Ancient and Half Awake is both a learning space and spiritual practice, and I am thrilled to have you here. I imagine this space like a circle of storytellers, gathered by a beachside campfire, sharing what sets our soul on fire, the depth our inherent and ancient wisdom and what makes us twirl alive with passion. Here, we will learn how to write, journal, and put our exquisite voices on a page. If not only to be reminded of how deeply connected we are, but to remember yourself.
A journal is a sacred space. A refuge of pages for our thoughts. The word Refuge comes from a French word that means โretreat.โ A place of safe retreat, a shelter and stronghold that protects by its strength. In many moments, my journal has been my church, my yoga mat, my โscream off a mountaintopโ and sanctuary of my soul. It offers a place of healing because of itโs sacredness. As you choose your space to land and write, be aware of the โit needs to be perfect before I beginโ headspace. The journal and space does not have to be perfect, it just has to call to you. Your refuge will meet you as you are and it will hold you as is.
Our journal prompt today, is on the very words and meaning to Ancient and Half Awake. Where to beginโฆ
Ancient
There is something ancient within us. A calling of wisdom, still yet stirring with a loud resounding Love. A divine feminine, close-to-the-earth, Motherโs kind of love. Women and men both embody and shelter this wisdom, yet I find women tend to have an extra thread somewhere that sings a slightly different note. As if she can hear every woman before her and her harmony within that chord. Itโs not a question of male vs. female as it is unifying the masculine and feminine energies we each hold; a dance.
On my personal journey, I find poetry as my woven way of trying to put words to that โHerโ within me. To that โBig-Sโ Self. A poem is like visual music of that dance. To remember every single day who I am before all the layers. To participate with, at least, one word to the music thatโs been playing for thousands of years.
Oh woman remember who you are woman woman it is the whole earth -Jo Harjo, The Blanket Around Her
Half Awake
That ancient voice is culling all of your past experiences into your next unfolding. We are only half awake to whatโs on the horizon for ourselves. A sweet surprise and exercise of trust, surrender and faith. If you were given and would become everything you were to be all in one moment, what else would there be, to be?
Prompt: What does your ancient voice want you to know? What is half awake, brewing patiently within you? What ancient thread do you carry in your heart that you get to plant in this world? Think of that voice writing a letter to yourself. To you, from you.
A place to begin: โWhat would you have me know today?โ
Imagery: Threads. The sea. Mother Earth. Pale blue. A gray day with crystals of sunlight through the trees. Mossy floor. A cup of tea. Campfire embers. Starlight.
Where to write: In the morning, before the house awakes. By a body of water. At a campfire. Recorded on a walk or in the car. Under a tree. When you can. Just honor the pull.
This is a heart exercise, not a mind exercise.
I hope to share the honor in reading your words! As willing, you can add your writing to the chat attache to this thread.
\much love\
nicole
The thread I carry for him.โ Today, he took itโ and wrapped itโ around his finger,โ making his first step sway โ with his first Mother.โ I walk homeโ empty handed but ofโ my own thread.โ A kaleidoscopic void โ nonetheless,โ spinning my heartโ a color of joy lacedโ with sadness.โ A motherhood still mineโ and down the street.โ I am aloneโ now too, with the first Mother,โ and say hello โ to the Herโ that is me. โ -Nicole Decker
There is a greater way. A harder, easier, more beautiful way. You dont need to be alone. I know, i have the book. I look at it often. Never opening to read the pages of the past. To peek maybe. But never fully emerse and live by. Thats what she is telling me. She says "go home where it is warm because home is all you have" but everything says otherwise. Everything says stay. Work. Sweat. Stress. Be better. Do better. Youre too hard on yourself. Youre never enough. It can be better. It will be better. But theres always better. Even when you reach the top there are still more stories. But my feet ache to be on the earth not up here so far away. Torn between the ease of two different times. But inevitably choosing 2 day shipping. I need. I want. I cant wait. Im running as fast as i can but im running through wet concrete. She tells me when she walks she moves. Slowly. Meaningfully. Powerfully. They took away our power and deiguised it as oppression. They gave us shame and disguised it as glory. They gave us double the work and triple the cost. She tells me im running in the wrong direction. She tells me get out before my soul shatters. But the anxiety disguised as beauty; its on sale and it will get here tomorrow.