What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

Visions / All That Is Envisioned

Fluent Self December - the month of Vision

Item Zero

First of all before anything else, let me say that if you are or have been dealing with an alarmingly strong case of the Inowannas lately, you are not alone, friend. It is extremely in the air, every single person I know is going through this right now. I’m on an extended tour of Inowanna Land myself.

A fortnight, at least, of The Inowanna Iguanas. The inowanna-ing is turned up to eleven, and that’s how it is.

So, blame it on the moon, blame it on the stressful self-perpetuating news cycles, blame it on the extremism in plain sight, in peripheral vision. Blame external culture for acting like January is a good time to Do All The Things, even though it’s dark and cold in this hemisphere, and time for summer fun on the other side….

All that to say:

Let us not blame ourselves if we are in a stuck spot or a challenging moment right now.

We’re in it together.

Let’s breathe acknowledgment & legitimacy for all forms of [not doing things or not wanting to engage, or not knowing what we want or not knowing what to do with all the wanting], whatever is going on for us.

A breath for right here right now, it is reasonable to be in Inowanna territory even when it’s not particularly fun.

If you’re in it too, leave a note in the comments! We’ll start a club!

(Rumi, Rumi, Rumi)

Maybe this is item zero though:

”Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.” — Rumi

Acknowledgment and legitimacy, again, for the ruins, the ruined, the perceptions of ruining and things ruined. How truly disorienting it is to experience something disintegrating.

Where there is ruin, when we are inside of the falling-apart, when everything seems wrong, chaotic, bewildering, messy and tangled…

That’s where we are, in the ruins, in the ruining. And maybe you too can hear the familiar monster cry of “oh noooooooo it’s all ruined, you’ve ruined everything, again…”

Where is the treasure? (What is the treasure?)

And just in time, while climbing through the ruins, here comes Rumi with the reminder:

In this space, this space of ruin, there might just find something that belongs to us.

That something is a form of treasure. And then there’s the hope for treasure, which is also treasure.

Sometimes even just remembering hopefulness is kind of a big deal tbh.

What else is treasure?

A beacon, a clue, a missing and surprising piece of wisdom or a dawning realization, a release, an undoing, a new pathway or perspective revealed, a glimpse into Wild Clarity.

Or one of my very favorite though also most annoying forms of treasure, the incredibly obvious epiphany which sounds completely ridiculous when you try to put into into words, but IT’S IN YOUR BODY NOW, you’ve experienced this super cliche-sounding thing in such a visceral way that the wisdom is now embodied.

It’s yours. Amazing.

The process of looking is itself revealing…

If you are looking for a powerful stone to skip, try this one…

Where Is The Treasure? What in this can I treasure?

Stone-skipping is what I call “journaling prompts”, because good god that is a remarkably cold and unimaginative way to describe a practice of magical transformative cool shit.

Try it, you can even play with this stone in the comments if you want to keep me company.

A quick reminder about process!

Of course, as always, we practice Safety First.

Here too is a place for remembering Acknowledgment & Legitimacy: we don’t need to be in a hurry to get to the treasure point.

We certainly won’t force ourselves to seek treasure if what we need first is recognition that wandering the ruins can be extremely not awesome, understatement of understatements.

If things are shitty right now, we meet the experience of [yes this is shitty] with as much presence and tenderness as we can muster in that moment, we make space for it.

We can even remind ourselves that it is completely reasonable and understandable to not want to look for the treasure. Speaking of Inowanna Season, not being in the mood to seek any treasure is legit.

Okay let’s talk about funnier things for a bit, even though yes, there are ruins and so much Inowanna. There are some funny parts too, I will tell you about them.

Wishes for Witches.

I’ve been having an extremely witchy few weeks, even while traversing the ruins.

Just odd little things. My brain was getting a little overwhelmed with retreat bookings (sidebar to say we’re booked end of February through mid-May but if you want to come in the fall, take a look and sign up as soon as you can, we still have entry prices up for a bit!!!), and I wanted a paper calendar. I work better when I can scribble notes everywhere and touch things.

So I wrote ACQUIRE A PAPER CALENDAR on a post-it and stuck it on the table, and then went to get the mail but there was nothing for me, instead there was a brown paper packet for someone else. I asked if I should forward it to Utah, and they said, no, don’t bother, it’s just a calendar, don’t need it.

Ta da! I wished a calendar and it appeared. And then this kept happening. Like an extension of being The Namer Who Names, I had somehow become the Wishmaker Who Makes Wishes, or the Witchmaker Who Makes Witches.

It was weird.

And it kept getting weirder.

Not to mention that I felt silly for not wishing more and better…

My friend (a theater person) was in town and they joked that it’s like that icebreaker game where you pretend everyone is going on a picnic for no apparent reason, and then you try to remember their name and what they are bringing on the picnic, except this is going on a picnic with the universe.

Witching hour / on a picnic with the universe

It became a hilarous extremely goofy game, and we played it everywhere we went.

I am going on a picnic with the universe, and I am bringing Panache, Steady Breath, Intention, Receptivity, Dedication, A Compass, Coffee and a Wish For Wild Clarity.

The universe is coming on this picnic and bringing surprise ease, really good solutions, tremendous luck, untangling, the just-right spatula, some bowls, an affordable handyperson, what is the degendered word for this!

And, eternal request ticket, yes please to lovers who can communicate (I know, what?!) and do so clearly and lovingly, who respect my hermit nature and want to buy me earrings. This is both a very general and very specific request, but it’s what I want.

And may all that is not useful, not relevant or unworthy exit my space and my life smoothly and swiftly, amen.

Haha okay, back to the picnic.

Anyway, friend and I were on this metaphorical picnic, we hiked in a wildlife refuge and recited picnic elements.

I took them to my favorite chocolate shop and it was closed, we ended up at a cooking supply store where I found the just-right spatula (hand-carved wood, local artist, simple, pleasurable to touch, unique). The next day a box arrived with the bowls: apparently past-me ordered some a long time ago and forgot.

My heating unit stopped working because pack rats ate some wires and then I nearly set the place on fire messing with the old thermostat, which blew the transformer, but the calm and knowledgeable good human who showed up to fix things introduced me to his buddy who is, you guessed it, an affordable handyperson.

