Writings

Now I need space.

12/9/2022

I’ve extended too much of myself
And now I need space.
I need space

From all the people who need something from me.
Who take and take because I have so much to give.
I'm happy to give.
I'm happy.
They tell me I'm supposed to be happy.

You’re not giving me space.
Why am I not asking for more space?
When in my life did taking alone time mean giving up connection?
perhaps I can’t HELP IT but give a something to you.
Because I enjoy it. It brings me satisfaction.
Genuinely.
AND
Sometimes I don’t know how to not overdo the unlimited forms of gift-giving.
Sometimes in the moment, it feels right.
Or I rush past the sense of obligation. Familiar maternal patterns.
The conditioned transaction that repeats, “give yourself, receive love back.”

Sometimes I don’t know how to say:
“I need space.”
“I’m unavailable.”
“I don’t have the capacity to talk right now.”
“I’m feeling triggered.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m choosing my needs right now.”
“I don’t want to hurt you with my words or actions but I’m afraid I will.”

I fear how I will be perceived.
Selfish, bitchy, cruel, unloveable…
Though intimately, afraid of not being loved.

I want to chose me and trust in that, generous choice.
Trust that choosing me, will enliven me.
Simultaneously breathing life into all my exchanges.

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Tending to a garden teaches me that vibrant growth can happen without constant caretaking

8/8/2022

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I was watering my plants in the garden… mostly herbs. About to pick some tulsi holy basil but the little thing is so dry in her pot, that I have no choice but to get her water. While offering some hydration, I admire how tall my Mexican marigolds are getting, and imagine myself having a greenhouse with seed starts so I may one day, with bundles of marigolds at my disposal, to share and offer and play with.

I imagine myself cultivating them with friends, a team, a community of resources and time and energy to give to the experience. I imagine tending to many herbs and plants and flowers and some veggies too. I look across the way to see the coreopsis I planted in the spring, exploding with flowers. I was so concerned that the spot I planted her wouldn’t be deep enough for her roots, and it was shallow and covered in thick mulch, a substance I haven't worked with much.

I harvested flowers from her just last week, and the week before, and she is already exploding with more. I visualize myself picking the flowers, drying them, and having enough for a huge dye bath. I imagine myself growing rows and rows of dye plants and medicinal herbs and flowers. I imagine my community helping me. I imagine myself hosting gatherings and workshops and playshops and education series. I imagine an outdoor kitchen where all the crafting, cooking, creating can happen. I imagine a pond for swimming on hot summer days.

I wandered over to the passionflower vine. She is offering herself, but not vibrantly. I wonder if she needs more shade. She seems content caressing the lone grape vine that is offering her tendrils for shade and leaning.

I notice how dry the early summer vegetables are now that they are past. Perhaps we should pull them out. Do we want to save seeds? I would like to plant some late summer vegetables in those beds now. But I'm likely moving soon. Is it worth the effort?

I turn to my herb bed. She is intoxicatingly alive. The indigo shoots are facing the sun. The chamomile is out of this world! she is soooo much happier in this bed than in the dry undernourished bed I quickly tried to occupy one early summer day. The chamomile brought me to tears, along with the singing white sage: these are plants that don't need a lot of maintenance to thrive. what a relief, in a world that requires so much tending to, these few plants really shine without much caretaking.

Abundant watering can actually stop the roots from digging deeper into the soil, keeping the plants small, and safe. Where the lack of water can allow the roots to extend and shoot down to find nutrients, providing fuller growth. I've noticed how some plant babes do well when they are exposed to the dry hot heat, when they are not neatly planted in a container.

White sage, specifically, sorta wants to be ignored.
and perhaps not be ignored, but she speaks openly,
"Stop caretaking me, listen and see. I am independent."
I see her as interdependent with a seemingly harsh reality of masculinity
against a soft cooling, aromatic feminine.

I can find what I need. I travel through roots below me.
I need space to breathe
I'll move in my own way.
Trust me, I've been doing it for millennia.

White sage reminds me how
I am responsible for my own life.
so please don't smoother me with your endless watching.
Care for me by giving me room.
I can trust myself to grow where I am planted.
And if I need a new spot to thrive, I will make it known.
But please, listen for my silent words and emotional colorings
move me when I appear to be suffering.
use the fruits of my labor to burn away the letting go
or better yet, move with me.
I speak of Resilience.

