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Believing the Voice Within You

Jan 7, 2019 | Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

A voice dwells within you that can be trusted, that longs to be listened to, that consistently speaks truth.

I promise.

Other voices dwell within, as well. They have strong opinions, speak irritatingly louder, and often trick you by sounding far more sane. “It’s dangerous!” “You’re dangerous!” “It’s way too risky.” “Think about the consequences!” “You’ll never be understood.” “You’ll be completely alone.” “Are you completely insane?”

They’re hard to ignore, no doubt about it. But when you listen closely you’ll hear that they actually sound plain-old boring and pretty damn tired. After all, they’ve been droning on and on for a very long time. And really, anymore, they’re not all that convincing. So give them a retirement party. Send them packing. Wave goodbye.

Then choose to believe the voice that knows what it’s talking about. Choose to believe you.

You can be trusted. You already know. You are beautiful and wise and amazing. You are that Sacred.

I promise.

How do I know? How can I promise? Well, because at least at this moment, I’m practicing what I preach. I’m believing the voice within me! The one that speaks deep truth. The one that knows-that-it-knows-that-it-knows.

Yes. That one.

The Widow of Nain

Dec 18, 2018 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality

There is an ancient story told of a widow whose only son died. With him went her last semblance of family, belonging, and even physical security – not to mention every last shred of hope and joy. On the day of his funeral, she moved in slow motion as the procession paraded through the streets of her village. Her head was down. Her heart was broken. Her sorrow was bottomless. Her tears were unstoppable.

Until she heard a man’s voice speak directly to her: “Do not weep.” Grief was replaced by white-hot rage. Her red-rimmed eyes rose to meet his only in time to hear him speak again, this time directly to her dead son: “Young man, I say to you, rise!” And her fury was just as miraculously replaced by joy-beyond-belief as her son rose and began to speak for himself. The prophet/healer disappeared into the crowd, leaving everyone speaking of what they had just heard, seen, and experienced.

I have struggled with this story – with my writing of it. Still, she is in the “canon” of stories with which I work because she deserves to be heard and I trust-trust-trust that she has wisdom and meaning to offer.

  • Her story puts me face-to-face with patriarchal power/authority and a woman’s lack thereof.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with words spoken that are painful but ignored, because of who he is; because the rest of the story somehow redeems the earlier harshness.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my own resistance to speaking out in response to these very stories and the god within them (not in critique, but with allowed honesty, perspective, and hope).
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with the paradox of the divine – things understood and far more not.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with me; with the heartache I know on behalf of the woman in this text and all those within the larger Text; the silence that too-often envelops them and the voice I long to give.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my fear: my visceral awareness that to speak – to weep – to express my perspective, my opinion, even my rage, carries with it the nearly certain risk of profound loss.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my own known grief and hope, silence and voice, heartache and endless-longing for miracles.

When it comes right down to it, her story is about me.

And you.

Fanning Desire’s Flame

Apr 9, 2018 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Desire is a tricky thing.

  • To desire feels dangerous because we might not get what we want.
  • To desire is risky because, when expressed, is too much for the people in our world.
  • To desire reveals the dulled desires of those in our midst.
  • To desire means that we see ourselves of worth.
  • To desire calls us to foresee a future that is better than what we have now.
  • To desire requires that we actually believe we are deserving of that which we seek, even demand.

Some even say:

  • To desire is entitled or arrogant.
  • To desire is privileged or elitist.
  • To desire is assumptive and arrogant.
  • To desire is to be ungrateful for all that we have; to somehow be demanding of even more.

I completely disagree.

The biggest risk is not our desire itself, but that we do not desire enough!

We are far too easily pleased. We somehow believe that our desires will never come to be, anyway. And so, we choose to believe that we’re better off hedging our bets, playing it safe, and toning things down.

I completely disagree. Did I mention that?

Here’s the thing: the heart, when listened to and trusted, will have none of this! Nor should you.

