The Sorcerer: A Domestic Portrait

He is charming, like an exotic creature. Fantastical words laced in magic, hope, harmony, connection and revelation drip out of his mouth like honey. Like a pied piper he lures all who listen, all become entranced in his beautiful lyrical dance of spiritual poetry and promise, unaware of the muzzled wild animal within. There it sits, tethered, bound and ill at ease.

As they dance and follow in time with his rhythm, his eyes are like razors making sure to keep a safe distance as to contain the wild thing that streaks its claws and marks his insides. Keeping its leash tight, muffling its voice and pain, suppressing the energy that desires to break free of its enclosure, the animal’s electrified angst is kept smothered and in check.

As his insides turn, he struggles to manifest a smile for all to see.

The leash is pulled tight.

Open and unassuming, she is seduced; entranced by his words, eccentricity and both drawn and perplexed by the fiery intensity in his eyes.  His voice sings of promise, love and fortune.

There is something she can’t define here, a strange feeling. Like clockwork the strange intensity flares for a moment as he laughs, his eyes gleam, sending a brief surge of electricity down her spine and into her nervous system, like a spike of lightening during a storm.

‘Just excitement… nervousness..’  she tells herself.

In her mind, she can’t seem to reconcile the unease she feels.

Hearts open and energetic cords are fused as curiosity and allure take precedence over any uncertainty that is felt.

The hand releases the taut leash as it falls lifeless to the ground.

It all begins with a thought.

Be it created from trauma, fear, love, joy or pain, past or present. The thought, begging to be discovered, loved and released is held on to, transforming it into belief that is stored in the body.

The wild animal is provoked, the tether long gone, triggering a systemic tightness in the body, as the brow furrows, hackles raise and paint begins to peel from the walls once again. This electric surge swirls within his body as he becomes possessed with its energy, fueling the body to seek some action and release.

The body transforms, from Jekyll to Hyde.

The animal rips through previously pursed lips, as it can be stifled no longer. The energy it exudes from its angst transforms into biting words, guttural sounds, attacks and vomitus threats as pain flies like erratic lightening through the air, intuitively seeking and searching for its lightening rod.

Like a heat seeking missile, its target is located. She is struck violently, as the vibration of his odious words and energy rip and tears through her flesh as they infiltrate her body. Once inside, security alarms are raised as her body is acutely aware of this animal that begins to claw at her flesh..

‘You got this’, she says to herself. ‘We’ve done this many times before…’

She attempts to calm and soothe, as she’s done countless times.

It rejects wildly, spinning out of control like a rabid dog, as its energy rises higher, its teeth sink deeper while its words, thick and potent as venom begin to rot her flesh.

Fighting to ground this erratic energetic intruder, her mind and nervous system buckle down, working together to calm the body in an attempt to flush the vicious disturbance; the mind tells the body to breathe, while she is slowly consumed.

‘I can take no more of this.’ she says and attempts to leave.

The body holds strong as the violent electric current of dis-ease forces and carves new pathways in her body, placing it in energetic overload, shorting out the natural electric current within. The Light Within.

One by one, the bulbs of her nervous system short out as it begins to slowly surrender once again to the overwhelming force. Her shoulders hunch, knees go weak and tears begin to flow as the body lets go and embraces the pain, releasing all control as knees and forearms meet the ground like a fallen tree.

Systematically and energetically dismantled, voiceless. A dead bulb..

Like lightening seeking its lightening rod, the energy is dispersed. Grounded. The animal angst within him is soothed.

Reminiscent of a kitten unamused with a limp string, he is confused as to why she cannot get up and dance and smile like everyone else does.

‘She’s just sensitive.’ he says.

Overtime she falters, her attempts to help sooth that unease and pain within him burning out her natural brightness, her inner light dimmed. He becomes discontented and bored.

Once again he tethers the beast, moves on and smiles while poetry blooms from his lips as all who listen begin the dance again, seeking other brilliant lights that catch his fancy.

Only her and her alone, has seen his true hungry depths.


I read for a group of lovely woman this past weekend, one of which began to describe a calling she felt, so deeply in her bones. She was thinking of changing careers and felt so strongly about what she needed to do. This is something I will never forget.

She talked with such passion about her desire to help women who have suffered abuse. I have never experienced anyone who talked with so much love and such a true desire to help others. A calling that was created to help others out of self love and not out of a need to prove their worth to themselves or to others due to inner lack.

It was at this moment that I absolutely dropped my professional guard, as she saw it written all over my face. She stopped, held both of my hands, looked at me with tears in her eyes and more love than I have ever seen and said “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. That person does not love you, they love their own mind. They drink your energy and the energy of others. They need that for their own survival. That person, whoever they are, does not deserve your light.”

In all vulnerability, this is the first time I have truly lost it in a professional setting. We are all filled with the psychic consciousness of spirit and it chooses to speak through every single person and animal on earth at all times.. and exactly when it needs to.

We all have that light. We all experience pain and trauma. It is how we choose to release that energy that truly matters. I’ve been there, on all sides of it in my past and I’ve cherished every moment. It gives me choice of action, choice of how I wish to be and act and react. I chose my ways a long time ago with much experience. If we mask our pain and slather goodness and spiritual words all over us, it doesn’t release the pain. You’re only wearing a spiritual outfit, of sorts. If you avoid being truly vulnerable with others and keep them at a safe distance and project spiritual lingo everywhere, that does not mean you walk the walk. You could sell yourself with photographs of you cuddling kittens and bunnies and volunteering for rescues; it still doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of harm if you refuse to face your inner pain. When you infuse all your pain into one person and let the floodgates down, it doesn’t matter how you project yourself to others. You’re still creating pain. It is still abuse. If you’re creating a façade, of course, people will believe the façade. However, those who you truly let in will experience everything you’ve been holding back.

Overtime the trauma gets buried as we shift and change, but the belief is still there, melded with our physical body, taking up residence in our subconscious and shielding us from conscious pain. In an attempt to “fill the cup”, we attempt to mask and cover ourselves with the opposite of this pain, letting this wound fester until it is ultimately, ravenously released. It is up to us how we decide to deal with pain. Running from our pain and finding fulfillment in the attention of others, only postpones the inevitable.

We are all light and we all have that brilliant light within. We’re made of electricity. When you are truly in balance, you don’t need to draw from the energy of others (via social media or otherwise) for your self-worth. The light is there, regardless.

I know there will be those who will stand with me, those who will not, those who say they believe others who have suffered similarly and still wont put their belief in me. That is okay, I love and forgive you either way.

For everyone out there who has experienced this type of pain or abuse at the hands or words of someone you love or have loved, I stand with you. I love you.

More so, I Believe You.



Message From Spirit

The Loner

"I am up late because Spirit is urging me to speak up. As I try to sleep I am shown images, I hear thoughts and feel deeply. I have no choice but to listen and channel the words of Spirit to you directly.

We are at the cusp of repeating a cycle. A pattern. Spirit is telling me that this needs to stop.

You are in the woods and you are running from something. I feel it and I see it.

You are tired, drained and have no energy left for your work, your interactions with others- or for me. You come out at such a deficit that you need to retreat extensively, overcompensating for the imbalance of energy output you give.

You willingly arrange and tie up every moment of your time to help, rescue and aid others. Giving to others before first giving to yourself. Your life and how you choose to live and spend your time and devote your energy is a choice. Life is a choice. You choose to live with your schedule the way you do. You choose to do the exact behavior your work teaches others to heal from.

You choose it, willingly, every day.  You choose not to listen. You choose to run.

Choosing to live this way is also choosing to be drained from this way of existing. To not have time for you, to not have time for writing, to not have time for us.

You choose your life and you choose who you are and how you act, as well as how you react. We are Creators of our own realities, our own Universe.

You overextend, overcompensate, overreach and try to be a help to others. You bend over backwards, making yourself depleted and coming in last. Making us come last when in your words and heart, you want us first. You are projecting your energy outwards, distracting yourself from what is inside. 

Dear one, why do you run?

It is time to come to stillness and look inside. There is something here that needs to be realized, faced, surrendered to and healed. 

To heal deep wounds, they must be felt. Deeply. Reaching states of calming meditation and being in the woods may make us feel good and fuzzy and excited about the world, getting us back to above the red line of danger and pain, but what are they really when it comes to dealing with a wound? 

