An Ancestral Healing Primer

After several conversations regarding ancestor work, I noticed a theme sprouting and an ancestral primer forming in my mind. This post is a tiny beginning. It is in no way comprehensive! The only way I know how to begin is to begin, so here are a few words ...

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Watery Vision

I hold a song in my hand and touch new birth.

Watery though my vision may be, it is true.

Flowing. Flowing. Flowing...

Light rising through me.

Watery though my vision may be, it is true.

Grounded in love,

Light rising through me,

I create. Lead. Inspire.

Grounded in love,

Flowing. Flowing. Flowing...

I create. Lead. Inspire...

As I hold a song in my hand and touch new birth.

© Kayce Stevens Hughlett, March 2012

Collage and words inspired while leading Exploring Archetypal Energies through the Expressive Arts on the Hood Canal, March 2012.

Dilemma: Is authenticity book suicide?

I ponder. I play. I muse. I write to discover what I know.

It’s always been a whole lot easier to write about life unedited in the privacy of my journal than put it out for all the world to see (and scrutinize). It’s considerably easier to let my pen flow unabashedly and discover what surprises, delights or terrifies me on the safe lines of my composition notebook than to share it in a public forum. Somewhere along the way, however (probably in said journal), the idea of a blog and ultimately a book began to emerge. Since then I’ve often battled the tricky space between writing to discover what I know and writing what I think, you, the reader might want to hear.

It’s a crazy balance, because when I get caught up in You, I lose Me. The wild thing is that experience has shown what my faithful readers seem to love most is the unedited, messy, transparent and authentic Me. The pieces that have landed home most often are not the carefully crafted, publisher-worthy submissions, but rather the scrawled and messy gems straight from my morning pages. So, what's a girl to do?

The performance pressure is mounting, since I’m in the final (sort of) publishing stages of my book (working title: Ponderings) and the promotion has begun (kind of.) My social self says that everything – every word, comma, spelling error, hairstyle, breakfast menu, social agenda, perfect turn of a phrase and more – is a commentary (pro or con) on this book. Please say it ain’t so…

If true, this poses quite the dilemma, because at this point I absolutely cannot stop myself from writing and this blog has always been the raw version of greater things to come. My inner being still yearns to toss these unedited, heart-inspired missiles out into the stratosphere to see where they may land. As I was journaling this morning, I remembered the lifeline and savior that writing has been for me. Putting my words onto paper and out into the world is the essential breath for living my authentic life.

Some will say that continuing to write in this way is book suicide. So be it. Others may say it’s brilliant and that’s why they’ll buy my published words. Fabulous. Bottom line, I will continue to do things my way which is the only way I know how to do it. As far as I can tell, it’s working for ME.

I ponder. I play. I muse. I write to discover what I know.

Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 13

VISUAL PONDER...





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Sacred Sunday: Walkin' on Sunshine

I love Sunday mornings. Lingering. Journaling. Taking time and space for me to see what rises up. Images - visual and written stir through my mind. The past week gone. The next not yet here. I sit in the sacred present. Only now.

Candlelight and gentle music. Fan blowing. Family sleeping. Coffee, hot and warm by my side. “Live with Passion.” Yes. Choose life. Choose me. Images call my name. Some already gathered. The girl in the pink sweater. She beckoned to me while I was preparing for my workshop. She was mine. Held in space until just the right time.

“Walkin’ on Sunshine.” My day yesterday. My life now. Inseparable from the universe. One moment folds into the next. Grounded. Whole. Light and airy. Held by the hand of God. The hands of my father. My ancestors.

Walking towards Ireland. Walking toward myself. I hold on and I move forward. With trepidation, not fear. Quivering, undulating movement. The pendulum of my grounded heart swings. The souls (soles) of my feet dance and move and walk on sunshine… with sunshine… through sunshine.

I am sunshine. Lucy of the light. Illuminated and free. My passion glowing and growing for others to see. I am Norah – the one of compassion. And Lil – life’s beauty. They surround me. Bold and emboldened.

The past and present collide and unite with the girl in the pink sweater. Head tossed back and laughing with glee. Trusting. Trusted. Held. Safe in the arms of my father and my mother. Grounded. They offered so much. Did their best. Healed me. Broke me. Made me.

Skipping and dancing, I share my light. My unique image of God. Belly full. Day arising. Lovely. Beautiful. Creating and created.