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This is why these stories matter!

Nov 3, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

My on-again-off-again spiritual practice is to read one of the ancient, sacred stories I sometimes so love and then just write – stream of consciousness, no editing, uncensored. I don’t know why I don’t do it more often, more consistently, more sacredly, for every single time, when I look back at what I’ve written, I am stunned, moved, supported, strengthened, transformed. And every single time I say to myself,

This is why these stories matter!

I could tell you of the woman about whom I journaled just a couple days ago. I could tell you about her life, the details that surrounded, the choices she made. But for now, just this: the two lists I created while journaling about her.

In the early part of her story, this:

  • Be kind and generous
  • Be willing to risk
  • Accept seemingly crazy invitations
  • Follow your heart

Later in her story, sadly, this:

  • Demand blessings
  • Distrust fate
  • Engineer outcomes
  • Manipulate for certainty

This is why these stories matter!

Could I have come to these truths without her story? Yes, probably. But oh, how incredible to see them, resonate with them, and recognize them in new and deeper ways through her voice, her ever-beating heart, her profound and endless relevance.

In my story (and maybe in yours, as well), all of these things have been true.

When I demand blessings I am ungrateful, tense, suspicious, and pretty darn certain that things will go badly. When I distrust fate I become negative, pessimistic, and unable/unwilling to hope. When I engineer outcomes it is ALWAYS disappointing. I am ALWAYS disappointed with myself. I become bitter and angry. I feel entitled. Little works. When I manipulate for certainty I labor and scheme and see myself as God. I let go of all faith. I trust no one. And I somehow believe that not only do I know what is best – for myself and everyone else – but that I have some influence and power over such things.

And…

When I am kind and generous it feels spacious and sweet. It is restful. I am aware of goodness all around me. When I am willing to risk it calls on and strengthens my ability and desire to have faith. It is invigorating and energizing and exciting and thrilling and brave. When I accept seemingly crazy invitations I find myself in places I would have never gone or even imagined. Whole worlds appear that I wouldn’t have otherwise known. Gifts and blessings overwhelm. Surprises await. I am opened to new ways of being. I am expanded. I grow. When I follow my heart it is risky yes, and rewarding. Much love given and received. Laughter. Passion. Adventure. And an increasing trust in my own deep knowing. Yes, this. No matter what.

This is why these stories matter!

These women still speak, deserve to be heard, and have SO much to offer and say – to me (and maybe to you, as well). The fact that they sit in-between the pages of the Bible makes it a bit complicated, I realize. But from where I sit – and stand – it’s all the more reason why they must be told! It breaks my heart to think that they are already covered with so much dust, so much dogma, and eventually will, I fear, just.be.forgotten.

That’s not okay with me.  No woman’s story deserves that fate. These stories matter because every woman’s story matters!

And these particular women? They are our matrilineage, our bloodline, the Sacred Feminine enfleshed. I (and maybe you, as well) don’t dare let them slip away.

So, in honor of Rebekah, the woman’s story from whence all this pours forth, I will follow her wisdom, her guidance, her still-
speaking voice. (Maybe you could, as well.) I will keep being kind and generous, even when it’s hard and sometimes seemingly impossible. I will remain willing to risk, even though it often feels crazy. I will willingly and boldly accept seemingly crazy invitations because they are the ones that open doors worth walking through. And I will follow my heart because, quite frankly, what else is there to do?

 

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How to usher in the gods.

Oct 22, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

While at the movie theater last night, I sat enthralled through the trailer for Exodus: Gods and Kings. Out this December, it’s the story of Moses and Ramses. Two brothers. A burning bush. Plagues of locusts and frogs. Waters turned to blood. The Red Sea parted. An epic battle.

Christian Bale aside, I love these kind of films, these kind of stories. There’s something about good triumphing over evil, about grand- sweeping drama, about the vastness and passion that captivates me.

And I am easily captivated. We all are.

We long to be swept up in a story that is marvelous and beautiful and powerful, one that eliminates the humdrum, the day-in-day-out hassles, the harm.

This desire speaks to something inherently good within us. It’s hardly some delirious fantasy. It’s a glimpse into what we know to be true, into who we know ourselves to truly be. If only we could get there…

What holds us back? Why do we only peer at this life through a fog. Why does it remain just out of reach? Why do we struggle and settle and stay put? You already know. To live in an epic tale, to usher in the very gods, we have to give up the smaller one(s).

“When half-gods go, the gods arrive.”

So said Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was right. This is exactly what captivates us and what it costs.

We have to let the half-gods go.

Easier said than done. I’ll speak only for myself. My half-god list is long: those things to which I pay attention and by whom, if I give enough allegiance, I am convinced will eventually reward me.

Codependent behavior: if I try hard enough you will change.

Idealistic body image: if only I could get my act together with this last __ pounds then surely the rest of my life would fall into place.

Entitled success: actually believing that I deserve more, better, every and any thing I want.

