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Whidbey Island Magick

the store across the street from The Kingfisher Bookstore
the temporary exhibit at The Island County Museum a few doors down…
the Practical Magic Apothecary-turned bakery just a few steps away
…and these beauties, just outside the bookstore waterfront window as I began my reading!
Photo by Bonnie Gretz
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Food Memories Hits The Shelves!

Pardon me for interrupting this regularly scheduled program, but I’ve to announce…Food Memories is in a real live bookstore! This is The Kingfisher Bookstore in Coupeville, WA where the virtual has become reality:

Meg and Brad Olson, owners. Neil Gaiman on shelf :}}
Photos from Carolyn Tamler article in Whidbey Local:https://www.whidbeylocal.com/article/view/2615///the-kingfisher-bookstore-in-downtown-coupeville-has-doubled-its-size-providing-an-even-greater-selection-and-space-for-events

This is so exciting. Said bookstore has arranged a book signing for me to enact my author identity with others…and I love a good role-play :}. I’m also honestly nervous to becoming more visible as the author behind this book…but I’m giving it the good ol’ heave ho. The soul creation that is this memoir deserves it from me.

I am also incredibly grateful for this unexpected opportunity and look forward to meeting the Coupeville community that is welcoming me. You can read more about The Kingfisher Bookstore here: https://www.whidbeylocal.com/article/view/2615///the-kingfisher-bookstore-in-downtown-coupeville-has-doubled-its-size-providing-an-even-greater-selection-and-space-for-events to find out about the deliciousness they’re brewing up (Coupeville = filming location for Practical Magic).

So stay tuned folks, I’ll be headed to Coupeville/Whidbey Island to accomplish this task next week and may have more of the adventure to share!

If you’re not familiar with the book I’m mentioning, here’s additional information:

From the back cover:

“In this deeply moving and honest memoir, successive food memories take us on a journey through the author’s struggles, joys and ultimate awakening to her relationship with food and body. In her narrative, Reagan forms a provocative question: ‘What if the symptoms of an eating disorder and of depression can ultimately be something sacred? Not something to fight against but instead one to learn from and work with as a teacher?’

If you have struggled with food and body and found yourself wondering if there is something more to the wrestling; if you have been in recovery and found yourself caught in reoccurring symptoms you know have deeper meaning, these words may meet you. They may also challenge you. Recall, and perhaps re-write, your own story of food and body issues in ways you never imagined as you read along. Come, step into Reagan’s journey…and understand your own.”

Reader Feedback:

“In this heartfelt and creatively arranged memoir, Reagan takes the reader inside her life-long relationship with an eating disorder. Her journey gradually unfolds, refolds, unfolds, and refolds through poetry, reflection, and powerfully rendered memories of eating. More than a recovery story, Food Memories is a thoughtful exploration of how to care for ourselves in the midst of pain and loneliness, and welcome our “dis-ease” as a soulful path of transformation. Honest, brave, and illuminating.” ~T.H.

“The tales and the writing in “Food Memories” are not only joyful, at times sorrowful and intriguing to absorb, the experiences shared here about first-hand experiences with the nuances around food and eating and the struggles as well as the triumphs are artfully rendered and reflected upon. This book helped me connect with deeper layers of my own challenges with food and I heartily recommend it to others who want to find deeper perspective on eating, food and ways to work with these in fresh ways.” ~C.C.

“A disciplined and visceral memoir covers the authors journey with anorexia from childhood through her ongoing struggle to understand the messages of her body. These vignettes offer insights into the state of mind and trauma psychology of eating disorders, but go beyond the usual obsession with body image and societal messages of thinness. Her story becomes a rite of passage and a search for initiation. The journey to wellness as the author grows compassion for herself in turn made me feel cared for and offered numerous insights into the complexity of growing up female. Her desire to help others in the same predicament and how she learned to get help for herself speaks volumes about how little we really support or understand women. A brave and courageous act of self invention as well as a compelling piece of writing beautifully written and artfully put together with intermittent third person summations and poetry.” ~B.T.

