Reborn & Real

How mud, rain, and cacao catapulted us into true renewal.

We didn’t do Santa this past Christmas… and for Easter—no bunny, no baskets, no plastic eggs.

And this is not because I’m trying to be rebellious or alternative, but because the genuine truth is those traditions never felt right for my soul. I’ve always gone along with the traditions of Christmas and Easter and put my own spin on them, tried to make them as authentic for our family as possible, but in truth, I still fully gave in to societal conditioning—all while carrying this interesting guilt and shame.

(A) Because I knew I wasn’t being fully truthful to the reality of my soul… I was betraying myself.

(B) But even more so, because I felt like not doing the traditions we’ve always done—and to disrupt them—would deprive my children of the magic that defines childhood.

What I really saw this year, as we had no Easter baskets, no eggs, no bunny, no egg hunts, was that when you are truthful to your authenticity and your actions are a direct reflection of your values and soul, deprivation is impossible.

My children aren’t deprived when they miss out on holding stuff and plastic eggs in their hands. They are deprived when they don’t hold the soil in their hands. When they don’t have dirt under their fingernails. When their days aren’t filled with unstructured wonderment and play.

This Easter, I really SAW with my own brown eyes that the magic of childhood has very little to do with these traditions we abide by year after year, and everything to do with the space they’re given for creativity, exploration, and connection to the Earth herself.

Since moving to Bali, I have been in a real death phase. I assumed I would move to Bali and “bada bing, bada boom”—a new beginning… a new cycle… a rebirth. In actuality, the spaciousness I received upon transitioning to this island on the other side of the planet has given me perspective and opportunity to really shed the layers and clean up the spiritual shop that is my mind, body, and spirit.

Being so far away from the comforts and conveniences of home—having sold just about all of our earthly possessions—I really had this unique moment in time to get wildly clean and clear. I have felt like I’ve been attending my own funeral, sometimes in slow motion, as I witness and feel old versions of who I thought I was, what I subscribed to, what I believed in—crumble, fade, and dissolve.

I have to be honest: I don’t know that I would’ve had the courage to do things this drastically differently had I stayed. Maybe I would have… in time. We’ll never know. But what I do know is that I have been catapulted into a new reality that becomes so obvious and evident—especially during holidays.

I have this wild and rare opportunity to totally and completely reinvent how we do certain holidays. It’s like starting from scratch, because literally nothing is the same on this side of the world. Even people in our community who do celebrate Christmas and Easter do it in such a different way, because they also come from different parts of the globe.

It’s through the death, the grief, the complete cleansing of everything comfortable and my learned version of “normal” that I’m finally beginning to feel the crowning. The starting anew. A blank slate. An opportunity to pause and ask my insides—and the individual souls of our family:

What do you believe in?

What do you value?

What do you treasure most?

What does this holiday mean to you?

How shall we celebrate and honor all of that in our own unique ways?

What new traditions shall we implement?

What makes us feel excited?

And would you believe not one child mentioned “getting stuff”?

In fact, on Saturday before our Easter adventure, I placed a massive banana leaf, fallen from a tree in our garden, on our dining table. On it, I placed a handmade journal along with beeswax crayons and a kaleidoscope for Silas, a batik scrunchie and natural deodorant for Willow (because we’re entering that phase of life 😳), and rose spray and a water bottle holder for Kai.

I yelled for them to come downstairs to see the Easter offerings, and they were overjoyed—not at the “stuff,” but the meaning behind it.

Kai said in regard to the rose water spray, “This is my favorite,” and proceeded to spray his face abundantly and holler with pure joy.

Willow said, “This is my favorite Easter because it’s just so simple and we don’t have to clean up or rush.”

Silas was just floored that he had his own journal and was literally “taking notes” all day long.

In our family, we discuss Easter as an opportunity to understand rebirth… a rebirth that is available for all beings everywhere.

I share the story of Jesus and answer questions based on my decades of religious studies and devotion to Mary Magdalene’s gospel. I also share that many religions and traditions have a VERY similar holiday around this time of year—that it’s not unique to Christianity. That all around the world, people are celebrating the energy of birth, renewal, and the turning of the soil. A new beginning. What a joy to honor, to be a part of.

And so, I offer these gifts not because you expect an Easter basket from the Easter Bunny… but from me, your mother—in hopes that this next cycle of life will bring forth vitality. That this opportunity for renewal will lead us deeper into the truth of who we are. That this rebirth will be in the name of pure authenticity.

He is risen, as they say. And so can we.

We can rise up to meet ourselves—beyond expectations or societal conditions.

We can choose, right now, to RISE into who we came here to be, as we allow for all that we are not to fall away from our true core nature.

Even though I honor and respect the traditions we’ve always carried and followed from home, I’ve always craved this sacredness—this holiness—on special holidays. A time to truly pay our respects to this Earth that holds and nourishes us. Space for ritual that feels authentic to our nature-loving souls. However, in the hurried rush to go from event to event, house to house, activity to activity, I never found that sacred time and space I so craved.

The truth, though… I just never made it happen.

I totally could have created the time and space.

