Rhythms and Cycles



October 17.

Days keep flying by here on the land. It has been two weeks and I don’t know where the days have gone. I feel my chrysalis cracking open as I’m slowly emerging into a new layer of myself. Mornings are becoming lighter and lighter and I feel myself dancing with my dreams peacefully thru the night. Spring in October, such a foreign feeling.

To begin again, thats where I start. Knowing every moment becomes a memory and teaches my spirit something without even knowing. Freely feeling in my present body, such a gift I am given and blessed since birth. This feeling I had only discovered until now. As I had mistaken this journey as the “waiting game” I am coming to realize my journey is here now, I’m consciously weaving my inner web and expanding the outer. I feel and how grateful I am to feel! The dew beneath my feet and the wind as it sweeps my skin I am alive with sensation. This path that I am paving with so much uncertainty and knowing is what I live for. I dream to inspire and create a tribe with others who are on this journey of self discovery and growth for the whole, using creativity and the divine as our mantras. I dream of the days to come and to continue growing and evolving with love!

One thought on “Rhythms and Cycles”

  1. Sophie your word dance made me think of this:


    Don’t bother me.
    I’ve just
    been born.

    The butterfly’s loping flight
    carries it through the country of the leaves
    delicately, and well enough to get it
    where it wants to go, wherever that is, stopping
    here and there to fuzzle the damp throats
    of flowers and the black mud; up
    and down it swings, frenzied and aimless; and sometimes

    for long delicious moments it is perfectly
    lazy, riding motionless in the breeze on the soft stalk
    of some ordinary flower.

    The god of dirt came up to me many times and said
    so many wise and delectable things, I lay
    on the grass listening
    to his dog voice,
    crow voice,
    frog voice; now,
    he said, and now,

    and never once mentioned forever,

    which has nevertheless always been,
    like a sharp iron hoof,
    at the center of my mind.

    One or two things are all you need
    to travel over the blue pond, over the deep
    roughage of the trees and through the stiff
    flowers of lightning– some deep
    memory of pleasure, some cutting
    knowledge of pain.

    But to lift the hoof!
    For that you need an idea.

    For years and years I struggled
    just to love my life.  And then

    the butterfly
    rose, weightless, in the wind.
    “Don’t love your life
    too much,” it said,

    and vanished into the world.

    — Mary Oliver

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