Libby takes us by the hand, walks us through, and intimately guides us into the realm of psyche, the realm of soul—that liminal space where we can connect to a deeper and broader sense of who we are and where we come from. She speaks to the poet and the mystic in each of us, the one that dares to descend, that yearns for connection, but ultimately, the one that knows. As she threads in wisdom from both the imaginal and the embodied realms, she helps us to remember. To re-member. She reacquaints us with the magical, the mystical, the darkness, the mystery, the shadow.

With Libby, we remember that we are everything, intimately intertwined with existence, with the exquisite agony of being here, where poetry and magic coexist with brutality and despair. She holds this line from a place of embodied acceptance, from an inner knowing that she must—because it matters. It matters that we turn to darkness and uphold the glimmer, that we encounter joy amidst a world in calamity. Because she cares. And this is the essential thing. It hurts to care so much. Do we turn away, or do we turn towards the sacred ache and bear witness to such a degree that it becomes a thing of real beauty, of service, of belonging?

Thank you, Libby, for holding this degree of entirety in you and for showing us the way—through your storytelling, your guardianship, your showing up, again and again.

Alexandra