Go Into the Darkness.

May 26, 2014 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Gazing into the mirror, I saw myself as I was – a black silhouette in the room, a woman whose darkness had completely leaked through. ~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Mermaid Chair

It is into the darkness that we are beingcalled – those of us who are wise andlovely. Underwater. Into the woods.Further down. Deeper in.

As I talk to other women about this, they intuitively understand exactly what I mean.They nod their heads, smile slightly, and sigh. We *clink* our glasses (virtually or real) and wonder where it will lead, what we will yet discover, how we will emerge – if we do at all.

We do not fear. This is no scary unknown that threatens to overwhelm. No, this is a provocative darkness of swirling power and endless potential – a return to some earlier knowing, primal experience, and ancient home.

This is a darkness of beauty, seduction, and irresistible pull. This is a darkness in which we gather up all our force, all our wisdom, and every ounce of volume we’ve neglected to express (or which we’ve been taught to suppress). This is a darkness that holds, that nurtures, that restores.

This is a womb, a safe haven, a coven-like embrace of the Feminine. It’s sacred. Witch cauldrons boiling. Secret formulas whispered. Dark magic practiced. It’s exactly what we’ve longed for longer than we can remember. It tugs at a part of us we’ve forgotten…but…we are remembering at an increasingly exponential pace.

In this darkness we speak a language that does not yet make sense on the surface, in our day-to-day life. It’s guttural, before time, and cryptic. Still, we recognize and respond to this native, mother tongue. And we know that once we’ve re-mastered it, we will never speak the same way (or of the same things) ever again.

The longer we are here, the more our eyes adjust, the more our throats loosen their too-familar constriction, the slower our hearts beat.

At first, just shapes and long-neglected senses, now faces, voices, parts of the self that have been in hiding – waiting to be found. And so many other women. Those who have been here all along, holding our place in the circle. They immediately welcome us – faces aglow in the sacred fire that crackles, beckons, and burns. Eve. Lilith. Hagar. Mary Magdalene. The Woman at the Well. Pandora. Psyche. Demeter. Medusa. Sophia.

Here, in the darkness, our eyes can see all, our voices speak unfettered, and our pulse throbs in a rhythm that comforts and heals.

We have no intention of leaving.

You know of what I speak. The undertow that precariously upsets your footing, but thrills you somehow. The branches that scratch at your arms as you enter the forest – willing and wondering.

Keep walking. Listen to the trees. Let go. Trust the tides, the waves, the water, your tears. Take a deep breath, dive, and then exhale – certain that when needed, you can and will inhale. All that you need, all that sustains, all that supports, encourages, and empowers awaits you. It has always been here.

Go into the darkness. I’ll meet you there.

*****

As I have written this post, I have wanted for more articulate language; for some way of making sense of all that I am feeling and sensing within – this darkness that calls and willingly consumes. Then I realize: that’s the way of it, the way of the darkness – at least for now. No translation required. No justification. No argument. No reasoning. No reasons. Just dark and beautiful and home. If we will go there, if we will gather there, if we will stay there, we will find one another. And then, together and grateful, we will dance and sing. We will toast with endless, delicious elixir. We will speak in a thousand tongues. We will look into each other’s eyes. We will be seen and known.

One last thing – at least for now: this can and does happen at any moment and at any time, all the time. Because deep calls to deep and like knows like. So look for the darkness and trust that it is looking for you.

Once found, once seen, once experienced, once felt, even in the slightest and most surreptitious of ways, you’ll know exactly what I mean. You’ll nod your head, smile slightly, sigh, and then *clink* your glass with the rest of us. Welcome home.

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

Who would you be if you didn’t hold back?

May 14, 2014 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

Who would you be if you didn’t hold back?

If all your power, compassion, love, and strength roared into any room, any conversation, any relationship? If you glided through earth and sky and sea, nothing able to hold you down, hold you under, hold you captive? If you rode upon the back of a lion, blazing across the surface of the sun? If you danced in the light of the fire with abandon; no hint of restraint? If you spoke at a nearly guttural level, bringing words, ideas, and emotions to the surface that surprised even you? If you conjured up the most powerful and potent wisdom then dispersed it into the darkest of spaces, the hardest of hearts, the saddest of souls, the hopeless, the helpless?

Who would you be? Let me tell you: You would be you.

The woman who is set-loose, impossible to contain, and a carrier of the Divine. The woman you see in your dreams and get glimpses of when you’re angry, ecstatic, passionate, heartbroken. The woman who knows what to do and what to say. The woman who would eradicate all injustice with a single flick of her wrist. The woman who would heal all hurts in one huge embrace. The woman who would sing her kin into strength like a Pied Piper-ess. The woman who, with one inhale, would gather the galaxy into her very soul and with one exhale, restore our wounded planet to wholeness once again. The woman who dances and dances and dances the world into joy and fullness and passion and truth.

The Maiden. The Princess. The Queen. The Crone. The Goddess. The Mother. The Muse. The Witch. Lilith. Eve. The Madonna. The Magdalene. And the entire Angelic Host. This is you, woman. This is you!

Within you dwell all the women who have gone before – your direct lineage, to be sure, and that of every woman whose story was ever told and especially those that weren’t. Within you sing the voices of thousands who have lain silent for generations but who are, even now, gathering their strength, their force, their shared wisdom to cry out, to proclaim, to weep, to laugh, to transform. Within you flows royal, sacred blood that is yours to own, yours to take nourishment from, yours to transfuse into all and everything you love.