“This book really opened my eyes about the complexity of eating disorders. Detailed, sensual descriptions of food experiences tell the story of a truly human love-hate relationship with food and family. The brave vulnerability demonstrated by this author is healing in itself. It includes some lovely poetry, mystical experiences, ugly and beautiful interactions with others, all strung together by miracles generated by forgiveness.” K.M.

“My friend recommended this book to me as I have numerous friends that are struggling with eating disorders or have family members struggling. I really like how this book chronicles the author’s experiences over time and it gives great insight into how some people enter into this situation. I felt like I was on this journey with the author and I could empathize with many of her issues and situations. It is written almost like a poem going in and out of memories and I found it very powerful. I recommend this book.” ~P.

***

Food Memories is available through all major online booksellers. If you’d like to support a small bookstore through your purchase you can go here:

https://www.ebookwoman.com/book/9781689839075

or search for Food Memories by Reagan Lakins on any major book selling website.

Thank you :}

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A Sense of Comfort, Part One

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

Soft mound melting roof of mouth

Vanilla cream trickling throat

Chilled silver resting lip

Beastmaster and misty swaying pines

Electric green moss carpet beneath hand

Arranging mushrooms, leaves for tiny folk

Croaking of gulls at seashore

Lighthouse moans in fog

Fingers squishing anemone

Coffeemate crumbles dissolve across tongue

Kitty fur, purring

Closed bedroom doors, horror pages turning

Crisped edges salty potatoes

Glistening crackles lemon chicken pan

Forest nooks and fortresses, wild onion and sorrel crunching

Warm sun bakery window scone

Early morning farmer’s market bustle, auntie’s basket heavy

Echoing awe gregorian chant episcopal stained glass sunbeams

A quiet night, safety

Schoolwork structure, pencil scribbling

Strumming cardboard guitars, mommy’s black knee high boots

Vampire bites from neighbors

Mommy, sleeping, working

Mommy not screaming

Mommy not grieving

Mommy not drinking

Mommy not self-destructing

Weight watchers rules, measuring cups

Empty stomachs

Substitute psychiatric mothers

Concerns in eye

His kiss

The auric field of wolf protector

Gooey pancakes, assigned and accompanied

He who fights for me

His arms holding in sweaty roiling pit

Mildewy stone wood cabin shower

Marie Callender flaky pot pie crust, juicy chunks gravy

Walking, forever

Disappearing

Admittance

Being forced to eat

White, bleached linens

White, bleached linens

White, bleached linens

Being sick enough

Low blood pressure readings, dizzy

Cafeteria coffee smells

Treatment team “not ready” declarations

Ensure, ice cubes bobbing, slowly straw slurping

Watered down amazingness hitting tongue

After crossing fasting abyss

Someone to take care of me

Someone to protect me

From Her

Feeling not alone with it

After so many years a parent-child

Hope

Veggie burger patty melted cheese

Cafeteria privileges, grown up coffee drinking

Crazy talks with other crazy birds

Twisted tribe

Worry in whitecoat eyes

Another admittance

Safety

For awhile

Not having to fight Her

For awhile

Hope

That this time’s the last

Radio Interview!

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Greetings, beings :}

Just wanted to share that I was on a radio show called “Healing Journeys” this week, and aside from some lovely “um’s” I think the conversation went pretty well!

Along with discussing what I “do” in the world, we covered a broad variety of issues–eating disorders, body/illness advocation, shadow work, even the concept of “nothingness sessions” and the perplexity of how to market such a thing.

If you choose to tune in, I’m on the November 17th episode. Enjoy!

http://ksco.com/shows/58929-healing-journeys

Acknowledgments

Photo by Maksim Goncharenok on Pexels.com

To the first peoples of Switzerland, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Germany, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Scandinavia, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Lithuania, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the Netherlands, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the British Isles, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the Americas, who were colonized

To the first peoples of The Great Utah Basin, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the West Coast of the Americas, where I now stand, who were colonized

.

To the first plant, animal and living beings, who were colonized

To the meat, vegetable, herb, tree, crops, who were colonized

To the plots of land that will never see the sun, under concrete, colonized

To the trauma, disconnection and forgetting that lives on in my bones, blood and gut, colonized

.

To the sicknesses that are trying to help me see

.

