Stories are the language of the soul. They connect us to each other, help us feel less alone and so very, very often, provide the spark / wisdom / heart we need to move forward on our path. Stories have always been that way for me, and nevermore than since I was propelled on my healing path.
I love to hear about how other people live with intention. How they add meaning and depth to their life, in their just-right-for-them way. About being real and walking their talk, imperfectly perfectly. I love to learn about the practices, places, people and food that imbue their lives with meaning, wellness and joy.
Health. Culture. Food. Clarity.
I can’t wait to dive into today’s conversation with Claire Ragozzino of Vidya Cleanse. She says,”My friends call me their witch doctor, but really my philosophy is that we are all our own healers given the right tools and knowledge.” A woman after my own heart!
Looking around the rooms of my life, my history, my heart, the threads that weave me together and are me, I recognize common and comforting themes. I think of these as breadcrumbs – the clues that lead me back to myself, that fill me up and light me up, that help me know myself better […]Read More...
Let’s try something new today, OK? You are literally one of my favorite things about being here on DelveSpot. Connecting with you is a treat – and an honor – that I never take for granted, whether it’s your comment on a blog post that you’ve been drawn to, sweet and thoughtful emails (that I […]Read More...
I like who I’ve become… Am becoming? Ah: always have been, but am finally returning to. Looking back at the past few years, peppered with whoa ups and downs and sideways trips into other dimensions (at least that’s what it felt like at times), I’m proud of how I’ve traveled through life - or sometimes slogged through, […]Read More...
By nature I’m a loner. An introvert who would rather find one or two people at a party to talk to, squirreled away in a quiet corner, away from the noise and bright overhead lights and small talk. (Especially the small talk.)
Big groups, a day in town, a day spent with my family, all need to be counterbalanced with alone time.
My circle of friends has always been small but close; one that I once begrudgingly let people into after they’d proved themselves – that’s my “everyone will eventually leave me, so I won’t let too many people in, and I’ll make the ones that do prove themselves” story.
Spending time with myself (and I count Rupert in here; he’s pretty much another – fuzzy, unfortunately rarely bathed – appendage), is one of my greatest pleasures and deepest needs. Solitude vs. alone-ness. I’ve never been someone who needs friends or a partner to live: I love and treasure them, but my life doesn’t revolve around them. I’m not sure if that ties back into my fear of getting too close to people (again, the “they’re going to end up leaving me” thing) or if I’m that much of a solo artist. Both, probably.Read More...
But this is human life: the war, the deeds,
The disappointment, the anxiety,
Imagination’s struggles, far and night,
All human; bearing in themselves this good
That they are still the air, the subtle food,
To make us feel existence. — John Keats
(Talking about Keats’ poem above) This is the “goal” of the soul path – to feel existence; not to overcome life’s struggles and anxieties, but to know life first hand, to exist fully in context. — Thomas Moore
I’m going to blame my absence on being a perfectionist. OK? It’s kept me a busy bee for January and February (oh, let’s be real; and every other month of my life), even though I’ve consciously spent the past two and a half years trying to take the ferocious edge off this mostly destructive tendency.
(But, interestingly, and I’m trying to take the heat off us perfectionists again, someone wiser than me once pointed out that perfectionism really points to the things that are most important to us: we perfectionists laser-focus our energy there. So I’ve come to realize that the focus isn’t bad, but to soften the edges so it isn’t as consuming, caustic and self-tortuous… When I remember.)Read More...
Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door. Emily Dickinson
It’s the fifth day of the year, a swelteringly hot, sweaty Sunday. Since New Year’s I’ve already had seven swims, some in the ocean with an unwilling Rupert to cool him off, who starts moving his fuzzy paws, paddling in the air, before he’s even hit the water, and some in a shaded swimming hole at the bottom of a tiny, two meter waterfall. I’ve made raw chocolate with cacao paste, dates and dessicated coconut and eaten it all. Been asked out. (!) Lost Rupert for a panicked hour when he went on a surprise exploration, forgetting he’s partially blind, and, when I found him at the top of a very long and steep driveway at the neighbor’s, was hugged repeatedly as I cried in relief. Welcomed the year, with more openness that I realized I had, after a few particularly tough years and even as I continue to figure out what I need to heal. Ate chocolate chip porridge, with cacao nibs and coconut butter.
Sometimes, often, I sit down to write to you, knowing there’s something to say but not knowing what the exact words are. Not even knowing the general gist of it. Days like today, I have an urgent sense of wanting tell you everything but nothing comes out of my fingers. Usually, when I hit this point of stuck-ness, it’s simply because I’m resisting telling you the heart of it all. The truth. So I feign confusion – there’s too much to say and I don’t know where to begin.
But really, here at the crisp beginning of a new year, when it feels like life has exploded into a thousand (seemingly) terrible and beautiful points of light over the past few years and I wonder, cautiously and curiously, but mostly genuinely excitedly, about this (thing we call a) year, I do know where to begin. So here is a note to myself, and also to you.Read More...