this morning, i sit at the edge of the very west coast of north america. my sister is the general manager of whaler’s point guest house in tofino bc, a tiny town that hangs onto a sand spit on the coast of vancouver island. my view is a lush, rained on much, green lawn backed by trees and a private rocky cove/beach, protected by sharp cliff walls on either side. the perfume of the coast, it’s ocean body, hangs thick in the air, so you can’t breathe without being reminded of where you are, and perhaps of who we are too: salt, water, bones and breath.

there are quite a few loves in my life right now navigating big losses. i have people i love out there right now, who have lost mother’s, father’s, sisters, friends and sons and daughters and all in recent months, weeks or days. i wanted to reach out to them all this morning and wrap them in arms and heart and time, but as there is a space distance component involved with each of them, i am reaching out in words. to you all, i love you.

i am limited in my experience of losing people close to me to death. i am unpracticed in that. i have however, experienced much loss as death on this journey. 

i have been privileged enough these last years to spend much time in other cultures, even up here in NA, witnessing and being a part of this last chapter in the physical form, watching death,  not from afar but not all up it’s ass either. and slowly but surely i have learned and am learning about this sacred and feared human transition.

perhaps one of the most profound things i have learned, is that death takes people in one of two directions-it either brings them together-as it does in most tribal/village based cultures in Mexico, Peru, Africa, on the Rez or when it’s experienced by the collective on earth- the tsunami, Haiti, Katrina. or it isolates, separates us, divides us, which i often witness as our response in the north.

It’s a massive thing death. and in our culture it is finite. it is the end of the story. and we, with our living life momentum, hate disrupted narrative. we want our stories to go on. it is generally only when death is experienced at what we call a ‘ripe’ old age, where we have a cultural story that supports it. otherwise, we tend to experience death as an abortive process to life.

but this is a little of what i have learned: there is no end. 

while we experience the acuteness of linear time while we are in the physical body, there are very real laws of the universe that dispel the concept of something being gone. there is literally nowhere for anything to go. we are part of a contained system, that cycles and recycles all the energy within itself, again and again into different form. we burn a piece of wood and it becomes fire, then smoke, then ash, then fertilizer, and the food that a new seed grows from, itself becoming a tree, living wood. “energy does not die. it just changes form.” again, how proud mr. millet would be, my highschool physics teacher, to see that his seeds, grew something, tho maybe not a degree in the sciences. 

my garden has been a great teacher to me, as has my daughter. i cannot capture them. i cannot contain them. i cannot stop them in time, perfect as they are, imprinting in permanence in the world. 

seeds became shoots and started sprouting leaves, but oh, as they were shooting, with their tiny little green fingers reaching for the light-if i could have held that energy, their commitment, dedication, if i could have showered in the newness, the waxing energy, the becoming. but no. 

they had to move from peat pods to dirt, and into the fresh air and sun. they had to battle thru skins, reaching roots in and shoots up. and you know what? most of them did. and then they did more. they grew and are growing, tall, filling out, stretching into the space around them. reaching for sun. reaching for water. reaching for life. 

then those little precious seeds, now teens in the garden world, started blooming. they had flowers unfurl from themselves, in lilacs and pinks, oranges and yellows, each unto themselves a work of god, of art, of life, of love. and i couldn’t hold onto the flowers either, tho so bold and beautiful and everything i would like to be in this world in their strength and absolute delicacy. 

but the brightness faded and burned brown as they settled into earth, their death leaving behind the beginnings of fruit. now, tucked amongst the broad and leafy greens, there are round and long and tall and juicy things growing. 

these bodies have skin, they have form, they are full of so much life that in many cases they have to carry the seeds and information for future life so it can spill from them. and they will grow. some will grow fecundantly, big and full. others will and have, been beaten by rain, and will turn and rot, and mulch into food for that growing around it. 

if i see without the lens of judgment or measurement, these dying bodies are beautiful too. mould and moistness, melting, softening, dis-integration (such an interesting word), smelly and over ripened. 

so much ripe fruit falls from trees uneaten. in some of my first trips to LA, i remember being so confused as to how people could not harvest these foods that were so rare in BC. i was staying with an angel in silver lake, and she lived a couple blocks from a cuban cafe on sunset that i’d been to when on tour with po’ girl, and chris brown and kate fenner. my first trip back to LA and i was blocks from the only place i’d recognize. so each morning, i’d walk the half block from my friends bungalow to a little ravine, scramble dirt board down it, and move my body a couple more blocks to strong, tho decaf, brew. in those short three blocks there were over 8 pomegranate trees, 5 figs, 9 lemons and limes, and a couple oranges. literally weighed down and laden with fruit, their bases covered in a sticky patch painting of colour against grey sidewalk and brown grass. so much food, grown of and by itself with sun and such a little rain, each tree a perfect teaching in life.

i digress.

and not.

those trees are each of us. in our seeding, our growing, our sprouting, our growing, our shooting, our growing, our flowering, our growing, our fruiting, our growing, our ripening, our growing, our dying, our growing, our seeding of future life, our growing.

seeds of memories, seeds of narrative, seeds of possibility, seeds of choice, seeds of non attachment, seeds of hope, seeds of respect and value for life, seeds of resentment, seeds of hatred, seeds of lovability, seeds of unlovability.

day 2

everything is connected to both time before and time after. every being is connected to time before and time after. everyone is connected to time.


loss in so many ways is linked to the sheer ache of missing someone. it is linked to what we didn’t get to share and what we did, it is linked to the death of possibility, it is linked to hummingbird medicine as we often are left asking could i have done more. it is vitally linked to the roles people played with us and us them.

when someone leaves the physical form, we are left navigating it still and are often left to manage what is physically left over. these legacies can move in so many directions. what is left can build futures, security, choices, life but it can also divide, alienate, separate, steal life,  and ultimately possess us in our navigation of relationship, our thoughts, our energy, our time, our space.

when someone leaves the physical form, we are left navigating those relationships that got left behind as well. we might be brought closer to people who we kept further, we might be pushed further from those we thought it was easy to love. 

there are so many ways the story of death and it’s imprint can play out in the lives of those left over. sometimes we get a choice in these actions and at other times, we don’t.

while folks in the midst of a death cycle often react irritatedly to Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief, i have found her teachings like a type of different ten commandments. they are applicable in death and they are applicable to any loss situation. they show up in the order they do for the individual, they often show up before someone even leaves us. for those who don’t know these, they are denial, bargaining, anger, grief and acceptance.

the thing is, these behaviors/emotions are not limited to the relationship with the person who’s passed. they’re related to the relationships of those who are left behind. bargaining and denial are often internal processes but don’t have to be. anger, grief, acceptance often experienced on the outside in relationship to those around us. i have never experienced a loss without these 5 behaviours showing up. they’re worth spending some time looking at, as you don’t want the inevitable anger that has to move at some point to come out and do damage to your current relations. so sometimes, for myself anyhow, the consciousness around it helps. i know i’m going to blow my top sometime and that enables me to be a little more responsible with the where how who and why of it.

oftentimes with death, we go tough. like overcooked meat. for fear of further hurt we build walls, numb our selves, take on and experiment with additional roles to the ones we are familiar with. we literally harden our hearts so we hurt less. unfortunately, though a logical survival tactic, it generally creates more work for ourselves down the road.

death and loss do not change the nature of energy and how it has to move. death is ultimately a conversion in our perception, or how we see or experience reality. both for those living and those dying. we are no longer the same. an old self and way of seeing has died. a new one coming into form. what is that form going to be? what is the story it will write of reality with this new gaze? how are we going to move the energy that is life and all that we create within it?  how do we experience this present void, this unknowingness?


