Past Life Regression

 Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.

- Carl Jung

 

As a hypnotherapist, one of my favorite sessions is doing past life regressions. Whether one believes in past lives or not, these sessions are always profound, insightful, and deeply healing. In my practice over the last fifteen years, I have done four dozen or so past life regressions. These have been for folks to understand current life patterns, such as overspending or overeating; to find forgiveness for their childhood abuser; or to release feelings of karmic debt from failed relationships. Personally, I have worked with other practitioners and have experienced three past lives (plus a womb regression). Here is the most recent one.

 

Intention: What would be beneficial for me now in my healing practice? Affirmation: I will say yes to giving my gift this lifetime.

  My colleague had me get comfortable on the massage table. We started with some deep breathing and a basic relaxation technique. Then she counted down from ten to one, with the instruction to discover in my mind's eye a safe, comfortable place to begin today's journey. I go into trance extremely easily and always find it quite pleasant. I felt very curious, full of wonder about what I might discover today.

I found myself imagining being in my backyard on a warm spring afternoon. The sun was shining, I could smell the jasmine, and both the cats were keeping me good company. I noticed the sounds of hummingbird wings, the neighbors off in the distance, and I felt very safe and secure. I moved a statue of Kuan Yin over to the power corner of the garden and took a moment to pay tribute to the goddess of healing and compassion. Kuan Yin is often depicted with her head tilted to one side, in order to hear the cries of suffering from humankind. I took a moment to reflect on all the deep listening I do. I prayed that they always felt my office to be a sanctuary to release their woes and to find peace.

Now the guide led me through a second countdown, and I felt as if I was traveling through time. It was like flipping through fifty years of National Geographics. I saw far-off places, an array of faces, all flashing before my eyes in quick succession. 

At zero, she had me simply look at my feet. Nex,t my clothes, then the surroundings, taking in the sights, the sounds, the smell. All the colors and textures, even the tastes. I knew the time of day, the season, even the year in incredible detail. I was in China, about the year 500 a.d, and it was not just late summer, but also that somehow I was running late.

I looked down at my tiny feet, conscious that I was wearing white pants and a blue shirt. At first, I felt genderless, then I was aware that I was a 13-year-old girl. My feet were hurting, as were my shoulders. I noticed the way the smooth wooden yoke fit across my neck, the way my hands balanced the buckets, which were filled not with water but an assortment of herbs and mushrooms. Walking back to the compound, mindful of the dust and the smell of my own sweat, I stopped at a small hut to gather up supplies.

Next, I moved through the compound. I went from room to room doing my honorable task for each of my aunties - taking off the tight bindings and bathing their feet with fresh spring water and herbs. The smell is incredible, the twisted toes forced into tiny shoes. Again and again, the admonishment to keep the secret. I am neither royal nor a peasant, so my feet are not as tightly bound. My role is to perpetuate this tradition. I struggle to find the sacred in the mundane. I cleanse and purify, applying herbs as salves and poultices, massaging calves to encourage blood flow before reapplying the restrictive bindings.

The practitioner had me fast-forward. Now I am married, and somehow I recognize my husband as my brother in modern life. Bunches of herbs dry in the rafters, and hang in pouches along the wall. I am well versed in herbs for infertility as well as for inducing menses, the only contraceptive of the time. I myself am infertile, and I feel cursed, yet blessed, that my husband remains by my side.

I see myself stirring up salves, unguents, and lotions. I continue to tend to the ladies and see babies being born between my hands. Sometimes they are stillborn, and I take their tiny bodies down to a special burial place at Kuan Yin's temple. These are my spirit children. I know my task is to guide their spirits in the most sacred of ways. And always, keep it secret, secret, secret.

Now the guide gently guides me to the moment of my death. I am forty years old, surrounded by nieces and nephews, always a favorite auntie. I pass quite peacefully, my devotees by my side, surrounded by clay jars sealed with beeswax with wild flowers pressed into them.