A bandaid. A distraction from feeling the pain and having to experience the trauma to let it go. 

They bring us above water and out of the depth of feeling the pain that needs to be moved. In order to move deep wounds, you must feel them. If you are feeling them, then they are trying to move out of your system and subconscious. Trying to find ways to pump oneself up when they’re feeling a deep trigger is avoiding the trigger and further suppressing the pain down inside. Yes, you’ll be comfortable for the time being… until the trigger cycles again and comes up ever stronger. See where the dilemma is? I have been here many times.

If you’re feeling it, it is your chance to move it. It is your choice to move it.

You have mentioned many times how you associate yourself with being a Loner, The Man In The Cabin Deep Within The Woods.

We create our path in life.  As Creators of our own realities, we choose who we are and what we are going to do on our jouneys. This is the true nature of our beings. 

I am looking for real, raw intimacy. This cannot take place within the realm of an archetype. An archetype is a story. A character. To live in accordance of the parameters of this character is to limit oneself and to limit your own choice. To limit your own expression and to limit your own vulnerability. To limit openness to be your abundant, limitless true self. You limit the possibility to find true intimacy within yourself and with another. To adhere to an archetype is a falsation of who you are.  

It is, to be blunt, a cop out. A retreat. An easy answer. An addiction to distract yourself from the pain that lies in the discovery of yourself through learning of your deepest triggers. A way to avoid listening and discovering who you really are inside and how you feel about yourself, others and the world around you.

For you to continually commit to this archetype and in telling me that you are a loner, is to tell me you are not willing to ever be truly intimate with me. You have found an easy out where you have a frame work to tell you who you are and what your boundaries are so you don’t have to feel them/discover them on your own and experience the discomfort and unpredictability of the process. As long as you commit yourself to this archetype and continue to tell me ‘this is you’, then you will forever be choosing to hold me at arms-length. Committing to and self-identifying with being a loner is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Again, to commit to living up to the ‘loner archetype’ is a choice; a choice to limit the expression of oneself to a fictional character that by its very design and nature, cannot be truly vulnerable and intimate. We are Creators, manifesting our own lives and journeys.  

I want to point out that this idea of being a loner and fulfilling this role, archetype has absolutely nothing to do with needing to have pilgrimages and alone time. Alone time is healthy. It is natural. It is important for the growth of oneself. When I bring up commitment to the loner archetype and alone time, I am discussing two very different things. Everything we have talked about when it comes to balance in relationship, commitment to having time together, to come from a place of abundance so that we can both have our alone adventures is EXACTLY what I want and desire. There is absolutely NO change in that. What I am writing here has absolutely nothing to do with that vision in what we want to cultivate.

Beyond this dream that we desire, this 3rd Entity, I sense something else.

If one overextends their energy, seeking approval by an outside source because of a trauma felt inside, it is felt by all. If you interact with a horse and are subconsciously harboring the pain and trauma of being left by a relationship and are seeking approval by this animal because you sense a void inside of you.. they'll know.. and feel it. They will feel your overcompensation and mirror it back to you.

 "Hello Horse! I am a loner. That is who I am."

Horse: "Ok. I feel you projecting this loner vibration and therefore I will react according to where you are setting this boundary. Hm. I do not feel a full sense of connection from you because you are drawing a distinct line in the sand with that title, making a clear boundary at what our intimate connection and vulnerability is. I do not feel your commitment to our connection; therefor I do not trust you enough to walk with you."

 Love, I am your horse. 

It can sometimes feel easier to be completely vulnerable and intimate with something you are helping and being the savior for. It's a whole other story when being vulnerable and intimate with an equal- you don't have as much confidence, power or grounding as you would when you are aiding, helping or filling someone’s cup who is in need. There isn't an "I have this thing you need and I can then go." When you are in romantic relationship, there is no helping or rescuing. You are on an equal playing field of intimacy and vulnerability. Making real, raw, intimacy possible- opening up all of your pains and hurts... Even The Deep Seated Ones.

You are not my hero. You are not my savior. You are my equal. You are my partner and those committed to partnerships are not loners. This is a choice.

 To take pride in being a loner, a cowboy, a hero, is to avoid pain; to avoid true intimacy. This is not commitment, this is not marriage, this is not relationship and this is not partnership.

 Loner archetype is a withdrawal from partnership. A withdrawal from true intimacy.

Withdrawal, like withholding love and affection. 

Why do you immediately feel the need to abandon when we get into arguments? Why do you immediately try and get out of the car? 

Because the action of withdrawal to someone who needs you (putting them in a place of desiring you) gives a sense of power and levity from the pain you're already enduring. A boost. 

Why do we without a doubt know without thinking that this will hurt the other person enough for them to ‘need us’ and create this sense of pain relief for us? Because we know first-hand what abandonment feels like and that it hurts... Deeply. It's an instinctual, reliable pain that we know in our bones, so we know that it will cause others pain.. and therefor will alleviate some of our own pain. 

This is the subconscious cycle of abandonment. 

What I watch during our hard times, when I watch you pull away from me, shield yourself, roll on the ground, cover your face, scream at the top of your lungs and nearly pull your hair out. I stopped reacting and finally realized after many months what I am watching. 

Replace Loner with Orphan.

I am watching childhood trauma. I am watching a child struggling in frustration with a situation that is so difficult for the adult conscious mind to comprehend. 

Orphan Trauma. Fetus Trauma. Abandonment Trauma. Many things affect us even while we are in the womb, shaping the very beginnings of our whole beings on a subconscious level. How were our mothers treated? How did they take care of themselves? How did they deal with trauma? How did they react to the very idea of being pregnant? And more..

When we are adopted, how do we subconsciously deal with being given up by our mothers as a young child? 

This is all energy. This is all vibration.. and this is transferred into our DNA. There is a reason why you confided in me that when you were a child you cried and felt a burning need to help others and reach out from an unidentified wound within. It is a wound that your body feels, that your DNA feels and knows about, but your consciousness does not have words or recollection of it. There is a reason why you identify with this Loner, The Man Who Resides In The Cabin In The Woods, The Cowboy archetype. We attract and go towards what our life experiences have convinced our thinking brains that we ‘are’. We attract things of Like-Vibration just as we seek out things that we resonate with. Resonation could be because of many things; resonating with pain, happiness, sadness, anger, depression… they resonate because they are FAMILIAR and familiar is safe, even if it’s familiar pain. This is why children of alcoholic parents attract partners who are also alcoholics. It is a pattern our brains know and can comprehend. It is not new, it is not unknown, unchartered territory and our brains know that they don’t have to overcompensate safety for an unknown, unpredictable situation.

Your vibration attracted others that offer to help you relive the cycle/pattern, yes, but they did not unearth the wound. You said you never felt truly connected, like a loner. You have told me that our connection is different, however I am slowly watching you retreat into your previous pattern of Loner Archetype.

True Intimacy Cannot Happen Here. True Vulnerability Cannot Happen Here. This goes deep into your subconscious, my love. I have been watching it and it has been watching me. 

You desired your twin flame and twin flames are not here to be fluffy. They are here to point out our biggest, deepest triggers so we can work and move on from them. We are here to see clearly what is stopping us. I am not another temporary connection; a practice run fulfilling this painful, cyclical pattern and ending. 

I am not a surface-level being; I am deeply vast and radically honest. I am here to experience life as a Creator; through passion, rawness and the pains of love and vulnerability. I am here to point out what you cannot see so you can be aware of it. To help you move beyond it. This is both a blessing and a curse, as I see this limitation clearly and therefore must point it out with true love and honesty.. to be a messenger for your pain.

This cycle needs to be realized, felt, and healed. What you feel inside affects everything you create around you.

Here Lies The Pattern; 

1. Overthinking A Proposed Thought and Not Knowing Where It Comes From
2. Experiencing Fear, Fight or Flight Response
3. Retreat From Me/World/Partnership
4. Withdrawl of Love/Connection/Embrace/Communication/Vulnerability/Intimacy
5. Find Calmness and Place Band Aid/Quick Feel Good Fix
6. Smooth Things Over Once You’re Feeling Better Until It Pops Up Again  

I need you to choose me. I need you to choose the world. I need you to choose your highest and best interest and I need you to choose mine. If you so choose to be the Loner, this Man In The Cabin In The Woods, then this is your choice to continue to isolate and avoid within this pattern.  I am drawing this boundary and I need you to hear me.

