Today I spoke at a celebration of life. Some said I was “officiating,” or “presiding over,” and one put it as “doing the heavy lifting.” It was an honor that I was not sure I deserved . . . and in that way it was absolutely perfect.

His name was Jeff, and he was a larger-than-life kind of man who left a profound impact. If I could sum up what I learned of his general take on life in one word, it would be GUSTO. Others would be kindness, generosity, unconditional love, and heroism.

I never met him while he was alive, which is odd to say. But his spirit did come to me and introduce itself, and it was largely to that experience that I spoke today. The others – his family and friends – said the rest.

He comes now to those he loved as a yellow butterfly, which of course I interpreted to be about vulnerability and worthiness, delicacy and transformation. The man was too big for his body, and only in death has he become as free and omnipresent as he was always meant to be.

I said this and more today, which felt strangely comfortable and perfect. I looked into the eyes of those who loved and missed this man, and I could feel how my words fed them, nourished or filled up the spaces inside of them that his loss had emptied. These words flowed through me like a gift to all of us and I will be forever grateful for them, however they came.

After, people were so grateful to me – but what they didn’t understand or see was my own overflowing heart. All the loss I’ve endured and all the times I’ve shouldered burdens in my life finally came down to this offering.

And the man whose spirit I knew but body I had never met – this Jeff – he lives on through the stories of kindness and gusto, passion and love. He inspired me to be more present, more heroic, more loving, just by having lived.

How fitting that the lesson in losing Jeff was to embrace vulnerability as a strength – and to recognize worthiness as an embodied trait. I wasn’t sure I was worthy of today, but by stepping into it, by giving of myself in the way I was asked, I actually received an outpouring of love and appreciation.

Thank you, Jeff, and all those you left behind, for continuing to teach us how to love each other and ourselves.

Cheers to yellow butterflies, late night vigils, saving lives, and desiderata.

Setting my life on fire had me choking on the smoke there for a minute. Whoa. But now it’s clearing, and I can see, off in the distance, the sun rising over a new valley.

How do you leave something good?

I kept asking myself this question as the little voice – getting bigger every day – rose up within me. It started as a whisper, I’m not happy in my marriage. Then it was an argument: me vs. my own inner voice. I’m not happy in my marriage. “Yes you are! Stop that nonsense. Life is better now than it ever has been. You love your family. Knock it off.” But it doesn’t feel right anymore. “You just shush! Everything is fine.”

Intention is a powerful thing. It overruled the voice, for a while. We worked on it. Talked about it. Tried to reconnect through it. “I am responsible for my own happiness; no one can make me happy but me,” became my mantra.

Then I started to hurt. My neck would “go out” for days or a week at a time. I could hardly turn my head and the pain was so bad, even through and after massages, yoga, and reiki, that I actually took over the counter pain meds just to numb it enough to be somewhat present in my life. This happened more times than I’d like to admit.

My intuitive friends took notice, of course, in that way we do when we totally know The Universe is trying to send a message to an unwilling receiver. “Oh, your neck is out? Oh, you have another ear infection, cold, your throat hurts?” they’d say. “What message are you ignoring?”

I’m not happy in my marriage.

“It’s not something I’m ready or willing to hear right now,” I’d answer, and they’d smile the sad knowing smile that my own heart hid.

Eventually, the pain would fade enough.

Enough.

That was the word that finally broke the wobbly barrier I’d built to keep that little voice in (and expansion out). It was something he said to me the first time I told him about that little voice. That was one of the many wonderful things about my marriage, that we were safe and open to talk about even the hardest things. So I told him, of course.

“Today in Yoga Nidra, we were prompted to allow our inner truth to speak to us something we needed to hear. I heard, I’m not happy in my marriage. And I have to say, I don’t really like it. I don’t know if it’s right or what, but I wanted you to know that it came up,” I said to him.

He looked thoughtful. It wasn’t all that surprising, what with a spirited baby, a new business, crazy work hours, and other strains on us. Then he said it – that word that would eventually undo it all.

“Don’t you think we are happy enough for now?” he asked.

It churned my stomach to hear it. In that moment, if I had listened to my body, I would have known the answer. But I was shushing my body. So I used my mind instead, and that thing told me yes of course we are, considering all these strains and stressors.

Time passed. My right hip started “going out” along with my neck. Finally, I sought chiropractic care because I just knew I was out of alignment.

And if that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what would.

You’re out of alignment. My body, mind, and inner voice were screaming it to me. The x-rays proved it.

My friends, even the less-professionally-intuitive ones, took notice. “Sometimes, when I feel like this, I take a step back and listen to my own inner voice,” she said one sunny day down by the water. “What is your inner voice saying?”

I’m not happy in my marriage!!!

And once I said it out loud to them, once my body started coming back into alignment, once I allowed myself to journal and feel and Know again . . . it became clear.

I had to set my life on fire. I was terrified.

How could I leave something so good? Good enough, my intuition reminded me. “No. It really is good. He is an amazing human, and I’m lucky to have him,” I firmly reminded myself. But my body knew – our bodies always know. Good enough wasn’t right for me. HE is wonderful, and I am wonderful. But together, we were enough.

