Creative Living with Jamie with Amy Palko

This podcast is 27:45.

This week's guest: Amy Palko, writer, academic and spiritual seeker

Website: Amy Palko Website
Community Site: Bloom by Moon
Twitter: @amypalko

Amy is a writer, photographer, academic, teacher, spiritual seeker, wife and home-educating mother of 3. She plays many roles in her life, but the thread that runs through each is the sacred feminine. Whether she is photographing close-up images of flowers, facilitating a goddess workshop, teaching her students new ways to approach narrative, or providing a nurturing learning environment for her own children, She does so from a place of love and compassion. She creates and holds spaces for illumination to occur. She has recently launched an new online community/flexible course called Bloom by Moon which explores the different cycles of the moon as a way of honouring and celebrating the sacred feminine.

Show Notes...

• Jamie mentions that Amy is an alumni of Circe’s Circle: Your Creative Dream Team. If you’d love this small group program to support your creative dreams, sign up to receive information about our next session here.
• Amy mentions the book Goddesses in Everywoman: Powerful Archetypes in Women's Lives.
• Amy refers to Barbara Sher’s book What Do I Do When I Want to Do Everything?. In North America, I believe that book is I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was. Refuse to Choose! is also a Barbara Sher book designed for scanners.
• Amy shares that her mom writes morning pages, referring to the process by Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way of writing 3 pages of long-hand free-form writing every morning.
• Jamie mentions the book I’m currently reading, The Answer to How Is Yes: Acting on What Matters.

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Shining Lights in Dark Places - My Shadow, My Teacher by Amy Palko

The dark places are not something I've consciously chosen - in fact, I've always considered myself something of a light-seeker. And yes, I realize that my postgraduate degree in gothic literature highlights the irony of that statement! But then something has been stirring recently, and I've felt a curiosity, a desire to (consciously) explore those recesses in which we hide all our 'worst' traits.

In the archetype readings that I do for clients we explore the light aspects of the god and goddess archetypes they draw most heavily upon, and then I shine a light on the shadow aspects.

Now, I need to do this sensitively, because it's never easy to hear about those parts of ourselves that remain unintegrated by our psyche. It's important to deliver this information with as much compassion and understanding as I'm capable of.

And, so I generally start by saying that within each of us is a full kaleidoscope of traits that humanity expresses as a whole. There is no trait that you are unable to express given the right conditions and context. Read that sentence again. There is no trait that you are unable to express given the right conditions and context. You're likely to feel resistance to that statement - I know I do! However, when we accept its truth we see that the shadow is not, in fact, negative; it merely shelters the aspects of ourselves that we've been conditioned to believe are not ok.

The shadow is where we repress the parts of ourselves that we believe render us essentially unacceptable, undesirable, unlovable.

But the real truth is that the darkness hides not that which is negative, but that which is unseen, that which stays sheltered by our lack of awareness. Our traits which reside in our shadow exist there solely because we have chosen, consciously or otherwise, not to bring them out into the light, claim them as our own and integrate them into our way of being.

However, this is precisely where we encounter difficulties, because it's when we don't acknowledge these hidden traits, they act out. They're calling out for our attention and they do so by revealing themselves in ways which compromise our coherent sense of self.

And yet, these traits have many gifts to give us if only we are willing to bring them out into the light. When we recognize and claim, say, selfishness, we can see that this trait offers us the gifts of

• determining clear boundaries on our own time, energy and other resources.
• keeping a weather-eye on our self-care practices.
• and, paradoxically, it allows us to extend generosity, because when we have attended to our own needs and established our own boundaries, we find ourselves in a much better position to give to others.

You see, when we act from a position of awareness, we allow ourselves to make conscious choices that are not only in our own best interests, but in the best interests for others too.

Awareness allows us to live our lives from a place of compassion rather than judgment.

So, when I explore my own personal shadow, or I facilitate another to explore their own shadow through an archetype reading, I do so to help bring an awareness to an otherwise hidden trait, and then I can go looking for the gifts. The light that we bring to this endeavour comes from the twin-flames of loving kindness and compassionate acceptance, and when we embrace this light, we allow ourselves to shine brightly and brilliantly.

