know it



To begin …

Start to listen, now.  What is extraordinary appears in the spaces of deeper and more exquisite listening. The day will carry you to new inner and outer vistas.  You can prepare by turning up your willingness and carving out some quiet space for just laying on the floor, or slowly thawing spring earth, and, just, listen.


Notice any deeper askings that might be knocking on your heart. You don’t need to do anything, just notice. The day is a little of a hot air balloon and will carry you up where clarity lives.  But for now, you might want to tune your inner ears to that precious and next level knocking.


Give some love to the part of your that might feel nervous, resistant or skittery about engaging something brand new.  What tools do you have for clearing a resistant frequency?  Grid, tap, gratitude the heck out of it?  What are ten things about it that feel bright and zooming?  I find that doing gratitude for an experience will return me to the heart of the original urge and keep me at a level where I can accept the gifts of it with delight and true fun.


Ask your higher self to pave the way for the most delicious and productive and shiver fish yespleasemore experience ever.  Then just hold that tone and let the Universe blow you away with deep abiding joy and clarity.


To bring …


Adventure bag.  Things that want to go in there.  Trust your intuition about this.  If your heart says bring slinky dress, bring the damn thing.


Slinky dress.  Just kidding. I mean, more clothes than just the one pair.  You want in and out shoes. Versatile clothing and a jacket that’ll do it’s work.  What else?  Smell into the heart of adventure, trust what you hear. Pack accordingly.


Always, your joyful willingness, curiosity and unquenchable yes.

In great joy,

Cap’n Nat

For those of you who’ve sent your owls to me to confirm your spot, you’ll receive your mission details for meet up location on the evening of the 22nd.  Be ready to be ready.

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Late one night,  in a cabin way in the Northern Kingdom my young daughter woke screaming. Her arm was nearly black. And she was in the most extraordinary pain. As I touched her black throbbing arm, I almost passed out.  We soon found the culprit, an elastic that had worked its way up her arm.

But to this day I LOVE HOW SHE FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. No part of her was unclear that no circulation is not ok.

I’ve seen a recent trend in clients ( and, of course, in myself )  where a chronic vibration of anxiety creates this tourniquet of static, cutting off the flow of life to that area.

Wanna know if you have an anxiety tourniquet on an area of your life?  Check it:

  • do you feel like a nervous poop when you think about it?  
  • Is life moving weirdly and unsatisfyingly there?

Then you probably do. And….

I want you to stop being so fucking calm about it.  Chronic anxiety is not okay, not helpful and you don’t have to endure it anymore.

Anxiety is you using your focus to activate realities you don’t want and feeling powerless in the whole deal.  It literally cuts you off from all your intuitive urges, and the guidance that’s always coming through and so, in that area, you likely feel like a bit of a dunce and a lifelong sloth because you ain’t got no mojo flowing.

It’s nice to realize that removing that tourniquet of anxiety will release life force to flood that area again. And you’ll get to meet your fully funded, awake and playing like a boss self in this area.  You’ll get to crush out on Renewed and Sexypants You again.


It’s spring, and the sap is rising. Let it rise, darlings, let it rise.


nat joy o clock saves me

from a client this morning

Here’s how I play with and thru anxiety:


I went through a whole ninja training period where my sole aim was to get better at relaxing.  

I slowed way down, and really started to pay attention to what works for me. Hot long baths actually make me angry.  Laying all day on tropical beaches are something I would pay to avoid.  Rock hopping really hard, fast and bright into the surf, on the other hand, cleans me to my wind parts.  

Listen, really tune in.  And make room for a realer relationship with your own calm abiding self.

I collect tools, shamelessly, just like I’m not shy about snatching a beautiful shell or rock from the shore.  I harbor no romantic attachments to having happiness be easy or inevitable. It’s a craft and something that takes dedication and no small measure of wizardry.  

I greet new tools like the new best friends they are and incorporate them into my toolkit.  I make sure I have some uptodate tools for anxiety. Right now EFT, on the go nidra breathwork, and shifting my focus are really close friends to me.

I get ahead of the momentum. Joy o clock is a simple practice of getting up a little earlier than your life does and turning all of your gorgeous human attention, for a small period of time, on your joy, where she is, and how you can be closer and more steadily in love with each other.

It’s like a sexy date with your forever love Joy.  In that,  you inevitably discover those thoughts and worries that are creating that anxious static tourniquet that prevents all the joyful impulses from getting through to you.  And you deal with them, right there, and get a jump on them before they get a jump on you! Leverage that contrast yo!  Don’t let it leverage you.  As Abraham says, it’s easier to just step out of the way of the Mack truck that’s about to fall on you, then to try to clean up the mess if you don’t.

Happy chilling the eff out friends,

love, Natalie

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There’s a lot of hubbub out there on the waves about following your highest yes.  As I am a huge fan of both hubbub and waves, let’s DO THIS.


Bashar, the alien, says that the key to a happy life is to follow your highest excitement, period.  And while I trust the advice of aliens absolutely (when is the last time an alien steered you wrong?) it’s not that practically useful.

What the hooties does that mean or really look like?  In a life, so full of demands, inquiries, habits, responsibilities, not to mention ruts, grooves, and cycles, or all those people we’ve COMMITTED OUR LIVES TO, how do you find room to really follow your highest excitement?

And not just follow, but converse with, show up for, and maybe even dance a little nekkid with, all without dumping the apple cart of your beautiful life, on it’s little apple cart head?

If you were to look at your now life and tried to brain-scheme how to carve out some room for your real yes to thrive, you’d likely just lower your head in a quiet hopelessness.  Perhaps you’d start to slowly slam your skull against the desk, maybe you’d establish a little quiet rhythm, who knows? The point being, and Einstein fully agrees with me here, “The mind that creates the problem cannot create the solution.” You gotta heart ping your way there.

And by heart ping, I very much mean freckle friend your way there. Here’s the story from a Player’s Way participant, from her perspective,

“I remember in my twenties I was so free.  I had a ninja boyfriend and would sneak in through his roof gazebo and attack him in his bed.  I traded seashells for coffee on my way to work.  I’d take myself out for knitting and beer dates, alone at a bar, and feel so satisfied and easily perfect in myself, whatever I was or wasn’t doing.

