An open invitation.

I choose white sheets and duvet covers, despite the children and dog.

I love the sexy wash of white touched with fluffy invitations to surrender.

Just the right pillows to prop back with coffee in the morning and melt into at night.

Mixed patterns, always changing with my mood.

A present self nurturing and smiling at the future self.

Perspective shifts from opening space and beauty.

The three minutes of care and time. Peace with every glance.

The woman sipping coffee sending love to the one with tired bones and full moments seen.

The woman thinking of her lover as she puts a tiny bit of her favorite scent on his pillow.

The woman walking by the room each day wishing she could just pause and take the time, taking the time. Today.

The woman who knows how she wants to feel at the end of the day finding it now.

The woman creating her rituals to keep time with her visions.

The woman leaning into a sexiness that with one glance you can feel down to your toes.

The woman who is practicing not to leap, but to simply sip her coffee, make her bed, look at her own eyes in the mirror and create a doorway for who she is becoming.

***

 

From Sexy and Sanguine. Want more? Join us.

I am inviting some of my special sexy friends and colleagues to join each day of the prompts with something special of their own. I'll tell you who they all are soon!

Sexy and Sanguine

What :: 2 weeks of sexy and sanguine soulwork prompts, challenges and explorations

Why :: Confidence is freaking HOT.

When :: This program will return in the FALL!

Do you truly know her?

Your rogue ecstasy, your story of fantasy, your beautiful spaces?

Have you embraced the romance of waking up in your skin?

Can you feel the sensuality inside of grey, the rawness of an orange sky, the taste of a kiss full of red wine?

Do you reflect your light in others and draw their curiosity of pleasure into you?

Have you ripened? Have you ripened?

In a past life/future life have you stood in the blossoming of your sexuality with your senses exploding, in the gift of feeling?

And from that self that was or will be can you feel her guiding you?

Are you sexy and sanguine?

Do you feel belly passion?

Can you close your eyes and paint your beauty by numbers?

Is there a knowing in your toes, your ears, your breasts that each piece of you is loved and sacred and on the journey towards whole?

Is there a candle waiting to be lit that is celebrating you, celebrating her, celebrating this gorgeous life that you have claimed?

And where can you whisper ‘oh yes. oh yes. oh yes’?

Let me take you there. To the yes. To the roughness of your edges and the dance of your awakening.

This. This is where we travel next.

Sexy :: Stimulating. Erotic. Desirable. Appealing. Hot.

Sanguine :: Bloodred. Temperament of cheerfulness. Confidence.

When I was 22 I was out walking with a friend. I had long blonde hair, worked out often, was a champion dieter, known for really good skin and living in Seattle pursuing acting, 2 years away from marriage. My friend said to me, "Whenever we are out I just watch men look at you, turn their heads."

2 days later I went to a Salon and cut off all my hair. Not in the cute or sexy-declaration-of-myself-as-a-woman way, in the I-don't-want-to-be-seen way.

It terrified me. My sexual self, at 22, she scared me. I wanted to hide from her. While many 22 year olds were out exploring their sexuality and beauty I found myself wanting to stuff it into a little box and find a hiding place for it. Part of my dieting history had so much to do with not wanting to be seen.

I was terrified of myself. Of my skin. Of my beauty. Of my yes.

This may not have been your 22 year old story. It may have happened after your marriage vows. Or when your first baby made her appearance. Maybe it was a story of a younger age or the fear of turning 50. Or maybe your sexual confidence just slowly faded as the role of young woman turned into wife, mother, worker, nurturer, tender, multi-tasker.

Confidence is alluring, hot, sexy.

Each year many of us choose a guiding word or phrase that will be the feeling we want to draw into our experiences, and it is a powerful practice. This year my guiding phrase is gracefully sexy. All to lead me further into hot confidence.

Confidence is gracefully sexy. Managing finances is gracefully sexy. Feeling delicious in your skin is gracefully sexy. Creating healthy boundaries is gracefully sexy.

Sexy and Sanguine Woman know...

