Work Less, Soul More

{photo by Melissa Frederick, model Margaret Thompson}

To the whisper. You know the one I speak of…

The one that makes no logical sense in your head.

Because…

It’s not supposed to.

Because…

It dwells in your body, a sacred seat for your womanly truth.

Your body.

One that may have been rejected by that lover long ago, or punished by the teacher that measured your worth through test taking skills. Perhaps it was used in exchange for cold, hard cash. Long hours of work that numbed its hot desire.

Your body.

Have you thanked Her lately? For feeling. For crying. For loving. For Her red, beating heart.

Your body.

Have you loved her lately? With long walks, longer naps, and nourishing foods.

Your body.

Have you trusted her lately?

Listen. To the whisper. She may tell you things like:

Work less. Soul more. Leave early. Skip the meeting. Drop the perfection. And go dance instead.

Play. Laugh. Grab a paintbrush and write on the wall. Skip down the street. STOP. And smell the roses that perfume each area of your life.

Stop knowing. Your pretty little head is tired of masterminding every detail and strategizing every angle. What if the Divine knew better? What if you trusted that? Say it with me:

“I give this moment, this hour, this day to the Divine. I am surrounded by an ocean of Her love. She leads me every step of the way. And I follow Her guidance.”

To the whisper. You know the one I speak of…

It’s wild and flippant and beckons you to dance to the rhythm of your wild nature. It feels milky and thick. Like you’re listening underwater.

It’s earthy and red. It’s badass and bold. It’s witchy and magical.

That’s the voice I invite all of us to hear. Again. Cuz it was there when you were a child.

This is just a coming home.