Healing this world and all its inhabitants comes from feeling pain, feeling that void, that wound, letting it scream, letting the air out, letting it move out of your body and soul and finally realizing that there is no void there. That it was all a story created by the mind. No void that needs filling or that requires you to run around and avoid taking time for yourself. One that needs you to reach out continuously to help and heal with action. It reminds you that you are naturally whole and healed. You naturally and effortlessly are consciousness of Spirit; the true breath, electricity and abundance in this world that animates all things. That is what Animals have effortlessly and why we want to be around them. 

In order for me to commit to you, I need this commitment from you and to the success of our communication in this relationship. I need you to choose me everyday, just as I choose you.

I realized last night why I have not been writing. I felt something was coming, something deep. I couldn’t put words or a frame on it.. but I could feel it so deeply within my gut. I realized that I was saving my physical energy to translate this message from Spirit to you."

For All To Read and Dedicated To The Healing Of Others On Their Journeys

With Love,



The Third Bird

Her dreams showed her things would be changing, although her mind tried never to entertain the thoughts.

*Tendrils dig diligently, separating dense patches of earth and maneuvering around rock, bone and root as they attempt to quench their thirst for strength and solidity. Rugged, sturdy branches reach and flex with agile dexterity as they twist, tighten and hold firmly to everything within their immediate reach. Vibrant green leaves unfurl tenderly, resting their backs across sturdy thorns like small trusting bodies on a thousand tiny beds of nails, opening gently in relaxation and contentment. The wind breathes a heavy sigh as the array of brilliant greens begin to chatter in melodramatic movement, instantly catching the regal eyes of many rich, calm, delicate red buds that pepper the lush vegetation.

Deep within layers of life there exists a deadened space, barely perceptible to an untrained eye.

Rushing through the busy streets, juggling objects as well as her perception of time, the girl’s attention is whisked away from her racing mind and redirected towards a soft, delicate sound barely audible against the turbulent downtown traffic; the flit flit flit of breathlessly labored wings. With a turning of her head she views him; a small bird completely drained of physical effort and mournfully immobilized, his feathered breast pressed tiredly against the warm bricks of a nearby building. Instantly observing broken feet and a damaged beak her heart drops as quickly as all that rests in her arms. Without thought or hesitation, the bird is suddenly resting in the palm of her hand, looking up at her with one lazily half-closed eye. She looks down at the objects she carried previously in her arms, unsure of how to proceed regaining the focus and determination of her juggling act. 

“Ok. Now what..” She thinks to herself.

“What’cha got there?” Says a bright-eyed man adorned in a smile, exiting a nearby building. He picks up speed with the swaying of his arms as he walks briskly towards her.

“Hey there - I think he’s a small warbler. Seems pretty beat up, I.. I just couldn’t leave him.” She says.

“Well then, let me run and get a box and some bedding for him. I’ll be right back.” The man says as he quickly heads back in the direction of the building he just previously exited.

Within moments he returns, box and bedding in hand. She places the small bird on the soft bedding, carefully arranging the loosely packed crinkles of tissue to support his exhausted frame. He rests, breathing heavily against the cardboard wall.

The vibrant greens of abundancy begin to slowly fade, thinning and transforming the lushness of life into near transparency as the deadened space begins to flow, seeping through veins and methodically injecting stillness into each leaflet. Tendrils soften and decrease in their urgency for stable ground as one by one, blushing flower petals begin to lose their baring, fatefully releasing their grips on stems as they take to the air, drifting aimlessly in the static summer heat. Thick, able bodied branches, once headstrong and ruthlessly determined, begin to soften into a lazy fog, their thorn encrusted necks retracting from their punctured holes from which they bite all that surrounds them. 

Sensors are triggered and alerts are raised, urging delicate red buds to rouse and straighten their weakened poise as they become painfully aware of this foreign body. They struggle to retain balance as lethargy consumes them, making any defense preparation futile for the imminent threat to their system.

 Crackled flower petals begin to collect, littering the soft ground.

She is called to a different part of town, a variation on her usual journey. Her head points downward as she observes her thoughts aligning seamlessly with the placement of each foot on the pavement. As she looks up from this mesmerizing unity, she is surprised to see a variety of automobiles swerving synchronistically in the street ahead of her, just barely missing a small grey object. She wrinkles her nose as she squints in an attempt to narrow her scope on the image before her. As she walks closer her ears instantly grasp the sound of a dull, melancholic shrill. The small object begins to gain clarity, focus and definition, transforming into a small baby gull. 

Hunched back on his round knobby knees directly above the piercing double yellow lines, he sits crying with all he can muster, just opposite a small, unmoving gull. The plethora of brilliantly engineered automobiles perfectly execute turn after turn as they whoosh passed the gull, ruffling his immature feathers with the wind they create, but alas, not a soul to stop.

She stares in shock as cars continue to swerve.

 “He’s been here all day, since 8am crying over that gull friend he lost.”  Says a woman standing nearby. 

The girl’s trance is broken as her head turns to acknowledge the woman.

“…. All day? And no one has done a thing?”  The girl responds, sickened.

The girl walks a few steps closer as the baby gull turns, softening his shrill and staring at her wide eyed and lonely.

“Seems like he’s meant for you.” Says the nearby woman. 

“I… I guess so.” Says the girl.

“Here,” says the woman, reaching into her overflowing bag of groceries, “I picked up some tuna from the general store. Better he have it.”

“Huh. Thanks. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” Says the girl.  “Do seagulls even eat tuna?” She thinks to herself.

The girl walks down the street, the football-sized baby gull zipped up against her chest in her red sweatshirt, soft grey feathers tickling her neck as his head pokes through the front as lookout. Careful step after careful step, she appears as though she’s attempting the most awkward feathery touchdown of her life.

Finally making it to her parked car, she fumbles entry for a moment until key succinctly enters lock, and with a swift heave of her hip, the door quirkily pops open. Inside she sees a small, open wicker basket occupying the passenger side seat.

“This will have to do. Funny I delayed dropping off that old thing... ” She says as she unzips her red sweatshirt and removes an arm from each sleeve. She gently places the gull in the small basket, tucking the sleeves of her sweatshirt around him comfortably.  He stares at her, completely unafraid and visibly contented by the presence of another being, regardless of species.

The girl pulls the round tab on the lid of tuna fish, instantly popping it open. The pungent smell of fish explodes into the air, awakening the senses of the baby gull as his eyes widen. She places the can in the basket near him. He stares blankly at the can, confused. Eventually his eyes make it back to hers.

“… Not so much?” She remarks.

Not ready to give up, she looks around for inspiration, rummaging through her car until finally her focus settles on a package of unused chopsticks. 

“Voila! Well, they’re all I’ve got at the moment, dear friend.”

Immediately recognizing the visual sensory stimulation of this method of nourishment, the gull graciously guzzles down bite after bite of chopstick delivered tuna fish, until all three cans are completely polished off.

He stares into her eyes warmly, like an old friend.

Limbs are brittle, shaken and scared, bracing for the remaining effort of internal protection from the strain; the playful intrigue of their surrounding stimuli only a distant memory. Browns, blacks, dull pinks and yellows dominate the once brilliantly youthful display of nature, transforming all remaining brightness and breath into the sickness of the deep, far reaching deadened space.

One by one, rosy buds drift sleepily, heads bowing as luscious reds slip soundlessly into the pink-brown hue of silent, eternal transparency.

