It's been over two years since I last wrote something here. And it feels so good to be back!
I am excited to have found just the most incredible place to offer energy work in. If you know me, you probably know that the energy of a space is something that I feel keenly. Over the years I have rarely found a space of someone else's creation that really, truly lived up to my expectations for healing work - comfort, natural light, attention to sacred tending, peaceful, safe. This one does! It looks and feels amazing. It is shared with some incredible like-hearted practitioners, and I feel very grateful for their welcome.
This re-birth of sorts is full of hope, passion and excitement, and after a two year cave-time, I am so ready to share the gifts!
Just a few words for now, to breathe new life into the 'blog' page, though I look forward to writing more more as I go.
For now, some of these past musings are worth a re-visit!
The turn of the year is an especially sweet time for remembering gratitude. A moment of remembering what we feel grateful for can change everything. I'm grateful for so much, and nothing more so than for the human beings in my life.
This week finds me laid up in bed, my back having decided this would be best. It's been an experience in allowing and receiving support and help. That's not very easy for me. What is very easy though is for me to see and feel just how wonderful and healing the love and care of another can be. I've been tended and loved, checked in on. I've been cooked for, gifted, graced with extra time to just be with dear people who I love. My phone has been busy with well-wishes and offers of all kinds of support.
And then there's the Fed-Ex man who made me cry. Yesterday the doorbell rang and I couldn't make it to the door. He left me a note. Today I managed to get there, forgetting I am bedraggled and wonky and in my pajamas with a serious bedhead do. I told him I couldn't get to the door yesterday on account of being laid up in bed, and he looked at me with so much love and said 'Oh, bless your heart, step back inside a little so you don't get cold'. He felt like an old friend as we wished each other a happy new year. And as I closed the door I cried, because human hearts are so very beautiful. Kind words to a stranger, they go a long way.
And so, I leave this year with a heart full of love and gratitude, for friends and strangers alike, for all of us with our tender loving hearts.
I wish you a peaceful new year, full of love and connection.
Here's my favorite blessing, written by the beautiful John O'Donahue. I know, I shared it last year, but hey, some things are just worth repeating. And if you feel like clicking on the video below, hearing him read it is healing salve.
'Beannacht – A New Year Blessing'
On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”
You know by now that these ponderings always ponder whatever I'm working with at the beginning/end of each month. My hope is that it is not just navel-gazing and that if I'm pondering it then someone else is too. I like the conversation about these things. I love to hear the wisdom of whoever wants to join in. This is how I learn.
What's up for me now is the question of what to follow as we go through life making choices large and small. As I enter into a new experience, I notice in myself three parts that want to be heard and call to be followed.
'Follow me', says my gut, full of an anxious feeling which pleads no, don't enter into this new situation. It has compelling reasons.
'Follow me', says my heart, full of possibility and love, do enter into this new situation. It has compelling reasons.
'You can trust me', says my mind, for only I can understand the pros and cons of it all and make a balanced decision.
What do we mean when we say 'follow your gut instinct'? Generally we mean follow your intuitive insight, don't doubt it. There is much truth in this, but like most things, it is not absolute. I am well aware, for myself, that I need to discern what is my gut instinct or intuition, and what is fear. So my gut tells me no, and I hear it loud and clear. I feel it in my body as a heaviness, a slight panic, a foreboding in my gut, my solar plexus center, and it feels very convincing. When I look more closely though, I don't fully trust this feeling. I know that this feeling, this bodily sense of foreboding is often based on fear. It's made up of my experience of a lifetime of similar situations, stories about what happened in those situations, and how much I want to avoid the potential pain of 'making the same mistake' again.
Our solar plexus center is where we most commonly feel our 'gut instinct', and where we most commonly experience fear and worry. That feeling of being kicked in the stomach emotionally sometimes, that's the intensity with which our solar plexus, our gut, can respond with fear. It's a fight or flight response, yet we are not always needing to fight or take flight. Sometimes we are needing to breathe, to notice and to make some gentle inquiry of ourselves.