One day I was taking a shower and realized I had a new freckle on my arm. I used to have 8 freckles, and I also had 8 friends at the time.  When I saw that new freckle, I knew instantly that I had a new friend, and that I had to meet them as soon as possible.  I leapt out of the shower, got dressed and jumped out the door and dashed down the street.  I started looking everywhere, thinking “is it you?  Is it you?”  

I didn’t even know what I was really looking for, I just knew I had to do this. Suddenly I realized I needed to go into this convenience store/bar.  I walked all around, looking, but found no one, no buzz. So I left, but walking away felt wrong, and even though I felt sure that none of the people I’d seen were it, I went back in.  As soon as I entered the door a man emerged from the back and our eyes locked.  We walked towards each other.  He seemed like he wanted to say something, I opened my mouth to speak, totally clueless about what I would say, then he said in a rush, “I have the strangest feeling that I have to tell you something but I have no idea what it is.”

Then we just started running. He reached out and grabbed my hand so we could run better together.  We were so alive. It sounds like something out of a movie when I say it.  We found our way to a park and spent all day talking and making art out of the things we found on the ground and in the trees and stones.”  

That friend went on to become an important player in the development of her artistic career, and hosted her first opening.  There was something unique and ineffable about their connection that she could simply never have thought her way to.  She had to freckle friend her way to him.


When we hear something on the earlier ping, it’s delicate, fresh and pure, like a raindrop before it’s traveled through a polluted atmosphere and dog pee snow to get to you.  I’m not saying that your cluttered mind is dog pee snow, I’m implying it is but not actually saying it.  The POINT is, it’s real super nice to encounter that drop in its purest form, because it’s full of the original power (and not dog pee).   

If we learn how to listen and respond to those cues at that delicate, intuitive, deeply connected, deeply listening level, our whole conversation with life becomes more authentic, stronger, more flexible and the life that blooms out of that conversation reflects that authenticity, strength and verve.

When you don’t hear the pinging in the early, outer heart brain, intuitive magic listening range, it’s a little like you’re talking to someone else while you’re driving, and your GPS is sending these very fine-tuned cues, but you’re focused on the other conversation and miss the cues to turn, which, at first, are coming quickly, as the GPS quickly reroutes its suggested route to accommodate your now position, but after a time, as you continue to not listen, you get farther and farther away and the clues are less bright and further apart, all the while, the number indicating how far away you are from your destination continues to grow.

When you begin to make some durn space and willingness to clearly hear the wisdom of your highest self, turn here, now turn, here, now! The actually shape and quality of your life begins to reflect the very timely, and very unique-to-you wisdom of your highest self, lighting up the path.

You turn when it’s time to turn, you speed up when it’s time for entering the pure whoosh, and slow down when it’s time for slownness, for care, for integration and deepening.  Your life begins to look like Your life, which is the deepest creative gift we have to give.

Now onto the How To Bits…

the only real valuable thing is intuition


stay long listening at the listening well

Are you REALLY okay with this ________?  Is it a ten? Is it ever gonna be? Are you fake yessing cuz you’re unwilling to make real room for all of you to bloom up into the wild tundra of your gorgeous life?  Try this simple thing, it works for all everythings: (really) listen, and adjust accordingly. Almost nothing kills intuitive living more than pretending you’re okay off your path. Except shame.

Shame definitely is worserer.


buy dem shameproof jammies

If humans can design tents and jammies that don’t burn, we can design lives that don’t indulge in the profound confusion of feeling shameful about who we are.

Important note: if you’re doing something you feel is wrong, and you feel bad about it, good, that’s an informative clue for you to cut that shit out. Don’t do anything that makes you feel shame.  High roads and all of that.

Beyond that, shame, as a response, spreads like briars and soon you’re more familiar with how to be ashamed, than how to enjoy and nourish real growth.

If you don’t have a shameproofing tool in your adventure bag, get one.  EFT, the Work and rampages of appreciation for self are nice places to begin a new conversation.


be willing to be wildly, astronomically misunderstood

When following intuitive urges, sometimes shit don’t make no sense no how. You’re hunkering into some primordial ooze, following the funhouse pathways of least resistance and dancing with the Cosmic Harmonies.  The mind can’t keep up, yours or theirs. Get okay with it.  Breathe into the calm abiding wisdom of your heart … over and over and over again.


keep your soul eyeballs out for freckle friends, everywhere, in everything

What if connection is a thousand times easier, more fun and more meaningful than we ever imagined?  What if ease and curiosity and self tenderness were all that was missing from profound shared joy?

O!  The primal beauty of a brand new possibility. Smile into the possibility of renewed ease and delight infiltrating all your relationships.


get photosynthetic

Lean towards joyous, light experiences like a kitchen plant that’s plastered it’s face leaves flat to the window to souse itself in every freaking drop of light the sun has to offer.

Lean with all your weight into joy and you’re well on your way to being whiskable.


become whiskable

At the heart of every dream is an essence, a distilled emotion or experience we are being called to for all the reasons we are.  When we say “the Universe has a better imagination than me” we’re just acknowledging how prettily we are by the lives we live, and also, beautifully limited.  But Source Energy is beautifully not contained, and beautifully without limits and that lends itself to some serious perspective on how best things might shake down.

So, get a little easy about how stuff shows up.  I like to aim in the direction of what is bright and stay flexy, listening and tuned in as I get closer, course correcting as I go.

Like a trash bag in a city wind, I get whisked away on the most extraordinary and bucket listy kinds of treasure days and dropped, heart first, into moments of astonishing beauty and wonderment.


kill the cat

Kill fake sureness.  Kill fake okayness.  Learn how to live a question and not settle for things that are not really answers. Trust your thirst.  Feed your greedy, curious heart what it needs to stay lusty and quaking.


Figure out how you storm

In a hurricane, there’s a quiet center where you can stand and watch wicked witches and lost cows whizzing by and not be smacked asunder by the chaos.

Find that spot. Stay in it as the storm moves. You’ll know you’re there because you can breathe.


Softly Wend

Linger, meander, moodle and soft shoe with life.

Stay tender, tender friend.  Soft and pliant like a cloud in God’s windy hands.


p.s. if you missed part one, here it is



I WANT to be the gal who navigates intuitively through her life like a star pirate captain, hearing bright new buzzes and fearlessly responding, weaving in and out of dangerous new galaxies in the nick of time.


But I don’t actually know how to do that, in almost all areas of my life.  