The practitioner counted me back to my safe space. Back in the garden, I realize this is where my former cats are buried in the yard. I have intense memories of reading Chinese Folktales as a kid, which I was fascinated by, and Mary Daly in college, her descriptions of Chinese foot binding. More images flash before my eyes, including washing both Jesus and Mary's feet with my hair during Reiki I and II. Then I see my paternal grandmother, Nona Thersa, her gnarled feet and discolored toenails. I briefly experienced the double foot surgery I went through when I was in sixth grade, my feet being deformed by too-tight ice-skates. My Mom had the same surgery at the same time, her feet messed up by wearing shoes much too small due to the poverty she lived in as a child in postwar Sweden. I flash on my brother and the fact that neither of us has biological children. Here was the “aha” moment of seeing (ancestral) patterns.

The practitioner counted me up to this dimension. We spent some time processing the session, then said our goodbyes. The session was so rich and qualitatively different from other hypnosis sessions, the amount of detail and deep knowing feeling is like nothing else I have ever experienced. I hope this sparks your own sense of curiosity and wonder.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder

 

As I write this, it is February, and I face my longest month of the year due to SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder. Hey, I'd rather be depressed for 28 days of the year than 365 like when I was a teenager. Usually doesn't hit hard until mid-month, so I'm setting up my ducks. I think about the Moomins who would fill their bellies with pine needles and hibernate through the long Nordic winter. I fill mine with St. John's Wort and organic Pop-Tarts, steamed spinach, and smoked salmon. I hunker down by the woodstove, feeling extremely grateful for the companionship of my sweetie and all the cats, each of us curled into our personal ball of introspection. I notice that my current clients all reflect the need for withdrawal. The Eight of Cups in the tarot indicates the need to retreat, renew, and rejuvenate.

I know California needs rain, but each sunny day feels like a reprieve, and I sit in the pale winter light trying to recharge my photoelectric batteries stored behind my third eye, the oh so important pineal gland. I notice I am sleeping a lot more and have just given up completely trying to go out in the evenings. I count the days and mark off the calendar like a prisoner trying to reach parole. Five days down, twenty-three to go…

I was first diagnosed with depression when I was fifteen years old, a label I have struggled with ever since. In the last couple of decades, I have boiled it down from year-round symptoms to February. The first of March has come to signify the beginning of Spring, not just on the earth but truly the rebirth of my psyche. Rather than resisting the dark of winter, I have created a way to move through. Much like knowing it is inevitable that I will get a cold or the flu each winter, I strive to bolster my immune system - physical and emotional. I accept this time much like accepting being premenstrual; however, there are ways to alleviate the symptoms and create better mental health.

According to the NIMH, Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) affects up to 9.7% of Americans. Also known as the Winter Blues, I have managed this personally by a combination of the following:

St. John's Wort - While it does not make me euphoric by any means, it gives me an even keel. It is most effective when taken at least one month before my regular symptoms appear in February.

Sleep - Hibernation is my friend. I sleep anywhere from nine to twelve hours, plus take naps during the wintertime. Way better than checking out on drugs, alcohol, or any other escape mechanism. Plus, I look so young with all that beauty rest.

Sunshine - There is a reason why I live in California. However, I remember when I was a kid living in rainy, cold Luxembourg, my parents bought a tanning lamp to give all of us a seasonal boost.

Vitamin D - Of course is naturally produced by being in the sun, but with global warming and polar vortex conditions, consider supplementing your regimen. Vitamin C is also our friend, boosting immunity.

Aromatherapy - Orange, bergamot, and lemon all uplift the spirits. Combine with a carrier oil and use as either a room spray or body spray. Check for allergies first.

Stop drinking alcohol - Quite simply, it is a depressant. Again, like taking herbs, it’s most effective if I stop drinking one to three months before I usually experience my winter blues.

Wear bright colors - I find myself reaching into the closet for the grey and black clothing, reflecting my inner landscape. Deliberately choosing to wear purples, reds, yellows, and other bright colors helps me "fake it until I make it."

Orgasm - I went to a workshop on tantra, and what I remember the most is to engage in self-pleasure, even if you do not feel like it at first. The hormones and neurotransmitters released are the same for happiness and feeling in love. Apparently, sex is better than valium.

Reiki/Massage - Intrinsic touch is crucial to human happiness, especially if you choose not to engage in the last tip.

Smile/Laugh - another "fake it till you make it" technique, I schedule a lot of lunches with colleagues and make an effort to hang out with my friends more, as being isolated simply leads to that spiral of depression. Watch funny movies/tv shows/internet sites, avoid the news/radio/Facebook, be super selective.

