Tag Archives: spirituality

// private lives //

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We are restless and unborn. We have been wounded by over exposure, the futile beg for love denied, maybe that’s why I clench my teeth so terribly at night that in dreams they split my gums and fall out in clumps. Such brutality, such crush, we are scattered little bugs, terrified of ugliness, we want to be beautiful and strange, want to be stroked to the dripping heat of heavy crippling pleasure and left to walk the streets alone. Daylight is the flash of a screen but I escape to the dark matter of my own haunted castle mind, my crumpled writer’s room, my wrought iron winter garden, listening in stillness for the linen voice of the ghost you hung to dry on the line. Where I can stand the thrust of the words, where limbs like curtains reach for me on the wind.

My messages caress you like candlelit passageways that open onto the tops of trees and spill my lucid thoughts out over a vacant listless sky, every star a headstone carved with the crude tools of their abbreviated lives. They call me crazy but I call it hopeful, for I believe you loved my bones before we met. Someplace inside you is where I come from and where I long to return, smooth and familiar is the way you taste like liquid metal knives and the crystal jewels of molten sex, a golden chalice erects in the healing hands of God. Love is religion like pavement glitter and nuclear dust clouds, a way to glorify the beginning of a thousand setting suns.

As I’m turning down the bed, your motionless face is rain sliding down the window of this house you occupy inside me. I wish you could trade my awful secrets for something better than I deserve, but lover, I will drink from you until the moons have turned themselves to snakes orbiting the delicate feet of angels if you would only look at me. Let them wonder about us, let them spin their every seductive bedtime story from the one we’re killing ourselves to write with our surrender. All that matters is this moment, everything else is fair disease. You and I are a single tragic blink, every second is eternity, every breath between us a fragile ritual. We have birthed each other, been raised from death into life after death.

We are fading and obedient bodies, thick volumes of handwritten history buried under lock and key, plunged in glossy wooden tombs to the bottom of the ocean. Instinctively, you know when I am wet and you dangle me there on the edge of my own pearlescent cliff, my mysterious gift, until the way I crave you becomes the quiet shatter of truth at the apex of desire. I can read the casual insanity behind your devotion as if through scars and blindness the code of your flesh will finally make sense of mine. Come and bow your head into my private madness, beloved, I am the tranquil depths you seek. Make me dangerous while everyone else is watching. We are as wild as we are high, painted figures in glass boxes wearing our scratches like diamonds, feathers, swords and star dust falling from our newborn eyes.

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// black sparrow //

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We are all midnight animals groping for a beautiful starlit chaos we can never grasp. Searching through lifetimes, little galaxies born and reborn within our tangled mouths, fingers, bodies, words, smiles, lies. In dreams we speak the anatomy of hearts roaming like wild herds of instinctual beasts across an African plain as the mist rolls in. We smell the coming darkness in the air and move forward in collective silence, listening for the shifting of the earth.

Music plays in gentle cascades of silken sound as I kneel before you on the lawn in the rain, ready, willing, hungry for the darkening storm of you. You get me so close I can taste the salt waves of a thousand oceans crashing underneath my skin, again, again, again. The way you search me like the beak of a gull prying shells to expose his prey reminds me that since childhood we have wanted to be free of the injuries of who they told us we would turn into if we turned the corner, swam away, sunk within. The flesh is soft inside, and sweet, and the more we seduce the more we unleash. You bring to radiant life my bare desire and my eternal struggle.

But after the lullabies, after the bruises, after the climax, after the desecration, after the warmth and vacancy of centuries of setting suns across a desolate planet with a name long forgotten, in our calculated madness we still crave the kind of love that is not a lush pink tongue, not a milky white pearl, not a nimble body, not a portrait, not a poem. What we want to find scrawled across the pages of the secret ancient diaries of the gods, hidden underneath broken stacks of golden beds on fire, is the secret to spreading ourselves inside a love that is unrelenting in its heat. Be slit up the core by the clutch of a thing more peculiar than death; a thing that will not let us go, a thing that cannot be held or captured or touched.