I am, in this moment, resisting the urge to google “how to live more intuitively” because that’s how much I don’t actually know how to live a life that way.  Do I KNOW that that’s the way to go about things?  Yesh, yesh I have read the memes. Yes I watch Super soul sunday. P.s. I am only managing not to google it because I made all my kids hide my devices and am writing longhand. #expert@selfcontrol    #zerohashtagskillz


It’s also fun to note that I discovered the depths of my befuddlement while teaching a class on the stuff.  Not awkward at all.  (in my defense, the urge to do the class was nearly overwhelming, and the generous participation of my students created the most downstream path to the clarity I was seeking).


I also didn’t know that was what I was really teaching. My mind thought it was guiding people through the framework of The Player’s Way.  My mind didn’t know that the player’s way is and always has been, the intuitive way. My heart knew all along, my heart has always known.

To be fair, I have led a pretty divinely led life, and encountered miracles almost daily since I was a wee teen.  But there was something new about the on purposeness of this event that thrilled me. A lot of my earlier experiences felt nearly out of control and wobbly with doubt, and barely letting it in kind of stuff.12188073_10154304546144202_8314630707216002505_o


From my journal: January 23rd, On the rocks at Kettle Cove

this morning I recognized a signal.  Not precisely that I have signals, and am connected to a much larger thing (duh), but I actually consciously recognized what it feels like, in real time, to appropriately and fully respond to the conversation a signal is inviting me into. Very similar to how it feels to respond to a hungry child, tugging at my leg in the kitchen wanting an apple, I listen, I feed, life moves forward, and the integrity and elasticity of the conversation remains intact.  


Simple jaunt along the shore that had turned rock climby.  The nearly always present choir of voices singing their various anthems in my head were in a relative harmony and my attention drifted more and more to the wind coming off the ferocious and  unrelentingly turquoise ocean. I felt freshly greedy to have more of that wind.  I wanted to take my jacket off. And let it have at me. Morely. Forever morely.


I note my state of being because I fidn it’s easier to hear and properly translate intuitive urges when you’re not crackling with anxiety.  


Then I heard it. Or more, felt it, an anxious feeling in my belly when I thot of taking a particular direction in my life, one that had been up for me for a week or so.  


And then the revolutionary thing happened: I said okay, we don’t go that way.


I’m just gonna listen.  Hungry child, apple.  Simple.


I’m hearing that, for whatever reason, this is a no-go right now.  I’m not going to give it another thought or explain my decision, not even to myself.  I’m gonna give the kid the apple and move on.  I’m gonna trust the system, trust the urges, trust my bright yesses and not get overly fascinated by my no’s, and generally trust my higher self leading me along the pathways that are best for me.

It’s easy to get really sweet on what is a no.  It feels irksome and the urges to give it a lot of attention can be nearly overwhelming.  When we set up our mental basecamp around a No, we locate our energy and the conversation of our life around the wrong question, and begin to drift and steer haphazardly, without that compass twang of being on path.  


I should note that the idea made every logical sense in the world. The new proposed business plan was both magical and logical AND an answer to some of my recent askings.  In other words, it should be a hell yes, but it made my tummy feel nervous in the not fun way, and every time I thought of moving ahead with it I got those cave walls falling in feeling that comes when I’m going in the wrong direction.  


In hindsight, I can see that if I had not acted on that intuitive intel, and had powered through and done it anyway, I would now be extricating myself, dramatically, from that situation now because the people who were involved have had a major change of life and are not ready to form that level of partnership.  


I see now that my higher self up ahead was putting out a long and lusciously far reaching beacon for me to see and follow.


Pause to feel the depths of my gratitude for that listening. What an extraordinary self kindness.  Thank you past self, thank you.


Why am I making such a big deal about this?  Because I think we’ve lost familiarity with the conversation our higher guidance is trying to have with our daily lives and only access that wisdom in sporadic moments of mediation or in retreats.   Our daily intuitive muscles have atrophied from self doubt and misuse.  


It all sounds so simple. And so obvious, like, what the hell else would you do?  But in practice, it can feel SO DIFFICULT to hear an inspired urge and act on it. It can feel like trying to become a barnacle or to win a hot air balloon race without a balloon, like, even a little red latex one, never mind a hot air one with a basket n’ shit.
We live such beautifully booming and full lives. There is SO much to compel our attention and we know that where our attention goes, so goes our life, so, it’s a radical act of self love to learn how to give more and more of our attention to the total conversation that these inspired urges are ultimately inviting us into. And not to do it half heartedly, but with total swag.  The way a playa might make it rain in a club or how Beyonce might do, well, everything she does. Boom. Doing it. Doing my Real Life, listening for urges, and following them. The end. Boomity boom boom.

Next up: How to actually work out those intuitive muscles via play



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I’m doing a course that requires people to really adventure each week. The kind that gets under your skin. The kind that takes you out of your skin. and leaves you a tad skinless on your own shores. A few of the students keep asking how to adventure. And after pushing it off, ‘I’m taking a stab at the fucking how. Tho, writing about skinless shores is not The Easy.

How to fucking adventure

0. It’s a little a lot like the advice for how one might learn to fly in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, meaning,

“You must learn how to throw yourself at the ground, and miss. Pick a nice day and try it. The first part is easy.”

1. In the movie Spanglish, the dad character played by Adam Sandler gently wakes up his kid with, “good morning. It’s not time to wake up. It’s not even time to think about waking up, but it’s time to think about thinking about it.” Pause for effect. “Are you thinking about it?”

You are the Adam Sandler dad character. Tiptoe on into your psyche-lair, fun house-dance land. Find your sleeping sloth teenager Fascination and gently whisper to her that it might be time to start thinkin’ about waking up.

2. Stop cleaning and tidying e’rr thing.

Take a stab at learning to abide and breathe through the part of you that simply will not, shall not! abide any unclosed gap, even if the gap isn’t ready to close, even if the question hasn’t been truly answered, even if the journey is not over, the closing note yet to sing out. There’s a level of presence of big picture lens wearing that helps here.

Also helpful: get friendly with primordial ooze. It is on the chaotic edges of the oceans where the vast majority of sea life teems, writhes and frothily abides. Don’t clean up what doesn’t want cleaning. Don’t unduly or prematurely tidy or you’ll become allergic to the chaos necessary to adventure.

This doesn’t mean going full slob, it means learning to make distinctions around when you are unnerved by a thriving ecosystem because you’re not up to speed with the boom whoosh or when something is truly broken or needs a clean up. The crux of the distinction for me lies in my emotional response, the first makes me feel uncomfortable and I just want to clean it away, where as a true urge to clean, mend, heal, restore order feels relieving, bettering.

Abraham asked a woman who was struggling over the mess in her house, “when is your house actually clean?” She replied. “When I’m all alone, when no one is there.” And she realized that the mess that she was so bothered by was actually the beautiful mess of a creative life in progress. Once she made peace with that, she could develop systems to keep her home clean without being emotionally triggered by the delicious primordial ooze of the creative process.

And, all honest lives are creative expressions of pure life force energy. As such, they require whatever the essential artist requires of her inner and outer studio: wild spaces, quiet places, and hidden aces. To keep her in inevitable proximity to the essential vitality.

3. Tigger the shit out of the impossibility. By its very nature, an adventure will carry you into chaos of impossibility, that’s what makes it an adventure: a direct encounter with your personal threshold in an area of your life in manner that allows you to explore and even push out that edge a little.

You can use the energy and details of that impossibility like a navigational star chart. The difficulty, impossible situations, and primordial oozes all bring a laser focus to the exact place you need to activate your powers. So useful, if you’re into that kind of thing.

At such an impasse you have to tune in about 200 clicks to be able to discern or invent a way around. You may find yourself stranded and have to dig very deep for sleeping and forgotten resources and skills and capacities. This is the moment when you may realize you are on an adventure and that you don’t want to call for help. You actually want to be the help.

4. Which brings me to my next bit, kick the stool out from under you. Or as Cortez and Alexander the Great did, burn your damn boats.

Here’s an example: while on the Travel By Yes mission, my friend asked if I wanted to bike to a cafe 5 miles away. We were traveling with 13 people in 3 large rigs, with little time for personal exploration, (which, is so effing important to me). At the time, my biking playground was closed. I had a bunch of ideas about why I wasn’t biker and didn’t like it. But my desire to be free was slightly louder than the voices telling me I couldn’t bike. So, I said yes, I didn’t know I was saying yes to the tiny tip of the iceberg of adventure that I could see, and that I would have to continually up and expand my yes to keep up with the bigness of the adventure as it carried me deeper, further than I’d ever been before.

Here’s how it went: Becca and I sailed out at dawn off the top of the mountain where we’d camped the night before in the rigs with the 13. I can still feel the exhilaration and absolute life force thrill of pulling out onto the open road for the first time. Especially because those first few miles took us down a very steep mountain downhill, crazy fast downhill, in and out of the first rays of sun dropping me back into the cool pine dense patches of shadow, me whizzing so fast, and absolutely that every thought left my head.

Then a hill that I had to climb appeared, and I instantly wanted nothing to do with it. I remembered clearly why I didn’t like biking. That uphill crap was for over achievers! But Becca the Butt was up ahead, clearly not stopping, clearly not struggling. Did I want her to leave me in the dust? I did not. And fuck going back up that nine mile sheer drop off of a cliff I’d just come down.

So forward, up the next Vermont mountain became my yes. And when I tuned in, I realized something neat and unexpected, my legs actually liked it. I mean, they REALLY liked what they were doing. The precious burning, the all in fucking going for it, like a corvette that’s been unused in a garage for a year just wants to rip it all the way out on the highway.

I also discovered that laziness was thinking was an absolute no go. The second I started thinking negatively, I started to lose steam whatever steam I had, immediately. This became increasingly important as the miles unfolded (it turned out to be TWENTY SIX miles actually. I have the best skanky lie-face bitch best friend ever) and I had long since completely drained whatever known batteries in my legs, and started operating on god knows what stuff. I was approaching the part of an adventure that gives it its street cred.

Do you know the part? If you’ve read this far, maybe you do. Maybe you’ve been ushered into an exquisite new corner of the secret garden of yourself on the wings of an adventure. I’m talking about the part of an adventure that steadily holds you over some chasm that you’ve been backing away from in your normal waking life, and here, now, in this heightened state you are suddenly in a situation where it’s inevitable that you are going to make it across, mostly becasue you have no other choice (I cannot emphasize the burning your boat thing enough, burn, baby, burn).

And so, with trembly legs and wobbly emotional swings like a bipolar rhino in heat and on angel dust, I had to find that part of me that I hadn’t seen in awhile, that secret sixth gear.

Those last “five” miles I rode in my newly rediscovered sixth gear, somewhere I’d not been in a long while, and never accessed biking. Here’s where the game of me using language to carry you the reader along falls apart. To say I was exhilirated and beyond my own yen is tiny. To say I was seeing as God sees, tasting everything, tasting the music of the wind and feeling how lusty and wild the sun is, pales in comparison with the fullness of that unforgivably alive state.

(Yeah I’m talking about how All-In, inevitable Burn Your Fucking Boats adventures fling you into the optimal state of being known as Flow, but I wanted to be a little complicated and storytelly so maybe you’d feel and not try to know it so much, and maybe even glean a taste for the possibility of it, maybe even remember a little of the essential lust to be all the way alive. Which is the beginning of every endeavor worth its salt.)

4. Bare the stark and haunting sudden wallop of loneliness and freezing isolation that comes when you disengage from the steady warm drizzle of distracting yourself, rather than engaging your life.

And by this I very much mean: I dare you to leave your fucking phone at home.

5. Expand and enliven your adventure repertoire. An adventure is determined by the state of being of the participants, not by the action. Last night, dancing on my roof and then painting translated dreams onto people’s arms and backs was not an adventure for me, but a pleasantry. I do it all the time. It was vivifying and delightful, but took me nowhere near my personal edge.

It’s more of an adventure for me to sit through a conversation with a lover and not run away even though I’m saying what’s really true for me and that terrifies me and makes my legs wobbly and knees nauseous. I know it’s an adventure because tho 99% of me wants to call a lifeline in to haul me out of the jungle, one very important percentage of me wants to break through into the secret sixth gear. Every lover has a secret sixth gear! What a fucking thot!

6. Explosive shit ass day got you down? Great! Use all that nutrient rich emotional volatility to launch yourself off on a really fucking great adventure. Next time you get into a tangle or a fuzzle and don’t know what to do with yourself, just walk out the door. Just how you are. Keep walking. Make up the rules that feel right to your as you go. They’re the right ones for right now.

