Mj Pettengill

One of the most essential elements of these healing gifts has been stitched into a higher awareness of my sense of belonging.

Reaching into the corners of uncertain blackness, I saw the dimmest light, that of a dying candle. It was enough to almost blind me.

As we stumble along unfamiliar terrain, we begin to understand that we are not searching for a pot of gold. We are here for the rainbow.

That sacred site is an archetypal and genealogical vault filled with memories intended to be forgotten...

... is it time to step into your paper doll persona and give a big silent cheer? There is no right or wrong, there just is.

Somewhere over the rainbow does not exist. You are here now.

There was reassurance in the remnants of stone walls. I found myself following them, hoping to find the stories to make sense of it all.

Sometimes I dream of a better world.

The sphere of mothers and daughters is much broader, with more possibilities of getting lost.

We talked about how we had handled our descent into darkness, when all of our illusions were ripped away, only to be replaced by new ones.

I quickly remind myself that it's buggy because of all the various forms of wild water and vegetation.

I do know my way around the woods, but even the most experienced woods-woman will face unfortunate encounters.

The grass has been mortally wounded and is trying to protect itself while sounding the alarm.

We seemed to have lost our ground, our firm footing in the dirt that we used to know.

More stories are to be told as words flow downstream, not to be missed or forgotten.

From the bosom of the devastated earth, a voice goes up with our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"

These flames are a gift bestowed upon me from Hestia, the goddess of the hearth and its fires.

Perhaps there is regret in feeling that there was not enough time to love all of what I love—not in the way that I know.

In this life, you provided many valuable lessons.

You have the opportunity to respond according to your instincts and intuition.