Reflections and rituals from a life lived in devotion. Prayers from the land, the body, the heart, and the path that keeps unfolding.

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Excerpts from With Devotion:

I entered a different realm. It went like this.

I had a vision of a holy man. He reminded me of a man I encountered in Nepal that I sat with 6 years ago. I was in line to receive from this man. I looked down and realized I was an essence. I interpreted this as not having been incarnated into this body yet. I began to understand I was in line to receive something for my next life. As I moved forward in line, I could see he was handing out rosebuds and milk. I got to the front of the line. I remember pausing, feeling and telling myself, “Wow. I am definitely not going to receive that beautiful offering.” I believed I didn’t deserve it. And then, he handed it to me— the rosebuds and the milk. My heart swelled as I lay on my mat. It felt like a rose itself opening.

The rosebuds and milk to me symbolized a full life to come of everything I have been praying for. The sweetness, tenderness, a family, community, for feeling seen and held, fertility, reciprocal-earthy-devotional love, all of it.

I have since been living life like this promise is already true. Like my prayers have already been answered.

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This bright fire I feel inside my heart— all of the grief, all of the joy, my love for life, the motivation to live fully, my ancestors’ stories— started with their spark. I tend to it daily. Remembering who came before me makes me feel more rooted to my intentions for this life—Green-blooded. Soul on Fire. Remembering the way home.

I wish I could liberate the earth in the way she liberates me.

I plant seeds to honor the spirits of those I've lost~ both living and dead.

She offers back at her own altar

in ways that balm and heal me through blooms like medicinal honey.

Dripping into every crack in my bones,

in my heart,

in the fire I feel at the madness of this world.

Despite the aches of this world,

the earth shows up when I remember to listen.

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memory. harvest. memory.

moments I wish to keep forever close.

sun dissolves into light.

light brings life.

life forms backbones.

backbones keep memory.

memory stays here.

passed down, passed through.

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Familiar in the ways I have chosen again and again to walk a path different then anyone I know.

Mysterious in the ways where I must trust that each step is leading me closer.

Magical in ways that are beyond belief.

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the longing for the rose to bloom

means to savor the rosebud,

to respect the thorns

and the medicine it brings, despite the bleeding.

there is rebirth

in the pain,

in the patience,

in the liminal,

in the beauty of it all.