One of the many ancient, sacred stories I so love tells of a woman’s desire. And surprise! It’s not Eve (though hers does, of course – in beautiful and to-be-trusted ways).

This woman was so determined in the expression and sustenance of her longing, that a priest saw her praying and was convinced she was drunk. He reprimanded and shamed her. But she was not to be stopped. In fact, just the opposite: she boldly and blatantly persisted. She held on. And ultimately? Well, ultimately, finally, her desire was fulfilled.

Instead of desire’s diffculty slowing or stopping her, it grew in power and force until she could not, would not be denied.

[A brief intermission: Lest you think I am saying that if you just desire enough, your every desire will be met, think again. (That would be a lovely formula, wouldn’t it?) What I am saying is this: Her desire remained intact without its fulfillment. And it is THIS to which she calls us.]

It is to this that she calls you. Longing even more instead of letting go. Persevering instead of settling. Fanning desire’s flame instead of dousing it. Holding on no matter what.

Desire for desire’s sake is what matters most.

Listen to her voice (as I imagine it). She speaks on your behalf:

Oh, the beauty of your desire! The stronger and fiercer and more tightly held, heaven rejoices and earth stands still in reverential awe. Know this: the object of your desire is not as important as having and holding on to desire in the first place. Desire for desire’s sake is what matters most. The act and art of desiring causes your body temperature to rise, your pulse to quicken, your heart to beat, your life-force to surge, your voice to swell, and your very presence to make a visceral, unmistakable and impossible-to-ignore mark on this world. Believe me, I know all about this. I am Hannah, and YOU are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

I know all-too-well the temptation to tone down my desire. But that has not served me – ever. Nor does it you. Hannah’s story reminds us that perseverance makes a difference, that faith matters, that hope must endure, and that desire – whether fulfilled or not – is a force to be reckoned with. Desire is what makes us – you and me – a force to be reckoned with.

So go ahead: want more, pray more, long for more, desire more. Less is, well, just less. And that is not to be your fate.

*****

[A version of this post appeared in April of 2016. When I came across it, I realized I do not feel any differently – for myself or in regards to what I desire for you.]

These Stories Still Speak

Dec 18, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power

I’ve been awake since 4:30 this morning. Uncharacteristically, instead of lying in bed and trying to tame my immediately-upon-waking thoughts or my desire to sleep for at least a couple more hours, I just got up. I turned on the Christmas tree lights, made the coffee, had a handful of Chex Mix (that remains far too tempting to pass up, no matter how long the supply lasts), and then sat down at my computer.

I thought about lighting a fire and snuggling in with a book, but once I was in front of the screen I was stuck – for hours – almost unaware of how much time had passed. It wasn’t until both of my girls got up, the dog came running to me, and I moved my hands away from my keyboard that I realized it was no longer dark; rather, almost afternoon!

I was working on New Year SacredReadings – the 5th year in a row that I’ve offered them.

And though you’d think that the stories themselves are old hat and probably repetitive to me by now, the exact opposite is true. With each card I pulled, I realized a truth to this particular story (and then the next one and then the next one…) that is actually tied to my own. I heard her voice speaking into my heart. And as the minutes and hours ticked by, I found myself surrounded by text that yes, I am offering to others, but that actually feels like it’s all for me.

Which, of course, is why I continue to do this work – and offer it to others: these stories still speak!

None of this is surprising – at least not to me. These are ancient, sacred stories of women who have been, for the most part, marginalized and misunderstood. Still, all the while, they have laid in wait – longing to be heard, longing to be seen, longing to be known and trusted and called on for their wisdom, encouragement, and grace.

Every single one of them has lived through things unfathomable to us…and…all too real and relevant even still. Every single one of them knows what it means to pursue desire and have it thwarted. Every single one of them knows how it feels to be silenced or small (but to refuse such!) Every single one of them knows what it means to abide in a world of patriarchal power and yet live a powerful and out-loud story in spite of it all. And every single one of them remain profoundly relevant.

