This is an invitation to dance and move in between all the stuff of life! Life wants to move!

I Move

I move

in the little cracks.

In between the tic and tock of clocks.

In the barely open moments in between 

like sliding through the holes of an old screen.

I move in the space between the hands of time,

like the hidden dots that connects the lines...

And eventually some pieces blend enough

to send smoke signals soaring

saying look I made something...

But the truth is,

this is just a shadow whisper

of a sunshine scream

that's been building in my belly since I was a baby.

And I've been blind so many times

to the truth

that I want to move all the time.

Like the water that fills the cracks

and the resounding click of the great bit clock.

In the spacious open moments of life and more,

with the sureness of a solid wood front door.

I want to move with the hands 

that can enlighten,

like weaving the dots and lines

to make dimension.


So with this...

The pieces stop...drifting away

and I stop...grasping them hopelessly

as they shape-shift

and sift

through lonely fingers.


I move like tapestry.

This woven

of body and bone and and out...

Babies breathing know no lines between

giving and receiving.



There are no more pieces.

The lie of separation ceases,

and this sunshine scream

floods the creases between my eyes,

and the lines between me and you,

between trying and true,

between one and all,

and melts the fear of answering the call.


And so...

I ask that all our creations, big and small,

all speak of this light,

this threading,

this flow river vein spreading

that connects us to the ocean that soothes.


We move.

Love Moves.

~Amirah David


New Moon Prompt

Let's sit with POWER. What does it feel like in your body when you are in your power? What blocks your experience of power? What does this feel like? Where do you feel it in your body? What does this look like in day to day life, in womanhood, motherhood in relationship?   

Today contemplating power I crossed paths with two great bald eagles. Screeching to the heavens on their lofty perch. They felt like teachers of power's essence. Call power in today and see what teachers come. What in nature reflects your inner experience of power? A bow to eagle and the power in each of us.

Respond to what calls you and send your work to-

Big Love!                                                                                                                                                





In My Power- By Molly Haglund


in my power

         i am enough

         i am plenty

         i am abundance

         creation flows

         through my hands

         through my thoughts

                           my lips

                                  my womb

i am fertile

        moist ground welcomes seed

        beckons the sun’s rain

        from one comes


in my power

           i am ripe

           i am open

           i desire

           i am desired

in my power

          i walk

          i stand

          i speak

in my power

          i am.


An Invitation to Makers

We would like to open up space here on our blog for women looking to deepen into their creative lives and support others doing the same. We will be offering prompts to spark a conversation twice a month. We welcome responses in all forms; photographs, visual art, poetry, free writes...whatever comes. It is our joy to cultivate this practice with you. Let's play! Send your responses to  

If you are open to sharing more publicly let us know in your e-mail and we may share on the Untaming Project Facebook page or Instagram. 

We look forward to hearing from you!

With Love,

The Untaming Project


Opal browned and strong.

Desert wind through sand's your song.

Rainbow sparks run through your blood.

Silk oil hair flows thick.

Dig down to the ribbon of fire light.

You are rooted in your ancestor's land.

Nails and knee caps caked in mud.

You transcend time with your grandmother's laughter.

In creamy white on a cliff side earth fire rises up.

We learn from your strength years after.

Precious stone.

Ancient gift.

You are a story to be written.

A tale bran new.

Daughter of the earth and sky.

Light infused

In soil deep.

Bright eyed and blinking baby you are free.

Ushering in a new paradigm.

Time to wash clean.

Time to dance in to our destiny.

Motherhood Poem (in many parts)

Part 3: Childhood

Mother I see you

wanting desperately to trust the world

let her walk to school

both ways

like you did in the olden days...

but is there enough to trust

in this time upside down

on the edge of colossal bust?


I see you in your gaping silence

after morning chaos -

standing still on the beam

between their raging river

and your slowly returning stream...

trying to reclaim your headwaters

long too dry it seems.


I see your thoughtful wall charts

and tenacious tries to keep

meaningful ties to human reciprocity,




and in-person empathy

as phones and drones and screens and things

creep their way into time and home…

How did this happen? you say…

with honest woe,

and then, yes, check your own phone...

human too -

fed by the witnesses there

who express some care

even if through a click or two.


And then there’s the days

released outside

deep breath into dirt.

Creek dam construction

underlog inspection

fairy house detection

and mud milk concoction.

Your family is sweetly scooped up

by earth arms

and taken into the great gift…

the nature of nature is to give.

It is complete.

Permission to live,

guided only by flow and their own feet.

“This” you whisper and melt into the sun.


Motherhood Poem (in many parts)

Part 2: Toddlerhood

Oh mama,

I see you willing roots down

to hold you steady

in the storm of the hour…

this time about yogurt

or the wrong shirt.


I see the ache of a house divided.

Half heartbroken

to close the flow

between your body and his…

and half repulsed by one more nipple twist

or draw on your life force.

Confused by the void between

these two truths.


