updated sharings

pinksky

The stiff wave of my last post seemed to wash over me and meet with the vastness of the ocean of stories and experiences that make up this life.

Always shape shifting like the ocean, expanding and contracting with the tides by the light of the moon.

I don’t exactly know why but I feel like the past couple/few years of my life have been an unmarked trail with surprise signposts along the way.

Maybe it’s because so much of my adult life was clear. Marked. Certain in a way that is never certain. Made with motherhood and fattened with simple focus and fierce love.

In the more recent years, it’s been a lot of holding on and letting go, holding back and moving forward.

A lot of deep work that couldn’t be done when all my deepness was the work of belonging to their beginnings.

I’m not sure if I ever remember being so sensitive in all my life.

Sensing the world around me through such softened surroundings.

The skin I’m in wearing a coat of honey spread over my layer of armor.

I have finally and certainly realized I am an introvert far more than I would have ever thought to think about.

So much lived simple and inward and so much in contact and connection.

Silly to say because I gather it’s the truth for so many of us.

I’ve realized it’s only these sensitive pieces of me that seem to make words to share. Though I sometimes wish my words could find ways to serve this space more clearly.

Life has felt rich in serendipitous moments. Little bits of magic dropped into my days like leaves when Autumn arrives.

I’ve felt myself rise up this past week and I took massive action in a direction I got sick of only talking about and planning on pen and paper.

I felt my love turn his book to my page so we can read together, for now.

I feel this always-wild-oats in me waiting to live themselves loud. Some aliveness dulled by domestication.

Yet, as I sprayed the garden cool after another 97 degree day, I pondered the fullness this summer has brought with it. I wondered if I wasn’t so busy full what would I be doing? And I realized in that moment I’d do just what I was doing with my life.

It felt like I was sprinkled with the warm water that sat in the hose, in the sun, all afternoon. It pooled at my feet and soaked deep into the soil that enriched my understanding of how beautiful I grow.

I feel like I keep emptying and filling, moistening and drying out like the soil in the feverish sun.

I feel a steadiness in my unsteadiness.

A comfort in the suspension of life. A reason to find trust again.

A chance to now be on the other side, with a bit more understanding tucked in the corners of my heart and laced into my soul.

xx,

falan sig

 

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Will you wait for me?

I’ve been a hot, tender, sensitive and moody mess for the last few weeks.

With moments and days, between, of complete normalness.

If I could, I would have likely spent many of those days in the quiet of myself, writing about bits of brokenness and listening to songs like Girl Crush.

I feel like a concoction of new beginnings and endings, but mostly of confusing middles.

Space is some sort of visceral craving of mine that motherhood and marriage doesn’t allow.

The act of tending to the self is quite a feat when each foot placed on the ground is cemented in family.

Sometimes it’s a given, sometimes it feels stolen, and sometimes – like lately – it feels foreign.

I’ve been living in my head a lot lately; my heart full of feelings that can’t lead or follow or find.

I’ve misplaced trust, all while holding tight to it, and found myself searching for forced unfoldings.

I’ve felt slayed over and over again by motherhood and sand papered by marriage.

Falling asleep to the rain, the other night, I felt certain that most headaches must be stuck tears.

Aching heads are a rarity for me, and the tears flowed the next day.

Days are busy with the tasks of mothering and home and a life well lived, and I am both lost and living fully in the needs of everyone I love to the bones, the blood, the spirit.

I keep looking for myself under layers and layers of simplification.

My clothing has been thinned to less than 50 items. My hair has been cut 8 inches.

I’ve cleared my inboxes. Burned my cut hair and pages and pages of lists. Donated 5 more bags of outgrown this-n-that to the thrift store.

I’ve painted my bathroom white, un-followed everyone on Instagram, and let Over the Moon mag know I wouldn’t be writing for them for awhile.

I’m nesting for a birth of myself.

My parents’ recent visit, full and good, made the missing of them all the more hard and real.

Stuffed tears always waiting to grieve what we miss in each others lives.

I feel wounded in some sweet way, wishing to find myself pumped in motivation or soft in the transitory awareness that life is.

But, instead, I sit in a middle place, ebbing and flowing back and forth. Back and forth.

Not entirely any one thing; moving in and out like afternoon thunderstorms in between sunshine.