May your fuss be a mighty wind to launch you into Mighty Adventuring. Don’t Netflix it away when you could use that magnificent and unresolved passion to blow your sails straight back.

7. Hang the fuck ON! When your soul is calling you towards adventure, the Universe responds, powerfully.

Adventures that feel so bright and right, feel so, because they are so.

Adventures concierge you into little known parts of yourself, make the connections, and help you really get to know the city of your secret sixth gear self. But you’ve got to participate by staying focused on the game at hand, tending your thoughts, renewing your yes as it deepens and leaning into the fun in your own unique way.

8. Keep your ear to the ground (you’re always listening for buffalos).

Depending on the nature of the adventure, your primary mode of moving through the adventure may depend entirely on your own fascination; in any given situation, there is always something a little more glowinger than other options.

That’s the right way. And the more woke up and dressed for success your own fascination is, the quicker you’ll be able to identify the glowingest bit and take timely action to engage it fully.

Adventuring well is like log rolling, if you stop before the river has carried you to the other side, you get immediately rolled. In extreme sports this can mean death or mega injury. In adventures of the heart, it might mean becoming inauthentic and misrepresenting yourself. Either way, the heart of the adventure begins to immediately die the moment you stop truly conversing with her.

9. Become fluent in the language of Heart of Adventure. It’s in the options for languages on the app Duo Lingo. Just kidding. Just kidding about being just kidding, how do I know? It probably is and I didn’t have the girl balls to expect it or go looking for it.

Beyond issues of girl balls and language acquisition, you’ve got to remember that the heart of adventure speaks a unique language as rare and endangered as a polar bear and that by becoming fluent in it we not only preserve an ancient and essential dialect, but add to it because in the moment you leap o’er that chasm, grow those wings, and do the impossible thing, some new and as yet nameless essentiality sails into being.

Embedded in the very sailing forth is the urge to name, to know, to own, to control, to be able access more fully. That urge awakens the fairies of language to shape and shadow, to light and set on fire the nameless impossibility we’ve just found, by gifting it a name.

10. Let life do you. Once when I was cramped and confused sexually, I followed some bright and inspired urges, which led me to an interesting relationship with a partner who loved S&M.

For a gorgeous span of sexual adventuring I recovered my inherent capacity to let go and let life do me.

It took me out of the part of my thinking apparatus that confusedly felt that it needed to organize, fix, support and do everything. The adventure gently and sexily walked me into a very receiving trusting, relaxedly passive and curious way of allowing life to inspire, lead, and astonish.


12188073_10154304546144202_8314630707216002505_oI have been successfully doing tiny playful habits for 10 days without failing, so … I’m pretty much an authority on the subject.

Ok, joke.  But I am PLAYING AROUND WITH HOW to turn my gorgeous human attention in the direction of those things, experiences,  and playgrounds that are more deeply meaningful, the things that if you don’t do them in this life, you-ain’t-gonna-be-okay kind of things.

I call those Dream Meridians.  You know you’re on one because the world lights itself on fire in response to the absolute joy you feel when you find a way to play on one.

I used to be a strong proponent of the do it whenever freeball approach,  but here’s the dealio — you’ve got to be IN RANGE of inspiration, consistently, if you’re going to rely on it as a catalyst for doing your good work.  And playing your good play. And yessing your yessiest yesses.  Here’s why I am no longer in the Freeballer Club.

  • inspiration is a wobbly mistress. She comes during peak moments of great joy or insight, after Burning Man or a meditation, or suddenly while doing dishes. You can’t rely on her showing up. As Jack London says, “You can’t rely on inspiration, you’ve got to go after it with a club.”  For me, that club has become setting up daily playful habits that get me in range of where inspiration lives.c
  • where we focus, we go.  Wherever you put your attention, your life follows.  You can choose to steadily put your attention on what matters to you most, on your Dream Meridians, and it’s okay. No one is going to hate you for developing discipline around your heart’s mission. I mean, they might, but as the sage Taylor Swift says, “haters gonna hate,” so, focus on what blooms you and sets your heart on fire.
  • what you focus on creates how you feel and what you get

Imagine a pinball machine with no flippers to keep the ball going where it needs to go. Not that fun.   Pretty sure there would be no pinball wizards anymore.

Like those useful flippermajiggies, your playful habits begin to determine the direction of your life.

Inspiration is a frequency, like anything else, it’s a state of being.  You achieve any state of being by directing your thoughts.  If you want to steadily enter a state of inspiration where your creative projects flourish, you’ve got to set up some habits that support that happening.


BUT HOW do you develop habits and playful rituals on your Dream Meridians?

Story time:

As a deeply creative child, I had no relationship with making on purpose habits.  I’d get into little nooks of time, seasons, where I’d do something because it pleased me, or served me in some way. Something would inevitably interrupt the cycle, often, something as simple as running out of ink and forgetting to replace it. Or a friend would visit for a week and when they left, I would forgot to return to the thing I was doing before.

And all of that was fine, but as I got more and more reflective on the whole shebang, I realized that my happiness levels and “success” or positive response from the world with which I was interacting directly correlated with those seasons where I was painting every morning, or adventuring and building fairy houses every afternoon for an entire summer.  Those seasons of direct engagement with my wild creative impulses held other doors open as well and things moved.

As an adult, a coach and a teacher of conscious play, the thing that throws off my emperor’s new groove, more than any other, is me falling behind on the things that bring me the most joy. Losing access to my playgrounds because I get distracted and let my attention go every which way, and while I’m mildly enjoying the distractions and scenery of a freeballin’ life, my deepest heart of hearts is a little grieving the deeply satisfying play I get access to when I steadily show up for a dream.

So I’m learning to play with habits.  Just like I play with parenting, with my own ideas of home, and with love.  Only, habits feel scary. Turning towards my own conversation with habits kind of lights my resistance on fire, like, I don’t want to be a dictator for anyone, especially me! Or, who am I to say what I should be doing?

Well, shit, who else would know? I can see that part of my wishy-washyness stems from self-doubt, doubt that I can actually know and breathe and live and take direction out of my own intuitions.  And in this busy, information rich world, I need habits that help me tune into my own intuition.

