First Quarter Moon • First Monday of the Month • First Step Forward

There’s something electric in the air today. Can you feel it?

It’s the first Monday of the month
It’s the first Moon Day of June
And the moon herself is halfway between seed and bloom

first quarter and rising.

The energy of this phase is clear:
Build. Take action. Grow into the intention you planted.

So that’s what I’m doing.
Quietly. Imperfectly. Faithfully.

This week, I started something I’ve been circling for years:
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.

I’ve started The Artist’s Way before. A few times. 

A few weeks in and I always start to feel... silly. Like I’m pretending. Like maybe I’m not a real artist. Like maybe this whole thing is just a game I’m playing with myself.

One I’ll eventually lose when life gets loud, busy, and I stop showing up for myself. 

The morning pages start strong, then feel forced. I forget my artist dates..or get busy..or feel stupid.

I get in my head. 

I wonder if I’m wasting my time. If I’m worthy of this healing. If I’m allowed to create.

But something in me is whispering or screaming, if I'm honest... to try again. 

And this time, I knew I wanted an anchor. Something to ground me when the doubts showed up. Something to hold onto when I want to let go.

So I pulled a card.

Seven of Wands.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But I stuck with my rule of never repulling. Just dig deeper.

What do I see and feel? What are the cards, my soul, my highest self, trying to tell me?

Then I felt this fierce little flame flicker in my belly. This card....this wand-wielder, standing tall on her hill... she’s me.

Or at least the version of me that’s trying to be born.

The Seven of Wands says:

“You’re going to feel resistance. That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. That means you’re right on time.”

This card is about holding your ground, even when it shakes. Even when others...or your own inner critic question your path. It’s about choosing to show up anyway.

It’s the perfect anchor for this journey because that’s what this book is really about: not becoming an artist, but remembering that I already am one. And that remembering takes courage.

The Seven of Wands tells me:

My creative voice is worth defending

I don’t need to justify my joy.

I’m not here to prove anything. I’m here to reclaim.

I love that it isn’t a soft card. It’s not gentle permission...it’s persistence. It’s saying: You’ve already climbed the hill. Now plant your flag.

This time, I’m not walking this path hoping not to fall. I’m walking it holding a wand of light, knowing the ground may shake, but I’ve got roots.

So here we go again. Not from the beginning. From the becoming.
And this time, I’m holding my ground.

My garden is my sanctuary, my soil, my stillness. As I begin The Artist’s Way again, I’m reminded that pulling weeds and writing morning pages do the same thing: they clear space in my mind for something true to grow.

The field knew my name

Justin called and asked if I could cut his hair today.
Of course, I grabbed my keys to make the short drive over. But something stopped me. I felt a strong, quiet pull…

Ashley, walk.

It didn’t make much sense…it was so hot outside, and I had clippers to carry…but the prompting was clear. Insistent, even.
So I listened. I packed up the clippers and stepped outside.

The moment I started walking, everything felt different. The air had that soft, slow kind of magic.

My mind quieted.

My heart opened.

I could hear the trees rustling, kids laughing somewhere nearby, and wind chimes singing from an unseen porch.

It was simple…it was beautiful.

On the walk home, I came to the wheat field…that wide stretch between our houses, golden and tall, swaying in the wind.

That’s when I heard it.

A soft shhhhhhhh.
The whole field was moving together.
Like it was singing something only my heart could understand.

It reminded me of a mother’s hush…that soothing sound we make when we rock a baby or hold someone close and say, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I felt that same comfort come over me.

Each stalk of wheat has its own shape, its own design, its own quiet intelligence.
But together, they created something more…a field that whispers.
A soft chorus of surrender.

Standing there, I could feel it in my chest: the feminine was speaking.

She was showing me….

The part of me that knows how to be still.
The part that doesn’t push, just listens.
The part that trusts the timing of things, even when I can’t see where it’s all going.

It felt like an answer to a prayer I’ve been whispering for years.
The question of… “Feminine, where are you?”

And she answered.

When I’m still, she answers.

I’ll never forget the sound of that wheat.

The hush of the Mother.

The way it held me…soft, sacred, and so alive.

Close your eyes, open your heart, listen.

She's there.