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The deep and ever-present wisdom…

Nov 11, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

HEARING VOICES

We all have at least one – often a legion of them. They speak when we least want them to. They show up when we most wish they would disappear. They whispers into our ear when we venture into new (and necessary and powerful) territory. They shout when we start to speak the words that need to be said, must be said, that we can’t not speak.

Not one bit of what those inner voices have to say comes as a surprise. Not remotely novel or unique. An old, old saw that still cuts.

So, those of us who continue to grow and transform, seek to name them for what they are and move past their reach.

  • We hear the negative statements and reframe them positively.  “You’re so stupid!” becomes “I may make mistakes, but more times than not, I make the right choice.”
  • We recognize the voices – and their power – but choose to not respond to their incessant harping.  We separate from the destructive thought and (hopefully) become stronger.
  • We look at what we are hearing with acuteness and specificity – acknowledging what just is NOT true: “I’ll never be successful” just isn’t an accurate statement.
  • We pay attention to what the voice is saying, identify the “who” it most closely represents, and choose to learn from it.

It’s this last one that I want to speak to, that I utilize (with far more success than the other three), that I want to invite and encourage in and for you.

LISTENING TO THE VOICES

Instead of just disregarding them, reframing what we hear, or even naming them as inaccurate and untrue, we gain immeasurable wisdom from paying attention to what they are actually saying. And maybe it’s just me, but immeasurable wisdom is what I want.

IMMEASURABLE WISDOM IS WHAT I ALREADY HAVE!

As do you…

When you listen – closely, carefully, and with great attention – to the voices within that whisper, speak, and shout, you will discover an even deeper truth – the one that has been evading you but which has been present for decades, the one that offers you the very healing you long for most.

And underneath that deep truth? Well, that is where we want to go.

Underneath, deeper down, deeper still, is a far wiser truth, the you who always has and always will exist, a far wiser voice that has always been there and never leaves.

What is this voice? Where does it come from? How can you trust that it is there, that it operates within you, that it still speaks?

I’m so glad you asked.

It is the voice of every woman who has lived before you – and who dwells within – in your memory, in your subconscious, in your lineage, in your very DNA. It is in the air that you breathe and the unknowable-unnamable water in which you swim. It is embedded within every archetypal story that has ever offered you strength. It is speaking through every “mysterious-but-undeniable” experience you’ve ever had…but might have never talked about. It is present in every glimmer and glimpse of The Feminine Herself that does not, will not abandon you, no matter how many stories, circumstances, emotions, and core-beliefs cause you to think or feel otherwise. It just is. Because you are you.

Beautiful. Resplendent. Glorious. Wise. Amazing. Sovereign.

‘Don’t feel any of these things? ‘KNOW that they are somehow true, but cannot, for the life of you, step into them with any consistency or compelling commitment?

I get it.

AND this is what needs to happen, what must happen, and what you most long to have happen, yes? You: stepping into and standing in the you you truly are, always have been, and long to be.

May it be so.

Women Joining & Healing

Oct 23, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I feel like I am drowning in a sea of opinions, disasters, tragedies, trauma, harm, violence, and misunderstanding – every bit of this present on social media. It is the sea in which many of us find ourselves swimming – reaching for a life-ring or anything which will allow us to feel just a bit more safe, a bit more attached, a bit less graspy and gasping.

Still, many, many times and days, it just sucks us under and swallows us whole.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I’m not suggesting that we no longer engage with social media. (Though that may be the exact-right answer for you).

What I am suggesting is that we turn within our very selves, listen to the profound-and-powerful wisdom we already hold, and then choose to respond – or not – from there.

So, when I do exactly this? When I listen to the wisdom I already hold? Here’s a bit of what it sounds like: Division, rancor, in-fighting, and accusations are the expertly-wielded tools of the patriarchy.

“Divide-and-conquer is its strategy,” my friend Lianne says. I don’t want to perpetuate any aspect of the patriarchy. I want something better, something redemptive, something healing, something strong.

I want the opposite of divide-and-conquer. I want to join-and-heal. I want to call forth and witness the Feminine – invited, embodied, enfleshed, and intentionally taking precedence over all else.

It’s dicey, I realize. Incredibly important voices – almost always those that have been silenced – need to be heard. Perspectives and experiences need to be honored. Wrongs need to be righted. Responsibility needs to be taken. And both integrity and accountability need to be not only demonstrated, but lived by. This applies to me, to be sure. And to you. To all of us.

Here’s what I keep returning to:

As women, we have the capacity to do all of this and then some – to honor our distinctives, our opinions, our stories, and especially our differences – AND come together, stay together, join-and-heal.

Don’t we?

YES!!! We do!