Hypnosis/Meditate - Taking the time to set your intentions, experiencing deep relaxation, letting go of stress, and simply allowing yourself to be present are soothing, healing, and comforting. Check out my YouTube video "A Simple Self-Hypnosis Technique" for more information.

Exercise - another way to release those feel-good endorphins, a twenty-minute walk can do wonders for your mood. On rainy days, I do the "Just Dance" program on the Wii. Shake it up!

Get a Job - Studies show that people who retire early tend to lead shorter lives. Why? Because often our work gives our lives meaning. There's a reason it's called an occupation - it keeps us occupied. Be okay with a complete new career change, even if you have "retired." Or consider volunteering, taking classes, or getting involved in local politics. After a period of isolation, reconnect with your community as a mentor.

Note: This is not meant to be a substitute for any medical or therapeutic advice. Do what is best for you, and please, create a support system for yourself. You deserve a healthy, happy life and can manage your emotions without having them manage you.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Priestess

Today’s early morning ritual

I am Raven

burner

of lavender


reader

of the cards

diviner

of the stars


eater

of cold pizza

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Healer's Manifesto

 

The Healer’s Manifesto

Breathe

Hold the Space

Ask Deep, Precise Questions

Listen and Reflect

Keep the Silence

Have Clarity in Your Vision

Have Wisdom in Your Words

See the Success

Breathe

Smile

Repeat

Rag Burning Ritual

 

Thirteen moons had passed since my last period. I contemplated the red bundle in the middle of the woodstove in its nest of kindling. For over a year, it had sat on my altar, a red linen ceremonial cloth from a menstruation ceremony now tied over a plethora of bandannas, glad rags, scraps of paper scribbled with names, dried lavender, and rosemary from the garden. 

It took time for the bundle to catch fire, and much longer for it to burn completely to ash. I let these cool, then scooped them into my little iron cauldron. I walked down to the church located at the center of the circles on the West Side of Santa Cruz and began to walk a labyrinth through the streets and neighborhood. I would stop at trees and sprinkle a pinch of ash and a blessing, slowly, deliberately, intentionally. Spiralling out from that holy ground, blessing my neighbors, my home, the ocean, I felt more and more release until I was as empty as my cauldron.

Now two years have passed, and I contemplate doing this ritual again, with the sweat-soaked rags from the ripped-up cotton sheets that have become my new favorite mopping tool. Simply setting the intention to be able to say, “This too has passed.”

What’s in your bundle? How will you release it? Remember to be mindful, be intentional, and be joyous.

Blessed be.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone}

Just I.C.E or Justice for Renee Nicole Good

 

In honor of Renee Nicole Good

Remember to Remember

 

In memory’s golden basket, drop a pearl for me. - Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie

You can boost your memory by "remembering" instead of forgetting. Every time we say, "Oh no, I forgot my keys!" We are actually affirming forgetting rather than what actually happened - you remembered (present tense) that you forgot something (past tense). Affirm the present moment, the remembering, and retrain your brain to say, “Wow, I just remembered my keys.”

Notice your memories replacing your eggs in your sacred womb space. There's a reason all these memories are coming up now. Mainly, because you can handle them. Emotionally, spiritually, you have the experience and maturity to review the past, and much like the oyster that coats the irritating grain of sand with the iridescence of the mother, it creates the pearls of wisdom. 

While going through the pause, I often found myself doing just that - pausing. Spacing out, blanking on names and words, forgetting what we were doing - a few more challenges to be sure. Fire up your brain. Practice mental exercises: crossword puzzles, Sudoku, logic games, and memory games. Use your fingers to keep lists for short-term memory. Use your phone for longer or long-term lists. Practice Beginner's Mind, connecting with a sense of wonder and innocence rather than confusion or doubt.

As we walked down to the beach, my daughter said, “Ok, Mom, I’m going to want you to remember something.”  I said, “Ok, honey, I’ll try to inscribe it into my little brain.” “Mom,” she said, a little exasperated, “It’s not your brain that’s little. It’s your bladder.”

Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone

F is for Family

 

F is for Family
Baby Katharine’s Alphabet Adventures

A special ABC to celebrate alternative, extended, blended, and birth families! 

Welcome to the world, Katharine,

How wonderful you will be!

Because you are the blossom,

Of the most amazing family tree!