Meanwhile three different people exited my life smoothly and swiftly, and while it was mostly unexpected and one of these exits was quite painful, this too was also clearly part of the blessing, the ask and the answer.

Next time I will specify smoothly, swiftly and without all the crying.

The tangled and the untangled.

I have been writing wishes.

And, as you might know, I believe wishes are about process, learning about myself through examining my relationship with desire. They aren’t about getting the thing I asked for, though that is cool and fun, and yes, I still want great lovers who buy me earrings and who can use their words like grownups please!

The point of naming wishes though, at least for me, is to be engaged in self-study as a form of self-treasuring, to reveal the treasure (and the qualities!) inside of the wanting, to bring playfulness and curiosity as I undo all the rules I have acquired that say it is bad to want.

Anyway, I’ve been writing wishes about my conflicted desire to hermit. After four years mostly on the road, all I want to do is cocoon. But how does that work, in practice?

What about all the [monster-objections] and practicality and loneliness and logistics and what about groceries? Etc.

At the gate.

Then a thing happened and I locked the gate to the property for the first time ever, and something else happened, and much agitation and again, tears, and all I want to say about that is:

There is some treasure for me in the ruins here, and it is the treasure of the reminder not to try to solve things while angry.

Anyway, embarrassing details aside, I locked myself onto the property and couldn’t leave, and I don’t know anyone (well, I did know someone but they were self-exiting per my earlier wish), and even if I climbed the gate, it’s still a TWELVE MILE WALK walk to a hardware store and back which might not even have what I need to get the gate open again.

And then, you guessed it, I had ten thousand panics and monster-fits about how I have RUINED EVERYTHING.

I slept on it.

A couple times in the night I woke up in a monster-panic about What If I Can Never Leave, and Everyone Will Know I Have Fucked Up Everything, and No One Loves You Enough To Come Find You.

But in the morning I sat with Incoming me and a notebook to skip stones. The answer was right there.

The writers of The Havi Show are so hilarious: I witch-wished to be a hermit but was too conflicted to commit to the wish, and then managed to force myself to actually be one!

What is more marvelously symbolic than accidentally locking myself in while trying to keep everyone else out, and yes, this is related to everything.

A spell for a spell?

If I wished/witched myself into this, how do I wish-witch my way out?

Through finding the treasure in the ruins, of course, and with a spell.


And my friend wrote an Untangling spell, which I read to the gate and the lock and myself:

Oh Breath
settle the disturbance
unbind the knot
weave spaciousness
from wondrous Breath

Things open when they open.

The lock opened after about twenty seconds of playing with it.

All was well.

And I got to experience a different kind of hermit-time.

I also learned what is actually important to me inside of that hermiting-wish, the treasure in the ruin of realizing that I’d forgotten my wish was really about freedom.

And I learned some things about patience, breath, groundedness, and untangling.

Untangling is generally not one of my superpowers (my special brain is useful in the world of concepts but I am often mystified in the world of things), but what if wishing for Untangling was my introduction to this superpower?

A new precedent has been set.

I went to a yoga class and the teacher said, “Use blocks to help support this pose even if you think you don’t need them, it sets a precedent of self-respect in the psyche.”


Inject that superpower straight into my veins, please. I want to breathe this and circulate this and know this completely.

What would it be like if a precedent of self-respect was set in my psyche, how would I treat myself, what would my boundaries look like, how would I respond to [situations].

Who am I when self-respect is just set as precedent. Mind-blowing. This might be my favorite clue from the month of Vision and Visions.

What if Wild Self-Treasuring begins with very simple declarations of self-respect?


A scribbled clue in the form of a Martha Graham quote about “carve a place for yourself in space”, this to me is about presence and intention, claiming and reclaiming, being in relationship with space.

And of course, setting a precedent of self-respect in the psyche, because you have to decide that the space is there for you.

To make a you-shaped space in space means believing that this is something you get to do.


Carving to me has a magic to it, this is about making the space for the experience, making space for all of it: for the ruins and the treasure in the ruins, and all the possibility in between.

And it is about changing space (or the experience of the space) through breath and process and wishing and noticing and committing to the untangling.

This is the heart of self-fluency, the relationship between our internal and external space, and everything we do to play with one that influences the other.

The act of carving space…

What if space is waiting to be carved, for example, a path as yet unknown, called into being through being envisioned…

I was reading about German expressive dance, and someone describing a movement as a Leuchtspur (a spark or streak of light) in space, showing the path through creating the path.

Which of course is the superpower of clearing the path to clear the path.

Incidentally, this is why cleaning or researching is not procrastinating, because as writers and creatives, we clear space, it’s what we do, and procrastination itself is just a guilt-word, a tool of the rigged game.


I have so many visions for the year and can’t wait to share them with you.

Does anyone want to do a repeat of the two weeks of Wild Self-Treasuring group that we did last year to make it through Rhymes-With-Eerie-Canalentines Day?

Would anyone be into a group of [secret alliance of witchy wish-makers] and spend 19 minutes a day writing wishes or skipping stones or really doing anything at all that requires carving space (ha) in time for process and magic?

What about coming to center at the center for a week of meeting Incoming You while I meet Incoming Me and we co-chrysalis together?

So many ideas. Let me know in the comments if you feel sparks about any of these and we will see what comes into the field of visions next month, I’m excited.

We made it, friends. Thank you for your company. I love having you here.

Come play in the comments!

I treasure this safe space we have carved for play and exploration.

We remember that people vary. We meet ourselves and each other with compassion. We are on permanent vacation from advice-giving and care-taking. In other words, this is not like the rest of the internet.

You are welcome/invited to share !!!, anything sparked for you, skip a stone, play with any of the concepts here, share excitement for what is yet to be envisioned, or in the process of coming into form. And of course please share the post with anyone who could use any of this.

Love, as always, everyone who reads and comments as well as all the Beloved Lurkers and fellow quiet friends, you are all appreciated.

CONFIDENTIAL TO AG: thank you so much for the secret package and the beautiful letter, I am thinking of you fondly, wishing you all the most pertinent and joyful superpowers, and feeling honored and happy to get to see (and use) your craft in action, your light is big!

Let Us Celebrate The First Rule Of Craft Room

Fluent self November - the month of Becoming

{Craft + Room}

At a surreal art fair that took place over a series of backyards, I went there with my friend Charlie (not really a friend, not really named Charlie), he was looking for Christmas presents and I was looking for something un-namable that I still have not found.

