filly

turn on the tap

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In the last installation of the infrequent, spontaneous newsletter effort - I dug in a bit on my resistance to teaching classes over the past few years. The last was Mexico City, it was everything I wanted it to be, and then I just tapped out. What did I have to say? To share? To guide? That was any different or more of service than the dozens upon dozens of offerings my fine colleagues are putting out there, (in a helluva lot more organized and professional fashion than I)? I could barely stand listening to myself, let alone ask people to invest their time and energy listening to me.

Really setting up this **spoiler alert** new workshop offering strong, aren’t I?

Hang in there because I DON’T FEEL THAT WAY ANYMORE. Why? I’ll tell you everything, but I’ll say it all swinging around my studio with you at my side because I want you to come over and Go Deep. How we gonna get there, you ask? Because my soul-homie Bree is lighting the way.

Don’t you just freakin love this sass human already?

Don’t you just freakin love this sass human already?

Bree Melanson and I met a while back when she was co-leading a moon circle in SF organized by On Our Moon - whom I would like to give a shout out too, as I believe they are doing good, raw work in this world. Afterwards. when I walked up to introduce myself, we basically didn’t stop talking until dragged apart by an overdue parking meter and low blood sugar/h’anger. Bree had just moved back to her hometown of Monterey county after a decade+ in LA, I had just moved to Corralitos from Oakland so, for all intents and purposes - we were neighbors. Neighbors with, coincidentally, similar interests and vibe. Bree is a psychic medium and a channel, but the sort that wears cashmere and ostrich skin booties. I am florist that pulls tarot cards, finds ways to work piles of crystals into client's wedding decor, and doses all my freelancers with “High Vibe Elixir” before install days. I wish I could wear similar booties but would def dump disgusting, rotten flower water all over them on day 2. But still, we were picking up on what the other was putting down.

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We made a lady-date that included bougie coffee, shrieking over boys, a long walk on Carmel River Beach, discussion regarding the stonecold validity of alien abduction, and the larger purpose of Universal consciousness when it applies to access to transcendental creativity. Fuck yes. We agreed that to collab on an offering would be a Very Good Thing.

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On Saturday, April 27 - we would love ten of you to come over to mine so we can explore how to turn on the tap of your own, totally unique, magical flow of creativity. In my years as a creative, a woman, a human being walking on this planet - what I see again and again is the patterns we become tangled within that keeps us at arm’s length from our highest potential. To getting free and making all the dreams, the possibilities, the connections we were always intended to make. I started pulling at the loose threads on the fabric of my own story when I turned 27, and have been pulling and pulling ever since. Do I still get caught up? 100%, I got an ankle snagged as we speak. Do I work at shimmying to get free every day? Absolutely, it takes work. Observance. Awareness. Study. So let’s do it together.

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There is a full description of what will go down HERE at the registration. We’re going to meditate, yes, but you don’t have to have a consistent practice prior. It’s just the vehicle for us to drop in and get in touch with that quiet, wild, unseen part of ourselves. We’re going to make flowers, yes, but you don’t have to be a florist to take this class. They’re just a medium for expression, something I’ll guide but the focus is just to MAKE ART for the freedom of it.

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If you have questions or hesitations, send me a note. I hope you’ll join us.

p.s. I love you.

p.s. I love you.

Julia Holter

Tuesdays, with a little luck and some dedicated overtime, I hike. Alone and far if I can swing it. I like to do a little research, bahiker is my go-to. I consult the weather, the traffic, do I have to pack a pb&j or can I last until I get back. I usually deliberate too long, leave late and forget the pb&j on the counter.

You can work through a lot of shit on the trail. Are you good at your job, is your partner still wildly attracted to you, are you letting friendships go by the wayside, (this is when I usually stop, reconnect to the Grid and text a number of people to try and drum-up some affirmations. Back on Airplane Mode), I like trails when I can attack inclines on the first half; when I can barely hear anything but the to-do list in my head - quad-burn and gasping runs a good distraction. If it's an estimated a four-hour trip, I aim to do it in three. 1. Overachiever 2. Pb&j is on the counter and it's 1:30pm

By the second half, I remember to look up. A few years ago I was on one of my favorite trails, blasting through the duff of a Buddhist retreat with a soul-sister, when she quipped that we might as well be on a treadmill. Head down, just moving through rather than being IN. You know where this could go. All kinds of meta directions.

There will be plenty of heavy-meta blogging to come, so don't you worry your pretty lil head.

For these 7.4 miles, there was fog and wind. A treacherous yellow jacket's nest I ran through like my tail was on fire. One Jerusalem cricket - goddamn if I don't hate those things yet remain intensely intrigued. Retired Marin hippies three-times my age leveling damaged trail swaths with pick-axes. Just a little bit of water trickling from the Mt Tam watershed, making it's way to the sea. Flora I can't identify, coyote scat and the bewildering streams of consciousness.