During a recent discussion, about which I can’t fully remember as the topic isn’t the important factor, I suddenly felt triggered and went into shut down.

While it might seem the subject of discussion should be most important, what was of greatest importance to me were these moments of awareness ::

• my ability to sense being triggered
• my awareness to shutting down
• my curiosity as to why this was happening
• my courage to face and explore the why
• my vulnerability to go back into discussion and share my inner discovery

This felt significant and powerful because it reflected decades of inner work. It also reminded me that our inner work is never fully complete. There is always more. The next layer ready to be excavated, another thread ready to be explored. Within such moments lies ripe opportunities for healing, growth, and greater self awareness.
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I allowed my curiosity to take me into deep contemplation. In the inquiry of what I was truly feeling, the image of the dunce surfaced. You know, the child in primary classroom sent to the corner. A pointed dunce cap placed upon her head for everyone to see. For everyone to make fun of. Sitting there on display feeling shame, small, and stupid.

Yes, that image.

With this image and these feelings of shame, smallness, and stupidity, as uncomfortable as it was, I went deeper. Recalling moments in my life which now created the triggers and were the source of sharp wounding. Exploring these moments in this way brought clarity. Witnessing them at this time was like a healing balm.

This post could go in so many directions and I have a suspicion there will be more offerings around this time capsule. But, for today, I want to share where one direction of the thread took me…the dunce cap.

My curiosity of the dunce cap led me to do some research. The word Dunce originates from John Duns Scotus, Duns the Scot a priest, friar, theologian, and philosopher. During the late 1200’s he was widely respected, held in high esteem, and was regarded as brilliant thinker. He explored ideas that stretched beyond conventional understanding.

Originally, Dunce was associated with intelligence, curiosity, greater perspective, and new ways of thinking. The Protestant Reformation of the 16th century completely flipped that meaning to what we now recognize as…one considered to be unintelligent, stupid, foolish.

Here is where the thread comes in.

Along with the image of being shamed in the corner of a classroom with a dunce cap on my head, there was the image of being shamed in society with a witch’s hat on my head. Memories rose of moments in my life when I was referred to, in the most unfavorably of ways, as a witch.

The word Witch has undergone a similar distortion. Like Dunce, its meaning flipped. Witch, once referred to a woman who was a healer in her community, connected to the natural world, and divine wisdom. She became feared, disgraced, and condemned. This distortion did more than alter a definition; it brought about centuries of persecution, injustice, murder, horrific abuse, and unimaginable suffering.

Again, I could go in so many directions with this post, but I want to stay with this thread. There will be more reflects to come with The Witch and The Writer Series.

I fully believe that if we do not come to know truths behind the distortions of history/herstory, our stories, we will repeat them. We will miss opportunity to immerse ourselves into the fullness of living. We will miss the ability to denounce unwarranted shame. We will miss the potency of collective healing. And in so doing, we risk repeating horrors of humanity.

Both the dunce and witch’s hat are conical in shape. Their point rises upward toward heaven, opening and widening as it reaches the crown of the head. This image, to me, infers something entirely different than shame and stupidity. It is a conduit for the stream of divine light, insight, and wisdom. All being channeled into the crown of the one referred to as the Dunce or Witch. 

I am so grateful for the work I have done. Grateful to have the wherewithal to pause during the triggering moment of that conversation. Grateful to stay steeped in the discomfort long enough to continue to explore. Grateful to receive the empowered truths of my soul. 

From there, what once landed as shame, smallness, and stupidity, I discovered was never that at all. What emerged was quite unexpected…a re.membering.
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Gladly, I will wear the crown of the Dunce and the Witch.

photo credit : Eric Young

The financial crisis of the late 2000s, just a few years after Jeff’s crossing, hit me hard. It compounded my loss and the debt Jeff and I had grew, only now it was all mine. It was during this time that I fully surrendered to intuitive arting.

I created a mixed media piece: 3D flowers, torn book pages, very little color. It was, quite poignantly, made mostly of scraps and leftovers. I searched for it today without success. I’m sure it’s here somewhere…just not sure where. But that doesn’t really matter. Because it’s the words I wrote on it that I actually needed.

