Awakening the Divine Feminine.
Un-earthing Feminine Wisdom.
FIND US ON FACEBOOK
I want to write,
I really do. But I feel like a mute with her tongue cut out. My power, my gift on the planet, feels gone for a spell, to see who I am when I’m not hiding behind the page. I barely can feel my feet on the earth, I barely, rarely, know where I am when I wake up in the mornings. “Patient,” everyone tells me, be patient with this transformation. Like the leaves, quivering on the branches, your change is coming in the winds. I’m in that waiting room in Beetlejuice, betwen one life and the next, I’m in spiritual surgery, sprawled out on the table, they’re taking out what I couldn’t, what I didn’t have the guts to or what I couldn’t see myself. Goddess talks to me rarely, she just leaves the space behind my thoughts to quiet myself, to take my own hand, and I do, often, physically, take my own hand. I am partially here on this new coast for love, but that disappeared, like a mirage of water in the desert, as soon as I arrived, after crossing the states in my tiny red geriatric jeep, and taking two nights in a ghosttown of Madrid, New Mexico, it felt just like a magickal trick brought me here, like Goddess was a magician, and he was her illusion. “Now you see him, now you don’t,” because the only thing that ever moves me is love, and she knows that. A man at the lighthouse on my New England island heard me talk about my winter move to the warmer coast. He said, “You either fell in love or have a broken heart. That’s the only reason we leave here or land here.” And he was right. I landed there with a broken heart, I left with a thirsty one. Here it’s the wild open west, it’s the great frontier, endless possibility is thick in the air but it’s so hard without my furry familiar, who rests with my father in Virginia after surgery. But I wake up every night and feel her at my side like a ghost. Then the coyotes start to yip and growl in death council beneath my window, and I keep hoping they’re killing my meekness, my smallness my old story and my fear. My friend out here, she keeps me big, when I try to play small. My hope for you is people who keep you big when you try to play small.
I try to keep these posts less personal, I prefer to Mary Magdalene my writing, to keep it like a mirror, with less detail, just enough so you can see my story is yours. It’s my only hope at contributing to the healing of the planet, that I rise the feminine by bringing them out of hiding with my tales from the depths, my tales from my closet, my songs from my soul. The feminine energies of love and healing will save the world if it can be saved. All my friends out here are all healers, so I’m seeing it happen before my watery eyes. Everyone is rising into a healer, simply because this planet and its people need so much healing.
So I prefer to write in the third person, as “She,” and not “I,” for haven’t you felt the evolvement from Me, to We, but some things feel like they need to be said, like when people say, “See the World,” they don’t just mean the rolling hills of Scotland or the jungles of Costa Rica, perhaps they mean what I saw in Mexico last weekend, the babies in shopping carts, the dead dogs on the side of the road, the trash in the wilds and the people the people, with hollow eyes begging for food and selling puppies in the road. I had to see that too. And I had to not look away.
There isn’t a point to this post but to release, and to tell you, that when spirit does talk to me it is the same message again and again. To let life take me. To let life change me.
I’m hanging fearfully
onto the side of the cliff, white knuckling my life,
holding onto what I thought it had to be.
I need to just let go and fall into life’s sea.
I crawled a rock on my run in the hills of Topanga the other day to perch and take in the sprawling view like a hawk, and I could feel myself holding on so tightly to the narrative, my same old story, writing it over and over again just with different characters but the same goddamn ending again and again, in circles, and spirit took my tight balled fists of hands and opened them up and said, “Give God back the pen. Release control. Give the greatest story teller ever, back the pen.”
image: Anne O. Photography
I was never very good at school
In fact when Shakti and I started teaching Wild Woman courses together I had pain body memory through teaching
And we had to call it circle
To make sure the intention was clear
We were sharing information that had awakened in us because it was our birthright and dare I say duty to do so and healing others
Heals us- no one was telling anyone what to do or giving them orders or rules. No hierarchy. Just. Sharing. Because when I was a little baby starseed I couldn’t believe teachers could tell others what to do. I remembered a land where everyone was autonomous and equal. I was always raising my hand and getting kicked out for speaking my heart.