As I worked on their stories and held the stories-and-hearts of those who have already purchased their 2018 New Year SacredReadings, I thought of so many other women; all women, actually. And I felt such hope. Hope that these women’s
stories – the ancient, sacred ones I love – would be yet heard, known, honored, and loved. Hope that you will discover which one of these stories is choosing you and, in truth, longing for you to know and believe that your story still speaks – in ways you have not yet imagined…or dared to hope.

I’ll gladly wake up tomorrow and the remaining days of this year at the same early hour if it means that more and more of these women’s stories from days gone by can be placed into the hands and hearts of women today.

These stories still speak and we deeply, desperately, perhaps more than ever before, need to hear them.

May it be so.

My Inner Critic = The Patriarchy

Sep 5, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I was recently organizing files on my computer (something I do when I intend to write, but instead find busy work…) and came across a piece I wrote just over a year ago. Why I didn’t post it then, why I didn’t work with it more, I do not know…Well, I have a hunch, but I’ll get to that at the end. First, the writing I found…

 

*****

 

Perhaps this isn’t news to you, but I just realized this morning that the voice of the inner critic inside of me is the patriarchy; even more specifically, the patriarchal god.

This actually came as a shock to me – one I am still sitting with and trying to make sense of. But the second I wrote the words (which I will share in a moment), I knew this was true. And now that I know this is true, I have a clarity and certainty about some other things that I didn’t before (which I’ll also share in a moment).

First, how I got to this realization:

As is my normal routine, I journal in the morning. I set the alarm and, with the best of intentions, try my hardest to not look at the emails that have accumulated overnight on my phone. I go to the kitchen, fill the teakettle with water, get coffee measured into my French press, and then open up my 3-ring binder and take out two sheets of college-ruled paper. I take the cap off my very favorite pen and write the date in neat script on the top line.

By then the water is hot enough to pour into the press. I wait the four interminable minutes it takes for the coffee to steep, gratefully pour it into my waiting mug, then return to my chair, my notebook, the paper, my pen.

This morning I was recounting details of my previous day, reflecting on what was ahead in the hours to come, scribing a litany of words and questions and feelings. Nothing monumental. Nothing transformational. Just the practice of pen on paper, page after page, day after day.

In the midst of these musings, I began to write about my writing – this writing – this practice of pen on paper, page after page, day after day. As often happens, I dropped down a level – from information to reflection – and then, not surprisingly, to critique.

Why am I writing any of this? What is the point? What is its value?

And only because I have gotten just slightly wiser to its ways over the years, I began to write out exactly what my inner critic had to say:

What a ridiculous waste of time! How arrogant of you to think that your writing has the capacity to impact anyone. Are you kidding? Just because you’ve filled pages and pages over the years, doesn’t make you some kind of expert. And clearly, it’s not made any difference in your life. After all, you’re still listening to me, aren’t you? Why you don’t finally and once-and-for-all give up fighting me and trying to hear any other voice than mine? You know I’m going to endure, defeat, and conquer. I mean, really! What other voice has this much staying power, this much resolve, this much potency, this much influence? I am undefeatable! I am impossible to silence. I am all-powerful. I am God!

What? What? Wait! Go back. What did I just write?

A smile spread over my face and I immediately knew two things: 1) my daily writing practice which often, admittedly, seems trivial at times, actually matters – made obvious through three small words that are now out in the open and exposed; and 2) that “God” comment needs a LOT more attention!

My writing continued:

There. That’s the bottom line. The critic within me is God. Which is crazy – and not. This IS the God I’ve learned of, at least in part: the God I must fear, the God that keeps me in my place and silent, the God of the patriarchy.

More wheels turn as I speedily scribe and watch myself write these words:

Could it be that the inner critic IS the patriarchy, is the patriarchal God?

