The Stolen Mother Moon

On this New Moon I woke with this story in my head. I love this story it speak to me of the shadow and the light. Aspects of both self and the other. Times to go in and listen to ourselves and times to go forth and shine.
How we can face our fears, we can illuminate the way for both ourselves and others through our bravery and SO much more.
Read, digest and feel what it means to you.
Pisces is much about dreaming and feeling, the last in the zodiac year, a time for remembering, releasing, washing ourselves in the waters, finding the flow before we invite in the fire of Aries. The new moon is a time for seeding, also just before Spring Equinox. What needs to be released in order to really allow the light to illuminate and feed the new?
The Stolen Mother Moon
This is about a light, a certain kind of light that is represented by the moon, a psychic light, a cool light, it has some distance to it, not the hyper-tropic mother that is all over her children every time their nose is running they might have pneumonia, this is a mother that is a little more aloof, a little more circumspect, she does not so much love by showering love as she loves by guiding, by bringing consciousness out of the darkness.
There was this village, a wonderful village, and everything happened just the way it was supposed to happen, and all the children were terrific and all the mothers and fathers loved each other, except, as there always must be in the psyche and in fairy tales, there was this one thing that was very, very adverse…..this beautiful, harmonious village was surrounded by a moat of black, murky bogs. It was dark there always, and it stank because everything was rotting. It was for that reason, the darkness of those quagmires and quicksand, that the people depended on the light of the moon to guide them at night. Some nights, she did not come, and on those nights the bogs were filled with treachery, because there were evil things that lived there. Things that live in the darkest corners of humans’ minds would come out at night and lead the poor, struggling travelers with no light into the quagmires and drown them.
Well, it turned out that several people died in the course of a very short amount of time. When the Moon Mother learned of this, she was filled with sorrow, for she cared for humans. In fact she was so concerned she decided she would come to earth and see for herself. So when the dark of the month came, she stepped onto a slow shooting star and landed at the edge of the marshes. She wore a black cape pulled around her so that no light could escape, and for as far as she could see, the bogs were like black mirrors, with a few sparse willows sticking up here and there, and the smell of muck everywhere.
Around the bottom of her cape there was a bright rim of light; she saw that and she pulled her cape even tighter. It was so cold she was trembling, and she feared the evil ones, just as we all do, but she loved the human soul more, and so she began her investigation, guided by the little golden light that leaked through her cape over her beautiful white feet.
She felt her way through the grass with the dank ponds on the left and the quagmires on the right. And just as she had thought she got the lay of the land, all of the sudden, she felt a vine across her ankles, and too late to hold herself, she began to fall forward. She reached for a twining tree, the kind under the control of the evil ones, and sure as she grabbed its branches, it sent out tendrils around her wrists and her ankles, holding her as though with manacles. And the more she struggled, the tighter it held her. And there she was in the blackest dark, shivering and straining.
She heard a voice calling from far off, “help me, please help”. She listened and the cry came nearer and nearer, and she heard footfalls stumbling; at last by the dim light of the stars, she saw a haggard, despairing face with fearful eyes and she knew it was a poor soul who had lost its way, and was floundering on to his death.
And the traveler now caught sight of the glimmer of light from the captive moon, and made his way toward the light, thinking it meant help, but there was a quagmire right in front of the moon. She was filled with sorrow because she was luring him with her little tiny light, luring him to his death. Frantic to warn him, she struggled until her hood fell back, and her dazzling hair lit the black waters; a flood of yellow, precious light of the Moon Mother glinted and the whole was as bright as day. How relieved the traveler was to see the evil ones rush back into their underwater holes.
But the moon struggled against the branches which held her tighter, and she was so glad he was safe, but the traveler ran to the edge of the marsh so quickly, with such haste and relief that he forgot to wonder about the wondrous thing that had just occurred. And the Mother Moon sank, exhausted into the mud, and as she did, her head fell onto her breast and her hood fell back over her hair and all became darkness again.
And the vile things that love the dark came too, then. They came with a kind of whisper chatter… “we’ll get her now, we’ll get her now, now we’ll kill her, yes, we’ll kill her.” They gathered around the Moon Mother, snarling and kicking and grasping, and they drove her into the ground, they who hated humans. At last, no more light shown across those dark waters. The One who gave light and even more, the One who shown down on mothers nursing their babies, the One who made sleeping women kiss their lovers’ backs, the One who put words into the dreams of poets, that One was pushed deep into the mud. The evil ones didn’t care about mothers or babies; they didn’t care about lovers or poets. The Moon Mother let one last ray of light zig zag over the waters before she disappeared completely. The evil ones rolled a great boulder over her grave and danced a crazy dance on top of it.
On nights there was no light to guide, and so many people became lost, and so many children became orphaned, and so many people suffered, that the villagers decided they must go and find what had become of the moon. Armed with torches and clubs, they trekked through the night into the bog, sinking down into the wet and slimy grass all the way up to their knees, and cold and wet they continued on. The evil things were about and surrounded them, scratching and clawing at them, but the flames from their torches kept them safe.
And they came to a great boulder, and they said they did not think this boulder was in this place before. There was a little lip of light all the way around it that shown whiter than white. With great excitement they lifted and they hauled and they tugged until the boulder rolled away. And then staring down into what seemed like the most beautiful face they had ever seen, they saw eyes filled with the love of humanity.
The light rose up, lighting their faces first from beneath and then straight on and then finally from the top as the Moon Mother escaped from her prison and climbed the dark staircase back to the sky, where now, on most nights, she travels across the sky with her hood turned down and with her radiant light everywhere.
And on those few, now predictable nights, when she veils herself in grey and does not shine, travelers have learned to stay by the hearth and wait until she shows the way again.

