Vision, Quest

Vision Questing for a Vision



Crying, Quest

Crying Questing for a Vision



Fasting, Quest

Fasting Questing for a Vision




Does this shadow hold the keys?

Full participation

In village witness

Ceremonial holding

Mythological re-weaving

Does this shadow hold the keys?


Far off in dusty deserts

This rite beckons

But not now, not yet

For now, it is receiving



Receiving, Quest

Receiving as Questing for a Vision


Fullness, Quest

Fullness Questing for a Vision

Sitting with waves of terror

Receiving, not fasting, cracking open

Feeding, ceremony

On wild lands, hawk and vulture witness

Sitting out, sitting in

Circle, Utiseta


Utiseta, faring forth

Journeying, singing ancient emblems

Into Winds

With fullness, receiving

With pleasure, receiving

With sacred witness, receiving

Midnight forests holding me


Sitting out

Taking in

Singing out













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Actually, She’s always full

Only choosing to lift Her skirt

To show us the meaning of Time



Bathing under ever-present

Full and glory glow

Run rampant with climax

She knows, She knows


She knows our hands

Need tempering

Our wild mind wolf soul

Needs titration

The lucky

The lucky

The lucky

Can follow



Her ever-present fullness


She knows

She knows

When Void will deepen us

When the knife will push us on

When the contrast

Of sparkling nightime oceans

Will give us strength

And awe

To continue

As our tears, begging

Dissolve into sand


Light and Dark

She’s all of this



What we see is another

And Her magic

Her rhythms

Her wise coy reveal

Always, actually

She’s full


And with Her magic

We learn

How to Be

With the fullness

And the emptiness

Of the everything

And the nothing

And the in between

And the question echoes we hide,

The terrifying disappearances

Floating, thrashing

Desperate for core

She knows

She shows


That we truly are



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The face is in the flower

Bee-like, nestled

He says he takes his medicine this way too

Dangling, the seeds are descending

His hand

Lowers them

Towards the lips

Open, waiting

He says to eat them

A different way than past greed


The light is warm and tender

He is lowering


The mouth

The face is breathing


Fear of losing all control

These seeds ambrosia

The height they’ll offer

Warns of the fall


All these protectors

All these fighters

All these soldiers

Cry out


Do not eat the seeds

Oh precious mouth

Oh precious face

You cannot go there

We have been with you


For so long

And here you are, safe


The seeds are dangling

The head is swarming

The chaos is echoing

The terror is building

The skin is sweating

The boundaries, shaking


The light is warm and tender

The man

His Earth Pan beingness

Smiles, kindly

And waits

Holding the one

With the mouth

With the face

With the skin

With the chaos

That says no

But wants

So badly

To eat










The Void

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There is a hollow core

Of liquid Nothingness inside me

Lashing waters of neverending grief

At lack of direction, spark

Identity, purpose, mission

I’d like to think

It a rumbling Darkness

One that’s initiating me

A Holy Womb of Void

And I, its holder

My only real assignment, as channel

To Be.

I’d like to think

This assignment

Is sacred

Given by the Highest of Orders

Divine and Boddhisatvic

Such is the fantasy nature of my mind.

But who the fuck am I

To carry such a thing?

It makes more sense to think that

What it feels like

When I’m full

Is vast and utter abandonment

Old ancestral feelings

Vast and utter loneliness

Vast and utter despair

That instead of Holy

There’s really just an echoing chamber of anger

At none in human form, but at Spirit itself:






And then of course, I wonder

If its a Freudian thing

All about the absent father

A problem

Rather than a sacred thing

And I realize that regardless

Inside this vast and utter emptiness

Whatever it may be

There is something

It is my feeling

Perhaps my sacred feeling

A roiling despair

A roiling grief

A roiling bitterness

And the only direction

In this seemingly echoing desert, this pathless land

Is my pen, to express

This something

Of Nothing

I feel

When I’m full.

What’s Your First Food Memory?

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If I asked you to tell me your very first memory with food, how would you answer?

Mine would be:

I am on the couch with a big bowl of vanilla ice cream. For breakfast. It is probably Thrifty’s brand, definitely not organic or of other fru-fru typology. I am eating it in front of the television, and Beastmaster, the movie, is on. I am both savoring the deliciousness of the sweet treat, and am fully immersed in the fantastical quest of Dar and his furry familiars.

Ah the simplicity! I look back upon this time with nostalgia, when food was a neutral object in my life, how I delighted in it and followed internal cues.