I can provide a plant a place to rest, some community plants for support and protection, and a little extra water when the temps get dry. The plants know what to do. They offer me a whole lot of space to not have to worry if they're doing OK. I can step back, I can use my energy in other ways. She isn’t asking me to sacrifice, in fact, she is showing me that she can be well without too much intervention on my end. she knows what to do. she shows me that. What a gorgeous reflection to enjoy.

The garden is always offering…

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undressing summer

11/17/2021

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I wrote this in 2020 as we transitioned from summer to fall in Midcoast Maine. The intensity of the seasons is undeniable, especially in New England, where each season really ripens completely. It was my last autumn on the East before I moved out to California.

Undressing Summer

A garden bed undresses for fall’s arrival.
We examine one another before agreeing to the challenge.

Her bed, coated in spiny chestnut shells.
woven roots lay dormant below layers of skin.
Part lucious, part skeletal.

I cut, haul, and carry the brittle bones of summer’s body
To the pile of death under the blooming apple tree,
becoming life while I sleep.

I wouldn’t know the fullness of love
if I didn’t have to entwine with death in the aftermath.
This requires a steady hand
and breathing room.

It’s late August in Maine now.
My body feels strong,
carved by the original artist’s hands.
Her medium, the elements.
Her paintbrush, an instinct pulsing in my belly,
singing in my ears.

Dig, tug, pull, repeat.
Sorting out old wounds held inside her
Through my body.

These hands work.
Hands that know healing.
Hands that trace every pure line in her rawest, wildest form
Intimidating the hell out of me.
The artist takes me in the direction of her vision

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Last hugs from summer

9/13/2020

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summer is closing shop. I can feel it in the way the late summer sun touches my skin, how the mornings and evenings are slowly getting crisper, requiring a sweater to always be handy. Socks instead of barefeet, warming oats rather than morning smoothies. Late afternoon tropical thunderstorms and a clearing that reveals puffy ruby-colored clouded skies. The sun riding home to the hills earlier now. The anticipation of the final refreshing ocean swims.

In the gardens, I long to hold onto the passing height of summer. The days where the sun is so high in the sky, I lose my sense of time and place in the thick humidity. I miss learning to know the dirt, the plants, the bugs and pollinators. A welcomed post-work cold plunge to revive my bones. The way my soul is fed by the warmth of the sun penetrating my skin, and my barefeet share kisses with the earth.

Could feeling the autumnal shift be our personal late summer harvest? The body is magic. I can feel it when I wake earlier in the morning, warm tea and cooked fruits having me cosy. A pull for more evening cuddles and company. More writing, more art, giving my wild mind a place to unleash her active temperament.

It’s naturally occurring, and I don’t want to fight it. Though when I sit in the garden beds harvesting the final batches of Tulsi and watching the magnificent Greek mullein and queenly teasel go to seed… my heart yearns. Even though I slurped up summertime like a caterpillar to milkweed, moving my body to meet the earth’s daily rhythm, I’m still teary about saying goodbye. Transitions for me are usually challenging ♉︎, especially when it means saying goodbye to someone I love…
I know she will return, but I’ll never get back this moment in time, and it has me feeling into the spaces within where I could have surrendered more, invited in more presence and awakeness. Perhaps it will never be enough, no matter how thoroughly I savor the course of summer.

Part of me is anxiously awaiting cooler temps and thicker sweaters...but my California spirit aches for a forever summer. A late summer, to me, is like savoring the last bite of a rich and creamy dessert. I know the shift is inevitable, it’s already in motion. I ask myself, how will I be in relationship with her this year? Will I drive south for warmer weather weekends? Will I let my tears fall when I feel nostalgic? Will I let my imagination dance in the glowing pools that winter holds in her cave? Will I get swept up by the winds of the fall, floating in and out like the falling petals and rain and summer sun. Will I know how to keep my body strong and warm come darker days? Will I find the connections to keep me bright-eyed and engaged as the days contract and the nights expand?

I’ve spent nearly all spring and fall deepening my relationship with this life-giving plant world.
In the spring, she slowly started to open herself up to receive new life. We uncovered her restful beds and planted seeds as a vision for our future...
We prayed and labored, our hands offering and receiving healing with each dig and pull.
Our pains and joys indiscriminately held by her earthy body.
She reminded me how, with the right conditions, I can grow and let go.
Herbs like blue vervain, looking sad and abused from the outside, until one day she surprised me with full vibrancy!
The season turns yellow and dies back,
seeds are being saved and my mind tries to make sense of what life will be like as my lover goes away.

