I bought this notebook because it bears the singular command: write.
And so I do. “Think about your story with black and white,” says my soulful photography-class instructor Michelle Gardella in Foundations of Black and White.
It's still dark this morning.
Outside, a soft rain falls. Inside, I'm snuggly in my first sweater this season and the coffee is rich and warm. In the holy hush of pre-dawn, meeting myself and the Divine to usher in the tender mercy of a new day, candle lit, my home still and expectant, anything feels possible.
The New Moon is an invitation to go dark, to get to the roots of things. And this has manifested truly this month—things are shifting. And by shifting I mean earthquaking. As one who longs to be graceful and tender in all her doings, sometimes my being asks of me more. More courage. Deeper truths. What feels, uncomfortably, like blind faith.
There is a profound reason you were born. Something wants to emerge into this world that can only come through you. Something wants to be born that can only exist in you, through you, and as you.
Essentially, you exist as two lives: the life that is in your blood—the body that drinks water and sticks her arms through soft sweaters and hugs her babies tight. And the life that is in your soul—the uncontainable you, the true of you—who you are within and without the body that holds you. You are life unto life. Your soul ensures that life will go on.