Love is not a person, people were made to let go and let go of. These human faces are masks, the haunted hunt for deliverance in painted disguise. Clever but untrue. Don’t be so easily fooled, so easily amused, so easily distracted, love, it’s unbecoming. Love is not the phantom; it’s what is beautiful about the phantom. What you really want to taste I cannot give to you, for what you truly worship is that she’s left you and she’s coming back for you and she’s trembling before you now all in the same glistening moment; not for long but forever. Love is staring back at the ghosts behind you in the mirror, speaking in wordless angelic verse. Love is your shadow dancing on these walls, and you don’t live here anymore.

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// of thy flesh //

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aren’t we only here for so long, angel,
aren’t we only a lonely nighttime street
stacked high with patterned silhouettes
of celestial bodies wearing blindfold eyes
no words left to speak.
do you taste me like traces of fire blood on lips
pressed against the looking glass
strung up above intimate scenes.
aren’t we only a mouth full of whispers
panting on the feathered tips of forbidden things
while other people
scream.
aren’t we only the siren curves of an hourglass
sifting through phases of the moon
from the grave to the skies
i wear you like an echo of time
when the soft in the skin
that drove you mad
was mine.

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~ Allison Marie Conway ~

My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

// shatter //

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There is tremendous power in surrendering to the difficult process of who you are becoming. Honor yourself for being imperfect, jagged, conflicted. There is greater wisdom in your deepest burning question than in a thousand hollow, easy answers.

Worship at the tired, bloody feet of your own awakening. Be humble, be grateful for the crushing beauty that has buried her secret treasure in your struggle.

Not one of us here is spared the pain of humanity. Respect it, stand with it, fall on your knees for it, let it break you and teach you and spill its naked truth before you. Open into your dark places like flower petals thirsty only for the healing pricks of rain. There is power in darkness, without it there can be no transformation.

Remember that you are majesty, you are magic, you are not yet done. We are a continuum, a birthing and re-birthing of universes within universes.

Life, death, sex, union, explosion, creation, destruction, connection, heart break, tear drops.

We are but shattered shards of The Infinite Light collecting ourselves in the dark.

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// phantom //

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And some day, maybe today, someone will read your words and they will not click the like button, and they will not leave a comment. They will not follow you or praise you or reach out to you.

And you will not ever know that they were here.

But they will have been changed by you. They will have been deeply caressed and loved through your words, and they will nestle into them, collapse into them, fold into them, keep them tucked inside the beating of their fragile heart all day, all night.

They will not say a word or leave a mark, for in the reading of your words they will be left temporarily unable to find their own.

Some words are born so that others may feel safe to die.

And all of this you will not know, for there will be no outward sign of the crossing of your hairline paths.

But your soul bears eternal fruit by the nourishment of this brief, secret encounter, for it knows of your having touched this phantom figure in the shadows. Your soul can see what you cannot; it knows what you cannot. It has always known.

This is the knowing you sense in the pressing whisper of your inspiration, calling you to begin, again and again and again.

Asking you to write for the invisible ones, that they may see.

These are the wings of things we seek to create for and don’t know why. There is a reason, though it is cloaked and shrouded in mystery and legend.

There are souls who come just to take a peek. Let them come, let them, let them, let them.

And on days when you feel you have nothing to be grateful for, that you are failing in faith and footing and love, you may be grateful for the ones who came to pass without a trace.

And remember again the greatness and strangeness, the vastness and beauty, the certainty of God.

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// knots //

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all these knots inside
me
I need them
bite on them
admire them
offer them
to you with your
blue clay hands.
you
move your thumbs slow
down
my celestial chest
straight and narrow in
maddening designs
until I come
apart.
you have done this
with other creatures before
it takes no time
at all.
and one by one you
reveal to me the
kingdoms within kingdoms I keep.
you tell me I am
safe outside my skin,
that I am eternity in heat,
that I am an ancient geometric
grid
you must taste to
understand.
there is no
other way to remember
you have no
eyes.
and as you build your burning cities
in my heavenly
darkening mind
I am allowed to
watch.

