The Red Room, Photo by Stefanie Renee, www.stefanierenee.net

While planning to teach last year at Squam, I realized that I have more to share than what I can fit into an afternoon, or a day, and I began dreaming of hosting a longer conversation.  And while I was there, I met some dream-believing friends that swore that if I created a retreat in Brooklyn, people would come.  (A thought that felt like a major stretch for me.)

I found a lovely house for us and set a date, and they came.  A whole house-full, from across an ocean and a continent, from down the street.  I am still trying to wrap my mind around this.

I wanted to create an experience that would enable women to recover and reclaim lost, censored or silenced aspects of their voices, to excavate their stories that hold keys to the past, clarity for the present and guidance for the future.  I wanted to show as tangibly as possible the central role that togetherness and community plays in this journey, and the best way to do that was to invite special guests and storytellers from my own story community to create the retreat alongside me.

Fatou Coulibaly, Photo by Stefanie Renee, www.stefanierenee.netIt was an honor to have Fatou Coulibaly join us, in her first trip to New York City.  Fatou is an anthropologist from Senegal, who left her country when she received death threats in response to her PhD dissertation.  Through a long friendship that spans many years, Fatou has been a companion for the journey of international story catcher Jen Lemen (Picture Hope, Mondo Beyondo), passing along her unique wisdom and sage guidance. 

Jen Lemen, Photo by Dixon Hill Girl, http://www.dixonhill.org.uk/

We were so fortunate to have Jen Lemen join us for the weekend, too.  Fatou and Jen did double-duty as storytellers for the group and personal security blankets for me.  Fatou was my left hand and Jen was my right, and together there was a completion, a power, a depth and richness of storytelling that none of us could have created alone.  And so it always is with a supportive story community.

Love and courage were the mainstays of this weekend, and together they wove a safety net that made us feel like we could leap in the most tender and true ways.  Jen said long ago, "Stories can change you and me forever," and many of us are still feeling the reverberations of the stories we received and the stories we told as we transition back into our lives, changed.

Kathy and me, Photo by Stefanie Renee, www.stefanierenee.net

I have spent the last week soaking in the deep joy this experience left in its wake, letting all that I learned and witnessed rearrange me in such a way that I carry it with me going forward.  I've been missing these companions, and celebrating all the gifts from our time together.

You can see more amazing photos from our adventure together in our Flickr pool.

Join us in April, as we use voice, story and more to bridge the divide between our fragmented parts and Integrate. (Single and shared rooms are still available.)

Diana Instant+

"My words are coming back someday, right?" I asked Jen yesterday.

"Yes," she said.  "In about four more days."

That's the forecast, friends. Stay tuned.

Long Meadow, Prospect Park, Diana Instant+

"It is genius to store energy. Though one has no idea what that energy will be used for, to have a store of energy accumulated is to have power in back of one.  We live with our psychic energy in modern times as much as we do with our money--mortgaged into the next decade. Most modern people are exhausted nearly all the time and never catch up to an equilibrium of energy, let alone have a store of energy behind them. With no energy in store, one cannot meet any new opportunity."

--Jungian author Robert A. Johnson, as quoted in Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow by Elizabeth Lesser

I'm sitting with this quote these days, looking for ways to rest my body, replenish and restore my energy.  It's so easy for me to just keep moving, thinking there is something to propel or keep moving.  Thinking something somehow depends on me, and that outer activity will somehow carry the day.

But though this is a commonly held cultural belief of ours, there is a deeper, quieter wisdom that has me planted on my sofa, or mopping the floors when I just need to move.  It reminds me that there is some greater work that is wanting to be done in the world, with or without me.  It warns me against losing my rootedness, my grounding and my depth.  It teaches me that everything happens when it looks like nothing is happening.

So I hold my sick girl, and I rest my body and joints while they heal from a fall last week.  I brew chicken stock on the stove top and listen to a soundtrack on repeat.  I notice all the ways I let the energy leak out, and I do my best to not be an impulse spender with my greatest asset of all.

