created by Kristin Prevallet

If the summer solstice is about noticing and integrating the sun, its warmth and its bounty, into the darkest parts of our lives (keywords: passion, creativity, creation, rebirth, renewal, action and clarity)….

…then the autumn equinox is about embracing abstractions. The bounty is disappearing, the seeds are beginning to cower underground, the vegetables are being harvested, and the leaves are falling from the trees. Death hasn’t happened yet; it’s in-between waking and sleeping. A kind of “hypnagogic state,” (the moment just before sleep).

To celebrate this equinox, spend a few minutes with Stan Brakhage’s 1963 film Mothlight: a “found foliage” film composed of insects, leaves, and other detritus sandwiched between two strips of perforated tape.”

Take notice: what is dying is alive in this moment.

Gratitude, generosity, giving gifts, letting go…

…embracing negative capability (the ability to exist among doubts and uncertainties with terrific conviction.)

“Death is the mother of beauty” is the oft-cited line of poetry for the Autumn Equinox – but reading Wallace Steven’s entire poem “Sunday Morning” will align you with the sun’s rays, which, at 4:22am this morning (NY time), shone directly over the equator:

And, in the isolation of the sky,

At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make

Ambiguous undulations as they sink,

Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

Be well with it!



“Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it.”     – Daisy, from The Great Gatsby

summer solsticeIt’s easy to lament the passing of the longest day of the year — but where I am on the east coast there’s nothing like that feeling of noticing that it’s 9pm…and the sky is still holding onto a brush of light.

Whether you live in the western desert or the northeast wetlands (it sure feels like that tonight), the longest day of the year is symbolic of the moment when the sun begins its subtle shift southward. The days becoming shorter, signaling the end of summer on the very day that summer begins.

The summer solstice is the metaphor of endings that are beginnings—“in my beginning is my end” and is a good reminder that whatever is happening in your life right now, whether it be joy and celebration or death and suffering, are not permanently stuck in time and space. Everything is revolving. (Which doesn’t mean that everything is fine, or perfect, or just.)

Like fire. It may seem like a constant state of heat and flame, but nothing is constant about such a rapid, persistent chemical reaction that releases both heat and light simultaneously and can flare up within seconds. But contained, it’s pure magic.

“Our ancestors built huge bonfires on this day to celebrate their tangible connection to the vital power of the immense burning star that keeps our planet bright, warm and alive. It’s a good time to remember that we, like the sun, contain the power to nurture and sustain, and that we have a responsibility to burn as brightly as we can.

(It) is the time to invite fire into our lives fire to burn away all that we have outgrown and all that no longer serves us; fire that makes the wild things grow in us, for which our inner selves have longed.

-Cait Johnson and Maura D. Shaw from Celebrating the Great Mother (qtd MysticMamma)

Celebrating this day of days with a fire ritual (no matter if by candlelight or bonfire) is a good way to honor the cycles of day and night as symbols of our own cyclical lives. Holding onto the light, even in the darkest of days, is a survival technique. Taking time to notice it happening on June 21st can help trigger a reminder that light is changing even during the darkest days of winter.

So as you watch the fire transform wood into smoke (or wick into flame), here’s a poetic ritual that honors the ever-changing state of your physical/psychic/emotional skyfield.

Wherever you are in relation to the hemispheres, you can observe the summer solstice by locating yourself within the specifics of your space and time.

Notice: what is to the north of you, and what is to the south? Where is the nearest body of water, or the nearest mountain? What ground lies beneath you, and what is happening to the earth beneath your feet?

Read Frank O’Hara’s A TRUE ACCOUNT OF TALKING TO THE SUN AT FIRE ISLAND and be attentive to the position of the sun, and where you are now in relation to it.

Tell the sun about everything that makes you most angry. Tell the sun your resentments and your failures, your feelings of inferiority and your disappointments.

Write a poem, song, letter — or just feel the heat and think these things out loud. Draw a scribble that represents these things.

Give it to the sun. Throw the scribble into the fire. Release it from your body, feel the intensity of your dark side chemically transform into heat and flame.

Allow the sun to leave a poem in the release of all that.