I’ve recently felt drawn to start incorporating more of the foods I loved back then into my experience, to tap into that free-wheelin’ child. Her joy, and maybe her pain too. My recently released memoir, Food Memories, is full of these food experiences, and I thought it might be an interesting challenge to go through each memory one by one, eat the food and note how it makes me feel.

These experiments do hold the danger of approaching that scary feeling (for me) of fullness, which I’m also currently wanting to face again. In fact, the whole point of this blog (eat/free/even/if/it/hurts) was to journal my experiences in allowing myself to eat more freely even if it brought uncomfortable feelings forward. I am returning to that intention.

I hope you’ll join me in recounting these memories, and also hope you’ll re-visit and share some of your own food memories with me here too. Tonight I will pick up some vanilla ice cream and venture into the interweb to revive Beastmaster whilst consuming. We’ll see how it goes…wish me luck!

~Food Memories by Reagan Lakins is available on Amazon, and all major online booksellers. It is even available through a little bookshop in Texas…BookWoman…if you choose to support a smaller bookstore and some groovy gals :}

Temperance…And Fullness

Yesterday, I sat down to write after having had a conversation with the “Recovery Coach” I’ve spoken about in previous posts. One of the main things gleaned from this conversation is my desire to fully face the panic and terror I feel when I approach the sensation of “too full.” The fear of this feeling really kind of controls my life: I arrange my eating patterns, my exercise patterns and my life patterns to avoid this sense of being full.

I’ve got lots of theories about why this feeling brings such terror–none of them related to fear of getting fat by the way–yet despite the mental explorations, one thing remains clear: the fear of feeling full rules my life choices. I value the possibility that it may be because in past lives I was an ascetic monk/Buddha/fasting spiritual leader/single mother dealing with famine and plague, but another thing remains clear: I want to face this fear. I want to face it so many times that the feeling no longer has this much power over my life. I have faced this feeling many times already, still it has such a hold on me. I have lost hope in facing this fear, after it so doggedly reappears, time and time again. Yet for some reason, I keep trying.

Which brings me to Temperance. Before I began writing yesterday, I chose a card that represented what might occur if I chose to once again face this feeling of fullness and the terror it evokes: That card was Temperance.

(Now, just to be frank about my emerging proclamations of woo: I have a fairly loose attachment to what tarot cards are “supposed to mean,” and find much more value in what the image evokes in my mind at the moment I ask the question and see the picture.)

This time the image evoked a sense of facing an addictive pattern, finding balance as a result. And that there is a bigger force in me, my inner alchemist, that will help me do this if I choose to do so. Transformation through facing old, unhelpful patterns.

So I began the not so new pondering of my attachment to the feeling of emptiness as a sort of “high” (which is literally true as our bodies make endorphins to help us feel better about being in famine states) and that letting go of it is like putting down a drug for me. To wholeheartedly sit with being really full is like going through detox for me, strange as that may sound but it is true. My body actually seems like it sends me information that emptiness is preferable to fullness. Fullness is painful, nauseating, etc. Sitting through that feeling until it wanes (which I know it does, I just always wrestle with the unexplainable terror like it never will), is I think my task, my way of “sobriety” or at least finding something new on the other side as a result. I struggle with this concept of addiction, and 12 steps and all that, but for some reason the perspective really works here. To transform, I must go into the fear. I must stop using “nothingness, emptiness” and embrace what it feels like to feel fully in my body, feeling its pulsing, churning, yearning and sorrows. And all of what comes with that.

To realize that my whole life revolves around avoiding this is kind of embarrassing, especially in light of thousands that starve or can’t find enough to eat everyday. Especially in light of thousands dying on respirators from this strange viral pandemic. Surely I have some shame around this. Yet despite that, I can’t ignore that it rocks me terribly. I can’t ignore that it is my shadow, something I hide from others. I can’t ignore that deep in the layers of my unconscious and cellular matter, this sits in me. And this is how I know it is my work, to find freedom from this fear controlling me. To find why being full–and not just with food, but with sexuality, sensuality, pleasure, with life force, with responsibility–why this terrifies me so.

I look at the androgenous towering being in Temperance, and there is a peace on their face, a peace I want to have. A peace that comes from both being in a body–fully–and from being connected to the radiant lightness of the above. I feel my toes, naked, like theirs, feeling the cool waters and the deep, dark soil between toes. I feel the sense of balance and the path beyond that may be shown to me as a result of this tempering, balancing. I don’t know how I will do this, but somehow I feel this energy, this archetype, within me calling me towards it. Perhaps, this time, I won’t feel so alone in my facing of fullness. Perhaps this time I will experience true Alchemy. And maybe not, as my trusty inner skeptic reminds.

But for some reason, I keep trying.