This is the longest I’ve let my blog sit without my words, since I began sharing myself here.

My words feel like they are for me right now, mostly because I don’t know what the hell they mean.

So, I wonder and I ask, will you wait for me?

Uncertain whether my quiet will stalk this space for weeks longer or words will water this screen sometime soon…will you wait for me?

Thank you.

Ooodles of warmth,

falan sig

 

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befriending thy breasts & body

“and i said to my body. softly. ‘i want to be your friend.’ it took a long breath. and replied. ‘i have been waiting my whole life for this.'” -nayyirah waheed

I stood, for a long time, in front of the mirror the other morning. Naked.

My clothes sat folded on the counter and my robe hung on the hook.

Not wanting to get dressed, I paused, staring at this body of mine.

I ran my hands from my armpits down the round of my breasts, along my ribs and waistline, slowly alongside my hips.body

I thought about how much I would one day miss this body.

This body as it is.

The youthful suppleness of the skin would be replaced with the wise softness that time and age transforms.

The inevitable acceptance of your aged lines that can’t help but to long for your springtide.

I thought about how often looking at our bodies results mostly in judgment.

I thought about how our eyes fall to “flaws” instead of our hearts holding gratitude for our abilities.

I thought about how much this body has provided for me.

The points of pleasure. The points of passion and aliveness.

Touch and orgasm and tickles and snuggles. Laughter. Joy.

Long walks. Hikes. Swims.

Holding me gently and with strength in all the sadness I’ve felt.

The pain. The tears.

The expansion of pregnancy and the power of birth.

Moon cycles and blood and babies and losses and new life.

Breasts. Breastfeeding. Milk.

Breasts.

Oh, breasts. Extending from the heart.

For nearly a dozen years, milk, milk, milk.

Swelling and softening, filling and emptying.

Breasts.

Just last August my youngest weaned and I closed the door on nearly a dozen years of breastfeeding.

After she weaned, I would be standing in the shower lathering my skin with milky soap and would skip over my nipples.

And then I would catch myself and remember that I could soap them up now.

My nipples, my breasts, they’ve belonged to my children.

They belonged to the nourishment of those I love the most.

Now they feel mine again.

They show the stories of how they belonged to them for so long.

Soft lines gently mark the inner breasts, nearest my heart.

Pink nipples always appearing aroused.

Now mine again.

********

We live in a world that models tremendous detachment from our own bodies.

Sex sells, but connection to ourselves doesn’t.

We live in a world that encourages women to give themselves monthly breast exams and to get painful, invasive mammograms once a year when they reach their 40’s. To stoically examine your breasts one time a month/ once a year, but not to touch your breasts with adoration ever. (Many similar thoughts can be said about the vagina and the pap.)

We live in a world where breast cancer steals the lives of mothers and daughters and wives and sisters and aunts and grandmothers, but we are not shown to fully appreciate our breasts for the incredible energy centers and nourishers they are. (Many similar thoughts can be said about the yoni and cancers/concerns of the womb space.)

Disconnection from ourselves steals our power and our respect and our regard for this precious body of ours.

Please, take these words of mine and settle them into you.

It’s time to stop the disconnection from this spirit housed skin we are in.

It’s time to sincerely realize the remarkable magic that your body is.

Breasts are a beautiful place to start.

Begin to feel your breasts everyday. In the shower, for the five minutes before you fall asleep. Lovingly massage them, supporting lymphatic movement and enriching your heart center. Go without a bra. Throw your bras away (absolutely on the underwire ones!) Look at them. Love them.

Let your breasts be a catalyst of connecting with, and befriending, the richness of your body.

 

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Arrival isn’t real, lessons abound

rustichome

Lessons abound for us all. Repeated lessons, replayed in different ways, looping with glimpses of past behavior, familiar territory. Comfortable becoming uncomfortable with thresholds we get really close to reaching.

Arrival isn’t real.

Though lessons, I’m certain, become wisdom … when learned.

We never arrive.

Though portals appear, calling us closer, offering their generosity of inevitable prudence.

Arrival simply becomes a new path.

There isn’t some place of arrival that we make it to, where we become some resting wild and primal animal after digesting the meat of the lesson.

Rather, life is a series of entrances, passages, ingresses into new expressions of who we are.