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix of the series Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

The Helter Skelter Seduction by Amy Palko

I suspect that when you were a child, you were probably a lot like me. When you went to your local playpark you had your favourite apparatus. For some it would be the swing. For others, the roundabout. For me, it was always the slide. The Helter Skelter kind in particular. The more curves the better!

Even as an adult, when I saw this Helter Skelter slide, I just couldn't help myself. I had to give it a try…

Gotta love Helter Skelter!!

Courage to See Our Swan Self by Amy Palko

When I caught sight of them, I had to look twice. It's been so long since they were last here, that their wide white wings spread against the cornflower blue of a January sky took me quite by surprise. My heartbeat pulsed in time with the rhythmic rise and fall of their wings, and my gaze remained transfixed on their long extended necks, held with such perfect poise, gracefully seeking home.

The swans had returned.

I have always felt a really deep affinity with swans. The curl of the swan's neck as it swoops down to the curve of its wing is truly one of the most beautiful sights, don't you think? The way its bright orange beak contrasts with the black markings around its eye. The magnificent profusion of glossy ivory feather upon feather upon feather. The seemingly effortless glide of its movements from one side of the loch to the other. The noise of rushing air as it draws itself to full height and beats its wings as warning.

This is beauty in one of its purest forms, is it not?

And yet, I can't help but remember the story of The Ugly Duckling... Towards the end of that tale, long after the soft, downy, grey, cygnet feathers have transformed into long, elegant, white, swan feathers, the swan still sees itself as ugly. Still feels ashamed of its appearance. Still tries to hide for fear of being shamed for what it perceives as its intrinsic unattractiveness. So much so that, even when he meets the other swans and they recognize him as one of their own, one as beautiful, as graceful as they, he doesn't believe them.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes relates this experience to the inability to receive and accept compliments. She says:

There is probably no better or more reliable measure of whether a woman has spent time in ugly duckling status at some point or all throughout her life than her inability to digest a sincere compliment... If you say how lovely she is, or how beautiful her art is, or compliment anything else her soul took part in, inspired, or suffused, something in her mind says she is undeserving and you, the complimentor, are an idiot for thinking such a thing to begin with. Rather than understand that the beauty of her soul shines through when she is being herself, the woman changes the subject and effectively snatches nourishment away from the soul-self, which thrives on being acknowledged, on being seen. ~ Women Who Run With the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estes

The return of the swans has me thinking about all those cygnets that have transformed into full grown swans, those tender-hearted new birds who still see themselves as ugly ducklings, everyone but them recognizing their true beauty. And it calls me to think how many times we don't see ourselves all that clearly. How we have an idea of ourselves, a vision of how we appear in the world, and how rarely that idea, that vision connects with reality.

I'm thinking of all the times I have refused compliments. I mean, sure, we accept them on the surface with a small smile, a self-deprecating shrug, a moment of embarrassed silence, a mumbled thanks. But do we allow them to penetrate to our soul? Do we allow them to nourish that part of ourselves that 'thrives on being acknowledged, on being seen'?

Next time, let yourself be truly seen, acknowledged, appreciated, complimented. Let it sink deep into your skin and soak into your soul. Let it nourish your swan-self.

Here are some of my favourite swan photographs to help you visualize your swan-self...

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix of Virgins & Lovers: Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

Confessions of an Inconstant Blogger by Amy Palko

"Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, Grow, grow…"
The Talmud

When I read that quote last night, it just about near broke my heart. If even the blades of grass have angels encouraging their growth, then where was my angel? Why was I not growing?

Sometimes it's easy to feel like we've become stuck. Jammed into an in-between space where its uncomfortable, we don't really fit, but we're not altogether sure how to get out of our stuckness. Or, and this is somehow even worse, that we can see so many ways to get out of our stuckness, and the sheer number of directions is so bewildering, that we just stay where we are.

This is where I've been, and, if I'm being completely honest with myself and with you, dear reader, in many ways, I probably still am.

In August I finished teaching at Stirling University. I arrived at this university when I was 17 and completed my undergraduate degree there in 5 years - slightly longer than it should have taken, but I did get married and have three children in-between matriculating and graduating.

After graduation, I took 2 years out to raise my 3 tiny children, before returning to the same university to do my masters degree in Gothic Studies. I followed this up with a 4 year PhD, during which I started teaching for the English Studies department.

