howl ::

source

I crave the healing touch of nature right now.

I want to roll around in green until I'm covered with grass stains and have pine needles stuck in my hair and fireflies dancing around me. I want my body to sink deep into sweet, clear water and float cradled, held, safe, and buoyant. I want to climb to the top of the highest tree north of San Francisco. I want to run away to the forest and run until I'm so lost I've forgotten my way home, and only be found when I'm damn ready to be found.

Soon. Soon I will. Until then, I've heard it said that freedom is despised by those who are not free. I've thought about this as I flex my glimmering, defiant, free-spirit wings. I arch my back and lift my face to the wind. I gather strength from my bones; I reach deep into the dark and hurl my anthem at the sky:

Don't take my journey away from me!

Don't take my soul-discoveries, my befores, durings, or afters, my awakenings or my transformations away from me. You can't have my healing, slow-blossoming, the timing of my becoming, my seeing, or my new-light-dawning.

You can't have my restitutions, repentances, forgivenesses, deep-soul-dives, light-bursts-forths, rages or gut-wrenching sobs. They are mine. They belong to me. Your fear and preconceptions and arrogance can't have them.

And more? Don't take my awkward silences, half-phrased questions, drunken love confessions, and morning-afters away from me. Don't take my choices or my consequences, my grace or my graceless, my sacred or profane, my betraying or being betrayed. Don't take my sorrow or my grief away from me.

Don't try to live my journey, control my journey, or tell me what my sojourn should be like. Don't take my rising, fumbling, falling, my living or my dying. They are mine. Mine to own, mine to experience with every nuance of every moment. They are mine to fully live, mine to sacrifice and mourn.

You mean well. You have a good heart. You love the only way you know. I honor that. But my story isn't your story. I will guard my freedom like soul-currency and let its richness sink deep, deep under my skin. I will want my wants and hold my living close. Let me have this. Let me have my field, where

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about. ~ Rumi

But I thought you were ...

Recently, my kindreds and I talked about the supposed-tos, the used-to-bes, and the I-thought-you-weres we encounter. I get lots of them.

I thought you were sweet. 
I thought you were gracious.
I thought you were there for me. 
I thought I could rely on you for anything.
You used to be so loving.
You are supposed to _____.
You used to be _____. 
I thought you were _____.

I could fill a whole book with those blank spaces. I used to do and be all kinds of things. Endless things, a whole life-full of things. Some of them healthy, some not so healthy.

I used to let others bully me in the name of turning the other cheek. I used to choose sweetness over discomfort. I used to debate and defend. I used to rally around "the truth." I used to accept certain things without question. I used to care too much about what random people thought. I used to seek the approval of others, hoping to be held in high regard. I used to see things in rigid black and white. I used to hold others to my same standards. I used to need you to agree with me because, of course, I used to be right.

I used to say all kinds of life-destroying things in the name of "love."

My fierceness and my freedom are about taking back my soul.

All of the things above? All the don't-take-aways and you-can't-haves? I've done them. I've positioned myself deep within the most intimate soul-place of another person and tried to pry apart tightly wrapped soul-petals, insisting that now is the time to blossom and this is the way to live.

And that fills me with the choking kind of sadness.

I have arrogantly proclaimed "truth" to others, but as it turns out, I bullied them instead. I have set myself up to discover things for other people, robbing them of their own soul-journeys and discoveries. I've stood in the way of their suns. I've filtered others' experiences through my own black-and-white grid, keeping them from color and flavor and adventure and joy. I've poured my fears and qualifiers and dogmatic principles into countless lives. I've dismissed people as selfish when they were finally trying to understand themselves and their purpose in life. I've judged and labeled and offered tearful warnings. In pride and arrogance I've proclaimed other souls this or that and stripped them of their humanity, their journey, their unfolding.

That's what it means to gain the whole world in exchange for your soul.

And I grieve. From the deepest parts of me, I weep for all that I've done and perpetuated through my misguided understandings, arrogance, and pride.

But now? My fierceness and my freedom, even my rebellion if you want to call it that, is me taking back my soul. It is me rising into new light. It is my awakening.

I'm okay with being rough around the edges for awhile. 

i will rise ::

Sacred souls, I am honored to share this jewel which crossed my path this morning, thanks to my dear friend Teresa. These are words we all need to hear, to embed them like seeds in the fertile soil of our hearts and let them spring up towards light, bearing fruit.

I Will Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. 
~ Maya Angelou
___________________
Bonus: Roots of She shared these links this morning and I wanted to pass them along ...

10 Reasons to Be OK With Being Disliked
Too Muchness and Other Things We Are Ashamed to Claim

secret messages + giveaway ::

By Mandy Steward of Messy Canvas. Available here.

It's no secret that I LOVE LOVE LOVE Messy Canvas Art.  I like to think of it as medicine for the soul. I am beyond-thrilled to share that Mandy Steward, artist and soulful creator, recently launched a stirring new offering in the form of personalized #secretmessages.

