Teeming with Words: Greece, Blood Offerings, and Coming Home
blog style musings post travel
I’m just returning from Greece. Teeming with words. There are so many pieces I want to write! And wanted to write while traveling, but my practice right now is living deeply in relationship with two humans. And so I didn’t get much alone time until now. Cozied up with you — ready to tell you mystical stories of my travels.
It’s 6 a.m. after being up since 3 a.m. Jet-lagged and playing with my daughter in the dark. But I have a moment to write. My clothes lay in piles around me. Silk dresses and little baby girl socks with lettuce trim. We’ve barely moved into the house that we bought, but it already feels like home. And instead of unpacking and hanging things up and dealing with the mess and the laundry, I needed to sit here and write. And speak. I’m holding so many stories, so many moments. Where to begin?
Sometimes on travels, the land speaks to me in different ways.
When we arrived in Corfu, Greece, the land spoke by swirling my plans. Every time I tried to make plans, the spirits of the land, the energy of the island, just toppled them over. It didn’t feel harsh, like some places I’ve been where the energy is fiery and intense. When I led retreats in Mazunte, it was this deep, fierce feminine energy. The energy of the land and the people is so potent there.
But in Greece—in Corfu, at the Colibri Spirit Festival, where Eli and I taught at 90 min version of Alchemy of Love—it felt more playful. Like I would try to book a taxi, and it wouldn’t show up, but something else would pop up even better. Or Eli accidentally took my phone when he left to teach his workshop, and I couldn’t reach the driver who was supposed to pick me up. So I found another way, and ended up getting a ride on a scooter which was super fun.
And it was all perfect in the end. There were so many moments like that—miscommunications, mishaps, little puzzles to solve. I accidentally booked our babysitter’s hotel thinking it was a five-minute walk from ours. Turns out, I booked it next to a hotel with the exact same name… an hour and a half away.
But somehow, all these mishaps felt tender and sweet. Like trickster energy. Like fairies. I didn’t feel defeated by it—- I felt like I was getting jostled out of my Type A planner energy and into the swirl of surrender and that felt right.
The one thing that did feel harsh:
On the second morning in Corfu, we woke up and Lua was covered in mosquito bites. I mean COVERED. It looked like she had chicken pox. And we realized there were mosquitoes in our room. I suddenly realized I had entered this sacred island without giving an offering to the land and the spirits.
I had just heard a story from a dear sister of mine, a shamanic practitioner I work with often. She’d been in the lands of Sedona—a land that has been misused in so many ways—and let’s just say, the spirits of the land got a blood sacrifice from her.
When I saw Lua covered in bites, I thought: Oh no. I entered this sacred island—this island on ley lines, with so much ancient history and I didn’t give an offering.
And so the land took one.
A blood sacrifice from my firstborn child.
It kind of made sense. Though I realize that would sound crazy to some! But Lua wasn’t bothered. She was still smiling and they didn’t seem to itch too much and went away quite quickly.
After that, I began giving bits of my food and drink to the island. I tried to do this throughout the trip. But to be honest, sometimes when you’re at a fancy restaurant, it feels awkward to set aside a bit of your food or pour your wine onto the earth. I want to get better at that. How to do it gracefully while traveling. I messaged my friend Erin Love from Greece and asked her: “How do I get right with the spirits?”
And she said something I loved: she doesn’t believe in retribution.
So the spirits and elementals took some of Lua’s blood, and it was dispersed across the island. And Lua was fine.
I’ve been in relationship with fairies, tricksters, and elemental spirits for decades. I used to be much more devoted to speaking to them and making offerings regularly. Now, I think it will be simpler. More humble. Just making offerings. At the Oracle of Delphi, I left an offering—a beautiful coin my friend Eric had given us for that purpose.