Hecate calls

Owl calls
Hecate calls

Deep mistress of the shadows…. calling for me to dive in and embrace my totality of self.

Owl calls

Heart breaks, feelings of overwhelm
Scorpion tail findings its mark emits its poison – heart contracts, breaks open with the long held pain and passion weaved so closely, held deep within the cavern of the heart pouring forth cleansing and healing past pains

Childhood ambitions lost and forgotten stir to the surface. Remembering the wild passion and dance of fire, the thrill of riding bareback in the sea – hair flying in the wind, whilst my soul captures the essence of wind and dances free, flying high, riding faster and faster along the shore the heart beats, faster and faster.

Owl calls

Bird flying seeing all

Scorpio tail. Stings. Cutting, hitting deep to the core.
Fuelling the despair
Touching and piercing the depths of the deeply hidden cavern of lost passion and longing.

Longing to be held with compassion and grace, to be met with wild passion, fierce wild passion and unconditional love and beauty
.  The passion and grace of a true strong heart.

Owl calls

The call of the wild.
The ability to ‘SEE’ to ability to know TRUTH

Are you my truth? I know not.

Heart flutters pausing for breath, almost with the sting of the Scorpio tail the paralysis piercing into the tightly held cavern – shedding its medicine, breaking through old patterns and stories, breaking through to let in the light

Owl calls. Hecate calls.

To be met in grace, not defence. To be met and held in beauty, honour and wisdom, not rage, defences high, defences; do they serve?

Owl Calls. Hecate calls. Tears fall.

Heart calls… Tear down the defences. Allow the heart to break open allow the heart to be seen in all its glory, knowing it is strong.  Strong and capable of surviving the Scorpio sting.

The medicine emitted by something so vulnerable. Its only defence, to strike, to hurt, to maim, to protect its sensitive side, to protect itself, yet in doing so it brings fear and a reputation of danger. Living in the fear of its own softness the scorpion leads an isolated life.

Let my heart break free of the chains of despair.
Let my heartbreak free of being captured and held in fear.
let my heart break free to embrace once again the wild passion and freedom within.

Break free dear heart, stand strong, stand tall, stand in your own power and passion, tear down the walls of repression and fear once and for all.

Owl calls. Hecate calls.

Hear the call of the owl lets its resonance sooth your shaken soul.

Breathe in the rich darkness of the new moon sky, the place of new beginnings, of riches beheld are wondrous and true, the deep velvet darkness. See from your heart centre.

Open this sacred heart of the child embracing the potent wisdom of the seer inside.

Hecate calls you dear child of the light; wisdom calls in the hour of the night.

Owl calls.
Scorpion stings no more.
Squash the scorpion embrace the scorpion tickle its under belly and allow it to melt into your heart. Know you are strong enough, brave enough, wild enough, and wise enough.

YOU ARE ENOUGH – no more sting – only wisdom of the owls song…

Owl calls.
Hecate calls.
Heart calls.  Peace.