But honestly, I was so distracted crossing the T’s and dotting the holiday I’s that I never really paused to consider:

What do I want my children to remember when they look back on their childhoods?

How did they feel on these special days?

So this year, in an effort to practice what I preach, we grabbed our new journals and hopped on our motorbikes—Willow on the back of mine with a backpack full of clothes for us all for the weekend, Silas on the front, and Kai (and his ukulele) on the back of Ben’s bike.

Our first stop was Jungle Gold Bali, a chocolate factory and cacao plantation.

We thought, since chocolate is such a big part of Easter tradition, that we would visit the source and learn about cacao—and experience the process of how those chocolate bunnies and eggs are actually made.

Next, we ventured to a farm up north for lunch. I knew we had stumbled upon the place meant for us when I watched the chef walk outside the kitchen and into the garden to pick herbs and veg for our lunch.

Something so simple. Something that should be obvious. Something that should happen everywhere.

The act made me so emotional in its beauty—all while sipping jasmine green tea, watching behind the chef a massive storm rolling through the mountains. The colors so rich and saturated that the colors themselves felt textured and tangible.

Kai spent the two-hour lunch learning a new song on his ukulele. Willow buried herself in the book she’s reading (The Secret Garden), and Silas was living his absolute best life in a fort that Kai built for him out of beanbags.

I was swooning. This is it, I kept thinking. This is it.

After lunch, we hopped back on the motorbikes and cruised further north—on those Balinese roads that literally make your heart pound with equal parts fear and awe that this is your life. Through farms overflowing with marigolds—flowers to be later used in offerings—and rows of all the veggie offerings you see on your plate of nasi campur.

As we made our way through these tiny side streets—not so much streets, but rather paths only wide enough for motorbike wheels—I felt one raindrop on my nose… then nothing… eventually a dusting over my shoulders… and then, the bottom fell out.

We made a wrong turn and ended up at a Balinese family’s home. Their dog barked with extreme fierceness to protect their land, but we were met with nothing but kindness and smiles from the family, who helped us turn our bikes around in the rain and guided us back to the road.

The main road being one so bumpy I thought my spine might actually get compacted from the turbulence.

Eventually, we found the sign welcoming us to a small, family-owned regenerative farm.

We parked our bikes on the main road because the path leading to our wooden cabin was too slippery from the mud and rain. The farmer, only 27 years old, met us at the street with a tiny umbrella and guided us through the abundant farm and to our cabin.

There is something about a wooden cabin that really does it for me. I declared upon arrival that one day in the faraway (or near) future, I will have a wooden home where the walls, floor, and ceiling are so rich with texture you can physically feel it before you actually touch it.

After we got settled, the rain eased, and we spent the afternoon exploring the farm, feeding the bunnies (we got our Easter Bunny after all), and picking ripe fruit. Wandering. Until the rain began yet again.

This is one thing I adore about my children: the rain didn’t bother them in the slightest. Willow retreated to her loft-style hideaway and began writing a children’s book (she is who she is). Kai and Silas decided to stay outside and run wild in the rain.

After a while, the rain turned the farm’s paths into muddy madness. They were slipping and sliding like crazy. At first, there were some major tears from Silas. But when he saw Kai change into his swimsuit and proceed to transform the muddy pathway into a mudslide, the tears were transmuted into hysterical laughter and squealing.

Willow came downstairs to see what the noise was about and, in two seconds, she too was in her swimsuit and sliding down the muddy hill with her brothers.

Ben and I sat in awe and pure joy, looking at each other as if to say, this is it.

The evening continued with cards, a beautiful home-cooked meal made from ingredients straight from the farm, some tears from Silas because he is three and thinks he is eight… and then, after dinner, we spent the night in the side yard (aka mud pit), timing ourselves to see how fast we could run around the yard.

It was so simple, uneventful, and yet—it was everything.

Our feet were (and still are) stained from the mud. I’m still finding clumps of dirt in Silas’s blonde hair days later. Their swimsuits are ruined.

This is it.

This didn’t feel like a “we don’t do Easter” moment. We weren’t rejecting the holiday… instead, I found us walking into the heart of it. Diving into the depths of it. Finding ourselves inside of it. Renewal. Birth. New life.

This is it.

The intention moving forward in this new cycle is REALNESS. Bathing in what is real. Activating what is real. Touching what is real. Being real.

This is it. And so it is.

Here’s to your rising, my loves. Let’s be real together.

If this resonated with you, I invite you to subscribe, share, or be so bold as to book a Time for Tea Session. Or perhaps, you simply pour yourself a cup of tea and reflect/journal:

• What is real for you? Where in my life am I craving more “soil, mud, and rain?”

• When I consider future generations (my own bloodline or humanity in general), what do I hope they feel… what do I hope they remember most about their childhoods?

• What parts of myself, my identity, or life are dying or ready to dissolve? And what is being born in their place?

• If I were to create a holiday or ritual for myself and/or family that reflects the truth of my soul, what would it look like? What would it feel like? What would it be about? What would be the intention behind it?

Massive and Real Love,

Alee

PS: As always- enjoy the playlist for this week. This one is a VIBE: