It is my deep, hot, and holy conviction that the body of every woman is a living, breathing altar.
Yes, I mean you.
Overworked, underloved, insubstantially paid you.
Yes, even underworked, overloved, exaltedly paid you.
The question is-
Do you treat yours as such?
Think about it. There is no human alive today who was not created and held inside the living altar of a woman. We are the place where the human and the divine collaborate in creation.
Just as an altar in a sanctuary requires upkeep and maintenance to feel sacred, so does the body, woman.
It is our sacred responsibility to look and feel as beautiful as possible, in order to connect to the sacred within ourselves, and shine our radiance on the world.
Yet, exquisite self-care is the easiest thing to toss aside when the mundane aspects of daily life take over. Compared to everything we have to do and everywhere we have to be, attending to ourselves occurs as frivolous, indulgent, and irresponsible.
And, Sisters, there are consequences.
I am writing from a small café on the Champs-Elyseés, soaking in the final moments of my time in Paris (pics below!). After four days together in this breathtaking city, we just completed the graduation session for the Creation Course, and I’m overflowing.
Overflowing with pride, with joy, and with volumes of gratitude.
These women have courageously generated a whole new vocabulary of emotional truth, range, and depth inside their magnificent sisterhood, exploding with the perfection of every kind of tears.
It’s not just the vanilla happy or vanilla sad women have been programed and permitted to feel.
It’s full depth and breadth and range, introducing us to flavors and colors that our souls have been longing for.
I have always been a pig-headed girl.
Sometimes overtly, sometimes subversively.
I secretly thought my way was always the best way.
I had no tolerance for a certain kind of conformity.
I got severely reprimanded for using orange typing paper by my closeted high school English teacher, since the white-out I used was, well — white.
Actually, I never ever even learned to type properly because I never ever ever wanted to work in an office.
When I was doing a chore I hated – like setting the dinner table – I would spit in the glasses of the family member I was loathing that day.
Pig-headed, that’s me.
I am writing to you from my dressing room. It’s 5:12pm on Sunday afternoon, and we have just wrapped the first weekend of Mastery 2015.
Moments ago, I left a stage filled with dancing, hugging women, turned on and ecstatic, at a level I have never ever experienced on a first Mastery weekend.
This work is not for the faint of heart. It requires a new form of courage – a courage to overcome centuries of woman-hating with a deliciously defiant leap into self-love and celebration.
I witnessed the most glorious pas de 300+ women these past two days – reclaiming their power and unwrapping their radiance – not with fear and trepidation, but with the enthusiasm of a gang of preschoolers let loose on Christmas morning.
Towards the end of the weekend, one woman framed that this work gives her Permission. Permission to love her rage, her tears, her snotty nose, her turn on, her beauty, her passion.
Permission to find every side of herself to be perfect and magnificent. continue reading…
“whither thou goest, i will go.
whither thou lodgest, i will lodge.
thy people shall be my people, and thy god my god.”
- the book of ruth
I want to talk about Sisterhood.
As in – the thing we are called to do in this life.
The archaic definition of the word ‘call’ is when the divine inspires, or urges you to do something.
We are not well-trained in listening to that kind of call. Especially because it is voiceless – coming from a place of eternity and infinity.
We are more trained to respond to texts, to e-mails, or reprimands.
We can get so busy with all the other kind of calls, that we can’t always hear the truth of our soul.
But sometimes, as you know, something — is it inside? outside? — makes you take pause. And pay attention to something that makes absolutely no logical sense. But it fills your soul to overflowing with the essential essence and elemental fragrance of intoxicating, overwhelming you.
Which frightens and captivates, simultaneously.
There is this woman.
A tall drink of water, you might say.
Head full of curls.
Heart filled with song.
Who has been a fixture in the Mastery classroom since it’s inception in 2006, and a student of the school a few years before that.