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Aug 01 – Aug 07, 2019
Teotihuacan, Mexico

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Musings of an Awakening Spirit

Stories, poetry & general musings of Rebecca Haywood, a modern-day Shaman with a penchant for bringing the divine into the human experience.

To All the Boys

To All the Boys
To all the boys and men who helped me heal… Thank you. To my blood brothers, whose friendship gave me the reason to keep reaching through it all because I had proof of a worthy place to aim for... Thank you. And to all the brothers who became that proof, gracing me with a space in which I could just be—not woman or conquest, not victim or survivor—just Me... Thank you. To the...
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Talkin' About Your Revolution

Talkin' About Your Revolution
So much trauma has been awakened in us collectively—new memories, old memories, and the ancient ones that have been carried in our cells. So much to feel and yet such a gift and a medicine to have it here, on the surface, where we can embrace it as we never did before. And we aren’t just revisiting our trauma, we are walking through reporting it, prosecuting it, speaking our story and naming our...
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Let it Burn

Let it Burn
Weinstein, Cosby, Kavanaugh. A fire has been lit and though it may seem to scorch our earth, it also ushers in a newfound fertility. That’s why we must embrace this fire and let it burn— allow its flames to lick at our wounds, to ignite the pain, the shame, the rage unsung and stir the ashes that once buried it.  As a survivor of multiple sexual assaults, I found myself quietly weeping with...
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Can I Get a Witness?

Can I Get a Witness?
The spiritual path teaches us to love unconditionally, but what about BEING loved unconditionally?  Though we inherently receive the love we give, there is a distinct power in being witnessed by the eyes of love.  In the loving reflection of another, we have an opportunity to dissolve self-judgement and thus to love ourselves more deeply.   We may practice self-love and even experience genuine happiness, but often there is at least a piece...
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Healing Our Wounded Inheritance

Healing Our Wounded Inheritance
The blankets of the sweat lodge had begun to move with the cool breeze of the desert night, bringing my awareness back to my body.  I lay there in the darkness alone; the ground wet with the steam of sage and copal.  I was in the primordial mud; in the stillness of the beginning of it all.   The Temazcal, once filled with song and prayer, had carried me to a deep place...
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