It's fathers day here in the good ol' USA, and I want to send all the papas that I know so much Love, and appreciation to all the ways that the father lives in us good and bad. I'm grateful for the sun and how it's constant source of light gives us warmth and light and feel the power of the the father as the sun.
Thank god for the winds of wisdom for blowing us into ecstatic states of inspiration, empowerment and healing our separation. Without her gusts clearing our minds out and fanning the flames of our hearts we would be zombies. Without her loving caress we may never find the courage it takes to feel anything at all.
Have I realized what it means to be free yet? Are we really not meant to be getting anywhere? Or is that just a trick you play to get us to fully embrace the enormous gift each precious breath is? Is your wildness in the wind?
One of the most basic assumptions in the yoga tradition is that you are good. That everything deep down at the core is. That you are not broken. I find many of us forget that in the spiritual and recovery world. We get serious and hard because we care so much about healing and helping. And because f we take these teachings on seriously, chances are we will come face to face with all that is between us and that truth. This is where courage, faith and trust comes in. And those who reminds us of joy and the awareness of this life experiment!
After last month's ceremonies with so many loving and inspired women on retreat at Spirit Weavers, a visit to my gurus ashram, lots of love and support and teaching (where I learn EVERYTHING), I moved through a big block and wrote this letter.
"The artist seeks contact with his intuitive sense of the gods, but in order to create his work, he cannot stay in this seductive and incorporeal realm. He must return to the material realm in order to do his work. It is the artists responsibility to balance mystical communication and the labor of creation." ~patti smith
ou see, no one ever told me that as snakes shed skin, as trees snap bark, the human heart peels, crying when forced open, singing when loved open. Now I understand that whatever keeps us from burning truth as food, whatever tricks the heart into thinking we can hide in the open, whatever makes us look everywhere but in the core, this is the smoke that drives us from what is living.