In her own words:

Welcome to the Messy Canvas world of #secretmessages!

Think of me like a gypsy with a beauty mark and head scarves, a fortune teller of sorts minus the crystal ball but definitely with big hoop earrings, a shaman leaning in close and whispering to you the words you're most looking for, so that you can have a visual representation of them ever before you.

Using a combination of collage, markers, ink, paint, pastels, etc. I will create a unique piece of background art on which I will include the words of your #secretmessage.

Messy Canvas

How do I know the words that are right for you? Email me at mandy.steward (at) gmail.com or send me a Convo on Etsy. Include in your email, in 140 characters or less, one of these options:

A word. A phrase. A story. A question. A descriptor. A quote. Tell me what you're wishing, or you're loathing, or you're believing. What's your main passion you're trying to hone in on right now in your own life? Who are you? Who do you want to be?

If you know exactly what you want it to say then say so! Otherwise, I'll do the soul translation on your behalf.

Messy Canvas

*The pictures shown here are EXAMPLES ONLY.*

Your personalized #secretmessage will be created on a 5x5 piece of 90 lb. cold press watercolor paper and come wrapped in a cellophane envelope for safe-keeping.

But sssssssh, it's only meant for you!

May it show you that you are enough and may it empower you to step bravely into your next wild and howling adventure. May it remind you to always listen to the voice within.

Because I am passionate about soul-stirring prompts, listening to the voice within, and living our own wild and howling adventure, I want to stir your deep heart and give away one personalized Messy Canvas #secretmessage! I am privileged to own several artworks by Mandy and find myself continuously moved by them.

To Enter:

In the comments, please share or answer, in 140 characters or less, one of the following:  

A word. A phrase. A story. A question. A descriptor. A quote. Tell me what you're wishing, or you're loathing, or you're believing. What's your main passion you're trying to hone in on right now in your own life? Who are you? Who do you want to be?

For additional entries, leave a comment for each:

1) share this giveaway on your blog! (Worth 2 entries!)
2) "like" Messy Canvas on facebook
3) follow Messy Canvas on Twitter

Contest ends at midnight this Saturday, August 25th, CST.
Remember, to enter, share a #secretmessage comment! (See above).

EDIT: I am happy to announce that Amy is the winner! Amy, I emailed you!
:: Following on fb and twitter and sharing on your blog are for additional entries. <3

:: Extra: I had the honor of interviewing Mandy Steward earlier this year. Follow this link to witness our conversation.

Messy Canvas Art. Available here.

sneak peek of the fall bohemian collective lookbook ::

Here is a tantalizing taste of the upcoming lookbook! 
Visit The Bohemian Collective for more. <3

the black cell ::

“There is no security in doing something for a living when you are dying inside while doing it. That is taking care of the body at the expense of the soul. And a withering soul cannot help but produce a withering body. So do not think you are “taking care of yourself” by killing your spirit to keep your body alive. How long will you put off what you are dying to do?”
 ~ Neale Donald Walsch

This soul prompt was sent to me by my friend Elora. I read it yesterday and my heart went boom, like when I was little, standing and staring at the feral black jaguar who paced her life away behind thick glass at the zoo. You could almost feel her heart thudding, see rage rippling across the sleek plains of her, a choreography of madness, defiance, and desire. Even children who huddled near seemed subdued in her power-charged presence. We all knew, instinctively, that there would be apocalyptic mayhem if she ever broke free.

Danger has that effect on you. Caged has that effect on you. I understand her more than ever now.

Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes,

The shadow life occurs when writers, painters, dancers, mothers, seekers, mystics, students, or journeywomen stop writing, painting, dancing, mothering, looking, peering, learning, practicing. They might stop because whatever they just spent long with did not come out the way they had hoped, or did not receive the recognition it deserved, or countless other reasons. When the maker stops for whatever reason, the energy that naturally flows to her is diverted underground, where it surfaces whenever and wherever it can. Because a woman feels she cannot, in daylight, go full-bore at whatever it is she wants, she begins to lead a strange double life, pretending one thing in daylight hours, acting another way when she gets a chance.

... You can call it anything you like, but sneaking a life because the real one is not given room enough to thrive is hard on women's vitality. Captured and starved women sneak all kinds of things ... they've thrown away the treasure but they sneak bits and pieces any way they can. Are they writing? Yes, but secretly, so they have no support, no feedback. The student, is she going for her edge? Yes, but secretly, so that she can have no help, no mentor.

...it is difficult to sneak little shreds of life this way but women do it every day. When a woman feels compelled to sneak life, she is in minimal subsistence mode. She sneaks life away from the hearing of “them”, whoever the “them” is in her life. She acts disinterested and calm on the surface, but whenever there is a crack of light, her starved self leaps out, runs for the nearest life form, lights up, kicks back, charges madly, dances herself silly, exhausts herself, then tries to creep back to the black cell before anyone notices she is gone. ~ From Women Who Run With the Wolves

The cage

But where did my black cell come from? Did I willingly crawl inside, or was I lured with promises of better, of necessity, of hope, of this-is-the-way-it-needs-to-be? My wild gypsy spirit, the feral She, grows desirous and mad, pressing herself against bars, expanding, threatening, gathering power like a storm swirling over the sea. Why do we consent to our own entrapment?

