Every day is Earth day but today, April 22nd, we hold an extra honoring to her. In community I shared a few of my favorite 'oldie but goodie' songs, a guided visualization, and some simple ways to honor Earth, today or any day. If you'd like access to those, feel free to comment here or email me.

Re.Member, you are an Earthen Temple. When you honor yourself with pure integrity, you honor her too.

It was quite unexpected while contemplating the next Wheel of the Year Portal Painting : Beltane, the presence of Gaia came forward to be explored. While Beltane in the Northern Hemisphere celebrates the beginning of summer and the fullness of Earth's growing cycle, I hadn't anticipated co creating so directly with her, and yet, her archetypal energy is leading the way. The theme that's emerged is Sacred Weaving. 

You are so warmly invited to join us for this next Wheel of the Year Portal Painting.

We'll gather via Zoom on Sunday May 3rd from 10am PT to 1:00pm PT. A pre-arting playbook and audio guided visualization will be sent out ahead of our gathering. Both are designed to inspire, bring alignment to the season, and open your creative channel. The three hour painting session allows us to move deeply into the process. Afterward, you may want to schedule a 1::1 follow up with me to further integrate and "land" even deeper with your portal. This is all part of a WOTYPP journey.

The value of this offering is $77 or more. For the women in community, which we loving refer to as the SiStarShip, this is included with their monthly contribution. Sacred Commerce is honored for this gathering.

​"What the heck is Sacred Commerce?" you may ask. You can read about that here https://www.juliafrehner.com/blog/what-the-heck-is-sacred-commerce-anyway#/

In this video, I share a bit more. We'd love to have you join us. Create a day you most desire for yourself!

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.