Magic, Monday, Mothers, Creating The Fresh
Posts
Mother's Earth.
oh yes sweetly conceived mixed alive, marinated with fractured spices not all of my becoming. Farm fresh Eggs fine double yolkers chickens free range, wanted. Frogs can't walk so tadpoles swim, rocket level launched best so Meet Me Upstream in The Oval Office. Competitors randomly rushed Smash, Grab mixed drinks of X's and Y's. One Victor collision spectacular comes winningest one, won, wins a space race ace, can we even deal with this majestic conception? Minute moments pass minutely divisive Growth silently goes atomical wild unrelenting. Energy flows, a wonder gestation, adopting his hairs and her inherent graces. Belly of Beauty Baby miked sings and sucks and feeds all needs via safe mother ship on chord. Houston we have not an alien problem Butt infant contact. Knock knock? Who's there? No. know who? "kNow I don't want to leave this hear warm cocoon. but I really gotta pee." But butterflies m...
Slow Flow, High Rise. Self Taught So Kind.
View this post on Instagram Song incredible together by @songsofeden This flow was inspired by #resolutionhandstand2020 and in particular amazing @susanbishopyoga @ettlivstyle @natashaswinter @supermomtraci @beahappyamy who all inspired me to begin my handstand journey. As well as @olgaupsidedown reminding me of my love of handstands by her incredible teaching last year again when I forgot it and @blissology installing into my practice and heart love, fun and magic in every movement. Finally @yogicbynature @amyweckermd @michelle_yogogirls @mindful_jess @glamgirlla goddess community and art reminding me to own my worth even when the world does not understand it or is fearful of it The voice telling you your body should be something other than what it is, smaller, bigger booty, less cellulite, taller...This is not your voice. That is the voice of society, every fitness magazine ever read, every influencer selling a look or 30 day progra...
Amongst Evil Who Lied Dearest Mother
FAREWELL LETTER by David Whyte "She wrote me a letter after her death and I remember a kind of happy light falling on the envelope as I sat by the rose tree on her old bench at the back door, so surprised by its arrival wondering what she would say, looking up before I could open it and laughing to myself in silent expectation. Dear son, it is time for me to leave you. I am afraid that the words you are used to hearing are no longer mine to give, they are gone and mingled back in the world where it is no longer in my power to be their first original author not their last loving bearer. You can hear motherly words of affection now only from your own mouth and only when you speak them to those who stand motherless before you. As for me I must forsake adulthood and be bound gladly to a new childhood. You must understand this apprenticeship demands of me an elemental innocence from everything I ever held in my hands. I k...