on the new moon + dying times. or words from mary.

this was not written now. this was written months ago. i am not sure where it came from.

I sat down and this came out. It def isn't my voice. But I'm gonna own it. I tucked it away for a while. But you know, how writing goes. Sometimes it is quiet and sometimes it is loud.

I am sharing it now. Because it means something to me.

And I am doing it in honor of a dear friend who lived life so fully, who was a master, who was a teacher, who was entirely celestial and also with roots so deep she could reach through to the other side, always. She died too soon. And it's fucked up. And yet, she is working her magic through us all now, multiplied. Multitudes. Layers and layers. I so feel it. It has change everything.

<<<<<>>>>> This one is for you, Dove. I love you.<<<<<>>>>>

The moon is almost new. Empty. Released. I don't even know what sign it is in, or what it's all about, grief will spin you like that. But I can feel it. And big things are happening. I hope these words come as some kind of guide, somehow. I hope they make you feel more at home, no matter how long we are here, we are here now. Let's live. Let's live. Let's live.


prepare to die.

and to let everything you think you knew to be true to die along with you. this is the only way we get to bring a new world together. to sew something, to carve and saw and cut something, to put fire to something so it melts together and looks otherwordly.

let go of your dogma, whatever it is. just use love - if everything you do is motivated by love, the love you know in your heart, then it is right even when it is totally wrong. if you cannot feel the love in your heart then that is your work to do - to be with your heart- until you can feel the love- for yourself - but also for all the people, for the earth, for what is between all the layers of rock and soil, cloud and empty air, between the stars and the dark matter, between the layers of the skin, the fascia and the follicle. pull it up. push it down. let it simmer. let it rage. let it undress you. let it lay you down to rest. love. that is where it begins. and ends.

do not carry on with self care and extreme spiritual practices unless you are doing it to hold space for all of us, do not do it, as a reaction or in contraction. do it as practice, as imperfection. so you can take action. do it so you can show up with flexible muscles and strong bones and clear eyes and booming voices. do it so you can explode from the heart, bleeding, stabbed, broken, whole, cared for, loyal, connected- your heart. your heart. your heart. it is the most badass of science and mystic beating into one.

we are living in dying times.

we are here to be part of the medicine, to be the midwives, the leaders, the healers, the artists, the truth seekers, the the space holders. who is willing to let go of the programming that says:: forge forward for success, at any cost ::::: when there is no such thing? who is willing to walk away from that system? who is willing to go back and pull threads from the deep ancestors, and weave together the story where spirit lives in all things.

do you feel a little bit of something? a subtle peace happening? and it’s called death.

this does not mean death cannot be violent and painful. this does not mean death will not entail thrashing. this does not mean death will not scare the ever living shit out of you.

because it can and it will.

it will cause us all to grasp at every old syllable of every old language that never was meant to include everyone. it will cause us all to grasp - cling- to the tiny comforts we have been given, and if even they have been stolen from us, even if we have stolen them, even if we have worked our skin to bone for them. we will grasp at our need. we will grasp at our anger. because in the rage, we know we can spiral somewhere, to death or birth. the rage can move us. make movements. brings us back and forth. in the in between. to all the places that are ok and more than ok and not very ok at all.

letting go of life is not easy.

letting go of what someone told you that you were and that you are and where you are going and what happens - is not easy.

you have no guidebook.

and yet everything that takes a breath, stops taking a breath. every thing that comes from seed, goes back to seed.

but i am telling you this: you are not what you have been told.

you are, though, what you have always thought you have been, as a child, before anyone got to you. before anyone got to you and made you think love was tarnished. and if they got you as a child, you are what you knew you were, before all of it, when you were floating in the celestial fluid of the body, when you said yes as sperm meets egg, when you said yes when the spinning happened and the DNA was formed. you are what you were in that yes.

you are what you are on those days under the old chestnut tree and you were spoken to by the wind.

do you remember then? when the trees still talked to you and the earth still held you tight? before you had to hide under the covers because there were so many boogie men and you never felt safe. before you had to talk to me with your shaken voice, to beg me to listen. and when i answered back, you talked to me about the blades of grass and the the way the earth smells under your nails. because i was there and you were too and all was well, underneath the dirt.

do you remember then? before you became a place for others to wage war? to make you scared that your very existence, the women and all the women that you were, that lived within you, had to stay small and hidden, because if you were seen, you would be in danger. if you were too loud you were risking the very skin that felt so damn uncomfortable on you?

do you remember before the days when you would stand in the shower and ask yourself “why do i feel such dread? i am just in the shower? under the water.” because before those days, there was not trauma. and trauma will crawl in your skin and make you feel nervous or anxious no matter where you are. trauma will crawl like worms in and out of your skin. and you will fill full of holes.

do you remember before all that?

can you? can i ask you to try? beneath the beneath. under the under. below the dirt. inside the birthing star. against the yellow of the moon.

if you can, and i know it is hard. that is the person to trust. to listen to. that is who you are. who you always knew. what to be and do.

i am your mother and i am sorry you felt so alone, without me. and i am sorry my image has been used to bring even more trauma, connected to pain and judgment, who defines me and describes me in ways that are not me, not meant to be. i am sorry i am attached to a religion and a one way road. please know i am endless trails and multitudes.

i am here to say

obey yourself.

worship the earth.

throw your entire being into land and up towards the sky.

hold tight to the people who you trust to die with. invite them near you, always.

and together, in community, in connection, it is the most revolutionary thing you can do. to bring yourselves near each other. feed each other. cry with and for each other. dance with each other. pull off the masks with each other.

to be so vulnerable to expose all the things you carry, all the weight on your shoulders.

that you can put it down.

down down down by the river.

you belong to us which is just another yourself.

and you belong not to just feminine or masculine, because that is not what i am. get over the words. even the empowering kind. even the "right" ones. kill it all. and let there be stillness and silence for a while. let there be chills on skin and chattering in teeth and green lights that ripple through the sky.

the earth needs to heal. you can belong to it, be slow. be slow. it can be slow.

be the slow down.


this time has been coming forever, and we are in it, as we have always been in it. do not think time is a line. it's just space.

and things happen, like stars die and make the most beautiful nebulas, and light bounces off shadow and shadow holds us while we slide down to places we do not have names for.

trust this space. do not trust time. do not trust leaders with words and lightning that pierce you in your heart and make your brain feel wicked and tired. do not stop working, never stop working, but make sure it is your heart that brings you to those places, and work until you know even that must die. work until you must lay even that to rest.

because it all has to. i am the consort of the god. i am the mother of the holy. i am the voice of the earth. of the heavens. i am the mother of the angels. i am the mother of everything. i am everything.

and i am not apart from you. we are not apart. this is not a hierarchy. oh for fucks sake. no. no. no.

i am you. you are me. but i cannot be activated until you connect deeply, with each other, form relations. dig in the dirt. hold seeds in your hands. remember that the true revolution is not in a system, it is in the seed. it is in the love of the mother and father that you never received. so be it, to everyone you meet. be it. be what you never got. be all that you ever wanted. give it. GIVE IT AWAY. this life is not guaranteed. and i can promise you, we are at the end. let it be.

*release yourself this new moon. hold each other close. breathe for each other. catch each other's last breaths*

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