When I finished my doctoral studies, I carried on teaching as a post-doctoral teaching assistant, which I've now been doing for the last 2 years, teaching the first 3 semesters of undergraduate English, twice convening and lecturing on Digital Media and creating and delivering my own summer course on contemporary Gothic.

And now, due to budget cuts, it's over.

I'm 32 and my whole life since I was 17 has been structured by the university system, those 2 years out notwithstanding. I feel disorientated, lost and, yes, I'm grieving a little as my former colleagues prepare for the start of the new semester in just a few weeks time.

But then I think, you know, this is such an amazing opportunity. I can really focus on my business. I can experiment with my writing. I can give the proper level of attention to my kids that they deserve.

Yet, I find myself stuck in this uncomfortable, squashy in-between space, unable to grow, unable to make decisions. Well, that's not strictly true, I make decisions, and then I make new decisions the following day. I am resisting setting my sights on anything, preferring to leap lightly from one big idea to the next, embarrassed by my own inconstancy.

And I think, my lovely, that this is why I've not been blogging so much. I keep reading all of these posts advising on how to blog, how to run an online business etc. and they all talk about consistency and focus and drive. They talk about niche and target markets and coherent brands.

So I shy away from posting. After all, what if you discovered all the seemingly mismatched aspects of myself? What if you realised how difficult I find it to remain focused and driven, always moving in the one direction? What if I gave way just how impossible I find it to make any kind of decision at the moment?

Do you know, sweet reader, that I cannot think of anyone I would inflict this kind of hateful inner monologue on. If one of my friends came and told me she was having the same issues, I would be infinitely more compassionate with her than I am with myself.

I would tell her that we are necessarily complex beings and the drive to neatly package ourselves in a consistent and appealing personal brand is ultimately an effort in futility.

I would tell her that people need to grow beyond the boundaries of the pigeonholes they find themselves placed in.

I would tell her that whatever she chooses to share will be fine. Whatever she chooses to keep to herself will be fine. Because in the end, all that matters is that what you do choose to share, rises up from that wellspring of truth flowing from your heart.

So here I am. Inconstant and inconsistent. Multifaceted and mystifying (especially to myself). Free floating and on the fence.

And with this admission, I look above my head and see that there is an angel whispering, "Grow, Amy. Grow." I think, perhaps, she's been there all along.

 

* Both of these beautiful images come from Deborah Koff-Chapin's SoulCards 1 set - my absolutely favourite oracle deck. Do check out her gorgeous website on touchdrawing, the technique she's creating to produce these gorgeous images.

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix of Virgins & Lovers: Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

To Blossom, To Bloom, To Flourish by Amy Palko

Flowers don't worry about how they're going to bloom. They just open up and turn toward the light and that makes them beautiful. ~ Jim Carrey

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix of Virgins & Lovers: Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

Graduating From Feedback: A Confession by Amy Palko

Photo by Amy Palko

Ok, here's my confession. I'm kind of 'done' with feedback. Let me explain...

After wading my way through academia for years, I have encountered both good feedback and bad (read soul-crushing) feedback).

My doctoral supervisor was a master at feedback. I used to leave his office after a meeting in relatively good spirits. It would only be 3 days later that it would finally sink in that I had to do a total rewrite, restructure, rethink of my 12000 word chapter. His feedback on my work was always incisive and yet delivered as though it were wrapped in velvet. Never cutting, always kind - I couldn't have achieved my phd without him.

The worst feedback I ever received was on a journal article I'd submitted to an academic publication. In academia, all articles are blind peer reviewed, so two or more reviewers are sent your article and they give detailed feedback to the editor on whether it should be published, and whether any issues need to be addressed prior to publication.

My article was returned to me with both reports attached. One said it was a wonderful, articulate article, well thought out, well structured and well written. They recommended no changes and immediate publication.

The other review was not so favourable.

It seems, according to this anonymous academic, that my article embodied everything they liked least about theoretical prose. They were cruel, sarcastic and when I got to the end of the report - the part where they announced to the editor that they believed that English probably wasn't my first language and a professional editorial overhaul would be needed to make my work fitting for publication - I felt physically sick.

