When I’m told I’m done with something, I’ve learned to listen.

Years ago I was told by my Spirit team to stop using what I was seeing and working with in my own body as content. So I did. I switched to teaching more directly from the Realms themselves.

A few months ago, I was told I was done with teaching.

That one landed like an anvil in my stomach because I didn't know what to do if I wasn't directly teaching parts of the body and specifics of the Realms, and wasn't speaking from my inner world experience. What was left?!

Then I realized I've slowly been growing into what is ready to emerge, and it came through creating the Mythosomatic Sanctuary - this space where the stories in our body guide our exploration, connect us to one another, and show us our individuality.

I’m arriving in my storytelling era.

But not storytelling like you’ve come to know it in marketing. Not where I’m the content, or my clients are the lesson.

Stories told directly from the collective body. Stories that arrive as living things. Stories that thread their way through the past, the future, and the human experience.

Over the next few weeks the look of these emails will shift to match what's emerging, but you've already seen previews of it in May and June with the Somatic Weather forecasts.

So without further ado, I give you your first weekly mythic transmission from the collective body!

What will you meet in the stillness?

As I close my eyes and ask what story needs to be told today, I’m immediately drawn into the stillness of a single cell. I feel the pull down and in, see the deep darkness with the highlight of purple energy around the outside, and see what appears to be a young woman laying bound and gagged inside of the cell.

She appears almost like a Disney princess or one out of a fairytale. Her blonde hair flows around her like she’s falling down in the ocean, while her face rests serenely, if unconsciously. Her blueish-purple dress flows gently with the movement of the water.

It’s immediately clear what I’m seeing is a societal construct that has been embedded and embodied for so long we’ve forgotten about it. Or for some of us, maybe we are it. The archetype of the woman who’s been silenced and pushed down, pushed away, banished to the recesses of every cell.

For others, it’s something we react to or fight against. We can’t rest because rest feels like collapse, feels like giving up, feels like letting them win. Feels like…death.

The story I’m being asked to release and reclaim today is one of stillness, and it’s one we learn and work with in our intracellular fluids.

This story often overlaps with freeze, fawn, and flop in the nervous system.

I’m called to sit beside this archetype or caricature, and slowly, so slowly, I lift her head into my lap. I begin to stroke her hair with my hand and hum a tune from the depths of my belly. I can see the resonance of the hum reverberate into the fluid surrounding us, very subtly vibrating within the medium. The vibrations begin to land on the outer surface of her skin.

All at once I see a multitude of responses occur.

She startles awake so violently, her eyes glowing red and transforms into a tiger, leaping out of the cell.

She rolls over and curls into me, letting the vibration and the humming soothe her while she sobs.

She stretches, begins to yawn, and feels the suffocation of being submerged in the water. Her lungs protest, she bolts for the surface in order to gasp in oxygen and be bathed in the light of day for the first time in generations.

She turns heavier and begins to decay in my lap. No longer am I stroking her hair, but feeling her collapse into herself, only a spark of purple remains as it passes through the cell wall and moves into circulation in the veins. It’s destination is the lungs—to be breathed out in spirit.

The longer I sit with this woman, the more variations there are to these responses. But I’m patient, I can be with whatever process is unfolding for the collective.

Finally we come to what feels like the final transformation, and I see this young woman transform into the caricature of a witch, metal shackles on her wrists and ankles. She turns to look at my face and in an old, creaky, centuries unused voice says, “so ye’ve found me. What now? Do ye release me from me bindings? OR do ye leave me in fear? Do ye dare raise the witch?”

I hear myself respond, “It’s not up to me to raise the witch, but I can help release your bonds.” As I look around, I notice a key to shackles glinting far above, hanging off the bottom of the sternum. I bring back the key, open the shackles and manacles, and tell her, “it’s up to you to raise yourself.”

The scene fades away and I’m left with questions, more than answers. But I’m quickly told those questions aren’t mine to ask–they’re yours.

Wherever this story and this healing took you in your body or your mind, trust that place to answer them.

And if this felt like your story, part of what you’ve carried, or something that’s yours to release or reclaim, your intracellular fluid is the place to start.​

I’ll be back next week with another story,
Ash