there are many types of loss that we experience in life, from relationships ending, school graduations, jobs we move on from, identities we shed, people choosing paths that don’t include us, leaving homes, locations, countries, cultures behind and of course all the different types of death. right now, in my relations, people have lost mother’s and sisters and uncles to cancer and strokes, fathers to multiple organ failure, son and daughter, lover and best friends to suicide, sons and brothers to od’s, puppies to illness. each being who passed was a different age, made different choices in their lives, created a unique imprint and narrative in reality. the imprints they leave behind are unique also.

i suppose energy moving and the philosophies of death though, make little difference when you cannot hold those you love in your arms. and so, having chosen this crazy complicated topic to ramble on these last two mornings, i am perhaps, left at the beginning.

i send love to all those who are in the process of experiencing death and loss right now. i pray for each and all of you and us, that we are able to experience the true connection of all things, a respect and value for life in the physical form, and a deep appreciation for time spent loving and living with those here right now. 

i pray that your arms and heart hold life and death in equal reverence, that you can pull someone close to you right now, that you can be held in both your body and your experience, that you can feel the person who has left in every breeze, leaf and trill of birdsong. may this passing pass and may each day bring new life and death, great teachers in their duality, lovers linked forever.



courage-the ability to stand by one's heart

courage-the ability to stand by one’s heart

what is strength? what is courage? what is honesty? what is authenticity? what is vulnerability?

big questions for a morning that’s beaming bright sun beams, causing tired eyes to wet with light tears. 

the french word coeur means heart. the word courage comes from this word-it means the ability to stand by one’s heart. but what does this really mean in a day and age where our hearts needs might not even be known to us, so buried are they, under the expectations of culture, materialism, production oriented addiction, practicalities, responsibilities.

angeles arrien talks about our four chambered heart. i know i have shared this story with some, but perhaps not all of you, and it was one of those moments that my breath stopped, the experience was so profound.

…when i was pregnant with this little miracle canyon, i got an ultrasound at about 8 weeks or so to check on the health of the baby etc. the technician and i were looking at the screen, watching the swimming and moving of the little babe inside me, when all of a sudden on the screen, i was looking at what looked exactly like a drawing of the medicine wheel. you know the one. it’s everywhere right now. a circle with a cross through the middle of it. startled, i asked the technician what we were looking at-i mean the medicine wheel was all of sudden on screen, floating around where my baby was. was i hallucinating? she responded-“oh that’s the heart!”

i looked again and realized we were seeing the heart transected from underneath, looking up into it so to speak. and it’s shape was literally that of the medicine wheel. while now it is just a story, in that moment it was a revelation. we carry the wheel inside us, in our hearts, in their very make-up, their structure.


and so, a little about the four chambered heart. the four chambers of the heart represent our open heartedness, our full heartedness, our strong heartedness and our clear heartedness.

if our hearts are not open, we have let the woundings of the world close it. it can be a terrifying thing, to walk this road at this time, with an open heart. if our hearts are not full, then we are not living in alignment with what has purpose and meaning for us. if our hearts are not clear, we lose our time and energy to doubt. we are unsure of our positionality. and if they are not strong, we have been weakened by our stories. obviously the teachings here extend way further, and if interested feel free to contact me about them. but for the here and now, let this suffice-are we walking with a clear, full, strong and open heart? am i?

in indigenous cultures, vulnerability implies strength, it shows that our four chambered heart is in full engagement. i find this profoundly dichotomous to what we in the west/north view as strength which is normally associated with hardness. in non-western cultures, it is suppleness, fluidity, acceptance, showing up that speaks to courage. it is understanding content, context and timing when we communicate. it is being fearful and doing something anyways. this has been big medicine for me. i had traditionally hardened myself to withstand what life threw at me. i figured the harder i was, the stronger i held on, the more i engaged, the tougher i was-well that’s what would help me survive the onslaught that is life these days. thing is, all that hardness just made stuff more difficult. it stuck me in old stories, in time and space, to rigid and firm judgments of right and wrong. nothing was clear when i was hard, other than the very obvious of how much i’d been hurt by life, literally toughened by it. and who likes tough meat?