That report taught me some really important, painful lessons…

1. Anonymity can be a license for cruelty.
2. The memory of negative feedback sticks around a whole lot longer than positive.
3. That when delivering feedback, it is always important that you add in a healthy scoop of compassion - especially when it's negative.

Needless to say, perhaps, but the positive balanced out the negative, and the article was published. I could never read it through again though without the words of the second review echoing in my heart, tormenting my bruised ego.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that it took years to claw back any kind of confidence whatsoever in my writing ability. And only now can I present my words to another with the giddy heart of one who is genuinely in love with the work they've just produced.

Since that day, I have had to give a *lot* of feedback on people's writing. I've acted as a reviewer for a number of academic publications, and I have marked more academic essays in my role as university teacher than I could possibly count. For each poorly structured, badly written essay or article, I pointed out the good as well as the bad, and gave clear ways to remedy the situation.

But, like I said at the top of this post, I'm done with feedback. Apart from a very short stint of 4 weeks next summer, I'll no longer be working in a university. Now, I'm free to create, to write, to be any way I choose. The feedback I received as a student and as an academic helped me successfully jump through hoops whose circumference and height had been decreed by others. I don't have to perform for them any more. And I don't need to coax others into conforming to this standard either.

Nowadays, the most important person to give feedback on my writing, my art, my presence, is me.

This isn't to say that I don't care what others think - not in the slightest! But it does mean that I'm no longer willing to shape and colour my expression in the world according to the preferences of another.

I've finally learned to trust my voice. And I'm giving hoops the heave-ho!

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix behind Virgins & Lovers: Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, a more-than-just-an-e-book to support your exploration of the goddess myths through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise, the knitter of soulskins, and the provider of Goddess Guidance.

Why I Write Morning Pages by Amy Palko

I write morning pages. Every morning without fail. Even when I recently had a pressing engagement through in Glasgow that required I leave the house at 5.30 (with 3 fed, washed & dressed children), I was up at 4.15 in the still quiet of the early morning dark, writing my three A4 pages of longhand stream of consciousness. My pen travelled fluidly across the lined paper and I struggled to keep my eyes open.

A part of me is surprised at myself. I didn’t know I had it in me to be so dedicated to a practice. Give me a challenge, set me a target and I will respond with the most vicious resistance. But morning pages seem to have snuck under the radar somehow. I think it’s because I write them before I’m fully awake. As I begin to slide into consciousness, my limbs languid, my body sleepwarm, I lean across the mattress and fumble around for my large A4 refill pad and my black biro. Pulling my humble writing materials back into the bed with me, I rest my head against my left arm and start writing from this horizontal position.

From this perspective it can sometimes be hard to see where the far edge of the paper is, which has led to a couple of ink stains on the sheets. It can also be hard to see exactly what I’m writing, but that’s ok, because being able to read my pages back over is not really important to me. It’s the act of writing them in the first place that produces the magic. That and quite frequently my pages are filled with garbled nonsense. And I certainly won’t be winning any awards for beautiful penmanship.

But this practice, this practice above all others that I have started and stopped, is now a non-negotiable aspect of my day. It’s one of the very few things that I do solely for me, and to start your day by doing something which is only for you and for the blossoming of your creative self, is a very powerful statement to make. In fact, even if you believe yourself not to be interested in nurturing your creativity, morning pages are a simple act of self-love. A missive to your heart, your mind, that you matter, that you are worth spending the time on.

So, why do I write morning pages? What’s been the result of all these mornings of scribbled pages?

Honestly, dear reader, I believe this practice has led me back to myself. I don’t think I even really knew just how lost I was until I found myself again. I remembered things that I had forgotten. Things like my love of words. My desire to write beautifully. The pleasure that I get when I find flow in describing the sacred wonder I see in the everyday.

I found my voice.

I found my desire.

I found my purpose.

All this from 3 A4 pages of scrawled black biro morning after morning? Could that even be possible? Yes. Yes, I think it can, my lovely. And I would love for you to experience it for yourself.

If you do want to give it a go, or have tried it in the past and then dropped it and want to pick it up again, I have some advice for you…

Take a refill pad of paper and a pen (check it works the night before – running out of ink while writing your pages is the single most annoying thing ever) and place it on the floor beside your bed. Then, upon waking, reach for the pad and pen and start writing. Don’t give yourself time to think about it. You’ll only talk yourself out of doing it in the first place. Just reach for your simple writing tools – no need for that special pen, sharpened HB pencils or expensive journal – and just write. Just write.

