I was still trying to fit myself into a box, squeezing within its tiny walls, forcing my feminine flow to conform to convention. I don’t fit. I’m not alone. We try to though, and constrict ourselves in the process. That’s what I was doing, still denying my fluid feminine to fit the way our more conventional society likes to see things done.
I’ve longed for the feminine arts to be valued in our culture and in my life the way my heart knows they deserve. The flow of beauty and love that pours through in the arranging and decorating of a home, the care-filled making of a sweetheart’s lunch, the devotional baking of a cake. I feel it in my mom’s sewing, her love coming through. Everyone feels it when they touch something she’s made.
Recently I gave an intuitive reading that became the gateway for a fascinating thread of discovery. The reading was difficult for me. The woman was guarded, and it held back the free flow of psychic information, making it less enjoyable for both of us.Read More