Souls infused with spirit and layers and layers of life upon us, we shed and unravel and peel back and expose what’s always been there, waiting for the truths we’ve always known to free us a bit more.

Living our own personal seasons of lessons, some lingering longer than we please, others bringing about all the precious delight only the birth of a new season brings.

We feel the blankets we’ve cozied ourselves with fall away, leaving our untamed nakedness defenseless.

We feel the leaves we’ve festooned ourselves with fall away, composting beneath our feet and enriching the ground we grow from.

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What my Saturday taught me about my Friday

love

Sometimes I can’t understand how you can stand in the middle of your life and feel unsatisfied. Not unsatisfied in the sense that something difficult is standing facing you, but, rather, in the middle of the life you asked for, created and wanted.

This is one of the spaces I am standing in when shame comes up; a whole other area of feminine science I am dissecting.

I wonder how (and I often feel mad at myself when) I feel unfooted in this beautiful life where is all is as it should be.

I spent this past Friday in a funk. I stared out my bedroom window, watching the birds empty the feeder, and cried. I cried again while my husband held me after work, and then again after the house fell into its dark hush.

I can’t even try to pinpoint a single reason because it felt like there was more than one thing rubbing up against my most tender places.

The distance of my parents…just 600 miles down the east coast and I feel the constant fleetingness of life robbing me of the chance to really make the time with them count. A daily heartbreaker. Something that stings my eyes as I type.

The relentless requests and responsibilities of our home. Big dreams interwoven with daily upkeep.

The fine line of making many dreams happen soon, or sheltering them to meet one large dream later while the others ferment. Facing a sacrifice that seems necessary that I don’t feel steady or ready enough to do.

Marriage and the dance it takes to love fully amongst a life of two people heading in the same direction with different steps.

The most rooted and deep love a human can have – for her children – coupled with the hoedown of supporting and guiding them through all they are becoming.

The internet and my feet planted firmly in an ongoing pussyfooting relationship with it.

The veils I cast over myself and the fear I feel when I become something else…and the perceived pressure to step inside the bodies others are used to me being inside of.

………………………

And then Saturday morning began with something that I didn’t have in my planner.

Something I almost expected in some odd way of lessons lived.

A wee trip to the doctor that stole the majority of our Saturday hours and unfolded in the lesson and reminder that days aren’t meant to be wasted.

Nothing I named above, that fed my Friday funk, did I not choose in some way.

Our lives are lived fully within perspective and we can wear any colored glasses we choose, despite what we face.

But before I say more, please let me claim that I am not one who believes in bopping around the world like a Polly Pocket cartoon, wearing rose colored glasses with a sunshine following you around the whole time.

Life is difficult, painful, uncertain, confusing, overwhelming and full.

Much of that is a choice. Some of it isn’t.

The daily shenanigans are always a choice. The heart-gutters aren’t.

The point I want to make within all these thoughts are that Saturday’s doctor visit was the lesson/reminder I needed that Friday’s funk was a choice.

Though I sincerely believe that we are all worthy of shitty days, falling apart days and ugly days, let’s not waste too many of them on days like my Friday.

Because, you see, my Saturday made my Friday look full of potential and beauty I wasted. All because of perspective. All because of choice.

Because, as clichéd as it sounds, we can notice and focus on what is good in our life or what we feel isn’t.

It’s like that old country song Standing Knee Deep in a River & Dying of Thirst.

How many of us live lives where the river flows brilliantly and powerfully and yet we feel dehydrated and parched?

Every day people lose someone they love with every filament of their existence. That is pain.

Every day people lose jobs, struggle to feed their families, crash their car, get diagnosed with cancer, find a spouse cheating on them, watch their world and home melt to nothingness…

THESE are the days that you can crush your rose colored glasses.

Even though I come from the camp that believes all those harrowing things are for a reason – that every single thing happens for a reason, you have every reason to shove those glasses up your ass.

THESE are the days you can feel the funk, – the weeks, the months, even the years, frightenly full of all that pain and uncertainty and sadness.

But let us not waste (too many of) the days where we are simply hung up on how we think things should be, rather than embracing what is and working with it. Moving, stepping, acting in alignment with what is and what you wish to be.

Of course we can be unsatisfied with things, but in those moments we must become warriors who garner the strength of choice and choose things that move us in the direction of new territory.

