I woke up forty today. It felt like the most sacred holy ravishing thing that I could do was to write. It’s how I want to spend this year. It’s how I want to spend the years that follow.

I looked in the mirror and it all looks the same. My eyes the same. My face, my silken skin. The hills of my hips and the valleys between my breasts. I don’t feel it. The forty or the birthday. From right here, I seem the same me.

I spent yesterday running my arm across my altar and allowing it all to fall to the ground. The dust, the feathers, the prayers. I needed it to happen. A clearing. A cleansing. Making space and holding witness of what has been and what is to come. It’s all holy. As I watched it fall it felt like a prayer in itself. Maybe I need more letting things fall to the ground so that I can witness them in time and space.

Last night I crawled into a king size bed at my favorite chain of hotels and I built a pillow fort around myself. Right in the middle. Using every inch of bed and fluff. A fortress. {In my motorhome-turned gypsy wagon, I spend my nights nestled against my man on a full size futon.} He knew what I needed going into this year, this era, was space. Hotel booked.

I had planned to spend the evening with the bed covered in planners and pages going on a vision quest, for my forty. Instead I allowed. I allowed the lamb curry with the plastic fork and the Starbucks chai. I allowed the video streaming and the cherry m&ms. A allowed the laughter that shook the bed and filled the room for only me to hear. I allowed the text messages and the “one more episode.”

I then took an extra long shower, slathered sesame oil across my skin, spending extra time on the cellulite thighs and the slightest fine story lines. I oiled my feet with delightful scents and then I read the New Moon insights for my Aquarius self, that every one else read two days ago. It all felt right. I allowed.

There will be time to cast a vision for this age. I just needed a few more moments in that big bed to be. To be with me and for me.



the power of a shaved head

Even before I cut off my dreads I wanted to shave my head. I've not had the desire until this last year and then it became strong. There would be days that my dreads would be itchy or out of control and I would have this pull to take a pair of clippers to my head.

When I did finally cut off my dreads, I knew it was time. I cut off each dread one by one and gave gratitude to it for all that I had learned from the experience. When I was finished cutting them I took clippers and shaved the sides of my head and the back. But something stopped me when I got to the top. I spent hours combing the dreads on top of my head out so that there was still some "hair" on my head.

I loved that cut and I may have it again someday. However, I knew that I was supposed to shave it all, and the fear of how I would look, was holding me back. It was like the hair on top was a cushion against the world and I could say that I still had "hair".

From there I started a growing out phase and it became chaos. I was unsettled because I knew that I wanted to shave it but I had already made progress in growing it for 3 months. I cut the top in hopes that it would feel, "all one length" but still my discontent rose.

When I went to meet Tara last week I told my husband that I would probably come home with a shaved head.

Tara shines in her new buzz cut. Her whole spirit is lighter and more free than you can imagine and it's contagious. I told her she should start carrying clippers with her wherever she goes.

Within hours of coming home from that meeting I shaved my hair, all of it. And it felt very liberating. It felt like I had finally dealt with this thing that I was called to do and had resisted. It felt like completing this task that had been waiting and calling to me.

That was five days ago. It still catches me off guard when I see my reflection and I'm reminded that that's really me staring back. There is no hiding anymore, there is no cowering behind the fringe on top. I am all out there.

In the last day or so I'm struggling with some of it. I'm questioning if I look enough like a "girl". But I'm digging into every emotion that comes through this shaved head of mine and embracing each one as part of who I am and all that I want to learn about myself.

Love is my religion

I grew up believing that church was about black patten leather shoes and gold stars for memory verses. Every Sunday was spent within the four walls of the brick building and Wednesday nights meant youth groups. It's where most of my friendships were made and kept. It's where meals were eaten and lessons of many kinds were learned.

I'm thankful for ALL of that.

In my 20's I began to dig deeper into what I believed to be my own truth. I began to seek out who God really was and occasionally escaped to a different church where the worship was louder and my spirit was stirred. I spent hours in the Bible and began to question church leaders about the things that were being taught and how the Word was being interpreted. It was my religious “rebellious stage” if you will. I no longer clung to what others told me was “truth” instead I pushed and pulled to figure out what it all meant for and to me.