There was, inexplicably, a craft room. It seemed to contain mostly glitter. Four people sat inside drinking tea and not making crafts.

There was a tip jar, and a sign on the door with the rules of Craft Room.

The first (and only) rule of craft room.

This is what the sign said:

1) Don’t Die

There were no other rules.

That was it.

I wish I had taken a picture for you, if only to prove that none of this was a dream.

(It was not, but could have been.)

This has become somewhat of an inside joke.

Like, a really inside joke.

Mainly between me and me, or between me and the aspects of self, the roles I try on, the Incoming Identities.

We are the gathering of [Havi Bells], the vixen-ey vagabond Bond heroine aka the Glamorous Assassin, the eccentric hermit, the writer-righter who is also the wanderer-wonderer, the copper queen out in the desert…

I don’t get out much, so really maybe all jokes are inside jokes.

Not lost.

“I think we might be lost”, says another friend.

“No worries”, I say, “there’s only one rule and that’s the first rule of craft room, we’ll follow it for as long as we can…”

It’s a pretty good rule.

I mean, as rules go.

Or maybe better said, an intention, set with love and hope, for this moment of right here right now.

Can we breathe a breath for RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW…

Again, not lost.

When I awaken in a panic, I mutter to myself — “FIRST RULE OF CRAFT ROOM! FIRST RULE OF CRAFT ROOM!”, over and over, until I have to laugh and remember to breathe again. It will all be okay. It’s just craft room.

Worst case we will over-glitter or spill some glue.

We can make tea. We can turn this into art. We can kintsugi the cracks (or turn them into windows, to expand on Leonard Cohen).

We can learn to marvel at process.

What does it mean to love the broken?

And, maybe more importantly, what happens when we can do this?

Sometimes I get a glimpse of what it means to be the person who can celebrate the unraveling.

We can practice this. Sometimes.

At other times all this is out of reach, and that’s okay too.

Sometimes all we can do is just breathe, one step and then another step, one pause and then another pause, this can all be solved and resolved, one step at a time.

A dream that was in fact a dream.

I had the most bonkers series of dreams last night, first I was in a vigilante girl gang, there were four of us in tall leather boots kicking ass and taking names. It sounds thrilling but it was also scary, we were in it to win it, and it turns out that winning it in those life or death situations is kind of high stress, understatement.

Then I was wearing a robe and talking, furiously, animatedly, to my mother, who is dead but in the dream she was not, about how awful it is to wake up each day and remember that Hillary Clinton is not president, and that the system will never un-rig itself because rigging has no interest in being done or undone.

And then I saw a cat on a shore stepping onto a velvet cushion, and watched as it sailed straight for its destination on the other side.

Throughout these dreams the common thread was that I was searching for missing words.

When I awoke, four words were waiting for me in my mind…

Actually it was three words followed by a phrase that was also an image.

+ Agency
+ Flexibility
+ Stability
+ Sure Footed Clear Eyed (like that cat)

Like that cat!

I’m in Arizona, home to jaguars and bobcats, and complicated border crossings.

I’m a panther, in training.

That cat from the dream was so majestic, so sure-footed, so clear about its direction. Even as the stepping onto the cushion was a bit wobbly, it had no doubt that this was the right move, and not just because it was the only move left.

I need some of that right now, that Wild Clarity, that Trust In Certaintly, all the superpowers of Purpose, Devotion, Dedication and of course, one step at a time, while remaining super chill.

Super chill because this is just a grand experiment in arts & crafts, and there is only one rule of Craft Room, and even that one rule can only be followed until a certain point (everything ends, and eventually it is long-nap time for all of us), but right now we are EMBODIED.

Yes, Embodied. We are here, in bodies.

And while EMBODIED might sometimes be hard, challenging, frustrating and certainly baffling and confusing, it is also treasure and a gift.

Everything we do to practice curiosity and grace as we learn more about what it means to be in conscious relationship with ourselves and our container, our breath, our be-ing, it all matters.

It’s a craft room experiment in a way. Play, notice, decorate, adorn, start again.

Sometimes I can’t write.

Sometimes this is because too much pain.

Sometimes I am afraid of what I will say.

(Insight: what if I avoid writing because the things I have to say are important? Haha and then I get sad imagining that I will say them and they will just disappear in the stream…)

Sometimes I get hung up on all the ways someone could potentially misunderstand my meaning, and oh no what if they use what I say to beat themselves up, and Must Solve All Potential Misunderstandings In Advance Forever!

Forget and Remember.

Wait, let us breathe and return to Leonard Cohen:


What is the imperfect offering, lovingly offered?

Is that not also the essence of Craft Room?

Things have been hard lately, yeah?

Well, for me they have and for many people I know.

A pain-filled time.

But we made it here. We are totally embodying the first rule of craft room, even as we are all, at whatever pace and timing, also dying.

But for now WE ARE HERE, and this is a big deal.

A thousand billion sparklepoints to us for crawling and clawing our way through 2018, emerging triumphant by virtue of having gotten here.

Thank you for being here, with me.

And maybe someone reading this thinks that doesn’t matter? I just want to say, very clearly, that it does matter. It matters to me. Even if we haven’t met. We made it. We are here. And just that, nothing else, is a triumph.

A dream, not mine.

My friend K texted me this morning:

“I had a dream about you last night, and I have no memory of what exactly (something political?) but it felt like a triumph, and I woke up and thought: I have to tell Havi that I had a dream in which she was TRIUMPHANT!”

What an amazing dream/friend!

Yes, my word for 2018 was TRIUMPH, and what a bold badass word that is.

How am I feeling?

Well, this year has been very full. A lot of life in one year. Let’s find the moments of triumphant.

0) We made it. We’re here. To the best of our ability we are following the first rule of Craft Room. Hell yes.
1) After four years mostly on the road, I found my place, what a triumph!
2) I spent most of 2017 in a state of first shock and then rage and fury as new lies and betrayals kept revealing themselves in the most painful breakup of all time, and my big wish for 2018 was to stop loving or caring about the person who hurt me. What a good wish: it worked. I uncovered all kinds of pain and sorrow underneath all that anger once it was gone, but also realized this person truly wasn’t worth even one of those tears, good riddance to trash, combined with endless compassion directed inward towards past-me for falling for the long con while dosed up on pheromones, now we know better. Knowing better is TRIUMPH. Not caring is TRIUMPH.
3) For the past couple years I’ve been feeling unsure and wobbly about where I want to go with the business, what I want to offer and in what forms, The Fluent Self is nearly fourteen years old and there was a lot of upheaval when we closed the center. I spent all year seeding wishes for Wild Clarity, and now I have it.