• boundaries are beautiful.
• dreams come true from feelings.
• closets are sanctuaries.
• the shade of lipstick that lights them up, or the perfect lipgloss to plump.
• just when breakfast is for dinner and that bubbly can happen anytime, anywhere.
• the part of their body they always hated can actually guide their pleasure.
• pleasure.
• how to hold a gaze.
• how to receive. Really.
• how to stand in front of a mirror naked.
• to kiss and say hello before listing off complaints.
• beauty is in the details.
• how to hold space.
• feeling sexy is inside and out.
• that iterative living is gorgeous.
• how to take risks.
• saying yes is a turn on, after learning to say no.
• that listening changes everything.
• how to follow their animal spirit guide or tarot card into sacred space.
• that hot confidence is a practice.
• how to walk into a room and really see.
• how to ask the questions that flip it all around.
• that hot confidence is fierce magic.
• that an awakening is non-negotiable.

What you'll need for this course...

• A camera, iphone is great
• A journal to poem and vision in, I love Moleskines
• Some white space, clear the calendar a bit for some sexy and sanguine prompts
• A hot date, with yourself, with a girlfriend or many, with your lover... in celebration

She said.

She said, "You amaze me."

She said, "I need to go within."

She said, "Neither of us knew what we were seeking, right?"

She said, "And we learn perspectives, and how to flip it and we talk about things without projecting or manipulating emotions and eventually it can become graceful."

She said, "I am thinking about your heart."

She said, "So much magic flowing from this."

She said, "I need a hashtag."

She said, "I could feel you open to feel it."

She said, "Love you."

She said, "Bubbles make me silly."

She said, "I am excited to see you."

She said, "There will be wine."

She said, "How are you?"

She said, "Wish we lived closer."

She said, "Hey sweet bird."

She said, "Either way I love you and love you and love you."

She said, "Joy I could not need more."

She said, "I neeeeeeeeed you."

She said, "I missed you too."

She said, "Thanks."

She said, "Holding you."

She said, "Always here to talk about the hard shit."

She said, "We can learn to separate the person from the gift."

She said, "I adore you."

She said, "You are on fire."

She said, "I just cried."

She said, "It takes a piece of my soul."

She said, "I have a vulnerability hangover."

She said the words that make me who I am. That shape me. That heal me. That save me. That make me laugh. That allow me to be there for her. That help me stop for one minute and feel.

She is my tribe. My women. My circle.

If the words I send back can be half as vital to the hearts that receive them as these are to me, I am doing OK.

***

Join a magical circle and find the words that are waiting for you to hear. That will shape you. That will heal you. That will save you. That will make you laugh. That will allow you to be there for her. That will help you stop for one minute and feel.

They are your tribe. Your women. Your circle.

Magic Making Circle.

Say it over and over and over.

 

When someone loves you,

the way they say your name is different.

You know that your name is safe in their mouth.

~ Jess C. Scott

The sound of my name grounds me, fills me with connection and peace. When it is said with tenderness, concern, passion or simply the deep seeing that our soul-guides bring us, I feel safe.

Held.

There are words that light me up: their meanings to me, the way they look when I write them or type them out, the relationship I have to each one of them that I've built over time.

Beautiful.
Yes.
Fierce.
Magic.
Adore.
Tattoo.
Circle.
Pulse.
Oyster.
Bubbles.
Arrow.
Awakening.
F*
Vision.
Joy.
Sexy.
Feather.
Claiming.
Naming.
Changing.

Space.

My name holds me. I have grown with it and into it. When I hear it from a mouth that holds love for me, yes, I am safe. When I hear it from the mouth of raw passion I am alive. When I hear it from a stranger I just met I feel connection.

If you travel far enough with your name the edges of each letter blend into the stories you've woven through jungles, swamps, disco parties, birthing ceremonies, first kisses, goodbyes that hurt and hellos you want to have over and over again.

If you travel far enough with your name the spirits you've chosen to be in your life will say it with desire, thanks, trust, giddiness, love, binding, mirroring, frustration, fear, sadness and hope.