This is why I am committed to being real here. This is why I share my struggles far more than my beauty. Because the internet casts a filter over life and often that filter makes everything and everyone seem far more glorious than things really are. I share them for this reason, and because I have found our lives and our struggles are far more similar than they are different.

And so is our beauty.

Our lives are filled with such tremendous beauty. The fact that we are breathing, feeling and moving through our days with autonomy and choice is freaking marvelous.

Our spirit nudges us continually, and in a day where I faced what was a relatively scary but overall harmless incident I was reminded of the core of what I believe.

That this life matters. So much. That life can and does turn on a dime and when you are faced with a day spread out before you, with that marvelous choice and autonomy, do not waste it lost on what is not, but remain alive on what is.

xx,

falan sig

 

 

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This Sacred Day :: Simple Ways to Celebrate It

pinksky

I’m no astrology buff at all; however, I do live by the moon and the seasonal wheel of the year.

Today marks quite a sacred day with the alignment of a few lunar/seasonal touches.

nightmoon

Spring Equinox (or Fall Equinox in the Southern Hemisphere)

Super New Moon

Solar Eclipse

daffodils

I thought I’d share a very simple run down of these happenings today and a few ideas on how to whip up a bit of your own sacredness alongside of this universal magic.

daymoon

The Spring Equinox is commonly known as the first day of Spring. It is also known as the Vernal (of Spring) Equinox (equal night), a day of balance when night and day are of equal length. It is a time of rebirth, fertility, new beginnings. It is the season when the light returns, welcoming longer and longer days until they peak at the Summer Solstice.

The New Moon is when the moon passes between the Earth and the Sun. It is also well known as a new beginning we so beautifully welcome approx. every 29 1/2 days.

A Supermoon occurs during a Full or New Moon at the same time the moon is closest to the earth in its orbit. This New moon happens to be a Supermoon.

A Total Solar Eclipse happens during a New Moon when the earth, sun and moon align just so and the moon fully obstructs the sun.

pinkstreak

As you can see, today, March 20th, 2015 is certainly inviting us to celebrate this sacred day alongside her…here are a few ways to do just that.

Balance an egg. An egg is a most beautiful sign of fertility, and because of the earth’s the alignment on this day you can balance an egg on the bottom end during the hour of the equinox. Give it a try.

Have a fire. Fires are simple and primal ways to celebrate the Sacred days of the wheel of the year, as well as each New and Full moon phase.

Let go. As we close out the Winter and welcome in the Spring it is time to release what keeps you in the dark. Create space to ponder and declare what you’d like to let go of. Write it out and burn it in a fire or light it aflame.

Bury your intentions. New Moon’s are new beginnings. Spring is a new beginning. Write your intentions down and bury them in the earth to grow alongside your garden. No garden? Simply plant them in the earth to transform/grow as we move through Spring.

Cut and paste a dreamboard. One of my readers recently left a couple comments with links to some beautiful dreamboards she’s been creating at each Full and New moon. I don’t think anyone is a stranger to the idea of vision boards these days and though these seem similar in appearance I also sense a very feminine, intuitive process supported by the very lunar rhythms women have within. Cut and paste all that calls to you until you’ve created a beautiful page of intentions, attractions and beauty to welcome in this seasonal turn.

tinydancer

Plant some flowers, wash your sheets, wear a flowing skirt, open your windows, make strawberry jam, eat the first dandelions and violets, hydrate yourself fully, take a slow long walk, gift someone a simple Spring surprise, plant seeds indoors, wear flowers in your hair…however you sprinkle in some sacredness into this very auspicious day make it a beauty-full one.

Oodles of Spring excitement,

xx,

falan sig

 

 

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The truth about (my) marriage

kisses

One of my sweet readers shared once that she’d love it if I talked more about my relationship….”I would love to hear more about your relationships. I am inspired by your realistic views on love with a partner and would like to learn more about how you’ve allowed that love to flow.”

I have talked about marriage/love here quite a few of times in this space, here, herehere, here, here and here.

I believe marriage/love relationships should be talked about more. They are, by far, what I have found to be the most challenging relationship we will ever face.

With your lover, love is an absolute choice. You choose over and over and over and over again to keep going, to fight for – not against, to make it through hell and high water, to stab and jab and destroy each others hearts, only to mend and love and heal each others hearts again and again.

