Juliana  |  Carrie

Every Wednesday as of today, my girl Carrie and I will knock up your fertile mindspace with a few daydreams.  We each create a playlist on Spotify and contribute a snapshot of our pretend road trip vision.  You know, for fun.

Wanna play?  Create a playlist on whatever host you like, rally up a blog post, and post a link in the comments.  Every week we’ll have a new destination.

Next week?

key west.

Load up.  Let’s go.

I’ve been catching a lot of (well earned) heat on Facebook  for my cocky appreciation of winter in the Southwest.  It’s projected to be 70 degrees today,  the sun is rising in a lazy stretch through a formation of clouds that closely resemble the edge of the sea, like light coming in waves to the shore of the horizon.

The photo above is a sunset, settling into the bosom of the mountains right outside of Yuma, where we are currently hanging our hats.

If you know anything about me and if you know anything about Yuma, you might think to yourself:

“What the hell is she doing there?  That place sucks.”

It does.

And it doesn’t.

If you’ve ever been through Yuma, chances are good you were on your way to San Diego.  It’s the kind of place whose billboards boast of clean restrooms and wi-fi truckstops.  It’s a point in the middle.  A quick stop on the way to Somewhere Else.

The production model of modern agriculture is alive and well in the basins of light on this stretch of the earth, a harsh reality check of The American Way delivered with no remorse.  My children, accustomed to seeing calm pepperings of angus stretched across the land, now observe the stench of the black holes known as cattle farms.  They notice.  And even their young hearts know it’s wrong.  You can see it, hear it in their small voices.

“Mama, what’s wrong with those cows?”

“They’re imprisoned by convenience and greed, love.”

You are what you eat.

Though we are surrounded by acres and acres of green (most of the lettuces sold in the West are grown right here), there’s no local market.  Food is commodity here, a product, a job, not a means of connection.

The farms here are not organic, which means they use pesticides and fertilizers.  There are miles and miles of Monsanto around us.  On windy days, I keep the kids inside.

Mexico is close, so close we can hear the roosters rise in the mornings.  So close that the air is thick with the smoke of burning fields.

We are not here by choice.  We are here by necessity.

And we are grateful.

We adapt, try to understand this place and sort through its reputations.  It’s hot and flat and there’s nothing here, compared to the offerings of the cities within reach.  But it’s still pretty big – 194,000 residents (for my Montana friends, it reminds me a lot of Billings, except everyone here speaks Spanish and there are a lot more handguns).  There’s a definite sense of community, which feels familiar despite the cultural divide, and I’ve observed a fascinating trend amongst old men and their hats.

It’s where we are.

And because we’re here, it becomes good.

Not by our influence, not out of stature or rumblings of pride, but because this is the point on earth where our bodies occupy space.

And that space, whether hot, cold, dry, covered in snow-shimmer or dust, is SACRED.

Always has been.  It was true when I lived up North, it’s true here, it would be true if we lived on the Moon.  I would take note of the stillness, the outlines of stars, the rising light of the earth on the horizon.  Simultaneously, I would be coping silently with the discomfort of oxygen gear and the overwhelming solitude of space.

Here, in this place called Yuma, it happens to be 70 degrees in January and the sun is shining bright.  Something I celebrate because right now it’s all I have to hang on to.  Everything else is gone.

Do you pity me?  Feel flashes of sorrow for our plight?

Don’t.

It’s the kind of grip that comes at the top of the mountain, the home stretch.  The one where you find your last reserves and pull yourself up.

The moment of birth.

Hey ya’ll – if you’re subscribed to The Peaceful Peacock on a feedreader, please pardon the activities/posts over the next few days.  In order to work into my new theme, I have to use the blogging function quite a bit and you will most likely be seeing those posts in your reader.

To progress!

Thanks for your patience.

the hispanic grocery

Have I mentioned the best part about living in the Southwest again?  THE FOOD.

 Jesus candles  and ceramic donkey lawn ornaments at every turn.