We locked up our wisdom into our bones

And swallowed the key

They sank in our rivers of blood

And we forget the maps

Because we had to forget the mysteries

To keep them safe

We wove our hair into brooms

And swept over our paths

And then burned the earth with our rage

We didn’t teach our children

it was the only way to protect them,

we thought

But in them we planted seeds, seeds and keys

And told them stories and riddles and songs

With no roots, just tangled threads

That would take years to unwind

Just enough time

For the rains to fall again

and put out the fires

For the dams to break

For the rivers to flood

For the paths to be walked again

For the soil to breathe

And as the old bones crumble

Deep beneath the rubble

We find we’ve always had the keys

Our stories and our maps

Our paths are revealed to some

And the seeds grow again

The threads are unspun

And woven again

~Amara Bronwyn Hollow Bones

In stillness I am born

Photo Sarah Bullock

In the stillness I dance

In the stillness I find myself

In the stillness I dive deep into my heart, myself, my own divinity

I am stillness

I am peace

I am beauty

I am passion

I am joy

I am freedom


In the stillness my feet find a movement of grace, a movement of fire a movement of surrender.  My feet find a place to weave their magic, their story.


In the stillness I find peace in myself, my heart, my BE-ing.

In the stillness I find my grace.

In stillness I open to God

In stillness I find my pulse, my own connection to source, my dance, my surrender

In stillness my fire burns even

In stillness I honour myself and all life

In stillness I am healed, I am whole, I am enough

In stillness I am love

In stillness I dream

In stillness the seed takes form as I birth myself to a greater connection to source a greater way of being

In stillness I rest, I birth, I sigh the breath of life

In stillness I am born.

Deep in the belly of woman

Art: Andrew Trimmer

Older musings

Deep in the belly of woman’s wisdom lies the seed of all knowing.

The seed which when cultivated and nourished brings forth new life.  New life in the form of a child, an idea, a creative expression, a dance, a form of new beginning, new birth, new life.

Deep in the belly of woman lies the depths of passion. Untouched, untamed. The Wild primal screaming panther of pure potent power, the woman wild, free, untouched ALIVE.

Deep in the belly of woman lies the nourishing mother, the woman who loves beyond herself, sees beyond her own needs, loves and nourishes all life itself.

She who knows the depths and potency of a mothers love, holding within her arms a lover, a child, a friend a foe knowing and allowing the unconditional heart of spirit force to flow through her from her heart, her womb her soul.

Deep in the belly of woman I hide. Deep in the belly of you.

You are the light, the dark the hit the cold. You are all that you are – all part of the consciousness we are all within the belly of woman.

Dive deep, sink deep resonant with grace, delight, flamboyance, fierce grace and beauty, dive deep dear soul dive deep.

You are the seed; you hold the seed, dive deep dear one, dive deep.

Birth all those ideas forth and allow your heart to sing, your body to dance, your heart to love.

There is only love…deep in the body of woman.

‘Spikes or Boundaries?’ There is the Question…


‘Spikes or Boundaries’ – that is the question….

I have long been feeling the call to establish a writing practise.  To share an experience of what it is to be a woman living a real life, fully expressed life through writing, speaking and moving.


This is a practise I am still navigating my way through, yet it calls to my very essence.  Tugging my heart strings and my creative juices, my soul yearns to write yet my internal critic is strong, oh so very strong so I have resisted, yet this call to write has not gone away.


Today find myself with a topic to which I feel honours some time and attention, please be kind in your reading whilst I find my way, navigating my writing technique, language and form.


With gratitude, I had someone feedback today to me some things in which I know.  Things which I am not always proud of but form a part of me which have all my life ‘kept me safe’.


A side of my character which is not one of my finest features, yet, it is indeed a part of me.  A behaviour for which, all my life, has had consequences.  Loss, rejection, ending of friendships, love affairs and sometimes alienating people from the beginning.

I have many flaws.  I am but human. I am also a woman who is open to discussion about said flaws, known and unknown as I am all for improving myself, aiming to be the best person I can be in the world.  No longer seeking to improve because I want to be accepted, or loved, or want to fit in.  No, now I want to be the best person I can be, so that I feel good about myself.  So, I can rest easy knowing that I have done the best I can do in my day.


Which of my many flaws (and yes, there are many) am I referring to?

Ice Queen By Enamorte

‘SPIKINESS’.  Yes, I can be spikey.  Yes, indeed I remember someone once saying to me ‘who is colder? You or the ice queen?’ to which I responded ‘ME!’.