My mind is helpful. It can help with reason and clarity. It can also be a trickster. The busy-mind, like the gut, can carry the memory and imprint of past experiences and the confusing jumble of ego chat. It thinks it knows, and I can't trust anything that thinks it knows. Like the spiritual teacher who believes they know the truth, my mind is to be valued for whatever wisdom it can offer, but has an ultimate flaw in this illusion of definitive knowing.
For me, I feel sure as one can be sure about these things that the heart never lies. It may too have fears, but it can always be trusted. When my heart feels at peace, then I can rest assured that I am on the right track. If my heart feels restless, pained or uncomfortable, I listen.
It's a lifetime's work to learn to discern which voice is which. The best I can come up with for now is to know that I need to listen to all the voices. My gut will tell me what my fears are, what really doesn't feel good. This is important information. My mind will tell me the pros and cons, against a backdrop of my past experiences and lessons learned along the way. This too is important information. These aspects of me need to be noticed, given voice, heard.
Yet my heart, always present, never wavers. Unable to deceive me, this is what ultimately needs to be followed. Always heart. Always more open. Always courageous. Coeur-ageous. Heart-ful. Like mindful but perhaps even better.
'The greatest stress in life is not being who we truly are.'
I love the human-ness of imperfection. I am intrigued and fascinated by each person's unique expression outward, and I am equally intrigued and fascinated by what is unseen or hidden within each of us. As a child and young adult I devoured novels and theatre, drawn to observe human nature through characters brought to life. All kinds of characters, all kinds of motivations and emotions. In these characters and in those I meet and make connections with, I see aspects of myself reflected and I am curious.
I've been spending some quality time with the perfectionist aspect of me lately. I'm realizing that she reserves her perfectionism for me alone. My personal perfectionist tendencies are to have some pretty unreasonable standards for myself. Generally speaking, others may do what they like, be as imperfect as they like - yay! Yet for myself, I often think perfection is necessary in my outward expression, my creativity.
Am I being judged by anyone else for my imperfections? Yes, maybe. Likely even. But that really has to be ok. My imperfections hold lessons for me about the nature of myself and of
Lady Perfection holds me back from expressing myself authentically. I'm holding back my gifts until they have reached perfection. Which will be when? Never.
Once again, everything seems to come back to this most simple and most difficult of things, self-love.
Which is, holding compassion for our own experience, in the loving and gentle way that we hold compassion for the experience of others. Tending our own needs and resourcing ourselves, so that we can be in our fullest authenticity. No need for perfection.
'No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.'
I don't know about you, but my experience of the Autumnal Equinox has been pretty wild this time around. I feel that this is in large part due to my deeper connection with the cycles of nature this year. I have been blessed to experience the most subtle nuances of changes in weather, atmosphere, wildlife and plant patterns through my work in the mountain herb garden. And as such, I have experienced more deeply than before the reflection of this in my own body and being.
Yes, a blessing, without a doubt - it's good to be so alive. Yet there is also an uncomfortable intensity. I feel the grief of Autumn, the shift from vibrant life to hibernation and death. I find myself crying randomly, daily - no story, yet so much grief. I have felt myself in varying levels of unease, and my inner world so much more chaotic than I usually prefer.
In the spirit of being present to myself, this love letter outward is simple in its offering. I'd like to share something which has really been helping me make sense of all that is arising in me. If any of this resonates for you, my hope is that it may feel helpful to you too.
In the garden I have been using biodynamic preparations for the soil and herbs. A vital part of the process is the stirring of the preparation in a bucket of water. The water is stirred in one direction, creating a vortex, and then in the other direction. This is repeated for up to an hour of stirring, bringing dynamic vitality and potentizing the preparation. It's simple nature magic :)
My sister sent me a lovely article about taking care of our bodies in Autumn (you can read the whole article here). I read this part and felt a sweet relief:
'When you stir water first in one circular direction and then the other to create an energising vortex, the true magic occurs at the point when the direction is changed and brief chaos ensues. Within that turbulence, hundreds of tiny vortices are created, energizing the fluid with the vibrancy of as many little tornadoes.
So when we notice the energy of the seasons spiraling first outwards and then inwards, we can start to understand how the equinoxes, those moments of directional change, can bring us the energy of a multitude of vortices to help us shift stuck emotions, patterns and toxicity.'
