new moon

I am sort of a freak for words that have dual meanings. Like the word, conclusion.

Especially since I am in the midst of both of its meanings this month.


1. the end or finish of an event or process.
2. a judgment or decision reached by reasoning.

Saturday, December 20 is the final day Secret Rebel Club will be online. It is fitting since Secret Rebel Club began on a New Moon and December 21st is both Winter Solstice and the date of New Moon for December.

It has been an empowering and invigorating experience to work with such amazing women!

This is a conclusion.
And a reasoned beginning.

It is not quitting or abandoning. It is not a reaction, or decision I have reached capriciously. There is no back-story … simply a conclusion.

And a celebration.
And a new season.

If you imagine less, less will be what you undoubtedly deserve. Do what you love, and don’t stop until you get what you love. Work as hard as you can, imagine immensities, don’t compromise, and don’t waste time. Start now. Not 20 years from now, not two weeks from now. Now. -Debbie Millman

Wishing you all the very best, Braveheart.


You Came Here For It


I picked the Neverland mug again for coffee this morning. I have noticed my gravitation to it as of late. My hand hovering over the Wild Strawberry mug, the Evoke mug, the tribal mug, trying to give any of the others a fighting chance, but knowing full well that all I really want is my mug from Valerie with her East Coast photo of the schooner’s sails. The mug that reminds me of Captain Hook’s flying boat, hi-jacked by Peter Pan and his band of Lost Boys with the help of the sprinkling of a certain fairy’s dust.

I am sitting here in the gawdy, olive, floral-patterned chair, drinking my pixie dust infused Neverland coffee and getting reacquainted with Alanis Morissette while reading snippets from a new obscure book I purchased called Finite and Infinite Games.

There is this section:

“No one can play who is forced to play. It is an invariable principle of all play, finite and infitinite, that whoever plays, plays freely. Whoever must play, cannot play.”

I can’t help but think that my worldview was thrust upon me in a “you must participate and here are the rules, so get to it” sort of manner. I was scared to death I’d break a rule and lose the game. I think that’s what my 30-year-old thrashing boils down to – an eyes wide-up open shriek of, “I NEVER WANTED TO PLAY THIS GAME, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW I COULD SAY NO.”

To think I could have said no at any time baffles me.

“Thank you disillusionment.” -Alanis Morissette

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My Love Interest has a name for the intermingling exercises often utilized in social situations where a large group of strangers are gathering over some common theme. “It’s Forced Fun,” he says. Forced Fun may as well be the nickname for my first 30 year stint.

For round two? I’m making my own rules, my own game, my own fun. (It’s proving to be entirely more difficult and not nearly as applauded or accepted.)

“Illusion sounds like you’re making it up. Accept that you’re making it all up.” – Esther Hicks

I know this has something to do with why the Neverland mug keeps making its way into my cradled hands. I am like a wizard, rubbing cupped hands back and forth while something glowing emerges in the sacred dark. I am not even sure what is emerging, but it warms me and comforts me and even burns me sometimes. The heat is so intense and wild.

They say beginner’s mind is an admirable place to hang out, and my dry erase board has been wiped clean. I am sitting here in this moment, my yellow candle burning, my first stick of incense gone out, coffee three fourths gone, Alanis still wailing the truths, the first signs of my family waking, and I am treasuring the massive expanse of nothing. Of anything goes. Of what would you like this life (this game) to look like if it could look like anything?

My creative friend Slim says, “it’s a crazy game, but in the end, i think that’s all it is. a silly game. has to be laughed at, or i run out of tears.”

So here I stand laughing, on the edge of Candy Land meets Risk, of Trivial Pursuit meets Tarot, of War meets Solitaire.

This is me jumping ship – from Titanic to Jolly Roger. I’m not setting my sights on the second star to the right and straight on till morning. I’m creating it (or it is creating me) within my very own cupped hands.

Sometimes I’m not sure I have what it takes. Other times I know I do, if I can only deprogram what I’ve had defined for me as the “REAL world” or the “ABSOLUTE truth.”


