This is the place of creation, the matrix, the womb. It is woman. This is a mother’s stomach in its beauitful, natural state. I see a lot women today who seem to deny the roundness of their womb. I can’t help but wonder if this rejection of our natural form isn’t a rejection of the…
She calls to me. She who is weary of living far beneath, her voice stolen by fear, her power subjugated by the will of others. I took this picture of my daughter and was captivated by the presence in her eyes. The sense of self here is a reflection of the Divine Feminine that lives…
It is such a misguided notion to believe there is any other place to be but this one– the sweet smell of rain (the droplets falling on the very paper on which I was writing this), surrounded by poetry. A church bell chimes nearby and machines whirrrrrr all around me. The cacophony of seagulls crying…
Sipping some delightful French pressed coffee, listening to my new Christina Aguilera CD (thanks Mom!), watching my girls play and just relaxing on this beautiful, winter day. The holidays this year have been a time of more simplicity which has allowed time for what is most important to me. I have made fewer commitments, done…
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Another bit unearthed in the old journal today. I’m not sure who I was writing this to. There’s no date and I don’t remember. Maybe I was writing it to my future self. Maybe I was writing it to the Universal Collective. I am putting it here for YOU. Whomever reads this, it applies to…