Tortillas, made fresh.

morning readings

Waking at sunrise to peer into the clouds, penetrating the paths to passion.

Connecting with heartfelt spirits on intuitive journeys.

and I’m working on a special spread for renaissance souls that’s kinda rockin’ the house.

stepping back into myself

in the smallest and largest of ways.

what do you like right now?

You know what I love about working for myself?  

The endless potential.  

I love being a pioneer on the forefront of ideas, translating complex concepts, and taking the bull by the horns.  Finding patterns in random swings and waves drives me beyond the reach of human thought, where I like to hang out.  It’s the gathering, the collecting, and the presentation of those patterns in a tangible way is the essence of my worth.

BUT.

You know what I hate about working for myself?  

Then endless hurricane of shit to do.

As I write this, my four year old is literally bouncing, poking, singing, doing whatever he can to get my attention.  This isn’t about kids, it isn’t about excuses.

As we stand right now, I have no schedule.  I’m at the mercy of the whims and moods of two sweet beans who are new to this earth and don’t understand why mama needs chunks of silent concentration for hours on end.  But I stop, pause, end myself because I love them.  Because I’m a good mom.  You think I’m pulling the kid card?  Try hanging out with two kiddos who are under the age of five.  Seriously.  Try it and tell me how much you got done.  (Anyone else would have quit.  I almost did.)

But I’m tenacious.  And unstoppable.  And this is who I am.

Deal with it.

It’s still business though, so I’m working on it.  We all need to be ok with that for awhile.  Ok?  Ok.

My hope was to roll out the How to Get a Yoga Girl in one fell swoop, but it just ain’t happenin’ like that.  Think of it as your opportunity to integrate the lessons, allow the medicine to bind, assimilate the words into consciousness, whatever you need.  Each leg of the series will arrive in its own good time in its own unique light.  These posts will stand on their own in the midst of the rest of my work, as they should.

I am, I have always been, and I will always be a Spiritual Nomad.

A restless wanderlust of faith.

The sooner everyone gets used to that idea (including me), the faster we’ll move.  My interests spread far and wide and for the first time in my life, I am no longer ashamed.

So here’s what you do:

Sign up to receive my sporadic posts via email or take your place here, where you will get a free copy of the Kindle edition of the Yoga Girl series.  (The catch there is that you have to sign up before I’m finished examining the seven chakras.  We’re currently on #3.)  You buy stuff so I can pay my bills and keep this thing rolling.  You say, “Hey Julie! I’d like to place an ad!” because beginning in February, I’ll be rocking some ads.

Thanks for understanding that the huntress behind all these bits of code is engaged in her own humanity too.

And watch for the wings to unfold.

‘Cuz it’s time.

chakra spin - thepeacefulpeacock on etsy

Ah, the Second Chakra.  The sexy one.  Yep, located right in the center of the pelvis.

This one’s loaded.

The Second Chakra houses the energies of both money and sex, the sources of physical contact with the emotional plane.  And I’m going to jump out on a limb here…if you’ve grown up in America, there’s a good chance your Second Chakra is totally whack.

So let’s talk about blocked chakras.

Chakra Two  ::  Water

It’s easy to get hung up on this one.  Trust me, you’re not alone.  The reason your girl does yoga is to create balance in her life.  It helps her recognize re-occurring issues, observe them, make slow and steady change, and then move on.

If the second chakra is overactive, the result can surface as irresponsibility with money, a lack of sexual boundaries, addiction, gambling, and a host of other good fun.  If the second chakra is blocked, the result shows up as frigidity, sensual selfishness, an unwillingness to part with any cash.

Heads up:  take your time with this one.  

Simple Meditation For Dudes

This exercise requires the use of your supersonic powers of observation and unbridled restraint.

Use your eyes.  Watch.  Spend time with her, keep this in mind:

If you want to see what your sex life will be like in two years, watch how your lady handles her money.  

