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Abby Lane

@msabbylane

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Allergic to small talk. Addicted to big feelings.

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This morning I was listening to an Instagram live that @jenpastiloff did with @hendricks.gay a couple of weeks ago. Jen mentioned the concept of a #bodyprayer that she takes her clients through creating for themselves from their own messaging with their bodies. What I received was that it’s a practice of noticing what our current narratives are, and reclaiming them through taking ownership and elevating those stories to serve as mantras or reminders in our journey to kindness with ourselves.
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As someone who has often experienced this [being human] experiment as disembodiment or feeling disconnected from my physical self, I am frequently in need of practices that drop me into awareness of what my body is and how it communicates to me. (Sidenote: @iamjamieleefinch has been a helpful voice in this work in you are looking for direction in that space.) I didn’t follow the exact same approach, but sat with the idea that my body might be asking something of me—that she might have her own seeker’s prayer to me.
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I took out my journal inside my quiet living room and asked, “Ok, what do you want me to know?” Before I could even finish the question I got a resounding,
“TRUST ME.”
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I could feel the urgency with which it spilled over like a parent who has asked their child a dozen times to put their shoes on.
“TRUST ME.”
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Like the moment when you stand at the refrigerator filling up a glass of water and you look away forgetting there is a limit to your cup until it spills over onto your hand.
“TRUST ME.”
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Like staring up at the stars wondering why their twinkle feels so freeing and someone grabbing your face to say, “because THAT is inside of YOU.”
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“TRUST ME.”
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“Ok. How do I do that?” And the little whispers started pouring in:
that wave through your belly is a, “wait, please.”
that ache in your head is a, “no thank you.”
that yawn in your mouth is a, “stop, rest.”
that glitter in your chest is a “hell yes!”
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It’s simple, it’s subtle, but it’s sure.
She is always taking care of me and all she ever asks is that I do the same in return. What is your body saying to you?
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#sunday by @msabbylane

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6 years ago

I recently lost one of my spiritual mothers
And there is much to say about her

But for now, I am spending time with her in her garden
Learning to care for the things she cared for
Learning to care for me the way she cared for me

And somehow she is more here now
Than she ever was before

And so am I

❤️ by @msabbylane

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23 days ago

a reminder to…….

rest
slow down
say, “no thank you”
take a deep breath
trust the timing
release what is not yours
feel your heart beat
find stillness
connect with the earth
remember who you are
know you are loved
give thanks to what holds you
move toward peace with your body
let something new in
integrate joy
be your own permission slip
live

#deermedicine #rest #magic

💛 by @msabbylane

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2 months ago

“Nobody’s free until everybody’s free”
-Fannie Lou Hamer.

🎇 by @msabbylane

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3 months ago

she has held every version of me and never bat an eye 🏙️🍎
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#nyc by @msabbylane

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5 months ago

i am surprised by the speed with which i say
𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦! to my neighbor
who offers me sweet tea in a red solo cup
it’s our annual spring meet-cute in the street

i don’t drink sweet tea, not since 1999
but somehow she knows when i need the break
from pulling away the weeds threatening
to suffocate the budding flowers
in both my yard & my mind

her husband is paralyzed from an accident
𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴?
she says with a tiredness she doesn’t have to name
i nod my head solemnly & offer,
𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬
it’s a memory that lands a little too hard
despite its inherent wind power

as our neighborhood kite whisperer
he tied diamond-shaped joys to the fence
in the field that runs flush with my property
letting them dance in the sky for hours
my own private window display of wonder

now the kids run through the field
hands gripping tightly to whimsy on a string
they don’t yet know can be taken away
he watches from his own window
a reciprocity he never wanted to need
heart strings pulling him toward a place
his body cannot feel

it’s here that i can’t help but notice
the interconnectedness of things

maybe resistance to all the unspeakable horrors
that threaten to paralyze us into inaction
is simply noticing the small joys of presence
sitting right beside them
& not being afraid of how they too
request to take up space

i remember the power of mundane magic
to create a new world

while all manner of men
& their weapons
& their wars
& their unhealed wounds
try to suffocate
children, diversity, women, & progress
the budding flowers
they know will all inherently bring new life
they know will threaten their belief
that something else must die
because they have forgotten how to live

their anger
their violence
their hatred
is a shield for what they have been told is a weakness:
to stay open

so we are kind to our neighbors
we let our whimsy dance in the sky
& we keep extending an invitation to those men too
because maybe one day
they will be surprised by their own relief
spilling out in a 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!
& they too will remember how to fly

🪁 by @msabbylane

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5 months ago

“Mother” is not a label given after labor.
A mother prepares the room to usher in labor itself.

A mother creates space for the birth of things—a sunrise, a season, a self.

A mother is, whether or not the seed sprouts.
A mother is, whether or not what she creates remembers her.
A mother is, whether or not she fears what she has made.