May I find a way to understand

May I find a way to respect

May I find a way to honor

May I find a way to clear

May I find a way to remember

.

These hands

These white hands, open

These blue eyes, open

This raw, beating heart, open

Aching

.

To all who have been a part of me

To all who have suffered

And to all I am a part of

May we find a way

To remember

Our privilege

This privilege

This Body

This Earth

May we find

A way

.

From Food Memories, by Reagan Lakins. Posted in honor of Indigenous People’s Day, October 11, 2021.

Queen of Wands: Raspberry Leaf and The Strength to Birthe Dreams

From The Herbal Tarot by Michael and Lesley Tierra

“Raspberry Leaf is an astringent and an anti-inflammatory. Raspberry Leaf aids pelvic circulation in the female reproductive organs and also aids in childbirth. As an anti-inflammatory, Raspberry Leaf is used for fevers and is good for nausea and motion sickness.”

.

I chose this card in hopes of finding some sort of inspiration for writing today…I seem to have been dropped into a wide Void this week as far as creative confidence goes.

Of course, The Queen of Wands would come, to stare at me, to give me a complete opposite to gaze upon–she of utter passion, determination, motivation and confidence. She, surrounded by Raspberry Leaf, the herb of fertility and preparing the body for birth.

It makes me think of the birthing process, and if, once again, I am in another one. It makes me wonder (having never birthed physical children) whether pregnant mothers come upon these strange pockets of blankness, of “what the hell am I doing?” during their pregnancies. Whether they hit long stretches of doubt, cloudiness and lack of surety about what they’ve decided to enter into creating.

That’s how I feel now.

You see, I’ve decided to create a workshop around the Food Memories book/process…I actually have the whole thing written out. My business mentor asked me last week, “Ok, so now we need to get really clear on who this is for.”

And that’s when the blankness set in. Or rather, the swirl of possibilities–but nothing clear. I spent time at the drawing board, trying to mentally plot out objectives and goals for each of the clientele I felt come into my mind. But then those swirled wildly around too. Now there was a lot of goals, and a lot of client types, flying around like wicked monkeys in here.

So I stopped. I stepped back. I asked the deeper parts of myself and whatever may be co-creating with me to send me clues about who the hell my offering would best serve. And waited.

And only silence met me.

Again I think back to the pregnant mother, drinking her Raspberry Leaf tea, preparing her body, all the while feeling a blankness as to how she’ll ever be able to do this. I think about the courage it takes for a woman to face that risk, not knowing what may happen, but committing to the gargantuan task anyway.

And I think of her praying in the dark of night, calling out for support, and feeling only silence. Wondering if she’s making a mistake, wondering if bad things will happen, if she is healthy enough, or if she decided to conceive too soon. Wishing, yearning for her internal guidance, and external forces to show her the way through her doubt and fear. But hearing only silence. What must she feel in those moments, those terrifyingly silent moments in the night?

Again I look to the card. I see this woman, who seems grounded and wise, facing forward. She holds the staff firmly in hand, but not to prop herself–it is an extension of her internal power. I see the Raspberry plant winding around her, framing her, supporting her. I see the white cat, her familiar, by her side.

Looking into her eyes, and upon this whole scene, I feel my sense of lostness transform into hope again. She seems to be saying to me that I have her in me, that I am on this birthing process, and that I just need to keep going, keep trusting in that process. She seems to be holding one of the Raspberries in hand…almost like she is offering it to me.

It’s all a very non-linear directive, but I’m trying. I’m going to go make myself a cup of Raspberry leaf tea right now, envisioning it nourishing my creative centers, my deep internal strength. Despite my internal agnostic, snickering, I will also make space for the possibility that I too, have a spirit familiar, helping me somehow.

I will sip and let the possibilities grow, and let the blankness be okay. I will let the Raspberry and the energies of the Queen of Wands infuse me, and see what happens.

.

Thanks for reading :}

Her Hunger

Photo by Daria Sannikova on Pexels.com

Free me

From the old, outdated

Despotic government

Within my own tissues

The linear

Rule and fear based

Trajectory decision

Making factories

Housed within

.