Platform: if I just accrue enough social media clout, develop perfect marketing language, create impossible-to-resist product offerings, and procure a waiting list of clients then surely Oprah’s Super-Soul-Sunday rep will call.

Someday my prince will come: surely he will ride in, white horse and all, looking like Christian Bale, and sweeping me away to the life that I long for and deserve (see “Entitled success” above).

Illusions. Not healthy or helpful. Not even remotely representative of the Divine. In fact, though feverishly wooing me with their empty promises, they offer just the opposite. Truth-be-told, they offer nothing; they only take. And when I bow to their demands I feel smaller, inadequate, broken somehow, and just not quite up to snuff – ever. Hardly created in the image of the gods. No, these feelings, experiences and beliefs are the insipid work of the half-gods. As compared to the god(s). Chariots blazing. Heavens opening. Angelic choirs singing. Zeus himself making way. Epiphany. Inspiration. Truth-telling. Awe. Power. Beauty.

  • The god(s) that remind me I am enough; that I can take care of my own business and let you take care of yours.
  • The god(s) that assure me I am beautiful and worthy of kindness and respect no matter what.
  • The god(s) that do not promise success or a happy ending; rather, presence, constancy, and strength.
  • The god(s) that smile at the idea of Oprah’s Super-Soul-Sunday to be sure, and say, “the only call you need is the one that tells you to keep writing, speaking, creating with integrity and in truth.”
  • The god(s) that summon the battle cry; the endless song that heralds my inherent and unshakeable worth in and of myself – Christian Bale, or not.

These are (this is) the god worthy of honor, respect, reverence, and worship. Mine, to be sure. And yours.

So don’t settle for the lesser ones, the half-ones. Don’t settle for a less-than story; anything other than epic, full-tilt, all-in. No compromise. No holding back. A grand, sweeping drama. Vast and passionate. Captivating, to be sure. The gods – and goddesses – will surely show up.

I can already see the waters parting…

The perfect way to stop a woman.

Oct 18, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

“I’ve seen women insist on cleaning everything in the house before they could sit down to write…. and you know it’s a funny thing about house cleaning… it never comes to an end. Perfect way to stop a woman.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola
Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

“Perfect way to stop a woman.”

Ouch.

For me, this is not about the cleaning. It’s about the metaphor: all the things that keep me from doing what I say I most want to do. All the seemingly important tasks that clamor for my attention. All the distractions. More to the point: all the inhibitions and insecurities that crowd and clamor and consume.

I’m not naive, nor am I an idealist. There are things that need to be done. Responsibilities that beckon. Important work that is required. But for me, those tasks, burdens, and endless lists tend to become excuses, delays, even weirdly-grateful-for hindrances that keep me from the better part.

There’s an old, old story told of two sisters. One day a renowned Teacher graced their home. One of the sisters sat contentedly at his feet while the other scurried about in the kitchen – managing the critical details of hospitality. Eventually the sister in the kitchen complained. “Don’t you care that she has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” The Teacher said to her: “Dear woman, you are worried about many things. Your sister has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”

Ouch!

A few examples of my own stuck-in-the-kitchen reality?

  • I must be losing subscribers because they don’t quite understand me. I should re-tool my “About” page.
  • My social media strategy needs attention, time, and work. Surely, that will help me turn the corner.
  • I need to create some kind of passive revenue stream; something that would be a fail-safe income generator so I can focus on my real writing.
  • Maybe I should craft this blog post in a way that allows everyone to resonate instead of just some. Yes, that seems wise.

This is only the tip of my iceberg. Each of these – and so many more – keep me “in the kitchen” and busy with details that matter on some level, to be sure, but that deflect me from my true desire, true calling, the better part. I grouse about the way things seem to be for everyone else. And I justify lack of movement, avoidance of risk, aversion to exposure, uncertainty, insecurity, and fear. How convenient. How neat and tidy.

The better part. What is that exactly?

  • Doing the hard(er) work of putting myself out there, others’ opinions (and my own self-critic’s) silenced.
  • Trusting that I actually know.
  • Not giving one more thought to “perfect clients” or platform or market share or SEO-optimization.
  • Letting people in, no matter how messy my kitchen, my mind, my heart, my world.
  • Writing, saying, being in ways that might probably go against the grain, but that feel so true, so right, so real, so me.

The better part, the better choice, the only choice, really, is to allow for and invite the messiness, the risk, the passion, the unbridled creativity, the unrestrained voice, the rampant imperfection. The better part is to listen to wisdom within and without. To stop fussing and laboring and yes, cleaning. To come out of the kitchen and sit, stand, and stay in places of meaning and beauty.

The better part is to not be stopped at all, ever, by anything.

Perfect!

May it be so. 

[Deep appreciation to Martha and her story for connecting me to my own. Just one of the ancient, sacred narratives I so need
and so love.]

Open the door. No matter what.

Oct 13, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

Same thoughts. Same frustrations. Same choices. Different day.

To open the door, or not…

Your hand trembles on the knob, uncertain, not ready, afraid.