When I rode my bike home from work this weekend I discovered that when I am coasting downhill, if I raise both of my pedals side-by-side, my feet the same distance from the ground instead of one up and one down, I go faster. I was picking up such great speed I felt like I was flying. My teeth knocked together whenever I would hit a bump. I had to look down and check my bike basket to make sure E.T. hadn’t climbed inside. I didn’t want the moment to end.

Whoever play, plays freely.

mandyI am looking forward to going dark again with The Wild Mystics. I feel a creative playful energy will accompany me this time through. It is so hard to be freely playful when you also long to be taken seriously. Have you ever laughed at a child when they were lost in make-believe land, only to watch them resurface to “reality” with their feelings hurt or their cheeks blushing in hot embarrassment? I find I am an easy target, but play matters intensely to me, so I must see to it and learn from my feelings of shame and fear and anger and embarrassment as they rise up.

an open conversation

Are you there, love?
Come closer.
Lean into me.
I need for you to hear me,
to hear what I have to say.
I am tired of feeling small.
Every part of me aches to grow, stretch, and expand from the inside out.
Will you take time to nourish me
each and every day?
Can you accept me for who I am
and what I have to share with the world?
Hear me.
I crave this time with you.
Time to play in the creation.
To tell stories of your design.
I long to hold my trembling hand out to those who are hungry for connection,
especially you, my love.
Real, ripe, soul-full connection is within our grasp.
We can leave our mark.
Be remembered,
if only by the blank page that we spill our words upon.
Put your trust in me,
for I am ready to help you fly.
Take a deep breath and just leap.
Jump into the shallow end with me and we will sail to greater depths together –
Don’t worry about where we’ll end up.
Just know that we will find our way home,
within each other.
And we will nurture each other into existence.

 With lustful longing,
Your Inner Creative


Gina Kimmel


Extractor of connection.
Witness to nature’s divine beauty.
Pen to the truth that captures them both.
When she isn’t gazing at the clouds or documenting moments of beauty through the lens of her camera,
she is inviting others to embrace the ordinary and find splendor in the mundane at

Embody the Actual

I’ll write it down with bullet-points and you’ll read the list and we will all be in our heads, all

up up up and thinking thinking thinking.

I’ll take the same bullet-pointed list and jumble it with

living living living and down down down,

and gone is the clarity and goals, the precise knowing-where-you’re-going. We become faced with the reality of living-confusion, of discomfort, of unease. The guiding North star falls from the sky and lodges in our bellies and we are told to trust the interior guide, the inside speak, the individual truth come home to self.

<<< >>>


<<< >>>

Embodiment Practice

  • own/be in YOUR body
  • open to now. now. now. . . . {unending}
  • live your ACTUAL circumstances
  • live in your ACTUAL body
  • create from your ACTUAL source
  • take in your ACTUAL now
  • live your reality; your ACTUAL true.

Embodiment Moment

*please consider reading out loud, in a whisper, allowing it to pass through

Embody body embody mebody me me body body body e m b o d y m e embody me as is embody me as I am right now actual actual actual now actual body actual me now now now breathe and be and embody as is as I am as I actually am now now now actual now be fully aware as fully as is possible be honest be here see taste hear exist in actual now {b r e a t h e} there is a song that is now the actual now of melody rhythm breath pause words lyrical now actual now now that is without period or ending or beginning but always now now now actual what is now that is embody body embody me body {b r e a t h e} embody surrounded body surrounded filled excavated filled delivered returned filled filled filled beyond body capacity filled filled with now with now of delight now of deluded now of devoid now now now surrounded surrounded by source creative embodied source source true real reality true source in in in take all in out out out body send all out {b r e a t h e}

<<< >>>


This is me embodying my living – my vibrating, overwhelming, messy ACTUAL. This is me embodying the unbelievable perfection of my magnificent pain-filled symphony.

Tell me, how do you embody?