She walks at an accelerated rate, being careful to gingerly sidestep discarded bottles, cans and street trash that cling desperately to the sidewalk. Beads of sweat pour down her face and neck as the sun reaches down from the sky, the taste of salt seeping through the delicate crease separating her closed lips. The leash that is firmly ensnared in her fist is tugged vigorously by a mammoth black dog; distressed, determined and strong-willed, the dog exerts all the force nature has to offer as he drives forward, harshly exhaling with every step as she is pulled relentlessly forward.  The sound of claws clicking and rubber soles dragging is interrupted by a familiar noise. 

flit flit flit… her ears open wide.
flit flit flit.. her eyes search for the source of sound… 

A robin, old and decrepit, bounces into the air where she is supported only for a strenuous moment by the lack of strength in her wings. She releases control and plummets, plopping heavily on the ground. Once more, she tries to break her contract with the earth, jumping into the air to rely on wings that fail to support and hold her any longer. The girl stops and stares at the all too familiar scene. The large black dog pulls the leash taught as he urges her farther down the sidewalk. She firmly digs her heels into the earth as she halts his headstrong determination. The girl motions forward to offer aid to the small bird, but stops.

She listens.

“You can’t save everything.”  She hears the voice say, as she stands frozen in place.

By surprise, her body is immediately commandeered by a sorrowful heart and determined brain, paying no mind and overriding this wise voice, pushing her body to continue. She gently scoops up the faltering bird and holds it dearly to her chest.

Sweat rains down as she wrestles her way back home, leash firmly grasped in hand as the hound spreads her thinly across the sidewalk. Finally she makes it home, eager to assist the small feathered friend. As she opens her arms, the wind breathes a heavy sigh as the breath is carefully swept away into the infinite; the bird is left silent and unmoving. 

A tear rolls down her cheek as she releases all resistance, painfully aware of her reality.

“I guess it ends today.” She says to herself. 

Pungent patches of black and grey dominate the surrendered remains of the vibrant, lucid dream of what once was; dried up roots once surging with life and purpose are now crumbled and cracked, hopelessly static and unreachable in the depths of moist soil.  Only one pink bud remains, struggling to stand proudly in a sea of crisp brown leaves and blackened thorns. The ground is littered with seasoned petals and fallen chunks of decayed limb.

Swift and methodically, limb after brittle limb are cleaved and muscled toward the ground as fierce blackened claws viciously attack skin, leaving deep cavernous lacerations as a result of the bitter resistance that ensues. 

Strike after strike releases the blackness as it is sheared and shed, collecting in a battered heap of sick, littered upon the earthen floor as the mass is whittled down to a small hollowed stump.

Deadened roots are peeled from the soil, dangling lifelessly from muddy, scratched hands before the final action is complete; the stump is finally ripped from the ground with all that is left of remaining strength.

Her chest heaves as she regains her composure after such heavy exertion. She leans forward and peers into the hole where the stump had been.

Immediately she notices an object just at the base of where the stump rested; a smooth, palm sized, rose colored stone.

She reaches in the hole and extracts the stone from its place of rest.

There she stands, blood dripping from scratches on her arms, face and torso, stone in one hand and the twisted remnants of the stump held firmly in the other.

A voice becomes known from behind her.

“That’s exactly what those plants love, you know. They love to be hacked down to nothing. That’s how they grow best!”

She turns her head toward the passerby in the street, startled. Completely astonished, she smiles deeply as the passerby promptly disengages and continues walking down the street, grinning.

The girl looks up towards the sky and watches as a single white feather floats downward.*



It can certainly be difficult to find the confidence to make big changes when they desperately need to occur. I believe this to be the case because most humans are under the impression that it is possible to make wrong choices. What if we choose wrong, what happens then?

At this point, it is worth examining the notions of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’; both concepts created by the intricacies of the human mind. In all honesty, I don’t believe it is possible to live a life of wrong. The idea of choices being either right or wrong are seemly just that.. Ideas/thoughts created by the mind that are chosen to be believed or not believed and from there, the body is instructed on how to take action. So in that sense, would it be possible to just simply live, not choosing to believe these thoughts of right or wrong and just simply BE in whatever avenue you choose to venture down?

This being said, I don’t believe in right or wrong choices in life; I do however, believe in resistance and resonance.

The body does an excellent job at letting you know when you are not living your truth, generally triggering your emotional guidance system- a mechanism that is perfectly installed into these wonderful bodies of ours. If an avenue is not lining up with your inner truth, there will be emotional resistance, usually in the form of heavy vibration; anger, rage, sadness, anxiousness, depression, frustration etc. These vibrations trigger emotional responses for an important reason; to guide you. The emotions prompted by these vibrations can be extremely seductive, as we tend to exist and wallow in them, paralyzed, afraid and simply quite daunted at the task of changing and rearranging our inner beliefs and outer lives in order to align with our highest truth and vibration. It almost seems less traumatizing to exist in these perpetual states of distress rather than choose to remedy the issue and bring our guidance system (emotions) back to a healthy range (happy, contentment) where we find harmonious resonance between what we do and how we feel.

This means that we are most often scared at the risks we will need to take in order to bring ourselves back to what makes us happy, leaving us frustrated and stagnant. This affects us in all areas of our lives; careers, jobs, friendships, romantic relationships and hobbies. So often we are pidgeon holed into making decisions about which choices to make due to outside expectation (societal norms, culture, family/friend pressures and thoughts believed by others), eventually becoming so far off of our paths that we slip into an overwhelming state of fear at what we will have to do/who we will have to disappoint to bring ourselves back into our own state of balance, happiness and fulfillment.

On this earth, in these bodies, during this existence, what other purpose is there then to find your total bliss and fulfillment through aligning with your own truth? 

No matter where you are on your path or how far you are away from it, the opportunity is always there to align with it. The farther you stray, the deeper you will need to dig. Neither path is wrong, it just simply IS, and you will learn valuable life lessons no matter which avenue you choose.

Sometimes things must be cut down to nothing in order to regrow and blossom into abundance.

And in the words of my good friend JF,  
Don’t Be Scared.



I am swallowed by darkness; delivered into the inviting belly of the untamed, formless, abyss. An expansive mass of black and grey surrounds me, littered by fleeting glimpses of intangible thoughts that flicker electrically through the foggy veil of consciousness like holographic apparitions; their mysterious luminous light shining brilliantly, only to quickly dim and dissipate into thin air like vapor.  My awareness floats serenely through the calm and soothing ambiance of the nebulous void, effortlessly directionless, unattached and unassuming.
As I drift, awareness is brought to my physical body as I notice the soft sensation of cold making gentle contact with the contours of my face. I observe as the single sensation transforms into many; my skin individually receiving each occurrence as each moment takes on a new unique flavor.


My hair is swept up in an upward spiraling crescendo of wind, animating nerve endings and sensory receptors as I am coaxed from my blissful, disembodied wandering into full acknowledgment of my physical presence.

I open my eyes to see a blanket of snow cascading down from the sky, the endless stream arcing towards me as I am propelled momentously forward through a dense forest in a large, red, wooden sleigh. The sleigh thrusts forward through the snowy landscape as towering, sugar-covered pine trees bend and flex in the wind like proper gentlemen, tilting their frost-brimmed hats as the sleigh whoooshes past. My eyes instantly settle on a sturdy cable that is fastened to the nose of my wooden chariot, just beyond my feet.  Following its trajectory, my gaze is drawn down its length only to see a wildly moving pack of silver wolves fastened to its tether; their hot breath steaming white against the cold winter air as they mush diligently ahead in unified perfection.

I count twenty-one in all.

I watch as hind legs vigorously kick up plods of snow, making them sail backwards through the air and plummet into the soft ground with a gentle patpatpat of snow against snow. As they run the dense snowfall obscures our direction, making the distant path stretch, bend and writhe with movement behind the mass of glittering snowflakes, like wolves dancing on the back of a giant, twisting, ivory serpent. I can hear the wolf pack breathing hard, hauling the sleigh wildly forward with all their strength as the soft tinkling of fresh snowfall surrounds us in all directions.

And then it occurs to me;
We are wandering alone in mysterious terrain, directionless and at full speed.

Instantly I feel fear and confusion rise up in my stomach as the impact of isolation sets in, I hunch forward and place my head in my hands. The snow continues to cascade downward as plod after plod is kicked through the air.

Suddenly the pack unanimously digs their heels into the dense snow, bringing the sleigh to a complete stop. The wolves stand there panting, their hot breath transforming into a misty vapor as they catch their breath, their muscles relaxing as snow glistens against their silver fur.

I pick my head up, curious of this new development. I hesitantly step out of the sleigh and place my bare feet into the cold snow, making my way to the twenty-one, wild-looking silver wolves. One by one I unhook them from their tether as their eyes watch in excited anticipation. I watch, expecting them to run wildly into the woods away from the sleigh, leaving me alone in the snowstorm.