If you travel far enough with your name you'll hear it said with love so many times it becomes blessing and magic and whimsy and starts to fill the holes that were drilled in you without your knowing.

If you travel far enough with your name it will begin you and whisper you towards your next adventure as the love you've carried inside that beating heart slows.

If you travel far enough with your name it will save you. It will resurrect you. It will become safety when said inside of love, when you are ready to receive its touch.

It is home and freedom. It is you.

(From Thursday morning love letter from me to you. Sign up over there in the upper right hand corner to get your love letters.)

#mytodayis

#mytodayis standing in beauty, kissing the sea and bourbon and bubbles. #mytodayis solitary and shared. #mytodayis motivating into my future steps.

#mytodayis friends I have missed, bars that feel like a first kiss and grapefruit promising time. #mytodayis red-lipped giggles under steaming mugs of herbal mixtures flowing with words others write for me to absorb as teh sky continues to rain on my beautiful city. #mytodayis wine and zen.

#mytodayis spaces that I adore and vision beyond what I see. #mytodayis patterns and vintage pressed up against modern. #mytodayis my favorite mirror in a place I learned how to have fun, in a place where I learned to be free.

#mytodayis seeing your moments and capturing time. #mytodayis allowing yourself to stand inside of beauty, yours and what surrounds you. #mytodayis a way to vision yourself into the feelings you most want. #mytodayis adoring your life. #mytodayis looking back on your day and finding the comfort. #mytodayis starting a day with what will unfold around you.  #mytodayis sharing the movement into the gorgeous life.

Join us on Instagram #mytodayis

The sex of an oyster. Instructions for shucking her.

Insert the blade.

She is a filter feeder. She cleans your water and purifies your fears. The lust to taste her body your motivation.

Use moderate force.

You play until you find the right touch, the vibration that will allow you to be invited into her. Each time you hold her she will require a new touch, a force that you must discover as you hold her in your hand.

At the hinge, twist the blade.

Once you've found the spot where she opens, the vibration of the crack is now inside of you. You are the compulsion behind her opening.

Feel the pop.

Her flesh is now your gift, your longing from the purification that had been her only purpose.

Slide the blade up and disconnect that which still holds her together.

Her lips open. Draw her in and be there wholly in her unearthing of how present you are to only her in this moment.

Shucked. Now taste.

Soft, fleshy. She guides you. When you feel her on your tongue she yields and slips into you.

Repeat.

home

if you wrote me a song it would be called home

home inside of new love inside of old love inside of him

home my foot crying out stamping in standing on shores with greedy tears

if you wrote me a song i would crawl inside of you and call you home

grabbing pieces of broken shell the shell she used to find

the purple stripes like that gum she used to chew in this place that was home

and if you wrote me a song please know i would fall into that bowl of pieces of the sea

that embraces a full-blown sexuality that embraces her passion for the sea that embraces

her altar hidden under sand the heart she refuses to pocket

so if you wrote me a song i would push you away into the unclosed circle of my wild heart

and your voice would sing home

A whisper of time.

In my longing I am one self, arms coiled around in eagle, dipping towards earth, pulling body longer, stretching to places I am yet ready to claim.

In my longing she dances a sacred dance each morning. She is my womb, my love, my passion, my church.

In my longing I open because it is raw, unexpected, dangerous, vagina and jaw finding their path to unclench the unspoken.

In my longing hips circle, a freedom like seagull over ocean. A freedom, laying in warm grass rolling, giggling, sipping.

In my longing the numbers make rapid sense, add up and are always odd.

In my longing a daily whisper of time wakes me and clouds of white ritualize my open eyes. My opening eyes. My opening in this time.

In my longing I pause because I am growing up, the promise and wish of a young child now seeping into this skin about to know 39.

In my longing this pause sucks and is joy, both hands on my shoulders, hands covering tears, hands on belly laughter. Yes, all this. In one pause.

In my longing she tells me that I don't need to fear the sleep that leaves me at 3am, the work that becomes the exhale, the pleasure from a $2 taco.

