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.]

Speak your mind. Tell your truth.

Aug 20, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

She felt as though her life was some kind of hellish test; as though the universe was conspiring against her; like the powers of heaven and hell were battling it out as she was carelessly tossed to and fro in the middle. Hardly a martyr or victim, she was not someone determined to “make sense” of her circumstances by blaming anyone else. She simply looked around at the endless and inexplicable realities of her life and realized that every single one of them was out of her control; that no platitudes or promises of a God who had bigger or better plans would begin to suffice.

Her husband, however, had a different viewpoint. He held fast to his belief that anything that happened to him (and by association to her) was just, fair, not to be questioned, and to be borne with immovable dedication and commitment. He dug in his heels, stood by his beliefs, and declared his faith in the goodness of God.

Some would say he was a saint. She wasn’t one of them. She didn’t buy one bit of it. And finally, one day, she had enough. She said,

“Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”

These are the words of the wife of Job.

Two sentences that have lived in infamy. And not surprisingly, she’s been shamed for them for centuries. Her husband did the same.

He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?”

*****

This story is not a favorite of most who are familiar with scripture. 42 chapters that tell of a duel between God and Satan with Job as unwitting pawn. It conjures up every existential and theological question in existence (which might actually be why the story exists in the first place). We struggle to understand how/why God would ever agree to such a thing, not to mention encourage it and allow the incredible torment, disaster, and grief that Job (and his wife) then endlessly endure.

It is not my intent or my desire to argue such questions. First, because they are impossible to answer, but second and more importantly,because when we even attempt such, our focus shifts and we lose sight of her (not to mention the generations of women who both preceded and followed).

It is my intent (and deep, ongoing desire), however, to name and honor her: her thoughts, her stance, her voice, and yes, even her beliefs (or lack thereof).

She spoke her mind.
She articulated her heart.
She expressed what she actually felt.
She told the truth as she saw and experienced it.
Boldly and unswervingly she revealed her humanity in the face of inhumanity.
She called forth justice in bold and impossible-to-ignore ways.
And she had no intention of sitting back, playing small, or staying silent.

(Think about it, about her: we heartily affiorm and encourage every bit of this in one another; on our own behalf, as well.)

We would do well to follow her lead.

Job’s wife proclaims out loud what all of us, at least in part, want to say when we find ourselves in circumstances that cannot possibly be understood. Yes, we want to believe in a benevolent, generous, gracious, and kind God; but there are times, to be sure, when every possibility of such feels tested, if not foolish. And, simultaneously, just like her, we still have the capacity to stay and survive in places of extreme ambivalence when answers elude. We somehow make room for mystery. We know that there have been, are, and will be times in which we cannot make sense of our own reality, let alone that of the larger world that spins uncontrollably around us.

In truth, Job’s wife mirrors back our capacity and courage in the most sacred of ways, not shameful ones. Her story graciously offers us a glimpse of the Divine; a celestial honoring of a woman’s truth-telling and strength.

Did you catch it? As Job’s story continues, he loses everything – his their children, his their land, his their livestock, his their livelihood. But he does not lose his wife. She is the one and only entity spared throughout the entire travesty, and this, after she speaks her truth. This is not the God we normally see in this story – or our own. This is a God who despite everything, and above all else, saves her. This dare not
be underestimated. Nor dare she…

*****

And as for her, so too, for you.

Your voice, your truth, your courage is stamped with the approval of the Divine. More, you are deemed worthy by Job’s wife herself. She looks at you unflinchingly and says, “Yes, you are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.”*

Think of it: who and how might you be if befriended, companioned, and mentored by Job’s wife? What truth-telling might you voice? What injustice might you name? What courage might you display? What strength might you reveal?

Job’s wife is your matriline. Her blood flows through your veins. Her voice rings when you speak your mind. And in honoring her, you are the one transformed.

May it be so.

*****

It’s understandable why we struggle with scripture when faced with stories like this one, which is exactly why I am so
determined to tell of the women within in ways that free them from the chains by which they’ve been bound. They are so
amazing, so incredible, so persevering, so determined. They deserve to be known.

You, me, all of us are in such good company. A cloud of witnesses that surrounds. A storyline and bloodline from which we descend. A transcendent and transfiguring chorus that endlessly uplifts. What can’t we do or say, really, with this much support, this much beauty, this much wisdom in our midst?

*****

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The other woman

Jun 13, 2014 | Sovereignty, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Every once in a while, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the other woman. She looks so much like me, but wilder and darker. She’s who I imagine myself to be in my dreams, on my walks, when I feel especially free. She laughs boldy. She dances in the dark. And she slips stealthily through the shadows of my day. She never really leaves; but sometimes inches even closer. Or maybe it’s me that moves toward her…

Always I look for her, the other woman, so hungry for more of her presence. I spend time doing all that calls her forth. More present when I take tender care of myself; when I bathe in warm, womb-like waters; when I sip dark and blood-red wine; when I light a candle and stare into its flame; when I soak in the beauty of sea and song; when I nurture my love of words and mystery; when I gather with other women who have seen glimpses of her, too.

Always she comes, the other woman, when I listen – increasingly, trustingly, even brazenly to the voices – the ones that swirl and seduce, that beckon and call, that cackle and crackle and know; the ones within me that speak deep, before-the dawn-of-time truth. A mother tongue. I write down what they say, certain that when I do, it is She who swirls across the page, comes into my line of sight, and takes up ever-more permanent residence in my soul.

