Monthly Archives: February 2011

The first Goddess Guidebook podcast!

by Leonie Dawson on February 12, 2011

Hola gorgeous goddesses!

It’s here! The very first Goddess Guidebook podcast!

You keep asking me for it… so miracles happened, dearest.

It poured from me on a Saturday afternoon, as baby Ostara slept, two doggies shuffled and one hot love was digging stuff in the garden.

Clocking in at a tidy & easy 6:47, this podcast of *GLEE* gives you:

  • a message for what you might need to know this week
  • a meditation to make you glow and giggle again
  • as much love & joy as you can stand.

Next time I’ll be able to give you its iTunes podcast link… once we are all settled.

But for now… I hope this is absolutely joyful & magical for you, dearest heart.


You can download & save by clicking here, or listen using the player below.

And if it sings to your heart and soul, I would be so honoured if you shared it along.

Thank you so much for being you dearest, and for sharing this journey with me.

Hippo-sized love & oodles of poodles,

Hola gorgeous goddesses!

It’s that day of the week again… yippee!

A celebration & ho-down of all things good and wise and lovely and goddess inspiring.

Have you been looking forward to it?


Let’s start with some sweet music… thanks to the glorious Weepies!

This picture by StoryPeople. I think we can all relate, yus?

Do fewer things. Do them better. Those six words are a healing balm right there.

Abstract art projects for kidliwinks care of Design Mom. I love love love art projects for kids… *I* want to do them, ya know?

Speaking of which, this little mermaid of mine is already into the paints.

The other morning we woke up, and the first thing she did was crawl out to the verandah where we’d left a canvas, pick up a paintbrush and start brushing away.

And this is what happens when you let babes play with your box of paints while you attempt to get your own painting in:

I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Fuscia smeared baby feet = joy!!!

I’ve been adoring reading the book 5 Wishes. Do check out the 20 minute short film based on it!

I was a guest poster on Tiny Buddha this week! YAY! 8 Ways to Make Meditation Easy & Fun!

The Simple Truth About Love.

Loved this buffalo portrait (of course) from the Animals Face to Face series by Stefano Unterthiner.

Ella Risebrow’s Spirit paintings give me the most beautiful of shivers. Website here, Facebook here. I love how she SEES people, ya know?

Thanks to the eternal explorer Sarah Wilson: How my Slouch is Making Me Sad & How to quit sugar.

A snow mermaid in Brooklyn! Be still my beating heart!

Heal Thyself. I’m always muchos intrigued by anyone who retrains their eyes and throws away their glasses. Maybe because I’ve been wearing glasses since I was 10?

I keep running into this magical music goddess by the sea: Jessica Irvine. She’s lovely & her music is scrumptious!

This magical painting by Creative Everyday Leah.

Learn the lesson of the elders, and just be joyful, danggit. Be a glad sentinel, on the lookout for good.

Even Psychology Today agrees: one of the five tips to increasing resilience is to be grateful & hopeful.

Business Goddess Corner

The Future of Blogs is Paid Access. I always love when these discussions come up, with so many ideas and possibilities of how to earn gorgeous dobleros, have a ding dang divine time AND help people. Free blogs will always be around. But micro products? They are exciting. Way of da future, baybee!

How to throw a kicking resource party. I totally believe in the powers of groups to make things happen. Whether it’s a resource party or a mastermind group or a Business Goddess Circle – we can get shinier, more productive & wiser when we can help and be helped by others.

Oh! And just this morning I was holed up in our laundry during a monsoonal downpour, doing a video interview for the Right Brainers in Business Summit. It’s free & is glorious… perfecto for creative business owners.

AND I should mention because I get asked every single week and now I’ve mentioned business stuff I’ll get asked again – when ze Business Goddess e-course is coming out… it’s coming, it’s coming! As fast as my little ducky legs can paddle!

Instead of this, consider that. My gorgeous & wise friend Copylicious Kelly shares about options. It’s kinda business-y, but it’s also a whole lotta about life.

I’ve been dreaming of a sweet little cabin for our backyard for my goddess playground & art studio, and my love’s office. These two are a bit cute.

Mama Goddess Corner

Nursing You by Erica Jong is the most stunning poem. Makes me weep. See:

On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother’s mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.

My darling friend Kim sent me this: All my babies are gone now.

I so wish I’d found these adorable artist baby maternity singlets when I was still all gorgeously with chile!

Confessions of a progressive mama: I sleep-trained my baby. I love this honest sharing. More & more I realise that there isn’t one right way to raise children… just with as much love and joy as you can create for the whole family.

Video Goddess

Dude is a ukelele MAESTRO!

And I’ve been teaching myself herbs by watching Susun Weed videos on YouTube. Above & below is two of my fave interviews.

My love keeps playing this song. And it’s super, super catchy. Not to mention a beautifully illustrated video clip!

Okay my loves!

Is your cup brimming over with inspiration yet?

Go let it out… create, love, dance, explore…

And if you found morsels of inspiration in this post… do share it along!

May you have an incredibly magical day, dearest heart…

love love love, moonbeams & raindance!