Free me from the fear

That I will have nothing

Beyond worrying about food

If I eat enough to not be starving

Beyond the plotting, planning

.

Free me from the fear

Of feeling too full

Of old, archaic terrors

I’ve no real understanding of

Nor skill of navigating through

Alone

.

Free me from feeling unattended

Lost

Abandoned

With this struggle

Unmet and misunderstood

.

Free me from eating less

In fear of all of this terrifying mystery

Arising

In fear of whatever this is

That keeps me in this hidden

Non-emergency

Yet ever-whittling

Cycle

Of depending on measuring spoons

And calories

And minutes

To hold me

To hold it

At bay

.

Free me

From whatever it is

That keeps me focused on this

And distracted

From the fullness

Of what I could be living

Of what I really desire

Of the sheer and overwhelming

Vision manifested

.

FREEDOM

Would look like

Truly feeling my body tell me its hungers

Truly knowing what would feed it

Truly giving myself that

Truly knowing when it is enough

Truly feeling the result of a met desire

Satiation

My

Little

Girl

Fed

.

Her

Beyond the calories

And meal plans

And minutes

And cups

And measuring spoons

And fear of fullness

And orchestrating my whole entire fucking existence

Around this constant

Fear

Of fullness

Around this constant

Fear

Of…

Freedom?

.

Some days

When I haven’t just collapsed into numbness

Of just accepting that this

Is

all

there

is

I pray so hard

So goddamned hard

The spit chokes me

I pray so goddamned hard

For something to support me

In this unimaginable transformation

One it seems I have tried

Every position of attempt

And arrived at

Nothing

.

Covered in this slimy residue

Of grievings

I wail

FREEDOM

I want it so bad

To hear this desire

Spontaneous

To know how to feed it

To feel myself feeding it

To feel myself feeling full of it

To feel myself enjoying that fullness

.

This

FREEDOM

Is it possible

Is it possible

Is it possible

To feel something

Beyond this?

.

I’m praying

Again

I’m wailing

Again

I’m risking

Your complete and utter

Lack of response

Again

I’m crying out

Anyway

To you.

.

~Written for “Liberty: Breath, Death, Soul” ed. Pamela Eakins. If you’d like to view or purchase this literary collection, you can find it here: https://www.amazon.com/Liberty-Sisters-Holy-Pamela-Eakins/dp/B098GV1D19

Sacrifices: Eating With The Dead

The heaviness is here

Weighty lump in throat

I risked it

For the ancestors

Opened the grimoire

Revealing today’s assignment

Eating with the dead

My dreaded Book of Shadows

.

First, scouring the aisles

Finding perfection to match them

Settling for enough

To avoid familiar choice overwhelm

.

Second, scouring the picturebooks

Sadness and memory emerge

Turning pages

I find their faces

Years before the beatings

.

Third, setting the altar

Lighting candles, preparing plates

Roasting garlic wafting through

Arranging the items

Setting them there

.

Four, turning on music

At first a thirties Benny

And then back, way back

To weaving voices and clinking water jugs

Poland

.

Finally: eating

Noticing excitement

For reason to break routine

Over and over the same

The typical fare

But this time, new delights

Await

.

Welcoming the dead

I pick up the knife and smear

Chunky pimento cheese matter

Onto cracker and lift

Teeth pierce through cold substance

Breaking through crisp leavened wafer

And chewing begins

Pimply cold cornichons

Rolling in between finger

Burst through skin and onto tongue

And stomach turns

.

Still, I continue

Cornbread, toasting

Perhaps it will settle

Roiling and rumbling

All kinds of voices

Black chanting obstacles

.

Back and forth in hand

Hot breadstuff matter

Lifted to nose

A sweet smell

Will it save me?

.

Billowy, corn laced

Cake onto tongue

And chewing seems to soothe

Swallowing with no idea

Of the later effect “too much”

Will unfold

.

Thanking, thanking

These dead, beloved ancestors

Ones who inspired palm reading

And ones who left grand story

Ones who kept going

Despite the crumbling world soul around them

Thanking, thanking

And risking

.

Perhaps, this time, it will be okay

Perhaps, this time, eating “freely” won’t hurt

Perhaps, this time, the ancestors will spare

.

