I write to you today beneath the redwoods in my gothic flower garden up north. The weather has been beyond up here. Each time we run into the village for something we need, Teddy and I forage jasmine, wild roses, rose geranium, and wild blackberry blossoms for our evening moon water. PLEASE TELL ME YOU’VE MADE AND USED IT. It is actually revolutionary for your energetic state of being throughout the day. It’s become my favorite thing that Teddy and I do together.
Today we’re departing from our compound on a northbound redwood trip to stay beside the turquoise Smith River beneath true first-growth grandmother redwoods. This message from the universe earlier this summer was deeply received, and it’s now in full force. Because of that, so much alignment and so many downloads have come through.
I’ve spent much of my life around redwoods, having grown up spending so much of my childhood in Santa Cruz with my grandparents. But they never spoke to me the way they seem to speak to other people. When we first got our compound up here, Teddy’s caretaker would cry driving through them, recalling how they would give her messages and offer so much healing. I’ve often felt that kind of communion in my native habitat of Yosemite, among the cedars and pines.
This trip, though, has been different.
In my luteal phase (having clearly not pulled enough hormones out this month with beans), I’ve experienced a deep correspondence, resonance, and relationship with the redwoods. There is something to be said for the way women can become more open to the watery, psychic depths of themselves during the luteal phase as hormones rise. Though, admittedly, it often comes at the expense of my partner, who gets the most agitated, snappy, cutthroat version of me, and my children, who get the least patient and least conscious version. All this to say that the plants have been speaking to me a lot lately.
I’ve preserved your tone while smoothing the rhythm, tightening the wording, and correcting grammar and punctuation.
Just last night, while in my flower garden picking rosemary, horsetail, rose, and chamomile for our herbal hair rinse, the bud, hue, and shape of one particular red poppy completely grabbed me. I kept noticing how beautiful it was, almost absentmindedly, without thinking much of it. Later that evening, I was watching videos from a forager I love who began explaining and identifying the opium poppy—which, unbeknownst to me, was the very poppy calling to me in my own garden (and she is stunning). I find that with each passing year, the plants ask me more and more to put down anything outside of my authentic code and simply learn everything I can about them. To be with them. To listen to them. And to work primarily with them.
Okay, enough about flora.
Today I bring you one of my favorite, simplest practices—one I return to whenever I’m really on a manifestation and mindfulness roll. I tend to do it alongside my DIs to reinforce them and help create new neural pathways more quickly. It’s so simple, and you can do it anywhere, anytime. I especially love doing it while putting the kids to sleep and as I’m falling asleep myself because, during the hypnagogic state—the transition from wakefulness into sleep, when the brain shifts from alpha to theta brainwaves—the brain becomes less focused on the outside world and begins tagging emotionally meaningful thoughts for overnight memory consolidation. Repeatedly visualizing and feeling the same thoughts during this window can strengthen those neural pathways through neuroplasticity, making those patterns more automatic over time, especially when paired with real-life action.
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