“Written between the lines and tucked in the shades of gray, blossoms life.”
~Julia Frehner

It feels more and more like the divides in life are widening. The more we “know,” the more we separate, pick sides, divide, our opinions seem to get stronger, our heels digging in.

men ~ women
feminine ~ masculine
right ~ left
vaccinated ~ unvaccinated
ave ~ have not
Christian ~ other
judgy ~ non-judgy
artificial intelligence ~ natural intelligence
narrow-minded ~ broad-minded
too much ~ not enough
greed ~ altruism
you’re wrong ~ I’m right
rage ~ calm

You get the idea…or not.

And then there’s the strange dance of moving from side to side but only when it suits. Or refusing to move at all, even when something deeper calls. 
Most things aren’t black and white. Were they ever? The shades of gray have always been. Haven't they?

I don’t know.

But I do know this; something is missing and it's in the in-between. The spaces written in the lines of black and white or tucked in the many shades of gray, all within the nuances of living during this magnificent yet precarious time.

It is, as my quote says, between the lines and within the shades, that the magnificence of life blossoms. And yet, it feels like many of us can no longer see it. Did we ever? Or perhaps we choose not to. Because to truly see the in-between might feel like softening our views or betraying our position. As if acknowledging complexity of the many shades of gray or reading between the lines, somehow weakens truth. Truth. What is truth?

As if justice and truth can only exist on one side. Is it possible there is a third side?
And yet… somewhere in that in-between space, something essential is waiting. And, what if that something could bridge the divide? Held greater truth?

While I can’t quite name it, I can feel it.

With that feel, I’ve also felt out of place, like a non-belonger.

What I can’t do is force myself to see only one side or the other. Most of the time I don't know enough to even be on one side or the other. Maybe that's why I seek the in-between.

For acquaintances in my life, I get it, their need to be one side or the other. For those I love, clients, and myself, it’s different...I now encourage the non-belonging.

Today, in the middle of a conversation this came up for me, and the non-belonger rose, and that’s when my quote clearly spoke, again...all these years later. I spent hours searching for the art piece, until I finally caught myself. Ugh, Julia…it’s simply the words and I gratefully remembered them.

The offering of its medicine began the moment I began creating it. I didn’t know back then what I know now about art being its own entity and medicine carrier. I did, however, have the wherewithal to know it needed to hang on the wall where I could engage with it often.

One day, my father-in-law came by. While I loved that man, he played a significant role in deepening my financial hardship. On that particular visit, he paused in front of my little art piece, studied it, and said, “That is really depressing.”

His words took me by surprise, landing uncomfortably and painfully in my heart.
In an instant, I abandoned my own knowing. I believed him. Surely he was right and I was wrong. This art piece was depressing, not serving me at all. I reached up to take it off the wall, so to throw it away. And then, quite audibly, the piece spoke her words, “Written between the lines and tucked in the shades of gray, blossoms life.”

What a gift it is to see the in-between. To see both sides. To honor what doesn’t belong neatly to one side or the other, because it is living in the space written between the lines and tucked in the shades of gray.

I am authentically grateful to recognize this space for what it is. It is not nothing. It is not empty space. It is a space vibrating with aliveness. Ever blossoming with magnificent life.

My companion’s artwork ever enthralls me. He has a natural eye for composition, a tender ability to meet the subject, and great skill in bringing forth a story. When he showed me this image my response was, “Wow, what tenacity.” 

Over the next couple of days, going back and drinking in the image, I realized it wasn’t just the tenacity of the little flower but also the tenacity of the large rock. Doing what I typically do, I explored the word tenacity. I knew it meant persistent, ah but after a little spelunking, tenacity did totally fit both flower and rock.

Tenacity is the quality or facet of being able to grip something firmly. Tenacious is tending to, adhere or cling especially to another substance; not easily pulled apart; enduring especially when challenged; aggressively persistent in maintaining or adhering to or seeking something valued or desired. The etymology of the word is from the Latin tenacious, “an act of holding fast,” from tenax, “holding fast, gripping, clingy; firm, steadfast,” and from tenure, “to hold”. (Etymonline).

I can only image how both, last season’s little seed and ancient lava rock, must have felt as the natural forces of creation blew that tiny seed into rock’s crevice. Both surrendering, not white flag surrender, but a surrendering none the less. Seed settling into the safety of rock.

