in these moments. curveballs. dreams. trust. moonstruck.

photo 3

With three kids, I’ve often heard the saying that children are like sponges. Absorbing everything around them.

Like sponges. Dry until wet with what life exposes them to.

It’s funny to me that we say this as if it only applies to children.

Yes, I agree. Their brain is changing like the tides and swelling with more and more liquid knowledge and experiences each day.

But I’m pretty certain I’m a sponge too.

Always absorbing. Soaking in. Squeezing out. Drying out. Drowning. Moistening. Wiping. Wearing out. Ripping.

Life has thrown our family a fair share of curveballs lately. Honestly, if I list out (and I do love lists of all kinds) all the adjustments and expansions and contractions of our life over the last year it’s rather startling.

The two that got this ‘new year’ rolling, back in August a year ago, were buying our home and my youngest daughter weaning – marking a new town, new land, new energy and the closing of over a dozen years of pregnancy and breastfeeding combined.

I find these transitions highly spiritual shifts in the life of a woman. A person. A family.

This past month has uprooted our recent and familiar routine with a combo of ‘what the fuck’ and ‘wow, life is good’.

It’s felt like a mix of a big mean joke and a genie blowing our wishes to life.

Yesterday, I found myself in a true moment of grace when I felt the exhaustion of this past month suck the marrow from my bones.

The exhaustion of holding space for dreams and holding space for disappointment.

The beautiful thing is that I’m sponging it up, wet with the weight of a lot of mental focus, while wiping away the not so sexy stuff so I can see the shining dream below it all.

Stress keeps trying to pour itself a cup, but we are mostly just dumping it out and brewing what we enjoy (with a couple primal screams on the side).

Because it’s life and in the scheme of life it’s little.

Sometimes we must pour grace on that which we wish to wallow in. We must handle things with as much finesse as we can rally, without complaining or floundering in feelings of unjust or bitterness or unfairness. Because not one of those curveballs has come as death or cancer or incurable illness. Nor divorce or homelessness or car accidents.

Nor at all from the things that strip you of your skin and make you bleed mourning.

Nope, just random turns in the path and fallen trees slowing your pace and complicating your plan.

Things that make you sigh, things that make your belly turn a bit, things that make the rotting rage come undone and make home in the forest floor to grow you into something more beautiful. More stable and strong. More malleable and flexible.

It’s awkward to admit that many of us often hope life will lay itself down in a clear cut line and let us walk it smoothly if we plan it first.

But, rather, life is a spiraling mix of pain and beauty – no different than the daily dance of this earth we walk on.

photo 2

I’ve felt unmoving in my writing lately.

But, now, today, I feel words could squeeze from my skin like a sponge that never dries.

I’ve had fantasies to give it all up and delete the words I’ve shared here. Not being sure I’d find myself in them anymore.

But today I wish to keep going.

I’ve stayed quiet, wondering if words are mine to speak beyond the inky and lined pages of my privacy.

But today I know they are.

I’ve kept running my hand around the rim, afraid to reach in and feel how deep the hole has gotten from not filling it with my words.

But today I’ve filled some of the hole.

Maybe I’m unmoving because I know I have stories to tell and I’m afraid to tell them.

But they want to be told.


Lately our life has been changing, fast. Because he’s changed his mind.

“Change your mind to change your life.”

Who said that?

It’s so true.

We all need to change our mind about something.

I wonder if I can change my mind to believe that I can write and mother. Both. Fully.

photo 1

The tasks of home and life swallow my days sometimes. Oftentimes.

Stuff feels like an insult to my soul and I can’t get rid of enough things.

Stripping, shedding, exposing and eliminating.

Wondering if I can free myself of the outdated, used up and out grown parts and bits of the self and life, like wet herbs left behind in the strainer. Letting the infused rich collect in the jar that holds. An elixir of all that nourishes and matters. Taking away what is no longer me or mine and composting it into the layers of life I call and claim as mine, to decompose and then nourish the next phase of life.

