Ancient Mother

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Ancient mother lives within,
Spinning up the tales of our soul,
Planting the seeds of future ideations,
Harboring the boats that sail on salty tears
Cried for past generations and future warriors

Laboring for love’s last breath on our lips,
She bears the fruit of victory over death,
Her last breath given to save us from ourselves,
Only to rise again from the ashes we created,
Strengthening the warrior inside

Despite the fear,
Despite the rage,
She frees us from our cage of self-imposition
And our bondage with the broken ties of past regrets

This love she holds is boundless,
Always available to mend our tender hearts
And set the broken pieces to sail
On the sea of her open, endless heart

©SpiritLed 2017

Let It Shine

let it shine

Activate your love powers
For all the world to feel,
Saturate your heart light
That those who touch you
May feel love’s warmth,
May no longer know the sting
Of tiny deaths we die each day
When love is not alive
And connection cannot be found

In your heart light
Lies the answers,
The prophecy,
For a kinder tomorrow,
A brighter soul space,
A living testament to the connection
That guides the future

Let it live within
Let it shine within
Reaching all the insides,
Radiating outside
Let it shine

©SpiritLed 2017

3 Tips to Navigate Fall Transitions

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This time of year brings with it the experience of transition.  All around us the weather is transitioning from warm to cool.  Trees are transitioning from green to multi-colored to completely bare.  Children are transitioning back to school.  We are all transitioning from the carefree feeling of summer to the buttoned-down feeling of the winter months.

None of these transitions are bad.  They’re simply the natural cycles of the seasons and of life.  Yet, often the transitions we experience this time of year bring up difficult feelings of pain, loss, and sadness.  Children going back to school requires letting go and an awareness of the loss that comes with growing up and out.  The process of trees releasing their leaves also brings an awareness of loss, despite the variety of warm and beautiful colors.  The buttoning down that we do is both an exercise in keeping warm during cooler temperatures, as well as a practice of symbolically protecting ourselves during this time of change and vulnerability.

Fall has historically been a difficult time for me.  My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer in July, and transitioning into that fall poignantly marked a series of endings for me.  With every leaf that fell, I saw my time with her slipping away.  With each cold breeze, I felt the chill and emptiness of knowing she would soon be gone.

At age 27, I didn’t have any tools to help me navigate my feelings during that time, or for many years afterward.  So, like many people, I simply powered through, trying to get through fall and winter as best I could until the renewal of spring would come again.  I know I’m not alone in this.  I interact with so many women who share their avoidance of feelings like pain, loss, sadness, and even grief.  In most cases, we avoid not only because it’s difficult, but because we’ve not been given the tools to approach our feelings in a healthy way.  Our lives are busy; there’s no time for difficult emotions.

What if we had the tools at our fingertips?  What if we took the time to really allow the difficult feelings to move through us?  

Fall would have a whole new meaning.

I have a favorite quote that floats around social media land this time of year:

“The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let the dead things go.”   ~anonymous

Letting the dead things in our lives go is some of the most difficult work we’ll ever do.   It also gives us a freedom we may not have ever experienced before.  Imagine if the trees kept all the old, dead leaves AND grew new ones each year.  The branches would increasingly become weighted down, eventually snapping under the weight of the excess leaves.  Or the decaying leaves would create disease in the once healthy trees, which would eventually spread to the trunk, the roots, even to other nearby plants.

Nothing living is nourished by something dead.  Trees know when to shed what no longer serves them and provide space for growth and renewal.  We can learn skills in our lives to do the same.  Below are three simple tips to get you started.

Get it out – Talk to a friend or therapist, join a sacred women’s circle, keep a journal, write a blog, pen a poem, practice morning pages….anything that tangibly gets the thoughts out of your head before they get and stay lodged in your body.  Unprocessed feelings become thoughts which become stuck in your energy body and eventually affect your physical body.  They eventually come out as physical pain, depression, anxiety, or other issues that affect your ability to function in a healthy way.   Getting it out of your system, even if you just tear up the page and never show it to anyone (even yourself), helps process those feelings and let them go from your energy field.

Stay grounded – Salads may be the choice for health-consciousness, but warming root vegetables and hearty soups help keep us grounded during times of unrest, especially in the fall.  It’s natural that we crave warmer foods during this time.  Go with your body’s natural urging (or gently redirect your taste buds toward more seasonal foods) and indulge in sweet potatoes, carrots, fresh dark greens, squash, beans, warm spice teas, and even dark (the more cacao the better) chocolate. 

Balance your energy – Transitions –and the feelings that come with them—often catch us off guard and knock us off balance.  It’s much easier to deal with the feelings when we have practices in place that keep us feeling balanced and secure. Regular energy healing treatments and mindfulness practices (such as meditation) help balance your energy and help you regain your sense of peace.  From that peaceful, balanced place, you can feel safe to open yourself to any feelings that come and process through them. 

If you’re ready for deeper, more transformational work around a transition you’re currently experiencing, contact me for a FREE call to see if my Healing from Transition: 7 Steps to Rebuild Your Life, Reconnect to Yourself, and Rediscover program might be a good fit for you at this time in your life.

Love and light,
Ashley

Daily Bliss – September 28

This life gives, and it takes away, and we often can’t know the rhyme or reason for it.  What we can reach for though, is that center of the storm where there is peace.  An anchor doesn’t keep the boat from rocking on the waves, but it does prevent it from drifting aimlessly out to sea.  Reach inside, find your anchor, your peace, and reside there until the storm passes.

Light Has Come

Winter’s achy body
roils against the additional chill,
moves closer to the hearth of love’s delight
where warm air blows,
stifles the voices of doubt
with its promises of nearing thaw

There, by light and glow,
the fiery sprites dance their song,
flickering in and out of heartspace
igniting movement,
inducing peace,
propagating a lust
for the thawing of hearts

The dead robin in the yard
only makes the heart thump faster,
carefully putting him to rest
is a reminder of the struggle and peace
that existence brings to bear,
a triumph over love and death
and the cold dark of night,
as the light always rises in due time
bringing the glories and the tragedies,
the endless golden days inside our hearts

Feel the flutter against your cheek
and know that light has come

©SpirtLed 2015

Into the Open

colombe

Birds sound in the birch tree outside my window,
squawks and caws of blue jays and ravens,
the familiar “birdie birdie” of the cardinal,
a “tut tut” from a robin, and the occasional
“hoo hoo” of the turtle dove

They go about their days
never making note of my coming
and going, buildiing their nests,
laying their eggs, hatching helpless
babies with no announcement
of their arrival

Children find a baby bird on the
sidewalk, hairless, eyes still closed,
too soon outside the protection of
its egg.  They try in vain to save it,
pour water over its tiny body,
baking in the afternoon sun, feed
worms into its gaping mouth, gasping
for its final breath.  They place its body
into last year’s fallen nest and forget
about it, on to enjoy their next adventure

The turtle dove sits on my windowsill
for at least an hour, peering nervously yet
never offering to depart, dark eyes piercing,
she stares, unblinking, and I stare at her,
and together we ponder what to do,
remain here on this ledge contemplating
each other and the world beyond,
or take flight, entrust the wind to carry us
on its back, permit the ground
to soften falls along the way, when,
startled, I break our gaze to look
behind me, and turning back
to my companion outside the screen,
I find that she is gone

©SpiritLed 2014