A day of feasting.

I had been feeling anxious about christmas because it is always the loneliest and most boring day but now it is also the anniversary of two different painful betrayals.

I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want to be out. I just wanted to not go through the day.

But then a woman opened her car door into my mirror in a parking lot, and an exteremely entertaining interaction ensued, we decided to be friends, and since she is the only other jewish person I know in the entire southwest, I said COME OVER ON CHRISTMAS AND I WILL MAKE US PILES OF DELICIOUS FOOD.

Craft room.

In the mailbox were figs from my uncle. I sliced some into rice cooked with slivered almonds, and then stuffed red peppers with the mixture.

And I invented a tahini sauce with cardamom bitters, spicy date-honey, and vanilla-bean salt (!) to drizzle on top.

There were stuffed grape leaves too and olives and cheeses and spicy chocolate. And salat katzutz (chopped salad) topped with a fried egg.

It was all extremely delicious and my kitchen is a form of Craft Room.

We sat on cushions on the floor and talked about love and loss, watched pretty clouds sail across the skylight. We made it through.

Tabula rasa.

We don’t know what is coming. We can’t know. And we don’t get much of a say in it.

But we can be steady with intention, devoted to this conscious relationship with ourselves and our internal and external worlds.

Here is some of what I am seeding with love for this new year:

Fierce & Fearless.

I am ready to be not only triumphant but formidable in my triumph and in all of it.

May this all be for good, may it transpire in the spirit of play, with great regard for the rule of craft room.

Guess who is opening a new retreat center! Guess!

I will give you a clue in the form of this much enthusiasm:


(If you guessed me, the person who previously once upon a time ran two other extremely magical retreat centers, and then mysteriously dropped off the planet for like three or four years to process grief and identity stuff and the most painful breakup of all time, that is a really excellent guess and I fucking love you.)

It is here. The Secret Agency at Stargazer House. It is the center at the center and it opens and closes like a flower, just like us. We are only doing solo retreats this year, possibly back to groups in the future, have not decided yet.

Intro prices through Jan 14! And more to come about 2019…

A breath for Craft Room, for here-now, for this passage.

Hello, beautiful new year.

What witchy words and superpowers can we call on and in?

Resolutions Resolve!
Revolutions Revolve!
Roundness Rebalances!
Resonance Restored!
Re-solved! Re-solved! Re-solved!

(Aka all the powers of SUDDENLY SOLVED but even better than that!)

And of course my current favorite: what is good for me turns out to work out well for everyone, my good is everyone’s good, the wholeness of the whole is the good of all, the collective and the solitudinal, all working beautifully in unison, may it be so.

Do you want to wish some wishes with me here in imaginary Craft Room?

You are invited to be here with me, in whatever form you like.

You can name any noticings from this year, or call in any desired superpowers, or share anything sparked for you from what I wrote here. Love and enthusiasm and [!!!] always welcome.

As always, we are on permanent vacation from care-taking and advice-giving. Each of us is in our own process, and process is unique. Sparks of sweetness for everyone in this orbit, doing the work of self-fluency or letting it brew under the surface which also counts, it all counts, wishing you only good.


Chiaroscuro / doors to and from the Magnificence

Fluent Self October - the month of magnificence

Delayed Reaction Magnificence

As you know, I spent the entirety of the Month of Contentment in a state of wild rage, and this rage was (and remains) extremely justifiable, understandable, necessary, and also I had some feelings about hmmm what is this contentment that past-me seeded with so much love and hopefulness, yet remained so out of grasp…

But then the following month, October, was mysteriously filled to the brim with Contentment!


Welcoming all the delayed-reaction superpowers

Yes, I love this, let us call on the superpower of delayed-reaction superpowers.

What if it’s all just a slow-release capsule of healing…

May all the beautiful qualities of spirit that live inside of all our past wishes — whether named or unnamed, flow through us now.

Let these words/qualities, enter the bloodstream and the starstream and the life-stream, can we feel them circulating through our bodies and our lives.

And if we can’t feel right now, for our own valid reasons, can we imagine, trust, wonder, allow for the possibility of maybe-this…

What if [better late than never] is actually [oh what beautiful right timing right now]

October was the month of Magificence, and I spent so much of it in an unanticipated state of Contentment.

So perhaps November (the month of Meaning) will be full of unexpected delayed-reaction Magnificence! Yes, may it be so or something even better.

This contentment-state came to pass because, after all these months/years without a home base, I landed in a place!

And ohmygoodness it is an entirely different experience to devote each day to something other than figuring out where I will stay that night or wondering about the next night.

Reasons unknown

Not only did I land on land, this location is extrordinarily beautiful and also I was unable to connect to the world via my phone except in rare moments, and this break from having all that detail about how terrible things are, well, it was healing and useful.

I mean, who can rank the reasons, which contributing factor is most significant, I don’t know.

Somehow, some way, between the breath-taking landscape, the isolation, the quiet, knowing that I don’t need to pack up and leave, the loving dogs that are not mine but come to visit me each morning and nap — contentedly! — on my porch, finally catching up on sleep after seven restless months, I found my way to Contentment.

Or maybe Contentment came to me.

More on delayed + reacting

Guess what, my loves, I made an offer on new retreat space for us, a place where we can rally and gather our powers, a place to retreat into chrysalis and emerge triumphant, and where I can focus on my work of Writing & Righting.

So this is a long-time wish coming true now, and I feel joyful and expansive about this big yes in my life.

But there’s more to this which feels important, and this is the part I want to share with you right now:

When I received word that this is actually happpening, this huge wish coming to fruition, my entire body went weak, and I had to immediately crawl into bed for an emergency nap.

And then I stayed there for over fourteen hours, dozing and dreaming, it felt like the flu but I wasn’t ill, just wiped out. From relief.

Fourteen hours

Sometimes, often, we feel things after they happen.