The seat of teacher is a tricky one
You might have noticed I’m uncomfortable with labels these days
They allow for no expansion
And in all this constant chaos of fall
Were changing as our lives change faster everyday
But I like to think of myself as a pretty good student of life
I’m always asking what am I learning? Doing my best to bow to the lesson as threshold
What is God/Goddess/Spirit trying to teach me?
We know we are on the right path
When our life is filled with synchronicities
I know we have to let things go
For them to come back
I know we sometimes have to forget
So we can remember
And sometimes we have to take a step back from it
To see what it is
I have always had to run away from home
To miss it
I’ve done that since I was a kid
The response to me stopping doitgirl broke my big ass divine feminine heart
And when I stopped serving
I started dying
I didn’t glow and I didn’t hear goddess
I was rudderless in the sea of life
I was like Darryl Hannah in Splash when they take her out of the water- to make her a “normal” woman
And she weakens and grows so tired and her beautiful glittery scales turn gray and peeling
And then I realized Doitgirl isnt me
Doitgirl is the vessel through which I serve
It’s barely a pen name
It was a credo given to me by god when I woke up
It was a call to shift the planet
it was a call for the feminine to rise in balance with the masculine
It’s a call to arms
Not the kind we shoot with
But the kind we hold each other with
I can no easier stop writing for god
As I can stop breathing
I am nothing without my service
I don’t want ever
to stop serving
My addiction to symbolism and language rearranged
Into GOD “LITIR”
Which is Gaelic for letter
And when I first woke up
I called these channelings
“Letters from the light”
Which is spirit which is God which is Goddess
I could change DOITGIRL to GODLITIR but I’ll humbly accept the name
I was given
Although I do love the hidden code within
As my friend Jesse said
“Nice artist move, Sarah”
She said you’re just gonna break up the band
To get it back together
And nothing in me could tell her she was wrong
Consider the band
Cue the music. xo
Calling all wild women: get a chance to WIN a 50% discount!
Samhain/Halloween is approaching and so is the Wild Woman Gathering: A Mystery School with Sarah from Do It Girl
and Shakti Sunfire
, a 6-day training and retreat!
Participants must ‘share’ this photo (click ‘share’ below) from the DOITGIRL page on their Facebook timeline to be entered in the contest.
Winner will receive a 50% discount off the registration and housing accommodations costs!
DEADLINE: Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014
Offer only applies to new registrants.
Contact Shakti Sunfire with questions: [email protected]
Wild Woman Gathering details: http://bit.ly/1qKQEHZ
XO Alexandra, DOITGIRL Admin
Tenalach, a word used in the hills and mountains in the west of Ireland, allows one to literally hear the earth sing. (submitted by tenalach tenalach)
A shot from my magical shoot with Courtney Brooke Hall. I wanna go back and do it all over again!! #avalon #ladyofthelake #doitgirl #lightwitch
Two weeks ago it was if I had waded into the ocean and I knew where I was, I could feel the sand beneath my feet, soft but firm, it wasn’t- I wasn’t- going anywhere and then
I got swept up in these tidal waves of men and I went under. And if you’re lucky enough to have people watching you on the beach they get worried- they could see you one minute, then one big wave took you and you were gone. Should they rush in and save you? No, I didnt need saving and no one but me could save me from this pattern. I’ve been in those black waves of my old patterns too many times, never to any good, to much destruction. But this time I’m conscious and that makes all the difference. The wrong man, my friend has told me many times, can be the end of you. And I knew that, I’ve lived that, but a small part of me still wanted the drama of destruction.
But then. Somehow, somehow I broke out of the pattern, beneath the waves I felt very certain this time I wasn’t going to let myself drown for lust, I wasnt going down with this ship, this time I’d hold my ground for love. Even though there are times I just wanted the waters to take me, but I’ve done that before, and I almost didn’t make it back, so I clawed, tooth and nail, out of the water, back to my path, back toward my golden throne on the sand. And I emerged, exhausted, from the battle with the waves of the old patterns, crawling out like someone who had just broken a lifelong riptide, back to myself.