I see you

running after

scooping up

hopping over


garden peeing

sleep sweeping

packing back-up pants

rubbing bonks

and boy grub

scrubbing renewing goo

talking circles around the “whys”

desperately trying to remember

Who. Am. I.

While largely alone

on an in-home marathon

subsisting on toast crust and apple peels.


Oh and I do see those narnia portals

when sleep and luck align

and there’s painting on rocks

shaping puppets out of socks,

tissue paper masterpieces

and fort fortresses.

When the slow hours burst open

to a storybook look and lean

into the mystery of innocence

and an unfiltered creative queen.


And I feel your chest load

when you realize between tantrums

just how big this love is…

on the brink of explode…

That your very heart is out there wild

jumping off stairs

standing on chairs

playing with an unknown child.

A beautiful mind of his own

with his own scars to collect,

his own stepping stones.


And oh mama,

I see you lift loud toddler from the cart

to rest on that 8-month belly

for the next month get him closer to your heart,

and you sneeze...and pause…

look down with exasperation,

just as you feared...

end up walking weird

with a coat around your waist

as you finish the grocery list in haist.


Motherhood Poem (in many parts)

Part 1: Babyhood


Mother may I tell you what I see?

Mothers buried and mothers alive,

mothers with and without babies,

mothers very young and very old…

I see you there

pacing the halls and blocks

breathing fire with each belly squeeze

on the path to birth


but you’ve always been prepared for this day,

like a samurai.

I hear your bear gut growls

and slicing bone howls

invoking the ripping open of sacred walls

between worlds…

And your relief

and shudders of disbelief

as that purple white wailing puffy baby creature

rests on your chest...

all wet.

How you hope he’ll turn pink soon

and all your cavewoman instincts envelope

this foreign being,

closest to home there’s ever been...

and although it is so very different than you could expect,

you’d now die to protect…

that is wild bobcat business.


I see your deep sweat

leaking from dark eyes,

dripping breasts,

sour shirts,

stacked sinks,

poop-piled washer

and all your strength to breath


now, even when the cry waters

have passed your nose.


I see your bulging biceps,

badass hip-holders,

metamorphasized belly skin

and muscle inching back to the middle…

moments in the mirror,

mesmerized by its magic to show

a wholly new face…

and a new body

your eyes trace

over and over

in awe at it’s life-making capacity

and unsettling audacity to take up more space…


I see you look up at your partner

through pea soup fog

and notice in a fleeting sinking moment

the bittersweet grief

of what kind of life has died…

Wonder if he sees you the same,

what he misses of the past,

if he understands the depth of your tired,

and that this too shall pass.

Just wait my love,

just wait…

enjoy with me what is,

now, so new,

precious in its rawness

and pure.

“I miss you too”

you want to say,

and she cries again and the words slip…

only so much velcro for thoughts to grip.


And, I also see the sun-filled mornings.

Red lipstick and even jeans,

maybe earrings, until they are yanked too hard.

Shaking that bounty booty to Beyonce

in the kitchen

connected through lines of dance and drums

to the women of your tribe…



on earth or in heaven.

You feel them pulse their





mother juice

through your pelvis,

and the power changes matter into

the magic that it is.



The veil must be thin today.

Standing at the kitchen sink watching the vapors rise from the rooftops,

I feel them near.

The women.

The pungent scent of wet moss arrives.

The rain falls in sheets between bursts of brightness as the grey washes over me in tides.


I watch my baby daughter's dream smiles.

Wondering if she feels the tender touch from days long past.

Does she feel the way ages seep into each other and lives reverberate through time, across shores?

Nothing’s gone.

Nothing’s as it seems.

Listen to the layers that are speaking.

Telling tales of the new myth we are making.


In the cloaked presence of my mother’s mothers I remember.

I stand in a lineage once set to flames.

They offer a tender love,

Shoots of fresh green, and a welcoming.

I lay a butter and oat cake offering.


Then to my boy pantless,

Dancing to the mandolin,

Just as Mickey and Johnny did.

His face a painting,

Ruddy cheeks and fuzzy curls,

My heart shatters with every balloon filled twirl.


The veil must be thin today,

An open door,

Because the song of those who’ve been croons thickly in my skin.

As if it was never gone.

I feel a gusty wind.

And the shadow of a good lady singing to the moors.




"Some of us are still catching up to who we are..." Thank you Clarissa Pinkola Estes!

"We do not become healers. 
We came as healers. We are. 
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become storytellers. 
We came as carriers of the stories
we and our ancestors actually lived. We are. 
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become artists. We came as artists. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become writers.. dancers.. musicians.. helpers.. peacemakers. We came as such. We are.

Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not learn to love in this sense. 
We came as Love. We are Love. 
Some of us are still catching up to who we truly are."

- A Simple Prayer for Remembering the Motherlode by Clarissa Pinkola Estes from The Contemplari manuscript

A beautiful poem about the relationship with the creative self!

From Marjorie Gosling

Most days, my creative voice takes the shape of a demon,
Emerging from the creeping most to trace
The outline of my cheek,
Brittle fingernail slowly drawing across my skin.
Yellow eyes gleaming with hunger and lust,
Dank breath rendering me captive,
My demon helps me undress, and shows
Me how to peel back my breasts
How to unhinge my ribs, one by
Together we stare at my exposed
Redness, the push pull of my lungs & the
Vague rattle of my voice box.
Slowly, the demon reaches in and cups my
Heart; sighing as if in peace,
As if in relief. Then it pulls itself inside of me and rests against my spine,
Running hands along the lines inside of me,it falls asleep.
Morning sweeps to afternoon to evening's
Falling and stars appear
As I stand under oak trees,
Barely breathing
Grass against my ankles and ribs flung
Open like an empty
Bird cage and the demon
Sleeps on.

Once true night has set,
Black as squid ink,
My demon wakes & stretches,
Wiping it's face like a small child.
Smiling and unkempt, it
Steps out of me and
Begins to put me back together.
Ribs interlocking once more,
Skin stitched together with hair from my head
My clothes, dewy & stiff, are awkwardly slid over limbs & I have to
Lean against the demon for support.
As my hand brushes its
shoulder, I feel the transformation that the day had brought,
No more flaking scales
No more brittle bones
Warmth spreading from its skin to mine,
A fuzzy halo of blond curls bounces as it leans down to put my socks & shoes on.

It stands & eyes meet.
Hazel to hazel,
Same shape
Same smile
And if you ask me today,
My creative voice is me as a child,
Mischievous and curious,
Painting along my spine and sleeping next
To my heart.

-Marjorie Gosling

Let's Get Big with Gratitude

Today I am practicing sinking into gratitude. I’ve learned over the past year that gratitude is a choice. At any moment I can let my fears and longings take the reins or in the midst of the struggle I can choose to say thank you. It’s funny how gratitude works, even saying thank you when I don’t completely believe it somehow seems to increase how grateful I actually feel in the end. Like any muscle, gratitude gets stronger with use.

Today I want to increase my scope of gratitude. I want to grow it so big that it fills my body, fills my home, that it pulses from me reaching far and wide. I want to live gratitude in the midst of sleepless nights with my baby son, in the midst of sorrow. So I practice. I wake up moaning, then I take a breath, take my son in my arms and hold him tight, we look into the mirror together and I tell him each morning ‘I am so thankful for you’.

But even bigger still, when I am feeling anxious, wanting to escape my reality for a laundry list of reasons, I want to be able say to my tight body, to my longings, to my aching heart, ‘I am thankful for you’. So today as I write this, the first day of my thirtieth year I woke painfully tired to a dirty house, flowers on the kitchen table, my beautiful family, and an aching body. I am feeling the exhaustion from this first year of parenthood, I am practicing opening my heart to the love that surrounds me, and in the midst of all of this I pray, let me big enough to hold it all. Let my heart be expansive in all of its gratitude.

So let’s try practicing gratitude when it’s the last thing we’re thinking. Let’s get big with our gratitude. In the dark moments when we are crying and cursing the know the ones, is it possible to say it? The breath that it takes to say thank you in the midst of the suffering could be just enough space to change everything.

Welcome to the Fireside...a place to gather, support, and share our offerings!

We craved a space where fellow creative conspirators could meet by firelight to whisper of alchemy. We hungered for a circle where we could gather to share our humble offerings. Each person spinning their own gold, mucking through their own dirt and putting it all out on the sacred altar of metaphor. 

This blog is a space where we can bring our creative offerings, a space to wonder, give thanks, and talk about the struggle and awe of being a human on this earth. Our intention is to create a safe container where we can come to support each other on the creative journey. We want to open the doors to all who wish to be a part of this community and contribute! Please Contact Us to share!

Body, Love and Surrender

Thank you Marion Woodman...

“Having a body that is like a musical instrument, open enough to be able to resonate, literally resonate with what is coming both from the inside and from the outside, so that one is able to surrender to powers greater than oneself.” ~Marion Woodman

“I can tell you that it takes great strength to surrender. You have to know that you are not going to collapse. Instead, you are going to open to a power that you don’t even know, and it is going to come to meet you. In the process of healing, this is one of the huge things that I have discovered. People recognized the energy coming to meet them. When they opened to another energy, a love, a divine love, came through to meet them. That is what is known as grace. We all sing about amazing grace. It is a gift. I think that it comes through the work that we do. For some people, it can come out of the blue, but I know that in my own situation, the grace came through incredible vigilance.”  ~Marion Woodman

“Love is the real power. It’s the energy that cherishes. The more you work with that energy, the more you will see how people respond naturally to it, and the more you will want to use it. It brings out your creativity, and helps everyone around you flower. Your children, the people you work with–everyone blooms.” ~Marion Woodman

Keep the Channel Open

Thank you Martha Graham...

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open." ~Martha Graham


“We learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same. One becomes in some area an athlete of God.” ~Martha Graham

“The most brilliant scientific discoveries will in time change and perhaps grow obsolete as new scientific manifestations emerge. But art is eternal, for it reveals the inner landscape, which is the soul of man.” ~Martha Graham