On our last night in Corfu, Eli and I had our first date night in a long time. We danced like children to Awaré (their music is so beautiful - have a listen if you don’t know them.) Then we snuck into the pool and went skinny dipping, because our daughter was asleep in our bedroom and the mosquitoes outside were wild. So we slipped off our clothes and floated in the water, talking. And five years ago, this was one of the ways we first communed. As a couple, when we’re stuck in one of our head-to-head moments—we’ve learned: get in the water. Swim. It brings out the inner child. The love. It reminds us we are more than the positions we are attempting to hold.
It felt beautiful and divine. It was also the first time since becoming parents that we swam naked in the sea together. Our first time doing this as a mother and father—with the support of our wonderful babysitter.
Another magical moment happened on the island of Zakynthos. I was getting a massage, and the woman told me her name was Artemis. She said she was a white healer, and sometimes she saw things for people. I didn’t share much about myself, but slowly she asked if she could share what was coming through.
She spoke, and it rang true. Later, we sat with our feet in the sea, and she said things only someone connected to the other side could know. She wouldn’t take money—though I gave her a little tip anyway. She said, “I don’t do this for money. I do this for love.”
One thing she shared that stuck with me: I asked her about a spiritual tradition I had been practicing and considering committing to more fully.
She said: “Stop seeking. There is only one religion, and it is love.”
And: “All of your trappings of seeking more and more are ways you’re avoiding your deepest core wound.” And that landed so deeply. Why do we seek and seek and seek? Because we’re looking for something we’ve lost. Or trying not to feel what’s inside. Often, it goes back to our childhood wounds.
She also said: If it’s something you feel you must, must, must do—that urgency is probably ego.
When we create from ease, it doesn’t come from that frantic part of us. When we look at our inner parts, they often have strong agendas. Sometimes those parts get us to take bold action. But they’re usually born from wounds. Split-off places that have forgotten their center.
Action without attachment or agenda feels so different.
Back to Artemis’ message:
She said, we have to give the thing we need most in order to heal it.
Instead of waiting for someone to give it to us, we give it away.
This is similar to an Imago practice I’ve done in workshops. It’s powerful. We don’t always know how to receive the thing we long for—because we were never programmed to receive it. So we give it first. And in the giving, we open to receiving. (That’s my paraphrase and through my lens FYI.)
One last thing Artemis said when she put her hands on my heart:
“Oh my god, you’ve been through a lot of shit.”
And she didn’t strike me as someone who would speak that way—but it was real. I laughed and said, “Well, it’s relative. Some people have been through much more than me.” But she said, “Yes, but what you’ve been through is a lot. And you have done great.” It felt good to be seen. And exposing, too. I’ve shared so much of my journey in my books—not because my story is bigger or more important than anyone else’s. But to normalize sharing the hard stuff. The things we hold in shame. The things we think we have to “get over” or “glow up” from. But truly, we integrate those pieces. They become beautiful scars and wild stories. And the artist’s job is to share them. Not hide. The artist says: “Yes, this happened to me.” Those are my people—the ones who speak the hard things. I feel alone when people only speak of the cheerful stuff. But the same goes for people who only ever speak of the pain. There is an ebb and flow.
A full moon and a dark moon.
A death and a rebirth.
If you’re always sharing death, perhaps it’s time to notice the resurrection.
And if you’re always sharing the glow-up, maybe it’s time to feel and speak to the pain.
Eli spoke beautifully to this on a podcast we recorded in Greece with the Human Garage. So much of the biohacking world—some of it useful—but some is really an escape from the seasons of life.
Trying to avoid aging, quietness, stillness. Always seeking vitality, action, yang. Which we need, especially as parents—there is so much to get done.
But right now, I’m in a season of love. Nurturing. Pouring into my home, my partnership, my child. And it’s not always easy. And it’s not always Instagrammable.
But it is felt.
I hope you feel it in my words.
Much Love,
Alexandra
The spoke to me deeply !! Thanks for writing it and sharing it with us. I, too want to meet Artemis now ; ) xxxx
Love this so much ❤️