Does she spend frivilously on the very next thing and ignore the bills?  Check for notches on the bedpost and a roaming heart.  Is she tight with the funds?  Good luck with that.  If your girl won’t invest her money, it’s going to be a challenge to get her to invest her body too.  I’m not saying it’s true in every case, but it might be a good indication.

So step up.

Because she can also see the same shit in you.

Yoga Girl doesn’t mean Perfect Girl.  It means Girl With Awareness.

Girl With Insight.  Girl Who Undertakes Change.  Girl Who Sits, Copes, and Works Through Struggle.

Your Mantra:  RESPECT.

A girl like that needs support.  Encouragement.  A soft place to land.

via

Are you strong enough?  No?  Maybe?  Head to the mat and get ready.

Because I am going to tell you a secret that will unlock the mystery of every single relationship in your life.

Right here.  Right now.

We engage in a relationship with someone who possesses one of two things:

1. The same level of sickness  -OR-
2. The same level of progress in healing

What the hell does that mean?

That means, my friend, that a girl who’s already been through her crap won’t give you the time of day if you’re still stuck in yours.  And a girl who can’t see her own dizziness yet won’t feel anything for you beyond a carnal attraction laced with confusion, no matter how hard she tries.  Even when she knows you’re a catch.

And if you both share the same level of fucked-up-ness?  Well, those are the learning lessons you showed up here for.

Dodge your bullets.  Choose your battles.  Do the work.

Get the Girl

There’s no bullshit with this one.  Take her on a date.  A real one.  Prepare to foot the bill.

Be a man.

I can pretty much guarantee you that women today are not accustomed to this.  It’s old fashioned.  It’s cool.  It works.

But only if you don’t expect sex.

One of three things will happen when you pay for a date:

1. She will act like a princess who deserves it.
2. She will insist on being in control and fight you tooth and nail.
3. She will graciously accept the gift.

Men give.  Women receive.  We are literally designed that way (check your drawers if you don’t believe me).  A date is a respectable representation of evaluating the climate of give and receive with a potential mate.

It’s not about putting out.

But it will certainly inform you of some mystical secrets, give you some insight about whether or not she’s worthy of what you have to give.

And if you have nothing to give?

Head to the mat.  Ask yourself why.  Listen to the answer.  Be humble.  Adjust.  Release.  Repeat.

That’s the work.  Go do it.

So, Miss J, when is it time for sex?

When you can see your yoga girl’s ass in seven different ways.

You now know two.

Come back Friday to learn one more.

And hey!  Check this out.  I’m including all this and more in a self-published Kindle book.  Sign up here to stay in the loop about further details about that, and if you jump in before the end of the series, I’ll kick you a copy for free.

You’re welcome.  You can thank me by telling your friends.

from NWsacredart on etsy

Ya’ll ready?  I’ve had a pretty substantial obsession with chakras for the last several months, and you know me–when I get my heels into something, I don’t stop until I reach as far as it can go.

Spirituality, with its endless differences and similarities, has been a favorite topic of mine for … well, forever.  At the ripe old age of 36, turns out I’ve been studying this jive pretty hardcore for the last twenty years.  Solid.  Sometimes in secret, sometimes organized in classes and degrees.  It’s a topic I’ve chased for a long, long time.  ’Cuz Baby, I was Born to Run.

Seems a few limitations in my life have lifted and I’m free to start talking about it now.  And hey, what do you know, maybe get a little coin from it.

So let’s start at the beginning.  

There are seven centers of energy within the human body, known as chakras.  I won’t get into the whole historical aspect of that, mostly because it’s boring and also because I don’t feel like doing any more research about it right now.  Whether or not you believe in the source of their existence is inconsequential ~ think of a chakra as a focused point of intention.  Like a target on a bale of hay.

Each of these seven points of focus represents a culmination of ideas, the experience of mind/body/spirit within the physical self.  There’s a lot going on when it comes to chakras, layers upon layers of history and interpretation.  You could spend an entire lifetime working through these concepts, and often people do.  They’re called yogis.