~Katie Ring

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why do we suffer alone?

6/5/2019

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Why do we suffer alone?

The last two days have been HARD. I felt acutely aware of my anxious thoughts, worries and concerns about future events, keeping me out of the present moment. And even though I could feel universe showing me something important, revealing parts of myself to myself, I still was unwilling and resistant to facing this. I avoided my daily practices, or I begrudgingly faced them. I moved into old tactics to self-soothe and keep me from facing myself.

self-sabotage toolkit:
-sleeping in
-avoiding phone calls
-crave-eating
-obsessive compulsive behaviors
-blaming the behaviour on something, like the moon
-online window shopping (it’s a weird non-committal, boredom habit)

I usually land on the avoidance end of the spectrum. Though I really do believe it’s because I need more support! I’d like to call on my community more, but I sometimes feel uncomfortable/ don’t always know for what/question how I'll be received/am I allowed to feel weakness? Maybe this is where faith comes in. I personally love when a friend asks me specifically for help. If we really genuinely support our brothers and sisters, I think we could hold our breath longer when we’re underwater. We might not sink next time we jump in the water and forget what to do down there. Could it be we’ve always been scared of the great open ocean? Though once we feel the glorious water and beautiful fishies and that our friends and family are right next to us, hanging out on the shore...do you get the metaphor?!

Ok so let's continue. I'm talking to my friend Sara (it took a lot to answer the phone and make a plan). She tells me she’s been in a funk these last two days too. AHH the relief of I’M NOT ALONE UNDER WATER!! But I'm sorry you are suffering too... let's help each other.

We both felt like lounging around and being snack-asaurs, but we knew we’d feel better getting outside and walking. Thank GOD we did. Even though I maybe felt 20-30% better, it was OK. I realize that sometimes I expect myself to jump from depressing lows to happiest highs. Like, if I’m down low, I shame myself for being down there. And that I should try to “fix” it with “healthy” techniques like pranayama or green drinks or working out.

I’m not saying one way is right or wrong, but I guess I’d like to keep at this whole balancing act thing. Maybe it’s my Libra moon (am I blaming the moon again?!) Either way, I like to think that if I'm in a funk, I know it will change in 2/2.5 days (again a moon cycle!) and I know I will get out of it and be onto new experiences. I learn a lot about this through my teachers. How graceful can we remain during the tough times? How do we enter and exit a challenge? and if we DO regress and turn to old destructive habits, how do we recover with a swiftness?

My phone buzzes, another dear sister is feeling off too! ahh the relief of suffering together.

Let us not bare this burden alone! Let us ask for help when we need it! Let us stop feeling guilty for asking for what we need, even if we don't really know what that is quite yet.

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working out the heart muscles

11/5/2018

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I've just landed back in Boston after a FULLY love-steeped weekend in San Diego, celebrating the marriage of my dearest friend Jamie, "J" and her husband David. I have known Jamie for over 10 years. The love that her and David share is so pure, so playful. When they look at one another, I swear they leave this physical plane and travel to fairytale fields of bliss. I really have never seen Jamie so happy, and this couple proves that love knows no boundaries.

Feeling inspired and perhaps a bit honey-moony after this bliss-y weekend, I realize that, if there is something we want, it is HERE for us. We are so good at coming up with excuses as to why we shouldn't begin something, or why we don't need XYZ, or how we're not qualified enough or old enough or smart enough to do it. All we need to do is BEGIN. All we need to do is question the thought and find out if it's real or make believe. All we need to do is share the WILD idea pounding in our chest with a supportive friend or encouraging mentor, and BEGIN. START. ACT.

I don't know about you, but MY mind is analytical and logical and I LOVE using my mind to solve problems.
On the other hand...
I spent this entire weekend filling my heart up up UP and away. I honestly feel like my heart has grown with the love shared by Jamie and David, and all the friends and family at the wedding last weekend. And with that, my contemplative mind is suddenly embracing my hearts' desires with far less question.
To show up
To deliver
To represent

Kind of like how the other week, it was my breath muscles that I was building.
This week, it was like my heart-strings were being strummed for the first time.