Christmas in Tunisia

The horse's hooves thundered past me, kicking up ash and sparks from the roaring bonfire. A dozen jet black Arabian steeds, adorned with maroon leather saddles and bright festive pompoms, raced around again, as the audience ululated and drummed under the vast desert sky. Exhilarated, I caught a glimpse of my aunt’s ebony hair and gleaming teeth as she whizzed by, a blur of white thigh and proud black boot firmly in the stirrup.

Aunt Silvana reminds me of Lilith, Adam’s first wife. Since she would not lie down beneath him, Lilith was expelled from the Garden of Eden. First demonized as the untamed woman, Lilith is now known as the goddess of radical self-empowerment, according to astrologer Adama Sessay.

Silvana was the paragon of an independent woman living in Italy in the 60s. She only married once - her husband committed suicide by throwing himself out of a window just a couple of months after the wedding. Now ninety-three, living in a hospice facility outside of Milan, after traveling all over the world by herself, even though partially blind. She combined La Vita Dolce with La Vida Loca, racing her MGM around the dappled hillsides of Pozzol Groppo, drinking dry martinis, eating endless pasta, smoking cigarettes, and popping pills. Like Lilith, she lived fiercely, fully, and always on her own terms.

It had been a long, dusty bus ride from our plush hotel in Tunis to the full moon festival at the oasis. The bus had been crammed with people, packed with their kids, shopping, and other belongings, while muslim prayer music continuously wailed over the constant conversations, adding to the cacaphony.

Once there, we met a snake charmer who pulled a tongue-flicking cobra out of a woven basket. He casually draped the hooded serpent around my twelve-year-old neck, popped his red fez on my head, and laughed at my shocked face as he casually put his hot hand across my chest while tourists nonchalantly clicked their Kodaks. Nearby, women draped in saffron silks crouched by adobe ovens, busily kneading dough, their beaded bracelets jangling. These little loaves of bread were the only thing I’d eat, repulsed by the bowls of what my brother assured me was steaming camel hump meat.

The next day, we wandered around the bazaar, admiring the brass pots and copper trays, piles of oriental rugs, and enjoying the fragrances of cumin, cinnamon, and turmeric in the tangy air. Crowds of people jostled through the stalls, bartering furiously with the merchants, arms raised in the air, making magic gestures to conjure the right bargain. We entered a striped tent filled with an array of sparkling jewelry. I was entranced by a silver filigree ball that had a dangling Hamsa, the Hand of Fatimah. I had always loved jewelry, and the exquisite craftwork sang to me. I turned to ask my Dad if he would buy it for me.

“You like?” said a big bearded man in a cream robe, who pulled me over onto his lap. “How much for your daughter?” He asked my Dad, who just laughed. “I have many camels, many!” he insisted. As he squeezed me closer, I could smell his greasy skin. I pried myself off, somehow escaped the labyrinth of the market, and ran back to the hotel, furious.

“What’s wrong, my little monkey?” Aunt Silvana had found me brooding in the shade by the cool, quiet pool. As I poured out my rage, dismay, and disbelief, she simply held my hands, her dark brown eyes moist as she listened. “I’m glad you got away,” was all she said.

As we departed home to Luxembourg, there at the noisy airport, in a little souvenir kiosk, was the same Hamsa pendant on its fine silver chain. I counted out the last of my dinars, feeling smug and satisfied as I slipped the cool chain around my neck, filigree ball dangling on my chest, healing hand protecting my heart.

Just for Today

I let go of anger,

knowing I can gently express my inner needs.

I let go of worry,

choosing to trust that I have been heard.

I am deeply thankful

to a kind and benevolent universe.

I am focused on my work

in creative and productive ways.

I am kind and loving,

to myself and all beings.

(Adapted from the 5 principles of Reiki)

Vibrissae

 

Vibrissae
A Collection of Cats, Facts, and Whiskers

Inspired by the Santa Cruz Museum of Art And History's exhibit on local collectors, this book was a collaboration between a mother and daughter. Kayla Rose, a crazy cat lady at heart, has collected over a hundred cat whiskers that she found around the house over two decades from a medley of family pets. She wrote the poem to honor all the past, present, and future cats who bring joy into their lives. 

5.0 out of 5 stars Witty and Perceptive.

Kayla and Amber Rose are wise in the ways of cats. No subtlety escapes their eyes. Full of humor and insight, this small book reveals much in its short pages. Well worth the time.

