Hey Wild Ones,

I recently read Martha Beck’s novel, Diana, Herself: An Allegory of Awakening, and after reading the last line, I burst into tears. My mind was undone. The magic is out of my puny reach. I am too unblissiplined. Too scared. My heart, on the other hand, was dripping with joy ? YES the impossible IS possible. If we believe. Somehow. Somewhen. But what will it take? More meditation? Less civilization?

If you’re a nature-loving, animal hugging, fairy following, madness making, fearfully flawed spiritual seeker who wants to save the world (or one or two wolves,) this story might be your cup of sunshine.

I’m a wilderness wannabe. I watch Survivor for the thrill of imagining myself stranded with “nothing” only to discover, that actually, I have everything. I am safe. I’m supported by Life. Gaia. God. Angels. Animals. Trees. Bees. A million dollar prize.

If only I weren’t a scaredy-cat.

My body and I have battled our share of shame and surgeries. Limitations and loss. Dwarfism. Arthritis. Saggy boobs. I adore being outdoors. But I retreat to tamed parks and woods. I’d like to sleep under the stars  but I’m afraid of getting eaten alive by bugs and bobcat. How can I sweetly commune with the magical Mother Nature, the Elementals, the moon and stars, while worrying about ticks in my nether regions? Bumping into bear? Stray stalkers? 

My body (my meat-self, as Martha calls it) can barely bend over, put on socks, crawl into a tent, kneel down to sip from a clear mountain stream, squat when Nature calls, or run for a tree… When I believe in my lone “I” who “can’t,” I know that my BS is in the row boat and she’s got the oars. If you trust your spirit’s call, your body might get mauled…

When I’m able to see beyond my earth suit, my backyard BS and the world’s weariness, I imagine that we’re just temporary flesh-sicles, fractured from the Oneness. Apparently “you” and “I” wanted to go nighty-night into the most convincing (and wincing) wilderness dream – alone and separated from each other. Friends from fam. God from Earth. Scooby from Shaggy. We split into the dark so we could re-member our Campfire Light. Our Unity. Our S’mores. According to the mystics, separation is just a starry illusion. A Cosmic Selfie. A Big Family Photo Bomb. It’s for Fun. It’s for Love.

What. The. Flock.

Of. Seagulls. 

It feels so freakin’ real. Heartbreakingly hard.

I was shaken the other day by my inadequacies – the weight of ancient fears and powerlessness. I AM ALL ALONE IN HERE!

Help!

And it felt like no one heard me crying. Except the chocolate chip cookies?

It started with tax paperwork – my boggy brain began inadvertently fishing in fear: It’s your fault we don’t have savings. You don’t work hard enough. Next thing I know, I’ve jumped in with the Great Whites: There’s something VERY wrong with you. You’re letting your family down. You’ll never be good enough. You smell like a sea slug. Etc.

When caught in a riptide – turn over on your back and breathe. As waves slosh over you, keep calm, relax and let the tide take you. Beach your BS like a whale. Bask like a seal.

Wait, trust the tide?? To take me where? I should have stayed safe on the shore!

I tend to paddle myself very hard.

The path to awakening calls us to many jagged cliffs and cold quarries. Most of us distrust the necessary swan dives. Imperfect landings. Getting caught in our own net. We tend to fight the current of trials and teachers (ingrates, partners, presidents, kids and squids) which can actually deliver us from our illusions, judgment and gefilte fish.

We swim with the challenging ego, again and again, even though it keeps smearing our vision board. It’s the way we learn about our creative power, though. We’ve been given the glorious ability to choose. Focus on the fins you fear, and things start to stink.

Martha calls the inner party-poopers and groupers, “The Furies” and that’s just how it feels when our meat-self grabs hold of the Fishing Rod. And Motor Boat. Our Meta-self watches with amusement, not at all worried about our pathetic belly flops over the side. Or those jelly fish. Of course, when we feel that lonely sting, it’s hell in water. Abandonment. Overwhelm. Up a creek without a green smoothie. Disconnection from the soul.

But that’s an illusion, too. Our humanness can’t escape our spirit. It’s part of the package. Bogo.

So what’s an earthbound sack of seawater to do?

After reading Martha’s book, I wanna move to the country, befriend wolves, gather food with woodland friends hibernate with mama bear and live by the lake of freedom and joy. And never pay taxes. 

Oftentimes, we creative trail blazers find ourselves feeling like salmon – a mysterious pull toward some distant, dreamy Home. It inspires us to leap out of the conventional thinking and trappings. Woohoo!  

But BS Belief Systems like to backstroke by. They swim me right past the tropical island and then make camp in my head’s polluted harbor. The Furies shout to NEVER push off from that goddamn shore again, you idiot.

Roe is me.

After these attacks, I tend to wade in my small selfie pond awhile. Then, when I’m not even “trying,” my soul starts to float me downstream again. Phew. Soon… I just gotta see what’s comin’ round the bend. I gotta try to direct and duct tape the tides. Suddenly. I’ve lost sight of shore! I’m doomed! My hair dryer is at home! And while I’m wailing about the Great Whites, I miss the life savers. 

There are a lot of us out there “trying hard” to change the tides. We tend to cling to the last clammy rocks right before we’re spit out into the abundant ocean.

Carp-e diem, my lil sea horses.

Happiness is ours, when we can enjoy the river we’re riding, today. Our mind yells, hell no, it’s not enough! Our heart says, oh heavens yes, LOVE IS RIGHT HERE. We don’t have to fight the current. Unless that’s your jam, then go for it.

Otherwise rest.

Stop paddling for awhile. Turn on your back and breathe, sweet otter. Call for kelp. Trust your soul’s flow. Ride it like a mofo. And release. It’s the crack in the crab shell where Spirit (or butter) gets in. The open air allows our soul to love bomb the Furies (BS, sea-monkey mind, ego, mental diarrhea etc.)

You are a rare and precious pioneer. A game changer. A lone ranger. A fish shtick. There will be times of doubt and despair. It’s ok. It’s part of the wild earth we came to surf and turf. Together. After our respite, let’s get back on our dolphins and manatees. We ride at dawn!

From my lil aquarium to yours,
With love and warm sandy toes

Julie

P.S. If you’re searching for some inspiration and super-soul-support on how to surf through your stress, email me and we’ll set up a free coaching call. Tell me what’s got you crabby and we’ll crack through that old shell so you can shine like the sun. Let’s hold hands, like otters do, while we ride out these wavy times. I’ll be a devoted accountability partner so you can get your sh**t done. Talk to you soon, blue lagoon!

Joint Venture Opportunity: 

If you’re a self-help/spiritual entrepreneur (healer, writer, coach, earthy-crunchy creative,) my wonderful colleagues Sherry Bowers and Anne Presuel are hosting a joint venture giveaway offering lots of gifts, all geared to the spiritual entrepreneur. If you want to build your email list (and you have a free downloadable gift)  get your private JV deets HERE.  Sherry and Anne will help you through the process!

Joint venture giveaways bring lotsa new subscribers. So if your work is in alignment with a giveaway like this, please join us!

Until then, hang ten!