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~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

// silence //

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your silence lives inside me
snakes around the tender parts
that hurt and beg,
that would crawl a thousand miles on holy water to
drown you underneath.
while i’m busy with carving sandcastles, hiding
from the sun and servicing the afternoon,
your silence pours hot ocean waves over my chest,
lights a cigarette and
spends the night.
it wets the cunning valleys of my body down
in streams, courses through my veins
as i imagine your
release.
my knees on the pavement, i’m praying for you
to remember my
eyes.
your silence watches me
tongues the carnal wreckage of my darkness
licks the burning pages, tears and
discards them.
undone by beautiful delusion,
i know what this looks like
and what it does to you.
a single butterfly moves its wings
inside a shot glass
between my teeth
on the other side
of the world.
my perversion of you is handfuls of
machine fingers measuring my neck
dressing and undressing me in animal skin
shed by the gods who walked a dying earth
alone
only
decades
ago,
i press my limbs against dreams with rose petals for
fists
gasping at the gasoline air you would feed me
but draw instead back in.
your silence it lives
inside me;
striking match after
match as
it speaks.

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// desire //

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I am the consummation of desire.

I hunger and thirst and scream inside to quench an endless aching cycle of desires, wants, needs – some real, some required, some imagined, some sought, some denied.

This is how we breed and are bred.

Celestial oscillations between the shred of frustration and the collapse of molten satisfaction.

But the dangerous, the taut, the mysterious, the rare human creature will invoke a need without intent to satisfy it. She will hold herself within the tension between these two poles to find that satisfaction is not the pulse, anticipation is.

A willing mind hung inside this suspended place develops an affection for the unlimited richness, an overflow of toothsome sensations and experiences which exist only inside that electrified space between satisfied / not satisfied.

What a crime to live a life chasing nothing in the end without savoring the chase. How tragic to be ignorant to the divine clutches of raw frustration.

That which we deny, denies us.

What mad ecstasy to dangle on a hook, torn between the pleasure of attaining our desires… and the pleasure of not.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and affection. x

// kneel //

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the bend in the river
matches the way my
body turns away from itself without my
help.
when i write
i’m suspended somewhere between the life
they need me to live and
the death none of us will
escape.
inside i can feel the moons orbiting the planets and the
crushing energy of their cyclical motion excites me
everywhere.
i am the frenzy of the chaotic light and the nectar of the
infinite dark
i am the lion and the
lamb,
the altar and the sword.
i’m stretched in two, pricked by everything and awash in oblivion
trying desperately to worship
something intolerable
while begging
forgiveness from something i
don’t
understand.
in case you thought i was perfect
or a mess or
not trying hard enough
believe me, these things have difficult faces
that reach for me.
my mouth is a red velvet
confessional
of
words.
maybe i owe something i cannot
ever
recover
maybe we are all after something
we think and pray and hope is
release.
if i kneel before you
would you know
exactly
who you are?
life is not easy when
the air i need is your tattooed flesh
and suffocation is new life,
when i dream in the colored ribbons of madness
and this self-conscious world deflowers itself
for the gray.
the catastrophe of love is freedom
laced with
pain
and somehow we keep
on with
the
breathing.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