Marriage has felt smooth like grassfed butter, rich with sustenance after a spell of struggle. Even with the curveballs of knives stealing thick pats of that butter we are still tasting rich and spreading thick.

I’ve been moonstruck on magic lately. Signs and serendipity and synchronicities are spooning my parched mouth with honey. There is certainty that life is unfolding in no other way than it is meant to, so magically it feels like you’re making love to the world.

I’ve been staying open and watching for all the ways to give, bring joy and show gratitude to those around me. Homemade soup and cookies to a healing neighbor. Flowers and homemade caramel corn to a sister-in-law who is there when you need her, treats to the sheriff who helped as a middleman, a homemade creation to friends who offered kindness, handwritten letters to friends in deep grief…it feels so good to source someone a smile. And reminds me how big and beautiful and connected this world is.

I’ve came up close and personal with trust, staring it down the long and curvy path only to watch it straighten right before my eyes.

Trust – the proof is there when we believe.

I feel, like always, really full and empty. But mostly I feel grateful.

Life is good. Life is a curveball.  Life is magic.



falan sig



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My real struggle with the internet.

Crap, I had done it. I was laying in bed about a month ago, my husband at my side, both of us staring into the vast interwebs through these little screens called iPhones.

No, no, no. Not me. I had plans to be immune to this. I wasn’t dare, ever, going to the be the one who chose the touch of my phone over the touch of my family, the screen over snuggles, the words and life of others over the flesh and breath of my own words and life.

I was, indeed, certain I would be free of this internet addiction.

I, who have taken day long, week long and month long hibernations from the internet.

I, who have no pings and dings on my phone.

I, who seemed to be the very last one to say yes to a smartphone and quite frankly resisted it like crazy.

I, who often seriously considers going back to a life without a smartphone.

I, who am young, but old enough to remember when the internet became something and when the internet was nothing.

Tears pooled in the circumfrance of my eyes. He asked me if I was sad because our littlest had just lost her first tooth. That made me feel sadder.

Gawd, I can’t spoon up enough words to express how grateful I feel that my kids were all born before I had a smartphone. That I got to hold them and nurse them and follow them and play with them and love them with nothing more than a good ole’ home phone to ring and a bulky cell phone free of the internet and texting.

It’s a gratitude that ranks right up there with select and political decisions I made in mothering. Something that settles in deep, like thank you that I didn’t fuck that one up.

Though I am human and weak in ways I wish I wasn’t, I still thought I wouldn’t find myself here.

You see, one of my most read articles tells women to not do just what I found myself doing on this night.

I’ve talked about the importance of being smart with our smartphones right here on my blog.

I wonder then, how the hell did I find myself here when I was so vehemently against it.

When I was the one who wouldn’t bring my phone into my bedroom.

When the thought or action of anyone choosing their phone over people makes my boundary blood boil.

When the only social media I partake in is Instagram and even then I am currently following no one and post pictures rather sparingly.

The truth is, like so many have said, the internet is a tool. An incredible tool that let’s me write messages in this space and have women all across the world read them.

My iPhone lets me send pictures to my parents in a jiffy, find directions to a new destination in a snap and text my Honey love notes when the fancy strikes.

The internet holds any answer or point I wish to believe and holds words that resonate and remind us of how little we are alone.

It’s the tool that lets lovers share faces when oceans lie between them.

That lets those newly diagnosed with life altering and body altering changes find those who have walked their path.

That lets those who are living their darkest days find light in the similar understanding of an absolute stranger.



The internet often leaves me with this barren feeling, one in which I just abandoned my own life for a bit to look into someone else’s.

Or, worse, one in which it sucks dry my time doing menial but must-get-done tasks.

Sometimes I feel a wee bit guilty for resenting and being so confused and weighted by something that serves me so much.