Spirit called me to rise to the occasion, to meet my higher truth, and to leap off the cliff into a fire I wasn’t even sure I had the courage to light. It took me a week to start that fire, and when I did, it was blinding.

We both cried. I was in a fog. His heart was – is – broken.

But my body . . . it was like I could breathe again. My forehead unwrinkled. My little voice was singing a new song that I didn’t – and still can’t, not quite – recognize, but it sounds like hope and excitement. My hip and neck stopped hurting almost instantly.

I found a new place to live and once I moved in, I came down with a debilitating head cold. All those unspoken truths and the force with which I had shoved down my intuition was finally coming up, clearing out, and leaving my body.

I was forced to sit in the smoke, alone, for a week. I slept a lot, I cried some, and I trusted.

Because, once we set our lives on fire, we must deal with the smoke. Starting the fire takes courage; sitting in it takes strength and blind faith. It would be so easy to grab a hose and douse the whole thing – to take back the words, renegotiate the change, put it all rest. But that’s not what fire is meant to do. Fire is meant to cleanse, to clear, to burn away and purify.

Last night, on the eve of the solstice, I lit a new fire: candles and stones, sage smoke and moonlight, and a salt water bath to wash away the last of the density. I took back my body, claiming it as my own. I slept and dreamed and woke with the sun feeling better than I had in a long, long time.

The smoke has finally cleared. This fire moved me, body and spirit, to a new vantage point on a strange and curious mountain. From here, I can see a world waiting to be explored. As the sun rises and the fog burns away, the trees below are whispering to me about dreams coming true, about believing in magic, and about a fulfillment so deep and satisfying that hunger never existed.

I used to be grounded like the wind
– which is to say, not grounded at all
But, rather, floating and flitting,
Restless and furious,
Impossible to hold
Like a sigh, or the drawing of breath before a scream
and the scream itself.
Wind moves you, but you cannot hold it
Changes landscapes but is not changed –
It is a force . . . but not a feeling.

Not like fire,
That hot, consuming, branding thing that draws you in and burns itself
Into your heart –
Fire, like stars and volcanoes
Light we set our paths by but keep a distance from
Lest it destroy us –

I was grounded like fire, once, too, and I suspect I may be again
From time to time
Because once the sparks are in your blood they never truly burn out. They wait:
Spirit embers, like latent inspiration, ready to burst forth when called upon, or
needed most, or – and especially – when they are left
Untended overlong.

So I have fire in my blood
and feel the wind in my hair –
Not tugging at my feet, anymore,
Not tearing at my clothes and picking me up
to fly, not like that
But like a friend or memory,
like the scent of lilac and woodsmoke –

I wondered if I had become a tree,
with these new roots dug into the earth
and wind in my hair.
I’ve born some fruit and given shelter with
My womb and my arms and soul.
Blossomed once or twice and felt the seasons change me – like the way
Winter slows my heart, and how the long darkness seeps into my dreams . . .

A tree is steady, wise, and strong – but,
Trees burn up in a fire
Break in the wind.
Through storms, floods, and fires I’ve stood
More like a mountain than a tree.

. . . .

(to be continued)

What to do with disappointment in the midst of manifesting?

I just finished writing (and editing) my first book. It’s THE BOOK. You know? The one I’ve been writing in my imagination since I was ten. The one I’ve had dreams about seeing on the bookshelf with “NY Times Bestseller” stamped on the cover. The one I’m manifesting the shit out of right now, because I KNOW it’s time for the world to read it.

…. the one that just got “passed” by the one agency I was sure would love it.

Every time, since yesterday morning when I sent my query, my email dinged, my heart leapt thinking “this is TKA accepting my proposal!” Even though the website clearly states a 2-3 week turnaround, I just knew I’d hear back sooner. Today, just about 24 hours after I sent my query, the email ding was, in fact, TKA.

…. “unfortunately,” it said.

I was so sure. I had no plan B. Okay, that’s not true. Plan B is to keep trying! But I hadn’t queried anyone else because she was *so perfect* for this piece.

Enter self-doubt. Did my first five pages suck? IS the book as good as I think it is, as good as my readers said? What did I do wrong? Is everything I believe a LIE?

Whoa. Breathe. Ground. Return to your practice, Britt. My gods! It would’ve been a true miracle for the first agent to accept! JK Rowling had thirty-six rejections. I can handle a few, too.

I did what anyone would do in my situation. I meditated and pulled some cards.

“What am I to do with this disappointment?”

Get curious, they said. Breathe, they said. And meditate, trust, and wait for your dreams to come true because that is happening! You’re in the hallway between your old life and the new amazing phase of abundance. Take some time to enjoy it.

Get curious. Of course! So TKA didn’t want to read my book. Their loss. My gain! Now my imagination can run wild! Who will I meet that makes this dream come true? What literary agent will know exactly how to market this book to my top three publishers? How will this manifest?

It’s not about me knowing all the things and ways and stuffs. My “job” is to be authentic, follow my intuition, and trust that the way is destined to appear. It’s happening. How is not my concern.

Meditation makes all the difference, though. My removing obstacles chant is magic! And, remember how I kept thinking I was going to hear back from TKA in record time? I totally did.

I’m ready. This hallway is beautiful, my life is full of love, and my book is damn good. What’s about to happen? Dreams coming true. How? Idk. And that’s kind of fun.