This blog traces how the Sacred Beyond principles weave into every aspect of my life. It asks of me, exponential growth. It asks that of anyone bold enough to go after their courageous dream.

It’s in the small and large details of the adventure of that courageous dream that we witness the growth.

Mine is a hero’s journey – that of a heart and soul-driven quest for a grail of truth and the energy to truly do that thing we all talk about, – make a difference. The journey wanders along highways and paths, both inner and outer and it asks not just that I know myself but where I came from and the origins of my story. I hope you will wander along these paths with me, delight in the landscape and be inspired to chart your own quest.

Now and then, someone will connect with me after reading one of my posts.  I love that something I wrote years ago touches and resonates with someone today.  It reminds me of where I was 10-15-20 years ago and how every experience and choice from my past is woven into the fabric of my life today.

When I wrote my first blog more than ten years ago, I dreamed of living and walking in southwestern Cornwall, with “Public Footpath” signs at my doorstep and beautiful paths to discover and walk.
And now, I am here.

I moved to southwestern Cornwall 8 months ago, in the middle of a long, rainy, dark winter. Today, I am sitting in my “She-Shed”, my new-to-me, rustic, tiny home close to the coast near Land’s End in southwestern Cornwall, where I will live for at least the next four months.

Down here, about as far as you can get into the peninsula of Cornwall, in Penwith—surrounded by the convergence of three bodies of water—the English Channel, the Atlantic Ocean, and the Celtic Sea—I am exposed to the wind, rain, fog, and mists that come directly on to land from the seas. I am nestled in a turquoise tin shed in a tiny hamlet protected by the local ducks and geese and living on my own.

My home is simple, cozy, and small. It has electricity and heat from a wood stove. I cook on a camp stove inside and a small Gaz-fueled grill outside, with a half-sized fridge to store my food. I have an outdoor cold-water sink, a flushing toilet, and a hot-water shower in a separate space accessed only by going outside.

 Inside, I love sitting on my small used John Lewis sofa in the corner, looking out my back door to the garden allotments over the fence and inside to the comfy double bed, tiny desk and small folding kitchen table. I must remember to make small moves, diligently clean up and put everything away after using it. I must also consciously appreciate the internet, safety, and location of my home.

For most of my life, I have lived with other people. I had a two-year stint in my apartment when I was 25 years old. Since then, I have lived with my husband and our growing family of four children, whose ages span 12 years. I had children in my home from 1990 until 2020, thirty years of daily parenting. 

This is not a complaint; it is simply a recognition of not living on my own for 30 years with kids at home and 36 years of marriage. Being responsible for the care and well-being of others. My mother lived 2 miles away with my brother and his family. Family nearby. My life was marriage-children-family-centered – until it wasn’t.

Covid happened.

The world split open.

My family splintered.

I left my home with my dog and a Casita Travel Trailer in June 2021. My husband and I amicably separated a few months later. We sold our house in the spring of 2022. I moved to North Carolina and divorced at the end of 2022. In the summer of 2023, I returned to Colorado to support my mother, who had experienced health challenges. Back in Boulder, but no longer home.

I have travelled to the UK, Spain, and France.

My soul’s desire to live in Cornwall was reawakened.

I moved to Cornwall with Rupert, my beloved ageing dog, at the end of 2023. He died a few months after arriving. I stayed in a beautifully refurbished goat barn on a property in the center of a dairy farm close to Boscawen’un, an ancient stone circle in the center of Penwith. This property was sold, and I had to move.

I travelled from Cornwall for eight weeks, including five-plus weeks in the US, visiting family and friends. When I was in the US with family, Cornwall became shrouded in a kind of mist. Like Avalon, I almost forgot my connection to this sacred and ancient land.

I moved here to root more deeply into myself, my homeland, and this landscape. I resonate with the land, the sea, the pathways, and the sacred sites. I appreciate that I love the people, too. I’ve been very fortunate to have met several wonderful and kindred souls since moving here. 