I am one self. She is ocean knowing, salty kisses, long legs, mother breasts, shoulders bared, words falling, sensual time, edges of extremes, blue-eyeshadow eyes holding, hips circling in my longing.

Circling. Pressing. Knowing this one self.

***

Prompt. In my longing...

We played with this one at The Magic Making Mastermind Retreat. I passed around words and phrases to help move the words out.

The other day I heard the phrase 'a whisper in time' come from someone's lips and I asked if I could take ownership of that phrase. Permission was granted.

Everywhere we go, there are words we read or see, thoughts that run through our heads, whispers in time lived; all of these are part of our story. Take a prompt, don't try to write poetry, that will only get you stuck.

Just write. Let it flow. Borrow phrases, words from other places and pull them into your discoveries of you.

In my longing.

Your touch.

In knee pile.

Forward bend with eagle arms.

Heated room. Forrest yoga.

She walks around the room pressing her hands on our lower backs and lifting us further forward, finding the space we didn't know was there. She walks to the person behind me and I hear, "I don't like to be touched."

My mind wants to understand this desire to miss what is my favorite part of the yoga practice. My heart understands the things that could make someone turn away from the assist of space finding. The hurts that must have come first.

Be present. Feel. The words from the teacher's lips guide me into stories of my own withdrawal from touch. When there is pain. When I don't want to connect in the physical world because words must be spoken first. Because I am craving the newness that comes from shattered moments of disconnect.

---

We throw off our clothes onto the dense sand, filled with shell bits that press into our feet as we step.

The air muggy. The glow from the moon giving truth to the stillness of the water. Our naked bodies glide in. Or fall in. Or slowly ease in.

Shivering. Joy. The touch of the water. Hugs from bodies we've known for years or only just met now vulnerable and open and real. Tiny bits of glowing lights surrounding us as we wave our arms under the surface of the waters.

Knowing that this a new way to be touched. By water. By other women. By being brave.

---

"I missed your lips."

Re-entry from a weekend of bliss met by touch. Fingers massaging my scalp as though telling me that the work I do, the way I have chosen to show up and lift others is seen as beauty.

My body surrendering after days of moving, doing, planning, making sure it is all just so. From the space found from her hands lifting me forward in that heated room, to the circling, to the waters of joyful baptisms to the comfort of my bed.

Surrendering into not knowing and loving that place because it is real. More real than any other place of touch I have been inside of.

---

...

she wanted a promise that the moment in her memory would be again.

she wanted a thousand deep kisses to pull the loneliness out of her gut.

she wanted to be upside down, blood rushing to her brain that desired breath.

she wanted the long rustic table, flowers picked from bees, feasts and hands and bellies and arms that knew how to serve.

she wanted to bring the drama, it is all she knew.

she wanted to pull the wolf skin over her sweating body, naked breasts salvation of her love.

she wanted the fish to swim through her, her net of pain tearing.

she wanted to fix it.

she wanted to lift her hands towards God and feel his fingers lock with hers as she pulled her hand to her heart and dove into the spaces between.

she wanted an event to remember so her head could rest, her joy bubbling.

she wanted the answers to stop bringing new fears.

she wanted to fly into her magazine cut-out dreams and become the glue behind the words.

she wanted the magic she sprinkled to be collected in tiny bottles around their necks with the word yes, the promise to themselves.

between mirrors and moose.

as long as the bag is toppling over with celery and almond butter, fizzy water to send bubbles up our noses.

as long as you remind me to stop at red lights because my stories wind me into myself.

as long as the clouds drop sun kisses on our shoulders next to glass windows looking out to daydreaming forests.

as long as i peek at your eyes listening, in the mirror that shows me all that is behind my present self.

as long as the road not meant for us becomes the one we must spiral on.

as long as we sip from cold cocktail glasses under moose heads and trade stories with youth.

as long as we wrap our arms around new bodies and look first into eyes.

as long as we let our fingers type on keys that pull us from crowded spaces into the knowing of prompts.

as long as we stand on her waters and lift arms to God, Universe, and open up surrender of those we hold too tightly because we came here to these waters to open our hands.

as long as memories become poetry.

as long as our spaces share time.

as long as the moon becomes new and invites us to wander through our openings, narrating each glimpse, each lullaby hush of spaces between.