Even if you've never played with creating vortices (which I highly recommend!) you can imagine by looking at the image above what might happen if you now began stirring the water in the opposite direction. A vortex is a powerful thing! It's not a smooth transition, there is resistance and disorder. It takes a while to calm down and build momentum and orientation to the new direction.
How lovely to remember in the middle of the turbulence and chaos of the change, that this is a natural rhythm. We are moving from the outward spiraling energies of Summer and toward the inward spiraling energies of Winter. That's all. And if it feels like many little tornadoes, then good. It's natural.
So tell me, how are your silliness levels presently?
Silliness just burst back into my life! Bored, I imagine, with only being called upon occasionally, and now demanding a greater part.
Somewhere in the heaviness that life can be, we might misplace our natural levity and our love of fun, of frivolity, of absurdity. Silliness becomes disapproved of as we become adults. Just when we need it. Luckily, it seems that you can take the girl out of silly, but you can't take sillly out of the girl.
A dictionary definition of silly:
Seems a bit harsh to me. I'm thinking something like:
And, I'm serious about it, see the meaning, find it important.
Silliness has come dancing her way back to my life, showing herself in the things I love to do and in the ways I love to express. She brings with her a delightful lightness of being, hope of more playful times ahead, a twinkle in my eye and a spark in my heart.
I'm dedicating my September to Silly. After the fullness and intensity of Summer, a little levity feels like a breath of fresh air, a pause to reap and bring into expression the benefits of the richness gathered. Harvest time, a time to be in community and celebration before hearing the call inward. As of now, I declare silliness a spiritual path I have decided to skip down. You probably won't find me orchestrating any elaborate practical jokes or showing up in a clown's costume, though I'm definitely skipping forth with an attitude of silliness and a hearty invitation to more.
Silliness reminded me of this verse by the great Spike Milligan. I used to have so much fun reciting it when I was younger, over and over. I tried it again the other day, and it still works! It's like silliness distilled. Try it a few times in succession and see what happens!
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
And the Monkeys all say Boo!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots Jibber Jabber Joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang!
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So it's Ning Nang Nong!
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning!
Trees go Ping!
Nong Ning Nang!
The mice go Clang!
What a noisy place to belong,
Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
I've been thinking about strength a lot lately. A couple of months ago some dear friends of mine asked me to give a blessing as part of their wedding ceremony. The gift they felt I had to offer as a blessing for their union going forth was 'strength in difficult times'.
When I first received the invite, I smiled a wonky smile and rolled my eyes a bit, because I kind of wished I wasn't the one who knew quite so much about difficult times. But yes, I am someone who navigates difficult times with some measure of grace and strength, and yes, I like that about myself.
People have shared their admiration of my strength in difficult times a lot lately, so much so that I couldn't put off this pondering any more.They say that I am calm and balanced and that I am inspiring. From the inside though, strength in difficult times doesn't necessarily feel calm and balanced and inspiring. It feels anxious and chaotic and upsetting and stressful and traumatic and many other uncomfortable things. Knowing you're strong and you'll get through it doesn't always help much in the moment.
To me it seems that I am not extraordinary. We all hold this inner strength that carries us through the difficult times. So where, I wonder, does this strength come from? What could the blessing be? What is this kind of strength? Is is resilience? Is it composure? Does it have to be worked at? Is it hard, or can it be soft and gentle? Is it the capacity to hold a lot of difficult things without buckling under the weight? How does one come by this strength?
What makes a person strong? Something of it for me is that I have experienced lack and loss. It is the bonus end product of difficult times. Yes, there's resilience and courage in me, and I can hold a lot. I'm resourceful and creative in how I choose to live. I work with my own energy to heal myself along the way.
As I explored more deeply, I learned that the truth for me about strength is gentleness. The more I can open my heart and can practice gentleness with myself and others, the stronger I feel.
Strength in difficult times seems to come from trusting and opening, in any and every moment you can manage. From trusting that these difficult times are part of your journey, and that you are learning and growing in important ways. Opening up rather than closing down when things hurt. This often doesn't feel like joyfully throwing open the curtains on a sunny day, it might feel more like seeing a slim crack of light in a dark place. It doesn't have to be a dramatic opening, as long as we keep doing it. Many glimpses of light, one slim crack at a time still add up to more and more openness.