I am down at the very far southwestern end of Cornwall, the county that lies west of the River Tamar but is in many ways, its own place and culture. Inhabited by proud and true Cornish people who are a combination of indigenous, Celtic, Spanish (from the Armada) and English genes, there’s a strong vein of independence and not being English! 

I am half Cornish – my father’s family – full Cornish going back generations, living in the mid and eastern areas of Cornwall – Liskeard, Blisland, St. Breward, Wadebridge, Edmonton. The Cornish believe that their Cornish DNA is different from the English – and you are strongly reminded of this if you forget!

I first returned here in 2012 to celebrate my father’s 80th birthday. Then again in 2013 to walk the Mary Michael Way, the sacred pilgrimage path I set out to walk that spans from Carn Lês Boel near Land’s End, across Cornwall, through Devon and Somerset, the land of my mother’s family, and to Glastonbury and Avebury, all the way to the east coast of England. I am still in Cornwall, magnetized to the initial miles at the root base of the path! These paths became a spiral, circling out from a sacred holy well a couple of miles from where I now live. I have been pulled deep into their sphere and am being called to root here – to come home.

This land is ancient and primordial. Under the tilled fields farmed and harvested with potatoes, corn and daffodils, there is an ancient land that speaks to us through her many sacred sites, including enclosures and carns, hill forts and camps, standing stones, stone circles and quoits. and tor enclosures and cliff sanctuaries.

This screenshot from my phone of Google Maps of Penwith.  I have incorporated a map of the sacred and ancient sites from a download from Palden Jenkins, a fascinating historian who has spent many years researching the ancient history and the true meaning and significance of these sites.  As you can see from the map, Penwith is dense with ancient sites, more than 700 large and small ones, according to Palden.

I can’t even use Google Maps while here because it’s too dense with the symbols for the sites and their connecting ley lines!!

Within a mile or so of my home, I easily have a cliff sanctuary, a carn, a well, a standing stone, and ley lines connecting me with the sacred beyond. I am not alone.

This land is like a magnet. It pulls me here – on one level, through my Cornish DNA and blood, but on a deeper level, through something more ancient and more primordial. I feel as though I am here to remember my ancient ancestors, my ancient connection to this land, this place, these energies, these sacred sites and ley lines, at a time when people naturally lived in service of the goddess, with the land, its seasons and rhythms, its bounty and challenges,

I recently returned from my time in the US and fully moved into a tiny home in the tiny hamlet of Polgigga, at the very same spot where I first alighted from the bus in 2013 to begin my walk on the Mary Michael Way!  

I am here on my own, in many ways, for the first time. I am without Rupert or a caring host nearby to check on me and ensure I am okay. It’s an adjustment to be fully on my own, to go from being other-focused to fully creating and determining my life and making choices for me—my daily schedule, what I eat, when I eat, what I do with my day, even when I go to sleep. When or if I walk.

For 12 years, Rupert motivated me to walk. Now, I have to choose to walk for myself, and some days, I just don’t want to, especially when it’s rainy, misty, or cold—which it is frequently here!

Honestly, it’s taking a while to settle in and re-find my roots here. I want to feel my connection to the earth below my feet, the connection that came so naturally eight months ago and was cultivated by my being here and my walks.

I sometimes have to remind myself that I love to walk. It’s what I do; it’s who I am—a walker, a pilgrim. I walk.

Except when I don’t. Until I do again.

When I walk, I feel happy. I feel me. I move. I move my thoughts and feelings. I feel connected to the energy of life. I notice flowers and beauty. I see patterns. I love walking a path and correlating it to the map in my hands. I feel joy and delight at simply being out, walking on the Earth. I connect with me in a different way when I walk – I connect with the sky, sun, place, land, plants and stones. Sometimes, I even meet new people and have different and interesting conversations.

When I walk, I open myself to new experiences, people, pathways, and possibilities.

In the past couple of days, I have discovered two new walks, both 4.4 miles. One was where I headed east and south down to the coast to discover a little café complete with gluten-free lemon-orange-lime cake! Yum! 

