Ajna Temple at Byron Homestead

31/12/2025

In Mexico, it was my daughter’s first time in a place where comfort wasn’t a given.
Where the streets carried the scent of spice and dust, and where not every belly was full.
She didn’t say much at first, just watched.
And then her heart, that wild little compass of hers, found its north
in the eyes of stray dogs and hungry cats.

I remember my first time in an underdeveloped country, how it cracked me open to see people with so little when I had so much.
Now, I was watching her go through her own version of that awakening.

I asked her, “Do you want to feed them?”
Her eyes said yes before her voice did.

We bought bags of dog food and carried them like offerings.
Any stray we met became our companion, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours, sometimes shadowing us all day.
She’d stop in her tracks for a cat curled up in an alleyway, kneeling down to feed it, her fingers slow and gentle like she was touching something holy.

She has always wanted a cat.
But this was different. This was her soul meeting the soft, wordless need of another being.

In Byron Bay, where we live, her world is full of safe homes, full fridges, warm beds.
Here, she could see the difference, and instead of turning away, she turned towards.

That’s the part that undid me.
Watching her love the world exactly where it was wounded.
Watching her feed another creature, not out of pity, but out of knowing:
Your life matters. You are seen.

It was never about the dog food.
It was about the bridge her heart built in that moment, between abundance and need, between safety and survival, between her and the great, messy tenderness of this world.

31/12/2025

Mexico through her eyes…
We walked streets paved with cobblestones and time.
Walls painted in colours that felt alive—yellows warm like morning sun, blues deep as midnight water, pinks that vibrated in your chest.
The air carried the smell of elotes slick with butter and chile, tortillas rising soft on a comal, tacos al pastor turning slowly over glowing coals.
She took it all in with a kind of reverence.
Grandmothers in aprons selling pan dulce.
Men playing guitars for no one in particular.
Children chasing each other through mercados, their hands sticky from melting paletas.
I watched her see it—really see it.
Not just the colours and the flavours, but the aliveness that moves through a place when nothing is polished, when life spills out into the streets without asking permission.
Byron Bay is what she’s used to—safe, clean, curated, familiar accents.
But here?
Her senses were wide open.
Her eyes were drinking in the oldness, the chaos, the art that wasn’t hung in galleries but lived on the sides of buildings, in the hands of street vendors, in the scents of Mexico drifting from a cart.
And watching her see it for the first time…
it made me remember mine.
That moment where you realise the world is bigger, older, richer than the bubble you’ve grown up in.
And how once you’ve seen it, you can’t go back.
This wasn’t just travel.
It was an initiation.
This was her first taste of a world bigger than the one she knew. The first of many trips.
Because once you’ve walked streets like these, with the music of Spanish and the heartbeat of another land in your bones… youve tasted the travel bug…
And we’ve only just begun.

30/12/2025

Our first stop on the road trip…
Hot springs tucked deep in the mountains of Mexico.
Rustic, raw, and breathtaking.

We drove for hours into the wild belly of the land—until we arrived at Tolantongo. Steamy waterfalls crashing down into hidden caves. Mineral-rich waters running straight through the mountain’s veins.
Cascadas so powerful they felt like they were washing off whole layers of life we didn’t need to carry anymore.

Later we climbed up to the cliffside pools—the pozas—each one a different temperature, carved into the rock with views that made time stop.
Steam rising.
Mountains watching.
People soaking in silence or soft conversation, like the whole canyon was exhaling together.

I gave Watsu to my daughter there—what I call Mermaid Medicine.
Floating her little body through the warm water, cradling her like the water cradles us.
Soft, rhythmic movements, gentle stretches, and the trust that builds when you’re held without words.

Watsu is a form of aquatic bodywork.
It combines massage, breath, stillness and fluid movement—like dancing in water.
It relaxes the nervous system, opens the heart, and returns you to that pre-verbal, safe place—like being back in the womb.

She melted into it.
So calm, so present.
And I felt what a gift it is to offer this—especially in such sacred, natural waters.

These waters were healing.
Not curated. Not commercial.
Just Earth doing what she does best when left to her own rhythm—

Nourish, cleanse, and remind us who we are.

This is the Mexico I love.
Real. Elemental.
Where the journey begins in water.
And everything unnecessary gets left behind.

If youre interested in a Watsu / Mermaid Medicine session with me, I offer this in Byron Bay, feel free to contact me-

30/12/2025

The horses waited at the edge of the plaza, tied up beside pickup trucks and dusty sedans — as if time had folded in on itself and the old and new decided to share the same space.
In Real de Catorce, no one blinks at it. Here, horses aren’t quaint. They’re transport. They’re woven into the bones of the cowboy towns of Mexico.

My daughter could’ve ridden her own horse. She’s old enough now.
But she turned to me with that soft, deliberate smile and said,
“I want to ride with you, Mama.”
So we climbed onto one together — her small frame in front of mine, her hands holding the reins, my arms wrapped around her like a circle that could hold the whole world.
The horse moved steady beneath us, each hoofbeat ringing against cobblestone, carrying us past stone archways, painted doors, and streets whispering stories from centuries ago.

She’s eight.
That in-between age — half wild, half child — already tasting her independence, but in this moment, choosing closeness. Choosing us.

The desert air was damp from the rain, the smell of leather mixing with earth. Locals nodded as we passed. Somewhere a guitar drifted out of an open window.
We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to.

Her body leaning into mine, the rhythm of the ride syncing our breath, the quiet knowing that we were exactly where we were meant to be.
And as we rode through that town — part legend, part living — I realised something…
One day she’ll choose her own horse, her own path, her own way through the world.
But for now, she’s here.
And I get to ride this stretch of the journey with her, side by side in a saddle built for two, carrying our love through the streets of an ancient Mexican dream.

29/11/2025

Curious about Shamanic Cord Cutting?

Ever wondered what it actually is, why it works, and why everyone’s talking about it? I made a short, real, no-fluff video breaking it down.

In this video, I explain:

What energetic cords really are

How they can drain your energy without you even noticing

Why cutting cords isn’t about ending love, but reclaiming your power

The tools and rituals that help you release what’s not yours

If you’ve been feeling heavy, stuck, or just curious about this work — this is where you can get all the clarity.

👉 Watch it here:
And if your heart feels the pull… the next step is stepping into a session and experiencing it for yourself.

Tomorrow Sunday Nov 30 3:30-6:30
Or book a private session with me... In person or Online

Are you ready to heal old wounds and awaken to an empowered authentic life ?!Chord cutting is a healing technique to help “unhook” you from draining or u hea...