When words become Word


Instinctual Pursuit

It’s an odd thing to be on this journey looking for something, following the scent, almost instinctual, toward that which you’re longing to discover and know, only to realize that what you’ve been looking for can’t be known, or understood, or figured out in the way the part of you that’s been searching is fixated on.

This instinctual pursuit feels like the deepest longing for something. It feels like something I remember, a taste of something once tasted, a scent or touch or sound of something I was once with. I’ve come to know that I can’t know this thing that I’ve been trying to understand. I can’t grasp it. I can’t get it. I can’t even see it clearly. I have a sense of it. I have an inner vision of a large vast void out of which things come – like a big womb.

When I relax into this force of creation, like when I dance and thinking stops, instinct takes over and joy flies in every direction that leg, foot, arm, hand, head, hair can travel. All that exists is the dance. The dancer is gone, having fallen into the vast void of the dance.


What seems to matter most is the relationship I (or you) have with Creation, where the I is the part of me that has to put stuff out into the world (the part that worries about how I will make a living, the part that cares about the human pieces and parts of life). In this relationship, Creation is that which I can never know but which I clearly experience with every inhale and exhale.

On the dance floor, this relationship between creator and creation has become almost easy. Creator gives way to creation and all that’s left is motion, and in its wake is form, the form of a dancer that’s been danced. I know this. It’s been ten years and I now know and trust this relationship.

The dance floor holds it all.

As I dive more deeply into my writing, my mind has struggled with form, with finished product. After a deep dance last night, I wondered how writing is really dance in disguise, dance in just another form. Can these words be the dance that grace the page? Can they fly out of the void, in any direction they desire, landing in some form that ultimately is meaningful? Does it matter if it has meaning?

Is this when words become Word?

Is Creation like a big dance floor?

Can we know it holds us?

What is your dance floor?

What is your relationship with Creation?

Is there trust? Is there hesitancy?

Is there a willingness to put all four paws on the ground and follow the scent so you can dine on that which you are ravenous for and drink from the infinite source?


And speaking of all four paws, have you met your four-footed self? Do you long to and at the same time fear her just a little or a lot?

Come join Lianne Raymond and me for the inaugural session of The WildSoul Book Club. We’d love to have you join us for this instinctual journey to that which you hunger for – the Wild Soul.

Take a moment to hear what wise women you know discovered reading our book – Women Who Run With the Wolves. We’ll be sharing interviews with lots of wonderful wise women.


Holy Ground


Wherever a dancer stands is holy ground. ~Martha Graham

Bare Feet

On the dance floor, something there is an opening for movement, for something to move through me.

It is a holy act.

I began to dance the 5Rhythms nine years ago. The practice has changed my life. It has moved me deeply. It has been a midwife to the rebirth of my soul. It has been the container for the natural move toward wholeness within me.

As a child, I was a figure skater. I skated from the age of seven to sixteen. Looking back, if my mind body connection had been as vibrantly alive as it is now, skating would have been such a joy. Instead, it was always something I felt I had to work hard at, but not hard in a joyous way, hard in a “I’ll never be good enough, so I have to prove myself” kind of way. As a skater, I was never in my body. I was uncomfortable in front of the audience. I was shy. I was stiff. I loved skating, and disliked performing.

When I dance, the performer leaves. There is no performer. There is only the dance and the music, and even when there is a dancer, she isn’t performing, she is joyous in her expression.

I think of dancing in life. How living from the dance could hold just such a shift in everyday life. Dance as the simple, yet profound, metaphor for living my life. Moving as the Mover moves me. Feeling the song that’s playing and surrendering to it, rather than complaining if I don’t like the song, or attempting to take over the DJ’s job.

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