// riotous //

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A writer is always writing. It is not something that ever leaves or sleeps.
Writing is an alien life force living itself through you.
It is born of you, gnaws on you, touches you in places so tender your only blind instinct is to kneel and listen. Writing is divine command, one hand on your throat as the other traces the curves along your sides.
The word is the shape of your shape, the gap between your thighs.
It is the collapse into rage, the madness of hunger, the fire you swallow and can scarcely believe.
Poetry ruptures in cascading waves from the motion of my lengthy body twisting in white sheets, I watch myself in dreams as you find your way across my steady breathing, slow.
Words like claws scratch their black rebellious ink in dark rooms I keep hidden in my psyche, centuries of breeding stories threaten to be told, forcing their rough thumbs against my patient lips.
When it’s time, I speak, and not before.
There is a creation I’m becoming, a creature at work on a canvas behind my eyes, inside my veins, it rises and spins, pulls at my lungs and my organs, I emerge for it bound and willing, we advance toward another place.
Prose grows swollen, thick amber honey in the way I scream inside a contracting womb for the pain beneath my skin at birth.
I’m hypnotized, transfixed, muted, strung out on flashes of light on the ceiling as you wrap my temptress hair in braids and I pray.
Like thunder slamming against the hollow caverns in my chest, the words take my breath in sharp clips and deliver it back to me in tremendous, crushing waterfalls, plunging over my grateful body, washing me clean.
Cold glances meet my reluctant gaze, I look to you and reach for something you carry in a place you’ve not yet seen, but I know where I left it when we came together last. You were a letter I was too terrified to send. I want to place my hands into your stomach and melt you, take you there against your will and watch you in ecstasy, this magical decay where all your senses are exceeded, expended and depleted.
Heavy footsteps against wet city streets, cigarettes for fingers, your graffiti back against the wall, all of it writes itself in the echo of typewriter keys punching on the screens running mad, the scribbled reels of static white noise ignite my riotous mind.
Flames writhing, licking at the edges of the sacrificial pages of my torn frustration, the way I imagine my wrists taste like metal wounds in your mouth. How I wonder what we are searching for and how we know the scent of homes and humans we’ve never built, never led, never kissed, never met.
There are words within me always, I part my lips around them in silence, in seduction, in the destructive core of every buried desire, in my inexplicable readiness to risk the full exposure of my bizarre script of uncomfortable perversions for them to see. Fear is never far from Love, one is the lurking thief of the other.  A dance we learn, the art of the way we play for keeps and returns.
Writers are always writing to die and writing to rise.
I am as the Creator created me Feminine, Masculine, Human, Divine, to deliver the keys to the doors to freedom and offer them as they open, one inside another, inside another; we are the gates and the guards, the beggars and the masters, we are the windows opening into castles in the sky.
These words in my head I need them, these words you’ve just read, I belong to them. I have come here for them, for them, for them until the end.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

Meditation: The Biggest Lie of All

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photo by Allison Marie for glorybegin.com

If we really care about each other, and I know we deeply, deeply do, this needs to be said.

As much as we may groove with an enchanting romantic spell now and again, the ones that conceal our view of the absolute truth must in good faith be broken.

So as unromantic as that sounds . . . let’s just get about it, shall we?

Okay, here goes:

If you (or your friend / lover / yoga instructor with the sexy solar plexus chakra) think meditation is in any way supposed to be easily peaceful, that you will somehow be miraculously absorbed by an orgasmic explosion of light or mysteriously levitated above your living room ottoman. you have been fed a grave and serious amount of bullshit, my gorgeous love.

Quite possibly on multiple occasions.

Also quite possibly, incense or magic carpets or chickens or late night credit card payments or yoke-less eggs were involved.

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How to Conquer Your Greatest Fear

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(Hey there, gorgeous, Listen, before this gets any more compromising, I should probably warn you: This post is a bit longer than permissible by socially acceptable blogging standards. We all know the ‘proper’ length of a blog post has already been decided for us and nailed to the cross of 1000 words max, so have decreed the blogging gods. But here’s what: I’m not interested in appeasing them today. Not today. Today I need this – this whole ravenous thing – and I need every sexy, lengthy, stubborn inch of it. If you come with all the way, I will love you forever in a place warm and intimate and eternal. It will be glorious. So. You wanna?)

The writer in me wanted to scratch apart what I’m about to share and then patch it back together; make it – you know – “better.”

Maybe twist it inward then unravel it again; thread a few more thoughts through it and slide a few others out.

But then I realized that this thing wasn’t really mine to begin with so who was I to monkey around with it?

Below is a post that fell out of me onto social media in one of those “Ah Ha!” moments where the clouds ceremoniously part and the dazzling light warmly aligns your vision and you finally see Everything clearly and exactly as it always was, but with the clouds and the fog and everything before, well, you were just kind of screwed.

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{Podcast} How to Forgive Yourself

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Allison Marie for Glory Begin

People often ask me why I study and practice the metaphysical teachings of A Course In Miracles and the answer is quite undramatically, unimpressively, unassumingly simple:  It works.

By that I mean: it gets me to the peace.