For months anima of seed rested within the animus of rock. Together, with the elements, they were in co creation. There was an appropriate amount of rain captured within this southwest desert. Even in the chilled desert floor of winter and early spring, Sun kissed lava rock who was then able to hold and provide the warmth little seed needed.

What tenacity it must have taken for seed to burst open, rise, and softly unfurl. And the tenacity of rock to not see this natural process as an irritant but as a gift to gently hold space.

And now, as flower seed has beautifully bloomed,  I can see how the frequency of colors complement each other. The green leaves and purple flowers highlight the deep redness within the black lava of rock. Seed, now as plant, caresses rock soothing the roughness. Together they are in nature’s perfect harmony.
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I am reminded of the old saying, “Between a rock and a hard place.” May we all be inspired by the tenacious relationship of tiny seed and ancient lava rock.

Saturday Greetings.

The video here was recorded yesterday, February 27th. While Luna is now moving into the Zodiac sign of Leo, she remains in her Waxing Gibbous phase. The info still pertains today.

I gotta say, this YouTube thing is a bit of a stretch for me, more than a bit actually, it's a big stretch for me. With the support I now have, not just technical but personal encouragement as well, I'll be engaging more from this platform. I believe to share words spoken, both with and without video, offers greater emphasis and conveys a richness to the message.

So, yes, this is a new way for me, be it so very vulnerable and 'out there'. Out there not in the woo woo way, tho I can see how one might associate me with that kinda 'woo woo out there', but 'out there' in the 'shining a light' on myself way. As I have deepen my studies and practices. As time (whatever that is ~ time) rolls on I am being strongly nudged, okay, pushed in the most loving kinda way, by my guides to expand the reach, my reach, which is actually their reach.

These are critical times. To re.member our place within the sky and earth mysteries; to re.turn to the Great Mystery, is vital both individually and collectively.

Okay, enough for now. I could go on and on but Luna will move out of her Waxing Gibbous phase and I really want to share this with you, share her with you. Please share your thoughts and offer feedback, as it truly means a lot to me and will assist me as I stretch. 

Today, as the first New Moon of calendar year 2026 prepares to wax from her Darkness, we enter Aquarius Solar Season. To me, a lunation is New Moon to New Moon. The New Moon is akin to a fresh start, a blank canvas, an invitation to get dreamy with what’s possible, a moment to ponder what we truly desire. The apex of any lunation is the Full Moon. While I could (and typically do) go on at length about Luna, her phases, and the Solar seasons, I want to stay with this Dark Moon and her movement toward the next lunation.

There is a lot of talk about moving into the Year of the Fire Horse, which arrives with the Lunar New Year on the next New Moon in Aquarius occurring on February 17th. The Aquarius New Moon is also a Solar Eclipse and happens to coincides with the beginning of Ramadan and falls on Fat Tuesday.

The point I wish to bring forward is this :: the Year of the Water Snake has not yet fully closed. The messages I continue to receive from Sister Snake are clear; many of us, including myself, aren't finished shedding yet. Water Snake medicine invites us into the realm of feelings and emotions. She asks ~

• Where are you bypassing? Avoiding? Dissociating?
• Where are you slipping back into victimhood?
• Where do you revert to outdated and expired patterns, beliefs, and ways of being?
• What no longer serves, truly, what no longer serves you?

There can be a strong pull toward what is familiar and comfortable, even when it is time to let it go. And the shed, full shed isn't comfortable, especially the last bit. Neither is growth, which is calling us forward with Fire Horse.

We are at a point where Water Snake is not simply going to release us. To do so would be an injustice to us, to her, and to Fire Horse. During this lunation, it is of vital importance to take a real and honest look within ~ where are you now, and what still needs to complete its shedding, especially around emotions, feelings, belief systems, victimhood, and long held patterns?

Fire Horse will still arrive on February 17th and I don't believe we can fully be ignited or fully run with her until the shedding is complete. Fire Horse longs to activate our freedom, and part of that freedom is allowing Love to Lead. Without a clean, conscious shed, we cannot fully burn nor shine at our brightest luminosity.