Breathe into the space that has been left behind. Fill it with purpose and resolve. Let go of what no longer serves you, but hold onto the energy of what has been left behind.

Sleep, and dream. Upon waking, write down your morning thoughts. Welcome the day that marks the day after the first, and last, day of summer.

Here’s my own incantation for the summer solstice in honor of Frank O’Hara:

It’s the longest day of the year and at 8pm, daylight is still in the window.

I’m supposed to let something go.

But there are certain things that I think I’ll hold on to, for just one more trip around the sun.

To the dream that the one who loved me will come back: I’m holding on to that.

To the project that has been unfinished for ten years, now a gathering place for stink bugs in the garage: I’ll hold onto that box — I’m not dead yet.

To the past and how I once hid in a closet covered with clothes and a mask to protest the lack of recognition I was receiving from my mother: Might as well hold onto that, it’s the part of me that bites.

But that pain in my neck – I’ll burn that.

And I’m thinking of burning fences, I’ve got a dog that ignores them anyway.

And if my presence makes another person feel invisible, I’ll burn the space between us.

Minds create chasms; hearts fill it.

To the sun I say fire: mind the gap.

As if one blog isn’t enough…here’s a piece I wrote that was just posted for Annie Finch’s wonderful American Witch website: 

As a poet, teacher, and practicing clinical hypnotist I am a weaver of words and a believer in their power to effect positive change in our lives – when they are used with care and grace.

And it was through poetry that I came to believe this. But there is one story that leads me here, to my first post for American Witch Magazine.

When I was in graduate school at the University of Buffalo, I had a job working in the Poetry/Rare Books Collection at the University of Buffalo. Always a good place for a strange encounter of the logos kind.

I found myself in a corner of the archive in which unpacked boxes were stacked up. I opened one of them (clearly, I hadn’t paid attention to the cautions against curiosity that led to Pandora’s fall from grace!)

I found a scrapbook marked, Black Magic. I opened it and found myself absorbed by eccentric collages of beautiful women cut out from fashion magazines, passionately conversing with insects and wild animals.

I was entranced, and from that point forward made it my project to catalogue the archive of Helen Adam. The book that I edited and introduced, still available (click here), collects Adam’s collages as well as her charmingly gruesome ballads. 

I hadn’t really thought about Helen Adam as a student of The Lore until long after she had died, and long after my edited collection of her work was published. I was in a bookstore that had found her library buried in a state warehouse—a tale in and of itself that sparks proof of supernatural intervention. (You can read about it here.)

The first book that I saw was GYPSY SORCERY AND FORTUNE TELLING: ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS INCANTATIONS, SPECIMENS OF MEDICAL MAGIC, ANECDOTES AND TALES by Charles Godfrey Leland. It was badly damaged by roach stains, but it had her markings and so of course I had to buy it.

I put it on my shelf, and to be honest, have not picked it up until this moment as I sit down to write my first post for American Witch.

It is interesting how the past, the passions and pursuits of our youth, the research and thoughts forged so long ago, continue to weave and intersect the fabric of our lives into rich conversational tapestries.

Here is an excerpt from a section that is of particular relevance to the content I’ll be writing for American Witch – posts that I hope will lead my readers into spells of thought that affect positive change in your worlds. Spells that are as magical in their poetry as they are in any practical effects.

Regarding the issue of “curing certain disorders of afflictions by means of spells or verses,” Leland writes:

A certain word is repeated many times in a mysterious manner, so that it strikes the imagination of the sufferer.

He then goes on to describe a disorder that was of particular concern to people living in the Romanian countryside: the bite of the Wolos, a wooly caterpillar, whose bite is as painful as the sting of a bee and whose side effects can be crippling.

The effecting spell is so poetically curious that it begs replicating in full here:


Holy Wolos.

Once a man drove over empty roads

With empty oxen,

To an empty field,

To harvest empty corn,

And gather it in empty ricks.

He gathered the empty sheaves, 

Laid them in empty wagons,

Drove over empty roads,

Unto an empty threshing-floor.

The empty laborers threshed it,

And bore it to the empty mill.

The empty baker (woman)

Mixed it in an empty trough,

And baked it in an empty oven. 

The empty people ate the empty bread.