I truly believe that this is the single most important measure of a working spiritual practice. Is it getting you to a place of deep internal peace. Everyone’s path and practice will be rich and different and special, but as long as it gets one to the peace, all is solid with the Universe.

But if your spiritual path doesn’t lead you to peace?  It’s not working.

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{Video} How to Find Your Calling (& Super Big Joy)

Hey, there, hey love, excuse me – hi friend – quick question for you: what are you supposed to be doing with your life?  I mean, I’m just curious: what’s your thing, what’s your gig?  What’s your calling?

I guess what I’m asking you is:  what are you here to . . .  you know . . . DO?

Kind of a tricky one, right.  Little bit.  For you, for me, for all of us.

But over the course of my deeply spirit-steeped life, I discovered 2 tiny words that have come in massively handy when it comes to keeping me centered, guided and joyful on my path. So incredibly useful are these words, in fact, that I have been using them daily to manifest my personal calling and stay intimately tight with what it is that Spirit is asking me to do.

What are these two transformational words?

Listen in and let’s get about uncovering your beautiful calling and your deepest joy:

 

There is no better time than right now to begin to get in touch with your true calling. If this message resonated for you I promise you there is a divine reason for it.

Nothing comes into your life by accident, beloved.  We are all messengers and angels for one another; we are here to walk each other home.

Whatever your calling is, whatever reveals itself to you as your purpose, you can be certain that it will be about love, it will be about light and it will be about service.

As always, I welcome your comments – and you :) – with open arms and an open heart.

If you know someone who could benefit from this message I invite you to share this post with them. There are so many beautiful souls out there who could use a gentle reminder that they are so loved and that their gifts, talents and presence matter to us all.

Sending you peace and joy, dear ones.  Always, always.

Allison Marie Xx

P.S. Did you enjoy this? Sign up at the top of the page there to receive my freshest content by email. Never junk, only groovy love stuff. Promise. :)

{Video} How to Quickly Calm a Stressful Situation

I don’t tell everyone about this because I do it secretly . . . but it has never once failed me.

This simple tool immediately brings calm to any situation that threatens to shred my nerves.

Waaaait. A. Minute.  Allison lose her cool?!  I hear you exclaim. :)

Yes, babes.  Oh, hell yes.

It happens, right. No matter how ‘spiritual’ you think you are or how hardcore your practice or how eloquently you can rattle off the Rumi quotes – you will be tested.  We are all tested.

That’s why learning this powerful tool – one that can be done silently, imperceptibly, and in less than 5 seconds – is absolutely life-transforming.

Listen in and let me know if this hits home for you:

 

Never, ever would I share a tool or practice with you that I have not already tried and accepted into my own life.  This one is huge.

I can’t even begin to tell you guys how many arguments didn’t happen, how many misunderstandings didn’t happen, how many cruel words were not said because I took hold of the moment and became fully mindful of my intention to become the peace.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.  And if this has served you well, I invite you to share this post with a friend or loved one who may find it useful.

The more of us practicing peace the better, right. :)

Sending so much peace and light to you, beautiful, beautiful souls.

With biggest love, always,

Allison Marie Xx

P.S. Do you enjoy the spiritual stuff like I do? I post a LOT of inspirational goodness on Instagram (at least once a day – sometimes three times a day if I’m on a roll). All photography and posts are my own. Check it out @glorybegin and let me know what you think!

{Video} Our Most Inspired Work: We Are All Teachers All the Time

In today’s new video blog, I share a fresh way of thinking about our true work in the world as so vastly much more than just some 9-to-5 gig.

I firmly believe that we are here to be Love and we were designed to teach Love in every possible way. In fact, that is THE entire reason I created Glory Begin.

As I began to explore what it means to be a teacher, it became more and more apparent that we are all teachers all the time.  We teach through our words, our actions, and even through the thoughts we think. All of these things affect the energy of the universe.

One of the greatest ‘teachers of teachers’ is the beautiful soul known as Yogi Bhajan, who introduced the technology of Kundalini Yoga to the U.S. in the 1970’s as a way of heightening awareness of – and connection to – our spiritual selves.

In this video, I share one of Yogi Bhajan’s most uplifting lessons about the real reason why we put our most inspired work out there into the world. This lesson went straight to my soul.