Here’s the easy version:  when your girl’s talking about chakras, she’s talking about a hell of a lot more than rainbows.

Kick her some credit.  It’s an intricate system.  Women are intricate beings.  So are you.

Step up.

Chakra One  ::  Earth

Right at the base of your fly lil’ honey’s bum, at the point where her legs meet her core, lies the first chakra.  Look down.  Note that you have the same point on your body, therefore you have one too.  (See?  You have something in common already.)

This is the source of gravity, inherited instincts, evolution itself.

The work with your first chakra focuses on GROUNDING.  The physical self as an organism on the earth, the edges, the limitations.  Where the skin of a being ends and the air begins.  It represents the strength of your legs, your attachment to the earth.  Your roots.

Be like tree.

Simple Meditation for Dudes

Focus on limits.  Limits are different than restrictions.  Imagine a room.  Any kind of room you like.  It could be a bathroom, it could be a cathedral…and yes, it can be a bedroom.  That’s fine.  Within this room, imagine the color of the walls, the style of furniture, what elements would be present in a room of this kind.  How can you rearrange the pieces, move things around?  Would more space be created if you took something out?  Is there a piece of furniture you would like to see?

That’s a limit.

Chances are good that you don’t feel claustrophobic in a regular old living room, right?  But you don’t park your car in there.

Restriction means you can’t.  Limitation means you work with what you’re given.

Oddly enough, very clear limits create very clear avenues of yes.  Or no.  Maybe your girl likes white couches and modern decor but you want to hang out in a cabin in the center of the woods.  Awareness of the first chakra helps define those lines.  It doesn’t mean you can’t put a pristine hunk of furniture in the middle of your lair, but you better be prepared to keep up with some maintenance.  Dig?

Breathe.

Right now.  Do it.

Witness your breath.

The limits of what your lungs can hold.

Amazingly, such a small amount of oxygen keeps you alive.  All day long.

For the advanced version, breathe for three minutes, concentrating on what it feels like to fill and empty the capacity of your lungs.

How to Get the Girl

Talk about your experience with feeling grounded, connected.  Spend time outside with her, move your body.  Climb on things.  Throw rocks.  Don’t show off, be casual about it.  Talk about your admiration for trees and entities that are deeply rooted.  This is about your experience, you can’t fake it. If you don’t know, ask questions.  Listen more than you speak.

Are you faking it?

Get back to the mat.  Ask yourself why.  Listen to the answer.  Be humble.  Adjust.  Release.  Repeat.

That’s the work.  Go do it.

Yoga with Your Girl

Savasana (corpse pose).  Preferably with a view of the sky.  Stars are nice.  And don’t be getting any ideas about sex.  That’s a different chakra.

This is foundation.  Limits.  Being in one place, one room, one center of concentration.  You can’t ride two horses with one ass – you’re not that flexible yet.

We’ll talk about sex next time.  Promise.

much love – miss j

(Seriously, take a few minutes to watch this.  Tastefully done and totally hilarious.)

A friend was talking about this clever little ditty the other day, voiced out by a regular brah who’s hungry for a little time on the mat, so to speak.  And you know he’s not alone.

At first, it cracked me up.  We all know the yoga girl, the yoga butt, the yoga pants…if you’ve spent any amount of time with a heterosexual man on planet earth in the last ten years, chances are good the topic has come up once or twice.

So is this a matter of social conditioning?  Are we going that route?

Nah.

It’s about hot chicks in tight pants.  Plain and simple.  And you know what?  There’s nothing wrong with that.

Really.

I had my mind completely blown the other day, reading about a topic I’d never really considered.  We hear a ton about how the media portrays women, how it damages our self esteem, skews our definition of body image, the way the constant thrust of sexuality and scantily clad airbrushed limbs damage the psyche of every woman in America.  These things are true.  I’m a woman.  I know for sure that it’s real.