Things from this weekend's retreat that I will never forget:

• Seeing my chocolate chip cookies work their magic right before my eyes.
• Listening to my beloved friend, Fatou, laugh with delight. Again and again and again.
• Catching giant snowflakes on my tongue in Times Square.
• Watching Wicked on Broadway while sitting between two of my greatest loves.
• Setting the oven mitt on fire.
• Acting out my fantasy to lead a hands-in-the-middle group cheer.
• Going all-forks-in with amazing women on an equally amazing chocolate cake.
• Every smile, each embrace, every opening and beginning.
• The way love makes us brave, and the way--with courage and togetherness--we make dreams come true.

Dream Seeds, by Jen Lee

Today she shares this story with us:

If you’re very lucky, at some brief moment in time, someone may come along and change your life. 

My someone’s name was Jay. That was the American name he adopted to prevent his yoga students from slaughtering his true Korean name.  

I was an ignorant, overweight, green around the gills yoga-newbie who had grown up on the belief that to darken the door of anything “eastern” was akin to dancing with the devil. Nevertheless I found myself enjoying the newfound flexibility, clarity, and strength provided by this modern/ancient practice, under Jay’s expert instruction. 

Included in my studio membership was a periodic “energy check” – a session with Jay in which he would poke around certain pressure points, looking for anything out of balance, any way he could help his students achieve a healthier balance.  

That particular autumn had been rough. My long-time business partner and close friend had turned vicious - in typical mean girls fashion - and had eviscerated me in front of my colleagues, just weeks after I had signed a five-year contract with her. I was a mess - stunned, wounded, and at a loss for how survive a whopping five years with this woman. 

I was in that condition one day after class, when Jay offered me an energy check. I warily followed him into the treatment room and lay down on the mat.  

He poked and prodded while I wondered what information he could possibly be gleaning, and for what purpose. He moved his hands to press a spot just below my left collarbone. I yelped in pain. 

“What is that?” I asked, completely surprised. 

“Ah,” he said, “You have problem with co-worker.”  

“How do you know that?” I demanded. How could he possibly know that? 

“This energy center have to do with relationships, coworkers,” he replied. “Tell me what is wrong.” 

I gave him a brief history of my humiliation and betrayal. His response startled me. 

“You have to fight!” he said, eyes narrowed, intense. 

“Oh no, I am not a fighter,” I blurted. How could I explain the situation, my cowardice, my complete lack of skills in the art of confrontation, my thorough intimidation under this woman’s glare? 

“In a fight, she is a lion and I am a chicken,” I offered, hoping a metaphor would bridge the cultural gap. 

His eyes did not lose their intensity.  

“Even a chicken knows how to fight for her chicks. You must fight like a chicken – for your soul!” 

His words hung in the air, the moment stretched out in time.  

The oracle had spoken.  

I took his words home, tucked them into my heart. Soon I managed to recover my dignity, face my partner, establish my boundaries, and get my power back.  

Not bad for a chicken. 

Shortly thereafter, the studio closed and Jay was gone.  

Five years later I realize that I was very, very lucky. You never know who might show up to change your life in an unexpected way. 

Curious about this weekend's retreat?  Follow me on Twitter, and I'll keep you posted on what we're up to, as I can.

I've been shooting black and white film for the last couple weeks.

Let's see, things are quiet and happily in motion over here.  It seems I'm storing up my juice for the Companions for the Journey retreat, which begins tomorrow.  Some companions are already en route, and I'm taking a move from my mother's playbook:  try to do as many preparations ahead of time as possible, so that when we're together, we can just be together.

I'm gathering good things, thinking all the time how strange it is to feel like Christmas Eve in February. It literally feels that festive.  I vacillate between feeling like Santa Claus and the little girl who knows she's about to get something unfathomable--something she's always wanted and for which she is still stunned that she was even bold enough to ask.

So I guess that explains this daze, this happy glow on a rainy day in February.

I know this, more and more every day: there is no other way to be than together.

(Join us in April.)

This is a famous stretch in Central Park called The Mall.  The towering arch of trees marks the seasons like nothing else.  This is how it looks in February, with snow spreading from each side of the path like frosting on a cake.  Just try to imagine how it looks in April. 

Green.  Blooming.  New.

Installation at The Scandinavia House: A Child’s Adventure in the Swedish Countryside, Diana F+

Today's podcast is about speed and different ways of getting things done. It's sure to drive someone crazy. Click the link below to listen:

Or so my dear friend, Phyllis, taught me years ago.  Mine her wisdom for yourself at April's Integrate retreat.