Heart Opener, A Journal of Love:

Magnetizing, Diving In, and Alchemizing.

As I am working on a new project with my man — a 3 month journey into the archetypal, alchemical, sacred practice of RELATIONSHIP— I’ll be sharing some journal entries and vignettes here on the practice in my own life. Like…what does it even mean to “practice” love? How is that a spiritual practice? What does open hearted living mean? Some of these words can feel watery and overused. But for me- I had to do some major healing and practice to receive deep love. It wasn’t an easy peasy journey. It was a CRUCIBLE. And maybe it isn’t for you- but you have your own journey with Love. We all do.

I want you to FEEL what I mean when I speak of the soul’s journey, the underbelly, the undercurrent that follows the journey of relating. In my words. My stories.

Like my books…I use stories and emotions to teach. Not just LOGOS, mind, knowledge— but the language of the heart…feeling.

These stories are meant to OPEN your heart, work you a bit, ask you to look at yourself, consider what arises, it’s for you.

So grab a glass or mug of something and dive in with me…

xx

ps. These are a tapestry—- won’t be in chronological order…and I’ll send more in the coming weeks. I would be honored if you join me in becoming a paid subscriber as I’ll be sharing these more and more. This first one won’t be behind a paywall. Enjoy!

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June 11, 2020.

The look on his face felt impossible to decipher at first.  His piercing blue eyes were still. His breath was deep.  Something about the way he breathed was making me feel like jello.  Even though it was dark, I could feel his gaze on my flesh.  He said:  “I want to show you something” and reached out his hand.

Without any more words, he led me into the dark field.  The moon was a glistening glass shard in the sky.  The tall grass kissed my calves and I wondered if snakes were hiding in the field, coiled into crescents cocooned in the night.  I followed behind him out towards a mountain of red rock, weathered by millions of years, perceptible to my eyes in the dark. His silence was unnerving at first, but within it, I felt safe.  The tiny stress stuck in my tissues melted as my breath synced with his in the dark. Our feet pitter-pattered across the grass and my car became a tiny metal dot way behind us in the dark as we approached the mouth of the cave, I had to trust.  There was nothing left to do but trust and surrender.

He reached his hand out to mine.  I took it and we shimmied through the tiny passageway, becoming pancakes pressed between the ancient rocks.  We stopped to press our foreheads to the cold rock in the dark. To whisper to it, to say hello as we entered the womb cave.

Together we laid on the red sand and stared into the stars.  

And after we walked back to our respective cabins, I laid awake all night.  It was like I could feel him in my body. I was shaking and shivering with energy. With knowing. With a response to his being that I could not ignore. 

And all of it took immense practice, patience, love, and devotion.  

And choice. Choice to leap. Choice to feel.  Choice to open.  Choice to stay with.  Choice to turn towards. Choice to express.  Choice to contain.  Choice to give.  Choice to breathe.

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October 16, 2021.

I am stewing. Why isn’t he texting me back?  I know he has every right to live his own life but he has been out of cell range for hours now.  Colorado life is trying me.  My old life in Venice is looking really appealing right about now.  I’m looking out at a snowy night. I start to record a voice note about how angry I am, ready to press send to him.  I pause. 

I can feel my heart shutting down, going into blame, self-righteousness, wanting to call a girlfriend and have her collude with my pain.  I can imagine putting my story in a frame that has her say things like “That’s messed up love!” And me saying:  “Right?”  And feeling validated, but alone.

So I don’t do that.  I know what to do.  This is my stuff.  “If it's hysterical it's historical,” they say.  And I am starting to stew in a rageful way.  This isn’t about him.  It’s about every time I have felt dropped or abandoned by a man.  Starting with my dad.  Didn’t I already heal all of this?  Well, I guess there is more.

I light a candle at my altar.  I put on a song, and I drop into my practice.  I first punch a pillow and rage.  I rage hard.  And then the tears come.  And I break into sobbing.  I hear the victim voices, I hear the inner children.  But I know better than to listen to them as reality.  I allow them to exist in feelings.  Waves.  I breath.  I keep going until a little light starts to pour in.  I can feel my heart again.  I can feel under the story.  There I am.

My phone dings.  “I am back in service.  What a beautiful hike.  I thought of you so much. I can’t wait to climb into bed with you and feel your body next to mine.”

Sigh. The practice.  The alchemy.  Again and again and again. 

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August 14, 2024.

My eyes land on our bookshelf.  Ours. I scan the titles, Wendell Berry, Mary Oliver, Osho, Hillman, Jung, Leonard Cohen, Rumi…it dawns on me.  These are your books!  I had prayed for a mystical man, a deep seeker, a man like an oak tree, like a mountain, wise, old soul.  And here you are.  You are the father of my baby.  It dawns on me that some of these books are so old,  you bought them in tiny book shops in Oakland and Amsterdam and New York. I imagine you, young, with long blond hair, sitting in a park in London, reading The Tao de Ching, on green grass in crisp fall air.

And you chose me.  Out of all the women on this planet you chose me.  You saw in me something of home.  A woman climbing a tree, pressing her naked breasts to it, floating in water, dancing free.

When you met me my gorgeous pink floral dress didn’t seduce you, my tight waist, or my heart shaped mouth.  No, not that.  Nor my Audi convertible or my Instagram account…it was my wild heart that inspired you.  The way I surrendered to the ocean’s waves lapping at my skin.  The way I wove my heart into poetic words dripping into aliveness that called you in.

In your arms I melted, I became like those ocean waves, sometimes wild and shaking, sometimes calm and lapping.  Your presence made me soft.  And I knew how to meet you.  I could have stayed in my head, my anxieties, insecurities, an endless sea of “am I enough” and “am I doing it right” but instead I knew how to slip under those voices into the richness of my breath and body.

I had been waiting for this moment.  To practice.  To open.  Slowly, not all at once.  But tear by tear, hip sway by hip sway, laugh by laugh…letting the living poem of my feminine being splash around the room, coloring your life.

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JOIN ME IN A 3 MONTH DEEP DIVE INTO SACRED INTIMACY, CALLING IN LOVE, DEEPENING INTO LOVE, HOW TO CREATE EROTIC MAGIC IN YOUR BODY AND RELATIONSHIP, HOW TO TRANSFORM WOUNDS INTO EROTIC ART AND MUCH MORE.