i have recently come across a path in life that has appeared a few times on my road. it has always led to the same place-a place of wonder, of possibility, of love of the magnitude that mountains and rivers could be moved. and while this path has appeared off mine several times on this journey, it is one i have yet to be invited down. and so recently, as this opportunity has appeared, i took a step. what i wanted to do was leap for joy that this road had appeared again, rip clothes off and, arms flung wide, rip down it like opening a zipper quickly to receive a lovers touch. what i wanted to do was enter a bjork like state of living in a musical, with a flash mob following me, excellently choreographed to celebrate good times, come on!!!!!!! who me? flamboyant drama? what? it's true. but i didn’t. i took only a single step. the path is there before me. laid out amongst tall tree guardians, moss covered with hidden crystals guiding the traveller. but i only stand at it’s entrance. i am not afraid. but i am tired of pushing my narrative onto the world around me, so with this path i practice. patience. hope. joy. possibility. waiting. for a tug, a pull, an invitation? i’m not sure. i just know that to experience different outcomes, we have to try different methods. and so, instead of rushing, i take only a single step. wipe on, wipe off. sometimes this is the measure of true courage. sometimes the practice is standing by the heart. sometimes the narrative we want to write might not be the best that can be written. and so, standing by my heart, i wait, enjoying the breeze, the filtered sun through trees, the sounds of birds and bees pollinating, harvesting, in-joy-ing the waiting.

and so this morning, i send you all greetings of love and of courage. to take single steps towards your self, your goals, your dreams, your inspirations. those things that cause us to inhale and then exhale, momentarily aware of our breath, our life force. i call out to all that calls out to our hearts. an antelope call towards action. towards our dreams, towards our destinies. to explore the unknown, the mysteries, the invited and uninvited life experiences.  to create and craft and collude with spirit on our destiny plans and to be brave, oh so very brave, through continuing to love each and every one, on this here fine day. i salute your hearts friends! and your courage!

why don't we trust time?- a day at vancouver folk fest

why don’’t we trust time?

i had a beautiful day today. one of my nearest and dearest and i, loaded 4 kids into her van this morning and headed down a serpentine highway, cut into the cliff crowned coastline, to the vancouver folk festival for the day. an overcast day, (which to be honest isn’t the worst idea when you’re about to spend 9-12 hours outside), where clouds caressed green-capped grey cliffs on our drive, opened to sunshine. which is good. because although our april and may were as hot and gorgeous as the peak of summer, the last couple months in lower bc have been fickle, and moody, and more reminiscent of fall than summer. so yay! we got a dose of summer in a consciously chosen moment to create a dose of summer!

for context, the vancouver folk fest was part of my life for over 18 years. a time and space every summer where one could guarantee crossing paths with folks you loved but never got to, in the day to day of busyness that we call this post-modern world. a time and space where musicians, language crafters, storytellers shared their wares, their scars, their heartbreak, their hope. a time and space where a massive group, a collective of humans, stopped for long enough to listen, to let seeds plant in minds and hearts. to let smiles in, and to watch watch watch humanity play out all around you in a giant green, willow kissed park, along a bay backed by mountains. suffice to say, it can be so many many things. and there’s nothing like a massive seeding for a dose of inspiration.