Being soft when you feel hardened. Being gentle when you feel hurt and angry. Being compassionate with yourself when you want to blame yourself. Being compassionate with others when you want to blame them. Being calm when your inner world is having a hurricane. We can do all these things when we trust and open, and definitely not so much when we are fearful and shrunken back.
My strength comes from my honesty with myself, from my gentleness with my own process, from my spiritual life, from the love and support of my friends and family, from my connection to nature, from my heart.
And that became the blessing. The notion that opening our hearts, even in difficult times, connecting to our spiritual and earthly support - just loving ourselves through it - that's strength.
“Nothing can dim the light which shines from within”
Sitting in my garden this afternoon it's perfectly warm in the sun; a light, fresh breeze plays the aspen leaves, and me?
Well I'm just fine.
I'm so grateful that I have this sweet home, and this beautiful garden with herbs and flowers and vegetables. I'm so grateful that I share it with my two children, who teach me all the good stuff every day. My son came over after work and mowed the lawn. So my 15 year old son has a responsible job, 2 hours a day. He can navigate the practical details of living in the world with admirable ease. He is a very calm and sweet being. He is really witty, makes me laugh often. My 12 year old daughter and I watch Masterchef together and make funny comments about how ridiculously dramatic it is. The other week we saw a commercial for bras about which Rosa amusedly noted that all the bras matched the wallpaper of the rooms the models were in. I looked at her with feigned grand concern and asked 'You haven't been matching your bras to your room? I am so sorry. I can't believe I forgot to tell you that. I've failed you as a Mother', and we giggle.
She is currently coveting a black hoodie with big white block print saying NORMAL PEOPLE SCARE ME. I said I didn't want her to buy it. The print looked aggressive all in capital letters and BIG. I smile at myself as I realize now that I would appreciate the hoodie more if the words were in small print, say to the left of the chest, in a cute and friendly italicized font.
I fully agree with the sentiment of course. I never did like to be called normal, that didn't seem like high praise to me. Normality is subjective anyway. I like diversity, I like the rainbow of human expression. I like to know about other people's realities, each their own normal. But I digress.
I have so much to be grateful for. A spiritual home. Community. Deep connection and heart-filled communications. Ceremony, dance, song, stillness, wildflowers, healing herbs, hummingbird and swallow, raven and hawk, deer, mountain lion. Sunshine, rainbows, compost. Vibrant food growing in my back garden. People I love, people who love me. My cat. Picking and drying flowers and herbs. Digging and weeding. Lots of weeding. Learning. So much learning. Fascinating, creative, healing, loving friends.
Last year I worked with the word 'joy', and somewhere along the way I decided that joy and gratitude were friends. http://www.lovehealings.net/writing/joy-and-gratitude-are-friends)
This year I am working with the word 'ease'. And now I'm thinking that ease and gratitude are friends.
The first half of the year of ease went pretty smoothly. I was thinking I had chosen a pretty unproblematic word this year. Ease. How could that challenge anyone? It almost seemed like I might not have to work too hard with this one. And then all of a sudden, ease was nowhere to be found and seemed to have been replaced by extreme levels of busyness, unexpected shifts and changes, unease and overwhelm.
You know how it goes when things get unsettling and difficult, when your mind races and your body is overstimulated, unable to calm? How it becomes difficult to be in your center long enough to do the things that bring you back to center? When we need it most, we can't find our center.
So, I'm sitting in the garden feeling grateful, and I realize I'm feeling ease again. And it occurs to me that through these past couple of months of unrest, I have often found moments of ease like this, when I have been feeling gratitude. Which fortunately I feel a lot, on account of how much I have to be grateful for.
Joy and gratitude are friends and ease and gratitude are friends. Joy and ease are certainly friends. I'm sure many words are friends with each other, so I won't labor the point further.
Perhaps gratitude is my greatest friend though, the one I can rely on to bring me back to center, to a place of ease. It reminds me of the journey set out by the nettles, the way of accepting what is and of transforming uneasy thought with gratitude.