A mother is fertile—like soil, like laughter, like art.
A mother is barren, haunted by empty caves.
A mother is a mother when she decides she’s not ready.

A mother is sometimes a child who hears and sees too early.
A mother is sometimes childless by choice, circumstance, or sorrow.
A mother is sometimes a decision to put one’s own self first.

A mother is a protest against governments, guns, and greed.
A mother is a dragon for other people’s children.
A mother knows there is no such thing as other people’s children.

A mother is often a she, sometimes a he, or a they.
A mother is a birthing person, adoptive, guardian or advocate.
Mothering is not limited by organs and parts; a mother does not need a womb to be one.

Being mothered is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that taste better because someone else made them.
Being mothered is the peripheral gaze of someone who makes sure of you while you do it yourself.
Being mothered is the interlaced fingers of a friend saying, “I’m right here.”
Being mothered is saying “no” to the things that have mothered you, when you are ready to mother yourself.

A mother encourages things to rise:
a head, a prayer, bread, potential.

A mother is the grounded earth, gravity soaking in stars.
A mother is the patient moon, gatekeeper of retreats and swells.
A mother is the alchemist of the sky, managing fire, assembling snowflakes out of dust.

Mother is self.
Mother is other.
Mother is life.
Wild. Holy. Creator. Love.
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💛

#mothersday by @msabbylane

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5 months ago

❤️‍🔥 R A Y E ❤️‍🔥

Proof of life. Proof of love. Proof of joy. by @msabbylane

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6 months ago

I recently went on a retreat to Costa Rica with the gifted and prodigious facilitators of @energetic.intelligence.

My intentions for journeying into the jungle for a week were largely about my body, this physical matter that I inhabit, and how to continue being in deeper relationship with her. Conceptually, I know I’ve got me. I am the only person who knows every freckle, funny bone, fear, and fire that makes me tick. What I am still working on, is understanding the capacity of my surety to stay in this body and fully inhabit the spectrum of what it is to love and be loved, to be complete and have desire, and to be at peace with the timing of my unfolding.

For me, this trip was confronting on every conceivable level. Meeting myself at my edges of discomfort was the doorway to the gift of resting in the expansion accessible there. I became my own evidence that there is nothing in me to fear, and that the next chapter begins whenever I pick up the pen. I was surrounded by absolute goddesses, brave enough to face their own truths and embodying impeccable divine sisterhood.

Will what I feel about my own possibilities, wants, and magic last past this blissful moment of clarity? I believe it will. I want to keep growing, and inherent in that wish will be contractions, frustrations, and potential dark nights. But I’ve seen all that before and it has only illuminated my love for shooting stars and fireflies who both need the darkness to shine.

We were incredibly lucky to get to experience this retreat while encased by the beauty and the wild of @lunalodgecostarica “The Edge of Paradise”. @lana_wedmore is a beautiful guardian of the land she inhabits and the work she does to protect it with @whitehawkfoundation.

I got this small reminder (@wildhoneyartistry) of my time at Luna, marked on this body I am returning home to, as a portal of presence and remembrance. Every other iteration of my being will get to exist because of this one. And I’ll be damned if I’m about to let any of them down.
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(🌱If you want to know more about this retreat as an option in your future, please DM✨) by @msabbylane

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6 months ago

I want & I will 🦥🦋 taken in Luna Lodge, Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica by @msabbylane

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6 months ago

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This morning I woke up prepared to sit and be reflective about this last year of being alive. I found myself searching for an anecdote, a specific feeling, or some piece of wisdom to take into another journey around the sun. All that came to me was stillness inside a sense that there is no where else to be but “here”.

I spent most of the last twelve months deeply excavating my connection to my body and being present with her in more honest and caring ways. I’m inclined to feel like everything has changed, and yet I understand it to be a returning to what always has been. The mid-life of it all is not a crises—it is an uncovering, a great remembering.

I continue to be moved by the goodness that surrounds me in others. But more specifically I have been taken by the presence those same faces gift to me, and how they call me into more slowness, integrity, and joy.

I spent a lot of years waiting to arrive at a mythical place where I could breathe easier, find rest, or be unaffected in a way I hoped would bring some form of enlightenment. All that brought me was disconnection from myself and a hollowed out place in my heart where I was waiting for life to be safe enough to feel.

The emotional luxury of being human is vast and overwhelming and brutal and breathtaking. I don’t want to miss any more of this unpromised life, and I’m learning to be proud of the depth I allow and trust that I am safe with myself to do so.

As a friend reminded me of my own words this morning, “We haven’t even gotten to the good part.” And as she added, it does indeed feel close.

This or something better. 🥂🎈 by @msabbylane

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a year ago

Bouquets of sharpened pencils. 🍎 by @msabbylane

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a year ago