Later, the wishing is wrong

Later, the stomach is roiling

Later, the anxiety peaks

And the fullness haunts

The scrambling and unexplainable terror

Comes over once more

.

But this practice

The ones for the dead

Is one I’ve committed

And every so often

I risk

Candle flickering

And old folk voices chanting

I risk entering into this territory

I sacrifice this weird first-world problem

And hold on

Until the rumbling freight train

Passes

.

Thank you, grammie and granpa

For pushing me to live

The Egg Salad Sandwich. Finis.

Photo by Juan Vargas on Pexels.com

Crisp celery chunks

Bursting between teeth

Limp, browning lettuce

Squishy breadstuff

A lukewarm acidic coffee

And salty, salty sadness.

.

Body threatens to hurl

External drama absent

But oh how it roils inside

Will I die like you did?

No one knows me like you did

Oh mama

I miss you

.

Keep thinking of you

Calling out Death

While the Summer of Love played on

Gasping

Bleeding

Dying

Alone on the cigarette burned bathroom floor

.

I’m sorry

Mama

I wasn’t there

The same traffic prevents me

The terror of ancestral repeating

Ripples through my core

.

Sittin’ here

With a soggy, limp assignment

Our egg salad sandwich

In the same ol’ car

Your Rosie

But that seat is empty

And you’re not complaining

Dust to dust

.

This dungeon parkway

So many memories

To match our Last Supper

His death

My first committal

One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest

The bowling lawn

And the day I found you on the bathroom floor

.

Yet here I celebrate

On this noon of Lammas

The egg salad sandwich

You and I amazingly shared

The

Last

Time

I

Saw

You

Alive

.

Here

With creamy substance

Lumpy mustardy mastications

Descending

I look across this concrete underworld

At those familiar sliding doors

Your Cheers

They knew you so well

You made them laugh

And sometimes, stare in shock

So many times

This place held you

When you’d let no other

.

Mama, I eat this egg salad sandwich

Alone

Remembering you

Remembering this long fucking strange trip

I’ve been living

The same car

The empty seat

And the Emergency Room doors

Swishing

Accepting tragedies

Other than our own

CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP

Dust to dust

The egg salad sandwich

The memory of you

The ending

Of this

.

HERE LIES THE END

OF FOOD MEMORIES RE-ENACTMENTS

MAY THESE STORIES BE READ

MAY THEY LIVE ON

FOR WHOMEVER NEED READ THEM

EVEN IF IT’S ONLY FOR MY OWN

IN YOUR MEMORIES

AND IN MINE

R.I.P.

December 7, 2020-August 2, 2021

.

*Thanks for reading and following my journey. I now return to the Void to see what next arises :}

**If you’d like to learn more about the Food Memories book I’ve been referencing for these posts, you can support a small bookstore by purchasing it here: 

https://www.ebookwoman.com/book/9781689839075

or by searching for Food Memories by Reagan Lakins on any major book selling website.

Vanilla Ice Cream, Deux

Photo by Bianca on Pexels.com

For the next two weeks I am choosing to explain my re-enactment in prose form. These are my last two opportunities to re-experience the ending chapters of my memoir, “Food Memories,” and I’d like to say more than a poem can about them and my process :}

This week, I chose to re-enact the memory of me going to Rite-Aid to challenge myself with an ice cream cone for afternoon snack. This wasn’t a long-ago memory, it was just a few years ago in 2016 that I decided to put myself through day treatment to help me with eating issues after a long time struggling alone.

In the memory, the dietician suggested I choose something that brought back good memories, to go purchase and allow myself to enjoy that. If you’ve been on this journey with me from the beginning, or have read my book, you’ll remember that Vanilla Ice Cream was my first food memory, and was one particularly filled with joy. So it was this food that I wanted to challenge myself that day.

What ended up happening in the original memory is a full-body freezing response to some sort of unknown sexual trauma. It surfaced as I stood outside of the Rite Aid, licking the dripping white liquid, feeling it run down my hands, feeling people in cars passing by, watching. And what snapped me out of it was a crow, hopping on the telephone line above me, catching my attention.

