Strange occurrences unfold at night. On Easter or as I prefer, Ishtar, dreams of a fertile womb. A sign this heart is evolving and I am aligning with the seeds of spring. How beautiful to feel so connected and in love.

The very next evening, trickery, the universe wants to play. Peacefully, in the small hours, eyes flutter open. There’s a figure standing at the edge of the bed. Still as the night, their face glows in the darkness. Overcome with fear and panic, I cry out. Suddenly, synapses connect and I realize, it’s Kincy. I share a room with her at my cousin’s house (or as everyone properly refers to as the Doctor’s headquarters); she’s back from spring break. Her eyes barely move from the glowing screen of her phone. In unison, knowing laughter escapes us, but it is much too late to give a hearty effort. I roll back to sleep.

Later, as if to reconcile prankster terrors of the night, I wake myself up laughing aloud from a dream. Curious night, you present me with surprises.

The air is ionized. Every evening the sky strikes up in lightning. Palm trees outlined in yellow and purple brilliance. Shutting my eyes, I breath electrified air. Dreams are infiltrated by a galvanized atmosphere. Alchemy.

I walk up a spiral staircase, but suddenly I’m holding on by my hands and arms, as if the world has turned upside down. There is no fear of falling, no questioning of this trick of gravity, and no knowledge as to where this Escher-like staircase leads. There is only determination.

Under another evening’s sleeping spell, I live in a world of concrete- stories stacked on stories, escalators, elevators, vendors, and back alley apartments. There’s a frantic element to the air, this world is on the verge of collapse, and I sense it is biological.

I venture down. Down, down, down to the underground. I know I’m not supposed to be there, but I wander freely, unnoticed. Glass rooms where scientists work, hallways filled with people, steam emanating from rooms of science. I know the answer is there. I go back up and tell everyone, “Go down, underground, you’ll find safety there.”

Morning. Eyes open. I rise. Walk down the hall.

“Yadra, Fay.”

“Yadra, Yadra.” Good morning, good morning.

I write, I read, I stretch. Breathing in the smell of wet earth that only constant rain can bring- this weather that keeps me inside, and in turn, inward.

Within my creative process dreams merge with walking life, alchemically the symbols breath themselves into knowing. The path becomes discernible: inward, go inside to see.

The journey from night into day, darkness to light, dream and waking life, I wander the trails of this existence and feel the singular bond between my blood and ancestral grounds. It is here I am meant to connect the outer and the inner worlds and fuse my own alchemy, the magic of this life.

Cosmic Latte

Yesterday I learned the average color of the universe is cosmic latte. It made me smile. I thought to myself, I want to drink that. To sip brown sugar stars and steamed milk of fluffy cloud swirls. Lick crystallized specks of sweet sun rays. A dash of tree and a blossom of flower. From the tip of my tongue to down deep in my belly, I absorb and nourish all that I need, and let go of what I don’t. And I feel the universe within me, and know also that I am the universe. Because you are what you eat, or in this case sip.

Tears to Heal: Ayahuasca

It’s 4am and I’m wondering.  I woke up from an alarming dream and tell myself, I will always be a work in progress.  To always have sweet dreams is like only having happy thoughts.  That is not the world, that is not me, and I accept.

To accept myself, I realized under a jungle canopy of twinkling stars, is part of finding myself.  The Ayahuasca was strong in my blood.  I held myself, looking up at the night like a child, I thanked the gods for the beautiful woman they created.  I thanked the universe for this love inside me which I wrapped myself in.  I cried for all the beautiful thoughts that ran like a river, flowing, meandering, weaving through my mind.  My eyes a great canyon for which these thoughts escaped as tears.  So many that the salt seemed to dwindle, to my lips I could barley taste the sea, they were now fresh water.  Water for growing.

And yet, how could love feel so sweetly sorrowful?  The sacrifices of my parents, even before my existence. The torments of those I loved.  The struggles of those and of which I know not.  Heroes. The love I’ve been afraid of.  All of it, I felt.  All of it I released back into the darkness and sent sweetly to the ones I love.  If you wondered was it you?  It was.

That night, I was blessed with the remembrance of my first memory.  In the womb.  I was apart of my mother- The Goddess and my own mother. Protected in a brilliant light of red and orange.  I cried for us, the mothers.  And as the healing song reverberated in my ear in a way that spoke to my spirit, it was then I knew, with more certainty than I’ve ever imagined, one day I will be a mother.