So, there you have it. That’s how I got to this realization and awareness. Now, as promised, the clarity and certainty about some other things.

I have understood the voice of the inner critic to come from, well, the inner-me. I have seen it as the collective voice of all those spoken to me throughout the years – negative messages I’ve heard, taken in, and believed. But even more, I have convinced myself that its volume and tenacity is because I have fed and fueled those messages, because I have not had the will or fortitude to disavow them. I have seen the inner critic itself as something inherently within me, as part of me.

And because of such, it is something to be exorcised out of me, something aberrant or wrong about me, something I must be blamed for and ultimately responsible for. The inner critic is clearly and resolutely my character flaw.

The problems with this are so prolific, I don’t even know where to start. Stories flood my mind – each one sticky with shame. And, truth-be-told, shame that has been self-inflicted: I should have done better. I should have tried harder. I should have stopped sooner. I should have said yes. I should have said no. I should have known.

Let me intentionally stop this tirade and go back to my earlier revelation: the inner critic is the patriarchy and even more specifically, the patriarchal god.

This is a big deal. A huge deal. A game-changer.

It’s like the great eye in Lord of the Rings (my VERY favorite movie, by the way). It turns, the focus shifts, and I recognize that the force that has controlled me for far too long and for which I have blamed myself, is something that is not me, something I could have no more stopped or controlled than been able to fly. And this not-of-me external force has allowed my shame because in so doing it has remained undiscovered, off the hook, and fancy free to wreak as much havoc as it likes.

As long as the patriarchy can keep me thinking that I am the one to blame, it has accomplished its greatest feat and highest aspiration.

And oh, how successful it has been.

I write some more.

Now you have revealed your cards. Now I know what I’m dealing with here. And now I know exactly what is needed to soother the beast, to tame this savage, to calm my very soul.

I need the God who speaks just the opposite, who reminds me who I am, who blesses and honors, who loves. I need the God of the women I know and the stories I tell. I need the God who speaks wisdom and grace. I need the God who is mother. I need the God who is feminine. I need the God who is far more fierce and powerful and all-consuming than the little god who isn’t one at all, but has somehow become confused.

And this God, though not often enough named as such, is alive and well and waiting within.

She rises still – and strong. She will yet roar.

Me too.

*****

Do you have a hunch as to why I didn’t post this piece until now, until just happening to stumble across it almost a year later?

Well, there’s this: the patriarchy (and/or the inner critic, and/or the Imposter Complex, call it what you will) is still alive and well – within me. The subconscious messaging that tells me to keep such things to myself, to only say what’s acceptable, to not expose it…ever.

Well, until now.

Maybe you, too?

About Being Ubiquitous

Aug 7, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality

This post could be entitled About Being God Without Realizing Such.

I came across this word while reading a novel a week or so ago and texted myself this note: Look up ubiquitous. (I do this sometimes, no, lots of times: type myself texts so that I don’t forget…because I will.) Later, I did look it up. (Voila! the value of the note!)

u·biq·ui·tous | y͞ooˈbikwədəs
adjective
existing or being everywhere at the same time : constantly encountered

The thought occurred to me that this IS what we are – ubiquitous, or at least, what we are attempting. OK, not you, just me.

This is what I’m attempting – as a woman, an entrepreneur, a writer, a mom, a friend. And more than just attempting, it seems required! Facebook. Twitter (which I finally abandoned). Instagram. Pinterest. Medium. LinkedIn.

And the evidence of my ubiquitousness? After typing out each word in the previous sentence, I then spent the time to find-and-enter hyperlinks for each so that you can see that I’m everywhere at the same time : constantly encountered : ubiquitous. Blech.

The next thought that occurred to me was the idea of God as omnipresent. This is a theological term that even without theological training, you can probably parse out for yourself. But here, I’m happy to help:

om·ni·pres·ent | ämnəˈpreznt/
adjective
widely or constantly encountered; common or widespread

Sound familiar? Like anything else you’ve recently heard? Here’s a big surprise: a synonym for omnipresent is…wait for it…ubiquitous.

