Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)


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War crimes against the uterus

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There was a bet—he looses. But in losing, he gains one of the hottest sexual encounters he has ever had. But all that is what's happening on the surface. There are some things being kept in secret. Ralph has a gift — he know things, he feels them There is an emptiness in her he can sense. There is a darkness that the tingling of his skin can understand. Something is wrong with her.

And he knew the answer can be found in those beautiful sad eyes. If you wish to read more, download now! As Ralph circled around and got closer to this lovely black-haired girl who looked bored now with the cock-pickings available around her, he briefly took a few deep breaths. He then half-closed his eyes, felt inward, reached with feeling. Can I truly please this woman? Something within him stirred of its own accord in answer, and like two tightly coiled snakes entwined around each other; that something within him relaxed. He wet his suddenly dry lips.

Having her. He wanted that. To have her. Time seems to be the obsession of my grief.

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How many months since we watched the full moon rise, how many days since she clapped her hands and cried 'clever mama', when I got the car to start. How many sleeps since we last danced down the street together, since I kissed her milk-soft cheek, since I watched her assemble her latest sartorial creation, since her ecstatic laugh brought me to tears. And now we are into years; time stretching and rolling away, like waves on the ocean, rippling out, taking me further away from her, deeper into my life without her, deeper into the expression of all that I have become because of her, because of her birth, her life, her leaving, and my grieving.

She has made me. In losing her I was undone, and in grieving her I am remade, every day. There is so much space in me. There is so much light shining through the cracks in my soul. Great chips and boulders of darkness loosened and dislodged in the earthquake of her passing, to dissolve into their own inky liquid and flow out and away to balance the cosmic scales as I flood with light, and more of who I truly am shines forth.

I understand more and more how what breaks us, makes us. How if we say yes to our shattering, we grow into something so much more than who we ever thought we could be.

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That life is about letting go of everything we think we can hold. And that on the other side of that is the divine. And more and more I see that we are connected by the spaces between, that space is a thing, alive and real, that kisses against my edges and permeates my centre and swirls through all creation. It connects me to her, to the spirit of my daughter, in whatever form she dances through the universe right now, whether as a memory in the heart of someone she touched, or the actions of someone whose life she changed, or in the fiery breath of her spirit as she whispers to me that we are always one, and cannot be anything but, because this is the secret truth of life.

This morning I perched high above a glassy ocean as seals glided and swallows swooped and whales turned joyful backflips below me. An otter floated on its back, blissfully turning and rolling while it snacked on an abalone. Far across the ocean, on the other side of the world, my husband still slept, and I felt through the space to where he dreams, and there he is, right beside me, slow-breathing; and there also are our brushy-tailed dingo and love-dog, twitching in puppy dreams.


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I danced a slow flowing dance with them all, becoming one with the liquid heartbeat of that ocean, with the high flutter of the swallows, the careless wisps of cloud, the slow sleep-sighs of my beautiful man, the otter turning and spinning through the water because it could, for the sheer pleasure of it. And in all these things I danced with Blaise, with her joy, with her heartbeat, with her glorious laugh, with her tenderness. I danced with every part of her, except her body, and in a way I danced with that also, because are we not all made of matter and atoms, and in her body's return to Earth Mama she freed those atoms to dance with me as well.

Thank you for showing me that falling is really flying. Thank you, always and forever, for this eternal dance. Gina Chick. This is an ending and a beginning. Tonight I am an exquisite vessel brimming with feeling, emotions like weather blowing through my soul. This last six weeks has been a dance into divinity. I have discarded skins, sloughed off stories, dived into my darkness and been swallowed by light. I feel like ouroborous, eating its tail, light into dark into light into dark, the perfect oscillation, the cosmic ohm.

Words can only approximate the entirety of the thing, are mere fragments of colour in my internal rainbow. I need to express where I am while it is fresh, before I return to the shape of my life and this state becomes dream. I came to the States because instinct demanded I must.

‎Her Sad Eyes: Wild Hearts 1 en Apple Books

That wise ancient voice inside me shook me by the hair, shouted at me in the breaths between sleeping and waking, insisted that I must go, go now, go dance, go dance here, go dance with these teachers. Like a stone in my shoe, like a splinter in my thumb, a maddening itch I could not ignore. Go dance.

Chapter 6 Pearl

I learn in the presence of. Not through books or videos or theories, I need to download information through my body, from someone who embodies that very thing. My teachers have been Jonathan and Lucia Horan, both children of Gabrielle Roth, the visionary who called this dancing path into being decades ago, before shedding her body and dancing now through fields of stars. So I danced.


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At first I was self conscious, clumsy, working through the crusted barnacles of past stories, of judgements and projections and old wounds. I danced them all.


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And the water began to flow, the edges began to soften, and somewhere in the hours and days and weeks of dance I found something profound, something utterly magical. I am a dancer. Not in terms of being able to bust out moves or showy tricks. I am a dancer not of doing, but of being. I got out of my own way and there, nestled like some perfect pearl at the centre of my being, this simple truth was revealed.

I woke slowly, at first, shy as a maiden, then with more confidence, more vigour, more spirit and soul. I breathed life into this newborn part of me that is as old as creation, and she awoke, she awoke, blessed be; and her limbs started to move and her heart flowed with gratitude. Shy and tender and ready to flee, but there was nothing to run from, only toward, toward myself, my life, my truth. I am a dancer, and every time I say this more tears come. I could write this in the sky, carve it into mountains, shout it into all creation. This is a journey I will never leave, I can only fall deeper into myself and dance what is true.

This is who I am, when everything is stripped away. I am the place where earth meets sky, where ocean kisses sun, and my heart is the dance floor and has no edges, because everything is a circle. I understand what it means to be danced, I understand it in my bones, my belly, my talons, my teeth and fur.

My wings rip the sky, my fins slip through water, I am a dancer and I am danced by the Isness and the Oneness and everything in between. I danced and the skins fell away, one after another, discarded husks littering my feathered feet. I danced and all the doors and windows in my heart flew open, and winged things flew out and away, free to soar. I danced and the music stopped and I rang like a silver bell, vibrating with love and bliss and connection and purpose, knowing at last who and what I am.

So this is what I am bringing home, this vastness, this poetry, this magic. I am deeply, deeply grateful to everyone with whom I shared space on and off the various dance floors, to these brothers and sisters of the dance who have nestled into my heart so thoroughly I am bereft in their absence.

To the indigenous space holders who gifted us with their wisdom and ceremony. I am so thankful to have been cradled by Gaia in all places; to have danced in the desert and jungle and high on the cliffs while the whales sang their slow songs, deep in their liquid dance. And I am grateful beyond words to Jonathan and Lucia for holding such perfect space, for your endless wisdom and authenticity and for showing up, again and again and again, no matter what. For living this lineage. For blazing a path.

For doing your work.

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For being. From the desert Part ululation, part harmony, part savagery, all wild. Coyotes were singing under the stars, and it was all I could do not to tug on clothes and follow the sound, like some barefoot ghost, into the darkness.

Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1) Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)
Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1) Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)
Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1) Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)
Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1) Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)
Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1) Her Sad Eyes (Wild Hearts Book 1)

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