I absolutely believe destiny and fate plays a strong role in love, but choice is always there too.

Marriage is a bloody battle where the victory is making it, getting by, surviving and then falling hard in love again, thriving and reaching new territories where things become so good you think you have it all figured out.

And then, boom, you’re at it again, fumbling for your sword because your stubborn ass refuses to surrender and simply support and embrace the others side without fighting for yours.

And then, sometimes, after years, you learn to surrender, to simply lay down your weapon and walk over the boundary to their side, to stand in their corner, fight on their team, show up as the best friend you are.

When Josh and I met, we were young and full of passion, opinion and stubbornness.

We married six months after we met, but if I recall correctly it wasn’t even a month before our first fight.

Just a few months into our relationship I recall chasing him (in my car) down a highway, while he ran from me on foot. Later, he would repeat this escape, but I would simply drive off and leave him to walk home. Once that walk was well over ten miles – maybe 15. I quit chasing and eventually he quit doing this.

So many people speak of a honeymoon phase of a relationship. I say, “what the hell is that?”

Almost fourteen years later we are still full of passion, opinion and stubbornness. We’ve just learned to navigate it much better.

When we were young we’d go from a playful laugh in the rain to a dagger in the heart battle, as we learned to understand who we were and what we were together.

Over the years we have simmered down tremendously. What used to be fights really often – so often they almost felt like the same one with little breaks in between, have now become rare fights that we get over really fast.

Oftentimes what would now become a fight instead becomes us kissing passionately and cursing playfully in a whisper to each other.

Over the years I have gone from wanting to run him over with a truck to simply wanting to hit him with one. I don’t know what visual of inflicting pain he has for me, but I am confident it has lessened in its goriness over the years too.

Over the years, looking back, I can witness phases…the beginning – not a honeymoon for us; rather a navigation of our beginning love, the beginning of parenthood and finding our way as a family, then the appearance of pain, resentment and learning real forgiveness, then the phase we are in now; just living life as a team with a tremendous amount of story shared between us.

A team of two united in the deepest love I’ve ever know between two people.

lapnap

“When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity – in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits – islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.”  -Anne Morrow Lindbergh

In marriage, there is a shit-ton of compromise. There is no way around that. Having met, loved and married young and then choosing to take on parenthood soon after, has meant we never really had time to discover ourselves before learning ourselves alongside each other.

Having someone alongside that discovery makes it hard, of course, but also allows you to discover parts of yourself that would never be revealed without that love, that fight, that support, that story, that journey.

Marriage, for us, means sharing our home and lives with three children, a dog, two cats and chickens. That is a lot of needs to be met, a lot of different moods and phases and struggles and passions and such. No decision is made solely. Nothing is done with only you in mind. This is what I meant when I made a comment a few posts back about how easy it must be for those who live without partners or children.

I don’t know that life because my life is full of people and love and responsibility and dreams and a deep desire to meet the needs of us all.

I don’t know that life because it isn’t a story I want, nor the story I was meant to have.

I don’t know that life because motherhood and marriage are the badges I wear the proudest, the badges I fight harder for than anything ever in my life.

I think this discovery side by side has both helped us and hurt us.

When you share years and lives with another you can’t help but to go through a lot.

We have had two miscarriages. One taking place on our bed, while the other two kids read and played quietly in the other room. The second taking place on our bed, with a toddler sleeping next to us. He has caught our child on our bedroom floor, when the homebirth doctor wasn’t called soon enough. He has encapsulated my placenta and fed me dozens of the pills with endless cups of tea to me in postpartum days. He has taken care of me when I was sick last year and I have nursed and caretaked him through temporary blindness, and through an extended poison ivy reaction so severe it appeared he gained 100 lbs overnight.

We have made it through years of choosing values over easy, living our lives many times out of the bounds of what is considered normal.

We have never had a night alone together in nearly 13 years.

Over the years we have become less opinion and more heart. Less stubbornness and more forgiveness.

hands

“Love in its fullest form is a series of deaths and rebirths. We let go of one phase, one aspect of love, and enter another. Passion dies and is brought back. Pain is chased away and surfaces another time. To love means to embrace and at the same time to withstand many endings, and many beginnings – all in the same relationship.”