They turn to face me, each taking a seat in the snow as they stare deeply into my eyes; ears open and bodies alert.

“We’ve arrived.”


I once asked a spiritual teacher of mine a very important question.

Being an individual who spent the majority of her free time alone, isolated from others and deep within nature, it was an unusual occurrence for me to accept an invitation to attend a large, community gathering and discussion. Although I had always been aware of my vast connection to spirit and the natural world, my willingness to share my experience with others had been extremely hesitant, as to avoid judgement by others. Due to some wild spark of curiosity, I had decided to attend regardless of my hesitancy.

I watched and listened as many inquisitive individuals posed questions about physics and mathematics in relation to what we know about the Universe and the concept of spiritual/vibrational presence. I kept completely quiet throughout the three hour discussion; mouth buttoned tight and ears open wide while each question was answered willingly and honestly by the featured guest speaker.

Then unexpectedly, a question materialized out of the ether in my brain.

 “Huh. I wonder how he’ll answer THIS one.. ” I thought to myself as I raised my hand.

The speaker made soft eye contact as he motioned me to ask my question.

Without any hesitation, I began;

“I have been a [intuitive] seer my whole life. Sometimes the images I see make complete sense to me, often times foreseeing events that occur in the future. However, I often see images I don’t understand or have any connection with. How do you decode the images YOU see?”

The speaker looked at me and was silent for a moment.

I thought to myself, “Gee that sure was a good one. I think I stumped him..”


He looked me right in the eye and said very slowly, “If you don’t know what they mean, then they probably aren’t for you.”

My jaw dropped as the blood drained from my face in reaction to the sudden deflation of my ego bubble.

He went on, “It sounds to me like you are in need of a community to share this information with.”

That was the first and last question I ever needed to ask him.

It is a common ambition nowadays to be self-reliant and independent in order to be properly prepared for a life free of dependency. We study, partake in mass amounts of higher education, press our delicate noses into hard-covered books and take pride in our desire to finally complete the inner glossary of knowledge in our minds. Sometimes within this mindset of attaining complete independence we can become isolated; experiencing our days with blinders on, swimming within the depth of knowledge packed into our consciousness. We can overlook the fact that our individual language is created by our experience of the world around us; often times through information gifted by others through personal interaction.

Since my experience with my first open circle many years ago, I have grown to greatly enjoy sharing information through community and interactions with strangers; a tradition I have adopted fully into my own practice and one I hope to pass on to future generations through my work. In this tradition, the act of gathering in circle is the creation of a safe and sacred container where each person is honored as the teacher they truly are; each having cultivated a life filled with experiences that are completely unique to that individuals existence. In this way every person has valuable information, as they have lived a life that no other being on earth has or will ever live. They have a unique and unparalleled experience of life that can only be relayed through their words, actions and expression. There is no certification or degree for being this kind of teacher; it is based on a level of awareness and experience achieved only through personal understanding of your own existence up to this very moment.

Our understanding of existence and time on this earth and in these bodies is truly measured by sharing and receiving information; from pleasant meetings for tea to even vicious arguments with someone who just ruthlessly cut you off in traffic - or even through the spontaneous impulse to gift a flower to an absolute stranger. In every interaction we are continually adding to the vocabulary of our collective understanding of life.

If we perhaps look beyond certifications, financial accumulation or career successes to see worth as a concept that stems from something as basic and remarkable as personal existence, then we would see everyone’s expression as being worthy to share..

…and simultaneously, something worthy to learn from.

Share your wisdom widely, kindly, graciously and generously with everyone you meet on your journey; as your experience may help someone else on theirs.


The Magician

The breath cycles in, inspiring muscles to awaken, animate and engage as the pulse and circulatory system accelerate, resulting in a gentle warming of the skin.

The sudden intake of breath activates the diaphragm to dynamically draw downward, making the lungs and chest actively expand as blood diligently ushers oxygen into each cell, fueling an intoxicating wave of energetic intensity to flood the body.

Muscles instantly utilize this fuel; tensing, contracting, pulling and pushing until the last iota of breath is squeezed into each lung, resulting in a climax of physical exertion as they tense strenuously, nearly to the brink of collapse.
It is at this moment of grandiose culmination where the momentous fanfare of physical effort is affectionately intercepted; the lifted breath then carries this wave of intensity out of the body, instantly releasing the muscles of high vibrational tension.

Lungs empty as the diaphragm relaxes and floats upward, allowing muscles to unwind, soften and melt into a gentle repose.

The breath cycles out.

This moment of tranquility is instantly broken as the breath ignites like a car engine, cycling in and stirring up the physical memory of muscles straining at their peak performance.
The breath cycles in again and the skin grows hot.

A loud voice penetrates the thick layer of concentration blanketing the room, causing dedicated muscles to slow and hesitantly fall out of sync with the thumping cadence of music playing over large speakers. Heads raise and eyes are drawn away from the tasks at hand as mass focus is drawn towards the commanding sound.

The voice dissipates and fades into the background noise, releasing focus back to the meditative current of music thumping harmoniously and effortlessly with the tense and release of muscles.

The breath cycles in…

The voice erupts again, sailing confidently over all other sound and piercing every action. Mass attention is again drawn outward, causing the harmonious alliance of muscle and meter to lose contact once more as eyes look up, straining to locate the origins of the disruptive sound. Eyes methodically dart to every corner of the room, inspecting faces for signs of activity until they unanimously settle on their source.

The sound is traced to a man bobbing up and down enthusiastically on a cardio machine, looking particularly joyful in a sea of disenchanted faces punching their obligatory time clocks during the completion of their daily workouts. The eyes watch nervously as a woman with dark hair tied loosely in a ponytail walks near him. Immediately the joyous man looks directly at her as she approaches, instantly engaging her as she reaches his immediate vicinity.

“Hello! How are you?” The man says loudly.

The woman’s entire body jolts in surprise as his words make contact with her eardrums, nearly making her lose balance. Without so much as a turn of her head in acknowledgement, she responds to him with a nervous, awkward smile and quickly continues marching confidently in the direction of the women’s locker room. 
“I hope you enjoy yourself!” He says, smiling, his body bouncing up and down in time with each vigorous stride.

More people pass by and one by one each receive the same exuberant, heartfelt greeting.

“Hello! How are you?” he says to a large man walking by.

“Wonderful” the man responds in a rather detached manner. “How are you?”

“I’m doing quite well!” He answers happily.

“That’s great. Goodbye now.” Says the large man impatiently, dismissing and then promptly walking away from the man on the cardio machine.

Unphased by the large man’s coarse demeanor, the man on the cardio machine smiles largely and calls out after the man; “I hope you enjoy yourself!”

The large man is gone.

The conversations continue as one by one, he engages, greets and warmly wishes each person a day filled with personal joy, all the while keeping his message completely genuine and sincere. Unlike the cheerful continuity of his message, the degree of responses he receives varies dramatically; some smile awkwardly and continue walking while others politely respond with a quick vocal acknowledgement and disengage just as quickly. There are those who ignore him with all five senses completely, diligently rejecting his thoughtful gift and among the vast sea of spectators there are only two who stop, connect and sincerely return his considerate gesture and warm wishes.

Nevertheless, regardless of the type of response he receives the joyous man smiles compassionately and ends the interaction devotedly with the same phrase, “I hope you enjoy yourself!”

Across the room a hand crafted note is smoothly folded in half and tucked delicately under one arm as Nike encased feet walk effortlessly towards the exercise arena.

“Hello there! How are you? You have a very beautiful smile!” says the man on the cardio machine.

“Hello there, thank you so much for saying so. That is so kind of you! I am doing very well today, thank you for asking. How are you today?”

“I’m doing GREAT today! Is this for me? Thank you! I love you and I hope you enjoy yourself!” he says delightedly, smiling greatly and graciously accepts the note.

“I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day also. I love you too.”

The man on the cardio machine, note firmly in hand, wipes the accumulated sweat off his brow and steps off the cardio machine.