Walls, barriers, armouring all hiding my soft underbelly, the side of me which is vulnerable, raw and sensitive.  For many years I have hidden these aspects of myself, afraid to let people in, experiencing much loss in the process.  Those that know me well, know how incredibly soft and sensitive I am, yet, many would laugh in disagreement.


Years of personal work emotionally, spiritually, physically has seen some of the armour fall away, the walls begin to crumble, yet still they are there, less so, and often witho

ut even realising it.  Old patterns can take a while to reconfigure, to transform.  It is a process.


Many of us have our defences, our ways of keeping out the pain and hurt, methods in which we ‘protect’. Yet, ‘WHAT’ are we protecting from?  Perceived loss, anticipated rejection, fear of abandonment, hurt, pain…. the list goes on.  They also keep us from LIFE, from LOVE, from CONNECTION, from TRUTH and INTIMACY.  Again, this I know deeply to my own cost.


All these defences from perhaps one or more experiences in which we have felt vulnerable and perhaps in more serious cases unsafe.  Stories that we have exaggerated, embellished until we cannot remember the core of the reality of what actually happened.


Yet, I also ask: how often are we called ‘spikey’ or ‘armoured’ when in reality we are boundaried?  Where is the difference?  When is it that it is the other persons perception or core wounding that is actually being activated rather than us actually being ‘spikey’?


I know myself that I can operate from a very non-aware place on occasion especially when I am tired, rushing or not being mindful, caught up in my own personal pain.  I can be short, I can indeed be cutting and my energy very strongly giving out a ‘KEEP AWAY’ vibe.

However, I can also simply have strong boundaries.  Boundaries that say ‘this is my NO’, ‘please own your own stuff’, ‘please do not invade my personal space’ etc etc.  I am learning all the time how to differentiate, yet whilst I navigate my way through I can slip into being ‘spikey’.


Actions have consequences.  Every action we do has a consequence, and often they hurt, usually in advertently causing pain to another, sometimes consciously.  On this occasion, they affected something I do in my local community, alienating women from a place established for them to, ironically, feel safe and create connection!  Oh my, how I screwed up there!  Yet, for once I am practising kindness to myself.  For once not taking it all personally, not berating myself, not belittling or bemoaning. No, for once I am recognising that not always am I able to meet everyone’s expectations and when we do

things in our communities we are often projected upon.   I know I have projected onto my teachers, my peers, strangers, it is only through personal awareness that this shifts.


Arguably, we are especially projected upon and judged when we are strong, potent women who have a voice and have strong boundaries.   Those of us that put themselves out there, who stand up to be counted (one of the many reasons I have my whole life hidden!), those who create, dare to bare our souls, our bodies our hearts.


Simply, we can activate other people’s core wounding’s.  Fact.  We also activate people’s perception of themselves.  We often invite it. We are like a temptress, inviting people to look at themselves as we so often look at ourselves, inviting the best of you, the best of us to come forth.  We are change makers.


At the same time we would be unable to meet the demands set on us by ourselves and by others if we did not have strong boundaries, which can be seen as ‘spikes/walls/defences’. How do we know the difference? How can we translate these to our communities, families, friends and lovers?


As I continue to navigate my walls, my spikes, my armour and my vulnerability, my boundaries, learning the tender dance of myself I watch with curiosity.  I ask how I can interact ever more truthfully, more authentically and more in keeping with who I am at my core rather than through my stories or wounding’s.

I also make a choice.  I choose LIFE. I choose LOVE.  I choose CONNECTION.  I choose INTIMACY.  I choose AUTHENTIC FULLY EXPRESSED LIVING and in doing so I honour that I am like marmite and not for everyone and in that I accept.


If I have inadvertently offended or upset anyone who reading this with my curtness or spikes in the past then I humbly apologise and ask for forgiveness as I explore my humanness as I hope you explore your own, for we are simply dancing together in this life, learning and growing with each other and I am grateful for the opportunity to do so.


In grace and love,



Please may I be good enough….


Golly the process of writing academically, or potentially any form of ‘putting yourself out there’ be it body, voice, writing, can for some (myself) be one that illicit’s huge trauma response and potentially put you in to a place of non action.


I have for the last 2 weeks been researching and playing with a working title for my thesis. This has lead me through every single emotion possible. Including bringing up grief about my ex partner who was my rock through my first year at uni among other things.


