I am a mother, writer, coach, caretaker, manager, magician, revolutionary, pragmatist, humorist, hedonist, feminist, lover, fighter, survivor, and storyteller.
I am deeply intuitive and weirdly innovative.
I live for art, music, poetry, comedy, naps, and love. I talk to trees. I manage PTSD, depression, anxiety, and addiction.
I openly use and advocate for the consumption of cannabis and other entheogenic medicines for personal healing.
I believe that our earth, and all of its plant and animal inhabitants, are intrinsically connected. I believe we have lost that awareness, and it has created a powerful and fatal imbalance in every layer of our environment, from our nervous systems to our weather patterns. I believe connecting to the natural world is powerful medicine, that the mountains, trees, and mycelium are the original ancestors.
I believe that medicinal plants transmit source data from the earth to the human heart and that their legalization and integration into our culture will radically shift our health and humanity to homeostasis.
I’ve seen every episode of The Office more than a dozen times.
I’m down for the decolonization and destruction of all systems that hinge on the oppression of other sentient beings.
Memes may be my favorite art form.
Learning to tell my own story has been mad sweat and blood. A gradual opening and unfolding, divulging, unclouding, cobbling, retreating, and retrying. Also, it is, without question, the most liberating practice I continue to show up for.
I’m compelled by the macabre. I make jokes too soon. I laugh inappropriately during somber occasions. Death fascinates, more than frightens, me.
Once upon a time, I spent two years in federal prison for conspiracy to distribute ecstasy. I openly share this story as a tool to illuminate the racist, classist, and often arbitrary workings of the prison industrial complex as well as the desperate need for compassionate care of our mental health. I do service work mentoring women inside prison, helping them learn to tell their lives as love stories rather than shame stories. I’m passionate about destigmatization, telling more truthful narratives, and, most importantly, doing everything I can to create a world of cohesion for my son. For all of our children.
They are all our children after all.
The willingness to question everything and do due diligence to the truth allows us to move from judgment, through curiosity, and into grace.
I already like you.
I see you there in all of your messiness, your grief. I see you there feeling that “if only you would have done things differently” you might be free by now. That somehow your failure and weakness have been your undoing. I see you and want to say NO. And FUCK THAT. Your bank account, your accomplishments, your productivity are not what makes you worthy of belonging.
The only requirement for membership into the human race is your birth. And it’s the failure of a world that doesn’t value the qualities of care, forgiveness, and compassion that are responsible for this suffering. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you aren’t alone.
Re-storying a culture is painstaking work, but it will bring us together. And it will be punctuated by great downloads of gratitude and the promise of the liberation of all beings.
So, please, let’s be a little kinder. Let’s learn how to take personal responsibility for the reparations that build a stronger collective safety net. Let’s make art and music and love. Let’s live in our bodies as they are. Let’s learn from each other’s experiences. Let’s step out of our limited bubbles of perception and into the great unknown, together.
I’d like that for us.