Gracias, Gracias, Gracias.

I’m Still Here…

Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve posted!  I’ve been up in the mountains, tucked away, planning and thinking.  And there is so much going on that I will again begin to share with you all.  However, this is a reflective post on turning the big 3-0 a.k.a: dirty 30.

Big sigh…of relief!  I saw my reflection the other day and truly saw myself as a woman: strong, beautiful, and willful.  The days of feeling unsure of who I was or where I was going are gone.  I’ve accepted that everyday I’m learning more about myself, and the future is widely unknown.  I no longer think in terms of how outside influences effect me only, but how my choices reverberate in a multitude of ways.  My satisfaction does not come from the approval of others but out of my own happiness that is being true and real with myself.

It seemed as I drew farther away from my early 20’s, I feared the superficial ideas of what that meant: losing my youth, effects  of aging, ‘taking life seriously,’ etc.  These ideas have transformed into knowing that my spirit will always be youthful; health, happiness, and authenticity is beauty; and life is part doing and part trusting.

These are the positive things you are not told enough. When you’re growing up, you’re growing.  And that is a beautiful thing.

In a couple of weeks I’m embarking on a Central/South America trip. I am so excited to delve into the journey ahead.  With these parts of myself that have grown and developed, I hope I can share with you the ever evolving transformation.

Fighting for Yourself


Everyday is a challenge. Some days I’ve spent with friends, laughing and dancing until I close my eyes; those are the easily conquered ones.  Some days I can’t stop listening to that voice in my head that says, ‘what are you doing with your life?’  Not a fan of those days.  It’s those days I have to remind myself that life isn’t easy, and I’m not the only one who questions their own path.  A healthy dose of being constantly unsatisfied has kept me fighting.  And fighting for yourself is not giving up on your dreams.

I just finished watching Janis Joplin: Little Girl Blue and felt compelled to write about standing on your own.  This documentary was done so well, and I was reminded of what a true artist she was, a blues artist.  Part of her story really spoke to me and I’ve been finding an uplifting thread lately with being a woman and doing what feels true to yourself.  This idea of fighting for what you want; it’s been keeping me going lately.

“You are what you settle for.” Those words stayed with me after that film and it’s exactly what I’ve been feeling these days.  This relates to my recent job endeavors completely.  I came rolling into Portland all nonchalant, thinking that I was going to freelance write and snag a cool barista day job, be creative and wander around Portland.  Not so much.  Unfortunately, my friendly warnings that getting a job in Portland is hell were true.  I almost bent a little for a corporate barista gig, but upon learning that I’d have to take out my labret piecring, cover any tattoos, and be drug tested, I literally asked, “Am I in Portland?”  I don’t feel bad about declining the position because I haven’t been traveling for 3 years to get a mediocre low wage job where I can’t be myself.  I may as well just go for an ambitious job with benefits if I have to abide by rules.  I repeat, ‘DON’T SETTLE!’

As for the writing, my real passion, I just continue doing it.  Everything else will work around it, and I can’t allow the excuse of ‘nothing is working’ to not write.  It’s why I’ve created my life the way it is, to be this constantly moving equation.  These wandering years have been filling my life with experiences and allowing new scenery, strange and beautiful people, and unconvered mysteries to constantly inspire me.

As I near the end of my 20’s, I feel myself crossing this imaginary threshold of gender expectations and an overall societal pressure to ‘build my foundation.’  But the truth is, I’m kind of irresponsible-in the traditional idea of what ‘responsible’ means anyways. ‘Un-dateable,’ that’s another one I picked up from watching Frances Ha.  But the one responsibility to myself that I must fulfill is writing.  I just went through a low point of being stressed out on life and not writing.  I ate a lot of ice cream too…But I can only stay away from the pen so long, until I really start feeling without worth.  That’s when you know what you should be doing and you owe it to yourself to do it.


For all those people out there not settling, still fighting for your dreams, I praise you!  Those kinds of people are what make this world beautiful.  I know I am, it’s a constant evolution, and it isn’t always what I had in mind.  I read something the other day about the goal being secondary and process being what really matters.  It’s about what you’re doing now, because the presence is all we have, right?