I didnt let it take me fully, just the part of me that always lost herself to men, as there had been a whisper from deep below, “lose your self-
no really, lose the self you identify with so tightly, the one who tells the story about who you are in love, the one about you and bad boys and always getting wrecked.” And I let those old patterns get rinsed out in the spin cycle of the waves, and I emerged, washed clean, buffed by the same forces that turn sharp breakable shards into soft eternal sea glass. And the part of me that reemerged from the water
left all the bad boys
man. And carried away in the waves was the Little Girl who always lost herself to love
and who emerged
was the Woman who simply was Love.
ALTERNATE BOOK INTRO 5.11.14
When I got back from west coast, from the disaster that was my would-be wedding, to find myself in a Brooklyn basement apartment under a bridge, its concrete sidewalks littered with trash, the building lorded over by a racist drunk homophobic misogynistic landlord. I had no identity except “his ex,” and no job and no child and no anything I was supposed to have at the age of thirty in this culture, I felt like a total failure. And I died, I died on that floor. I failed at dreams that had never even been mine.
How was I ever supposed to realize them, if I didn’t truly deep down believe in or want them? I was only following the rules handed to me by the iron fist of Patriarchal culture. And I did not domesticate well. I felt suffocated in houses with white picket fences and by jobs with white male bosses and other women who hated me and were threatened by my untamable nature. I wasn’t ever going to fit in the domestic patriarchal world- I was wild. I was a wildfire. So I tried my hardest to tame myself. I still had white pills pumping through my blood to sedate the Shakti inside me, the screaming Kali, the loving fierce Durga, the sensual Aphrodite, the endless archetypes of Goddess within me.
I had been magic until about seven years old, and then I opened my eyes and looked around- this was not a world that I belonged to or remembered, I truly remembered the wild mystical land of the Goddess. I didn’t belong in the concrete wasteland of father patriarchy I belonged in the wild arms of mother nature. By the time I was eighteen I began to “party” (that always struck me as oxymoronic, shouldn’t a party be joyous?) through my life, and my career as a rock journalist enabled that. I sedated myself and drank through it, Marilyn and Stevie Nicks style but not nearly as glamorous, it was my attempt at creating an alternative universe, not knowing yet there was an internal alternate one, not yet knowing how to find that.
But there is no stopping the waking. When my inauthentic life fell apart, I was terrified- where would a woman like me fit? I would have to strike off and create an entirely different, new place for myself.
The witch whispered to me. They had buried the witch so deep down in the tomb of this culture. They had propagandized Her enough to stigmatize her as ugly and evil, so we might stay far away from her self-empowering magic. A little digging into my own soul and history- or herstory books- proved different. She was a beautiful woman, a mirror of the earth who worked with nature- she was autonomous unto her self. She did not bow to patriarchal culture, its limitations and conformity, which is why she had to be killed.
So, who was the witch? I was startled to find- I was the witch. And it was the first
and only thing that ever made sense in my life. What was I going to do with this information? The wisdom of the earth, the wisdom of the ancients, sacred powerful information. I was the keeper of something ancient tribal and magickal it would be my work to open the tomb, Pandora’s box of feminine magick, unleash it first in my heart and then in the hearts of any women who felt called to hear my song.
My bibles became Women who Run with the Wolves and Dancing in the Flames. My teachers became Marys— Mary Magdalene and Marion (a name which means, “star of the Sea”) Woodman, nature’s scribe Mary Oliver and Marianne Williamson- any “MA”s who taught of the ways of the Mother. And my true teacher of nature, the wild heart of the feminine, became MArtha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts. And the spirit of Martha, on that island, was no lightweight.
Patriarchal power is external – the power is outside oneself, it’s placed in money and materials and the Man. I woke to the power of love, found it internally, and became, like the witch, autonomous. It is matriarchal in nature to become self empowered. When our power is external, outside ourselves, we are limited. When our power comes from within, then we are limitless.
