Sacred

Today has me thinking about the “sacred” in our relationships.

Sacred describes something that is dedicated or set apart and considered worthy of respect or devotion; or inspires awe or reverence among people.

There are beautiful little things we know about the people in our life. The silly things, the deep soul wrenching things. The space that holds a memory or remembers in memoriam.

The irony is not lost on me that the thought of sacredness comes to me on Maundy Thursday, the day in which Christian believers honor the Last Supper. Additionally, tomorrow, Good Friday holds the same space as the 25th anniversary of my dad’s death.

Where many people hold sacred the tenets of the Last Supper, my soul lands in the Garden. The place where Jesus cried in anguish over the fact that the Duh-ciples couldn’t stay awake to watch for the end with him. The place where dissapointment was more prevalent than just Judas. I will circle back to Judas later…

There are so many wonderful nuggets-of-knowing that I have with people in my life. Some nuggets I hold safe for others, while others are the keepers of my sacred.

I have a longtime friend that LOVES the first baby leaves of Spring. Not the tightly wrapped buds of “soon” but the bursting forth of the arrival of new beginnings. The Promise of brighter skies ahead. Each time I see that Promise, I think of her.

I know that there are one, maybe two people on the planet that know why I weep like a willow when I hear the song “Rainbow Connection”. They know the deeper tether to my sacred better than anyone. They know the cries of my heart.

I delight in the memory of my dad and his deliciously impish way of putting his birthday on other people’s calendars. If he was in your home or office long enough, and you had a wall calendar, his birthday mysteriously ended up on it. I’m pretty sure that is where my notion of taking a whole month for my birthday stems. Birthdays are a big deal.

I hold some stories and events safe and sacred, locked up tight until the owner is ready to bring it to light.

I hold the memories of sweet childhood just as tightly as the trauma in the same hourglass.

I know the heartache of betrayal and I have also been the betrayer.

And it is ALL sacred.

Back to the Garden…. While many people make Judas a villain, I think of him as misunderstood and misinterpreted. We’ve all been there, feeling as though we are doing the right thing and then have it go so horribly wrong.

Jesus knew what was coming. He knew it in every wrinkle of his garment, in every stone where his foot fell. He knew he would die. He prepared a place, arranged a meal, probably even wrote a sermonette to explain the coming days, but he would not bring about the end on his own. There was protocol in place and the proper authorities needed to be made aware. I think that Judas was chosen by Jesus, not because he was voted to be the Dickhead Disciple but because he was a devoted friend. He heard the rumblings in the square, he knew (he thought) that the authorities would be reasonable…

Yeah, we think we know the motives of others, but you can not hold motive in higher esteem than the sacred.

The officials ALL had their own agenda, and “by hook or by crook” they were going to get their way. Judas loved his friend Jesus and didn’t want to see him harmed. He was duped by the authorities into thinking Jesus would have a fair trial and life and lessons with The Boys would go on.

Judas held on to the sacred; the love of Jesus, the times at his feet learning, the pure heart of a man who loved God and all people. Why else would he have “betrayed him with a kiss” when he could have easily told the authorities, “yo, the dude with the prayer mantle/shawl is Jesus.”

When the dust had settled after the events in the garden, Judas held the kiss he gave Jesus as sacred. The sacred that played in his mind over and over and quite honestly, Judas just couldn’t deal. He couldn’t bear what had happened. That he’s been deceived by the authorities. That he was now the most hated human in the land. So he did what he did. He exchanged the sacred for surrender.

Even with nearly eight BILLION people on this planet, YOU are sacred. You alone. You hold the sacred of others and others hold yours. It is in this beautiful transfer of trust, love and belief that we are all so connected even if we are one thousand miles away or our paths only crossed once.

While I implore and beg each of you to not look to an exchange to surrender, I ask that you explore your sacred. To listen to the quiet and find the moments of awe and beauty in remembering who’s sacred you are holding and who holds your sacred.

Look at those baby leaves, Hermana, just look ❤️

Ruminating..

I felt an urgency, a nudge to explore today, albeit a bit strange writing for me to begin, mostly because I don’t know where it will land. Possibly it will be just me preaching to myself, but I hope that along the way, it speaks to you. I’m usually so intentional as to my message, but there are days when you just need to see what bubbles up…

It’s no secret that I have a collection of autoimmune diseases. I’m quite transparent about them. I don’t share for the sympathy, but for solidarity. Most of us that battle chronic illness look quite normal on the outside, while inside, our body rages against itself.

