassion beget acts of compassion, acts of condemnation and separation beget acts of condemnation and separation.

And that is why we refuse and avoid the idea that all things are One. Because it is too much, too painful, too difficult to process that we are as capable of the atrocities we spend so much time condemning. It is too vast a notion to wrap ourselves around and understand. It is the same reason why we blame victims of rape and other violence – to distance ourselves from the fact that it could very well happen to us. In this instance, that it could very well be us. And yet, it is only when we are truly understanding of the darkness and destruction of which we are capable that we can truly choose how we act.

There is a part of us, though, that truly does understand this. In some of us, it might be easier to find than others. It is the reason why we reach out to each other. It is the tug at our heart strings when we see someone in need and feel moved to respond in some way, either with something tangible or intangible. Deep in the marrow of our being, we know that we are all One. It’s just a lot easier to reach out to some more so than others. But our healing the world around us is dependent on our understanding of this Oneness. In being One, it will be far easier to heal ourselves than if we were separate.

Phoenix rising

Read another life-changing book yesterday!  I really love that I am stumbling across more and more of these and that the Universe just keeps tossing ’em my way.  I feel like within the past year, the rate at which these life-changing books and experiences have come my way has steadily increased as each one opens me to more of myself, each one expands my awareness and understanding and readies me for what comes next.  If you want to challenge your current existence, click here.

More and more I am drawn to shamanism.  Pieces keep falling into place and all signs seem to point in that direction.  I feel as though I am at the very edge of the beginning of something huge.  Yesterday’s reading confirmed for me my feminine totem: the phoenix.  I align so much with the Destroyer and the Dark Mother, so it is fitting that my feminine totem is the mystical animal that erupts into flames only to be reborn from the ashes.  I was recounting how much 100 ways rocked my world to foxchild last night and telling her of my discovery.  When I explained what I’ve written here, she who has such little confidence in her own Intuition and Voice, spoke and told me that I am to destroy the Self that I have been in order to become what I am meant to be (that was the gist anyway).  Her words resonated within me, and I knew they were true (they also scared the shit out of her, amusingly, and she felt like she was going to throw up).  I thought to my feelings of needing to re-parent myself and reconnect with my magical child – the child that was repressed as I grew up when magic had no place in my conservative Christian family.  It felt like this was the last piece that needed to fall into place before I could really begin.

I find myself filled with a bubbling excitement that makes me feel like my skin is the only thing keeping me from going every which direction at once.  It’s not easy to put into words.  I feel like I’ve been (and continue to be) on a rollercoaster, and I’m taking in so much and transmuting everything I experience so that my logical side begins to question whether it’s pathological.  I promptly tell my logical side to shut it and, instead, revel in the winds of life whipping through my hair, wearing away that which no longer belongs to reveal that which is meant to be.