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing, knitting and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy home-educating her three kids! She is the creatrix of Virgins & Lovers: Ancient Wisdom for the Modern Goddess, exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

The Wonder & Terror of Insider Art: Or, Why I Can't Follow Emily's Example by Amy Palko

Photo by Amy Palko

The cursor hovers over the Publish button, my finger poised over the mouse.


The words had flowed easily, effortlessly. Spilling out from the tips of my fingers onto the keyboard. A stream of black type filling the white digital space on my text document.


And it had felt so good. An alchemical process of thoughts, that danced like dust motes in the late afternoon sun, metamorphosing into words… then clauses... then whole sentences that linked together to convey emotion, action, narrative.


The bliss that I find in the writing process is undeniable - my addiction of choice. The high I get from writing so much more profound and infinitely longer-lasting than the temporary buzz from one or two glasses of rose wine too many, or, when I used to smoke, the nicotine hit from that first cigarette of the day.


But sharing those words… sharing them is another issue altogether.


While the act of writing the words feels magical, instinctive heartwork, the publishing of those words often leaves me trembling. My heart quickens, not with joy, but with anxiety. The butterflies in my belly stir, not with excitement,t but with fear that in sharing my words with the world, I am leaving myself ever more vulnerable.


And it doesn't seem to matter if the words that I am sharing form a personal blog post, a piece of poetry or a fragment of fiction. The physical fear response is the same. The lizard brain kicks in and I have always been one for flight over fright or freeze.


I sometimes think that it would be so much easier if I just wrote, just revelled in the writing process, and left the publication of words to someone else.


When I was a masters student I attended a post-graduate conference on the theme of Outsiders. One of the panels I attended was on something called 'Outsider Art'. This was a completely new area of research to me; something I had never even guessed existed, the concept so completely foreign. Outsider Art is that which is produced with no intention of being shared with the wider world. These artists just opt out of the whole economic system of art and produce only from the place in them that needs to create. They lack that drive, that need to launch their work out into the world.


There are arguments that the great poems of Emily Dickinson are an example of Outsider Art. The majority never published in her lifetime - a lifetime spent mostly closeted away from the machinations of society, of culture - they're viewed by some as poems never intended for sharing. Small perfectly crafted parcels of words, held close to the skin: cherished, perfected, hidden.


And in this day and age, with our social media accounts, our personal blogs, our reality tv, we are being conditioned, in some ways, to share more and more of ourselves. Of our art, our words, our voice. Stripping back the veils layer by layer, no wonder we are left in fear of our nakedness, our vulnerability.


Yet, there is value in sharing our creativity, is there not? If there were no benefits to doing so, then so many of us wouldn't be doing it, would we? Certainly, in myself I recognise a desire to share that competes with the fear, the anxiety - a desire that stems from the knowledge gained from experience.


You see, I have shared much, and in return, I know that I have made a difference.


My words have brought laughter and tears. My words have evoked empathy, compassion and connection. My words have given aha moments. My words have stirred the soul and quickened the breath. My words have resonated.


This is why I could never follow Emily's example. I am not an Outsider Artist: I write from my place on the inside. The inside of networks of production and consumption. The inside of the vast networks of exchange, the ever-widening webs of communication. I write from the inside of me to connect with the inside of you. An act of courage, I believe, which is worth the risk of rejection, of ridicule, of potential repercussion.


And so, the cursor hovers over the Publish button and, leaning into the fear, the anxiety, the vulnerability, I click.


A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy with her three children whom she home-educates! She is the creatrix behind Bloom by Moon, an online learning community of women exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

We Are All Divas by Amy Palko

When you step onto the stage of lila, you have a choice. You can drag yourself across the stage like you have been mixing Quaaludes with alcohol, or you can step into the universal spotlight like a great diva. The stage is set; the roles have been cast. In experiencing the passion of lila, the first step is to take command of the stage that is your life and develop a stage presence that embraces the fullness and complexity of your role on the stage of maya. ~ Darren Main

I read these words yesterday and they struck home. Like an arrow that has found its mark, these words penetrated my heart and reverberated around the house of my soul. It was one of those moments where you sense that you have been seen. Truly seen. Now, these words follow me from room to room. They are tracing my footsteps, tugging at my shadow, mirroring the rise and fall of my breath. And I find myself wondering in those moments where my movements are occupied with preparing the dinner, making the beds, retrieving the mail, “What would it be like to command the stage that is my life? To step out into the universal spotlight? To develop a stage presence of a great diva?”