On my way to the herb garden, I am smiling in anticipation of spending another morning in the nettle patch. I love nettle, its nourishing strength both soothes and replenishes body and soul. It tastes delicious too. Harvesting the nettle patch is a good place to be. Nettle brings strength and nourishment to my physical, emotional and spiritual body. It really is a gift to spend time surrounded by this healing herb.
As I turn a corner at the foot of the canyon, I inexplicably begin to cry. I have no idea why, though the man I wrote about last June comes into my awareness, a year ago our relationship had just ended. I look at the clock, it seems to me as though perhaps I am in his awareness too. Funny, these intuitions, you never quite get the chance to know if you're right. Hey, just wondering, were you thinking of me at 8.45 on Monday morning? The mystery tears last just a minute and I go back to thinking of the garden and the nettle harvest. Usually by the first of the month my love letter goes out. This time I still don't know what I'll write. I decide that I will ask the garden, ask the nettles for inspiration.
Up on sacred land, in a patch of nettles. The plentiful May rains mean that they have grown much beyond a height for easy harvesting. Dressed for minimum stinging in pants and a long-sleeved mens shirt which covers my arms right down to the gloves, I'm feeling the heat of the morning sun. Receiving occasional stings on my wrist as the shirt sleeve rises, or on my low back as I squat and reach, I notice a little inner irritation rising. This work is tedious, hot and hard on the body I realize, and I keep getting stung. Yet I'm not sure why this would irritate me. Nettle stings don't bother me. I grew up in England, where brushing up against nettles is part of childhood life. These days I actually quite like the feel of a nettle sting on my skin, it feels like medicine. And when I get stung here in the nettle patch, I know it is at the moment when I lose awareness and presence to what I'm doing. Little inner voices start to chime in, reminding me that I'm supposed to be enjoying this. What's wrong with me if I can't enjoy this time communing with these plants that I love so dearly and who bring me nourishment and healing daily?
I stop for a moment, stand up and stretch out. I feel the breeze on my face and breathe. I look around myself at this beautiful mountainside herb garden. I'm so blessed to be here, to tend these healing plants, to call this my work. It's the simple and connected life I've always wanting to be closer to, right here. This is my life. Filled with gratitude, I squat back down in the nettles and continue filling my basket. I ask what I can learn, what is it that I should write about? The answer comes clearly, 'accept what is'. And as I work with the nettles they help me to remember what's real and to reframe my experience, piece by piece. It's hot and I'm uncomfortable becomes wow, I'm working outside! I get to soak in all the goodness of the sun, to feel the wind, to hear the ravens, to see swallows and hummingbirds, to smell the earth and the plants. I keep getting stung becomes nettle medicine. This is hard on my body becomes a natural way to build strength and stamina. This is tedious work becomes an opportunity to practice presence, to accept what is, in each moment. I'm supposed to be smiling and joyful about this becomes I am human and I am experiencing what I experience, this is good. As one feeling replaces another, any tension drips away and my enjoyment and ease returns.
Of course, this is not something we don't already know. Presence and acceptance of what is happening in the moment allows ease. Resistance to what is happening in the moment creates tension. Yet somehow the support of the nettles helped me to really shift the experience of resistance by simply finding the positive aspect. This too is something I have known and practiced, yet never to this effect. We can practice something for a long time before one day, something settles in our awareness and it becomes embodied knowing. I'm hoping I can draw on this next time I find myself feeling the tension of resistance.
After an hour of standing in the drying shed, snipping leaves from stems and a basket that never seems to empty, that irritation shows up again, and I know just what to do. This is taking so much time becomes I am putting love and conscious effort into preparing these healing plants to share their gifts. Ah, sweet relief! An instant shift in my experience, the tension melts.
On my way home, at the bottom of the canyon I realize I'm wearing a smile that couldn't really be any wider. I feel invigorated, energized, peaceful. What is, is just perfect.
How perfectly timely to have been blessed with a visit to Valley View hot springs as we approached this exuberant and sensual Beltane (May Day) time.