Finally, I took it all off. The make up, the heels, the false dreams, the lies, the veils between truth and the veils between me and other and the Mother. We owe such destruction of egoic veils to Goddess Kali, and she continues to whittle me down to my truth. I was naked. I died to the lies to wake to my truth. And I was held in Her womb on a magical feminine island where I was reborn as my true self- wild, and one with the Mother. - DOITGIRL
I want to be more clear about what DOITGIRL Witch School is.
This is not a Wiccan Course, I am not Wiccan. This is not a traditional Witch School, as there are plenty of those out there taught by seasoned witches steeped in traditional craft. This is a modern Witch’s wise woman journey into your own authentic heart. This is not even a true “Course,” in the patriarchal linear sense of the word that you’re graded or have mandatory homework or that there are any expectations of you besides a thirsty spirit and a heart that’s blistering and breaking open, never to close again. We won’t be working with traditional magick, but we will be working with the true magic of your own heart. This is an introduction to walking as a Modern Priestess. This is the answer to my inbox queries of “How Do I Work with You?” “How Do I Get Closer to Goddess?” “How Do I Get Closer to Myself?” “How Do I Make Sense of My Blasted Open Feminine Heart in this Patriarchal World?” “How Do I Serve?” This is a seven week journey into my mystical world, it will be peppered with my guides and teachers and my own trial by fire wisdom and the wisdom I’ve procured from books and teachers since my awakening. This is a walk through the world of the Modern Witch, a world governed by the Moon, the Earth, the Goddess, The Wheel of the Year, Moon Circles, Mystics, Trials by Fire, and an ever-awakening heart. This is a course to do my part to help de-stigmatize and re-rise the “Witch,” as self and earth healer. This is a course to help return you to your own ancient personal internal power.
#doitgirl #priestesspath #witchschool 🐍🔮👸🌙🔥
doitgirl witchschool awakeningthedivinefeminine priestesspath
Week I / Night One.
Aligning with & Working with the Phases & Magic of the Moon. Sarah will lead you through the phases of the moon- how to live and work with their particular magic. Plus, she’ll offer ritual and mantra for each magical lunar phase. Once we begin to align with Her phases, we begin to see the Divine Blueprint that is always guiding us deeper and truer.
School starts August 26, in the dark of the new moon, the most auspicious time to enter a new phase of one’s life.
For further course outline, information & registration, please go to doitgirl.com
The long-awaited 7-week course to align with your inner Priestess, free the Witch from Patriarchal shadow and reclaim your inner wise woman. Since her Divine Feminine, Witchy Awakening into the Priestesshood four years ago Sarah Durham Wilson has been curating her external and internal research to craft this course for Modern Awakening Priestesses and she is thrilled and honored to finally share it with those who feel called to walk as Modern Witch, Priestess, Wise Woman. This is a course to unlock the long-buried tomb of Feminine magic from beneath the patriarchal concrete, so that Wild Hearts & Feminine Wisdom may thrive again. The Witch, the Self and Earth healer- has risen.
More Details on Special Guests and offers coming soon, stay tuned for details.
Payment Plans available, email [email protected] for further inquiries.
for info & registration,
di A. Corradini
Follow for more yoga pics! www
Wildlife Experience All the Images are retrieved from FACEBOOK - If one of your… via Tumblr
The Valkyrie Vigil ~ Edward Robert Hughes
Martin van Maële
George Seeley, 1907
(via the-hanging-garden the-hanging-garden)
Domenico Tintoretto, Penitent Magdalene, 1598-1602
Dance of Hands
Tumblr Fails.net - White people
My Bohemian Heart
This makes me so happy!
Jacs Fishburne x Polabeard
March 2014 | Austin, TX
♡ we-love-rain we-love-rain ☂☁
☽ ⁎ ˚ * ☀ Moonlight garden ✵ ⁎ * ☾ goddess-river
Vintage Paradise be-a-serial-killer
☽ ⁎ ˚ * ☀ Moonlight garden ✵ ⁎ * ☾ goddess-river
Miguel A. Cuesta
Anni Difficili (Luigi Zampa, 1948)
by Tamara Lichtenstein
Jules Louis MACHARD ( 1839- 1900 )