***

(Thank you Maya Stein for the gorgeous as long as prompt!)

Yesterday I cried.

It took some Prosecco.

And a letter that stirred my emotions about connections and money and feelings.

I've been claiming space. Making space. Allowing space. And gifted with space.

Inside of this space I've felt less raw. More open.

I'm not crying as much. I am still always close to tears but in that delicious HSP way.

This space I've been searching for, searching for years. This knowing, this knowing that I've got this.

My dreams vivid, full of colors I never see in waking life.

There are days when I get in the car with a friend and we drive and plan and eat and lift our faces to the sun. Space. Pulling myself away from the computer where I've created deep love and success and giving myself permission to start living those things.

Feeling. Less raw. Filling in the gaps of times that never were.

The necklace I was wearing around my neck with the word light fell off the other day. It broke. And I set it down to fix it. I let it sit there for weeks.

I met a woman recently and I kept thinking of wrapping her in light. So I will fix the necklace and I will let the light carry forward.

Because when I cried yesterday I knew that I was already there.

In the light. In the space that I visioned forth. In the space that is rolling me in her beauty and guiding me in faith.

Tears of affirmation. Floating inside of fears and still paddling.

So that I may guide.

In the light.

Falling

In the cracks I am falling through your words.

In the cracks I am the hardness of your bicep where my head rests, has always known.

In the cracks I am inside your endless disregard of my zenith of awakening.

In the cracks I am the quiet kiss that the beep affirms, that plays with my pleasure - insatiable for your notice.

In the cracks I am your spirit lover, the one who impinged your feelings...the ones that my wings would soon set free.

In the cracks -your cracks- I am fucked-up, hands together over the place that holds breath -my breath- and I want my reflection back.

In the cracks I am your one time longing, feather falling, the one that swims through pulsing white rocks filling space of emptiness.

In the cracks I am young art, folded in wrapped scarves. Draping my belly from sight.

In the cracks I am the opening of my secrecy, my floating eyes, the clench of a pelvis searching for breath.

In the cracks I am slipping in each, in each, in each.

In the cracks I am falling through words.

like this.

like this. i want to feel you harder.

like this. fly away.

like this. my hands together i release you.

like this. it pulls you back.

like this. the point that pricks me.

like this. dust in the sun.

like this. anger in my gut, anger down to my toes.

like this. that sweet bite, and the salt.

like this. morphing.

like this. i feel it in the cracks, the sticky notes, the marks down on time.

like this. i will scream.

like this. i will laugh while my side aches.

like this. slide down underneath the clock.

like this. now my sweet.

like this. i want to feel you harder.

like this.

Circling. In Oregon.

(Photo by Kelly Rae)

Circling with women is finding your wings. 

Circling with women draws forth the beauty of voice.

Circling with women is being held, radiated, lifted.

(Photo by Curly Girl)

Circling with women allows you to step into a light whose source lies inside of you.

Circling with women lets you start to erase the shame of showing up in your beauty.

Circling with women is accepting your emptiness, brokenness, fears without blame.

(Photo by Andrea Scher)

Circling with women is stepping in rhythm as your hearts share their stories.

Circling with women is vulnerabilities' tears mixing into laughter.

Circling with women weaves a dream catcher of spirit, full of feathers and heart rocks and nature's gifts.

(Photos by Jess Swift)

Circling with women is a gift.

Circling with women becomes your intuition when your place in this world feels unsteady, alone.

Circling with women, your women, the ones who feel your worth at a soul level, circling with these women allows you to feel the gift, that is you.

***

(I'll be sharing some of the beautiful circling I've been doing in 2013 and then releasing an invitation for circling that came from my dreams.)

I want.

“I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think.”

~ Rumi

I want to be settled being with myself, not worrying about loneliness.

I want to fall onto a bed full of the softest pillows and giggle with pleasure, not worrying that my teeth show when I smile big.

