Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.

Art by Orphné Achéron

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Our wellness is not measured in things,
tis measured in wellness and comforting dreams
blessings in the waning moon
winter solstice to us comes soon.

Wellness in your spaces, to live in
your own good graces – nurture from your own hand
stirring all the land.

She Who Fell From the Sky

I was a star in the sky, before I fell to Earth. Or so my mother told me, when I was child. I like to think that was true, because it makes sense of the feeling that I don’t belong here.

I find small things are actually big accomplishments for me. Like quitting smoking and growing my hair long. Getting out of bed when my anxiety whispers in my ear and tells me to go back to sleep.

I make big plans for the next day but realize that just taking a shower and getting dressed are all the plans I will manage that day.

I want to be busy, and productive, but I come up with excuses and I don’t care who I disappoint. Those are the bad days.

On good days, which are more frequent now, I get up early and make my daughter her lunch. I brew my favorite coffee, cook breakfast and write in my journal. But I still have trouble facing the world.

I didn’t use to be this way. Life got the better of me and things have been rough for awhile.

I have trouble sleeping at night. I dream of an old love. A man with blue eyes who lives in the desert. We’re friends now, he and I. I wish he would move back home, but he never will. So all we talk about is Nascar and his job. Best to keep the conversations safe.

I worry about my children. Especially the ones who are grown up. I try not interfere in their lives. I worry most about my oldest daughter who has anxiety and depression. I have no answers so I don’t ask questions. I listen and I know how she feels.

Maybe it’s not about anything. Maybe life just is. There’s no normal life. It’s just life. And I seem to be missing it. I just wish it would stop passing me by.

I wish my mother was still alive. I need to talk to her. About everything and I want to ask her if this is how she felt when she was overwhelmed. How she managed to stay out of her children’s lives when they grew up. Did she feel like she fell short of the mark too?

For life certainly had beaten her down. It was unfair to her and caused her a great deal of worry and pain. And it was unnecessary. She carried it in her heart and that’s what killed her.

It reminds me to let things go. To not take things so seriously. To try my hardest to lighten my heart. As light as I can make it, for the star that fell from the sky.

The Wild Woman

“The wild woman carries the bundles for healing; she carries everything a woman needs to be and to know … As in all art, she resides in the guts, not in the head … She whispers from night dreams, she leaves behind on the terrain of a woman’s soul a coarse hair and muddy footprints … She is the voice which says, ‘This way, this way.” … She is from the future and from the beginning of time.”

— Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves

🎨 Pearl Whitecrow

Your job is not to swallow your truth or your voice for anyone.

Your purpose on this planet is not to compress your desires, your hopes, your dreams, your passion or yourself for anyone.

For those that say you are too much, too opinionated and too much fire, fuck them.

You do not need their permission or their applause to live your life, your medicine or your purpose.

Their fingers were never meant to handle your flames.

Your job is not to save anyone else, to earn any worthiness or to live up to any expectations.

This is your life. Forget what anyone else has to say about it.

Never forget that you breathe fire and you have nothing to be sorry for.

Every relationship will get “boring” after you’ve been together for years. Love isn’t a feeling, it’s a commitment to love every day, physically and emotionally. It’s difficult, it’s not always laughing, smiles and fun.

People tend to quit when it stops being fun, and they go looking for someone else because “the spark is gone”. No, that’s not how it works.

You want someone to never give up on you and love you unconditionally, then do the same. Be the change. This isn’t Hollywood, this isn’t the movies.

That shit isn’t real. Love someone when you don’t want to. When they aren’t the easiest to deal with. When they’re hard to love.

That’s the realist shit there is.

That’s the challenge. That’s what real love is. If you can do that, then you can face anything.

Giving up is easy. But hanging in there and loving that person, that’s real.

(And it took me 51 years to figure that out)

Excerpt from It Rained That Day-a novel in progress. (Na-No-Wri-Mo)

She didn’t want to rise above him and extinguish his fire. She wanted to walk along side him as they fanned each others flames.

She didn’t want to change him. Not a single hair upon his head or any of the thoughts within it; nor any of the facets or layers of his complex being. Then it would not be him.

Far better to unearth the treasure that was he, one discovery at a time, then to carve him from her very own hands.

Open and never ending. Tearing down walls. Throwing away masks and dissolving the veils, leaving only wings in their place.

For distance and time had no measure. Waiting was all there was to do. How frequently the parts of her soul wanted to tell him all her secrets, and claim her truths, to make it known. But to what end?

For she knows not all truths need to be voiced. How great her courage is, how delicate her strength. It is only a matter of time and time is no longer a consequence for her or for him.