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bbc, emerge, emotions, fear, Sacred Feminine, writing

Where Your Heart Is

June 26, 2011

“Where your heart is, there is your power. Without this energy nothing in your life can manifest or flourish, from your romantic relationships to your artistic creativity.” – Caroline Myss (from Sacred Contracts)

 

emerging poppy webShe said to me: “I love your shoes. Very Sacred Feminine.” When I had caught my breath she had already moved on to another conversation.  Sometimes moments like that really throw me. I spend a lot of my time going through the world knowing that people have no idea who I am.  To be seen like that is a gift I do not take lightly.

I stopped blogging because I was scared of where I was going. I was scared of the path through the trees and the images that were coming to me. I was scared that you wouldn’t like it if I went on and on about stories and archetypes and metaphors. I was scared that I would come across as a new-age nut and no-one would read a word I wrote ever again. I had been joined by the old pain-in-the-ass: “Who Do You Think You Are?”

What I discovered, however, is that once you crack open the door to your heart, there is no closing it again.  I’ve been bombarded with signs and dreams and connections and messages and messengers and love.  In the face of all of that, who am I not to listen?  So I’m back and I am listening and I am writing and I know that this kind of writing is where my heart is.

“Where your heart is, there is your power.” Carolinewriting Myss is a genius.

xo

Sacred Feminine, Stories, writing

Becoming Visible

May 23, 2011

“I would be safer if I was not so visible.” – Marianne Williamson

 

26763657_48558D8u_cA few years ago a blogger I admired put up a post closing down her blog.  I remember that she wrote that “the kitchen was bare.” I can relate to that.  I feel like the things I have felt comfortable writing about are all used up and the cupboards are bare.

For the past week or so I have toyed with closing down for a little while while I sort things out.  I am in the midst of doing some shapeshifting.  Even now as I type I feel raw and quiet about the things that are coming up.  I have touched on them before when I began telling you about the stories that I wanted to write and when I claimed the title of talespinner, but when I got to the edge of that place that felt dangerous and real, I froze up and stopped writing.

There is still a place in me that is scared to go there.

More than anything, I want to be real. More than anything I want to write things here that connect us through space.  The stories that are asking to be told are strange and wonderful, but I hesitate at their edges and worry that they will be too weird, too whimsical or too much – much as I worry sometimes that if I let go I will be those things – so I put down the pen.

But my delight at images like this one and the eclectic collection I am amassing on Pinterest show just how whimsical and strange and sacred my writing could be and I realize that I am only fooling myself.  I am who I am.  Forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get up the courage to show you.

xo

(I don’t know who to give credit for this image. The Pinterest link hits a dead end. If you know, please let me know and I will give credit where credit is due.)

food, Musings

What a Difference a Fly Makes

May 15, 2011

“You were created to travel lightly on this planet, with the same sense of joy that little children have.” – Marianne Williamson

 

My first job was working as a costumed historical interpreter. In normal terms, I was a pioneer.  I can’t believe it now, but they hired me when I was 13.  I baked on wood stoves, cleaned pieces of the collection and interacted with the public all while wearing dress, petticoat and bonnet.  (Yes, I was very cute!)

One day I was making oatmeal cookies with raisins in them and talking to visitors about Ontario in the 1870s.  A teen-aged boy pointed at the batter I was stirring and said that a fly had just flown into the bowl.  Rather than stick around to see my reaction, he followed his parents back out of the door and likely promptly forgot all about me.

I, on the other hand have never forgotten him.  No matter how many times I stirred and checked that dough, I never found the fly.  While I am certain now that he was just messing with me, my 13 year-old self was thoroughly grossed out at the prospect of eating fly.  I eventually baked the cookies (not wanting to waste the ingredients or to explain to my boss why I hadn’t made them) and cut them into halves to share with the visiting public.

The story for most people would have ended there, apart from a laugh with their friends about serving fly cookies to people.  Not me.  Instead, 23 years later, I have yet to enjoy a thing with raisins in it ever again.  Raisins bear a shockingly close resemblance and texture to what I imagine a fly might taste and feel like.  One passing comment from a stranger coupled with the stress it caused changed something deep inside of me that I have never gotten back.

But where else are there flies in my operating system?  Where else have small, seemingly innocent exchanges altered me so profoundly?  If you are canoeing across a lake, the slightest nudge in either direction will change where you land on the other side.  Which nudges got me here?  How can I filter out new ones coming in?  And how can I release the ones that don’t make any sense to hold onto at all? I really wish I knew.

xo