It would require you to step out from behind the mask that you’ve so carefully constructed. Step out and step forward, unadorned by the trappings of doubt, the trimmings of terror. What will they say? What will they think? This familiar refrain repeats and repeats and repeats, almost as if it longs to drown out the embryonic retort that whispers: Who cares? Who really cares if you deign to be you? Who really cares if you peel off all those old costumes, the clothes of a character you were never born to be? Who cares if you enter stage left, the spotlight tracking your step as you make your way to the centre, the audience hushed, the usherettes awed?

And you know, you don’t need to worry about forgetting your lines. There never was a line that you didn’t know. The script is unravelling as we speak. Unveiling and revealing. And the picture your words are making is all down to you. You get to decide how you develop this role. You get to choose whether to play your life in a major or minor key. But just remember this. The world will not thank you for playing it small. There are no brownie points for hiding your light beneath layers and layers of false belief. Just as a star is born to shine, so are you.

Because if there is one thing this life is not, is a dress rehearsal. It sounds trite and cliche, but it’s no less true for that. The tickets have been sold, the programmes printed, the stage is set, the chorus line rehearsed… all that remains is for you to begin. Just start. Just say anything. Anything at all. It’s ok. It’ll be the right thing. Just go ahead. Begin.

You start off in a faltering voice, the trembling augmented by the echo, as your words bounce back at you. Someone coughs. You shuffle your feet, and tug at your clothes. In all honesty, you are wishing that you hadn’t come along this evening. You could have stayed at home, put your feet up, had a cup of tea, watched EastEnders, caught up on FaceBook friends. In fact, what the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you always want an easy life? Didn’t you? Didn’t you?

But deep down in your secret heart, that place where time dies and revives every second, that place where you know it’s all just an illusion, that place where you are still and always you… there, you know that you are not here to hide behind a mug of tea and an avatar. You know you were born to be a diva. To inhale deeply and let your voice carry you forth on the dust motes dancing in the limelight. This time your voice is stronger. It has a resonance, a timbre. You stand there knowing that you can be heard all the way up to the gods.

And the gods are listening. They’re all rooting for you to give an inspired performance. They’re willing you on, not keeping you in check. Not proclaiming your worth or defining your limits. They’re longing that you’ll choose to be ‘big’ – live life as large as you can; larger, in fact. That round of applause that you hear… that’s them. That’s them rejoicing that you chose to give a stand out performance of being you. That you shoved aside fear, and stepped beyond the comfort zone.

Because there are relatively few rewards for taking a minor part, for being an understudy. Wouldn’t you rather dance, sing, perform like no-one was watching? Wouldn’t you rather be a diva? A radiant diva that attracts all the light when she walks onto the stage. Luminous and free. Wouldn’t you rather be the star you are, and not the walk-on part you play, terrified that even the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other might be beyond you?

Because we are all stars – points of light in the theatre of a collective imagination – divas on the stage of our existence.

A true lover of stories, Amy Palko spends her days reading, writing and dreaming… well, that is when she's not being kept busy with her three children whom she home-educates! She is the creatrix behind Bloom by Moon, an online learning community of women exploring goddess myths and moon cycles through story, journalling, visualisation and creative exercise.

Meet the Dreamers: Amy Palko

Amy Palko

Amy is a writer, photographer, academic, teacher, spiritual seeker, wife and home-educating mother of 3. She plays many roles in her life, but the thread that runs through each is the sacred feminine. Whether she is photographing close-up images of flowers, facilitating a goddess workshop, teaching her students new ways to approach narrative, or providing a nurturing learning environment for her own children, She does so from a place of love and compassion. She creates and holds spaces for illumination to occur. She has recently launched an new online community/flexible course called Bloom by Moon which explores the different cycles of the moon as a way of honouring and celebrating the sacred feminine.

Website: AmyPalko.com. Community Site: Bloom by Moon. Twitter.