I think these passing out was my body trying to process the accumulated stresses of four years mostly on the road (almost to the day) and seven months of no home base, everything I wasn’t letting myself fully feel while it was happening.

The intensity of not knowing where I was going to live, and then this news, brought me to this delayed-reaction falling apart. Nothing but good news and all I could do is cry and pass out, and then cry some more.

And this is okay, things land when they land, and also they land because they want to be cleared out, and body-mind recognizes that now it is safe enough to let this happen.

This happens

A wise friend reminded me that migraine headaches can be triggered by relaxation itself. Once the body finally feels safe enough to relax, everything that was being held starts to let go.

The relief of the painful being over makes room to feel the painful feeling that couldn’t be borne in the moment.

Or like this

Yesterday, Emily Nussbaum wrote, on Twitter:

”I suddenly got upset today, out of the blue, about Tree of Life. I don’t know if anyone else is experiencing this daily walling up emotionally against the news, in order to be functional and un-crazy. Maybe that’s the wall he’s actually building.”

Shaking / it off

This makes me think about animals, but also about breath.

Animals often stay calm and still when something scary happens (a predator close by) but when the moment passes, they tremor.

Dogs do this and deer do this, they know how to shake off a scary thing by letting it rumble through their bodies.

We are mammals too, and just like we need roundness and organic shapes and stretching and moving and making sounds under the wild moon, we need to shake and tremble.


If you are interested in this theme, you might read up on TRE (trauma release exercises), an excellent candidate for a self-fluency technique because it works on the physical and the mental-emotional at the same time, aka multi-directional healing…

But of course People Vary, and there are so many doorways into healing, so as always, the most important thing is know yourself, pay attention, may we meet everything with as much curiosity and love as we can muster.

If this is a clue for you, excellent. If it is not your bus, no worries.


So many clues, so much radiance, so much to share about what I learned and noticed in the month of Magnificence.

The radiance sutras

Sanatana: the eternal thrum-hum of universe, we can feel it in breath.

Here is the beautiful reverberating Lorin Roche translation (you can read it here and buy it here)

Close the ears that track the outer world,
Open the ears of the soul.

The song of creation,
Sustaining, enlivening,
is thrumming in your body,
Whispering secrets,
Listen in.

Letting these words echo within me, remembering that contentment, magnificence, all of it, is in there somewhere, inside me, I can return to these places and this knowing with breath, even in (especially in) the scary hard times.

The eternal thrum-hum of universe is in me, circulating through me, hiding in plain sight, there in my breath, each one. Let’s breathe, sweet friends. Let’s breathe attentiveness to the fucking glorious miracle of aliveness, even when things are so hard.

Okay, let’s have another breath for delayed-reaction good!


A tiny prayer

We are here /
We were here and have been here all along /
We are remembering our being-here-ness right now



Is this not the most beautiful word?

an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something…

How do I want to see the edges? Where is the contrast? What needs light and what needs obscuring?

The places where Clarity meets Mystery.

Let us dive into depth and definition, illumination, wonder, this is a word for the month of magnificence…

Wild in the wilds

So I just want to be clear that I have fully transitioned into a character in a Barbara Kingsolver novel.

I am an eccentric single woman in her early forties who finds herself living on land in a remote part of southeastern Arizona, inhabiting a tiny 72 square foot camper built by an artist with a past.

The land belongs to a mysterious taciturn older cowboy, I rarely see him but sometimes when I come home, I see that he has built me a firepit or left me a gift, a bowl of salad greens or a bottle of diesel. Ya know. Because I’m in a novel.

“Please no tarantulas today” is my morning prayer as I lift a large rock to empty my pee-jar into the septic.

But really my prayer is my inadvertent gasp of awe each as I open my eyes to a another impossibly gorgeous sunrise unfolding in front of me.

Really my prayer is each intake of breath at the wild SKY OF STARS.

Another Beautiful Day

This is my prayer, my comfort, my mantra, but also my code of resistance.

Arizona is full of border patrol checkpoints, not because of a border, but because the United States is Germany in the thirties.

Each day they stop me and ask “how are you today, ma’am”, and this is not a question I am obligated to answer because it is not about citizenship, but I have learned there are consequences to not answering their questions, or refusing a vehicle search, even though this refusal is, in theory, within my rights.

Engaging with them is an exercise in meeting their catch-22 world with presence, while trying to contain the rage, fury, genetic trauma and general reactiveness that could get me into trouble.


Another Beautiful Day = code for “I don’t talk to gestapo, you fuckheads”, it is code that lets me appear to be playing the game so that I can pass this obstacle and do more important work in the world…

But it is also beautiful

The things that are happening in my country (in both of my countries) are awful and not-beautiful.

The desert is beauutiful. Breath is beautiful. Hope. Anything that sparks hope. Anything that reminds me to return to radiance, to the thrum-hum, to gain in powers and steadiness.

The door I didn’t open

For years I dreamed of opening a studio called Wild Honey Concoctions where I could do Interior Design (the actual kind) and Very Interior Design (the kind we do here) and make delicious chocolate confections made with honey.

But I didn’t. And now, in Arizona, I discovered the most perfect chocolate shop that makes chocolates from honey, and they are called Untamed Confections. Their tag line is GET WILD & DELICIOUS.

So it is done, and now I have the superpower of Now I Don’t Have To Do This, because it already exists.

The door I am opening

I am opening a [not-a-school], this needs a metaphor, but a SPACE, a witching center for Agency.

A Secret Agency for Agency?

A place for Clarity & Mystery, Sovereignty & Spells, Writing & Righting, Magiuc & Magnificence, transformative things and gains in powers.

There might also be movement (yoga, dance) but mainly there will be sanatana, listening to the thrum-hum of the universe under the wildest sky of stars, being in reverberation with life, and bringing in our most powerful Incoming Selves to do what needs to be done next, whatever that is.

The name will come

It is more fun than a training center and it is not a camp, but it is a place to be a secret agent, it is a place to take shelter, it is a stronghold.

Chiaroscuro again: shelter and mist are the good and useful kinds of obfuscation, the kinds needed in these difficult times, and agency is about clarity, glowing your light, thoroughly unimpressed by shadow, whether your own or the bleak things out in the world, inspired for action, attuned to the play of light.