The isolation, the stories of not being good enough, being stupid, being just useless, old wounds that still sit somewhere deep in my psyche, my soma raised their strange and wonderful heads, even as I pressed the button to submit my paper I was praying ‘please let this be enough’. I wonder if these curious facets of ourselves ever truly go or if we really do just have to heal them facet by facet, illusion by illusion, story by story?


A dear, wise and wonderful friend Estelle (Dr G as I affectionately call her, a genius in energy healing) said to me yesterday ‘Sarah some people look at the box’ you take the box, pick it up, give it a good shake, or bash it with a stick and stick your head inside. This is where the alchemy is’.


Its true I do. In doing so I also alienate people, put myself out on a limb and can isolate myself. However, what it does do is creates magic. It creates growth.


The old adage ‘take the bull by the horns’ well, I am a double Taurus and Chinese pig to boot so you got to have a whole lot of something to shift this stubborn one, yet I can also dance with the feet of angels and be as light as anything. These angelic feet, I find once I have taken a moment of action to be brave. They then take me on a sweet dance towards a greater part of myself.


Being a little bit brave in the face of our old stories lifts the doubt into one of possibility, it takes the fear into one of trust, it takes the inertia into action.


We can also look at the myth of lifting the lid of Pandora’s box. What if through fear we never opened the box? What if curiosity was dimmed and the flame never lit?  The desire never ignited?


Yes, we would live a ‘sweet idyllic life’ of platitude (lovely for some and part of me sometimes wishes I could settle for this) however; within the box, for me, is the ‘juice’.


There is the destruction, the death, the shadow, the chaos and so much more.


As my teacher Samantha Sweetwater stated so beautifully this morning


‘ The shadow isn’t your enemy. It just feels that way.  When you make friends with your deepest fears and traumas, you will be at the threshold of freedom. When you walk through, real living – living from an unarmored heart – begins.’

Yes, an unarmoured heart.  A life of freedom and transformation and growth, meeting and being met.

We forget perhaps that when Pandora tries to shut the box, she shuts in HOPE.  Hope is what many of us need through times of trauma, of hardship, when the light at the end of the tunnel seems so dim and distant that we think it is a mirage.  However, HOPE is what transforms, it is what brings joy it is the thing we must cling onto with the lightest and strongest of touches to assist us.


Arguably HOPE is what will change the world.  For without it, there can be little magic.  HOPE is what this world at this time is asking for. HOPE is what can move us into a different space and place within our lives and ourselves.

Without HOPE there is nothing.

How you do money…

May 2017

Finding myself feel quite heated this morning from a few things over the last few weeks. I guess I will be opening myself up for a whole lot of something with this. But it feels important….to me.

The question of money and being paid for your services sits with me a lot, and over the years it is a conversation I have with both myself and others.

I understand whole heartedly about priorities, lack, not enough and it’s too expensive. Why do I have to pay that much…..etc etc etc

However, I also understand the hundreds of hours, thousands of ££££ the courage, determination, tears and triumphs people go through to actually get to do what it is they do in order to charge for what they do in the world.

Do you question the £3.20 you pay for a coffee or sandwich in costa? I walk past SO many cafes where people are spending time eating and drink because that is where their priorities are. To do that and that’s great just don’t question me when I choose to do something else that nourishes me in a different way.

I choose to study, to explore to nourish myself in other ways. I like to dance, do art class, to travel. To do something new, including sitting in a cafe sharing a tea with someone or on my own.

When what you do has value. Yes. There is the whole question of ‘what is value’?

That is what is the value to me? How will I benefit? Why do I have to ‘pay’ to nourish myself? I should get it for free. Believe me. I know this beauty deeply.

However, we live in a culture where money is simply an exchange. An exchange for something. You give. I give. I give. You give.

Until we live in utopia where everything is self sustained and there is no need for money then this shall be the case. But there ALWAYS has to be an exchange of some sort. It keeps the balance.

Money is an energy. We live in fear around it. We hold onto it feeling there will never be enough. The ‘not enough’ is the core wounding that goes back so deeply this is what can be explored it isn’t about the actual money.

I find myself questioning about whether I want to pay ‘that much’ for something. But I know when it feels right then I do it as I will always learn from it. Deeply.

I am fascinated by the whole thing with money. And as my Money Coach Kendall Summerhawk says ‘how you do money, is how you do everything ‘. Sit with that over your cuppa this morning and review your life and view the relationship between money, yourself and your life. I found it MOST revelatory.