Wishing you lots of Capricorn inspiration!
There is always
another name you'll hear.
Your ears will burn
at the sound of it.
Swirling in his mouth.
Sweetness on his tongue.
He'll speak it with such vibrancy
that syllables will become an earthquake.
Destroying your home.
You said you were skating
no more work
I looked around the walls of your home.
I saw the ways I think of you in color.
the way I always think of you.
You underestimate me,
comparing me to the highway.
When I'm guardrail.
I am the road being paved in the middle of the night.
I am an illuminated sign.
Warning you of turns ahead.
I'm a yellow flashing light.
I am every prayer that was ever whispered for you.
gratitude toward your tail between legs.
A shadow moved.
When you return,
you'll find ivy on my walls.
A yard thick with roses and thorns.
A bedroom thick with love.
You can call it magic.
Ear to the fence,
you can pace.
Say I'm rude,
say we're witches.
We'll smudge the whole place.
The women whom I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because shit worked out. They got that way because shit went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes. -Elizabeth Gilbert
While you were worried about compromises,
Craving mountain sunsets +
Confining me to saltwater sunrises.
I was pouring. I was dripping devotion.
I was certain we could have it all.
Music on the road from the farm to the ocean.
originally published on Groove Forward
I have tried to love in halves.
I have learned to exist both in your arms, and underwater, at once.
I have crate trained this heart to wait patiently until you come home.
In this discipline, I become content.
I have tried to love in halves.
I have divided my life by the meeting of you.
I have stifled passion to keep a soft foot.
In this discipline, I become meek.
I have tried to love in halves.
I have denied my own heights; lost pride in all talents.
I have fought urges. in thighs. like thunderstorms.
All to not overwhelm you.
In this discipline, I become silent.
Virgo in my relationship house.
To everyone trying to find their own commitment and connection to the practice: let it be easy. Know that stillness and breath more than just count. Soak up even a 5 minute stretch in your bed. Take a class at the studio with a friend when you can. Sip coffee while you practice. Sip wine after you practice. Take your pup for a walk and know that it's yoga. Heck, belly laugh on the phone with your bestie and know that THAT's yoga. It's all yoga if you're present. You've got this.
I don't even know where to begin. With excitement? Gratitude? How do I even begin to summarize the past month?
I'm a firm believer that life is a series of wake-up calls. Moments to shock your senses. Experiences to catapult you out of monotony. I also know that the cure for anything is hard work and passion.
So maybe that's the summary? Passion? Maybe it's a surprise happy morning in Atlanta to visit Maria and her new home. Maybe the summary is the labor of love that each artist put into their craft at Renegade Craft Fair. Passion is giggling and trading artwork with designers you admire. New friends like Go_rings, kristen salsa juan, the six of cups and lmorganics.
Passion is surely the way Sam and I STILL talk about those fried avocado cones we ate somewhere in Austin. Passion. Taking cues from Texas and believing that bigger is better. Big heart. Big love. Big swinging attempts even if you strike out.
Passion tastes like that cinnamon bun I ate in Tucson. Yep. Gluten free/ dairy free heaven. Inspiration in that Arizona landscape. Freedom for a sadness to turn to anger. and a heartache that got left behind somewhere before making it to the west coast. Because those California mornings needed room for coffee strolls alone. And the evenings were surrounded by family. Dancing. Feeling the least alone you've ever been. Days became filled with strangers telling me how they take their coffee. How they hold their cup. Who this mug is for. "They're gonna love it" while I wrap and pack.
I washed my face in Santa Monica saltwater. I watched a Malibu sunset. I prayed at the Seven Magic Mountains. I made a wish to the heavens while the stars were out and the moon was a sliver. I listened to Nicole sing sweetly in the car. I walked on sacred ground. Connected. I sped through the desert missing home. Passion caught up with us again in Nashville. Rooftop with Janelle & Sara. Mugs for sale, but a priceless skyline. Lattes in bowls. The excitement I feel to hear a new story.
I've been sleepy in the few days since getting home. Sleepy but Awake. Do you know that feeling? Resting but Alive? That's passion.
I gave up yoga and meditation for a week and here's what happened:
I heard myself. My desires. My unhappiness. I cried.. a lot. I vented and word-vomitted. I got a little bit snappy at times. I watched GIRLS. Ok.. I binge watched ALL of GIRLS. I read. I cried more. Listened more. I felt small. I felt my faults. And I felt human.
