Micro self-aphorisms for 2018.
It seems that 2018 is becoming the year of throwing off resolutions and throwing on self-care.
The magic begins to happen when I let my feminine spontaneity rise without an agenda.
Nothing new can be birthed without the spark of creativity paired with intention.
Play is essential to joy which is essential to creating anything worth putting into the world.
Your spirit knows what she wants to do, but you keep making all these plans without consulting her.
Stop making plans on what you think seems like a good idea when your intuition says otherwise; this has only ever resulted in disappointment.
Some of my best ideas come after dancing or playing the piano. This is not a coincidence. This is how the feminine operates in creativity. She thrives on music; she needs flow.
Feminine influence arises from her mystery. She draws others to seek her out. Why I feel burn-out when I have to market myself or self-promote. It’s just not me.
Let myself be discovered in every way, I am done hustling for worthiness and success of any kind.
Eat good chocolate and drink good espresso; these tiny indulgences carry me far.
Be like a hummingbird, tiny in body, huge in widespread influence. Also, don’t be afraid to double in size when you need to reach new territory. It’s necessary for the journey.
Keep spending time with the people that feel like a blowtorch to your soul.
The wall of light you have worked to build will keep out the ghosts and vampires that feel like dry ash to your soul. Trust in the light. It’s the realest thing.
Stop chasing those that do not see your feminine beauty and glory. Only blind eyes do not recognize her magnificence.
Reconnect with the 10 year old who was fearless to perform in front of hundreds of adults. She’s still there, waiting for the spotlight to find her again.
Do not apologize for wanting to wear dresses and heels and tiaras and red lipstick. These things are your birthright and make you feel alive. Your childhood thrived on dress-up. It’s where much needed escape became joy amid pain and suffering. The only time I felt permission to be me. The only place the feminine could be expressed.
If somebody feels like a bitch; they are a bitch. The days of warring with my intuition are over.
Do not apologize to the bitches turned martyrs. The worst kind of bitch.
Salt in the wound is a catalyst to healing. Do not apologize for being salt. A world with only sugar and no salt is dull and boring and diabetic. Being salt to the wounded is one of your gifts. Use it wisely for healing. People do not need sympathy; they need compassionate truth. Compassionate truth tellers do not encourage victimhood. (See every visionary leader to ever live.)
That hole you felt in your heart couldn’t just be filled by Jesus. Jesus wanted you to see a whole new side to God(dess) which was SHE. She needed to fill your heart. You learned this makes you happy and Jesus happy too. (Also, so much bullshit around historical Jesus.)
The reason you love Taylor Swift is because she doesn’t apologize for sparkles or red lips or truth.
That insufferable guy you met in NYC that said Taylor was unimpressive in person is every unfortunate beautiful man that couldn’t get past his own reflection to honor anyone else’s. Yeah, the one who thought it was cute you were into feminine spirituality. That one.
Buy that book with the color polka dots. No reason needed, other than you love color and dots and books.
You healed yourself with feminine intuition before you ever read any book that explained any of it. Isn’t that the definition of the feminine? Yes.
The princess needed to become the queen before the knight could serve by her side. He was never meant to save her. She was meant to save herself. She knows this now, and so does he.
Sometimes bravery looks like yelling at a group of teenagers for picking on a toad. This is not a small thing. The day you realize this is another step towards becoming who the universe needs you to be.
It’s also ok to watch the Bachelor solely to recognize how far you’ve come—and the terrible lines and ridiculousness. If anything makes you cackle like Chewbacca Mom, you need it in your life.
Thank Goddess for Outlander and Sam Hueghan (and all the beautiful sacred men).
The day you gave yourself permission to say, “How lucky that I wrote a poem about you.” versus “What will he think when I tell him I wrote a poem about him?”: