Good morning, dearest Momma—

Empower me with a fresh
new start this morning.

I will tell a new story today
based on my experience 
and my truth.

I will not hold myself 
to promises made 
under false pretense.

I release old interpretations, 
assumptions and beliefs about life 
that experience has shown me 
are no longer true.

I will listen to my direct experience,
test what it's showing me,
and act upon what proves true
to the best of my ability.

Bring my heart, mind,
psyche and body—
back to what is here—
the evidence of my senses:
what I can taste, see, touch, 
hear and smell.

Increase my trust in Self,
intuition, and higher knowing.

Reality is much kinder
than belief systems.

I thank all parts of me
who stepped up at different times 
when I didn't feel
it was safe to just be me.

I release nostalgia,
my life as I once knew it, 
and all hippety-dippety, new age B.S.
I am finding that spirituality,
when used to avoid reality,
can be just as damaging as 
any unquestioned religion.

I honor my shadow, my darkness.
I know it well. 
I name the harm I've caused
or helped sustain.
I will repair what I can,
learn what I don't yet understand,
and remain accountable
for as long as I live.

I honor my light, my brilliance.
I am uncovering my hidden gifts
and putting them to honest use.
I will stop hiding what may serve
someone beyond myself.

I call in dreams that can survive
contact with reality,
innovative impulse, 
useful magic, and guided action.

I am cultivating a relationship 
with this present moment 
so I can find truth and perspective 
underneath any and every 
belief system.

There's gotta be a pony 
in there somewhere.

Good morning, Momma—

Here I am again— 
a new beginning,
a new life that starts today.

This is a time for miracles.
And I am beyond ready. 

Thank you for revealing
and uncovering anything
standing in the way of
my soul's ideal timeline. 

Anything keeping me 
from being what I am here to be,
I release it now.

I invite all my guides,
ancestors, Yeshua,
Mary, Mother of all,
Mary Magdalene
and all the angels
to put me on my most effective path
as I begin again today.

Help me remember
that when I am living and loving
from a place of conscious intention—
I can't fuck it up.

No perfection necessary.
No shame, blame or guilt
needed.
I trust the plan for my life 
and highest good for the One.

We need to spend time in
the dark, under the moon.
We need to spend time
in the bright sunlight.

I need to get up and
watch the sun rise sometimes.
I need to plan to wind down
and enjoy the sunset.

There is a time for everything.

And I am walking 
in perfect alignment
and tasting holy abundance
as I continue on this journey.

Let me remember to stop
and put my tongue out 
to catch some raindrops
and sing a song or two.

If all the raindrops were
lemon drops and gumdrops
oh what a rain that would
be...! 

I am serving from wholeness
rather than woundedness.

I am walking, talking,
and acting from love—
not fear.

Every cell of my body is
healing.

I am now a part of
a collective well-being
and it is expanding.

Slow and steady,
rooted in love for the whole
I am part of the gradual progress 
that leads to sustainable change.

I am leading with heart 
and I am serving the whole
with ease and grace.

Today, I am aware of my breath, 
the birds singing,
crickets chirping,
and my body is slowing down 
from the intensity. 

Full moon, full release—
I will get the rest
my soul needs for balance.

May we all sleep soundly tonight.

What a blessing to be alive
for such a time as this.

We are so deeply loved.

And so it is.
—Lynn

xoxo

Dear Momma —

Thank you for sister friends 
who will show up to cry and mourn
the profound loss of so many loved ones.

Thank you for the intense soul-awareness 
of how life-giving it is 
to acknowledge, with honor and reverence,
Dolly Parton, Tim Curry,
Hayden Panettiere, 
and Michael Wright—
all gone within the past ten days. 

My mom.
 
My precious friend Carrie 
has lost both her mom and dad
in the last few months.
  
So many of our loved ones 
are on the other side now. 

Then, watching all those 
precious people in Nepal 
running yesterday
as water crushed bodies,
cars, and tall buildings—
my heart feels deep sorrow.

Shroud me in life
as we also show reverence 
for our dead.

Make my spirit aware 
of how accessible they are 
on the other side 
and how much they are all cheering us on
as we move through this eclipse portal.

And while this energy is moving,
let every power structure lose its grip! 
Let no one mistake domination for love.
   
When I've lost sight 
of why I'm here 
and how to love,
point me back 
to my truest North, please.

Let the stars absorb our tears 
and shine back down with magic, 
and twinkles of remembrance.

Guide us toward 
the very purpose 
of being alive in a body.

May we make ample space
to really discern what's going on 
internally.

Give us space to cry tears
and pray comfort 
over each hurting heart today.

I call in truth—
nothing but the truth—
so help us, God/Goddess.

For the whole of humanity,
I pray for all 
who can see and hear— 
to come together
in devotion to Momma.

Waves of water, 
waves of emotion—
do not let us drown in grief.

Let us come up for air!

May we feel the August sun
on our faces,
and feel our bare feet 
upon this place.

Earth. Bodies.
Unkillable. Undrownable.
Fully alive, no matter what.

Still here—
without form.

Because love never dies.

And so it is.

XOXO
Lynn

Dearest Momma, Angels,
and Dreamworld Fairies—

Thank you for sleep,
for dreams, and for the meaning
that can be found in dreamtime.

Decode my thoughts, visions,
and feelings.

Express bigger dreams through me
than I could ever think up
on my own.

Send me vibrant colors,
take me to wondrous places,
and fill my heart with knowing
and longing.

I want to see and hear inside myself
what my deepest and purest desires are.

Provide me with unlocked passage
that I can run through,
and get from one world to the next—
and back safely.

Let me time-travel.
Increase my "delicious imagination,"
as my own mom always called it.

Multiply my childlike wonder,
and give me dreams of magic—
like Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium.

Please let me fly on the wings
of a huge luckdragon,
like the one in The NeverEnding Story.

Power me down
from this world of senses by 10 p.m.
Help me sleep easily,
get enough rest,
and dream vividly—
so I can begin remembering
my dreams again.

Multiply my gratitude
for the images
and felt knowing
of a new world taking shape—
a world we are co-creating
every day now.

Angels—usher us toward the beauty
we are capable of now.
Walk with us, talk with us,
lead us all the way home.

I can power up within my dreams,
and bring back the magic, miracles,
and mojo needed—
to heal myself, my body,
mind and spirit.

Fill me to overflowing
so I have plenty to share
with everyone I encounter.

May I feel safe enough to dream
and have no fear
that anything could harm
or overwhelm me
when I am sleeping.

Awaken me to the reality
of the dream world—
just as you remind me
that I am dreaming
when I am awake.

And so it is.
—Lynn

xoxo

Dear Momma—

Thank You for clarity
and for the deep forgiveness
available this new morning.

I forgive myself.
I forgive every person
who has ever harmed me—
consciously or unconsciously.

I give my grievances to You,
Mother God.
As I write this, right now,
I lay these burdens at Your feet.

When I am in my right mind,
there is nothing in this world
that is beyond forgiveness.

I know—
that makes the hair stand up
on the back of my neck, too.

But if I want forgiveness
to be true when I mess up,
it has to be true for everyone.

Let me be clear:

Forgiveness does not mean
I will invite someone
over for dinner.

It does not mean
I will reconcile the relationship,
speak to them,
or even acknowledge them
when I see them
at the grocery store.

It does not mean
I will refuse to call someone out,
seek protection,
or pursue prosecution
when necessary.

I am not advocating
that we stand by
while someone harms us
or anyone else.

Unfortunately, I know from experience
that I can become cruel
when I feel justified
in holding on to pain.

The pain becomes rage.
The rage becomes my victim story.

I am not saying
that the story is untrue
or invalid.

I am saying that when I cling to it,
when I refuse to do the work
of releasing it,
something happens.

Suddenly, venom comes pouring out
in the form of words.

Justified hatred takes shape
and makes me into a version
of myself I never imagined
I could become—

even if only for a moment,
even if I apologize immediately,
even if I say I did not mean it.

Then I turn my eyes
toward Lindsay Clancy,
toward Mary Magdalene,
toward the woman at the well—
and I see myself.

Innocent.

Not innocent of every action.
Not innocent of every accusation.
Not exempt from accountability.

But still human.
Still worthy of compassion.
Still more than the worst thing
I have done, endured,
or been accused of doing.

I declare myself
and every precious soul
to be worthy of grace.

I will make amends
when amends are needed.

I will commit to changed behavior
when I have done wrong.

But the critical voice
inside my head
is still filled 
with unconscious punishment,
suspicion, and sacrifice, 
dressed up as justice.

Punishment plus sacrifice =
someone has to pay
for my hurt.

This idea has to be caught
in Grandmother’s spider web.

I wrap the grievance
in that web.
I let the old identity die.
And I thank it
for trying to protect me
before I choose to live again.

Because that level of anger—
the part of me
that screams for "justice"—
is not truly living.

She is suffocating in noise.

A clanging gong.

Help me choose love
as the loudest
and largest vibration.

Help me radiate love.

How many times
do I need to hear the backstory—
the tender heart beneath
the defense attorney
in my mind—
before I choose to believe
we all deserve grace,
support,
and assistance.

Not because we are innocent
of every action,
and not because consequences
do not matter—
but because our humanity
does not disappear
when we fail.

We all deserve the experience
of forgiveness,
rather than carrying forever
the weight of what has been done to us
and the weight of what we have done
to ourselves.

I will no longer wait
to know every fact,
every perspective,
or every reason
before I extend compassion.

Maybe they knew.
Maybe they didn’t.

They did what they did.

And, for God’s sake,
may I give that same grace
and compassion to myself—

no matter what I feel,
no matter what the Prosecutor
in my head declares,
no matter what the critic demands.

May we become the women
we are capable of being
when we look upon someone
accused of an unspeakable act
and refuse to reduce her
to that act alone—
while still protecting the vulnerable,
telling the truth about the harm,
and allowing accountability
to take its rightful place.

Lindsay is a mother,
just as I am.

I see a human being
who needed help, 
begged for help
and did not receive enough of it.

I see babies
who needed protection.

I believe the system failed
to protect them all.

The work for me begins
every time I choose self-love 
instead of self-punishment
and self-hatred.

And systems change 
when we stop treating suffering
as a reason for punishment alone
and begin building structures of care,
accountability, and protection.

I open my eyes to love.

Let it begin with me.

And so it is.

—Lynn
xoxo

Dearest Momma —

I have no idea what I'm doing.
I write, and I write. 

But everything feels impossible 
and confusing.

I AM FRUSTRATED!

I know I have gifts, talents, 
wisdom, hope + experience. 

But this energy makes me feel 
like I'm losing touch with reality. 

I know I'm not.

I am emerging.

But it's uncomfortable, 
deeply irritating—
even painful!

I feel allergic to "happy, happy—
Laffy taffy—Let's get together,
and pretend it's all going to be ok."

But I also am not stuck
in sadness, grief 
or a lack of motivation.

I guess I have a deep longing 
— a deep calling—
a deep discontent. 

There's got to be more than this. 

I am grateful.
I practice every freaking day.

I just feel like I can't keep up. 

The directions do NOT seem clear. 

I know "the Way knows the way" —
but really, 
which of the thousand things 
screaming my name, 
should be my focus today?

I re-read my own writing. 
I sit in the silence. 
I sit. 
I listen.

Yet the frustration, 
the feeling like I'm on the edge 
of tears again is present. 

There's a lump in my throat, 
a wave of nausea in my belly— 
and a screaming rage that hears
any form of spiritual bypassing 
or platitudes. 

I'm SO FUCKING tired!

I want:
a life that feels easy. 
a clean house. 
a great relationship with all my kids.
to feel like I belong with my siblings, 
and clarity about what I'm doing 
in this world.

And I really want my Mom
alive again.

Is that too much to ask?!

I know, I know. 
My presence is enough. 
I am deeply loved. 
I AM blessed beyond measure— 
and I'm still fucking frustrated 
and tired.

I am aware I am dreaming.
I know how to put my 
positive pants on.

And I'm still allowed to wish 
we could have just one easy day. 

A delightful day. 

A day where things 
move smoothly—
and we flit from one thing
to the next—
like busy bees pollinating 
from flower to flower.

But I don't think the bees 
think about which flower
to fly to next. 
They just flit, fly, 
land and enjoy.

Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am your Momma.

Ok Momma. I am here.
I hear you. 
It's not that serious.
It's just another Sunday—fun day! 

Go take a walk, smile at your neighbors, 
and just be with each moment. 

Take sadness, exhaustion 
and your anger with you.

One step at a time. 

You will know just what to do 
exactly when you need to do it. 

Of this, I am sure.

And so it is —

— Lynn
XOXO

Good morning, dearest Momma—

Thank you for this community
of women, writers, poets,
and BADASSES.

Thank you for a village of women
who are willing to meet
every single morning to pray
for ourselves and the entire planet.

I am blessed beyond measure
to have sisters from all over the world
in my heart and in my life.

I carry these women with me—
their names, their prayers,
their morning courage—
across every mile between us.

And thank you for all the readers,
commenters, and supporters.
Thank you especially for the quiet ones
who come and read
without needing to leave a trace.

Bring us together with people nearby
who share our interests
and are ready to turn ideas
into collaboration.

Get us out of our houses
and out of our prisons 
of individualism.

Bring back neighborhood bonfires—
neighbors pouring concrete,
painting houses,
making things together again.

Please deliver us from the absurd belief
that every household needs
its own mower, weed whacker,
and power washer.

Remind us and give us the courage
to go ask to borrow a shovel
or a cup of sugar again.

Please, Momma—restore the vision
of true community—in our hearts,
souls, and neighborhoods once again.

Help me to lend my books
rather than hoard them
for my own collection—
as if they're decorations
for my shelves.

When I cook a big meal,
remind me to invite someone over
to share it.

Let's make it normal again,
to support our new mothers
during those tender postpartum 
months.

Not only the churches.
Not only their families.
Let it be you and me, too—
in devotion to the Mother.

Let us cut firewood together,
care for our children together,
and bear one another's burdens.

Teach us to think ahead, Momma.
Teach us to remember
that when we work together,
we learn to trust together,
so we get to rest,
and play together, too.

And so it is.

—Lynn
xoxo

Good morning, Momma —

Thank you for this new day.

My heart is heavy
and I'm not totally sure why.

I am feeling something shift
in me—deep calling to deep.

I do not believe in a God
in the sky
giving orders for people to suffer.

Let that be clear.

I know God/Goddess
as loving parents, at the very least.
I know them as so much more than that.

Divinity, Movement, Breath,
All that is. Love expressed.
Every single human gifted
with inherent worth and value.

And being raised in Christianity,
I didn't and don't always resonate
with the Jesus story from the
told perspective.

So, as a person who genuinely believes
we are each co-creators of our reality,
I am really feeling in my body —
a visceral knowing, a feeling of love,
compassion and surrender.

I've never felt it quite like this.

I feel a deep peace and an almost
liquid feeling of presence, love,
and warmth as I sit here writing.

What happened to Yeshua-Jesus,
the Christ — is upon me.
The betrayal,
the lies told about him,
the agony, the suffering.

We all want that shit to stop, right?!
And as divine creators —
if we could, we would.

None of us would just leave someone
walking down the street —
being beaten by ICE,
or military guards — right?

Yet, there he was,
and we are told —
"He could've called 10,000 angels?"
So, he was capable, embodied,
and was fully aware
he could stop the discomfort,
make the bullies/abusers stop —
and choose life rather than death.

But he was in touch
with a bigger picture —
that for some higher reason
he CHOSE to endure.

It wasn't just for suffering's sake —
he wasn't masochistic.
It wasn't because he was trying
to be a hero.
And it certainly wasn't because
he wanted us to make a religion
out of his life story and make him
our God.

How do I know?
Because he told us to do the same —
to choose love over retaliation,
truth over fear,
and to trust that love outlasts
whatever tries to kill it.

I feel like it was a genuine calling
toward love—to show the whole
of humanity—
that we can bear the weight
of whatever we are given to carry.

No matter what is asked of us —
physical pain, disease, disability,
divorce, betrayal, addiction,
rejection, poverty,
spouse dying, child has cancer,
falsely accused —
we can choose to move through it.

But surrender does not mean
calling harm holy.

It does not mean staying
where I am being hurt,
or calling it God's will,
or mistaking silence for grace.

If I would stop it for a stranger
walking down the street —
if I would resist it, refuse it,
carry them out of it —
then it is not surrender
to simply accept it for myself.

Sometimes surrender means
releasing control.

Sometimes it means
telling the truth, leaving,
asking for help,
protecting a life — even my own.

He chose to go through the pain
and discomfort publicly —
not so I would stay quiet in mine,
but so I would know
I could survive mine,
and still choose love on the other side.

I can surrender to whatever
is asked of me today —
my soul plan.

Whatever will help
and lift this world to awaken
to oneness, to infinite potential —
that is what I want to do.

Without losing creative power,
free will, my ability to choose —

I choose highest good.

It's much bigger
than my wants
or my needs.

It's beyond my comfort
and my grasping.

Thank you, Momma,
for this understanding.

Whether anyone else cares
or agrees, it has gone deep
in my body and knowing today.

And let me remember,
that surrender is never
giving up.

It is giving in to a higher plan
that is infused with love
for ALL humans included.

Not just me, but all of us.

Show me how to hold this reality
and the courage to walk it out.

Thank you, Momma.

And so it is.
—Lynn

xoxo

Good morning, Momma —

Courage is awakening in me, 
in ways I couldn't foresee.

Trauma holds me captive no longer — 
I know the power of facing my fears, 
and my new perspective sets me free.

I am deepening my trust 
in life's mysteries, 
the power of the subconscious mind,
and the power of the things 
that cannot be explained.

I am asking Jupiter in Leo
to expand my spiritual fire
and illuminate the invisible realms 
within me.

There is a living connection 
between me and you — 
my Source, 
my comfort, 
my reality. 

I am never truly alone.

I am calling in:
profound epiphanies, 
quantum sudden insights, 
and directives 
to guide me to my healing 
and to my role in this world.

I can feel strongly 
that I may have to do the very thing 
I'm most afraid of doing — 
expressing myself in public.
My words both written and verbal
are gifts I've been given,
and I commit to using them
for the whole of humanity.

I am breaking free 
from traditional beliefs 
and traditional roles and 
jobs.

There is going to be a lot more color,
grape bubblegum, road trips, 
laughing out loud, windblown hair,
speaking my truth, cursing, 
eating luxurious food, singing,
dancing, beautiful art, 
late night skinny dipping, 
running naked in the rain,
ice cream for breakfast and 
pancakes for dinner kind of days. 

I'm ready for a wild ride, 
and I'm willing to break a few rules 
along the way.

I am becoming aware enough 
to prevent the mental and emotional loops 
before they happen.

Back then, I had to protect myself. 
I do NOT need that kind of protection 
now.

I need REAL living, 
and I am breaking free 
from learned behaviors 
that shaped my personality deeply. 

I am becoming.

I am changing so quickly 
I may not recognize myself here soon.

I am emerging. 
I am completely new.

Inner turbulence and anxiety 
cannot harm me anymore. 
I've studied them, 
I've experienced them, 
and I've learned from them.

What I once avoided 
is now becoming the source 
of my mental and emotional 
STRENGTH.

I am resilient. 
I am whole.

And so it is.
— Lynn

xoxo

Good morning, Momma

Thank you for this new day — 
a sunny August morning. 

I'm getting closer and closer 
to my solar return on the 29th, 
and I can't think of anything 
I desire more than wisdom
and loving, self-awareness.

What would a Tuesday look like 
coming from wisdom? 
Would I flit and fret 
about all that I have to get done? 
I think not.

After my morning prayer time,
I would gently walk to the kitchen, 
and drink a glass of water.
 
I would pick and use the food 
from my garden and nourish my body. 

Then I'd give the plants a little TLC, 
and stop to pet the kitties.

Next, I would step out into 
our big, beautiful yard, 
bare feet in the grass, 
walk to the creek,
and sit in the silence. 

Then I would write 
my daily Substack, 
and meet with clients,
my daily honor.

My voice will be 
a voice of change.

Now it's time to take 
a late afternoon siesta.
And be sure to notice 
how my body's feeling
and what it's needing.

Dance in the kitchen. 

Hug my husband 
and make dinner together. 

Watch the sun set. 

Grill some veggies for dinner 
and take another stroll. 

Create art with my hands — 
take time to honor my precious mom
and so many loved ones 
on the other side. 

Light a candle. 
Read a book. 
Call a friend. 
Bake some bread. 

Get in the hot tub 
and call it a night. 

Gratitude and rest.

Prior to turning fifty — 
this would not have been 
a wise day for me. 

But today — I deeply feel 
how blessed I am to be 
right here, right now. 

No words. 

Just present with this 
beautiful life 
I call mine!

And so it is!
— Lynn 

XOXO

When I am among the trees, 
I remember.

I remember that I am holy,
just as I am. 

Nothing required.

I remember that I am the planets, 
the moon, and the stars.

I remember what it was like 
to be the sun, shining brightly 
through the pine trees, 
bringing joy 
to every soul who passes by.

I remember that I am the birds 
singing their favorite chorus, 
chirping together in beautiful 
harmony.

I remember that I am a wildflower—
whatever color I choose to be today.

I remember that I am 
the fallen pine needles, 
compost for what will grow 
in this forest next.

I remember that I am the squirrel, 
already gathering abundance 
to last through the winter.

I remember—I am the deer, 
hiding behind a Rose of Sharon 
because I’m so afraid of being shot 
and killed.

I remember—I am predator 
and prey.

I am the human being 
walking through this forest. 
I am the conscious observer 
watching myself walk this lonely path.

I am relief. 
I am fear. 
I am silence. 
I am the hawk circling above. 

I am the waterfall. 
I am the black sky with sparkling stars.
I am the blue sky with puffy clouds. 
I am the call of the mourning dove.

I am essence—truth beyond words, 
beyond form. 

I am infinite.

I am the pine tree, the oak, 
the cypress, the great redwoods, 
the tiny sapling struggling to survive. 

I am the unseen roots holding me steady. 
I am the wind blowing through the trees. 
I am the rocks that carry the stories.

When I don’t commune with the forest, 
I become distant from the hope of myself—
the one I’ve come here to be.

May I never forget who I am, 
dearest Momma. 

May I never again forget 
that I belong among the trees.

And so it is,

— Lynn

xoxo

Good morning, Momma— 
thank you for this new morning. 
Squished between two eclipses, 
my mom recently deceased, 
dental surgery yesterday, 
and a friend "breakup" 
this morning.

Oh, how I long for childhood 
Saturday mornings, 
Dad cooking pancakes 
in the kitchen, 
and Mom waking me up 
with her sweet voice and 
pulling open my blinds.

My heart is tender. 
And I feel stronger
and more at peace
than ever before.

I have no control over 
who lives or who dies. 
I have no control over 
how others perceive me.

I have no control over 
who does their work or not. 
I have no control over the weather— 
wildfires, earthquakes, hurricanes.

I have no control 
over so much of my life.

I certainly have no control 
over the grief that shows up— 
but I certainly get to choose 
how I meet it.

One of the best things 
about becoming older 
is the complete and total
acceptance that there will always be 
unexpected endings.

Whether chosen or made for you— 
people come and go.

Loved ones die. 
Things change. 
Circles of friends change. 
Family members change. 
I am always changing.

Nothing ever stays the same— 
and only I get to decide 
what meaning I will or won't 
put on any chapter of my story.

I choose love.

Over and over and over.

I choose to love 
and carry that love with me— 
whether that person is no longer 
in my life, 
or they have crossed over 
to the other side.

My love is something 
no one can control but me.

I accept life and reality 
on life and reality's terms.

Good news, bad news… who can say?

I am that I am.

Thank Goddess— 
it's not all up to me.

Control is always an illusion.

Like Byron Katie says: 
there's God's business, 
others' business, 
and my business.

I'm happier when I stick to 
my business.

Less suffering, please.

So, I'll stick to choosing 
a walk after dinner, 
and a nice long read in the hammock 
this afternoon.

I will listen to Dusty Rivers' song 
called "Thank you" on repeat, 
and I will continue to heal, love, 
and be beautiful me.

I seek nothing outside of me.

My higher power is within me.

Anything that leaves 
will be thanked, loved, 
and let go.

Until only love remains.

And so it is. —Lynn

xoxo

One month without you, Mom — and 
everything I'm doing instead of sending 
flowers.

In lieu of flowers, dearest Mom, 
I will get outside every single day — 
even if just to the stop sign and back.

In lieu of flowers, I will eat orange pineapple 
ice cream, or a simple McDonald's ice cream 
cone and think of you.

In lieu of flowers, I will enjoy putting peanut 
butter and butter on my toast.

In lieu of flowers, I will commune with 
nature, make something of it, and share it 
with those I love.

In lieu of flowers, I will look for every single 
opportunity to love the seemingly 
unlovable — unafraid of showing up, or a 
gentle touch.

In lieu of flowers, I will look people in the 
eyes, and they will see that my eyes smile 
when I look at them.

In lieu of flowers, I will be sure to wink 
behind each one's back to make certain 
they know they are, each and every one, my 
favorite.

In lieu of flowers, I'll go to your favorite spot 
on Lake Michigan — put my toes in the 
water, and paint the sky while sitting on a 
blanket with my picnic lunch.

In lieu of flowers, I will sing your favorite 
songs, play the piano, and I will teach every 
child I can how to play Mother May I on the 
piano.

In lieu of flowers, I will pray for those on 
earth every day that I have breath — for we 
know how desperately prayer is needed.

In lieu of flowers, I will be the flower — the
beauty, the heavenly scent that draws, 
attracts, and magnetizes people to come 
closer, so they may see reflected in me how 
deeply loved, cherished, valuable, and 
precious they really are.

In lieu of flowers, I will carry you forward: 
Momma. Darlene, Darlene. Clem 
Kaddidlehopper. Toad. Hon. Mom. Mommy. 
Dar, Sister Pickett, Aunt Dar, Mother, Mrs. 
Pickett —

In lieu of flowers, I will forgive often and 
quickly — and I will always believe in angels 
because of you, Mom.

In lieu of flowers, my dearest Mommy, I will 
hold onto you, and this love, with every 
breath I take, every flower I smell, every 
dish I wash, and every time I hear you 
whisper in my ear — "I love you, Little One!"

I love you, 
Little Lynn — 
your daughter forever — xoxo

Good morning, Momma—

Thank you for the new life
I'm calling in.
Thank you for everything
that got me here.
Thank you for all the joy and pain
that brought me to this tipping point.

Please let this eclipse
be an emerging opportunity
to become all I've prayed for.

Let me be the answer
to my own prayers today.

I want peace—so let me 
actually sit and do some
breathwork, instead of 
yelling or crying 
one more time.

I want a healthy body—
so let me begin today
by eating veggies 
and getting my ass 
to the gym. 

I want connected community
that loves and serves each other—
so today, I will make some 
banana bread to take 
to my neighbors.

Guide our hearts and hands
as we begin planting
the seeds of our future.

May we choose wisely
what we're planting,
and be wholly
and fully committed
to the tending of these seeds.

Help us see what's going on
in the Heavens—the planets,
stars, sun and moon eclipsing—
as a gorgeous, utter
transformational opening
into new life.

I see an aliveness
and a sunburst within
that sustains when
the going gets rougher
than it already has.

Help us put our cell phones away—
for hours at a time—
and spend more time looking up
at the sky, and more time
with hands and feet
touching Momma Earth.

Open our hearts to see,
feel, and release everything
that isn't ours to carry anymore.

Show us new ways
to truly choose
self-compassion.

We need life everlasting
and water that satisfies so fully
we never thirst again.

I've been so dehydrated, Momma!

Parched.

Today I will walk to the river,
cup my hands and drink.

I will lay in the river,
dip seven times—
and I will not go home
until I am totally healed
and whole.

I am stepping through this portal
today—a journey to a new world.

A world where I wait for no one
and never feel desperate
or dependent again.

I am the creator of my reality.

And Momma, I am all out
of second, third and infinite 
chances. 

I cannot and will not
center everyone other than me.

I fully join you, dearest Mother,
Mary Magdalene, Yeshua—
sun, moon and stars.

Help me to free myself fully
to be who I've come here to be.

All glory be to Thee, oh Lord—
Lord of my life,
Lady of my heart,
of my soul,
and of my world.

I release all I thought this
was supposed to be.

I open to all my soul's
dreams and desires—
more than I could ever
ask or even think up.

Thank you, Earth, Fire,
Air, and Water—
primordial force calling me forward.

At some point, I just have to stop
asking other people to hand
my life back to me.

My life is my life.

Today, I stop giving my power away
and calling it someone else's fault.

Money never mattered to me before—
I always thought someone else
would hold that for me.

This year, the wanting arrived.
Not to keep, but to multiply—
paid fairly, given freely,
so my hands and heart are free
for the work I came here to do.

I am ready to laugh so hard
that my belly hurts.
I am ready to run and play
and sing at the top of my lungs.
I am ready to dance around the fire
under the full moon. 
I am ready to play with 
sacred reciprocity like it's 
my favorite game of Tiddly Winks.

I am rooted in you, Momma—
filled with knowing,
consciousness,
and the light that breathes life
into every cell.

We are one.

I am!

And so it is!
—Lynn
xoxo

Good morning, Momma—

Thank you for this new day:
 
for a warm, comfy bed 
I didn’t want to leave;
 
for a new pillow that holds my head 
and neck just right;
 
for Goldendoodle hugs 
and for my favorite pen. 

I am so grateful for life as it is.

Even with all the chaos, stress, 
death, and turbulence— 
my life is beautiful.
 
And still—I am noticing 
my sense of self, my home, 
and my relationships 
are being completely 
rearranged.

I ask for vision for my new life 
and my new identity. 

I am on the precipice. 

I think we all are.

I see an empty stage this morning.
 
I am being asked to go out
and take my turn. 

But there’s no audience. 

No one critiquing, judging, 
cheering, or clapping.

I sing, I dance, I twirl.
 
I speak my most loving words 
of truth, hope, and experience. 

I sing from my soul, 
and belt out my most beautiful 
heart songs. 

And there is no one watching.

Just me and the One who made me.

Who am I when no one is watching? 

There is no pressure. 
No showing off. 
No proving. 
No wondering whether I’m good enough.
 
No likes. 
No followers. 
No subscribers.

I can feel fullness 
and deep satisfaction in my belly. 

I am strong. 
I am beautiful. 
I am hilarious.

Who do I say that I am? 

I am enough.
 
My holy presence is beyond enough — 
a gift to this world. 

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I could slither like a snake 
across the stage,
 
or do the macarena,

or cluck like a chicken 
and shake my booty.

I can speak my most potent truths 
and sing my most gorgeous notes.

I can dance, 

or simply lie on the stage 
making snow angels 
with no snow.

I can make a wish.

I can be the wish. 

I am living before an audience of One—

the One who made me, 
and the highest self I am becoming.

I see me.

I love me.

All of me.

I AM!

And so it is.

— Lynn 
XOXO

Dearest Momma —

here I am again.
 
I don’t know how 
to live a day without you.
 
I’m not sure how I used to 
walk through the world
without feeling for
the essence of all things.

Life-giver. 
Nurturer. 
Lover of my soul.
 
The Rose. Creatrix. 
Holy Spirit.
 
Divine mother. 
Earth. Land. Water.
 
Fire. Air. Sky.
Body and breath.

You are everywhere
and in EVERY thing—
the essence of all that has been, 
all that is, 
and all that is becoming. 

How did they get by 
with taking you out 
of the stories and 
the scriptures? 

How did we ever mistake 
a life without the one 
who gives life
for a complete life?

Momma, thank you. 
Thank you for my life, 
my breath, my body. 

Thank you for every good 
and perfect gift you give me.

Help me remember who I am 
and why I am here 
at such a time as this.

Lead me toward dear souls
with whom love can be shared—
souls committed 
to your care, 
O Great Mother.

What the world applauds 
is not my measure.

Let me imagine a world 
where you are the center 
of every circle: 

no one better than another,
everyone’s needs matter,
the hungry, abused, 
and oppressed are cared for. 

A world where we plant trees, 
grow food, 
and tend the earth
as if our lives depend on it—

because they do. 

We cannot go on living 
as we have been, 
driving to the store
or ordering online—
as if the earth is not alive,
as if she does not need  
to be loved and cared for.

We have been taught 
to live as though we are separate
from the essence of life—
and we have participated,
consciously and unconsciously. 

Blessed Momma,
awaken all your children. 

Lead us to living water
and to the plants 
you coax up through the earth—
green breasts of sustenance
rising in our own backyards.
 
It is all here, 
prepared for our healing, 
our pleasure, 
and the particular nourishment
each body needs.

May we slow down
long enough to notice
what you have prepared 
right where we are.

Like little babies—
let us grow
milk-drunk on you, 
so our bodies
can function,
heal,
and survive.

Come what may, 
teach us to flourish 
and to return—
again, 
and again,
and again— 
to you, dear Mother. 

The essence of me is you. 

And so it is!
—Lynn

XOXO

Dearest Momma— I am here. 

I am ready for this new day.

I open my heart, 
and I consent 
to a complete and total 
reorganization of self. 

Not of my core, soul-self — 
but the me 
that shows up in the world.

Losing my mom has demanded 
an identity shift— 

I’m finally ready.

After exhaustion, burnout, 
severe inflammation 
and illness since 2020, 
I am here.

After a lot of rethinking, 
restructuring, and remembering— 
I am here.

I am learning that a mature 
rite of passage 
teaches me not only how 
to step forward, 
but what I am no longer 
required to carry.

I have laid so much to rest.
 
My body is screaming 
for my full attention.

I hear you.

Transformation is never easy. 

And it most certainly is awkward, 
inconvenient, 
and physically & mentally exhausting.

I have been crawling 
through a muddy and messy tunnel 
lying—rarely standing— 
between identities.

I barely made it through.

I release every fantasy of control, 
my definition of goodness,
and any hidden belief that suffering 
automatically makes us noble.

I now step into the being 
I have been longing for— 
the Self I have tried 
so hard not to betray.

Momma—please help me with 
these specifics: 

— how I focus and prioritize my time, 
— what I say yes and no to, 
— what I explain and what I stop explaining, 
— how I speak about myself and to others.

I take off the costume 
and any monologue of past pain.

For a moment, 
I do not know 
who I am without them.

I stand here
without a role to perform,
without a wound
to make meaningful,
without anything 
left to explain. 

I breathe.

And then—
almost blasphemously—
something in me begins to laugh.

Not politely.
Not apologetically.
Irreverently.
Out loud.

This laughter arrives
without a lesson.

I had forgotten
how much fun it is to laugh.

I return to colorful art, alchemy, 
embodied prayer, and ritual.

I will show up in this world
as my colorful, wildflower self.

I will tell my story 
and I will encourage others 
to tell theirs.

We need each other’s stories— 
stories of joy and pain alike.

May we help each other through. 

I carry my mother 
and my lineage forward—
not every burden they carried,
but the life, love, wisdom,
and wildness
that I am here to embody.

And I welcome the harvest.

I welcome enough health
to inhabit my life.
Enough wealth 
to be generous without depletion.
Enough love 
to be nourished in relationship.
Enough spaciousness
to laugh, play, make weird art,
and remain fully myself.