I want to look you in the eyes without pulling my gaze away, not worrying about my reactions or face, just being there as listener.

I want to dance when you play the music of your heart, not worrying if I look silly.

I want to open in embrace, not worrying about being wrong.

I want to surrender to my fear of having, not worrying about who judges or sees.

I want to fly off the cliff into the gentle water, not worrying that I am up too high.

I want to dance and open like the soul dances and opens, not worrying about what was or what will be.

I want to be here now, with you, all of you, not worrying about what could be, simply being.

I want for you the openess of surrender and the dance of joyful presence, not worrying about feeling wrong each day when you open your eyes.

There is no wrong. But there is wanting. And you sweet one, you may want and want and want...

***

This is my love note, from me to you. Each Thursday I send out a love note to my community who has signed up - right there in that little box in the upper right hand corner of my website - to receive them from me. When I write this note it is also from me to me. Right where I am. How I am taking up space and energy and shinging or hiding or bearing down or releasing. It is present, it is real.

I want to invite you into the poetry of my truth and allow the words to find you right where you are.

dance and open.

dance and open.

I'm not ready.

Hannah Dance from Hannah Marcotti on Vimeo.

I'm not ready to stop.

I know.

I'm not ready to forigive my choices.

I know.

I'm not ready to allow ease, I need to fight.

I know.

I'm not ready to take off my socks and walk in the wet grass.

I know.

I'm not ready to cry. To be seen. To be held.

I know.

I'm not ready to find my flow which I know will bring change in such rapid motions that for moments I won't be able to breathe.

I know.

I'm not ready to ditch crisis, I like it here.

I know.

I'm not ready for this.

I know.

I'm not ready to surrender.

I know. And I love this for you. Surrender happens when we aren't ready. Change comes when we most fear it. Love surrounds us when we declare we can't so that we may be supported in the doing.

I know you aren't. That is why I am so happy you are here.

I'm going to fly with you. I've been leaving feathers for you to find for so long now.

Today, tomorrow and the next day all I want you to do is know that you will find one on your path. I will be there, gently whispering you forward toward your light, feather in hand.

I know. I truly know. And so do you.

Let's make space for Surrender together.

We start February 11th for prep week.

The prayer.

I say a prayer.

Whisper out desire to the Universe.

Cut words out of a magazine and glue them on a board.

On fallen knees a prayer that cries out from the gut. My heart.

Sometimes you start with what you don't want, in the darkness of the fears.

The prayer, the way we long to feel. The prayer, the voices of our past. The prayer, typed onto our spirit.

My spirit calls out.

Antler around my neck seeking deeper meaning, connectedness.

Fox shows up before the prayer ever came and my eyes find her everywhere. Passion, desire, intensity, expression.

This place I stand, this body I claim, feeling magical, gentle power my scent.

This knowing brings chaos. I search for the answer to the whisper. I want it now, time begging for clarity.

Fear it will fade if I don't stumble on the path of perfection.

The prayer, knowing without search. The prayer, a deep forgiveness. The prayer, compassion.

In the search I am reminded from the clouds, the rain, the smiles, the angels, the snuggles, the leaves under my feet...that prayer does not require our digging.

Prayer and magazine cut outs and whispers of desire are the place of our truth.

Closing my eyes, I hear the lack of an answer and a hush of space.

The prayer, opens us to space. The prayer, opens us to our change. The prayer, opens us to trust.

The prayer opens.

A blessing for battle.

 

You are beauty. You are grace. You are love.

You are not the voices that tell you that you are fat or unloved or without. Broken.

You are joy unfolding.

You are not lacking. You are not them. You are not wrong.

You are perfectly imperfect and passionate beyond your own knowing.

Open yourself. Surrender to that feeling defining you. You are safe.

You are beauty. You are grace. You are love.

Forgive yourself for one moment and feel the gorgeous reality that you are so OK.

Release into your flow that is your dance through this year and into the next.

Send the sparks of desire, the waves of delight and the echo of your dreams into this day. And into this
night.

This is your blessing. A blessing to carry into battle.

You are beauty. You are grace. You are love.