We are changing the setting / we are changing our settings

Here’s to the superpower of Change The Setting, and Let The Setting Change You.

Here’s to the superpower of all meanings of setting:

{how we are set, like a clock or a machine…}

What can we illuminate in the right setting, in this gorgeous play of light, and in the light of our play?


Hineni means I AM HERE.

I use it when I want to indicate that I am listening, to wise-me, to my heart, to universe, to the thrum-hum of being.

And sometimes I use it like a collective noun:

A Hineni of Realizations

Hineni rippling through me, I am a body of water, I am a body of breath-flow and magnificence.


These are heartbreaking times and so we recharge on these breaths of Magnificence, making space for the hineni, for the right here right now.

We breathe FIERCE & FEARLESS, we breathe for Another Beautiful Day, we breathe sky and stars and moments, the transcendent ones and the difficult ones.

I am practicing this. I am practicing playful engagement, while also taking my wishes seriously.

I am changing my setting to one of magnificence, and I mean this in all senses of setting. I am resetting myself, attuning myself, to the magnificence within.

The thrum-hum glow-hum of breath in me reverberating with life itself and in recognition of the aliveness all around, and in you. Is that itself not magnificent? I am inclined to think yes. And this yes is also a whispered prayer of the moment.

Pause to seed/breathe/be in companionship

You are invited to join me in seeding wishes, qualities, superpowers, whatever you like in the comments, maybe it will land now as we call it in, or maybe it will be more delayed-reaction good to come, fractal flowers for all of us.

Thank you for being here with me, breathing breaths and qualities and word-spells. Did you notice the exquisite chiaroscuro in the image from the month of Magnificence? Breathtaking.

And a question: if I started a fluent self instagram account with the glorious sunrises here and the questions in my journal, and little snippets of what is in my heart and on my mind as I practice the work-play of self-fluency, is this a thing you would be interested in? Let me know here!


Wield What You Have (formidable times, formidable measures, fragments from the diary of a dreamer)

September - month of Contentment

A content warning of sorts

Hey friend, if you are here to read my words today, I should probably warn you that in this moment (and by “moment”, I mean the past six weeks at least), I am a fire-breathing dragon and my wingspan is enormous…

And I have absolutely no idea what words might spill from me today, what form my fury might take, what I might bring up or knock over…

If [trauma-related], I will do what I can to tread lightly because of Safety First, I know we are all hurting now, but again, I have no idea what I will say, and am liable to say anything to anyone, and it is possible that I am also too angry to edit…

Certainly I have not even been able to sit to write until today, and now I am here (but as a dragon!)

Welcoming a dragon

Dragon-me is welcome because that is the me who is here, the embodiment of Fierce Fury and this Startling Incandescent Rage that is striking in all meanings of that word.

Welcoming, and a dragon

It’s not a bug, it’s a feature (and also it’s a dragon!)

Not a weakness, but a source of new strength, not a flaw, hell no, it’s a superpower…

What does it mean to call in/on the superpowers of Seeing The Superpowers? What do I see when I decide to experience every uncomfortable disruptive emotion as a superpower? What is the superpower of hell yes today I am a dragon, and I have been a dragon for weeks now, and it is hard for me to write words because I am a dragon?

Wield What You Fucking Have

Wield What You Fucking Have

Haha, the raging fire in me sparks in recognition of the raging fire in you, welcome to the yoga of breathing fire and destruction, beloved dragon friends!

LET’S FUCK SHIT UP WITH ALL THIS ANGER, let us use this as as Fuel and as Catalyst and Forms Can Change, It Is Time, let’s do this.

What if all I have is my NO and my fury


After all, so often it is exactly that moment of arriving at the FUCK NO ABSOLUTELY NOT UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES THIS IS NOT OKAY which fuels the quest for a better yes, and what are we doing here if not devoting ourselves to the pursuit of more-and-better yes?


This anger is so familiar and yet it is new, how is it new?

Well, the emotion is not new, just the VASTNESS and also Just How Little I Care About Filtering It For Other People’s Perceived Need To Be Comfortable Around Me, this is new…

Here and not

I am rage-crying from fury and helplessness, from distress and pain, from something beyond fury, a murderous spear-throwing vengeful storm of being.

I am here, in the car, the yoga studio, the cafe, I am here in these places but I am also everywhere I have ever been…

(That is to say, the first time a stranger put their hand on my ass in a bookstore, or brushed up against me for way too long in a shop, or pinned me into the shelves at the grocery store, or touched my body on the street, and all the times after the first times, and all the times it wasn’t a stranger but someone I trusted, that too.)


Like many women, I am not sleeping much.

I dream about Kavanaugh and then I wake up at 3am and spend a few hours recovering.

He is not in my dream. The dream is about the fact that he exists.

In the dream, Dream-Me finds every one who has ever touched me without consent, and puts a spear through him. She does this because it’s her job, but I won’t say that she doesn’t enjoy it.

It takes many hours, and the dream continues over weeks, because there are so many memories, always more, and also new ones because of all the moments I have forgotten, or intentionally misunderstood or made myself forget, I allowed them to be rewritten in my mind to not lose my mind, and anyway, you couldn’t possibly spear everyone who needs spearing in just one night, there are too many of them.

And then I am awake, and I think about things I don’t want to be thinking about, and about spears.

And also about how none of this is unique to my life, none of this is some weird anomaly, this is the experience of so many of us, of nearly every woman I know…

Real talk though


More real talk

Part of me is working hard on opening a new retreat center where we can breathe/cry/move/write/process/play and commune with our wise powerful Incoming Selves in safety and sanctuary.

But part of me wants to just open a sanctuary for vigilante training, let’s work on everything from buffer phrases and force fields to full-on spear-throwing.

This wish is a tiny bit of a proxy, but also it is very real: I am ready to be about a thousand times more terrifying and intimidating, fearsome and formidable, than I ever even knew I wanted to be.

Yes? COME JOIN ME. Let’s train.

I want to be a panther and dragon, a medusa and artemis of the hunt and venus rising from the sea, and I want to be good with a spear.


I am writing, but I am a mass of snakes, of [writing snakes and writhing snakes], Medusa and all the foremothers of this fury, the furious furies:

SEE US, with our wings and talons and glowing anger-embers!

