18/01/2026
This year did not arrive gently. It arrived with el duende, that fierce, animate spirit that comes to move what has grown rigid.
A spirit alive with knowing, tipping the loose stones beneath the towers we have learned to stand on, so we might lift our eyes and remember the stars.
It can feel like a death. A dark night that carries the soul out of a pit we have already outgrown and sets us down on a sandy shore, where even the sea holds light.
All of this so we might come back into the simple, miraculous fact of having a body. Two arms. Two legs. Belly. Spine. Breath. A life that still wants to be lived from the inside.
Where have you been suffering quietly?
Where have you been smoothing yourself thin, placating, shrinking, keeping the peace at your own expense?
What is the voice beneath the floorboards, the one that creaks at night, trying to say to you?
When el duende arrives, the game changes. The wind shifts.
Suddenly we are standing at a threshold, feeling what has been, what is here now, and what is waiting to be born.
The old way becomes unbearable to keep carrying. The self who endured without voice asks to be released.
Many of us are feeling this not as a thought, but as a sensation. In the body. In the heart. In the quiet insistence of something that has been trying to speak for a long time.
In moments like this, women have always turned toward one another. We gather. We sit in circle. We let our stories breathe. We remember that being witnessed is a form of medicine.
Tonight we are opening the Womenโs Red Tent in Ocean Shores.
A place to arrive as you are.
A place where listening is slow and generous.
A place where nothing needs to be solved.
A place where being held among other women is enough.
If this beginning of the year has stirred something in you, if you feel the call to be heard, you are welcome.
The fire is lit.
6-9pm Ocean Shores โฅ๏ธ