but to ramble less, and get to the point more…

why the title of this piece? revisiting the folk fest this year held a reunion quality to it, while at the same time shone laser light into how time passes. there were so many many people playing this year who contributed to quite large parts of my story, of how i came to be here, a little more me each day. a group of friends and lovers who had all braided their stories together somehow without knowing the length of the yarn. new bands made from new configurations of old bands. poets truly, in sonics and words. dissonant voices that were not so afraid to share their gifts that they didn’t. courageous folks-musicians. for many, there is nothing so resonant with their soul as sharing their lives through this medium. but it doesn’t make a difference really. because, while there is natural talent, there is no way around needing to practice to learn, to master. and that always takes time and guts and compromise no matter where you find it. and patient-musicians. i learned this on the road with many of them on a variety of occasions. there is so much waiting. i guess now i could call it being, but who am i kidding-waiting. waiting to get to wherever you are driving or flying to, waiting to sound check, waiting to play, waiting to get payed, waiting to get back to whatever random bed you were sleeping in that night, waiting to see those you might miss, or to get back to the simple tasks of living in a home, watering plants, cooking a meal instead of eating food prepared by others. i learned a lot of respect for those who choose to make their livelihood through playing music. and years ago it caused me to recognize that i had surrounded myself with musicians in relationships, producing shows, tour managing, merch chick-ing- and,perhaps, i wanted to play. and so i did. i picked up a guitar and sucked for so long, caused myself pain, worked it like i’d had to work learning how to surf, and eventually gained enough competency to get out all this energy that is nikki through song. ended up writing over 120. in many ways, because of a bunch of the folks who were present there today on so many stages.

and today, 10-15 years later, with babies,  losses, mergings, evolutions and so many, many stories, i got a chance to peer through time. and it made me wonder, with the complete perfection of everything always being exactly as it is, why we don’t trust time more, or at all really? there are so few constants in the world. (i could even hear in my own head there-well nikki, time isn’t constant). but actually, in it’s binary form, it is. the linearity of time is a constant. and the circularity of time is a constant too. while it does not stretch the same at any given time for any given person, we all do know, from experience, that time does accelerate or decelerate based on our experience of space. it’s this notion that’s the constant here. and so while we look to the forever of relationships as a mast to hold up our sails, or to money, who’s literal value alters day to day, or to ego, which is mostly a summation of our experiences, which are certainly not constant-and we try to create our compass points from these mutable references, we actually not only do not trust time, we often very much fear it. we feel governed by it. we reference our lack of it regularly in todays western societies. but it’s actually there. like a father who will always have your back, and your front, who watches over you and sees you through whatever you need at the speed at which you need it. and in writing this i am realizing the answer, or at least part of it, to my own question.

in our culture we may degrade the mother(the earth), but we do not trust the father. this is metaphoric loves. and i will only address the masculine here. that is what i am talking about. while we hold no respect for the feminine-space creating and holding, intuition, creativity, the invisible, (the ocean) and do for the masculine energies in this northern western world- the energies of production, action, doing, external reference points, release, (the boat)- we actually do not trust the masculine. we, man or woman, have learned not to trust the masculine. because as it has been sculpted and uncallibrated in it’s balance with an unhealed feminine in our modern world, the male inside each of us has taken over, had bullied our intuition, our trust, our ability to just sit and be, our capacity to create, our capacity to create life (look at fertility rates) into, in some cases, disappearing all together. i am not talking about men and women in any way. i am talking male and female, masculine and feminine energetics that hold polarity and form, that create balance, that hold shape, that make life. and as we have all become aware of the tyrant that lives inside us, and have settled with living with him, we have turned our hearts away, shut them down, and let them die. we have continued to live by the tyrant’s wishes for fear of our own safety and security, letting our soul die in the process. at some point, instead of having space and time co-exist in balance, we threw space to the wayside, and threw all our money on time.

but we don’t trust it. perhaps, it is not just healing the feminine that is required, which is so much of what my personal work has been this last decade. perhaps, it is as much learning to forgive and subsequently trust the masculine. to balance it again with all the fecund power, the creative force, the wild and untameable, dark and hidden, changing and morphing that is the feminine, the female, the mother, the woman, the ocean.

and so, an invitation-let out the ocean that is your female inside you. release her from the tyranny of production, or value, or worth. let your brushes fly on canvass like swords, sing to yourself and anyone who will listen, wail and cry. create, listen, hold space, grow gardens in your yards, on your porches, in the soul of yourself and in the hearts of your friends, families and those you love and most importantly FEEL!!!!!!!! and maybe, maybe, through our own individual work, we can slow down time in this here space we find ourselves in, and learn to trust, respect and revere both the beautiful male and female inside us.