Listen in and let know if this hits home for you:

 

Are there ways in which you feel called to share inspiration in the world that maybe you haven’t explored yet?  Don’t worry about your title or your day job or any kind of label society may place on you. What is the beautiful creative love work you desire to do?

Your intuition is always pointing you toward your highest work, beloved. Follow your joy.

We are all teachers, all the time. And the greatest demonstration of love is just to begin to share it in the best way we know how.

So much peace and light to you, beautiful, beautiful souls.

Thank you for your presence, your creativity, your warmth, and your voice.

With biggest love, always,

Allison Marie Xx

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P.S. As promised, here is the link to Yogi Bhajan’s lesson (and plenty more) mentioned in the video.

{Video} Bedtime Ritual: Falling Asleep in the Arms of the Universe

Last time we were together we talked about daily rituals and how they help to nestle us into our days. As fate – and the damn fine Universe – would have it, I recently came across a beautiful bedtime ritual that I now refuse to do without.

This simple, mindful ritual is a gorgeous way to surrender to divine guidance each night before my (sometimes wild and exhausted) head hits the pillow. This practice has totally transformed my energy and opened me up to receiving the loving messages the Universe has in store.

I am hopeful it will do the very same for you.

Check out my first video blog and let me know if this hits home for you:

 

Is it tough for you to wind down at night? Is it helpful for you to have a special practice or prayer to center you into peace?

Until now I can honestly say that I didn’t fully appreciate the incredible difference a nighttime surrender practice could make in my spiritual life. By letting go at night, I wake up much more positive, energized and inspired in the morning.

Let’s riff in the comments. I learn so much when I hear from you and I’m always, always deeply grateful for it.

So much love to you, beautiful, beautiful souls.

Thank you for your presence and light,

Allison Marie Xx

~ ~ ~

P.S. As promised, here is the link to Jordan’s prayer mentioned in the video.

Tuning In: 3 Simple Mantras to Awaken Your Spirit and Bring Forth Your Highest Energy

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Is it coffee? (Yeah, man. Me, too.)

Or is it tea, maybe? (Me, too. Also. Sometimes.)

Is it reading? Writing? Rowing? Walking the dog?

No? Okay . . . how about stretching, perhaps? Yoga? Running?

Alright, I give up. Tell me, do you have a morning routine?  Something – or set of things – you do to get yourself ready for the day? (If it’s running I applaud you, by the way.)

Rituals can be a brilliantly centering, comforting and steadying thing. We commit to them repeatedly until it no longer feels like a commitment, it just feels like ‘the thing I always do.’

We sort of nestle ourselves into them. We rely on them to feel like who we are.

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Ripping Off Snake Skin: Journey of a Restless Soul

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What’s troubling you, my beautiful friend?

Feeling a little punchy, right?  A little bit restless?  Kinda like you should be someplace . . . else. Doing something . . . else.  Working on anything . . . else. 

Worried that you should be a little bit farther along, maybe? Because here – wherever here is – is just not cutting it. Here seems like it’s not enough.

Not enough by a long shot.

Yeah, I totally get that. I often feel that way myself. Despite my otherwise pulled-together, elegant exterior (no really, I swear) in the privacy of my own mind I can be fairly damn pushy.

The good news, though, is that you needn’t feel this wretched friction. And I needn’t feel this wretched friction either. In eight simple words, we can release ourselves from all of this murkiness and get about our days (lives) with peace and confidence.

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Light Being: How to Amp Up Your Inner Radiance and Shine Without Fear

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After it was over, all I could see was light. All I could feel was light. All I could be was light.

She was pure love energy, radiant fascinating white, like staring directly into the center of a star without the sting. My eyes were closed.

I could make out just enough of her: the gentleness along the curve of her back as she knelt before me. The giant fluid outline of what could have been the perfect wings. Her hands held mine as my arms were spread open in meditation.

In one weightless, slender movement both of her thumbs slid down the length of the inside of my willing arms, elbow to wrist, opening me up. As the white of my skin parted into the white of her glow she poured cascades of endless light like tranquil liquid pools into me.

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