Snakes, also

“Well, you knew he was a snake when you took the job…”

This is what my friends said when I told them that my boss at the yoga studio assaulted me. (And people wonder why nothing gets reported? If that’s what my friends said, I don’t even want to imagine what the cops would say…)

First of all, no, I did not know that, why did no one tell me?

And second, what does that even mean? We are just supposed to get used to being assaulted because snakes are everywhere, that’s just how it is?

But what if we throw them into a pit of snakes, the ones who take and take and take without permission, who think their taking is a compliment…

What if we inhabit the world with writhing snakes in our hair, what if we write-and-writhe our pain and fury into art, while they experience what it means to fear the way we fear, welcome to being afraid, snakes!

That’s where I am right now

I am [being] in this being-state, which is to say being both the eruption and the thing that is erupting…

All that to say:

(1) big feelings abound, and they are real and they make sense and they matter

(2) and also let us be here with strong force fields, steady breath, intention, so that we aren’t all unconsciously casually amplifying each other’s pain, since there is so much of it and we are all hurting, now more than ever

(3) acknowledgment & legitimacy: this is where I am right now, a breath for [this is where I am right now]

Let’s begin with fragments, because that is what I have, that might even be what I am…


FRAGMENTS, this needs to be written in fragments because that is all I have to give right now, that is [my experience of BEING right now], fragmented.

I am whole with the whole/hole, but it needs to be expressed in the fragments, because we are in pieces.

A fragment

Driving down through New Mexico, Bernalillo to Las Cruces, a winding two lane mountain highway, and a road sign:


Yeah they do.

Exist / Sometimes

Obsessed with this deliciously odd and unlikely sign wording, what else does this work for?

Strong [emotions] sometimes exist!

Except what if they always exist, and sometimes they are just existing their way across the road we happen to be existing on…

D.H. Lawrence was an asshole (1/?)

It was the 11th of September and I took a wrong turn and then followed a bunch of signs to the ranch where D.H. Lawrence used to live in Taos, I suddenly had that feeling of THIS IS WHERE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE NOW…

That frisson feeling, tiny hairs on edge, something is different here, the molecules reconfiguring, the air is different.

A sensation of being called up the mountain to witness

But it was closed and so I turned around and went somewhere else.

D.H. Lawrence was an asshole (2)

A few days later the timing was right and I made it to the ranch, where I learned that the 11th was his birthday, and also the day he left the ranch for the last time, that was what wanted my witnessing.

I also learned that he never bothered to learn to type, he was fine having the women in his life, all talented writers and artists in their own right with their own SHIT TO DO, put aside their own art in order to type up his.

Fuck. That. Guy.

D.H. Lawrence was an asshole (3)

I stretched out lengthwise on the bench where Georgia O’Keefe used to write and gaze up at her favorite tree, it really is a good tree.

I thought about the thing someone said about Lawrence (“he did nothing that he did not really want to do, and all that he most wanted to do he did”), which is an amazing and almost baffling description.

I want to steal the glowing silver essence embodied in that phrase and give it to all the women I know.

Look at me, I am the dream-stealer and I am made of wings and fire, watch me take your dreams and your powers.

Oh, and learn to type, asshole.


I heard Georgia laughing.

I was born too early, she said
Fly and rage for me, she said

The tree

I hugged the tree that Georgia O’Keefe loved so fiercely, and the tree said comforting things:


That is what is said to me and that is what I will share with you, even in my fury state.

(We can have both! Love and fury! We can be the Furies and exist in Love, be a force of Love, and a force to be reckoned with, I believe this, or at least right now I do.)

More tree wisdom, fragmented

I asked the tree about a project of mine that scares me and it said:


(the word ‘prayer’? the word-prayer?)

The Light Sanctuary

Everything going spectacularly wrong led me to the light sanctuary, if you are ever in New Mexico, get thee to the light sanctuary.

It is round and all the windows and skylights are prisms so you just bathe in rainbows…

The light sanctuary is a place where Nothing Is Wrong, and I wish to recreate this in my own space, both in a home when I have one, and within the vessel of my body-and-being.

But also, like so many forms of sanctuary, it can quickly become full of people who do not understand how to act in a place of [Sanctuary], and so then you are just helpless and glaring at loud teenagers, leaving because it is time to leave the light…

I wish for better boundaries, a better glare, the right words to say “hey, not okay”, in this and in all situations, amen.

The Sanctuary Sanctuary

Places for Safety First that exist inside of us:

Presence (I am here now, I want to be here now)
A quieting that comes from allowing

Solar plexus

I vomited the day before Kavanaugh was confirmed, a fit of kavanausea, because I knew what would happen.

No and more no

A table of boomers at the cafe, talking loudly about how the only thing that matters is his “impeccable” record, and really, “who didn’t do things in their youth that they regret” and “why is this even a big deal”.

I had to immmediately exit because otherwise I would have exploded, because I do not have a handy pit of snakes for them.

Where to

I walked to to the yoga studio and the teacher asked how I am, and I told her, because I answer that question honestly now.



Good, she said, thank you for bringing your pain and honesty and realness to yoga, let’s do a class for this.

So we had a rage class, and it helped.


I have a Grand Canyon inside me, carved from grief and rage and fury, I saw it during a meditation.

But you know what? The Grand Canyon is beautiful and breathtaking.

Yes, I have experienced pain that is enormous and disruptive, events that have changed the landscape of my life. This upheaval has formed something new, and this new is impressive.

A breath for recognizing this.


September on the calendar was the month of Contentment, and yes, I spent most of it in a state of bewildering rage, and this is okay, and I have room inside me to hold the bewilderment, the rage, and wishes for contentment, I can breathe for both.

Are there any moments of Contentment I want to remember? Any noticings or learnings related to this theme?

Being in the light sanctuary. And beneath Georgia’s tree.

Driving into gorgeous New Mexico sunrises and sunsets.

Walking labyrinths. Bathing naked under a startling sky.

Nourishing meals. New friends.

Exiting when it was time to exit.

Breathing my way through.

Seeds of

May these contentment-wishes and contentment-seeds do their work beneath the surface, may our rage and fury also be powerful seeds for new and better, may it all be revealed in right timing how useful it was to experience the Opposite of Contentment in the month of contentment…

And if you want to do some spear-throwing with me, that is welcome too.

I am thinking of ways I can be of service in these times, and have some ideas about that.