So, got that, right?   You can feel those areas that would be supported by consciously aligned habits, right? You feel better when you walk or run every day, that kind of stuff. But then comes in the New’s Year’s Resolution Syndrome where, in an inspired huff, you swear to change some part of yourself and to develop a new positive habit and you’re SO MOTIVATED in the moment of making that, and so focused on what you’re wanting to experience that for a few days, it actually works, and you keep up with it, and you feel GREAT about yourself and your life.  But then, something interrupts, and you skip it or lose the thread. And feel badly, but then, BACK ON, renewed vigor, I’m GONNA DO IT THIS TIME! You buckle in, determine harder. Motivate more, read more memes, and blogs.

But then you don’t do the thing again, and again and eventually you either convince yourself you didn’t really want to in the first place, or you just distract yourself from thinking about it cuz it’s too painful to feel like a failure.

And I have danced with this cycle on about every front in my life.  And the failure to change thing can be really damaging to your core vibration, to that calm and steady tone of “I love me. I’m perfect in my now and always becoming more.”

Which is why I’ve come to think of habit development as a way of holding certain vortexy doors open for my life to flow through and my Dream Meridians keep showing up.  And choosing not opening up other others cuz they’re less bright.


Not your father's consulting firm.

When you think about what’s really happening when you REALLY start playing, not just pretending to play or pass time until you get to go to sleep, or appease the child, but playing in a way that you’re greedy for, playing hard, playing into the deep kind of play.  When you play like that, imagine little Luke Skywalker, not-yet Jedi, going into the Dark Side Cave where the only way to succeed was to come to terms with his elemental self.

Or Atreyu, in The Neverending Story, who had to pass between the Phoenixes with the laser eyeballs that would burn him to death if he were anything but the purest form of himself in the Never Ending Story.

Play is your own personal Laser Eyeballs Phoenix, because it focuses, distracts, and demands the full attention of the player, and prevents people from easily going back to their everyday concerns, so that while they’re playing and focused on the play, they’re clearer than normal, and become more elemental. 

The more they play this way, the more they develop a joyful stamina at being clear, being inspired, and being very happy.  The more that familiarity extends, the braver they get about identifying with that state of being, that clear, funded and very powerful state of being.

Once we begin to deeply know ourselves in this state, and through the lens of play, we say different things because we’re looking at different things, and we’re seeing them through a clear lens. What you see from a calm and happy state of being is very different from what you might say in a confused or despairing state.


When you start to really play with different aspects of life more, you’ll discover that you’re more clear minded, and that happiness just comes easier, so it doesn’t actually take so much courage to express your true feelings.

In fact, deep, shared play almost demands that you say what is true for you, because lies don’t work, aren’t as fun and take up valuable brainspace to keep up with.  The play space falls apart. Lies, or half-truths disintegrate the  structure of the play.

By requiring so much honesty, both with yourself and with others, play can be used as a tool to keep it real. Time and time again, play will serve you by falling apart when you try to leave what’s really true for you behind.

Play gives you the courage to live a life true to yourself, not the life others expect.

I love courage! It’s the sudden blazing spark within a seemingly dead lump of coal, catalyzing decision and movement. I keep matches in the freezer for a similar reason: to feel the fullest range of possible experience; from frozen to fire in a searing instant.

Acts of courage kind of highlight this hot n’ cold range because when you are in a space to be courageous, it means you feel there is some leapin’ to be done.  We’re not courageous about putting oatmeal in the bowl.

But don’t have to cold call courage. Even considering the idea of being a little courageous is a way of bouncing up, of  beginning to play with whatever ain’t movin’.

Have you ever tried to play in a relationship where the person kept all these old stories of you and you had to work so hard to explain who you’ve become? Remember how unfun that is? We get into that kind of relationship with ourselves when we stop the courageous act that is playing with our own lives. And sometimes it takes a bit of courage to renew this relationship.


Play helps you get courage. It not only relaxes and focuses, but also calls in clarity and willingness to deeply engage, just like meditation, deep acts of artistic creation, yoga, or extreme sports.

In the play, we discover how it focuses our attention on the good feelings associated with whatever we are playing in.  Potters are deeply engaged with the clay’s journey, dancers, on the movement, music, and the poetry between, writers, on the symphony of words and the inspired spark conducting the parade into meaning, mathematicians, on the connections and lay lines between patterns, yogis, on the presence between an atom of breath and a molecule of pure life force as found in the body temple, and so on.

Operating in this deep state of engagement affords the player the benefit of being unsplit and all here.  The deeper and more fully you give yourself over to the play, the less bandwidth you have to maintain falseness.

In that pared-down space, you’re all clear, and able to flow freely with the Great Creative Life Force, which offers you vantage and cleans your filter.  And with your lens clean, it’s very easy to be courageous about playing in life the way you most want to.  It’s those states of profound clarity where all acts of “courage” originate.

A good game or a deep immersion into a creative project plunges you into the pared-down heart of what it means to be a You. The play experience is a cozy raft, suspending you in a pool composed entirely of those good feelings that you spend your whole life wanting more of: engagement, discovery, connection, inspiration, delight, freedom, pure joy … and the entire span of time that you spend in a playful mood, you get to lounge around in those bucket listy feelings. You could say that choosing to play with something is opening a magic portal into your bucket list.

The reason you put all that stuff onto that list is so you could feel the kind of feelings you feel when you’re truly playing.  It’s a short cut.

The more fully we give ourselves over to a play experience, the more we’re able to experience that timeless absolute beingness, and the more your courage to be yourself steadies out. These play pockets let you experience yourself clear and new, which helps you keep up to date with your most elemental and aligned self.

But the secret of having the courage it takes to be true to yourself, is in knowing where your joy lives, because what you are courageous towards shapes your life.

The knowledge of your own joy is so valuable that if this were a heist movie and the team of sexy and slightly ne’er-do-well thieves were scheming to steal the most valuable thing in your vault, they’d be coming after your joy, and your ability to value and grow it true. They’d steal your joy system and sell it for a gadzillion dollars to some lonely French prince who never figured it out and is willing to pay any price for a functioning joy system, one where joy is valued, fed its proper food and is thriving and blooming the flowers and fruits that are its nature.


Real joy, the joy it takes courage to grow and play out of, locates you inside the fountain that flows from within you, and is radically personal to the player. What seems fun and joyful to you is a unique hailing, calling you ever deeper into a life experience that will be personally thrilling to you, and locate you more exquisitely on your path.