It will soon be time to celebrate,
blow bubbles, throw parties, 
and gather.

I will begin preparing.

And so it is. 
—Lynn 
XOXO

Good Morning, Momma —

Thank you for this new day — 
this new way of taking shelter 
from the storm that is grief.

My shelter is making art— 
words and music with my pain.

Art is a refuge for the unfixable loss 
of a parent, a beloved pet, 
a protector,
or anyone whose absence
changes the landscape of our lives. 

Whether they're beyond the veil 
or still walking this earth, 
unable or unwilling to love us — 
our world is shattered. 

We mourn. 
We grieve. 
And somehow, we keep moving.

Time stretches and contracts,
like taffy being pulled back and forth—
through some weird tunnel,
until we barely recognize ourselves.

Where are they? 
What is she doing? 
How do I feel her again? 

I read her writing, 
listen to saved voice messages, 
and scroll through photographs 
just to see her eyes light up 
one more time.

But how do I actually choose life?
How do I build days 
that make sense again?

Art. 

I shelter my wounded heart — 
by making beautiful music. 

I sit at the piano and ask her 
to play through me. 

Sorrow becomes song.
 
Tears find voice 
in melodies and poems—
an ode to our precious matriarch,
 
Darlene Joanne Pickett.

There is no fixing these feelings.
 
Art is simply my response 
to this deep ache. 

Beauty born from pain.
 
Alchemy.

Channeling. 

Giving expression 
to what cannot be expressed. 

Chaos made into a temple. 

“I can’t even describe this feeling...” 
becomes a painting filled with color—
a reminder that somehow,
everything is still figureoutable.

How do we make this kind of art? 

Through surrender. 

No right way. 
No wrong way.
 
It's what we do when there's 
nothing left to do 
except let grief move through us. 

Just let it move you.

And so it is,
—Lynn

XOXO

Good morning, Momma!

Thank you for this beautiful August day. 

I feel happy to be alive. 

Even in the biggest transition of my life, 
I feel held, whole and loved.

I look around me 
and see beauty everywhere. 

The grass under my feet, 
dirt under my fingernails from gardening. 
A fresh cup of divine coffee in hand. 
A satisfied belly. 

Flowers everywhere.

A bouquet of Black-eyed Susans 
in a rainbow glass vase 
sits on my kitchen counter.

They remind me of my Mom.
Everything reminds me of my Mom.

Nowhere I have to go. 
No one I have to call.

A snuggly dog sleeping at my feet. 
Kitties waiting at my office door 
for pets and treats!

A creek running through my backyard.

Neighbors who ask how I'm doing. 
Care packages. 
Cards from friends and family. 
Treasures. 
Memories.

And beneath it all...

Stillness.

My heart feels something like joy.

Whether I am moving fast 
or sitting completely still,
Divine Stillness remains.

Grief or joy. 
Happiness or sorrow.

It feels something like this: 

It is well with my soul.

My cup runneth over.

I know who and Whose I am.

Heaven on Earth 
in this very moment—
when I remember.

My truest nature is Love.

Blessed.
Grateful.
Resilient.

I know a Love that carries me through all of it—

The moments I enjoy,
the moments I don't,
and especially the in-between.

The liminal.

The "not anymore" but "not yet."

Those seasons were never meant 
to be comfortable.

I can sit with them anyway.

Because I trust you.

And I trust me.

This is sacred ground.

There is no need to know 
everything.

You always reveal exactly what I need—
precisely when I need it.

There is always enough.

A new beginning hidden inside
every ending.

May I meet the truth of this moment—
whether I like it or not.

May I cease resisting.

And so it is.

—Lynn
xoxo

Good morning, dearest Momma—

Thank you for this new day
of restoration and healing.

Thank you for the extra
little things my partner does
to make it easier on me
while grieving.
May his kindness 
and thoughtful servant's
heart be returned ×100.

As I enter this day of silence,
I ask that you restore 
my entire being.
Remind me to drink water,
eat from the earth’s bounty,
and rest, rather than
spinning in my head or doing.

I place my gutted heart
upon the table of life for
love surgery.

I know I am loved, 
and never alone.

But as Chiron 
stations retrograde,
I can feel the old wounds
coming up to whisper 
"we're still here."

I will move my body 
in ways that feel good today.

Let no one mistake my retreat
for not caring.

I care deeply.
Yet I must accept 
and restore 
my entire being.

I know this is a 
temporary lull,
and we must honor it
wisely. 

Come what may— 
we will meet it 
with restored bodies.

Ready us by allowing
all the grief, overwhelm,
exhaustion and overload 
to drain from our bodies into
the Earth today.

Let us lie in the sun,
on the grass,
and give it all to you, Momma.

Soothe our senses,
and let our dreams arise 
and feel possible,
as we rest today.

Adjust our sights,
realign every cell
and each memory.

And let us remember 
to gather in circle
for authentic connection.

Heal our perception 
of how things "should be."
Let us meet things
as they are—
right here,
right now.

I place my life in
your hands, Momma —
For I know you will never
take my power or choice
away.

You are trustworthy.

I am safe.
I am never alone.

Now, I will go rest in your 
loving arms.

And so it is. 

—Lynn
xoxo