Work the last shedding away during this lunation. Allow Water Snake to finish her sacred work. What emerges on the other side is not who you were, but who you are becoming ~

• Who do you choose to become?
• What does it look like, feel like to be illuminated, running free, and burning with a passion that lets love lead? 

Calendar year 2026 needs you, your medicine, and your ability to Lead with Love. So please, Shed Sister Shed.

Emotions always rise with every drive into or out of Las Vegas. Grief, sorrow, the deep ache of missing what was…all reveal their aliveness and vibrancy. The city holds so many memories and for me, so much loss. Sometimes on these drives, it feels like a timeline shift happens. I’m certain that if I take the Durango exit off the 215 and head home, I’ll find Jeff there with the kids discussing where we’d go to dinner or planning the next family adventure. Then boom, a snap back to reality, “Oh, right. He crossed over nearly twenty years ago.”

It’s more than just Jeff or raising our kids…it’s the houses I lived in, the neighborhood where I grew up, the gazillion places memories were made, NU Equipment, the water district, outlying adventures…the list goes on. With each familiar place and space I pass, the floodgates of remembrance open and inevitably, sparks of sadness ignite into gentle waves of grief.

This week’s drive was different. I took a new route, not just to my destination, but within myself. It felt like a whisper, an invitation to go deeper in and beyond the sadness. At first I felt like I would be dishonoring the grief, short changing the memories, by-passing the sorrow…then the whisper returned, inviting me to surrender into the depth. 

Taking a calming breath, allowing the pool of tears to be, I surrendered into the invitation. As I did, I found love and joy beneath the sorrow. A more pure authentic joy and love, radiant and alive. I know joy and love but this truly was a whole new level for me.

I began to see, through a renewed lens, that every memory, not just painful or those of intense loss, remain vibrantly alive. All are alive, all hold emotions, and all carry a vibrancy of love and joy. The laughter and tears, the ordinary and extraordinary, the belonging and becoming, all the memories…they all continue to live and vibrate, not just in the spaces and places of Las Vegas but here, within my heart alongside each other.

You’ve probably heard the quote, “Grief only exists where love lived first.” That day, I fully felt into this truth more deeply. I consciously encouraged all the feels to rise…the pain of grief, sorrow, and missing, along with love, joy, and union.

It’s been a few days since that drive, and I’m recognizing that one particular feeling doesn’t have to, nor does it want to outweigh another. None are absent from the whole. I realize now how often I parse out emotions, feelings, memories, and events. This isn’t inherently wrong and sometimes maybe the very right thing to do. They are each their own yet together are beautifully woven into the tapestry of me. 

There it is, as it has always been, the weaving of my life. I simply failed to be with and to see it as a whole, choosing more often to single out memories, moments, and emotions instead of recognizing how together they form the unique tapestry of my life woven by the red threads of love and joy. 

As I was writing this, I kept thinking, I’m over thinking what it is I must do to access this purity of joy. Then, looking up, I caught the dance of several prisms in the kitchen. It was brief, honestly within a moment they were gone. The sunlight fractured through the top of the paper towel holder. I was so grateful to witness and not miss that moment. 
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That fleeting dance of light was a moment in the journey. The vibrancy and aliveness remains, now woven into the all. All the memories, spaces, events, emotions, feels, every drive down familiar places…nothing is separate or lost. All are woven together by the red threads of love and joy, secured with gratitude, creating this unique tapestry of me.

Hanging out with my grandkids has enlightened me on so many levels. Beyond the sweet lessons and pure joy, I’ve also discovered, among three-and-a-half year olds (never leave out the half) to about seven-year-olds, there is a curious obsession with the word butt.

Not actual butts, but the word butt itself. And it seems to follow effortlessly with just about anything, such as

Poopy Butt. Stinky Butt. Farty Butt.

Now, it isn’t necessarily associated with butt anatomy, as there’s Silly Goose Butt, Pinchy Butt, Chicken Nugget Butt, Dum Dum Butt, Goofy Butt...you get the idea. If you’ve been around any kiddo in this age range, you’ve probably heard a “something butt” at one point or another.

So, a few weeks ago, thinking I’d join in and be the cool Gaga that I am, I said, “You know, when Gaga wears her short legs, I have a bubble butt!”