So you see, joy is the most essentialist, most crucial ingredient in the soup called Successful You, and I don’t mean wearing-pinstripes-on-Wall-Street kind of successful, but live a life that blooms you and kisses you back kind of joy. In that life,   you consistently access courageous in a way that leaves you feeling actively proud excited for tomorrow.

That’s why the lonely French prince wants it.

FullSizeRender (39)

FullSizeRender (39)My friend Camerado is so comprehensively and astoundingly good at giving gifts that it actually freaks me out a little.  The depths of his joy in the giving, the resonance and raw poetry of each gift, how he matches it to the tender of their soul’s perfect laughing. I’m serious. It’s a little unsettling.  In the way a scenic vista can unhinge you, when you come face to face with some absolute and unrelenting beauty, and you feel your little ol’ heart bursting open, biggering, heaving over into the original lightning.

He gives gifts that way.  That’s why he’s named Camerado.

But I don’t.

I realized this the other day when I tried to go Christmas shopping and felt like a muggle ramming my head against Platform 9 and 3/4.  Ouch.  I found no real threads to work with: sewing kit empty. You know the threads I’m talking about, when you can feel a buzz on something, and have at least a smidgen of inspiration to go on, like when you’re a Basset Hound with at least one whiff on the wind.  Some kind of real inspiration to lean into, some inkling of a truer direction.

Yeah, I had none of that.  For even those people I love ferociously and know very very well.  No wind whiffs.

So I started to talk. With gifts. With giving. With receiving.  With playing with it all.  Come on into the conversation:


It’s a vibe thang, yo

I used to be really great at receiving.  I remember sitting outside the door to the living room on Christmas morning, quaking with pure anticipation to receive all that was coming my way. No tangle, just, fuck yeah, I deserve scooters and bikes and whatever else Santa has up his sleeve.  If there was a whale under that tree, I’d deserve the whale.  There was no sense of needing to repay, or keep a balance sheet.  I just opened the hinges and in poured all sorts of neato things and I delighted in the receipt of and joy they gave me.

When I became a moneyed adult all that stopped.  Each gift came with a mental loop, What does this mean?  What do I now owe?  Are the scales still in balance?  You know what scales I’m talking about.  I put whales on the scales and it sent joy flying off into the I Can’t Find It Lands.

I’d picked up on a familiar paradigm of: I give to you, now you give to me, even tho it doesn’t make a lick of sense because what enters our life comes in response to the vibration we’re emitting.  Not because of some obligatory contract with other humans.

So, as an initial step of deepening in my own conversation with gifts, I decided to clean up my own ability to have fun let things flow into my life in fun ways, to be way way way okay with getting gifts.  In other words, I decided to believe in Santa again.

Law of Attraction can get a little diffuse and sexy, so why not energize the notion a bit to have more fun with it?  We live in a universe where that which is like unto itself is drawn.  So, we’re gonna get what we emit, vibrationally. But how much more fun is it to imagine Santa bringing it to you?  And elves?  I vote yes on a jolly, benevolent and all powerful force of good in the universe that just wants to give me super cool shit.

It’s a short cut, I think, through a lot of confused thinking, to just go join those clear hearted children, huddled outside the living room, with dawn rising. See them there? Laughing and joking with each other, wrapped in robes and softee blankies, so happy to be alive, and occasionally wrestling the impatient one to the ground who wants to wake the parents because they’re so dashingly and purely excited about all the beautiful things surely coming their way.


Few gifts fit in boxes, really great ones evince the notion of a box


The other night a strange call came into my number.  Stranger still, I answered it.  On the other end was a woman I’d known briefly but deeply and whom I’d tried to help but had felt like I’d failed miserably and hadn’t heard from since.  She’d called to tell me that I’d saved her life and her child’s life.  

That all that “failing” help was actually seeds that had caught on the frozen tundra of her and had seeped down into the earth of her as she began to thaw. The seeds pushed good strong roots of joy and playful habits into her life and she was calling me from her beautiful new garden.  I listened to hear describing the flowers of her now. And got chillbumps. She couldn’t stop thanking me.  The gift I gave would never know a box. The gift of her inviting me into her precious garden nourished my heart like a thousand fairy honeys.

Most gifts worth their salt are boxless.


Gifts go in the direction of the question beneath them


Camerado had some really pretty questions purring at the heart of his gift giving.  He knows that gift giving is part of a larger conversation of love.  It’s another way to feel the cool sands of love in your hands, or to make sand castles together.  Gifts offer a way to savor, honor, delight in and celebrate others.  You can also enjoy the fun of contributing to another’s thriving.  

Questions Camerado doesn’t ask (questions that make you small):

  • how can i get this over with?
  • what is good enough that I pass under the wire unnoticed?

Questions in Camerado’s heart (questions that grow big roots):

  • what is Light in this person and how can I support or grow that Light?
  • What would make their inner smile jump out their face adn rainbow out into the world?
  • What boxless gifts are in me that want to come home in the arms of this precious bean?

What are the questions inside your gifts, darlings?

“o maybe this is silly,

To give you on this night;
But giving away a part of me,
Just makes me feel so right.
So this year I will give to you,
The words that fill my soul;
I hope that they will bless you,
And may your life be whole.” Gary R. Ferris

Beautiful sprout, tender darling…

I wish you every sweetness this Christmas.

I hope you find yourself so present that every wind nourishes and each laugh shivers you anew.  May every morsel in your mouth echo to pleasures in the distant past and exquisite pleasures to come.  May you find yourself in love with your own existence in a brand new way.

May joy reign supreme.

All my love,

Cap’n NattFullSizeRender (30)


One of the toughest places in my own life to learn how to TRULY play with, is relationships: there’s too many moving pieces. I can play with a basketball for ages and it’ll never interrupt me and tell me it’s all my fault.

It’s so so so so so so easy to get looped into judgement and anger and self righteous blamey thinking loops that absolutely lock you out of any kind of real play together.  Luckily, life keeps bringing exactly what I need.  Here’s a recent tale of playing my way through that cluster of confusion, and staying in the heart of the play as it moved.


“Fatman don’t want you to see her.” His sister tells me, frankly.  Even though Fatman continues to stand within precise french fry distance to me, even though he’s covering his eyes with interlaced backwards fingers so his cold little knuckles are pressed to his eyes while he chews the single warm fry I just gave him.


