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.