Yes! They burst into laughter and began chanting, “Buuuuubble Buuuuutt!”

Feeling really accomplished, on a roll maybe, I followed with, “and, I butt hike!”

~~~~  crickets  ~~~~
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Great, way to go Gaga. Maybe hiking butt would have landed better. This butt snafu moved us on to a tough butt game of Bluey Bingo.

I brought up butt hiking (or as I call it, bum hiking) not just for laughs, but because I've been missing it. A lot.

Before my accident, I ran several times a week, not only for physical fitness, but for emotional and mental well-being, too. It’s been nearly thirty years and nothing has ever replaced a good run.
 
I’d be remiss if I didn’t recall 2012. With the help of an incredible team, I was able to run again albeit for a moment. They fitted me with running feet, crafted the perfect set of sockets, and trained with me for hours. And then it happened, I ran across the gym. One of the most incredible moments of my life.

Within a few days of that, the microscopic colony which has been living in my body since my accident, rebelled. The intense training woke them up, activating osteomyelitis. Major surgery, loss of more body parts, extended rehab…brought the running dream to an end.

But, prior to the accident, running was healing for me. It was stress relief, meditation, and contemplation. After the first few minutes out the door, my breath, and body found a rhythm with the asphalt, moving harmoniously with Momma Earth, it’s like she met me and supported me with each step. I can still feel that rhythm as I write about it now. Nothing else has come close, except bum hiking.

Spring of ’98, about seven months after the accident, at a picnic in the Valley of Fire, I broke away from my family and wheeled to a stair-step stack of large, gorgeous red rocks. Still so awkward in this unfamiliar life, I figured a way out of the chair and onto the rocks. Warmed by the sun, I basked there a few moments before slowly crawling around and up. It wasn’t long before my concerned husband asked me to not risk injury. I get it. Open wounds still marked what was left of my legs. That was my first and only bum hike… until last year.

Autumn of ’24, after sharing my longing to get out and explore nature, a choice companion took my desire to heart. He researched accessible trails, acquired and repurposed equipment to assist me, he even modified his overland vehicle for my chair, gear, and comfort. Off we went into the wild adventure, open hearted and free spirited.

Bum hiking rocky high desert, I expected little more than the challenge of scooting from one point to another across rough, sharp terrain. Then, rounding a tumble of rock and stone, my companion revealed what the land has silently held for so very long; indigenous pictographs. Seeing this sacred mark making took my breath away. It was a humbling moment. It sparked curiosity, reverence, and deep gratitude. To be that close to ancient communication, to feel into the lingering spirit of the people who made the marks. This was a potent experience I would never have known had I not bum hiked in. 
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Bum hiking along a soft bed of cypress needles in the Redwoods, I found a pausing place among the gentle giants, unknowingly sitting upon a large exposed root. One might think I’d feel small beneath their towering grace, yet they welcomed me. They held me. They saw me. In their quiet strength, I remembered my own strength. I remembered the truth of our oneness.

Bum hiking down a shallow ravine and through soft powdery dust, I arrived near a bank along the Colorado River. Again, the land received me, held me, saw me. I left bum prints beside those of bird, lizard, and coyote. These marks reminded me too of the oneness of such relations. There was the knowing that the wind would eventually blow through, clearing our prints, but not before welcoming my presence and acknowledging my belonging.

Bum hiking various mesas of Island in the Sky. I made my way out to cliffs and edges, where vastness and vistas fall away to what seems to be another dimension. Looking up into the clear blue sky, I saw Luna hanging gorgeously in the daytime sky, as if she chose to be as a watchful protector over me.

That day I was reminded just how out of place it seems for her to be in the day time sky. I too often feel that way, seemingly out of place, such as toddling through an airport on my short legs or bum hiking across remote landscapes.

There was more adventure, each one epic in its own rite. Life changing, actually. Bum hiking, while very different from a good five mile run, offered me something similar from a physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual place. 

And, there was something else, I grew so much closer to Momma Earth. Bum hiking invited me to see her up close and more personal. It’s slower, each movement needing to be more intentional, this created an intimacy with Earth I’d not have known otherwise. These adventures fine tuned my communication with the land and its unseen spirits. While I’ve always been gifted to listen to and speak with land, bum hiking enriched this communication, refining and attuning.