Fast forward to this weekend, when I chose to go to the neighborhood Rite Aid to re-enact the memory.

As I was planning to head out, a friend asked if I wanted to connect, and I said I was doing a few things if she’d like to join me. I chose to let her into this experience, trusting what it would bring.

I met her in the parking lot, as as we walked towards each other I saw she had something in her hand. When she came closer, I recognized she was carrying a picture of a crow. “My friend said she wanted you to have it.” She smiled.

I didn’t think much of it at the moment, except that it was a sweet gesture from someone I didn’t really know.

We walked over to the Rite Aid and entered the whoosh of the automatic doors, the coolness meeting our skin. My friend excused herself to look for another item while I went to order my ice cream. I saw the “Chocolate Malted Crunch” flavor I also loved as a kid and for a moment wondered if I should get this flavor. I decided to stick with Vanilla for the memory’s sake.

I stepped up to the counter and there was a family of four treating themselves to various cones and scoops. They were all “overweight” body types in the societal judgement of things, except for the little girl that was with them. The clerk serving them was also of this type. I noted this as a possible synchronicity to explore.

But what was also occurring while standing there waiting was this weird hidden shame feeling. The family was acting jovial and cheery, but as I do not fall into that body type I was feeling all of these kinds of comparison, self-judgments, etc, in the field. I am not sure if it was mine or theirs or what. I just felt it.

Another thing to note.

As I approached the counter, I noticed that the clerk wouldn’t look me in the eye, and was fidgeting a lot to avoid direct contact. Again, not ever sure what is mine and what is another’s, I approached him with gentleness and tried to make the interaction as clean as possible. I tried to engage him about what its like working during the summer at the ice cream counter, the rushes, etc (I did this too at that age). He didn’t seem to understand me, and was fumbling. Again, I tried to send good energy to the whole situation, to not create as little embarrassment/weirdness as possible.

That interaction complete, I met back up with my friend and we went for a walk in the gardens outside while I ate. I was a bit nervous of what might happen outside, if I would face a synchronistic sexist comment or situation that would remind me of that day in 2016. But I did not. I was simply surrounded by plant and human friend, strolling in the sunshine, eating an ice cream cone like a “normal person.”

I did struggle with whether or not to eat the cone at the end, and deciding that the ice cream was a big enough challenge, chose not to. (Later I thought about it and realized that this used to be my favorite part, eating the dribbly creaminess and crunching cone all together…I had a full on craving and visual experience of how good that was…and wondered why I didn’t remember this in the moment.)

My friend and I sat in a park afterwards and talked about spirit encounters, Brazilian psychics and agnostic ideas for balance lol. It was a good day.

In reflecting about the experience, I thought about how it both related to the original memory…as well as how it helped me heal/deepen into it. While it wasn’t crystal clear as in some memory re-enactments I’ve had, I do feel there were interesting bits.

Crow, once again, being with me, seemingly helping me to stay present.

The viewing (and possible empathic feeling) of people’s self-judgments about their bodies, about enjoying their senses, as if I was getting an opportunity to see what my own shadow energies around my body and sensuality shame were…from a distance. Without it totally taking me over, immobilizing me.

And then the fact that I was not alone, that my friend met me and was with me. She did not eat with me, but she was with me…which is a rare thing: me eating with others around. Letting her see me want/desire something, letting her see me purchase it and eat it with joy…this was healing. The fact that there wasn’t a gnarly sexual issue that came up was refreshing too. The fact that I could enjoy this, simply eating an ice cream cone without drama, was refreshing.

Thanks, crow.

Thanks, family.

Thanks, nervous server guy.

Thanks, friend.

And thanks, Rite Aid Vanilla Ice Cream.

.

Ps. Next time I’ll eat the cone.

.

*Thanks for reading! Please join me next week as I re-create the food memory, “Egg Salad Sandwich.” I’ve been re-enacting these memories chronologically from my memoir, and this will be the very last one!

**If you’d like to learn more about the Food Memories book I am referencing for these posts, you can support a small bookstore by purchasing it here: 

https://www.ebookwoman.com/book/9781689839075

or by searching for Food Memories by Reagan Lakins on any major book selling website.