Dream Box Joins the MAH’s New Permanent Exhibition: HERstory

I am thrilled to announce that my art piece, Dream Box, has been inaugurated in the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History's new permanent display, HERstory, A Celebration of the Important Women of Santa Cruz County—Past, Present, and Future, which highlights the important contributions that women and female-identifying individuals have made globally and locally. From Yaquenonsat to Angela Davis, Santa Cruz has long been a stronghold of women’s activism, creativity, and courage.

Inspired by the MAH’s beloved annual HERstory event, this addition to the MAH’s History Gallery features significant moments in women’s history through the lens of important Santa Cruz women and events. This interactive exhibition will include features on important women, such as:

• Yaquenonsat, a Native woman who in 1812 led the local indigenous resilience to colonization
• Heather Edney, who founded one of the earliest harm reduction programs in the United States in 1990
• Dr. Rebecca Hernandez (Mescalero/Warm Spring Apache and Mexican American), the first nominee and recipient of the annual HERstory Award in 2024, for her work as a Community Archivist and previous Director of the American Indian Resource Center at UC Santa Cruz.
• Bettina Aptheker, founder of UCSC’s Feminist Studies Program
• Madeline Aliah, a local trans femme teen poet. 

See all honorees and learn more about HERstory here!

I first started making shadow boxes after picking up some old spice racks at the flea market in the early nineties and wondering what to do with what I like to call my spiritual smegma - pebbles, crystals, special buttons, miniatures, all the collected minutiae of friends and relationships past. 

These curiosities became the foundation for my 2005 art show Sacred Spaces in Small Places: Shadow Boxes, Spirit Shelves, and Altar-Egos, which spoke to the need to incorporate the spiritual in both our daily lives and in the mundane world by transforming everyday items into altars for meditation, reflection, and rejuvenation. Throughout history and across various religious beliefs, altars have served as a means to focus intentions, honor ancestors, affirm values, and reaffirm our connection to the divine.

I made a dozen or so over the years, some with themes such as the story of Amateratsu and Uzume, some were specific for Love Magic, and the Dream Box was mostly comprised of the eclectic snippets, tokens, and ephemera that once decorated the register on at Herland. Most of them I gifted away, notably to Melissa Bernstein, who later gifted it to the MAH, where it was first a part of the Infinite Other exhibit in 2018-2019, and in Then & Now: LGBTQ+ Gathering Spaces in 2023.

What do I love most about the Dream Box? The incredible amount of detail and how salient it is for the time. Inluding:

• Political buttons ("My Goddess Can beat Up Your God") 
• Magazine cutouts ("Americans are ALTARING Their Lives" is my favorite)
• Fortune cookie fortunes - ("Your Mind is Your Greatest Asset") Herland was neighbors with the Mongolian Barbeque, and every day I would sweep up fortunes
• Objet-trouve: lost marbles, single earrings, orphaned keys, a lucky wooden nickel from Lovedog Tattoo

Inside this 3-D collage live Asian drag kings and radiant black queens, butches and femmes, Aztec goddesses and Feng Shui cures, Zen tarot cards, babes on unicyles, and an abundance of body positivism. Condom references in a time when safer sex was being fully embraced during the AIDS crisis. Stickers promoting same-sex marriage.

And the symbols! Pink triangles, labryses, Venus and double Venus, cowrie shells, salamanders, butterflies, hearts, cats, marijuana leaves, and rainbows aplenty. All of the tarot - chalice, blade, pentagram, flame, plus the wheel... A chorus of affirmations: "Double happiness"  and my personal favorite from G9 - "I will never underestimate my body's capacity for pleasure." Michelle Tea even sneaks in a cameo.

And at the heart of it all, nestled quietly among the glitter and the grit: a single pet rock, painted with one word—Hope.

Troll Bridge

 

The Backpack

It was a cool fall day as I crunched along the red and gold leaves. It was not that I was lost, but more at a loss. I knew where I had come from, but up ahead were the crossroads, and I’d need to make a decision. Wearily, I shrugged off my backpack and sank into the little wooden bench on the side of the pathway. Time to do inventory.

It was a dark blue Janson backpack, which had belonged to my daughter in high school. The zippers felt sticky as I began rummaging through, discovering all that I had been secretly carrying for years.