No. Not yet. Step back. Stay safe.

But you don’t want to be safe, do you? Not really. You want to fling the door wide and dance through its frame. You want to write poetry and paint wildly and speak prophetically. You want to move through your world with the freedom and abandon of a young girl – dandelions in her hair, trees bowing down to her in worship, grass the grandest of blankets, blue skies that surround in song.

Tell me why you stay inside? Remind me?

Listen. You already know this. Nothing that you want, desire, or deserve remains on this side of the threshold. You’ve given it every chance. You’ve been patient. You’ve been gracious. You’ve stayed seated. You’ve been silent.

You know this, as well: Until you step over the threshold and turn your back on the familiar, the entrenched, and yes, all that
seems safe, you won’t be able to taste the wildness that awaits.

You don’t know what will happen (which, of course, is why you have continued to stay inside). You don’t need to. Turn the knob, open the door, breathe in the brisk, fresh air, and move. Don’t look back. Be impatient. Choose yourself. Stay standing. And start speaking, shouting, yelling, singing. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You’ll be free.

Will you stumble and fall from time to time? Probably. Will you know grief? It’s a given. Will people sometimes often misunderstand you? Mmm hmm. But will you be alive? Yes.

How about this? I’ll stand on the other side and just keep knocking. Eventually, you’ll get so tired of not accepting the invitation that is so clearly yours that you’ll open the door anyway. And there, waiting as I’ve always been, I’ll grab your hand and pull you into the world, the beauty, the life that awaits you.

[The story of Jepthah’s Daughter inspired this post. Just one of the ancient, sacred narratives I so need and so love.]

3 Verses on Truth and a Refrain

Sep 30, 2014 | Women's Voice & Power

Verse #1:

There is good news.

Nothing about you is broken. Nothing about you is wrong. Nothing about you needs foxing or undoing or redoing. Nothing about you requires that you look over your shoulder, wonder how someone else feels, or worry what others will say. Nothing about what you long for, want, or desire is bad.

Verse #2:

There is more good news (or, Verse #1 stated in reverse).

You are whole. You are right. You are together and strong and ready. You can look forward, pay attention to the head on your own shoulders and the heart between them, and state your truth no matter what. Everything you long for, want, and desire is good.

Verse #3:

Since Verses 1 and 2 are true, then this is true, as well:

Risk boldly. Reach beyond. Drink deep. Step up. Speak out. Press on. Lean in. Dare greatly. Love deeply. Sing loudly. Dance wildly. Express passion. Create with abandon. Leave things behind. Explore new territory. You’re not alone. Expect the sacred. Hold nothing back. Nothing and no one can stop you.

The Refrain:

May it be so.

Maybe it’s (not) only me

Sep 22, 2014 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

Maybe this sounds familiar:

You are in conversation with someone. As they are talking you hear another entire monologue – all within your head. All the words you’d never dare speak, the emotions you really feel, the you you wish you could reveal. It’s so loud you marvel that they cannot hear it, that they cannot hear you (and sometimes you’re even irritated that they can’t). You struggle to stay focused, to repress what keeps rising up, to silence the din. And, *sigh*, undoubtedly, you succeed. You keep your thoughts to yourself. You quiet down the ruckus within. You’re good at this. Highly practiced. On it.

Or maybe it is only me.

Maybe I’m the only one who has known this experience – over and over again. Maybe I’m the only one who, after a lifetime of this pattern, began to feel disingenuous and not really seen, heard, or known. Maybe I’m the only one who felt bone-weary almost every single day. Maybe I’m the only one who felt like she was living two completely different lives: the dangerous one hidden, the safe and acceptable one revealed.

Maybe it’s not only me.

Despite years of good, hard work and profound healing – the therapy, the spiritual direction, the long-and-into-the night conversations with dear friends – I feel something hauntingly familiar. A deep-seated fear that if I do or say what I actually think and feel all hell will surely break loose. A deep-seated belief that I am responsible for keeping myself and them together. A deep-seated pattern of denying
those voices instead of trusting them.

Here’s what I know – and because, maybe, just maybe, it applies to you – what I want you to know, as well:

I need to, deserve to, and must listen to those voices. That rumble and ever-increasing cacophony within isn’t something to ignore. And my renewed and endless efforts to silence it will not be abided.

It’s the sound of generations and generations of women in thunderous chant on my behalf. An army that rides in my honor and defense. A force no more tamable than wild horses. They call me to gorgeous strength. They imbue me with dauntless courage. They remind me that they know – without a shadow of a doubt – who I truly am. And they will not allow anything less of or for me, their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

They say this to me – and maybe even to you:

You do not deserve a life lived in shadow or even slightly restrained. It is not to be your destiny. Silence does not suit you. So rise up. Stand tall. Step forward. And speak. We’ve got your back.

Maybe it is only me. Or maybe not.

May it be so.

[Deep appreciation to Dinah and her story for connecting me to my own. Just one of the ancient, sacred narratives I so need and so love.]