The Secret of the Elders

by Leonie Dawson on February 8, 2011

Every tribe has its elders.

You know the ones. They are the ones who have navigated through long, long years of this living business.

I know older ones of course – many of them. Those who have lived, but still haven’t learned.

The elders are different though. They are the ones who have not been skewed, jaded or ruptured by the thousand moments where the heart stands still, when hope is lost, when days are sodden with grief, when things do not go according to the plan.

I am blessed. I have three.

Three women, all in their nineties.

My grandmother Marion. My grandmother is the youngest. She is 93. She still lives by herself, up until last year in the old wooden cottage we now live in and now in a set of sweet flats where elders circle to create ornate gardens and peer their head into each other’s doors. As is the way in this small town, most of them are cousins.

My grandmother has outlived her two lovers, her two sons, and one grandson. She still works two days a week in the “boutique” – an op shop. And she dresses better than I do. She wears pearls and high heels and tight fitting, dipping bright blue dresses. She has a collection of eight retro white-rimmed sunglasses. She is uncannily intuitive – knowing before anyone else in the family (including the subject) who is falling in love, who is falling out and who needs to be told they are beautiful today.

The second (on the left) is my grandmother’s sister Lucy. Lucy has deep red hair and the innocence of a fairy. She fell in love with her soulmate when she was still a teenager. He was fifteen years older, and although I don’t remember him, his kindness is spoken about in glowing whispers. My mother likes to tell a story about someone complimenting Fred on his pink shirt. In return, he took it off and gave it to them. I tell this about Fred, because it tells you about Lucy too. Fred was the gentle man who made his life’s work to take care of and love the red-haired, kind-hearted fairy girl who chose him. Lucy has Alzheimer’s disease, and though she now doesn’t remember anyone’s name, it matters not – she loves them just the same. She knows you are good. She knows you are family – everyone is.

And the little old lady who lived down the road when I grew up. I know her – as does most of our small town – simply as Nan. Nan is 96, the eldest of the elders. Nan’s eyes are the loveliest of blue, and she likes to ask intensive questions about computers and the internet so she can understand this funny online goddess job thing I have. I remember when I was 6, Nan and Pop left on a holiday. She returned without him by her side, a heart attack having taken her love. I remember the neighbourhood’s children being gathered up to meet her on the bus, each of us holding a rose for her. She got off the bus, and cried, and held us all, then introduced us to the Swiss girl she’d made dear friends with on the bus who she’d invited to live with her for a while. And she did. That is how my Nan is – a woman with an open heart who looks to love wherever she can.

Three women.

All in their nineties.

They have lost their parents, siblings, loves, children, grandchildren. They have lived stories untold – of miscarriages, abortions, poverty, pain, infidelity. My grandmother told me she once spent the night in prison with her family – because it was Christmas Eve, they were visiting the city, there were no hotel rooms available and they had no money. So the police took them in and let them stay the night with two young children. There have been breakdowns, suicides, alcoholism, of watching children waste away for years from cancer. They have lived in tents. They have been beaten. They have lived through the bombing of London. There has been two world wars. There has been the deepest of depressions.

And yet – and yet.

These women – they glow.

They are happy.

They have a deep and ferocious faith that people are good.

They believe anything can be solved with the salve of love.

The years have not torn them asunder.

They have widened them and smoothed them like a river smooths a rock.

They glisten. They are wells of compassion, of wisdom and of laughter.

They have a secret.

I know other stories, other older ones. Those whose tapestries have warped from the threads of living, have torn and frayed and tangled. Those who haven’t become beacons in their tribes. Those who have hurt more than healed. The years don’t always mend and soften and deepen a person.

I wonder what separates the elders from the older.

And then I listen, and I see.

We drive with the elders.

Without fail, on the drive to the farm, my Aunt Lucy the fairy coos:

Oh! Those mountains! Look at those mountains! I’ve never seen anything like them! The beauty!

My grandmother is more pragmatic:

Look at this road. It’s so wide and so smooth! Such a good road to travel on!

She turns to me and says:

Leonie, you are a good mum. You look beautiful today. Ostara is the most beautiful baby, isn’t she the most lovely thing you’ve ever seen?

And your Dad, he’s an old bushy, but he’s got a good heart, and gosh he loves you children.

And my Nan, ever the heart, says about each and every day we have together:

Well, that was just the most wonderful day possible. I can’t imagine a better day.

And on, and on, and on, these women speak, singing the praises of every little thing, every little person.

Everywhere, there are blessings, there are miracles, there is a universe tending to our million needs for air, comfort, love, support, good roads, kind hearts, tending gatherings and delicious mountains.

And they are the sentinels watching for them, praising them, delighting in them, alerting us all to them.

This is their secret.

As life’s cyclones and storms and tornados tear trees and branches from limb, as earthquakes shatter and quake, as tsunamis wash and swallow, these women, they turn their faces to their sun and say:

This life is good. Just look at that beautiful sun!

May I listen, may I learn, may I know.

With love, grace and faith,