midwest town or hell?

I have become firmly convinced (especially in this last week) that if there is a hell – I’m living in it.

Don't try to change my mind - it's pointless.


Yep – right here, right now in a small unassuming little Midwestern town.... is where hell is located. Sweltering heat, a humidity factor higher than the outside temperature (which is in the high 80’s to start with) and gray, gloomy overcast skies.

The air is so thick and heavy, the moisture of it accumulates on my skin like dew. I can’t move – my body is sluggish. And I can’t breathe. I gasp for air. I wheeze. And sweat gathers in places on my body I didn’t even know could collect sweat.

Yep – this has to be what hell feels like. Outside.

And inside? Another kind of hell for sure. Frigid central air conditioning that sucks every ounce of moisture out of the air – my skin flakes and peels, my throat is dry and hoarse, my contacts dry on my eyes. My hell is a cave – with the windows and doors shut tightly and the shades and curtains drawn.

Yep – this SoCal transplant is having a really (really) hard time dealing with this. I am cranky and irritable. Snappish. Prone to temper tantrums.

I don’t even like my own company.

And I hate my hair. Can someone please explain how hair can be lank and limp and big and frizzy all at the same time? Because to me - it defies logic. (not to mention every hair product on the shelf guaranteed to tame it.)

(drumming fingers on desk)

It sucks to be me.
Here.
In this Midwestern version of hell.

There’s only one thing to do – and I’m off to do it. My husband is hiding somewhere in this meat locker cold that used to be our home.

I’m off to find him.
And kick him.
It’s all his fault.
He’s the one who brought me here in the first place.

Hey – I told you I was cranky and irritable.

Hell does that to a person.

creativity as a spiritual act

Creativity is not some namby-pamby pastime. It is not merely the poem, the watercolor, the song. It is the act of humans describing the great mystery of Life Itself. Creativity is an act of faith, of hope, of love. It is virtuous, revelatory, prophetic. It is our prayer lived out. It is the heart reaching up to the brain; the brain whispering I love you to the heart. This union-the merging of thought and feeling- is what enlivens us. It gives birth to the images the future is sending us. When we create we are receivers of the future, open to signs from Mind-at-Large that guide us, gift us, and light our way.

 (Jan Phillips)

I have been taking part in a six week program - a monastic experience where we use our creativity as a means of contemplative prayer and meditation. Each Sunday we gather by the lake, and after the initial guidance, spend the next four hours in silence – surrounded by our pencils, paints and easels.

We are creating in layers – first came the prayers written on the canvas, then came the “background” in (as our facilitator explains) the colors of God, and then the basic outline of our image in gold. This week we will begin filling in the image we’ve created on our canvas, and at the end of our six weeks, we will have a painting of the Madonna.

There is such a sense of communion with not only spirit, but also each other on those afternoons – even as we sit outside in the sweltering heat and humidity of a Midwest summer, seeking shade under the branches of the trees. The breeze blows in off the lake, and in our shared stillness the sound of our pencils and brushes across the canvases become the only sound; a holy song – a witness to the depth of what rests in our hearts now expressed.

We become sacred vessels in our little contemplative gathering circle – priestesses, wise women, mid-wives and healers.

“This” I think to myself, is coming home; living who we were meant to be as sacred channels of creation and creativity - connected in our own holy trinity of mind, body and spirit with hours of languid stillness stretched before us to savor and sip. Peaceful and still, serenely, like the Madonnas we are creating – we hold divine space, first within our bodies and then outward through our hands, blending the harsher lines of our sketches into a calming blur of softness with our fingertips.

Yes - our creativity is more than some namby-pamby pastime we dabble in between “to do” lists and laundry piles and errands and habitual busyness.

It is holy.
It is divine.
It is reverent.
It is please and thank-you.
It is a petition and a promise.

“Creativity is an act of faith, of hope, of love. It is virtuous, revelatory, and prophetic.”

And it deserves to be treasured and held and expressed as sacred.

the princess

Happy 4 Month Birthday Olivia Jade.....

(what did grandma ever do without you?)

 the Princess Livi 

(she's in the middle of telling me a story - and yes, her eyes really are deep indigo blue)

She's discovered her feet.....

(look at those chubby little baby legs - don't you want to kiss them?) 

This....is how I spent my day yesterday.

All day.

In love.

with my little princess...

isn't she precious?

new beginnings and fresh starts

I’ve heard that we teach to others what we ourselves most need to learn.

Interesting concept – eh?
I believe it because it’s been proven time and time again in my life.

For example....I’m facilitating a workshop called “the Sovereignty of a Woman” and we’re talking about core foundational beliefs. I say: “ if one of your core foundational beliefs is that you are loveable, you will have successful relationships - attracting and surrounding yourself with people who validate and affirm (i.e. proving to yourself) your “loveability.” On the other hand, if your core foundational belief is that you are un-loveable, you will find yourself in relationships that are full of conflict and surrounded by people who are incapable of loving you (for whatever reason) thus validating and affirming (i.e. proving to yourself) how “un-loveable” you are.”

swallow, Dani.
and breathe.
another layer of the proverbial onion is about to be peeled.

yippee.