So the question comes up, you’re likely asking it too, “Why don’t I just go out and bum hike?” 

For me, to truly have the experience meant leaning into vulnerability. I was exposed, not just physically but emotionally and mentally too. I needed someone I fully trusted. Someone who had my back, who would problem solve with me rather than for me, who would not see me as an inconvenience or an embarrassment. Someone who would create their own experience while allowing me to create mine.

That kind of trust goes far beyond lacing up hiking boots and heading for the hills on two good solid legs. It’s a trust that is forged from relating, understanding, healing, communication, and respect.
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Now I see that I miss bum hiking for even more reasons than the wildness experience. Bum hiking is a way of being in relationship with trust, humility, vulnerability, reverence, Earth, companionship, something-butt jokes which brings rolling-on-the-floor-laughter…it’s a way of being in relationship to the sacred journey of my life.
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It is my understanding that Jung believed archetypes are infinite vast containers of energetic patterns, symbols, and ideas. Plato, likewise, taught that these patterns are imprinted upon the soul before birth, thus, each of us arrive Earth side with patterning encoded at a cellular level. 

We enter life veiled, not knowing or at best, struggle to understand these patterns, often feeling like the best we can do some days is muddle through. From deeper studies and practices, however, I’ve learned that our natal chart is a blueprint of our soul’s archetypal imprinting. Coming into a relationship with our unique blueprint awakens a remembrance to these patterns, symbols, ideas. This relationship then becomes less descriptive and more co creative. It was such an aha moment when I realized, we were never sent here to simply muddle through.

Coming into relationship with my natal blueprint opened up my world. But, intuitive arting is the process which brought not only true awakening and remembrance but potent healing so that my world could open up. I describe this arting process as an esoteric language expressed through scribble, shape, color, symbol, and story that, like our natal blueprint, are uniquely our own. Through our creative expression, these imprinted archetypal energies are brought forth from formless to form.

Every intuitive piece I’ve created holds medicine, teachings, and healing. Some pieces will even call me back years later. The pause, the rest period, is part of the alchemical process. The art has more gifts to offer, new insights to reveal. As I grow, so too the art. Its identity continues to unfold through the platform and process of self expression. This takes cocreation into a new realm of relationship. Once given form, the art becomes its own entity with its own voice of communication, transformation, and expression beyond the moment of creation. Then I ask myself, “Is there a beginning or an end?”

What if there’s more? What if our art is not only something we create, but something that is seeking to be created through us? What if each piece longs for its own individuality and autonomy, and we are the doorway for its expression? In that case, the gifts of awakening, remembering, and healing comes from more than the process of arting. The gifts live on and are inseparable from the art. It’s about being in co creative process, and as I emerge through the process, so too does the art, not lifeless but enlivened.
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And here is the most magical, medicinal, alchemical part: the relationship is reciprocal. The art is co-creating me just as much as I am co-creating it. One vessel to another. One creator to another. One imprinted soul to another. A continuous exchange in the Art of Awakening.

Want to come into co creation with your natal blueprint or explore the potency of intuitive art? Maybe you have questions or want to talk more about this thought. Send me a message, let's connect.

Not long ago, I received a call, a message really, not the kind that comes through a cell phone, but one that comes softly, like a whisper, through to the heart. It came beyond the veil from my beloved husband who crossed nearly 20 years ago. 

I’m not unaccustomed to sensing him. Often I’ll speak with him, ask questions, seek his advice. He has come through during dream time and, most nearly always, during times of stress or uncertainty. During those times, he will leave for me what I refer to as pennies from heaven. All of these times are times of which I intentionally inquire of him. This time was very, very different.

This particular time I was doing very mundane things and thinking very surface thoughts, when I not only sensed him, but actually heard his voice. It took me by surprise, not because he was audible, which should have been what brought me to pause, but because I wasn’t inquiring of him and, honestly, because I wasn’t expecting to hear - anyone. 

He quietly, yet audibly asked, “Why haven’t you done an art medicine piece to connect with me?”

As if it were a very natural conversation, I spoke back, “Of course, you’re absolutely right, why haven’t I?” 