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breath is a muscle

10/22/2018

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We work out our physical body
through movement, repetition, discipline...
We strengthen our muscles.
We increase our endurance.
We boost our immunity.
We clear our mind.

Our breath has a body too.
Her body is less visible. Less, perhaps, noticed.
cared for
honored.
She's our humble partner,
our life-giver
Carrying us from moment to moment
until she parts ways with our physical body.

On every inhale, exhale...
we are flexing this breath muscle.
Just like our physical muscles,
the breath desires to feel strong
It wants to become more capable.
It wants to help us work through illness
tension, disease, pain.

And it shares the same capacity as our magnificent physical body!

Though this breath,
this sacred aliveness
Dare I say it may even be MORE powerful
than the physical body is capable of understanding
or the mind of knowing.
And because she is our forever partner
perhaps we take her for granted.
For it is not until we really tune into her rhythms
dancing with her, speaking with her in native tongue...
When we rediscover the magic within,
sparkling in delight
for it has been here all along
just waiting to be praised.

~Katie Ring

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Creation Energy

1/14/2018

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Creation energy

I hold back
My sacred energy

In lack.
not enough
not wanting to cause harm,
not wanting to consume
not wanting to contribute to a current system
when I could be creating.

Holding her back, tightly.
constraining her within a box
with squares and lines and edges...
Where are the flowing circles and spiraling flowers?
Where is the wind that blows gently, kissing the horizon?
Where are the loving strangers who wander in and out?
Or the creatures whom we forget to notice?

She burns.
I pick at her core,
forcing a natural process,
abusing this energy.
How do I not challenge you with love?
How do I not see your goodness?
Your existence is service.
I’ll keep you for greed and fear.

Then I learn,
for this moment.

Uncomfortably I share your presence with else.
Feeling into your depths,
falling
without your permission.
This gift I’ve been offered
and I choose to use it contain it.
though it does not really gift me in this form
but tragedy and hardship.

~Katie Ring
Awakenwithkatie.com

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Pranayama

8/10/2017

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Breath. Breathing. Something so familiar, yet so foreign.
She asks me to enter her.
She asks me to hold her deeply for a moment.
Then I release.
Together.
Letting her out as I let her in
As I need her
as she needs me.
Such respect for her being.
A state of true love,
All that we experience is one another’s presence.
She moves in and out of my being
Just as she always had.
But this time, I fully receive her.
I invite her into me as though we are all that has ever existed.
Come here. Come into me.
Fill my lungs. Open my heart. Let my being expand like yours.
Let us share in each other’s dance,
The one of rising up and falling down,
Over and over again without end.
What do you really feel like, my sweet breath?
Why do I treasure you and ignore you all at once?

By Katie Ring

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Fear of Her Womb

3/31/2017

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To be a woman…
For me, means getting uncomfortable
Often.
Remembering that I am capable.
I am ever-changing
yet I am always becoming
More of myself.
A form that is pure and capable.
A vision that is solid and divine.
A feeling that is safe and warm.

I was afraid of my last moon cycle
When I got her two weeks early.
I was immediately afraid of her power.
Her strength.
She came upon me without fear,
completely unapologetic
And unforgiving, like Kali ma
I didn’t trust her process this time,
For my state of being felt compromised
At the time.

I didn’t trust myself.
I didn’t feel open to receiving.
And therefore I didn’t honor my womb,
and the blood being shed.
She knew to move the excess heat from my body
so I could recover quickly and easily
from my sickness.

Grief. stagnation.
Rising up and out of my lungs to be cleared.
My womb pulsing like the universe in action
Clearing and moving energy within my depths.

Still I questioned her intentions
Because it seemed so out of ordinary
Because it looked so different than I had ever seen.
I questioned the faith I’ve been guided by.

This is God, she says.
Our sacred temple
Always adapting, ever evolving.
And how will I move through with her?
In the discomfort, of course.
For that is how I choose to learn.

~Katie Ring

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<<Previous

Now I need space.

Tending to a garden teaches me that vibrant growth can happen without constant caretaking

undressing summer

Last hugs from summer

why do we suffer alone?

working out the heart muscles

breath is a muscle

Creation Energy

Pranayama

Fear of Her Womb

Welcome to this space.

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