One day, not long ago, I know I saw her reach out and pull a piece of fruit right off the tree in my back yard. She took a bite. Her head leaned back, her eyes closed, its juice dripping down her chin. And time stopped. Everything beautiful and trustworthy and safe and exhilarating and holy sang and shone. The sky was more blue, the sun more bright, the birds more rapturous than ever. And then time moved on. Nothing bad happened. No Voice spoke from on high. No lightning fell from the sky. Nothing and no one fell apart. There was no Fall at all.

Hardly banished, this other woman always stays. A visceral embodiment of the wild and true woman I really am. Now, blessedly, I see her more and more, this dark goddess of my dreams and companion of my days. Not just in the shadows, or only in the Eve, but every-once- in-a-while in the mirror. She winks, as if to remind me that fruit is for eating, that desire is good, and, most of all, that I am.

I’ve heard it said that to be the other woman, this other woman, is about the worst thing one could do. I beg to differ.

Holding my Breath.

Jun 9, 2014 | Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I’ve been holding my breath lately. It’s a trying season as a mom. I feel heartache over a relationship’s end. And, not surprisingly, simultaneously, I struggle with my writing – with my very voice. (Isn’t that always the way of it?) Other voices do not, however, seem to struggle at all.

Instead, they seem to breed, proliferate, and increase in both intensity and volume. The ones who tell me I’m crazy for ever wanting or expecting anything else, any more, anything better, any goodness, grace, or love…I know they are ridiculous, of course, and I work to silence them. But they are persistent. Always attempting to pull me under.

****************

If you swim effortlessly in the deep oceans, ride the waves to and from the shore, if you can breathe under water and dine on the deep treasures of the seas; mark my words, those who dwell on the rocks carrying nets will try to reel you into their catch. The last thing they want is for you to thrive in your habitat because they stand in their atmosphere where they beg and gasp for some air.” ~ C. JoyBell C.

I remember reading one time that if you were ever caught in dangerous rapids and could not get yourself to shore, the best thing to do was to take yourself completely underwater. Apparently, underneath the surface, the water is smooth and calm. And once not being tossed about, you can swim more easily to a place of safety.

****************

I take a deep, deep breath: I’m going farther down, into the darkness. Dropping into the very things that attempt to hurt, frighten, threaten, overwhelm. Going way under the surface. Letting blessed darkness surround. Diving. Floating. Trusting the unknown. Trusting myself. And hanging out with mermaids.

This is where the Sacred Feminine abides,  where the Sacred Feminine shows up, where the Sacred Feminine resuscitates and restores. This is where I willingly, and yes, often counterintuitively descend. This is where I find what I have needed and longed for. This is where I can stop holding my breath.

For this is where I can breathe.

****************

Maybe you can relate to this whole holding your-breath thing. Maybe you feel stuck creatively, vocationally, or relationally. And/or maybe, just maybe, like me, even in the midst of all this, you feel pulled, lured and enticed even, to the darkness; under the surface; into deep seas; where the water is warm, still, and safe; where the mermaids play.

Here’s why: You and I are not merely human. We are far, far more; able to breathe underwater. Let’s go there together. You’ll see. It’s home. I’m sure of it.

“Human?’ The girl cocked her head the other way. I caught a glimpse of pink gills under her chin. ‘My sisters told me stories of humans. They said they sometimes sing to them to lure them underwater.’ She grinned, showing off her sharp needle-teeth. ‘I’ve been practicing. Want to hear?” ~ Julie Kagawa

I Am A Medial Woman

May 31, 2014 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

The Medial Woman…is a representation of the strong-sighted and deep-hearted self who lives simultaneously in the world of light (our conventional, daytime domain) and the world of dark (the hidden realm of potential, the depths of the Soul and its making of things to bear, balance, unleash in goodness in the topside world). The medial woman in mythos since time out of mind remains rooted in both worlds, and listening to her ways and means in stories, we can hear, see, and feel the guidance this vital and soulful sense grants: “to live so strong, so wide, and so very deeply…as we promised to do before we ever came to earth.” (From Mother Night by Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

These words offer me explanation for my seemingly-endless held breath. I hear my profoundly grateful and redemptive exhale deep, deep within my soul. A “yes” that resounds throughout all time and in this very moment. An acknowledgement and naming of what I feel, where I live, what I know, how I be.

These woffrds oer me explanation for why I feel out-of-sorts. I see, name, experience, and feel the problem(s) with the world of light; the over-culture in which I live and move, but which often harms and increasingly does not feel like home. And I dwell increasingly, more often, way underneath, in the world of dark; the part of me that senses, intuitively and powerfully, that more exists and will not be suppressed… at least for long. My dark world is not easily understood (or accepted) in the light one. And vice versa.

These words offer me explanation for why I feel more tension than rest, more angst than acceptance; why there has been a lump in my throat for weeks; why the continual stirring within me will not be silenced. Thankfully.

And these words offer me explanation for my work, my calling, my raison d’être. I am a carrier of messages back and forth between the worlds. I trust the dark world – my knowing, my intuition, my creative Feminine force. I speak all of that magic and holiness into the light world. And I take what I experience in the light back into the dark – to mull it over; to throw it into my cauldron and let it cook down and burn away; to hear and hold the voices of other dark, sacred souls as they cackle with me in the brilliant gleam of our cimmerian fire.

These words offer me explanation for my very self: I am a medial woman.

And just maybe, these words offer you explanation as well.

May it be so.