i thank you all my sweet and talented loves. i thank you friends who i got to spend some time and space with today. i thank you for the ways you have made me more myself. i thank you for the love i feel inside, in all its shapes and sizes, for each and every one of you. time-it’s such a cool thing;)

joy-being able to laugh at yourself




one of the primary teachings of shamanic practice is that we learn how to take the work seriously while not taking ourselves seriously. whoa. 

as someone who took themselves very seriously, well suffice to say, this was a challenge. how differently did i have to look at my life, if i didn’t take myself seriously? how much would my story of my past, present and future have to shift? how would i achieve, get anywhere-i mean, isn’t that what being an adult is all about-taking yourself and all the other selves in the world seriously? isn’t seriousness just another word for respect? i mean, when people didn’t take me seriously, i didn’t feel respected by them. period. i felt my perspective and my voice invalidated. i mean, what i thought and said was serious right- i had a good heart, i wanted to change the world, i wanted us all to take so much more, way more seriously, than we did. i mean look at how fucked up it all is right?

even writing all this right now brings a slight tinge of nausea to my solar plexus and belly. i actually have a sick feeling inside. and wow, let’s talk about reciprocation, pendulum swings, and the laws of the universe. every action has an equal and opposite reaction. many of us might remember learning this phrase in physics 10 or something. and when limiting it to the workbench, in a science classroom, it can seem just another thing to catalogue, memorize and move on from, not relevant to day to day life, i have found that every law of physics i was forced to remember, is actually a way to understand, energy, the universe, and how to move through my life in this physical body.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction. 

one story: i used to hate LA. as a vancouverite, i’d always related more to san francisco, sort of like a big sister city to us northern ports of seattle and vancouver. i thought LA was toxic and big and car riddled and crazy spectrumed in it’s wealth-poverty scale. i thought it was the vipers nest of so much of what was leaking out into the world as bad story-story that perverts us. then, through call of spirit, i was brought down to LA. again. and again. and again. and in each and every visit i fell more in love with a place that i had just never taken the time to understand, to get to know. i couldn’t see the vast magic of this place and it’s people, through the laid-like-law narrative i’d embedded, thrown, stuck on it. this is the law of reciprocation. watch out for your nevers, your ever afters, and any place you hold to, because there are natural laws in effect throughout this magic world, that supersede any of culture. as with so much in my life, i experienced the pendulum swing, the energetic forces of all that is, calibrate me, my experiences, my exposure.

and another place i have experienced this sweet ride, is through this teaching of not taking myself too seriously. twelve years ago, not being taken seriously would have had serious consequences for anyone who didn’t take me seriously! it would have consequences on the level and tone of my voice, my physiology, my breathing, my sleep and dreamtime. it would have had consequences because of how strongly we cling to ego to sustain identity, the way in which we choose to see the world, the place or position from which we choose to orient. and through all my experience in this spirit work, that ego, any time it has cling-ed, has gotten bashed down to where, i remind people all the time, that i live-in the mud!

a story to share, that was a profound example of this teaching around seriousness, was an experience that i had in the middle of lake titicaca in the great and profound country of peru. i was there with a crew of guys, 1 girl and 9 men on that journey, staying with an elderly couple, who, with their granddaughter, ran one of the only lodgings on the island. my brother and teacher Puma told us that a woman was dying that evening on the island. we asked why and what there was we could do to help. he relayed that she had been beaten so many times by her husband that now she was letting go, dying. and my perspective-he seemed so nonchalant in sharing this story, that was happening, while we were just sitting there!  i had a physical and very strong mental response. in my body, i had to hold myself back from rushing down the gold coloured hills to find her house. i had anger fill me at the audacity of a man who would choose to harm a woman, anger at the community for knowing and not changing anything, angry that she was dying, angry that she was choosing to die. and mostly, angry that i could not in any way relate to puma’s nonchalance as i read it. i also had a massive ego cry out that i could heal her, that i could bring her back, that if i’d known, i would’ve and could’ve done something! and all the while, puma sitting there, letting us know that, if we wanted to help her, we could blow prayers into the despachos we were preparing for ceremony that night.