In the outside pocket was the little pack of white lies, crumpled Kleenex already pre-stained with crocodile tears.

In the side pocket were all the things that I had lost or pawned for drug money - my dad's little gold travel alarm clock, encased in green leather; my mom’s platinum wedding ring, both of my grandmother’s sets of pearls, countless single earrings.

The other side contained all the locked diaries, stale letters, and old emails that I should not have read, but felt compelled to know, much to bitter regret.

I reached into a center pocket, but sliced my fingers on the sharp blades of blame, those barbed shurikins flung out in anger. They were protecting tiny packages of grief, each beautifully wrapped and tied with silk ribbons; no need to get into them just yet.

As big as it was, the medical scale - the kind you hate stepping on when you go to the doctors, the nurse pushing the weight more and more to your growing dismay, no matter what the numbers actually say - came out easily with a resounding thud.

Then the snarled ball of jealousy, a sickening chartreuse, not worth untangling the infidelities, the betrayals, the love triangles, the ins and outs of nonmonogamy, all the bad breakups despite good intentions.

So much shame came tumbling out, as acrid as yellowed cat piss, while I tipped the backpack upside down. Memories of shoplifting the gold and jade pin in elementary school, stealing rolls of quarters from Sunshine Farms for laundry money when in college, and all the times of driving drunk.

I scraped out the mouldy helplessness, the ineffective thoughts and prayers, the absolute despair at the news each day, whether it be Ukraine, Gaza, or L.A.

Now, for the main large pocket - I lifted out the gilded crown of thorns, studded with blood-red rubies, and noticed how easily guilt lay on my head, keeping me frozen in victimhood or too busy being a martyr. Too busy feeling guilty to do anything of consequence.

By now, the trash can by the bench was overflowing, as I dumped asthma inhalers and Sudafed, vestiges of allergies and illness, as well as the albatross of a failed business that kept haunting my dreams. I let go of each of my masks, the fake mustaches and the clown shoes, all the props of feeling the imposter.

The blue canvas backpack felt light, filled now only with stories of survival, a few bad puns, and those precious packages of grief. With a sigh of relief, I unfolded my astrology chart as a new map, checked my moral compass, and knew that I was headed in the right direction.

The Adventures of Baby Moon

 

The Adventures of Baby Moon
Written and Illustrated by Nona Kayla

Join Claire de la Lune in the Adventures of Baby Moon. A charming illustrated children's book filled with pleasing watercolors, perfect for reading at storytime, bedtime, or any time. Claire discovers the seasons, connects with family and friends, and yes, even helps to save the day.

5.0 out of 5 stars Charming Story and Illustrations

Kayla Rose has crafted a charming little story-poem for young children, richly illustrated in her unique style. Fun to read and share.

Journey with the Goddess

 

Come and journey with the Goddess to learn poetry, mythology, and rituals for personal enrichment, transformation, and growth through 3 sessions of guided meditations. Choose from:

The Triple Goddesses of Love:

• Aphrodite: Goddess of Beauty, Self Love, and Self Care
• Freya: Goddess of Sexuality, Sensuality, and Integrity
• Amaterasu: Goddess of Happiness, Self-Esteem, and Joy

The Triple Goddesses of Abundance:

• Lakshmi: Goddess of Plenty, Prosperity, Opening to Flow
• Shakti: Goddess of Energy, Recharging, and Balancing
• Kuan Yin: Goddess of Compassion, Deep Listening, Release

The Triple Goddesses of Health:

• Isis: Goddess of Mothering, Birthing, and Nurturing 
• Baba Yaga: The Wild Woman, Creativity, Vitality
• Changing Woman: Celebration of Cycles and Transitions

The Triple Goddesses of Empowerment

• Innana: Embracing the Shadow, Reclaiming Wholeness
• Durga: Goddess of Good Boundaries, Respect, Sacred Circle of Self
• Pele: Goddess of Awakening, Awareness, Transforming Anger

The Buddy System Works!

Bring a friend for FREE to any Journey with the Goddess Lesson!

“I have had the pleasure of working with Kayla for over a year. I highly recommend her for all of the services she offers. She is extremely effective, professional, and intelligent. Her creative and compassionate style makes you feel comfortable and well taken care of.” -Beth Dorsey, L.Ac, Soquel, CA