Burn Again

(trust me)
this burn, is
the beginning of
the end of

(trust me)
last time,
i ran my fingers
through the ash and
brushed against
something that felt like

they say (trust me),
that you have to burn
it all away before
you are overtaken,
choked out of

they say (trust me),
that if you really
belong here, you
will survive and
come back to burn

Wife. Mother. Dreamer. Writer.
Gracefully holding the sacredness of light.
Embracing the slow burn.


I have 40 books waiting for me to read.

40 books: a mix of literature and memoir, YA love stories and books on writing, sweeping narratives and quick reads. This isn’t the sum number of all of the books I possess. Just the ones I haven’t read. The ones I haven’t read and are within my vision right now as I’m typing. There are probably more.

And yet.

I can’t find the time in my day to read them. I’m not even cracking their spines. My husband finds it fascinating.

“Are all of these books from the library?”

I point to a large stack on my windowsill and find his gaze.


He laughs.

“Some? Why don’t you just return these and check them out later?”

I frown.

“Because then people would get them before me.”

He always finds my hidden button of honesty.

Since October 1, I’ve been writing every day on indie publishing over on my blog. It’s a topic that lights me up in all of the best ways. To think of all of the books waiting to be written by souls who feel their words do not matter — it breaks me. I look at the growing pile of words wrapping around my office and wonder.

I want that 40 to reach the sky.

This post is about two things: writing what you want, and believing it’s worth it.

                                                           …and finding the white space to pursue creativity.

I am not a happy person when I’m not able to read. It’s been fine lately because I’m still chasing words through research, but eventually, I’m going to need to sit my ass in a chair and open a book.

This is where the intersection of my influence + art meet.

I want to read your book. I want to look in your eyes and hold your hand and tell you this story is worth it — every piece of dialogue, every twist in plot, every evil character and poetic turn of phrase. I’m willing to step aside the white space for now if it means one more person will pick up a pen.

And so that numbered 40 collects dust.

How do you merge the two? How do you allow both the inhale and the exhale of artistic process?

I move slow. I write the one thing that needs written and speak the one phrase that needs spoken. And then I read a few pages. My rhythm shifts from day-to-day, depending on the schedule.

Early morning wake up call? Let’s read first while I sip the coffee.
Late night infusion of creativity and inspiration? Let’s let those words fall where they may.
A desire to feel the stickiness of gesso on my fingers? Forget everything else. Creativity begets creativity, and so may my fingers be dusted with color so later I can find the words hidden in my soul.

Overall, I listen. My intuition knows what I need to be working on, and sometimes, the to-do list is put away in favor of the pulsing in my bones to write an email, color the page, crack the spine or take a walk.

Here’s the secret I hold while moving slow: I hope I always have a growing pile of words waiting for me to read.

And I hope your name will be included in the list.


For a moment, stop thinking.

Take a few deep breaths. 

Remember the thrill of words flowing through your fingers. 

Do you have it? The idea is there and you write the first sentence. The first sentence dances into the first paragraph. Soon, you’ve crossed the 1500 word mark. 

Tell me, love: What would you write if you weren’t afraid?

honoring the silence

honor the silence.

do not rush it.  let it settle around you and deep into your bones.

cherish the calm.

hold the quiet in your cupped hands.

lose yourself in its notes.

let it wash over you.


honor the silence.

listen to what it has to say and what its intentions are.

find rest in the stillness.

dive deep into the waters & find yourself among the waves.

embrace the quietude.


{i leave you with just a whisper…do not be afraid of the silence.  learn its language.  it is often devalued, but it has great value.  silence is often take as a lack of an answer, but is often times the answer itself.}

black line

100814“And silence. She liked the silence most of all. The silence in which the body, senses, the instincts, are more alert, more powerful, more sensitized, live a more richly perfumed and intoxication life, instead of transmuting into thoughts, words, into exquisite abstractions, mathematics of emotion in place of violent impact, the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight.” – Anaïs Nin

“May my silences become more accurate.”- Theodore Roethke