This is what women have done throughout all of time: they have gathered, they have joined, they have healed – themselves, others, and their communities/world. And in their best moments (if not lifetimes) they have set aside their differences – while acknowledging that they still exist – in order to offer each other the kindness, respite, support, respect, and strength needed to face another day. In Red Tents, in Sacred temples, in underground churches (even above-ground churches), in hidden rooms-basements-barns, in quilting circles, in book groups, in domestic violence shelters, in recovery movements, in neighborhood coffee gatherings, and yes, even in Facebook groups.

We join. We listen. We do our best to understand. And in such, we heal. When we don’t understand, when we struggle to listen, and even when we disagree, we still-and- always stand alongside one another in unity, compassion, empathy, and commitment. UNSWERVING COMMITMENT. To each other. To the shared-and-common-and-human difficulties, challenges, struggles, and beauty inherent in a woman’s life; in all women.

And why? Because we recognize in each other the profound and ineffable strength that must be encouraged, fanned-into-flame, called forth, sustained, and believed in! We recognize that WE are the ones to do this. And we KNOW that if we do not,
no one else will.

There are stories, stories, stories in my mind of when and where women have done exactly this. I could tell them to you. But what feels far more relevant and hopeful is to follow their lead: to gather, listen, honor, befriend, take the high road, say we’re so, so sorry, even forgive, and let every bit of our innate and indomitable wisdom reign.

Whether it’s Donald Trump or Harvey Weinstein or Black Lives Matter or Puerto Rico or immigration reform or LGBTQ awareness or any and every other thing that matters…deeply…truly…always…

…what matters most is that WE CHOOSE EACH OTHER – NO MATTER WHAT.

I get it: this is far easier said than done. But WE ARE UP TO THE TASK!

Maybe it is just me. Maybe. But I am not naive. I am a woman who knows-knows-knows what is right and generous and kind and nurturing and healing and beautiful and good and, and, and.

I am not willing to perpetuate the status quo – no matter how risky or scary or old or irrelevant I may sound.

And I’d rather not do this alone.

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?

Charlottesville

Aug 17, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I feel a heavy, collective shame.

I feel stuck, trapped even, between not knowing what to say or what to do and simultaneously knowing that I can’t not speak, can’t not act. My privilege feels visceral – like a creeping flu that I know is in my system and will, undoubtedly, make itself manifest; already has. I can do all the right things: get extra sleep, down the Vitamin C, but it’s inevitable: I won’t be able to hold it off forever. Likewise, I can do all the right things: speak out, go to vigils, write my congress-people, sign petitions, give money, write strong and opinion-full blog posts, but it’s inevitable: I can hold it off forever. I can stay in my house and appreciate its comfort and feel safe and be grateful for healthcare and a steady paycheck and my freshly-mowed lawn and both my own and my daughters’ education, and change nothing.

Maybe it’s something to say so. Maybe it’s something to see and notice and name. Maybe it matters to acknowledge the shame, the stuck-ness, the viral-privilege that inhabits my cells whether I want it to, or not. Maybe it matters: my writing, my voice, my words, my persistence, my presence, my heart.

I don’t know.

But I do care – and deeply.

Even though it doesn’t feel like enough.

Because it isn’t enough. It just isn’t. And I’m so, so sorry.

Why do you write?

May 16, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

“Why do you write?” was a question recently asked of me. 

Here’s my answer:

I write because it is the space in which I feel most creative, most challenged, and most
compelling. Here on the page – whether literally with paper and pen or document open and cursor ashing – everything that swirls within me finds a place to land.

I write because at least for these minutes and sometimes hours, I feel calm and sane.

I write because I have something to say, lots to say. My thoughts are my own, but I long for them to take shape and form that will make their way into the world on others’ behalf, on behalf of the women’s stories I tell and love, and yes, on behalf of me.

I write because the craft of choosing particular, perfect words and then deleting them in favor of others thrills me. To realize that paragraph five is really paragraph two, that the sentence with which I started is actually my ending, that seemingly disparate threads can weave themselves together under my care, time, and attention; this is delight beyond
compare.

I write because sometimes magic descends, ascends, enters in and I become a channel, a vessel, a conduit of something other, something more. It’s of me, to be sure, and not. It’s a voice that mirrors mine, but knows and says things in ways that bypass my ever-processing mind and sometimes even my inner critic.

I write because it feels like, no, is, the place in which I feel capable and strong, wise and certain, creative and alive. All heart. Less head. All together. Less disparate. All me. Less less.

I write to name, to not ignore that which is true. I need this: my ego’s skill at disguising my every proclivity and pathology as normal and logical, convinces me it is unnecessary to do anything of the kind. When my words – my words – show up on paper, or pristine screen, I see my soul; it is grateful to finally be seen and heard, acknowledged and loved.