But here’s the deal, ya’ll.  Women are not the only ones who are broken.

Our media has also broken our men.

Twisted healthy biological desire into confusion and an ordinary cloud of frustration.  Laid shame like a dagger straight against the throat with such force, the words become defeated before they can even come out.  Biology will never move as quickly as technology.  The evolutions of humanity are just not drawn that way.  We are, at our core, mammals.  There’s no shame in that.

There is no shame in healthy, earthly desire.

As a matter of fact, it’s kind of a natural thing.   A man who’s earnestly drawn to the yoga girls is declaring one simple thing, though he may not necessarily make the connection.  It’s more than tight pants and carnal positions in rank and file.

It’s about wanting a woman who is healthy.  

Women who do yoga tend to be strong, sexy, and beautiful because yoga tends to be about opening yourself to beauty.  It’s as simple as that.  A strong woman has a strong radar for bullshit.  A strong woman knows that men (and women, for that matter) are completely imperfect.

You want a yoga girl?

Get on the mat.

Show up.  Watch your flaws surface, the negativity, the grime.  Observe it, watch it, change it, let it go.  Stretch.  Move. Build discipline.  Gently.  It’s not about strength, it’s about flexibility.  It’s about moving into the home that is your body.  YOUR body.

That’s step one.

(Tight pants not included.)

We’ve been back in Arizona for about three months now.  The gazes are becoming more familiar, the sights and sounds more routine.  Airplanes, traffic, shades of yellow-green.

I took a walk into the desert today, my first one alone since we’ve been home.  Made acquaintance with old tree friends, apologized to those I took for granted in my youth.  I know these plants well, yet somehow not at all.  My knowledge of the desert comes from outside of myself…an adolescence spent in shopping malls and books, adopting what I was told.   I don’t know this place the way I know Montana.  Not yet.

Today I stepped inside of myself, took my hands into courage, and said hello for the first time.

Saguaro.  sa-WAR-oh.  Kinda like the Redwoods, but a little bit different.  Meaning tall, sturdy, they literally weigh tons.  It takes 80 years before they’re old enough to grow an arm.

This is the only place on earth where they grow.  The ones that are here in the Sonoran desert are the only ones left.  The only ones that ever were.

I guess I never really understood the significance of that.

I always thought time went too fast in the desert…turns out I was wrong.  It moves incredibly slow.

So I sat down and watched.  Waited for the birds to return to their songs.  Looked at the way things decay without water.  It’s slow.

I was leery, I don’t know where the coyotes, javelinas, the bumps in the night go to rest during the day.  There were plenty of tracks, signs of scuffle, evidence of critters at every turn.  There’s a lot to learn about the desert.  Thankfully it was too chilly for snakes.

But just right for a girl fresh from Montana, with skin eager for sun.

So the new camera takes pretty good pics, eh?  I’m learning the ropes.  It’s a Canon PowerShot sx230 hs.  Good stuff.  A little bit more money than the Flip, but it’s pretty phenomenal for a point-and-shoot.  Semi-automatic settings, so I have some control over the settings and the optics of Canon, both for a really reasonable price.  I got it at Target so I could take it back if I didn’t like it, but I’m sold.  And you know what?  That pic of the sunrise is completely untouched.

That’s what it really looks like here.

So now that we have put a little point-and-shoot in my hands, you’ll be seeing more shots of spontaneous clothing photos, like this sweet medicine bag that my mama made and hand-beaded, chock full of special meaning:

Just right for my wee sacred player of tunes.

Lookin’ fast in my faded jeans.

much love ~ miss j

via enAitchison on etsy.com

Thank you.

From my whole entire heart.

That was absolutely amazing to see. To feel. To know.

Ya’ll rallied up over $400 in 26 hours.

If you would still like to contribute, any additional funds will be used for advertising and to set up a scholarship for those who need a hand with paying for the course/webhost.

I am truly, awesomely blown away.

In deepest gratitude, may your holiday be blessed.