• Feminist,  Introspection,  Musings,  Patriarchy

    Know Your Worth

    I hate this phrase.  I frequently hear this phrase.  I question my sanity as to why I still listen to this phrase?  My heart convulses when it’s reiterated to me.  Who has decided that we have to know our worth?  I demand to know who makes these bullshit rules up anyhow.  Why do I hate it and listen to it simultaneously?  Is this phrase something that I believe in?  Is it something that I need to know?  Do I need to know my worth?   Would I ask another woman to “know her worth?” There’s something inside of me that tells me “I don’t think so.”  I love these overthinking exercises…

  • Anxiety,  Depression,  Introspection,  Musings,  Wheel Of Year,  Wounds of the Feminine

    Ode To Joy

    When I was younger I remember the sheer joy of the winter solstice season.  I remember sled riding in chest deep snow, the exhilaration of the cold wind on your warm cheeks, hot chocolate, building snow men and snow forts, reading a book curled up in a blanket, baking, hanging lights with those big old bulbs that you had to unscrew and replace, the same string of lights for YEARS that I reverently put out like they were the colorful lights of the divine, the nativity set that my mother hand painted, the quite moments at night or early in the morning that the tree would sparkle with all of…

  • Anxiety,  Contributory Writer,  Depression,  Introspection,  Samantha McDevitt

    Tools For Rewiring Your Mind

    DISCLAIMER ABOUT THE REALITY OF THE BLOG YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ In all honesty I’ve been inspired. I have been on an unsustainable high. I have had this blog pulled up on my computer for at least ten days. I feel like I have something to share finally – something to give – at last.  I feel mentally healthy enough to offer something to the world that I hope will be of use. It is possible I have had this in me for a year, but this is more consistent than other years, more content than I’ve felt before… and then Friday (yesterday) happened and I couldn’t find an…

  • Contributory Writer,  Introspection,  Lady Mayhem,  ShadowWork

    The Book of Madness

    The Book of Madness Before me lays a black book upon a bed of feathers, dark red stains lay upon its pages, watery drops that have come from me. A silver candle is lit to the right of it and the winds of sage ruffles its pages as it blows across from the left. A sight that makes my heart falter and my barriers drop, this is where my whole soul comes forth, this is where I do my work, my gravest work, my hardest work. Black candles await upon a silver holder engraved with spirals; with one pull of a lighter, they are ablaze. The fire flickers, making shadows…

  • A.M.S.,  Introspection,  Musings

    Get Yourself a Muse or Three

    “No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” -Martha Graham When “woe is me-ing” to one of my mentors over something I had created, she told me of this quote and suggested I find myself an Artistic Muse. She explained that we are so harsh in our own judgement that we shut things down without sharing them with the world even though the world may need them. Our own criticism can kill our gifts. My Artistic Muses are pretty fabulous weapons for tweaking and…

  • Introspection,  ShadowWork,  Underworld Work

    Tara’s Descent

    “TThey carry her ashes carefully, deliberately, inside a basket. wrapped in bear fur, with flakes of charcoal from the burning of oak and hazel, and floating strands from her shroud. The blue winds of white horse hill numb the jaws of these far walkers So distant we can barely see them. The bairn’s dust is taken to the high hill, haunt of bleak vastness. A cairn is prepared, the old sounds made. Purple moor grass stuffed about the bounty, gathered in the browning-hills-time. Spindlewood ear studs, from such trees that still grow on the lower slopes, pelt, a woven belt of nettles. A necklace that behooves a sovereign, with precious…

  • Fairy Tales Revisioned,  Introspection,  Magick

    If You Say Twin Flame One More Time I’m Gonna Puke

    I am so god damned sick of that stupid term:  TWIN FLAME.  Such a tricky, sticky, slippery little concept that it is and it’s circulating amongst the new age crowds and gatherings of woke AF persons (I include myself amongst this group because CLEARLY I’m super spiritual *said using my best JP voice*).  It’s all over the internet, there are books written about it, and Facebook algorithms have its number pinged to delightfully fill your news feed full of little tests to see if you have indeed stumbled upon this electric rainbow-colored unicorn in the dark that matches your vibrational sequence, was born of the same breath and mirrors your…

  • A.M.S.,  Introspection,  Musings

    The Voices In My Head

    I wrote this whole thing and the negative voices in my head are asking that I go back to the beginning and type a disclaimer about this not being the type of thing I usually write about. My self doubt wants you to know I’m having self doubt around writing about self doubt. Now that we got that out of the way… I watched a Facebook Live video this morning of a father wondering where his 13 year old’s self doubt comes from. Where all of our self doubt and negative self talk comes from. He said we aren’t born with self doubt, so at what point is it planted…

  • Introspection,  Story Medicine,  Wheel Of Year

    The Inbetwixt Fairy

    Snowflakes are falling outside in a blissful little dance of winter’s refusal to cease and move on.  The trees are lined with ice that looks like glass, and I’ve become a fairy stuck somewhere in between.  I should go out into the biting cold and use the glass covered trees as scrying mirrors to see what future the spring will bring, but I am feeling stuck somewhere inside.  I too am refusing to let that slumbering hibernation den go, and I have begun fluttering around in my winter abode as I start to feel the shifting mania setting in.  The switch below has been flipped to harken in the change…

  • A.M.S.,  Introspection,  Story Medicine

    These Hands

    I look at these scarred, cold, not-as-young-as they-used-to-be hands and I somehow feel betrayed by their now ever-present pain but at the same time, not in the least bit surprised as I know their story more intimately than I know any other story. These are the hands of a backwoods little girl who dug for worms, typed imaginary letters on a broken electric typewriter in her clubhouse, built Hawaii out of moss and candles at the base of a tree in her grandmother’s yard. These hands also built The House of Usher in her sandbox and got in trouble for having a real grass lawn around it. Thanks, Edgar Allen…