A creative exploration of spirituality, soul, and vision in pursuit of a life well-lived.
Hello, Seekers.
I am called; as we all are.
A call to which I can’t not answer. A refusal would surely mean death. This I know in the sturdiness of my bones.
Maybe you’ve heard the call, too.
The career, relationship, way of life will no longer work for your soul. An eruption is imminent. The reverberations felt deep within the crust of your body’s Earth will not allow you to look away. You stave it off as if it’s a wandering, impoverished stray dog that has mysteriously made its way to your front door. Go away. I have nothing for you. The door closes, but the knowing, gnawing, ache in your chest persists, you simply cannot neglect the precious, piercing draw for something more.
You have been called.
It is a knowing deeper than any possible knowing. A cavern so vast, so wide you cannot hear the echo below. An abyss of dread. You wail in utter defeat, rivers of tears falling down the slopes into open, empty palms as you ask yourself, What will become of my life?
The refusal is magnetizing.
But step you must.
Risk is written on the concrete wall between you and the ancient corridor of the pilgrim whose only language is not spoken in words, but in intuition. A journey on an unknown path, wrought with uncertainty, heading straight into darkness. This is the embarkation designed by your soul. This is your quest.
I have been here more than once. Staring into the dark impasse of my life, accompanied only by something deep inside me asking me, urging me, begging me, and finally forcibly thrusting me into the night. Pulled against my will, against all that I have been taught to believe, embody, value, and present. I am wholly changed.
I beg of you, do not wait until you are flung into the molten lava of your own becoming.
Step gracefully, powerfully, and with an open hand, breathing in the auspicious, early morning air of all that you will become. Courageously walk into the fertile void of eternity, destiny, and the unfolding epoch of your one irreplaceable Life.
Guided by Self, Soul, and Spirit, Ancestors, Inner Guides, and Mother.
THERE IS NO TURNING BACK. TRUST IS YOUR ONLY CURRENCY HERE. YOU WILL FIND YOUR WAY.
This compilation of Creative Work is a gift to you for the journey.
An offering, an outpouring of love, an extension of a hand that says, “I see you”.
A refuge in which to seek nourishment, guidance, and protection for your quest. May you find something here that allows you to continue, to heal; an artifact of soul that sustains you.
May these artifacts be passed on to those next to you and behind you.
This is my gift, given freely, in love and reverence to the wondrous, loving, enraptured Mystery that guides us all.
With love and a deep bow to your soul’s becoming.
About Brittney
I am drawn to story. Stories and myth, woven in time with nature, image, and symbol, have the power to penetrate the heart, speaking world’s deeper than intellect alone. Curated content derived from the human mind, or the sprawling technological hive-mind, lacks the substrate that nurtures our inner growth and knowing.
Stories are the language of the soul, an ancient chronicle of experience. A forgotten language that is needed now more than ever.
Introducing myself via story feels like the only appropriate response in a world drowning in rationality and cold piles of data.
I can barely see through a river of tears. I try to write. Who am I writing for? My whole life has been spent working, waring, caring, sacrificing, answering, obeying, and serving something or someone else. I hate it! I am enraged. I never serve me. I am nothing – worth nothing more than a number. A number in a bank account, a number in an organization stealing my fucking soul, a numerical diagnosis code and a step-by-step treatment plan, the second daughter – just a number in a world consumed by numbers – a landfill of data to which no one attends. Numbers left for waste. I feel meaningless in my pursuit of more – higher status, more things, more money, faster progress, appearing as put together as humanly possible in a world whose foundation is cracking beneath me. Fit in, sit down, shut up, get in line, stick to the script, don’t attract any attention, be your number.
A war within myself.
Was this the meaning of my life?
To be endlessly devoted to finding worth outside of myself? To place my value on a job title or a salary or reputational gain? Nothing that I had created was for me, not even my appearance. I wanted to be loved and I didn’t know how to give that love to myself. I sought everything outside of myself to earn that love, to prove to the world that I was loveable, that I was more than just a number. To prove to the world that I was real. The entirety of my life has been externalized.
I sit at the creek, trying to be healed and held by the one mother that I know will always love me unconditionally, Mother Earth. Somehow She knows I am real. I am momentarily soothed by Her trickling waters, the cool touch of the stream, the mud, the fallen leaves leaving a floor of decay beneath my sneakers. Light rain falls from the expansive gray skies above, anointing me. It’s okay to be ugly here. It’s okay to do nothing here. Be nothing. Achieve nothing. It’s okay to go slow, be unmoving. This place doesn’t care who you are, what you’ve gained, accomplished, or lost. She delights in decomposition and the lowliness of life. It all makes sense here. It all serves. The thorny vines go wherever they please, they prick and grab. The birds dance among dead branches, singing delightful songs of spring. The old sequoia, long ago felled, grows a thick layer of moss as if it’s still alive, still in service to this place. It’s dirty, dark, but somehow comforting and full of beauty. It is dying and yet so alive. It is everything, all at once. She teaches me in ways that books cannot. This is not intellectual knowing, this is the land of soul. Of mysticism. Of magic. I can’t understand it, but I am not required to. I can be nothing here. A place where everything unfolds with no effort, no doing at all.
I call in my Higher Self, a guide.
She comes to me in the image of a ravenous gray wolf. She’s so angry and fierce. Her teeth gnarl at the very edge of my face, but she doesn’t bite. She shows her anger, her rage, as close to me as she can get. She is making a point. I ask her what I need to do. She replies:
You are real.
You are powerful.
There is more to this life than what you have been told to live.
You are not a number.
Do not fall in line.
Do not conform.
Stand in your power and make it your new home.
Defend your meal.
Defend your territory.
Snarl, growl, bark, and fight for what is yours.
Lay down for no one or nothing.
This is your life.
Live it before you die.
Take back what was always yours.
And herein begins the journey back to my Self.