All of marriage is birth and death over and over again.

Sex is often the same too. Sex is highly influenced by SO many things. Past stories, insecurities and uncertainties, fertility, infertility, passion, lack of passion, parenthood, motherhood, fatherhood, space and time, willingness, bitterness, resentments, body image, pain, pleasure.

It walks the line of every human emotion and fantasy.

It is the most vulnerable act of love and an act that is truly spiritual and sacred when made in love. Making love. A true sacred act.

In marriage you are always entering new incarnations.

Marriage is two people, coming together with a whole lot of baggage from childhood, and/or adulthood, falling hard in love and trying to find their rhythm alongside of each other, losing hard in like but never love, all without losing ourselves; yet, losing yourself is all that you can do to reach the depths of togetherness that love is.

You WILL lost parts of yourself. You will with marriage (and with motherhood). It’s not possible to remain the same when this depth of love enters your life.

BUT you will gain so much. I sincerely believe marriage (and motherhood) to be a spiritual path. You finding your way, with the influence of others at every step is overwhelming, awakening and sacred.

When you can stand bare naked before another human being and know he sees you far more beautiful than you’ve ever seen yourself, when you can bleed on his hands, when you can shed tears that could drown him, when you can reveal the ugliest, darkest, most painful parts of yourself and he still wakes to another day, in bed beside you, with arms open wide and a hug to soothe your pain you know you have love.

You have love.

This thing, this evasive yet overwhelming thing, called love is gold. It is magic.

If you find someone who you can give yourself to in this way and receive them in this way, this is love.

Love is not a happily every after.

Love is the words my husband wrote to me today:

“People who never give up get to hold hands together and look at each other with all the understanding in the world.”

This is the happily ever after. The never giving up when you have this love.

All this being said, I know all marriages aren’t meant to last.  Who is to say that a soul-contract isn’t limited. We never know. I say this for my marriage and for those who see themselves in my words.

I say all this without ever facing infidelity, a death of a parent, a death of a child, a debilitating disease, cancer, or anything else that would put our life, our being, our heart at the greatest of tests.

I say all this from experience of a love that is as real as love can be when we are walking in this world of two legged humans.

I say all this as a small taste of all I think and feel about love and marriage. It’s so much more than words could convey in the space of a half dozen blog posts.

So, in response to the inspiration to write this post…How have I let that love flow?

I show up but also give myself permission to hide. I fight and I surrender. I stand strong and I fall weak. I keep going. I don’t give up, I don’t throw in the towel, I don’t call it quits. I wait for that birth that I know, after years of experience, is inevitably going to return. I step into that place that can witness his overwhelming love for me, so that I may find my love for him. I trust and I lose faith. I practice over and over an acceptance of this messy life. I stand in how good we have it and know that letting the love flow only makes it better.

I also remember that nearly every time I don’t feel love is because I have stopped the flow in my own perceived unworthiness or in an attempt to close off from it as protection.

How do I let love flow? I ultimately choose it, simply because I know it is there and that I’ll feel it once I choose it.

{{ thank you, sweet reader, for inspiring me to share these words. }}

With love,

falan sig

 

 

 

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Shrinking Shame :: Luna Letter Invite :: Moon Cycle Calendar Giveaway :: Beet Chocolate Cake Recipe ::

This is quite the unusual blog post, covering bits of a lot of ground.

This is what I have for you after my few fallow weeks. : )

snow

Before Winter closed her gateway, I truly felt I needed to be fully present with her. To tend to personal yearnings of my own. In this way, I knew that with Spring’s arrival I would feel like the powered colored violets seeking the sunshine again.

The weather seemed to align with my intentions as she brought snow and much downtime and canceled plans.

I spent these past few weeks doing all I planned and more.

I spent a lot of time tending our hearth, decluttering dozens of bags of stuff and organizing.

nesting shelves

I spent a lot of time in the kitchen making recipes. Trying out and tweaking oodles of clipped and written ones I had saved for far too long.

I spent a lot of time feeling rather lazy and teetered between great inspiration and quiet dullness.

All of this brought me so much creative and nourishing fulfillment.

shame'

This time also brought up something else for me.

It came as I brushed my teeth and coconut oiled my face for bed. It was something that had been stepping lightly around the perimeter of my heart for quite a long time and then, whoosh, it landed strong in the softest spot that night. I hurried to my journal and trusted the words that came.