It also feels woven in the confusion and struggle I feel between expressing myself with my words and mothering as deeply as I always have.

This is why most of my words are kept scribbled in the pages of paper from trees.

Sometimes I feel I can’t have both. Mothering and writing.

Full presence of my life and the internet.

I know that this is seen this way in the limits of my mind.

But also not.

It is felt in the limitless way of my heart that never fails me when I ask what really matters.

In a world where so few of us feel like we have the support we need. Where communities and villages of motherhood and friendship and family and womanhood and handwritten letters are fading into Facebook groups and social media comments and emails and texts, we can feel we have no choice but to partake in the direction the world seems to be moving in.

But sometimes it doesn’t feel like we are moving that way as much as we are following that way. Or being pulled.

And sometimes that way feels so unhealthy when following usually leaves us feeling empty and envious and not enough.

It seems that sometimes everything important seems to get hushed under the things that call us into their corner.

Our culture is so good at numbing out and the internet provides us with the ability to fog our night away, the start of our day away, our afternoon away.

Tuning out, zoning out, decompressing, I think, is healthy. We must tune down the vibration of the world so we can hum our own tune.

But zoning out to the tune of others often makes us try to hum their tune.

Sometimes it can help us hear our own tune through inspiration, but often it’s just noise drowning out the truth that comes alive in the quiet of ourselves.

The quiet we’ve grown very uncomfortable with.

This very painful moment in bed where I found myself numblessley and mindlessly looking at the most random of things, reading the most random of words…when I could have been doing the most meaningful of things….

like writing or lovemaking or dream talking or watching the way my kids sleep…

It hurt. It caused a shell of pain to cradle my heart and I knew I had stepped into territory that wasn’t mine.

The truth is, I feel happiest when I use the internet the least.

Call me sensitive, tell me I could create a better reality with the online world…it’d be true, but still…

Y’all, if anything beats the rhythm of my heart, it’s that I know that this time is limited. So very precious and limited.

What we know to be true in our lives as you read these words and as I type them can change before you finish this sentence.

Let’s be fucking done.

Wasting our lives.

Carefully curating little squares and blurbs to capture our best and scrolling through the filtered best of everyone else.

Realize, people, that what you see online is a piece of someone’s life. A piece. A fraction.

They cry and shit and feel shame and loneliness and argue and laugh until they nearly pee and make love and feel moved by the smallest act of beauty.

Use the internet to give of yourself and let people see the peeks of you that are soft and vulnerable too.

Use the internet to find pieces of yourself and connect with others who hum a similar tune.

Use the internet to pay bills and send emails, to garner news that matters to you and to find the details of the things you wish to know.

Use the internet.

But remember…

Something will always spend your hours.

Be intentional.

What does matter to you?

What really really fucking matters to you?

The only way for this life to be well lived is to put those things first.

Life can be stolen in a glimpse of cancer and car accidents, aneurysms and heart attacks, trip-ups and tumors, depression and disease.

Make what matters to you happen, then weave in the bits that need to happen to make the day function.

Summon all your mindfulness to curb the minutes and hours that get stolen in the always-more world of online.

Let life be the messy ass mess that it is…stop looking for answers and certainty online… instead pour as much meaning and magic as you can into the flesh of life to plug up the time sucking drain that is the overuse of the internet.

This life is what we have for certain. But how long this life is is uncertain.

Take care of the matters of your spirit.

With love,

falan sig




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updated sharings


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.


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.


Oh, breasts. Extending from the heart.

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

Swelling and softening, filling and emptying.


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


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


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.


falan sig



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This Sacred Day :: Simple Ways to Celebrate It


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.


Spring Equinox (or Fall Equinox in the Southern Hemisphere)

Super New Moon

Solar Eclipse


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.


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.


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.


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,


falan sig



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The truth about (my) marriage


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.


“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.


“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. : )


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.


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.



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.


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


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

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.


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


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.


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.
* = required field