Right before I turned 30 I faced a crisis in my life. It was the hardest things I've ever walked through. And when all my world came falling apart I tried my best to cling to the faith that I had known. I walked through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted to die but found myself pulled to life by a force outside of myself.

When the dust settled and I was still standing I came to a point where religion no longer served the same purpose in my life. The Sunday home, which once felt so safe, became a place of slander and gossip. The people who had celebrated my birth, marriage and the births of my children expected things of me that I could no longer produce and my desire to jump through their hoops had waned. The stained glass had cracked and the colors were running.

I began to seek out other places of worship and landed at the church with the rocking worship music and a passion for the lost. I could walk in with my flip flops and my dreadlocks and felt at home. I could sit on the floor and weep and know that I was not alone. We formed relationships that will last for a long time. We began once again to see God in a different light, alive and real. Raw and present.

When my family and I left our home last year to travel full time we did so on a leap of “faith”. We knew we were supposed to do this. Our hearts had been prepared and we were excited to jump. Our lives began to look really different, really quickly.

We didn't find ourselves at a church building on Sunday mornings, instead we found ourselves in fellowship with neighbors at the park. We weren't wearing our fanciest clothes, but somehow the woman who needed someone to listen when her daughter's husband left, didn't care. The homeless kids, the ones sleeping in a makeshift tent while they waited to jump the next train car, yeah, they were thankful for the food and the socks we gave them. The best worship I ever had was walking away from a long conversation with them. The family who worked at the campground for a spot with no water or electric, um yea, driving to a hotel and secretly buying them a 3 night stay, that was one of the best offerings.

I've come to a place of intersection in my faith. I love some of the things I grew up learning inside those brick walls. But I no longer think it's about high heels, pews, or grape juice in plastic cups. Faith to me feels more about love right now, and being thankful in all that I do and all that I have. I love the teachings of Jesus that I grew up holding onto, I'm also pulled to the Buddha and his love of peace, and I'd really like a Guadalupe tattoo.

My prayers are said on a yoga mat, my comfort comes sitting around a campfire and staring at the flames, my offerings will continue to be giving rice krispy bars to the homeless, and I'm worshiping in the daily tasks before me. Right now, love is my religion.

It may seem contrite. It may not be enough for you. You may want to know what it is that I really believe and I'll share that as I continue to figure it out. But right this second, I'm content to be walking my journey in this. It's no one else's. I don't want to get to Heaven on someone else's beliefs.

The Milagro Girl Project

It started with the idea of creating a place where women could find information. I am an information hound and I love to seek out and learn more about my body, my life and my soul. I wanted a place where any woman, any girl, any lady, any bitch, any diva, any one, could come and learn more about the physical aspects of themselves. A place where information would be safe and raw and real. And while at some point I would love to expand to that, it evolved into something else. Actually it took me by the hand and led me past the information and straight to the heart. And so I started there. And it turns out there is a lot that the heart wants to say. But the demographic didn't change, it still speaks to every one of us.

To the Milagro Girls

For the ones who stand in the corner at a dance, all alone, and wonder why you didn't stay home.

For the ones who let men do what they want, because at least they look at you for a fleeting moment.

To the ones who seem to have it all together, but at the end of the day crawl into bed and feel all alone.

To the ones who talk about their friends to others because it keeps everyone talking and keeps their eyes focused in another's direction.

To the ones who buy fancy bags and expensive makeup and long to cover every inch of themselves with things that are valuable, so that maybe they'll feel valuable too.

 To the ones who kissed their best friend in 7th grade and kissed their best friend's boyfriend too. Who tried so hard to find their truth and still don't know what it is.

To the ones who laugh at the dirty jokes and then Google the words because you have no idea about how your own body works.

To the ones who yearn to dance and scream and laugh, but the last time you tried all that flowed was tears.

To each of you, the Milagro Girls, it's time to come alive. It's time to dig into all that you are and find that what lies inside is the most powerful force. It's time to talk nicely to the little girl inside of your head and at the same time to scream at the liars who hide in the corners of your mind and send them on their way. I've packed their suitcases for you, all you have to do is send them on their way.

It sounds simple and in truth it is. But it's also messy and chaotic. The best part though is that you are not alone. There are a million of us Miracles, we are the ones you least expect and we have the ability to change ourselves, each other and the girls who will follow our paths a hundred years from now.

Are you ready? Because your soul is. You are a Miracle.