Heads lift from activities and mass focus is drawn to the man standing in the middle of the exercise arena as he opens the note and begins to brightly read it aloud as he takes in the words for the first time;

"If more people greeted each other the way you do..." He pauses, and then continues reading, "... the world would be a better place. Thank you for your teachings."
The man stands, note in hand, smiling ear to ear.

The breath cycles out as overextending muscles eagerly powering heavy machinery slowly melt around him, coming gentle into stillness.

Heads are raised, eyes are open and all focus is on him.

I believe we are all born with the beautiful ability to be our true present selves in every given moment; even in the face of the unknown. A gift thought to be long forgotten, I have been witnessing more and more individuals truly awakening to the understanding and utilization of this power in an unconditional form.

Animals connect with this power and understanding of life more than anyone; experiencing life in terms of the present with a respect for, but not an overwhelming focus on past lessons. Not experiencing the present situation from a past or (possible) future experience and existing fully within the present moment and situation. Not fearing or expecting, just existing, putting sensory understanding into action and letting all new information unfold for the first time in a brand new experience with equal respect for past lessons.

 Many humans by contrast, are exceedingly good at seeing new interactions through the veil of past experience, going beyond respect for the lessons learned to a level of deep dwelling and embodiment of past emotion and trauma. Although being able to reflect on past experiences in order to help protect us from future hurt is an excellent protection mechanism, too much reliance on this mechanism can cause overthinking and fear around future experiences; continual fear of painful things reoccurring or worse, the fear of the unknown and not being in control.

For most, even bad past experiences are easier to swallow than the dreaded unknown and the complete loss of control because quite simply, familiarity (to a good OR bad situation) is much more comforting than complete loss of control. In these cases quite often those old memories pop up out of the subconscious to create both a reminder to avoid such situations and likewise seduce us into relying on a safe, familiar buffer that we already recognize and have complete control over. This buffer is very palatable to the conscious as we already know how we’ve reacted in those past situations, thus determining the outcome of the situation instead of letting it unfold naturally into unchartered territory. No unknown, no uncalculated emotions or fears and no unchangeable event that we have no control over; just repetition of a mind/body pattern.

This whole interaction is of course, taking place silently in our minds.

This can leave even the warmest of gestures seemingly like an unbearable, uncomfortable situation void of all control, prompting to the surface old reactions and defense mechanisms for some and a brand new, open hearted adventure alternatively for others. The former looking beyond the simplicity of a gesture to see ten different overlays of responses, insecurities, past traumas and uncomfortable situations piled high on top of the words of a stranger. In a very real sense, by covering up the unknown and making it tangible through identifying it as past experience, the mind is limiting something that has the potential to be limitless and also richly abundant.

For a handful of humans and most non-humans, the lessons learned from the past are extracted from experiences that quite simply, don't exist anymore. They graciously accept the substance of the lesson and leave the defense mechanisms attached to the original event behind, avoiding the possibility of replaying the trauma needlessly over and over again in their consciousness, while simultaneously utilizing the lesson.

A being primed to experience and face the unknown with a toolbox of useful lessons ready to be opened if need be, rather than instantly reliving the trauma of past experiences and then choosing to avoid the future of the unknown altogether.

By engaging us in spontaneous interactions, these individuals prompt us to face our deep rooted insecurities built up by past trauma, clicking on our awareness like a light switch, jumpstarting the process of identifying and shedding fear. When you are faced with fear and limitation you are immediately being challenged to change, because it is in this moment of feeling discord that you are capable of moving it. This awareness of experiencing challenge and strife is essential to truly understanding how to acknowledge and honor yourself and others in the present moment.

When you are faced with fear and limitation, you are being immediately challenged to see the gift that it can truly be -

And when the fear is gone all that is left is the limitless, abundant gesture of the unknown.


Purple Lilies

I inhale and smell the heavy aroma of evaporating rain drops on hot summer asphalt. I breathe in again, welcoming this pleasant and familiar aroma. I awaken from a static sea of darkness to find myself shoeless and standing in the middle of a city street, the wide eyes of the double yellow lines looking straight up at me from between my toes. I turn my head and look down one side of the street and then the other. Not a car in sight.

Well. This is my dream. I can make the cars disappear if I wish..

I look downward once again, black hair draping forward and releasing to the gravitational pull of the earth. There at my feet I see a rather large blue and white ceramic plant pot, overflowing with gigantic, blooming purple lilies.

I’ve never seen purple lilies before..

I reach down, simultaneously bending at the knees and take hold of this plant pot. My fingers steadily curl under the earthen lip as my thumbs pierce the moist soil beneath the blooming flowers. I brace myself as I lift, taking care to make sure my posture is adequate for proper lifting execution. I hoist the bundle upward until I finally reach a standing position. I look down to see only lilies cradled in my arms; the blue and white plant pot vanishes without a trace.
Funny, he didn’t tell me he was leaving.
So there I stand in the middle of a vacant street, clutching an arms worth of purple lilies, heavy raindrops soaking into my skin and listening to the hissing mist as it rises up from the hot asphalt.

Such a rare and beautiful sight, these elegant flowers. I must plant them and grow an entire field!
While joyously entertaining this thought, I watch in awe as the trees in the far distance part like the red sea, instantly exposing a lush, green field. Excited, I begin to make my way down the middle of the street towards my new destination, faithfully following the yellow line like a tight-rope walker.

Suddenly above my head a large *CRAAACK* of lightening appears in the sky.

Instantly my eyes dilate and hackles raise as a primal force awakens in my bones. My heart beats wildly as my toes and arches firmly grip the ground in reaction to the fierce electricity hanging gingerly in the air.

The purple lilies fall to the ground in a large colorful heap, littering the warm asphalt. Dew drops glitter on each petal.

I vanish.

Very recently I had the privilege of experiencing an enlightening conversation with an audience member at a venue where I was performing. Immediately after viewing my piece, I was approached by this curious individual, making it clear that he felt very called to speak to me. Often times after performing, I will receive a variety of feedback ranging from costume appreciation and ‘how can I learn to do that?’ to ‘where did you grow up?’ and ‘have you been dancing all your life?’

This conversation was of a wildly different caliber.

As we talked, the audience member described their experience of my dance, detailing a particular feeling it brought to them; a familiar sense of love, joy and remembering.

There it was. He saw it.

This comment prompted an incredibly large heartfelt smile and a hand over my heart, as I was (and still am) completely honored to have received this kind of validation.

I have come to realize and graciously accept that my artistic expression is a completely different animal than that of pure entertainment. While what I do may indeed entertain viewers, entertainment has never been my primary focus for any medium. In fact, it took me years to finally admit to others, as well as to myself, just how I viewed my art. Fear of ridicule, being different, being wrongfully categorized and enduring judgment of all shapes and sizes stopped me from truly embracing how I saw and experienced my artistic expression.

Then one day I forgave everyone. Including myself.

It was at this point that I finally accepted and honored myself as a Creator. I removed the suffocating collar of fear and judgment and as a result of this, the new feedback began to surface. They began to see the spark.

The inner spirit, the spark that creates breath in astonishment and simultaneously watches in bliss as you exhale, is where passion begins. This is the connection to life and existence at all times. This is where my creation starts; from the ignition of passion.

This spark instantly animates the body, the mind and the nervous system, flipping on switches and turning gears. As momentum builds the voltage increases inside every atom, making my insides vibrate with an electric creative current. Ideas and thoughts begin to form in my brain as the spark transforms into liquid lightening; rolling, tumbling and expanding as every corner of my existence is graced with its vastly growing tendrils. It crackles and snaps like a whip as sparks bounce off my interior walls, richly illuminating my consciousness as dances, paintings, words, sculptures and colors race through my mind.

The lightening cracks again.

Swirling, bending and flexing the brightly radiant tendrils move like serpents, making their way down my legs, arms and up my neck, illuminating their pathways as they travel. My insides are on fire; brilliantly vibrating with the fierceness of high-powered electric current.

The dynamic tension increases as tendrils search for their exit, writhing down past my knees and calves, slithering rapidly past my elbows and wrists. Instantly my heart breaks open and my fears turn to ash as the electric current erupts out of my feet and fingertips. Creative energy pours out of my vision as I gaze outward, strings of vibration flow out of my body like rivers as my forehead softens and the corners of my mouth curl upward towards the sky in an overwhelming sensation of inner joy and release.