So may the Wolos swallow this disorder

From the empty ___________ (Here the name of the patient.)

Leland writes that, “…what is here understood by ‘empty’ is that the swelling is taken away, subtracted, or emptied, by virtue of the repetition of the word, as if one should say, ‘Be thou void. Depart! depart! depart! Avoid me!’”

And so goes the subtle power of words to weave spells through ambiguity, indirect suggestion, repetition, and poetry to bring a person into the healing state.

My next post will continue this thread but if you’re interested in learning more about how this works, check out my Trance Poetics trilogy – a series of three books that will teach you how language works in conjunction with your body’s self-healing mechanisms.

Until then, repeat gentle thoughts to yourself and hard thoughts about how you can take action to make the world a better place.

Sending you all that is light in love and language,


sheepHappy New Year!
May it be as predicted: more stable, more familial, and more hopeful as people come together socially and politically to re-frame the future and cultivate what we’ve got left of this life on earth.

And it already has…

If you were born on a Saturday, then the light of the sun caught your mother’s eye.
Or, the stars. If tipped towards Saturn, then you are quick to wit and long to love.
If the North Star was turned south, then you have spent your life looking for a home.
There are no trees– so you were born on a Monday.
The snow is silver — so you were born on a Wednesday.
Because of the day and the year that you were born, you are the luckiest dog in the pack.
Because of the exact moment that you assembled yourself into flesh, you fluctuate madly between being temperamental and certain.
You’re lucky in business. Unlucky in love. Then your luck shifts and the opposite happens.
Because love is a seed, you are an oak.
If you don’t find your soulmate in this life, don’t worry. In the next life, you will be born on a Thursday.
How fortunate.
How extraordinary, and lined with gold.
Because golden is the star under which you were born.
Your heart is a house and your family is a campfire.
Always sheltered. Always loved.
It’s because you were born that everything has happened.
                     -Kristin Prevallet

I wrote this poem as a homage to “Could Have” by Wislawa Szymborska; it’s dedicated to Lwin Lwin Mon who taught me MyanmarBurmese astrology while I had the privileged of teaching with her at the University of Yangon in November. Disclaimer: there is no real astrology to be gleaned from this poem, but I hope it makes you smile anyway.)

(I wrote this response as a letter-to-the-editor of the Boston Review after reading the September/October 2014 forum in response to Paul Bloom’s article, Against Empathy. Of course, the letter pertains to to a much larger crisis of discourse among the complementary healthcare community as it is represented by the larger culture.)

It is only with a bit of empathy, and a larger call towards clarity, that I write you with one question: in an entire issue of your fine publication devoted to empathy, you didn’t ask a single person working empathetically in a healing, energetic capacity to contribute. Perhaps that’s because you think that we can’t write or that we’re so stuck in new age terminology that your readers would lost without academic parlance.

But I wanted to write and say that the people working on the fringes of healthcare – acupuncturists, reiki healers, shamans, hypnotherapists, etc. – use empathy in a way that seems to support Bloom’s thesis. I completely agree with him that there is nothing more useless, and annoying, than someone who claims to feel your pain – and then looks at you, hoping that you will see them in pain. And then magically feel better yourself.

Although I certainly can’t claim to represent all alternative practitioners, I will speak for myself and say that working energetically in the emphatic field is the opposite of absorbing the problems of another person. When a person is in crisis, or pain, or stuck in an anxiety or panic, they are metaphorically and physically stuck, and this state of being always has a biochemical effect – whether that be a tightening of the throat, chest, stomach, lower back, etc.

And although sometimes when I am working with someone I do feel in my body the same places of discomfort that they are feeling, I always expel that sensation as quickly as is possible. Because the ultimate goal is that the person be led out of that tight spot, and into a larger field. Not to stay there and receive some advice.

Metaphorically this larger field might be a field of grass and dandelions; it might be the ocean, or the sky. It might be hovering over the problem like a bird. And from that vantage point of a wider perspective, a person can begin to cultivate the inner resources that it takes to turn the problem around; to start the healing process.