For now (a quiet invitation)

For now, come take breaths with me, share any sparks, leave a comment so we can have some togetherness in whatever form, join in my vigilante mission or glow some love here for all these seeds, fragments, noticings, wonderings and new vision.

Name any superpowers you like, we can all use some more…

Here’s to Safety First, to More & Better, to Fierce & Formidable, to New Superpowers Revealed, whatever is needed. Thank you for being here with me while I process my way through, as we do, with presence and breath and as much grace as we can muster in a moment.

Endless compassion for all the hard things in this life, and a breath of awe and appreciation: I am glad you are here in whatever form, here we are with our landscapes of experience, wishing our contentment-wishes, exploring and noticing and taking exquisite care of ourselves to the best of our ability, the work of this life, and it is a big deal.

Also a big deal: recognizing just how much I trust you that I can write these words and let them go. Thank you for that.

And I do not have any bandwidth to write a Not All Men etc disclaimer here, I am going to trust that your good heart trusts my good heart, may it all be received as it is said, with clarity and truth and my arsenal of spears

The Month of Sweetness

August - month of Sweetness


Everything is practice and today my practice is review, but the celebratory kind devoid of judgment, a review that is really a revue, with fabulous choreography and spangly dresses.

A Month of Sweetness, let us recall, what was sweet in August, where is the sweetness to be found, what glowed sweetly? And: what worked, both in terms of this grand experiment in sweetening, and in general?

And what might I do differently next time, calling on my favorite superpower of Do-Overs Forever? If I want to bring even more sweetness into my life, where do we go from here…

What was sweet in August?

+ unexpected tears of joy in new beloved yoga spaces (time-and-space of heart and breath, in community) in Moab and Durnango and Baker City, places I did not expect to be, both literally and metaphorically

+ a renewed commitment to Vixen Mode, aka embodying Incoming Me the Glamorous Assassin who is fierce & fearless, powerful & striking, of the earth & wild, glowing & alive, fully committed to living life louder

+ healing, which is a big word and an ongoing process, and what I am here (also: here) to do, and which does not always get my full attention

+ hot sweet texts / long-distance love

+ selfies galore because it was Leo season and I am trying hard to learn how to be wildly unabashedly in love with myself at Leo levels of everything

+ very red toenails (Hey Sailor and Catwalk as the reddest of reds and the best color names)

+ sleeping in an earthship and laughing under the stars

+ embodying vixen mode so powerfully and glowing so hard that three ex-lovers suddenly resurfaced in my life all at once, from many many miles (and years) away like HEY GIRL MANY INTENSE DECLARATIONS OF LOVE, and I am at this point of sweetness and certainty with myself in life where I can easily say hahahahaha nope, instead of collapsing into the endless wondering about the many ifs and maybes of past/future/timing, and that itself, that clear knowing of NO I DESERVE WAY THE FUCK BETTER THAN THIS is really its own delicious form of sweetness, yes the sweetness of goodbye to old stories

+ the WILD MIRACLE of yes the air quality in Portland was a disaster all month but on the day of my return from New Mexico, it magically returned to healthy levels of breathability in time for my arrival, let us call this the superpower of I bring my breath with me

+ the words MOBILIZE & MEANING served me well

+ holy goddess the peach slices, the berries plucked from the vine, delight

+ I was the life of the party (at an actual party, I know, WHAT) instead of introvert-hiding in the bedroom which I only did a little, and also won a pair of boots in a raffle, so hey, maybe not-hiding is a thing I will do the tiniest bit more because I like boots

What else worked?

Compasses of Doing!

This is when I remember to not get overwhelmed by my list of things, and instead just choose EIGHT ITEMS to place in a compass, and let them be fractal flowers for the qualities I want in my life, secretly working under the surface to support all the other secret ops and missions. Here is an example….

North = Mission ready = make sure garments for a Bond girl are clean and folded aka laundry
Northeast = Release = sort recycling, empty out
East = Freshness, clean and refill all water bottles and food containers
Southeast = Tough Cookie, resew button on pants, repack
South = Plenty, refill Dopp kit
Southwest = Freedom, get ready for a week of yoga-ing
West = Sweetness, what can be most sweet today, how do I set up today so that tonight-me and tomorrow-morning me feel loved and appreciated
Northwest = WILD CARD aka always leave room to be surprised by whatever asks for my love and attention today

What do I want to remember and take with me from the month of Sweetness?

I discovered where I want to live and not-live, how I want to live and not-live.

I set better boundaries and pre-emptively yelled at strangers, and yes, the phrase “can I fucking help you or are you staring like that because you’re an actual serial killer” came in handy in a gas station in western New Mexico.

Taking care of myself is sweet. Not needing anyone is sweet. Knowing that my friends are better at loving me and reminding me to love myself than anyone I have ever been in Relationship with, and letting these friendships be the most important thing in my life, this was extremely sweet, and also new.

Movement and breath, and time for both of these when I can, and patience with myself when I can’t, these are forms of sweetness.

So many things did not go as I wished/hoped/planned this month, and meeting my frustration with Acknowledgment & Legitimacy was a form of Sweetness too.

What else about this month?

I wanted to write here, every day, and share things with you. I wish very much for a way to figure that out, I can’t really do any more unpaid jobs but there is so much I want to put here.

Placing this in a labyrinth-compass with love, maybe something will spark and shift.

This coming/incoming/entering month (September) is the month of Contentment, and I am curious to see how these sweet learnings of sweetness (and also the attendant frustrations of-and-with sweetness) move and change in Contentment.


I will be on the road a lot this month again, and not psyched about that.

Maybe I can bring some sweetness with me into trusting that the not-knowing where or when I will be or for how-long is also okay, and that this can co-exist with Contentment even if I don’t know how yet.

What if I can be sweet with not-knowing? What if there is something sweet about not needing to know?

Do you want to wish some wishes with me?

You are invited to be here with me, in whatever form you like.

You can list/name any noticings from the month of Sweetness, or call in any desired superpowers, or share anything sparked for you from what I placed here. Love and [!!!] always welcome.

As always, we are on permanent vacation from care-taking and advice-giving. Each of us is in our own process, and process is unique. Sparks of sweetness for everyone in this orbit, doing the work of self-fluency or letting it brew under the surface which also counts, it all counts, xoxo