If my human experience were a book, I'd imagine the 2022 title (so far) to be: Beginnings start in the venomous dark.

In the bee tradition I've immersed myself in over the past year, my understanding of venom (particularly as it relates to bees) has changed from relating to it as something to fear into a deep reverence and respect.

Energetically, venom — or the sting — is a wake-up call. Its resounding essence commands attention. In some instances, venom serves as a warning. A hive has guard bees who keep track of everything that enters the hive — and any maiden bee who senses harm and alarm is prepared to use her sting in service and protection of the hive. In some instances, bees use their sting not in defense, but as a sacred offering.

If one receives a sting, it is not uncommon for the sting to be received at energy center points that correlate with acupuncture points. The bees have a way of knowing exactly where we need to be stung to experience healing.There's even a practice called Bee Venom therapy that's been used to treat conditions such as Lyme disease, MS, and rheumatoid arthritis. While there is a small portion of the population who are severely allergic to the bee sting, most people benefit from a bee sting's anti-inflammatory, anti-bacterial, and anti-viral properties.

My bee teacher Ariella writes, “Sting is the most dramatic of all the medicines from the hive. As such, it is the most powerful.”

My imagined book title of Beginnings start in the venomous dark suggests both the collective zeitgeist as much as it does personal experiences from this year.

Globally, this year has brought forth the war in Ukraine and horrific and heartbreaking shootings. Roe vs. Wade overturned. Mahsa Amani's death and Iranian women (and people all over the world) courageously protesting and standing up in solidarity and justice. Hurricane Ian and the ongoing emergency siren that is climate change.

It feels like a year of stings. Wake-up calls. Places we are being called as a global society to heal. Beginnings start in the venomous dark.

Personally, I started out this year with what felt like heavy hope. The bubbly part of my personality was like, “2022! 222! Year of years!” My heart felt heavy, though, without a clear reason. I couldn't seem to write down goals and intentions for the year ahead. January passed, February, and —at the spring equinox, I still felt like I was moored in mists, unable to identify the horizon both inside and out.

When April arrived, a very close loved one received a cancer diagnosis. It sent shockwaves through those closest to me, most of us in wide-eyed disbelief. Here yet hovering. While thankfully the cancer is curable and treatment is underway, processing takes time and has layers. The diagnosis stung me awake into a heightened sense of how precious time on Earth truly is, and I've been worrying less about my short-term goals and investing more of my attention in being fully present with each moment as it unfolds - whether that's with loved ones, sharing sessions with clients, and/or committing to being in the proverbial dark with my creativity.

Through this venomous wake up call, I've deeply reflected and realized that if I'm mainly focused on short-term goals and needs, how and when will my long-term creative dreams get a chance to come to life? I've since committed to prioritizing dedicated time to focus on writing and creating art - to bringing forth the heartfelt dreams seeds that have remained patient in the dark until now. While there are no guarantees to any outcomes, I have a deep faith and trust that through presence with what is and commitment to nourish what I want to see grow, the horizon will reveal itself when it's ready.

I witnessed my mom undergo cancer treatment in my teens and the transformation it had on our family was like a phoenix. While it's not my intention to center myself in an experience that is not directly about me, I can honestly share that witnessing my mom move through this in my late teens changed our family (for the better) and impacted my life in ways I couldn't have fathomed at the time. The messenger of cancer within our family, that harsh sting, obliterated old ways of being that never really worked in the first place. From the fires, transformation eventually birthed new life, new flight. The horizon emerged in its own time.

Recalling times in the past when beginnings emerged from the venomous dark is a loving resource that helps me find ground in what often feels like a groundless place. It is a practice to nourish faith in the dark.

To me, the venomous dark speaks to the void. The space between stars. The abysmal cove that spins fairy-true (my word for fairytale) stories. The hearth of the Earth. Soil. Conscious shadow. Cave. The cauldron of creation. The place that looks like nothing and contains everything.

I have learned that it's so important to digest and metabolize what I'm moving through in the venomous dark so it doesn't get repressed and stuck. With the bees as my wayshowers, I've learned from their nature how to move through this time with relentless grace as my guide.

As I write to you this morning, you may or may not resonate with this description or place of being. You may be in a book or chapter that feels like Golden Sunlight Flower Fairy Blooms — and that is welcomed! (That said: my editor Emily highlighted this sentence and noted “I don't know a single person in this chapter right now!”) Wherever you find yourself in these words, I want to presence the timeless truth that everyone is moving through something. It doesn't have to be something major to matter, and it doesn't even have to be tragic or hard (although it can be). We are all moving through something. Sometimes the hardest stings eventually reveal themselves as potent medicine.

And sometimes venom sticks and stays and wreaks havoc. I am not attempting to suggest that venom is always medicine. Sometimes it's poison — and part of the practice is knowing what's needed to draw the proverbial line in the soul's soil and claim NO MORE. Often, life's stings are both — medicine living alongside the poison of extreme hardship and devastation, the way funerals can be a potent time of connection with family even though the loss of a loved one may leave a void in life that can never fully be filled.

Before starting out with a client, whether 1:1 or for a retreat, I always share an intake questionnaire and ask the same question I started today's newsletter with. I invite you to take a moment to attune inside and ask:

• If you imagine your life as a book, what would the current title (or chapter) be?
  

• If this title were a landscape, what might it look like and feel like? Who or what is there?
  

• What might deeply nourish you in this space? What do you need?
  

• What past stings that felt like time in the venomous dark led to new beginnings?

We are all moving through something. From the fires of transformation to the blessings of new blooms. Wherever you are today, I hope these words reach you like a healing salve for weary times.

All my love,

Madeline

PS: I currently have 2 Mentorship spaces open. If you're seeking somatic assistance in moving through the threshold of the current chapter of life you're in (even if you have no idea what the title is), I'd love to take your hand and serve as your loving guide through this time.