I hold my own face in my hands. I am all of my selves at once: womb me and baby me and little girl me and teenage me and college me. I am me in the bath tub at six and me sobbing on the floor at 24, and me mothering at 36 and gardening at 47 and a grandma at 55. I am me at 63 going for walks in the woods and me at 72 enjoying the warmth of my family around me. I hold my own face in my hands and I tell myself that I deserve to be here. That I chose this life and in all its beauty and hardness I deserve to be here and I am stronger for it. I tell myself that I am a gift to the world and that there is no one else who can be me. I decide who and what to give myself to.

- the day I felt my belonging in my bones
 

My life lately has been about finding glitter in the darkness. It’s the bubbles in champagne at midnight. It’s the flight of a feather to the earth, lilting and swirling all the way. It’s been about resting in the small, quiet moments in the storm. Other times, it’s been about staying afloat in an ocean of uncertainty. And in still others, it has been about allowing myself to sink to the sea floor. Mostly, it’s been about learning to be where I am and to slow down and listen to the messages that my soul has been sending.
I am coming to terms with the fact that I am a stops and starts kind of person. I am creative chaos and intense emotion and my whole heart and dirty hands in the mud of life kind of woman. I am also full of fear, and self-criticism for these very reasons. My life exists in extremes, and I am trying to live in the space between so that I can be quiet enough to really hear. 
Last year I found friendship in the image of whale. She came to me in meditations and dreams and she used her intuition to navigate by starlight and her sonar to send messages to the depths and listen for replies. She told me to follow the stars, and trust my voice. I became the navigator. Later, I was visited by a vision of a past life as a map-maker. I watched as I drew with light on the earth, a guide back to soul. 

As my life became filled with themes of maps and navigation and direction and inner compass, I felt more and more lost. I could not make myself fit into the mold of therapist and graduate student and so I tried to break out of both. In doing so, I broke down and fell through my psyche’s rickety floor and found myself swimming in the ocean of the unconscious. 
Lost, lost, lost. I spent a long time trying to find my way out. Begging and pleading with psyche to give me a sign to help guide my way. I fought against currents and was swept up in rip tides and covered in oil slicks. I was exhausted and angry and determined to be somewhere different than where I was. 

And then one day I noticed that if I stopped swimming, I could float. And I could allow the ocean to hold me and I could trust that it was taking me to where I needed to go. Some days I would forget, and would find myself sinking and spluttering again. The word trust rose in me like a heartbeat – trust trust trust. I remembered a line from a poem by Hafiz: “The place where you are now, God has circled on a map for you.” Maybe my job is not to make the map or to be the compass, but to let myself be moved and guided by psyche. It’s a practice – the practice of staying in the in-between and being comfortable with the mystery. Comfort with the mystery does not mean the journey is comfortable – it means I am willing to take it.
So in my willingness, there are moments where I see the glitter and the champagne bubbles and enjoy my descent. There are also moments when I would rather be anywhere else, and my heart hurts and my body aches from fighting to both be somewhere different and also be where I am. I’m living the definition of heart all in and hands muddy. I am allowing myself to be in the chaos. I am trying to be compassionate toward myself around the stops and starts on the journey.
I want to say that I am finding my way back to myself, or my sense of direction, but I know that even that statement is me trying to place myself on a map that doesn’t exist. It doesn’t exist because I am creating it with every step I take. Joseph Campbell said “If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it's not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That's why it's your path.” In that way, I suppose I am a map maker.

And in every shaky, uncertain step, I am creating myself and my life and my story. I am transforming my dirt into gold. I am loving myself conscious and loving myself whole. I am living alchemy and individuating and traversing an inner wilderness. So much could be broken down and delved into around those processes but for now, I want to just hold it all as it is, inside me. 
It amazes me that all of this exists in me. An entire universe, within as it is without. May I continue spelunking with curiosity and compassion, and sharing it with others. Amen.

This is the map to your soul. It’s how you relate to it and build connection. You do this by befriending your soul and allowing it to guide you. Befriend your soul first by listening and allowing it to be with you. Then begin to talk to your soul. Ask it questions. Express your love and care for it. Ask it to show you it’s dark, raw parts. See these not as bad but as tender, wounded, scared, sad pieces- love them. Be gentle, cradle them. Honor your soul through ritual. Cherish it. Trust it. 
People come to me for maps because they have lost their inner compass- sense of direction, connection. They feel lost and sad and scared. I teach them to relate to their soul again and learn to listen and cultivate self love.
I am a a map maker because I have found my way from tetherlessness to deep connection with my soul and the earth time and time again. I listen see and feel deeply...I allow and trust my soul to move through me to others until others can listen to their own. 

In my dream she starts out small and timid on the mountain.

"Now might be a good time to go." 

"Now would be a good time to go."

"Now is the time to go."

"Now is the time." She finishes like a warrior, strong and deep and aware of her truth. Don't forget her. Honor your truth. Listen to your own wisdom. That's what she is telling me. Remember the rooted pelvis, the magenta soul, the running water that tells me to flow. Remember bear and her courage and the home in her fur. Remember deer and the power and grace like wildfire in her calm. Remember eagle and his vision. Remember the map maker, the soul guide. "I can feel the soil through you", Nicola told me. Remember mother pines and the cradle of the earth. Remember the mountain.

Write like your soul depends on it, because it does. Write when you are sucked dry to remember who you are and why you are here. Write to find your internal compass, the true north in your heart and soul. Have the courage to stay on your path. You are the map maker. The creator of the way. 

Now is the time to go. Now is the time. Like a heartbeat those words resound dark and deep and lush. Like newly unfurled leaves in the dewy dawn hours. Now is the time. Rise up rooted, fiercely. Stay on your path. Create your map. With pen, with paint, with the earth and ocean and stars. Soul navigation. Internal sonar like whale. Sending your song into the deep and listening for answers. 

And walk at dusk in the quiet woods or by the quiet sea. Feel the earth  beneath your feet and the peace in your belly. Breathe with the wind in the trees and the crashing of waves. Don't forget your soul, and don't forget your place. You are so guided and so loved. If you knew who walked beside you, you would never feel afraid.