May Newsletter: Yielding into Love

fayenen
May 1
3 min read

A mystical figure dances with flowing wings and glowing hands against a dark, swirling background. Text reads "Spirit Dancer," number 36.

Dear Friend,

I’ve just returned from lying on the green grass, sunlight on my skin, the sound of birdsong wrapping around me like a lullaby. My body softened into the embrace of the earth, and as I lay there, breathing in the stillness, I began reflecting on Beltane, which we mark today — this ancient celebration of love, blossoming, and the great fire of life.

But as I lay there, it felt like a Beltane rich with deeper undercurrents — not just a celebration of the season, but a personal invitation into something more intimate and real. I found myself wondering — what is mine to share? What is the deeper thread, the truth beneath the seasonal cheer and collective longing for joy and connection?

And I remembered something from my Gene Keys profile — a sentence that once stopped me in my tracks:

“Your only real agenda in life, if you could call it that, is to retain your sense of innocence and love through all of life’s storms… Deep below, within the very essence of your body, lies a hidden power. It is the power of yielding... You are a reminder to everyone that the real purpose of existence is love.”

There it is again. Love.

Not fluffy love. Not the idea of love. But the real, grounded, living essence of love — the kind that exists beneath all the dramas and demands of life. The kind that can be soft and still, or fierce and unwavering. The kind that welcomes.

This is the core of so much of the work I do — particularly in Pre- and Perinatal Somatic Therapy, where one of the foundational principles is Welcome. To be welcomed as we are. To learn to welcome all parts of ourselves, all our experiences. To yield into the truth that we are already held. Already loved. Already whole.

That’s what I want to offer in this letter — an invitation to come back to love, through the doorway of yielding.

And so, as we stand in the light of Beltane, I offer you this blessing:

May you remember the love that lives beneath it all. May you feel the fire of your own heart burning steady and true. May you yield into the embrace of the Earth and know yourself as whole, holy, and welcome. May all that wishes to bloom within you find the nourishment it needs to flourish.

Simple Practice: Yielding into Love

Find a quiet place where you can lie down — outside on the earth if possible, or somewhere that feels soft and supportive. Let your body be held.

Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. Feel the ground beneath you — solid, alive, welcoming. Let yourself sink into its embrace.

With each breath, imagine your body gently softening and dissolving into the earth. Let gravity take you. Let yourself yield.

Place a hand over your heart or womb and whisper:

“I am welcome here. I belong to love.”

Feel those words echo in your body. Let them settle. Let them become your prayer.

I AM THE MEETING PLACE

A REFLECTION & PRACTICE ON EMBODIMENT

After a recent womb surround workshop, this piece came through — It speaks to the quiet truth that lives within each of us when we yield into love. I'm sharing it as a gift for Beltane — a PDF offering that includes this reflection along with a somatic embodiment practice at the end. If you'd like to receive it, you can click below to access the full piece:

I lay on the sand, spine softened into the earth’s warmth, the hush of waves steady in my ears. Before me, the sea breathed — vast and alive. Mist unfurled from its surface in slow, rose-tinged tendrils, rolling toward me like a blessing.

Behind me, the sun poured gold across my skin. I could feel its warmth moving through me — not in a blaze, but in a quiet radiance. Steady. Loving.

I was held in between.

Not quite earth, not quite sky. Not lost in water, not fixed in fire. Just… in between.

The mist and sun didn’t blur. They met. They played. They moved through and around one another like old friends, like lovers — not to conquer, not to merge, but to dance. The rose-pink tendrils curled and reached.

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Read 'I Am The Meeting Place'