Fatman isn’t yet two. His sister isn’t yet caring about pronouns, or, perhaps, gender, I can’t tell which. She calls my son her sister several times in the course of the play.  I watch the baby’s jaw for signs of slowing, because we’ve been at this for several minutes and I know that when the last swallow happens, he’s going to burst open his little protective finger curtain and find me with those bright dark eyes.  I try to play a little peek a boo, but he just grunts.


I prepare his next ketchup-dipped fry and when I hand it to him, the temperature of his skin freaks me out. Both he and his sister are wearing thin T-shirts and no shoes.  It’s cold enough that I have to work to not shiver in my sweatshirt and jacket.


Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the mother, playing basketball on the court, in a very warm looking hoodie. WTF?  Wary of the Prime Directive I decide to give my son’s jacket to which ever of them will let me slip it over their damn hat.  Fatman covers his eyes and runs blindly away so I give it to Katyadee.  My son never liked the damn thing anyway. But when I slip it over her cocoa skin, and it settles perfectly onto her body, she stops shivering and smiles up at me.


I catch my breath a little.  I get the whole “helper’s high” thing. Damn it feels good to help another human, even in a small way.  Fatman blindly meanders back towards the smell of fries and bumps into my knees.  He still doesn’t remove his hands because in Fatman’s world, if he can’t see me, I can’t see him.


Last night Graham told me, with a voice, jaunty with rebellion, that he isn’t ready to stop being angry at his mother.  I’ve just met this man, and realize that he’s offering some piece of himself up, not as an immovable thing, like, hey, there’s some Sphynx’s here, they’re a pretty cool part of my interior landscape and occasional shoot things with their laser eyeballs, but more as an invitation to peer together at what has long seemed to him to be a big ol’ fucking locked door.


A little later, his voice changes when he tells me that when he tries to discover why he’s angry, his mind tells him it’s because “she didn’t see me.”  I can feel this beautiful adult man’s struggle to give any kind of permission to even near this door.


Yet here we are, several sheets in and still not eating oysters so I ask him, “Mum didn’t see me. Is it true?”  I know that this style of inquiry can be a tad heavy, especially when you’re kind of drunk and on a kind of date, but when the fuck isn’t it time for deeper truthing?  I can’t totally tell what he thinks of this bold move because he bursts out laughing and seems as surprised by his response as I am.  He gasps out,


“No.  No, it isn’t true.”  


Fatman calls me back to him by grabbing both my hands with his freezing little brown hands. Apparently I’m horribly out of time in our french fry dance.  He shivers as he waits.  The mother should take better care of her children. The thought bursts onto the scene, hot and frothy with self righteous anger.  


Is it true?


I’m alone in a late fall woods, there are barely any leaves on the trees. I’m probably ten and I’m as far away from anyone who might know my name or try to care for me as I can manage.  I’ve covered my face and bare arms and legs with charcoal lines.  I didn’t know about war paint or ritual then, not with my mind, but I think a deeper part of me recognized the urge to create a bridge into a deeper way of being in the world.  With each line I drew, I was freeing myself from the tangled homelife behind me.  I should have been shivering, but wasn’t, not even slightly.


I was on a quest.  I’d been writing stories about fairies for years and was now following their trail.  I revel in how fully open I can allow my senses to be here.  There is no horrible musics of anger here, just things coming and going, waking and dying, and living in the simple good way of forest creatures.  I love how careless I can be here, how I can indulge my enormous curiosity and hunger for discovery.


The adult me now knows how pivotal those “parenting gaps” were to the poet, warrior, teacher, dancer, lover woman I’ve become. I remember lying beneath a vine full with dark red winter berries, on a carpet of yellow fallen leaves and waiting for the first berry to fall. I waited all day and one still didn’t fall. That’s poet training.  I got wildly and absolutely lost and had to get clear enough on the way in in inside to find my way out. I fell through ice and had to warm myself enough using breath to walk out.  


That wild, unsafe place was the very training ground I needed to become the me I so delight in being.


Should my parents have kept better tabs on me?  I walk through a life of people who are terrified of their own desires and have virtually no relationship with their own wonderment. Fuck no they shouldn’t have. Sweet goodness, what perfect for me parents. Thank you mama and papa.  


Now Fatman has both his hands in my warmer hands.  What a facey. He has most of an entire french fry stuck in the snot mask on the lower half of his beautiful face. I tried to wipe it but he’s having none of that.  For a moment he meets my gaze, full on.  And there’s this narrow window where Old Soul in a New Baby finds the same in me. I feel the tides of self righteous assurance begin to shift in me.


Fatman shouldn’t be cold right now. Is that true?  His fiercely alive gaze dares me to say it’s true.


He slips one hand off mine and reaches towards the fries, not to take one, oh no, that would break our dance, but to indicate the time for gazing is done and the time for the next french fry is indeed upon us.  I test this and try to hand him the whole beach fry basket but he shakes his head strongly, and grunts, “nuh nuh nuh.”  His sister interprets,


“Fatman don’t want that.”  She points.  “He only want the next fry.”


She looks so warm and pretty in that teal warmie that I can hardly stand it. It’s all suddenly just a tad too fucking much.  I feel that slidey, falling off the cliff deep clarity haze coming on.


I reach into select the next fry.


The things, that I realize have been little anxious burrs in me, begin to float in.


I don’t have to know how to handle all the clients coming in, just the next one.


I dip the fry in ketchup. Not too much ketchup.


I don’t have to know Everything about All that I want in a Lover, it’s okay to just know what I want right now.  


I hand the fry to Fatman who doesn’t reach out with his hand this time, but lets me put it into his mouth. O….


It’s okay to love the wanting. To be simple and close and appreciating the beauty of pure wanting, even, and oh, sweet Jesus, ESPECIALLY all the pretty pretty winds inside an unfulfilled desire.


I can palpably feel the current of life force whirring within each of these wantings …


to be warm …


to have all the babies warm and with shoes …


to have men love and forgive their mamas so that they may more fully love and forgive themselves …


to be good and somehow goodly available to love and partnership


to learn how to come home after a life of gypsy dancing through inner and outer geographies


And it warms me to love the wanting again, to renew my love for the precious and necessary shivering of more life breaking through the forever waking soil of my now.