So, let me reverse engineer things: we then, in our efforts to be ubiquitous, are attempting to be like God.

OK, not “we,” just me.

As a woman who is an entrepreneur who is trying to run a business and build a platform and write and be a mom and be a friend and simultaneously be everywhere at the same.

It’s no wonder I’m sometimes, lots of times, weary. (Maybe you, too?)

It seems a bit problematic, don’t you think? I don’t need (at least here and now) to have a conversation about God – as omnipresent or not, ubiquitous or not, even existing, or not! I’m merely stating that an attribute we once wholly and nearly-unanimously applied to THE Deity, is now what we all aspire to be.

Even as I type words which might sound provocative, they really aren’t. This is what all of humanity has been doing from the beginning of time – creating gods in our own image. How could we not, really? This IS human nature. And if I wax even a bit more philosophical, there IS no God other than the one we’ve created – in our own image. How could there be? We’re the ones who have described and made sense of (so we often think) every form/version of the Divine that has ever existed! (I’m not saying…yet again…that God doesn’t exist. I’m just naming that WE are the ones who have created, constructed, described, and written/preached/demanded any and every comprehension of any god that has ever existed or ever will. There’s no Plan B on this one.)

OK. Enough of my random thoughts and texts-to-self and dictionary de nitions and theological/philosophical musings.  Here’s my point:

I don’t want to be ubiquitous, or omnipresent, or like God; I don’t want to be God at all!

Though I said otherwise, maybe I am having a conversation about God. For all my ambivalence, ever-shifting opinions, and intentionally unlearned doctrine-of-a-lifetime, here’s what I can tell you: any God I would believe in or espouse would be everything I’m not; a God who is not in my image – at all; a God who
is ubiquitous so that I don’t have to be!

So what’s a girl to do? (Yes, just me; not you.)

One “answer” is to believe and *just* have faith that this God does exist. Because if I did, if I would, if I could, then I would no longer have to work so hard and be everywhere at the same time, right? It wouldn’t be my job, but God’s. Right.

And…this is where the idea of faith gets a bit dicey, yes? What if God (no matter how understood or comprehended, or not) doesn’t have everything in hand? What if God doesn’t care about my business, my platform, my bank account the same way that I do? I can’t actually trust, can’t actually let go, because what if…God forbid…things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to? I must stay in control. I must navigate and engineer my every reality. And yes, I must be everywhere at the same time : constantly encountered : ubiquitous, because who knows what might happen if I stopped?!?

Wait.

That’s a good question.

What might really-truly-actually happen if I stopped?

I’d rest. I’d stop worrying. I’d stop feeling like there’s always more to do, that I haven’t done enough, that if only I work harder, then… I’d be able to sit still. I’d not need my phone umbilically connected to me at all times. I’d trust that all will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well. And then I’d breathe. A lot. I’d step away from my computer. I’d need no Tylenol for the pain across my upper back and shoulders. I’d enjoy where I am and who I am and who I am with and all that I love.

Oh…that.

I looked up one more thing in the midst of all of this pondering: the antonyms to ubiquitous and omnipresent. Want to know what they are?

rare
scarce
limited

In other words, fully human, fully unique, fully present, fully me.

I don’t say any of this to declare my abstinence from social media or any and all of the activities in which I’m engaged to keep my business (and life) going. Nor do I assume anyone else should do the same. But I am going to think about why I ever thought that I could be (or want to be) everywhere at the same time: constantly encountered, ubiquitous. I am going to wonder a bit more about why I ever thought that I could be God (without actually realizing that this was what I was doing). And I am going to think much more about what it means to be rare, scare, and limited – because I am. Which, now that I say it, sounds WAY better than ubiquitous anyway!