I was done with shame.

It’s not a snap-of-the-fingers-resolution guaranteed to dissolve it away (darn!), but a sincere and real commitment to begin the work of letting any clouds that cast over my worth fade.

Just days later came a quivering lip confession that was waiting to be spoken so it could shift.

I find the act of being a woman simply stunning when we follow the truth of ourselves. When we take what is inside of us and trust it with such sincerity, allowing it to lead us around the corner of the spiral and cyclical passage that we all move through.

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lunaletters2

Luna Letters

Pregnant with this idea for months I am birthing them today.

The first one will be mailed out on the new moon Solstice. March 20th.

I hope you’ll join me. Click here to learn more.

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chocolate cake

Beet Chocolate Cake Recipe

Recipes are not something I have ever shared here. But I spent so much recent time creating in the kitchen it feels fitting to share one with you.

I made this cake this week for no other reason than the sun was shining, which felt well worth celebrating.

This is not an uber healthy recipe and, really, my days of uber healthy have faded into a past version of me.

Healthy has become a bit more of something that encompasses joy too. And being that this cake has beets and chocolate in it – well, that is joy. And a wee bit healthy too.

The kids and I enjoyed this in the late afternoon sunshine.

It would make a delightful cake for gathering with your lady friends.

*Obviously organic ingredients, raw cacao powder and backyard chicken eggs are the way to go, but whatever you use LOVE is the key ingredient.*

1 Cup Pureed Beets 
1 Cup Applesauce
1 Cup Sugar
2 Eggs

1 1/2 Cup Unbleached Flour
1/2 Cup Cocoa Powder
2 teaspoons Baking Soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

LOVE

Begin with love.

Mix the wet ingredients with the sugar.

Mix the dry ingredients.

Mix the wet with the dry.

Add more love.

Pour into two greased pie pans and bake at 350 degrees for about 20 – 25 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.

While the cake cools make the icing ::

1/2 Cup room temperature butter
4 Cups Confectioners Sugar
6 Tablespoons Milk
1 Teaspoon vanilla
3 Tablespoons cocoa powder
Love

Mix thoroughly.

Cool cake completely before smearing the icing between, and on top of, the two layers.

Adorn with coconut and dried rose petals. Or whatever you fancy.

Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy.

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moon calendarMoon Cycle Calendar Giveaway

A lovely Australian woman, Shekhinah Morgan over at Moon Diary, recently sent me a couple of her wise creations.

A delightful Moon Diary planner and a Moon Cycle Calendar.

I simply believe all lunar tools to be so so wonderful and helpful in fostering our connection with the moon.

Of course, simply standing in her presence and watching her each night is absolutely enough (and most important), but these beautiful indoor tools certainly help keep us connected in our busy lives.

She sent me a second Moon Cycle Calendar (as pictured above) and I’d love to send it to one of you.

It’s a beautiful chart that will encourage you to stay present with the lunar rhythms, as well as to chart your menstrual cycle alongside the moon.

Please leave any ole comment below and consider yourself in the drawing. I’ll pull a name next week and contact you if it’s you : )

UPDATE: Thank you all for entering. The winner was chosen (Annalisa)! Wish I could send you all one. xx

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Okay, that was a LOT.

If you made it to the bottom I consider you a true friend and I would certainly have you over to eat cake and talk lunar rhythms. Thank you for being here.

xoxo,

falan sig

 

 

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going fallow

fog

The passing Imbolc, over a week ago, recognized our midway point between Winter and Spring.

The lack of cut off denims and sun-kissed thighs and family hikes will be coming to a close before we know it.

Restlessness naturally comes around as we reach this point in the seasonal wheel.

I’ve been thinking lately, when reflecting on my recent words and the discomfort of feeling so exposed in who I am, that I need a recharge.

I, all the sudden, understood that with my Winter months leading the LafanLuna Ladies Circle, I hadn’t taken the critical withdrawal from the online world that I usually do at this time. I’ve also realized that the act of descending is much harder when you are leading.

It seems Winter, the very month that calls us into our own hibernation, can quickly become a masculine, task-oriented time in order to soothe and glaze over the inner callings of ourselves.