Beltane is in many ways about being naked. Not necessarily just nakedness of the body, but nakedness of the soul, of removing the veils we put up between the world and our true self. It is of allowing ourselves to be seen, by the natural world, by each other, by ourselves. Beltane is a time to accept our naked selves, accept each other, and celebrate our beauty and fullness. We accept and rejoice in ourselves as interconnected parts of the whole, balanced.
Valley View is a beautiful natural hot springs, where healing waters and nature's magic heal your very soul.
Lightly steaming flow of healing waters, deer at my door. I wish never to forget the magic and delight I feel in this place, deeply supported by the earth, by the trees, by the warm waters. The starry black sky, so close, and a fairytale moon bathing me in sweet love and acceptance. The trees that look and feel like wild, dancing women of spirit ~ telling stories of joy and of pain, of agony and of ecstacy. Coming home. Home to myself, home to my divinity, home to the natural world.
People wholeheartedly embrace the opportunity to be naked here, and this time around I personally experienced entirely new levels of joy in my own nakedness in nature.
This body suddenly perfection, all sense of anything other is lifted, sweet relief.
It's interesting, the web of connection. 'Going' into nature, enjoying the gifts of all these living, spirited beings. 'Visiting' the wild places to rediscover our own truest nature. Such is the sad loss of our everyday remembrance that we are all one, in eternal communion with the natural world. The trees, the birds, all creatures of everyday life are still talking to us, yet they go largely unheard. In our connection to nature, the balance of giving and receiving is all. This flow of giving and receiving is obstructed without the conscious co-existence of us human beings, without our intent to commune and communicate with the nature beings.
At this magical mountain spring respite the difference is palpable. Aliveness sings, dances and plays. Wisdom of all ages, wisdom of the way, the essential patterns of life, all are enhanced by the intentful appreciation and reverence of the human beings who co-create the magic.
If we had all been in our swimsuits, we would have been tourists, visitors to this natural beauty and magic. In our nakedness, in our own most natural state, we are remembering our place as co-creators with the natural world. We remove the threads that define us as somehow seperate and superior and we allow ourselves to become vulnerable in the presence of an intelligence far bigger and greater than us. In this vulnerability we remember our place here, that we are this magical intelligence.
I feel more a friend to the deer
I feel my deer nature
my tree nature
my moon nature
unfettered by fabric barriers
It is proving tricky to put into neat words the wonder of my experience. Yet here follows an extra, very human bonus I can share, which may inspire anyone who struggles with loving and accepting their physical form to experience this for themselves.
From this brief naked dance with nature came some unexpected healing. In recent months I have experienced a sense of disapproval of my changing body. Middle-age is spreading me! Things look different, and I have been noticing how unimpressed I have been by the way things are changing. I wanted to accept it, yet somehow still found myself perturbed by the whole thing. I wondered how I might feel being naked in the company of others. It turned out to be no problem, in fact, it was extremely liberating and empowering to feel myself as a beautiful force of nature in this body. Since my return, the magic has not faded. I am carrying with me this new, embodied knowing of the power and beauty of my physical form. I see my new, wider and softer belly, my changing form, and I love it. It feels wise and knowing, soft and receptive. It fees sensual, it feels like all of me. I have no criticism left. This is such a great relief. My aging and changing body, together with the immense pressure of living in this media-driven culture which worships a bizarre level of prescribed physical 'perfection' and youth, had left me unsure of my beauty, confused by the conflict within me ~ natural woman living in an un-natural environment. I am so grateful to have had this time, just being, natural in nature. Perhaps this can be so for others.
Last summer in Glastonbury I found an image of a beautiful woman, a white-haired elder with a beautiful soft face. Hand-written around the image are these words:
True beauty is not necessarily pretty. True beauty can be harsh like the bare bones of a tree in winter. True beauty can be like a knife. Each loss, each battle scar, each victory is a gift from a wise old hand that shapes me in ways I could never have imagined. Each piece of my self that I reclaim reveals, bit by bit, the full true beauty of my soul. True beauty is what's on the inside, what shines through. Touched by the world and in touch with that which is beyond the world, I become more beautiful every day.
May the celebration of the season remind us of our natural radiance, our vitality, our sensuality, in these, our physical bodies. Happy Beltane!