On the other walk, I headed northwest through fields and came upon a thatched roof cottage at the bottom of the lane; I met Reuben, a proper and proud Cornishman farmer, with his 52, comprised of four types of rare breeds, sheep lovingly tended to on the land his family has owned for more than 150 years. Crossing fields to come back full circle to the same stile I started my walk on Sunday, I noticed I had not one, but two “Public Footpath” signs outside of my door!

Tuesday’s Walk – blue sky and sunshine! A thatched roof cottage with thatched art – a fox and pheasants! Join me on the bench beside the hydrangea bush. Spirals and the coast.

I love public footpaths and their signs, cafés, coffees, and gluten-free cakes—especially in a tiny seaside village along the Coastal Path! I love stone walls, stiles and gates, gorse and heather. I love this landscape.

Today, I learned that it is illegal to run on a public footpath when livestock are nearby. We have access to walk through farms and fields, but it is illegal to disrupt, scare, or stress livestock. 

Rueben, the shepherd/farmer/scaffolder I met and talked with for nearly an hour today, reprimanded a young couple for running through his land and upsetting his sheep. He challenged them; they reacted. It could have been handled so differently on both ends. I observed and remained neutral. Not my sheep, not my farm! Also, the farmer is so tired of people running through his land without awareness.

This was from my walk this evening. Such stunning beauty. I am not alone.

When I arrived back at the Shed, I heard the geese. I walked over to them and watched them soak in the late afternoon sun and warmth.

The geese are in charge around here. They waddle across the road and hold up traffic. There is no hurrying them. I often hear them squawking – I come out my front door, and there they are…in control and enjoying themselves.

I am reminded that geese, swans, and other birds are connected with the goddess. Mother Goose, Mother Goddess.

I get to live here, with geese literally right outside my door, in a hamlet where the signs as you come into the village are to remind you to slow down for the geese:

When I hear them honking at passers-by, I know that ‘She’ is looking after me and reminding me of Her presence. I am not alone.

I am on my own, but not alone.

Friends nearby. I get to meet for tea or go for a walk and sometimes share a delicious Pad Thai from Bo Thai Cafe, my favorite Thai restaurant run by 2 Thai women from the trailer at the bend in the road at their farm near the Merry Maidens Stone Circle on my way home from Penzance. After eight weeks away, they still remembered that I always ordered “Chicken Pad Thai—no spice.”

I am not alone.

Friends far away. I have Internet here in the Shed. I get to connect with friends in the US and in Europe via Facetime, Zoom, Messenger, and WhatsApp. Friends who genuinely love and support me. Friends who are so happy that I am back on this side of the pond!

I am not alone.

As much as I appreciate all of this wonderful loving presence outside of me, I have to remember that the real ‘not being alone’ must come from within. I am surrounded by love – yes – but the real love comes from within. I am filled with love.

In me, through my inner connection and embodied access to Source, I am filled, grounded, and sourced in Love.

I am practising daily, in every moment, to re-member and embody this.

Since walking the Camino 15 years ago, I have lived by this adage:

“The Camino – or the Way – the Path – guides, provides and protects me every step of the way.”

In moments like this, when I am learning something new in an unfamiliar place or experience, I choose to remember this—to know that I am held in love as I risk the unknown, take steps further away from what is familiar and safe, and take another step on my soul path into the sacred beyond.

I feel the sides of the path come in to hold me. The arms of my guides surround me in their warmth. The source of the sun bathes my head in its light. The earth below my feet magnetizes me to its core, holding me here.

I write my Morning Pages every day. So often, I am reminded, “We are here with you. You are here with us. We are in this together. We’re doing it!”

I am not alone.

I am outside in Nature, right outside my door. I get to be in awe of the beauty of the flowers, the magnificence of the stone walls, the resiliency of the old trees, the expanse of the sky, the height of the cliffs, the whiteness of the sands, the colours of the sea…

I am not alone.

The geese honk. Cars slow down.

I am not alone.

The goddess is here, under the roads and the houses, the buses and the farm equipment, the smell of diesel and the cow dung.

She is still here.

Every day, I choose to RE-MEMBER HER. EMBODY HER. ROOT IN HER.

In me, through me. As me.

I am on my own, but not alone.