I temporarily shook off the pressure to be or to feel any better than I actually am. I wasn't manifesting. No affirmations. No intention setting. I wasn't releasing negativity. Instead, I felt it. I felt it all. When I was mad, I got good and angry. When I was sad, I shattered.
My yoga was filling me with the illusion that I needed to love more. Bigger. Harder. Without even realizing it, my practice was guilt-tripping me into trying to be all things. I am not all things.
My week off from yoga was a release. No morning intentions to trick myself into thinking that if I put in the work, I'll be loved. That if I'm just a little bit softer, I'll be seen.. noticed. That if I get my energy just right, I'll make it through the day. But ya know what? I still made it through the day. And the next one. And the next. And now I'm back on my mat every morning with more honesty. Less pressure. Just me.
Sometimes our love is stolen. Or our heart gets broken, shattered, torn. Maybe you lost your energy. Maybe you fought so hard that you forfeited pride. But lucky for you, resilience stays. Resilience mimicked your loyalty and it laid at your feet. Waiting for you.
Death is indifference, and I have had many funerals
I feel out of place in the era of "Zero Fucks." I never quite feel like I belong in this age of shrugged shoulders and clean consciences. I still require my confrontations to be followed by a nap to help with the emotional exhaustion, and a snack marathon to heal the churning in my stomach. I still have bruised knees and a bruised ego when I fail. I still feel sincerely apologetic when I can't follow through with plans. And I can't help it- but I still care if people like me, or at the very least think that I'm kind.
Everyone's asking, "who gives a fuck?" and I hear myself whisper, "I do."
I give So. Many. Fucks.
Don't get me wrong- I see the appeal. I'm willing to bet those carefree and unapologetic mindsets toss and turn way less at night. But for me? That mindset just creates a giant, uncomfortable, disconnect between my head and my heart. Because my heart isn't lukewarm. My heart cares. My heart cares if my actions were out of character. My heart has already planned its whole speech before it comes out my mouth. My heart wakes up with the best of intentions, and it breaks when it falls short.
Maybe this is you. Maybe you've tried to navigate a more casual course, but you just wound up feeling even more lost. Maybe it's just who we are, and maybe we have to accept that it's OK. Maybe we can't afford to give zero fucks when we're already too invested in giving a damn.
I was not born from the sky
for my heart to be grounded.
So give me a love that mimics the elements,
one that mocks content souls.
Show me passion that would chase me to the ends
And I'll show you devotion that never rests.
I think the moon led me to you
So I think the moon can heal me too
I feel most alive when I'm howling at the moon.
And all this lamenting has me wondering what these teeth could do.
It always rains on April Twelfth
Ever since the loss of you.
A part will always feel empty,
there will forever be room.
But lovingly, with mourning and rain,
It's where flowers bloom.
Grace. I don't show myself much of it. I'm hard on myself in my work, my relationships, my craft. You name it, and I've already beaten myself up over it. If I'm really honest with myself, I think my lack of grace toward self has a lot to do with my resistance to rest. I'm pretty terrified of the feeling that "I should have done more" or "I could have done better."
I noticed today, as I moved slowly and patiently on my yoga mat, that my practice is the one place where grace abounds. I sink sweetly into childs pose whenever I please. In my day, I tend to replay and analyze confrontations, but on the mat I exhale and release knowing that I'm doing the best that I can. On my mat I am so incredibly human... and in creeps grace.
We call it our practice because we have to keep returning to it. It's about showing up and finding the pieces of yourself that you are missing out there in the world. As I dive deeper into cherishing the practice this month, I'm realizing how important it is going to be to keep grace front and center. Maybe rest will follow?
Looking forward to practicing with you.
Are you comfortable with devotion? Can you show up to your mat during life's hard moments and endure the stillness? Can you overcome ego? Can you sit with your breath and celebrate rest? Does yoga have to be an event? The practice... how close are you to it?
I've spent the last few months really thinking about the art of practicing. I've been noticing my relationship with yoga, my art, my passions, and my responsibilities. It's a theme that will be creeping more and more into my classes and the studio. I'm excited to share more, write more, and sink into the discipline with an even deeper awareness. I hope you'll be joining me.