In other words, I am a facilitator of that journey. I lead a person into a state of relaxation that allows their body to calm down so that their mind can expand and find ideas, perspectives, resources, etc. that they can use to realign their inner (unconscious) states of mind. The state of empathy, to me, is a state not of absorbing the problem, but of seeing the end result: the person feeling better, more confident, calmer, and most importantly, no longer focused on the issue in the same old way.

I never take another person’s pain and suffering into my emotional or physical being. The client does the internal work, and so the catharsis, the change, the learning, is theirs.

Thanks for the compelling issue.


Kristin Prevallet

equinoxYesterday, at precisely 2:29 UT (Universal Time) the Sun shone directly on the Earth’s equator and a moment later, it headed south. The autumn equinox marks the moment when the sun and the moon command the sky for an equal length of time, but because nothing is ever still, this balance only lasted for a second. With every moment that passes after the equinox, darkness gradually overtakes the day.

The transition from summer to fall is a seasonal shift that we’ve all revolved through many times as the cycles of darkness mark the end of a period of light; as the cycles of chill in the air signify that we are no longer able to go to the beach (well, for those of us living in the Northeast, that is…)

Taking the equinox to a symbolic level, it’s tempting to think that periods of darkness in our lives indicate that something is wrong. But darkness is a part of the cycles of the earth, moon, and sun; and although we might find other ways to occupy our attention (the commute; the buildings; the internet; the money) the fact is that we are occupied and directed by change, cycles, seasons. And right now, the impending movement of a cold, dark, unpredictable winter is an energetic pull.

To mark this equinox, we might begin by dropping right down into the center of our darkest selves; we might begin by acknowledging that although self-sabotage, anger, resentment, and anxiety are powerful forces they are fleeting and so are capable of being transformed in this moment by actively thinking different thoughts, and by intentionally breathing. And from that space of peripheral perspective, looking back at the problem and finding there a different path to deal with it; a different energy to confront it.

Or, we might mark this equinox by anchoring an internal state of mind called “refuge.” In Insight Meditation: The Practice of Freedom Joseph Goldstein writes “from this deep place of refuge, we have the power to see the self-rejection and anxiety not as things inherent in our makeup but rather as passing forces in our mind.” Goldstein calls this refuge “Buddha,”  but I think it’s just as useful to have a non-religious association with the term.

How? By anchoring your feet to the floor. By extending your neck to reach the clouds. By becoming aware that when you are rooted to the ground and yet expanding into space you are your own equinox. Finding balance right now, by imagining a channel of colored light that passes through your vertical meridian. The color of the light is a blend of earth and sky colors; a blend of darkness and light; a blend of who you are when you are feeling corrosive, and who you are when you are feeling restored. The two forces, in balance — they are an energy when combined.

The more you activate your inner equinox through out the day, the more it will become your refuge. It’s a good place to hang out, even in the darkest of days.

And if the idea of finding warmth and shelter in a poem makes sense to you, here is one of my favorites. It beckons winter by enacting it as a place of refuge in the mind:


One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

the gameRecently, I was driving with my 11 year old daughter and out of the blue she said, “I lost the game.”

“What game?” I asked.

“It’s a game where basically if you think about the game, you’ve lost the game.”

“So the game is just the thought of the game?”

“Yep,” she said.

I started thinking about how to apply this game to obsessive or unproductive thoughts. So every time I had a thought that wasn’t the thought I wanted to be thinking in that particular moment, I’d catch myself and say, “Ha!I just lost the game.”

The practice of mindfullness is about observing thought – a key practice that helps to regulate overly-emotional responses to the mundane triggers of everyday life.

(David Nichtern’s technique of “Simply see what arises in our mind as it comes up. Just notice it” is one of my favorites.)

But sometimes, mindfulness practices seem so serious and contemplative.

The cool thing about this trick is that it’s hard not to laugh when suddenly, out of the blue, you think about a game you had forgotten you were even playing. And laughter is a great way to redirect obsessive thinking into a more resourceful state of mind.

So maybe the trick is actually to say, “I won the game” every time you catch yourself interrupting your thoughts by thinking about the game.

I ran this theory by my daughter and she said, “Well, if you win the game all the time you’ll probably loose interest in playing it.”

I told her that if that happens, she’ll need to invent a new game.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Kids these days…


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