His question touched something deep within me. It reminded me that intuitive art can be, must be, so much more than what I’ve come to practice. After all, it is to me, an esoteric language, a form of communication and one of the most valued pieces of communication is listening.

As a facilitator and practitioner of Art Medicine™ I know when we surrender to the flow of creativity, without judgement or agenda, we open a channel, a portal if you will, between worlds. This has been evident over and over again through the portal painting process. 

Through intuitive art, we can lean into the call of our ancestors, the ones who came before us, whose stories are imprinted in our DNA and are alive in our bones. Each layer of an Art Medicine™ piece can become a thread of connection, a weaving of us into the greater tapestry of ancestral love or an untangling of generational traumas and outdated conditionings.

This process is now going to take me on a new journey as I answer Jeff’s call. The Samhain cross quarter feels to be a most wonderful time for this quest. Be it a loved one who has crossed or the hum of your ancestors, if your heart feels called, I warmly invite you to join me in this sacred practice. 

We’ll gather for several hours, via Zoom on November 2nd (time to be announced), for the next Wheel of the Year Portal Painting :: Samhain, Portaling Through the Veil. I’ll be there to intuitively lead, gently guide, and supportively hold space as you follow your flow in exploring your own intuitive, creative dialogue. No art experience needed, only your openness and willingness to create, connect, and discover what healing beauty and messages await you through the veil.

Email me for more information or to say yes to this next portal painting journey. 

This gorgeous hawk is often perched on a light pole along the main roadway to the Whimsy house. Every ingress and egress I look for him. One such trip down the road with my son, I pointed hawk out. Now, I realize pointing out such a wonder isn’t necessary for my children, as they each are as sensitive, attentive, and receptive as I am, if not more so. This time, my son asked me, “What message does hawk have for you?”

I loved this so much. Typically it’s me who prompts the curiosities, teases out the richer wonder. Of course he and I dialoged about hawk and hawk’s message and meaning for each of us. I cherish these conversations.
On a solitary drive earlier this week I delightfully saw hawk again, perched up on a light pole. Slowing down, doing what I do, I sent hawk an energetic acknowledgment, a whispered offering of respect. After passing, though, I felt a strong impulse to turn around, to spend more time with hawk. 

Now, this is a busy 4 lane road with an open median between the two directions and no shoulder parking. It might not have been the wisest thing, but I parked in the median just behind hawk. I’m certain cars were whizzing past, this way and that, but for hawk and me, it didn’t seem to matter.

He cocked his head and looked down at me, briefly, but it took my breath. I thought of my son’s question and asked hawk, “What are you wanting to tell me? What message do you have for me today, beautiful one?”
Upon my asking, hawk’s medicine began to flow. While what came to me was an accumulation of the many many months of noticing his presence, the strong messages were :: be a sentinel, be intentional, and remain focused.

In a world filled with distractions, distortions, and falsehoods, hawk called me to be vigilant in all arenas of my life. He reinforced the importance of living intentionally, checking often, and when needed, realigning my focus accordingly. Hawk invited me to see from a higher perspective, to take the higher ground, and to exercise patience.
Hawk also reminded me to claim what is mine and to hold my place. Hawk, along with many other animalkind, was here long before the acres of subdivisions, ribbons of asphalt, finely groomed golf courses, pickle ball courts, or the hundreds of humankind rushing about. Most of those people not only seem ignorant and intolerant to the natural world but believe they are better than, and thus attempt dominance of, the natural world. He, Hawk, dominates nothing but embodies himself. He silently holds his ground. He knows his place in the world, even as the world attempts to destroy his place.

Of course there was more that day, more insights, more awe, more awareness, more medicine for me. However, one incredible offering from Hawk was that we, he and I, are connected, rooted together in some beautiful, yet most natural way. 
When I returned home, I further researched Hawk medicine. After all the years of this work, I’m still so gobsmacked (thankfully so) by the deep potency of timing and message.
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• How is your attunement to the natural world?
• Are you ready for refinement?
• When was the last time you heard the whispering of animalkind ~ winged, four legged, finned, crawler ~ and heeded the call?
• What messages and medicine did you receive?

Want to explore more of this for yourself? Let’s schedule a 1::1 session. Simply email or text me to set the best day and time to dive in together.