There's a Dragon tattooed across my chest. She is red and gold and stretches from navel to neck. She twines between my breasts, her head coming to rest at my throat.

She is branded there. So I don’t forget.

I started out the new year wondering what I wanted to call in. In the invocation, I wasn't sure if I wanted to experience a specific project - a new book or performance. Maybe travel or some other form of adventure.  But I also knew I didn't want to be limited by what I could only currently imagine. So instead I cast my net out wide - inviting in mystery, the unknown. I challenged myself to be surprised.

As you'll hear in this story, the Universe answered.

Enjoy.

It felt like I'd been in hibernation for over a year. Wasn't writing much, felt uninspired, unmotivated. I knew at some point it would shift, that something was happening beneath the surface, but it just wasn't time yet. 

And then, at the beginning of the year, things started to shift. I could feel my energy changing, my sap was rising. Though I didn't know what was coming, I definitely felt an excitement, and anticipation that I hadn't felt in ages.  "East, Towards the Rising Sun" was the invitation to my future. Unknown, wild, wonderous.

Enjoy.

All around, on this very gray day, other people rush by with their black umbrellas and blue umbrellas and brown umbrellas. Then she sees it, about halfway down the block, a flash of yellow, like a butterfly fluttering above the crowd.

This episode is a short story. Though essentially fiction, it blends in seeds of my own emotions and experiences with longing, love and letting go.

Enjoy.

TBD

For the last months of my mother's life, my sister and I were her 24/7 caregivers.  For anyone who has gone through caregiving, you understand what a wild range of emotions it is. The heartache, the grief at where we are headed. The tenderness, the honor that is being of service in this way. But also, the part that is harder to confess, the anger, the frustration, the resentment. And for me, at times, the sense that life was passing me by.

This week's episode is an exploration of that rollercoaster of emotions. Giving voice, permission to feel all of it. The light, the dark, the communion, the regret.

It is only in this way that we can have compassion for ourselves, and navigate such hard times.  

When I was a little girl, my sister and I would go down to the garden to play “witches.” We’d get dressed up, borrow one of my mother’s pots and head out to make our brew. We’d add leaves, berries, the occasional snail, and some water. Thankfully, we didn’t drink the brew, but we’d call out our spells, wave our wands, laughing and cackling for hours.

As little ones, magic came easily, always at our fingertips. I want that back. I want that communion back.

There have been periods in my life when I have felt less than inspired and motivated, questioning purpose and direction. I remember praying for that spark, that awakening of a project, something that would excite me and light me up.  But as month after month went by nary a flicker, I began to worry that I was doing 'nothing with my life.' Was I wasting this precious gift? And that sent me into the exploration that is this podcast. How can we find value and worthiness in the everyday. Not just when we're on fire with a new passion, but in the moment by moment, minute by minute that is us, living our lives.

For those of you who’ve had teenagers, or really, any relationship in which no matter how much you love someone, it seems as if there no way to reach them across the divide.

In times like that, perhaps the invitation is to consider other ways to express love that is not relying on words. Words that can trap us, trip us up, leaving us further apart than before.

In this week’s episode, I remember a time when my daughter was younger and the wall between us was tall and wide. And one evening, I discovered the magic of putting love into my soup…

What freedom can be found in remembering that we are OF the earth, not separate from Her?  

One day, during the Covid lockdown, I looked in the mirror and noticed how far I had come from my typical 'out in the world' self: with my wild  hair, ragged pajama bottoms, and, yes, I noticed how I smelled.  

But this intrigued me and inspired an exploration into what it would feel like to surrender to our natural selves, our original selves, without trying to hide and cover up so much. 

A "Woman of the Earth" is a dive into the beauty of all that we are. That reflects the life we have lived. From the silver scars of childbirth to the roundness of our hips to the lines that are our laugh lines, grief lines, may this Woman give you permission to be yourself.