Softening into a different kind of rhythm
Photo by Annie Spratt edited with an original drawing
I've been quiet over here and feeling self-conscious about it. Then, I remember: silence has its own sound, too.
The transition into the Gregorian new year has always felt noisy to me — a clamoring impulse to fill and make sense of the liminal space between one thing and the next. There's the pressure of self-optimization and productivity, the fear of inadequacy, and the desire for redemption that comes with how we have collectively learned to treat the new year in Western culture. Time, especially in the last two years, has felt like a march or a marathon, leaving unacknowledged the past and its weight on us individually, interpersonally and collectively.
I don't want to just get on with it. And this year, more than ever, I am noticing a distinct resistance in my body — an aversion, even — to mainstream treatment of time.
Instead, my body and spirit pleads: more sweetness, please. More softness. Slow and steady, baby. You can stay right here, if you want to.
I don't know how to ritualize this pace, just yet. But I am taking notes, as if each lived moment were a vignette of / a sigil for my desires:
— On the last full moon of 2021, I started a lemon balm tincture with the intention of releasing rigidity, fear, illusion, insecurity, scarcity, dishonesty, distraction, addiction and the need for external validation / and of calling in self-trust, sweetness, inner authority, intuition, discernment, ease, calm and nurturance. (*While I have worked with this herb before, I was most inspired by herbalist Karen Rose's wisdom on lemon balm as shared in Maryam Hasnaa's Highly Sensitive Herbalism class.)
— On New Year's Eve, I lit a candle and indulged in flan and tres leches with my partner. Earlier that day, we took our time kayaking along a river, got lost in some mangroves and let ourselves take a break when we needed to, letting the sun kiss us as we lay on the shore of a beach.
— A dear friend gifted me a box of her beautiful medicines, including her Rose Light elixir: a Rosa rugosa extract in organic vegetable glycerin. I savor a few drops as I start my day, holding them on my tongue for a moment and letting the sweetness melt my heart open.
— In my solitude, I find myself singing aloud more and more, the melodies conjuring memories I cannot rationally name but which feel true. And the more I sing, the more able I am to hear other harmonies. (*For the curious, I have a sound project called taupe set xl. You can hear my latest release here.)
This year, rather than limit myself to neat resolutions and goals, I am feeling into a different kind of rhythm (and perhaps, the murmurs of a gentle, new spell):
I SOFTEN MY BODY AND KEEP MY HEART WIDE OPEN TO ALL POSSIBILITIES OF MY TRUEST SELF
Some questions to consider:
How are you easing into yourself in these moments? What sweetness do you crave? What possibilities are you envisioning? What thresholds are you seeking to cross? What rituals are you enacting at the altar of your desires?
More soon, but I am here to say that my hypnosis and past life regression books are open again for 2022. Schedule a consultation or book here.
With gratitude,
Kristen
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