roots and skin ::

I am in such a sacred and twisted, joyful and mysterious place. 

By twisted, I mean all of the curves and nuances inherent to an intentional life journey; specifically, one that is going at a rather accelerated pace. You have no idea how often I prepare to write a new post and sit in silence, staring at empty white space. I say it's writer's block, but really? I haven't learned the proper dialect to communicate all of these deep, indwelling, sacred things. The last few months have moved so fast that words have yet to catch up. Kind of like when you are flying along on a roller coaster, air hitting your face at seventy miles per hour, and you can't speak. You're just silent, or you scream.

::

I'm ecstatic to say that, with the help of my soul friend, I've fulfilled one item on my dream list: dreadlocks. 

in progress

It's been almost a month now (really!?) and I am astonished at how ancient and right they feel. Like I've always had them and that I needed them to come home. I found myself uttering a resounding  yes, this! to a thoughtful reflection from a fellow dread-sister, who describes this experience more poignantly than I:

"Its fascinating to me now that these were the thoughts and feelings that would come up for me. So much time had passed between then and this last year.  Really, my desire to dread my hair was no longer about my hair as much as it was an impulse to physically mark the deep shifts that were occuring in my soul.
In the realm of the energetic, hair is a potent part of our body, especially for women. Its our crown, the flow of our lives, and then that becomes our adornment. I have been cutting my own hair now for the last 10 years or so. Always waiting for the new moon, trimming away with intention and letting the moon imbue my mane with its power so that it would continue to grow strong and long and beautiful. This became such an integral ritual for me, that the thought of someone else cutting my hair made me uncomfortable, unless it was someone I was connected to and of course, unless it was a woman - a magical sister that understood the magic contained in our hair.

The act of locking my hair was one of empowerment.  A declaration of choice and of path to myself and the universe.  Each lock, each hour that passed as I did my hair was a meditative spell.  It was life altering in so many ways.  It really brought to life the potency of ritual adornment, which is what this has become for me.

And whats interesting is that I know that its a symbol, a representation of the soul path I am on, but I don't really think about it or am conscious of it while I am out in the world.  I had someone ask me if I had begun to experience others judgement or projections regarding what they think about people with locked hair.  I said no.  And as I sat there looking at her, the truth came forth for me in such a sweet way and I said, "I'm living in my world now."  

I can't really articulate what this was for me.  Such a liberating moment, where i realized that I wasn't even looking for approval or signs of disapproval, because I was now living IN my live.  My world.  So even if there is judgement coming at me, there is no opening in my consciousness for it to reach me anyway.  This has been such a revelation for me...  I'm still marinating in its significance." ~ Elena Rego

I didn't realize how passionate I would be about dreadlocks and now I am compelled to get my hands in the roots of others, as though I were a midwife guiding new life along an intimate sojourn. I only wish I'd locked them sooner but I try to keep in mind that on this life journey, everything is as it should be. Even cutting my hair too short, remember? Turns out that with my kind of hair, dreading actually made it longer (i.e., no shrinkage) because it stretched out the curl. And then we my dear friend painstakingly love-crocheted genuine hair extensions into some of my own locks, increasing length even more and giving me exactly what I've wanted for so long.

Soul-sigh.

wearing a favorite roots & feathers piece

I've hinted time and time and time again at internal transformations ~ spiritual, emotional, psychological ~ which leave me without sufficient language to describe just how it's taking place. But I have longed for the whole of me to become complete, and the outside is just as changed as the inside, and continues to evolve. Sometimes it surprises me how, both in appearance and physiology, my flesh takes a journey of her very own.

raw

The story behind this tattoo is, as of yet, too complex for this stumbling, bourgeois tongue of mine. But if I may honor my sacred friend Janae? My ink is actually a swirling blend of two separate ~ and yet connected ~ works of art, created by Janae and beautifully transcribed from one soul to another. 

From skin to skin. 

she is a healer and a warrioress.

All the faces of rain 

My path continues to unfold and these glimpses are the subtle nuances of my story. It is paradox and dichotomy. I am cradled in womb; I feel my birthing and crowning and living and ending. There is beginning and ripening and death; all is both ancient and wholly new, and I stand on holy ground.

I am holy ground.

::

This week a sacred soul whom I deeply cherish sent me these words, which will forever bring me life:

I saw a vision of you. The warrioress of ancient spirit, standing tall in dark brown skins wrapped around, holding your spear high. To the left a woman who is sister, mother, child to the other women. Slightly behind and on your right ... Luna. Hovering behind and covering all with her shadow, a girl with wings. It was so clear. You stood on top of a hill looking out, ready for your quest. Amma was over you, but also part of you.

It was like all the faces of Rain.

I think she described what I cannot.
Thank you for seeing.
Thank you for giving me the gift of being seen.