now i have learned a lot from time spent with my brother, i believe we have learned a lot from each other. but this was big. this was death. and this was my witnessing of so many many of the andean teachings, indigenous teachings, in action. if everything is just what it is, if there is no right or wrong, good or bad, but simply places of organization and places of disorganization. if i didn’t take anyone too seriously but  took their work seriously? well holy shit-how much was i going to have to reorganize the entire way i experienced reality.

i am so grateful for that experience and moment of my own arrogance and judgment. i am so grateful to my brother puma for his neutrality. he wasted no universal or personal energy in the story. he went to where he could experience heart, meaning and transformation. he did not slip into a triangle of victim, perpetrator and rescuer. he maintained who he was, lovingly sending this woman off to her next form. and i diatribe-d, in my head, through the next sacred morning of the sun rising and initiating the andean new year, for days and possibly even months later as i miquied (andean word for mastication or chewing up) this experience. and in all ways invisible and not, i slowly grew corn from it, that has nurtured me ever since. it has enabled me to laugh through tears, to like myself more, to be more authentic, to radically reduce wasted energy, to grow to grow to grow, and to recognize the absolute creative power of story.

all our words, our ideas, thoughts, feelings, actions are energy. they go out into the world and make the world what it is. our story is our reality. it is what we choose to live. heaviness begets heaviness, joy cultivates further joy. and the ability to laugh at oneself-well that really, truly, changes the world.

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha- i’m blogging!!!!!!!!!!





often times, the moment something new begins, is born, we don’t see it. the beginning of things, their conception, is often private, or like a seed, in the dark.

about ten years ago, i started getting a call from Spirit to begin a process of gathering. using the medicine of the squirrel, i was to go and collect medicines-ways, teachings, seeds, ideas, perceptions, practices, relationships. to gather and store all these medicines has been, in some cases, like getting a pantry prepped with summer stock for the autumn. peeling, boiling, chopping, mincing, mixing, fermenting and preparing ‘food’ to last. it’s not a process in which anyone else has been involved in the sense of being around to witness as revelations, integrations, assimilations take place inside my spirit, my heart, my mind. in fact, it has been experiences that don’t translate into language and in that regard, and others, it has been invisible work.

but like seeds, and eggs that have been fertilized, growth has been occurring. under the ground. in the belly, swelling parts of me to distortion, using core creative energy to push through the husk of seed shells, the cervix of entry. and in this last year, the sprouts have started to raise brave heads above ground level, the baby has arrived, and it is time for new life.

writing and sharing ideas through language is something i have always loved, perhaps even needed, to survive the amount of energy and emotions we navigate these days. but i have found consistent practice of it unattainable through my lack of being able to commit to it. i have known that my future will come through the sharing of language and ideas, but i have been hesitant, overwhelmed by the concept of any more commitments in what feels like a life with an overfull plate already. perhaps, truthfully, a little unaccepting of destiny.

however, when seeds grow into plants, they change the landscape of your garden. when little souls come into form as little humans, they guide and cultivate and shift us into aspects of our own growth we might have thought impossible. such has canyon’s gifts been to me. i want to be more- but no longer more of something i might feel like i’m not-working towards goals of culture, materialism, western narratives, comparison, the accomplishment of others. now, i just and only want to be more of who i am. the ithat i am that made some choices before arriving about what i was here to do. i have listened to the call, begun the journey, made it through the struggle and embraced the death so i can come about to this-the return.

and so, in this time of new beginnings, of cultivating my garden, i am committing here to you all, to begin to share my musing, meanderings, wanderings and thoughts in words on a relatively regular basis. you will find these perusingson my website in my blog ( or they will be posted on my facebook page- spiritwalk retreats.



and so my loves, may the seeds grow trees that grow fruit and more seeds, and in wherever you might be in your own process of unfolding, i wish you joy, a strong and full and clear and open heart, and an able sense of humour.

let the play and games begin!