I am shutting down for the next nearly two weeks (or so) to both recharge and to finish out the last of the Winter weeks internal work of clarifying and bringing forth what’s next in my life.

I’ll be tending to my Luna Letters heart-stormed idea, so that I’ll be ready to mail the first one with the Spring Equinox new moon, making space to welcome in my next circle idea, and recalibrating myself to the clarity of this growing tribe of women and my ever certain commitment to family first.

I’ll be chopping root veggies and drinking oodles of hot cocoa to lovingly embrace the remainder of this seasons nourishment (because gosh am I ready for Spring greens).

I’ll be reading my half dozen stack of books…including the profound words of Nayyirah Waheed, inspiring erotica and the always resonating words of Tami Lynn Kent.

I’ll be decluttering, cleaning and ridding the sweet little simplicity heart of mine away.

I’ll be creating up some homeschool goodness with the kids.

I’ll be tending to my body, as it feels rather deprived in the less active days of Winter. Hello stretching, coconut oil, getting dressed each morning (what a brilliant idea!), painting my toenails red, braids in my hair, sticking my feet in the clay and imagining it’s the soft ocean sand, making love, meandering the mini trails of my backyard, making kitchen magic and nourishing the family with goodness and indulgences.

I’ll be journaling and making space to process the very space I’m offering myself.

I’ll be breaking from the universal sized internet world, remembering that email is never a priority and that true nourishment comes when we are honest with ourselves about what is needed and then give it to ourselves.

Mostly, I’ll be tending to my root. Going fallow to restore my own fertility.

I encourage you to carve out space (even a day) during these last weeks of Winter to fill your well.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading.

With love,

falan sig

 

 

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Embarrassing thoughts, stories and layers of my root.

pc

Sometimes I feel rather embarrassed to admit I fantasize about how nice it’d be if life was tidy.

Sometimes I feel very embarrassed to admit that sometimes I ponder how simple the lives of singles must be. The lives of those without partners and/or children.

How uncluttered and uncomplicated and tidy it must be. How easy it must be to meet your own needs. How easy it must be to meet your dreams.

But I know this is all bullshit. Just a story I tell myself and a story I would never want.

The truth is we all have what we have because it is what we called in, what we asked for in some way, what we need, what we want, what we need to live and breathe and move through.

The truth is my path is everything I want.

The truth is my path is my path, and no path remains tidy.

It was one year ago, this week, that I fell ill and spent three months grieving identified and unidentified grief, and opening my heart to the newest of depths.

Playfulness, a familiar player in how I express myself, has become a magician who keeps appearing and then disappearing as I step into what feels like a new me in so many ways.

This past weekend a few situations (all the same really, just repeats) came about, and I reacted (fleetingly, thankfully) in a way that I haven’t in a long time. I responded like the old, closed off, controlling gal in me would.

I remembered with such freshness how that used to be me and how far I had come.

I came across the words “limited expression” recently and I keep rolling them around in my mind like marbles, wondering how to fully journey into the part of me that is asking to express myself more, in very new territory.

The other night, as the house slept, I shuffled my tarot cards and mulled over the lingering hurt of a long fed pain and out fell judgment before I had a chance to choose.

Rebirth. Forgiveness. Awakening.

I know I am closing the door of a very old story, but for some reason my foot is still wedged there, holding it open because I am comforted in some fucked up way (why are we so hard on ourselves?) by the old story…and even though what lives beyond that door is more beautiful and liberating than anything I’ve lived, it isn’t familiar.

Or perhaps it is familiar. Just to the parts of me that know only truth.

But so many of us live our lives through lies and habits and familiarities and comforts.

I keep sitting with the stories I tell myself. About how things are.

And for some reason I keep noticing that they are just stories. Stories. Not truth. Not non-fiction in any sense but the sense of my heart. They are my stories even if the characters in each story would write it a completely different way.

My intact place would write it differently too.

The full moon brought me my next step. Telling the stories I hold in my womb. Asking for guidance in the new stories of myself.

But, but, but…no matter how much I want to, am called to, it never feels the time has come to fully work in the next layer of my root.

It asks of a courage I haven’t yet met.

This has been my uphill climb for a long time now, and for some reason I know I am nearing the top ready to trek the edgiest parts.

Ready to take my foot from the door and move into the next room.

Sincere warmth,

falan sig

 

 

Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
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