A powerful force of nature and momentous outpouring of the soul, punctuated with a smile.

This temporary, dynamic moment of expression reverberates in the air, filling the space with its tremendous presence. It is in this moment that something miraculous happens; the vibration birthed through this expression creates a resonance inside of those who view it, igniting the light of inspiration and passion inside of them.

Generating a field of lilies from a single seed.

There are some who see the product of this passion and strive to identify with it. Yearn to copy the visual product. How can you blame them? Products of passion are beautiful, vibrant, soulful creations that radiate into the souls and emotions of others. They make the heart strings of the living sing and vibrate. However, sometimes those who are inspired by this vibration simply copy and reproduce the visual manifestation of this passion and attach identity to it, not recognizing it as the product of passion.

Then there are others that take this inspiration and explore their raw, personalized, inner passion, not focusing on the product; the product being just a physical manifestation of the passion that exists inside. No matter how this visually manifests outside the body (as a category, medium, label or identity), it all begins from one place; the spark of inner passion.

Being a Creator, I do not identify or find self-worth through my mediums; I do so through this spark of raw passion. The true birthplace of creation.

The storm is coming.

Let your spirit speak and let all fears fall to dust.


The Return of Light; Imbolc Blessings

Standing in a large field of golden wheat, I survey my surroundings; a sea of luminous gold bordered by a brown and green forest.
Hm, I don’t know what type of trees those are..
My view is instantly blocked as the growing wheat stalks increase their height around me, growing taller and taller before my eyes.  Surging, spiraling and dancing towards the sky, the golden light dampens into darkness as stalks twist and weave romantically together, leaving me in just a small drop of a crop circle about as wide as an arm’s reach. I instantly drop down and hug my knees.
He steps through, a regal looking man, wearing a headdress made of feathers and a cover made of animal skin. He looks at me with a worn expression. I look up at him, staring into his brown eyes surrounded by weather-beaten skin. Before I could pose my question to him, my thoughts are seduced out of my mouth and soundlessly tossed into the air by a soft breeze. There they floated. He turns to exit the wheat cocoon, motioning me to follow and leads me into the heart of the abundant field. I follow, all the while looking up at a brilliant sky that is barely visible through the tall wheat stalks. Wordlessly, we cut through the endless gold until we meet its threshold. I peer into the depths of the forest.
We move at an accelerated rate through the dense thicket of trees and brush; our feet not touching the ground and my agile guide always several paces ahead of me. Branches whip by my head one by one and I can feel the momentary, yet ever increasing sensation of pine needles against my neck, arms and face. Each brush of contact a different experience than the next, as needle after needle coolly trickles down the neck of my shirt.
He stops suddenly and stares. I bring my own motion to a standstill as I meet beside him. My eyes follow his gaze and I am led to a pile of gray stones at the base of a mountain. The stones begin to tremble and rattle, clacking against each other in some sort of geological chatter. I watch as they rise up one at a time and dance into the air; rolling, rotating, stacking and assembling into place to form a large entrance, shaped much like a crooked teardrop entering into the side of the mountain. This tear drop instantly animates to life, rising and falling in crests and valleys in a circular motion around the base of the mountain, like ocean waves made of rubble. Finally the movement subsides and the doorway opens up like a mouth to the interior of the mountain. I step forward and inquisitively look into the open mouth, my vision sifting through the moisture of earthen aromas, only to make out an outpouring of darkness followed by the smallest pinprick of light.
I enter the tunnel alone, feeling the condensation radiating off the walls just out of reach of each fingertips as I carve my way to the light on the other end.
Twenty feet.. Fifteen feet.. Ten feet.. Five feet..
I finally make my way to the new opening and pause in a beam of light shining into the tunnel. I squint, allowing my eyes to adjust to this brightness. As I scan the scene outside, my gaze is met by a gorgeous, gushing waterfall, emptying confidently into a small pool surrounded by lush, green grass. I exit the tunnel and walk up to the edge of this pool, feeling the misty water vapors hanging delicately in the air take shape against my face. I breathe in the magnificence of this large waterfall. I then look down into the water and ask, “How does someone heal from wounds of the past?”

Like a ragdoll, I am instantly plucked from the bank and pulled downward into the pool. Arms outstretched and flailing around like a sock caught in a spin cycle, I struggle as the rushing water and undertow push and pull me in all directions. Deeming the fight useless, I surrender into the rhythm of the white water. Silence. I am pulled downward, deeper into the coolness of the pool until I touch down and lay serenely on the very bottom. I sit up and stare at the chaotic water scene, churning and twisting above me. Surrounding me the water is a calming, blue-green quiet encased in electric green algae.

What am I doing here?
My palms begin to vibrate; I look down at them curiously as I observe two openings form on the center of each palm. Very Curious.  As the vibration continues the frequency intensifies, fluttering my palms open until *BLOOP* out pops a flower bud. The vibration stops. The flower buds begin to bloom, transforming into two pink flowers. My palms release each flower to float silently in the water amongst the algae. They begin to dance once more… *BLOOP* as a second set of buds sprout out of each palm. I stare in wonderment as, cornflower blue flowers this time, bloom and release into the water. Up and out they go, following the meditative drift of the current. The progression continues; vibration, bud, bloom, vibration, bud, bloom, as this steady flow of flowers snowballs into a squall. The flowers bloom over and over again, while their elder siblings drift in the lazy current, making their grand voyages to the far reaches of the pool. Waves of brilliant pink, blue, orange, purple, red and magenta flowers, now confidently cascading out of each palm, begin to crowd and fill every square inch of space around me. Then like a bunch of thirsty dish sponges, the mass of flowers simultaneously breathes in a collective inhalation and soaks up every last ounce of water.

I watch in fascination as the waterlogged flowers rise up out of the now empty pool and float upwards towards the sun like a group of cheerfully feral helium balloons at a child’s birthday party.

So here I am at the bottom of an empty pool, covered in mud and caked in bright green algae. I look down at the pool floor and lying before me is a silt-covered locket attached to a very thin sparkling chain. I pick up this locket and examine its exterior while simultaneously wiping away years of silt to reveal a golden finish. Eyeing its hinge, I carefully open it to reveal an interior of several tiny, round, clear glass lenses. Looking through the bulk of these lenses, I see embedded on the other side of the locket a weathered, but unmistakable, human tooth. One by one I delicately thumb each lens and notice that they all offer varying degrees of magnification. I continue to flip through each lens, turning them over like pages in a tiny book, consequently changing the size, shape and appearance of the tooth with an eerie funhouse mirror effect. Upon flipping over the final lens, I reveal the raw, completely exposed tooth void of any manipulated appearance. I watch as the tooth promptly rises out of the locket and hovers before me, free floating in midair. I stare in bewilderment as the decaying tooth starts to spin, building a momentum that sheds the years of erosion, transforming the enamel into a brilliant gold. Satisfied with itself, the tooth gently touched back down, nestling itself back inside the embrace of the locket. I retrace my steps, flipping back through the slides examining the sleek and stunning new appearance of this gorgeous golden tooth. I hear the words ‘see through the eyes of love’ echo in my ears. I close the locket and place it back down on the muddy floor of the empty pool.
I gather and separate myself from my nest of mud and bright green algae and crawl up the side of the bank near the waterfall, making my way back to the opening in the mountain. My walk turns into a jog as I feel my fingertips grazing the mud-caked walls of the mountain tunnel. My pace increases further as the familiar forest light and fragrance draws me out the other side where I am instantly picked up by the *thump*thump*thump* of the drum.
Faster and faster I hear its cadence, motivating me to increase my speed through the trees, pine needles brushing my face and trickling down the nape of my neck. Running through the field, feeling the heat of the sun above me, radiating off the cascading wheat and glistening on my face.. I run faster against the *thump*thump*thump* of the beating drum..
The drum ceases.
I stop in the middle of the golden sea and look up towards the sun.

When you are born, many believe you are perfect in your newness. You are identified as the being that is one breath away from source; a pristine manifestation of spirit not affected by thoughts, behaviors, actions and beliefs of culture and society.

The innocent calm before the storm.