The medications for said illnesses are more like poison than relief; although attempting to navigate the illnesses without them would cause more damage and devastation to the body. While many go a more holistic route, I’m trusting the science…

…however, at some point you have to take some accountability. To love yourself enough to make changes. For yourself.

The level of chaos that stress, anxiety and unprocessed trauma leaves within your body is insurmountable.

The body remembers.

The soul holds space.

I won’t replay “old tapes” here, as I’ve already written volumes on it, but pain is universal.

I’ve always joked about my Lithuanian/Catholic heritage and that my people invented guilt, but sometimes the level of guilt we hold-in, roll-around-in and walk-in daily is more destructive than anything. I do feel guilty that I’ve not taken better care of me. I do feel guilty that had I made better choices, some level of illness could have been prevented. Even while most of it is just really bad genetics.

Guilt and shame are really heavy. I mean really fucking heavy. But they are not independent, they are co-dependent. They require a “target” for their strength. While some carry enough guilt themselves, to punish themselves; others may feel their strength by serving it to others.

Guilt and shame are manufactured, they are not naturally occurring. Whether you are the one to hold it or the one to serve it, at its core, is pain. I know for certain that I have caused a lot of people, a lot of pain. I carry that burden. I own it. But I can no longer carry it. I have to put it down.

My body remembers.

My soul holds space.

Perhaps, you’re reading this feeling as though you have been served a lifetime of guilt and shame.

Your body remembers.

Your soul holds space.

That guilt and shame is not yours to carry. It is the deep rooted pain in someone else that felt better by hurling it at you.

“When you know better, you do better.” I’ve heard it a million times and said it almost as much. But there is such truth; a necessary accountability. When we know better, if we do not do better, we just play Ring-around-the-Rosie with the pain until we ALL fall down. When we take the accountability for doing better, we can be better.

I’m not that crazy to believe that by being better that I can make myself well. Yes, I have incurable illnesses, but I can be better. Shaking off guilt and shame ventilates a space that allows Love to expand her footprint.

To love each other better, is a grande notion, but what amazing and potential power there is in loving ourselves better.

When we learn to love ourselves better, we create a lighthouse for others to navigate their way. When we love ourselves enough to say “enough” to the things that no longer serve us or create real joy in us, we can truly be better.

This shedding of the things that are no longer serving us, might be:

  • Bad behaviors or habits that you have used for coping skills
  • A job that you dislike and carry with you to the point of punishing those around you.
  • A relationship that feels one-sided, empty or unhealthy
  • The “old tapes” that I mentioned earlier that seem to replay over and over.

The body remembers.

The soul holds space.

Peeling back the layers of pain is super messy and really fucking hard. YOU. ARE. WORTH. IT. Your literal health is depending on it.

The old joke, “ How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time” is actually pretty sage advice. Make a conscious choice today, to do ONE thing better. And the next day, ONE more.

Help your body to change its memory.

Give your soul the nourishment it needs to grow and not just hold space.

Be well.

Love well.

For Yourself.

Blessed be ❤️

May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

Chocolate Chaos Cake

I suck at baking. Ok, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I’m intimidated AF to bake. 😬

My Grandma Hedges was an AH-mazing baker. It was her love language. When she couldn’t sleep, she would bake. I mean like 50-dozen-cookies-bake!🍪

But hey, it’s Christmas, and as if pandemic isolation hasn’t already sent me to a life of stretchy pants and pj’s….

“Let’s make an extra extra dark and decadent flourless chocolate cake” and …

🤬HUGE flippen flop! 

Total freak out, near breakdown moment. 

Pause. Breathe.

In that single moment, you can chose to chuck it in the trash or crumble. 

Instead of chucking-it, I chose to create something new 🌟

may have freaked out, snapped at my husband and then crumbled that f’n cake into pieces. 

A trifle-esque dessert of shredded chocolate chaos cake layered with brandy & vanilla, (real) heavy whipped cream. 


It may not have been what I intended, but it was turned into something new and (dare I say) better than what I had originally planned!!!!

⭐️So here’s my “So What”⭐️ 

❗️Don’t beat yourself up for things you don’t excel at. (Also, don’t beat yourself up for ending a sentence with a preposition) 

❤️GRACE! 

❗️It may seem odd to be fearful or anxiety riddled to do something that seems sooooo simple

❤️GRACE! 

❗️Take a couple of moments to yourself and simply breathe in the midst of the chaos of the next few days. 

PEACE☮️! 

Blessed be y’all! 

Merry Christmas ❤️🎄⭐️