But in a desperate lunge for grace I proclaim that a black cell becomes so only when we remain in a place we're not meant to be anymore. Maybe it was, in fact,  a place of protection once, not to keep us locked away but to safeguard our becoming, our gently sleeping souls. As we transform, what once brought life becomes life-draining when we try to live awake yet insist on continuing ineffective old ways, patterns, habits, beliefs, routines, like wearing a dress which no longer fits, and our skin bursts through.

My soul and me, we can't be tamed.

Eva Jay by Sean Ellis for Nina Ricci 2003

Living free

It's only now I see the truth about this cage, the object of my obsession, my rage and angst, my feral moaning: this cage is alive. It's a living organism, a dark cocoon. And the only way to be free is to love it, to be grateful for what it once was: a hideaway for becoming, a place to nestle and germinate. For if we peer from the corners of our eyes like one looks at stars, truth slips into view. We see. We waken. And this black cell?

We see what it was all along: a womb.

Life is almost brutal when you're born, screaming and squalling, yanked away from the only comfort you know. You're slippery and wrinkled and can't speak. There are no words. Mostly you want to go back to the only life you knew and the gentle slumbering peace of gestation. But it's impossible. We cannot live forever in utero, we cannot live forever asleep.

Nature sets the cycle in motion. You have to be born. You have to be free. Otherwise you will wither away; you will burst and bleed and die. To live, you must live according to the ways of being alive, all these ways you've never lived before, in a world you don't know, with language you haven't learned yet. If you want to be alive you must wake up. Be born into a new world. There are new rules, but in time you'll see that these new rules are freedom and love.

The mystery of love

The way out of a black cell is to draw a deep breath, step away from the bars, press your feet into the earth, and to give thanks. And then, to take a step forward. And another. And another.

Loving anything transforms it. Releases it. Melts it. Try it; you'll see.

Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you

where there were only walls.

 — Joseph Campbell

Soul-stirring prompt for warrioresses:

What is it that you have stopped in your life? Art? Dancing? What is it you long to do?
Who is your “them”?
In what ways are you withering yourself?
How long will you put off what you are dying to do?
What is your bliss? What step can you take today, however large or small, towards it?

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

Of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

To allow my living to open me,

To make me less afraid,

More accessible;

To loosen my heart

Until it becomes a wing,

A torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,

To live so that which came to me as seed

Goes to the next as blossom,

And that which came to me as blossom,

Goes on as fruit. ~ Dawna Markova

i tell soul stories ::

I evolve, metamorphose.
Soon I will share more about the direction life carries me. I'm scared (in a good way) and thrilled, all at once. It involves some of my very favorite things distilling themselves into two brief lines:

I tell soul stories. Sometimes I use words.

Soul-stirring Promt
In the meantime, here is something fun a friend shared with me: Your Personality Color.

What is your personality color?
Answer this question now before reading any further.
Don't think about it, be spontaneous with your answer; accept the first color that comes into your mind and don't analyze your choice.

Visit the link and read more; I would love to hear about you and your color in the comments! How did it make you feel? Was it accurate for you? In what ways? It's deliciously so for me. There are many shades I love, but violet is my go-to favorite. It's vulnerable to share that in this context, but I was reminded this week that  

"Being vulnerable is not only about being open about what we struggle with ... is also about being open about what we love." ~ Marthe Hagen

I think color is a beautifully stirring way to start.

when the gypsy soul sings ::

This is a story about following my intuition. But not only that. It's also about you, about following your gut, your heart, what you know to be true, and letting it lead you along your life path. For this is the secret essence of a soul journey; it means listening to the whispers of your bones and spirit, your connection to the Divine, and, in the great swirling tapestry of the Universe, your breath between the threads of it.

Sufi poet Rumi writes, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” Our soul-journey is filled with many unique nuances, shifts, and shadows and it is important to not sit in judgment over them. There are no mistakes or failures, only tender lessons which are opportunities for gratitude ~ because sometimes it takes struggles and do-overs to know ok, this is what happens when I do not follow my soul. That's what it feels like, that's what it sounds like, so I'll know better next time. We may need to make correction or peace with others sometimes, but these experiences are invaluable. When they happen, cherish them, love them. Be surrounded by grace and continue on.

But I want to share a following-intuition story that turns out really right. Sometimes things don't make sense and you wonder if you're crazy, or if other people will think you are crazy. It's ok if they do. Our job is to listen and follow even when we don't know why or how. The answers will come, and sometimes? The very act of living brings the answers to you.

My story? My surprising, I-don't-know-why-I'm-doing-this soul-intuition moment?

This past weekend I cut off my dreadlocks.