As we grow, we seem to believe this effortless identity is lost as a result of influence by our environment; family, friends, relationships and experiences that inspire our decisions, goals, actions, thoughts, responses and behaviors trying to ultimately quench this internal thirst of where we lost this identity. All we are equipped with to decode this mystery are our experiences, interactions and life lessons with what we encounter around us. This means that we are on a constant external search to find what we truly ‘are’.

- And that’s just it. These things are external.

If we entered perfection as an effortless breath of human consciousness, how is anything external going to aid us in this search for the identity that we supposedly lost? The labels, categories, genres, professional titles, although fun and exciting, are slipped on like clothing and eventually discarded once they have served their temporary purpose. They are mere shots in the dark at an attempt to describe this consciousness that looks through your eyes, day after day.

Emotions, behaviors, grudges, insults, also do not quench this thirst of describing this identity. These are all temporary manifestations and outward expressions, none of which are worthy of being this lost identity.

As humans who are endlessly involved in this outward search to ‘find’ this indescribable flawless identity through labels, we often get caught in a continuous loop of identifying ourselves as our experiences and behaviors. Over our lifetime, this accumulates ‘baggage’; a term describing emotions, behaviors, limitations and barriers we subconsciously cultivate in the aftermath of an experience or situation that we also begin to identify as. If we instead remind ourselves that we are not our emotions, behaviors or experiences, then our ‘baggage’ slips away as the temporary manifestation that is.

When thought of in this way, it is possible to begin stripping away the emotions, labels and ‘baggage’ we come to think of as identity, much like tight or constricting clothing.

What does that leave?

The identity we never lost. The newborn expression of life that sees and experiences everything for the first time.

When I say that I love every being on earth, it means my heart is cutting through the accumulation of false identities and gazing with love into the eyes of the true identity of every being. The identity who sees everything and accumulates nothing. When all of your labels and experiences instantly dissolve, I love the real you. The consciousness that looks without judgment and sees through the eyes of love.

Happy Imbolc!

Shaemus In The Dream Field

Shaemus In The Dream Field

To begin the year 2016

Happy New Year!

As many have been anticipating, 2016 will truly be a year of ‘firsts’ for many. Although it may seem to be a common phrase that begins every New Year, 2016 is very much a year of deep transformation and heightened awareness, helping us to gain a richer sense of self and purpose for this lifetime.

So here goes; after many years of studying shamanic energy medicine, dance, art, music and the entire animal kingdom (including newts that turn green after just ONE summer of being introduced to a fresh water habitat), I’ve birthed a blog!

This blog is dedicated to the creation of art, sharing shamanic insights, dreams, journeys, storytelling, messages from spirit and personal findings/observations about life and the natural world. 

In the tradition of circle, it is important to share your experience of the world due to it being very likely that your story will impact, resonate or inspire others who are meant to digest your particular words at that moment in time. The words may be heavy, light, angry and sad, but nonetheless, these words will add to the language of all who hear and will create meaning in one way or another. This is what people do when they take in the world around them- they are given information and through this information, their brain creates meaning.

So with the beginning of this New Year, I am going to share a story.

I learned a very valuable life lesson this year. As I watched a friend grow increasingly ill over the past two years, I remember feeling a deep internal fear of knowing that, despite all the ‘successes’ of modern medicine, it was very unlikely this friend would exist on earth for much longer. Being young, devilishly handsome and one of the most talented musicians in New England, it was a widespread tragedy felt deeply by all who knew him.  I would see this friend out and about and even as his condition worsened, he always greeted me with a large, charming smile on his face and words of optimism, grace and acceptance. Against all odds, he continued to perform his songs and live up to the words in his lyrics, even when facing incredible pain.

As life continued onward, day to day, week to week, month to month, I couldn’t help but contemplate ideas of “What if I only had so long to live?” and “How must he really be taking this?”. Contrary to these fears and questions that popped up within myself, this friend continued to share openly and honestly his views, feelings, beliefs and experiences with sickness, dying and death. Reading his semi-monthly posts both inspired and shocked me, as every word relating to his experience was filled will grace, acceptance, understanding and downright bluntness. Not once, did he mention that he was involved in a fight, or a “battle for his life”. He did not preach resistance, force or hatred for the temporary nature of life. Our dear friend was reminding us that our bodies being temporary IS our reality, and that we have the option to accept, honor and consent to this contract with understanding.

How did we come to think of life as any other way? From the aesthetics of our structures, buildings and monuments down to our death and burial rituals, the concepts of permanence, preservation, predictability and stability are drilled into us in the western world. If one compares our values and practices with even the architecture of Japan, that which knowingly designs pagodas with grass-woven floor mats and rice paper doors and windows, it is obvious that the west does not create to honor the temporary. Nothing is permanent, nothing is fixed. Every piece in these pagodas, which eventually wears down, falls apart and deteriorates due to weather and aging is simply deconstructed, rebuilt or replaced, over and over again. In this practice, there is an honoring of and respect for life and expiration of all that is temporary. Lacking from this tradition are any undertones of “Through our brute force, iron will and denial, We Must Live Forever”.

As time continued to pass by I saw less and less updates from this friend. Even so, there he remained, in my daily thoughts and prayers. As winter and the good old Christmas season approached, I decided to get my festive pants on and make my way to a gathering at the Maine State Society for the Protection of Animals. This event promised an opportunity to “Meet the horses!” so the animal lover inside of me decided this little gem was worth wading through hordes of screaming children completely hepped up on sugar goofballs.

My first glimpse upon arriving to the MSSPA yielded exactly this- ALL of the children and screaming, sugar mania. Regardless, it was a beautiful, sunny, warm day and I was there with one objective; snuggle some horses. While walking, I observed a crowd of people around a fenced-in ring that contained a rather large horse, grazing and completely ignoring the many handfuls of hay being shoved through the fence. Immediately a trainer appears and enters the enclosure, walking up to the horse to begin a demonstration. Upon seeing the trainer, the horse sparks to life and runs right over to him. The trainer strokes the horses’ snout and comes forehead to forehead to the giant animal and says something very softly to him. The horse calmly bows forward and the trainer hops aboard, bareback, to begin his demonstration.

With many intrigued young faces pressed firmly against the cold bars of the practice arena, the trainer talks the audience through his method of training, which to my surprise, was drastically different than what I had expected.

His method of horse training, he explained, was based on three main components; trust, acceptance and consent. No ropes, no whips, no constant bribery with treats or carrots, no guilt, no loud commands.

The truth is, this man invested 10 years in building trust with this animal, through gentle behavior, respect and honoring it as another being. As a result of this trust, he was able to not only ride this horse completely bareback, but was able to synchronize the movements of the horse with his own through connection and breath work. He listened to and watched the language of this animal, instead of inflicting his will upon him.

No forceful nature what-so-ever. The trainer gracefully asked (not commanded) the horse to do something and the horse decided. No fear and no resistance against force. If the horse wasn’t into performing a trick, get this; he didn’t have to. No stress, no mess. Through this method the horse was more apt to accept and perform the request due to trust and not obligation. Some crazy wizardry right there. The man simply breathed out softly and calmly and the horse came to a complete stop.

His message was very simple; no force, guilt or obligation, just trust, acceptance and consent.

And there I was, hands on the bars of the arena, sobbing in a sea of small children. I don't think I have ever seen a demonstration so beautiful and rich with information that not only applied to rehabilitating horses, but to life in general.

After wading through the wreckage of sugar-crashed children, sluggishly dragging their bean boots through the never-ending fields of mud at the MSSPA, I ventured home still buzzing from the potent lessons learned.

I woke the next morning to a phone call by a close friend, phoning to inform me that our friend had passed away during the night. At this news, I instantly felt taken out to sea by a wave of sadness, shock, grief and sorrow. In her heavy words, she described our friend having been surrounded by family and loved ones during his transition, and that it had been a peaceful one.

Throughout the day I couldn't help but hear in my head the wise words shared by my friend throughout his experience, as well as the lessons from the horse trainer the day before. These notions of trust, acceptance, gentleness and understanding, while letting go of resistance, force and fear are very deep, important life lessons that should be explored by every being.

With this said, I wish to begin this New Year of 2016 from a place of gentleness, trust, acceptance, optimism, gratitude and complete consent to my temporary and amazing journey on this planet.

Much love to my fellow beings on your journeys during this brand new year.

Happy New Year!