I write because it is a space that is bigger than me. No one asks me for money. No rides are needed. No lunches must be packed or dinners cooked. No demands are made. And all I hear is “yes.” I am allowed – all of me. My tears, my rage, my fantasies, my frustrations, my desires, my doubts, my big and brilliant thoughts, my expansive heart, my heartbreak, my strong love. There is no one I have to convince or cajole, no one for whom I have to dumb myself down, no one who can’t handle me. It is rare: this space, this respite that restores.

I write because somehow, no matter how much pours forth, there is always more. It offers me the miraculous glimpse of what the best relationship could potentially be: complete honesty, no hiding, and days, weeks, months, years, centuries needed to ever exhaust every word/thought/idea/feeling that is there to be expressed, invited, and loved out of me.

I write because it is the felt and known-with-certainty place in which I discover the discrepancies between who I truly am and who I sometimes become; between the me who stays strong, soars high, dances seductively, loves passionately, speaks boldly and the me who does not a whit of this. Writing brings me back to myself – over and over again. It stands tall, bows low and winks mischievously, then opens its arms, draws me in, holds me tight, promises me everything and means it. I am home.

Mmmm. That’s at least a start to my answer.

And you? Why do you write? 

Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #6

Apr 29, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Today concludes this 6-part series on (Sacred) Conversation with your Heart. I am hopeful, though, that it is just the beginning of so much more of the same!!! 

If you’re just tuning in today, I’d encourage you to read the first 5 posts: Introductions, Tentative Listening, Hearing Deeper Truths, Speaking Deeper Truths, and Loving the Dialogue. 

And now, today, the big finish: 

PART SIX – HEART CONVERSATION AS SACRED CONVERSATION 

For me, this intimate and honest dialogue with my heart is synonymous with the Sacred. There is nothing disparate between the two. They are one-in-the-same. That know-that-I know-that-I-know voice within is the voice of the Divine. 

I’m hearing the Divine speak to me. Not in a burning-bush sort-of way, or miraculous thunder-clap or shout from on high. Rather, a constant, generous, and trustworthy source of wisdom, love, and life. And this knowing, this awareness, this experience IS what enables me to speak (and live) out loud.

Sadly, our religious traditions have been filled with both language and praxis that too-often have kept us silent. We can go back to the earliest tellings of the earliest stories and see how this silencing has been perpetuated, how it has become part-and-parcel with our deepest and most intrinsic belief about ourselves – particularly as women. Beginning with Eve, we’ve been told that her curiosity, her voice, her conversation with and trusting of her own heart is what led to the downfall of all creation. I COMPLETELY disagree. (Watch my TEDx Talk to hear more of my VERY strong opinions about this.) 

Keeping our hearts (and very selves) silent is painful. It twists us into ways of being that are unnatural, unhealthy, and ultimately, not even remotely reflective of the Divine that dwells within. 

When we raise our voices, speak our hearts, and shout our truths, the S/sacred is seen and experienced. 

This matters! Your voice matters. Your truth matters. Your conversations with your heart matter! Potentially more than anything else. For this IS the sacred – made manifest in and through you. Beautiful. Powerful. True. Yes. 

And so it is. 

REFLECT 

Jan Richardson, one of my all time favorite writers has a poem called Having Taken the Fruit. Here are the last two verses: 

It took a long time to gure out / that my stiing silence / was not a path / back to a paradise / where I could never live. 

I finally learned to listen / to the hissing in my breath / that told me the roots / of my own soul / held the healing that I sought / and that each stilted syllable / I let loose / was another leaf / on the tree of life. 

  • Have you ever considered your inner dialogue, your conversation with your heart, as conversation with the Divine? As Sacred conversation? What does that prompt for you? 
  • Where have you known aspects of silence/being silenced in the context of religion or faith? How has your heart shut down when that’s occurred? 
  • What if the loosening of your tongue, of your throat, of your voice is the redemption of Eve’s story in the here-and-now? Can you see how it IS the redemption of YOUR story here and now?
  • The voice of your heart is the Sacred in and of itself. Will you believe this? What might change if you did, if you could? 

I am hopeful these six posts have been helpful, encouraging, and have offered specic ways in which you can step even more deeply into conversation with your heart. Did I mention that it really matters? 

Know that the process and practice of having heart-conversations is ongoing. It takes time to learn to listen and then respond to that steady beating, those internal messages that will guide you into places of strength, courage, passion, and life. And, as you might have guessed, I am beyond-passionate about such; about heart-conversations: yours, my own, and ours together. 

I promise: your heart will not lead you astray. Listening and responding to it is the safest, surest, sanest thing you can do. It can be trusted. As can you. It is good, beautiful, and strong. As are you.