I think about the last three years and the relationships that have come and gone. The people who took and took and took, the people who lied to me and about me and, ultimately betrayed me without a backwards glance.

Yea those people.
What the hell was I doing?
What was I validating and affirming there with them?
Because I gotta tell you,  after 20+ years of (diligently and deeply) working on myself, I thought I was done with all that crap.
Seriously.

A whole bunch of voices came flooding in from the shadows and roamed, free range through my head, settling into the most strong and powerful: “you can’t trust anyone because everyone is only out for themselves and in the end they will always (always) betray you and your heart will be broken.”

A haunting (and taunting) voice from my past rises from the dead.
Or so I thought.

I spent a whole lot of years fighting that particular voice; searching for ways to prove it wrong and in some cases, looking for the loophole -  which I found. 

Or so I thought.

But, “you can’t trust anyone because…” had fallen off the consciousness wagon and resumed its errant ways, once again seeking validation – becoming a true assessment and/or statement because I was (albeit unconsciously) back to attracting truth to it like a picnic table attracts flies.

Bleeck and yuk.

No, no, no – I say stomping my foot.
No more.
Pull me out of the oven and stick a fork in me.
I’m done.

YEARS ago my spiritual mentor and teacher told me one of the reasons I continuously tripped myself up and got in so much trouble was because I trusted people and loved God. “You have it backwards,” she said, telling me I needed to switch it up – trusting in God and being a reflection of love to others.

I obviously forgot that.

And for years I had a prayer that I prayed each and every day – humbly asking that all the outside “stuff” that kept God from coming first and me from being authentically and heartfully me be removed from my life, and then simply asking for the willingness to be willing to let go of that which needed to be removed.

Before I got myself so busy I forgot that too.

But now I remember.
And I’ll be praying it again.
Starting with please and ending with thank you.
New beginning and fresh starts.
Out with the old, worn out and self defeating.
Seriously.

God smiles from ear to ear and says, “Dani!! Yes!! I’ve missed you!! Now pull up a chair because we’ve got a lot of catching up to do….”

And so I sit.
Smiling back.
Because it feels so blessed good to be back. 

the way we pray

“Be. Here. In this moment. Now is all there is, don’t go seeking another. Discover the sacred in your artist’s tools; they are the vessels on the altar of your own unfolding. Look at this cup of holy water, washing clean the brushes. See the blank page awaiting your blessing. Gaze on the colors before you, each one a name of God: Saffron, Cobalt, Azure, Ruby. Say each one slowly and taste its juice in your mouth. Let this be your prayer. Brush them across the page with your anointed hands. First the small strokes, then the larger sweeps. Lose track of all time. This too is prayer. Listen for the words that rise up: Awaken. Envision. Sing. Alleluia. Place marks on the page to say I am here. Luminous. Illuminated. This is your sacred text. This is where God’s words are spoken; sometimes in whispers, sometimes in shouts. Be there to catch them as they pass over your sacred lips, tumbling so generously into your open arms.”    (Christine Valters Paintner)

I attended a spiritual retreat on Sunday - a full day of using art as contemplative prayer. The words quoted above were the words read to us at the start of the retreat, just after being told that the root of the word contemplation means “to make a temple with.”

Which was what we were there to do - make a temple of connection between our art, our prayers and God.

In color and words. First with small strokes and then with large sweeps. Each an alleluia.

I can’t think of any testament more beautiful or affirming to the sacred and holy that is so gracefully held within our creativity.

Or the importance of making and taking time for it to be expressed.

Reverently.
With our anointed hands.
And across our sacred lips.
As a prayer.

retrogrades and pauses



Astrologically we’re into a Uranus (the planet of expansion and forward movement) retrograde period right now. Through December no less.

After all these years of following the stars, I understand retrogrades and the purpose they serve although that doesn’t mean I like them or graciously accept them. I have been known to whine and balk on occasion – it’s just my nature whenever anything threatens to clip my wings or hold me back – especially when it’s not on my terms.

Which this retrograde so isn’t.

“On July 10, when Uranus goes retrograde in on-the-go Aries, every fiber of your being will want to move. You'll be eager to forge ahead with your plans now, now, now! However, your actual goal will require you to pause, step back and assess whether your plans are in tune with your needs.”

“Oh great.” I say to no-one and nothing in particular. “This is not a good time for the pausing or stepping back.”

Really Uranus -  it isn’t - I plead my case. And to prove my point, I forge ahead – crossing my fingers and deviously plotting how to sneak in under the retrograde radar.

Yea right.  As Dr. Phil would ask, "How did that work for you?"

I babysit my precious granddaughter, the Princess Olivia, on Mondays and Tuesdays. Like a true princess, she demands attention, and like a dotting grandma Queen, I give it. So yesterday we spent the morning having all kinds of fun with her new found ability to giggle and laugh out loud.

Like all days with the Princess, I put off anything else but giving her my undivided attention until nap time. Except yesterday, the Princess didn’t want to waste a precious second of grandma time by napping or doing anything other than being held or sitting in my lap as she told me her stories.

“Livi, Livi, Livi” I say at one point, admittedly (I’m not proud) a wee tiny bit frustrated, “Grandma has things to do – I can’t just hold you all day.”

She looks at me very seriously and then laughs as if to say, “Grandma, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say.”

And she was right.

I didn’t get anything on my “to do” list done yesterday. I didn’t get the fliers for the store printed, or place the orders I needed to place, or work on my neglected blog, or prepare the committee chairperson report for the biz meeting I was scheduled to attend last night.

Instead I held my precious granddaughter in my lap and smothered her with kisses.

And the world didn’t miss a beat – going on just fine without my busy doing.

It takes a lot of work to run a Queendom and there is a lot I have to teach her about wearing the crown and holding the scepter. But for right now it isn’t so much about being a queen one day as it is about being a princess right now – with a grandma who grasped the sacred importance of pausing to delight in her newly discovered giggles.

Woo Hoo!!! (and a last call)

My workshop, "The Sovereignty of a Woman" starts today!!  Of all the workshops I've created and facilitate - this is my personal favorite.  Eight weeks of embracing our inherent sovereignty - planting our crown firmly on the top of our heads and wearing it in bodacious glory.

Really.  (It's the only way to live.)

If you meant to sign up but didn't (for whatever reason), you still have time (registration will close on Wednesday) and there are a few spots still open!  Click here for all the details - and if after reading about "The Sovereignty of a Woman" it calls to you, I'll meet you in the classroom!!

(I'll be the one with the crown of flowers in my hair and sparkle in my eye.....)  wink!

the motherlode - new moon in cancer

Exactly six years ago today, I was in Idaho, spending a week with my mom. I loved those ‘get away’ weeks - sitting outside by the river, listening to music , shelling fresh Dungeness crab under the moonlight and eating it with our fingers, and talking about everything from Sartre & Kafka to Dr. Phil & Oprah. I loved our forays to the farmer’s market to buy fresh goat cheese, homemade wine and patchouli scented soaps and bath oils. Mostly I loved that during those times I didn’t have to be a grown-up wife and mother and grandmother. That although I was ( underneath the expensively maintained and colored hair) as gray as she was, she indulged me and my ‘flights of fancy,’ called me ‘sweetiecakes,’ and told everyone I was her spoiled rotten princess.


I miss my mom. I miss our daily conversations, I miss how she would share my outrage at the injustices in the world, I miss that sense of security that came from knowing whenever I needed her, she would be there to kiss my boo-boos and make everything all better. I miss having a mother and being her daughter.

And even though I wear the crown of queen proudly, I miss the days I was a Princess to her Queen.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.” (Wynonna Judd)

Now, I don’t want to gloss over reality here – the relationship with my mother over the years was the most conflicted and tumultuous relationship of (both) our lives. There were the times my greatest joy was in being my mother’s daughter, and also the times when I passionately wished I was anyone but my mother’s daughter. It was hard at times to love her, and then there were the years I believed she sat up at night making a list of ways to insult, criticize, blame and/or ‘get me’. To steal a nursery rhyme, “when it was good it was very, very good and when it was bad it was rotten.”

It’s the ‘very, very good’ parts I choose to hold onto today. It’s the relationship we had, especially in the last year of her life, I grieve the most. All the rest of it was just drama and illusion, and isn’t important anymore.

I had no idea how much my mother’s physical death would impact my life or how profoundly I would feel her loss. I would have added some conversations to the many we had towards the end if I had known. I would have asked her how I was supposed to live the rest of my life without her, because still today, six years later, there are the moments when I don’t know how I am going to do it and I weep with longing.

So, in the realm of divine timing, it comes as no surprise that this New Moon is all about “mother love.” Cancer rules hearth and home with its archetypal mother energy. Add to that a Sun/Moon/Venus (Goddess of Love and the Mother of the Universe) type conjunction, and well – there we have it - the lay of the land – a mother lode of mother love just waiting to surround and envelope us.

I am my mother’s daughter, whether it’s on the physical (mom) or spiritual (Great Mother Creator) plane. That is my heritage, my lineage, and my genealogy. It is the blood that flows in my veins and the image in which I was created. Magna Mater, Mama, Mother, and Goddess – I am of her and she is within me.

My mom died, but I know she is sitting on the cusp of the moon, looking down on me and I hear her voice within the calling of this new moon. 

The New Moon that now guides the child in us to turn our bikes around and remember. The stars are starting to dot the sky, darkness is coming, and our mother stands on the back porch, calling us home from our travels.

Is there anything better than the communion that happens when, once home from our travels, we crawl into her lap, rest our heads against her heartbeat, and feel her arms encircle us, holding us close as we tell her all the places we’ve been?