You know that this is true; that this is you. You’ve been feeling it more and more. And truth-be-told, it scares you a bit (though not all that much). This you is powerful. And this power, your power is dark and swirling and uncontrollable (which is exactly as it should be). This power, your power has no time for playing nice or mincing words. This power, your power is not even remotely interested in being restrained, in playing small. This power, this you is leaving any and all boundaried, imprisoned existence for the expanse of the heavens, the grit of the dirt, the moon-pulsing tides of the sea, the song of the trees, the light of the flame, the call of the crow.

Who would you be if you didn’t hold back?

You already know her.

You already know.

A letter to myself

May 9, 2014 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Dear Me:

Exhaustion. I see it. It’s down deep, far beneath the surface. A weariness that comes from holding on to your passions, your principles, your desires, though not without cost. Clinging to what often feels like mist and shadow – evading you at every turn; dust in the wind.

The wind. I hear it. A sometimes hollow, aching wail that echoes through your soul. It catches on the jagged edges of grief and one-too many unmet expectations. The longing for a gentle breeze instead of gale-forces. Respite wanted: a spring, a well, a stream, an ocean. 

The ocean. It carries you. A mysterious and fluid world that’s compelled by the darkest moon. Waves that shuttle you to shore and leave you adrift – at least for a time; raw, exposed. Rushing back, they shock you with their salty cold. Every sandcastle washed away. Carried far, far from anything you’ve ever known. But still you float, still you journey, still you survive. Because you can see the horizon ahead – blazing like fire. 

Fire. It’s what you know best. A burning that will not cease, on-the-edge of painful, ever-present. Flames licking at the internal editors who tell you to be quieter, tamer, more predictable, less. Scorching through every hindrance, every tie that binds, every page or precept or Book that has told you what you must and must not do, must and must not say, must and must not believe. It’s a bonfire. One that has singed and suffered your kin for their inherent magic, their inherent wisdom, their inherent power. It’s no wonder you are fevered, disoriented, and uncertain whether you are hot or cold, sick or well, crazy or sane. 

Sanity. It’s what you possess. The madness you feel is the strongest evidence that you have never before been more balanced, more cogent, more aligned. Hang on. Hold tight. Don’t give in. Let the wind blow. Ride the waves. Fuel the fire. And go ahead: let everyone think you’re crazy. You can handle all of this and then some. I promise. 

Love, 

Me 

Letting Silence Speak

May 2, 2014 | Women's Voice & Power

I can feel the silence within me. It is deep, strong, dark, passionate, swirling, boiling, pulsing. A witch’s caldron. A brewing storm. A lump in my throat. And as much as it longs (and fully intends) to make its way into audible sound, spoken word, written wisdom, and lived truth, it holds back. Me, too. 

Waiting and listening, I’m nurturing, protecting, and keeping safe a growing, gestating force within. 

It will not be ignored. Undivided attention is demanded and required. Deep breaths. 

It’s no wonder my tendency has been high to avoid it, to stay away from silence, to keep myself in places of din, distraction, and dissociation. 

It has every intention of being heard, expressed, made manifest. Me, too. 

These days, I’m letting it speak: this silence. I’m staying quiet. Hibernating. Listening to its roar. Trusting that its form will yet be made known; that I will have the strength and capacity to push, to breathe, to birth. Labor and delivery ahead. Blood. Sweat. Tears. And the blessed sound of silence broken by a sacred scream. 

It’s me that’s being birthed. It’s my sacred scream. It will, at least for me, be ear-splitting, earth-rending, heart-breaking, soul-healing, and world-changing. 

Maybe for you, too. 

May it be so.

For such a time as this.

Apr 8, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Sometimes if not oftentimes, the circumstances in which you find yourself are the last ones you want. You look around and wonder how you got here. You look back and see a few crumbs that help make sense of your current reality, but when you look ahead in the hopes of spotting a guiding light on the horizon, there is nothing. You swirl in a messy, oft’ painful, no-matter-which-way-you-turn-it-sucks reality.

You want something to shift so dramatically that all the pain, all the frustration, all the darkness, all the fear just evaporates. And you want all of this to happen exclusive of you having to step in and make it happen. *sigh* I say “you,” but believe me, I know this all-too-well.

I feel a sense of helplessness, the lump in my throat, the tears that brim and threaten to spill. I want relief, answers, clarity. And none seems forthcoming. In this place, it is easy to feel immobilized; no action feeling better, somehow, than having to step forward. I stay stuck. I wait. I hope. I might even pray. But despite it all…

…it appears that the only person who can bring about the needed change is me. At the end of the day, the work is mine. The steps are mine to take. The decisions are mine to make. The movement is mine to compel.

I don’t like it.

Truth-be-told, the temptation is strong for me (and I’m guessing you, as well) to feel excruciatingly alone in such spaces and times, but if we listen, we’ll hear a whisper that gently and insistently reminds us that we are not.

“Hear me,” it breathes. “There have been other women who have known these binds and seemingly no-win situations. They see you. They hear you. They know you. And their stories surround, sustain, and speak – reminding you that, like them, you will survive; that you will make the right choice; that you do have the capacity to step up, step forward, stand tall. Because you are their daughter, their lineage, their kin.”

For me, there are times when these whispers are corporate: a choir of women’s stories that hover and hold. Today, as I’ve chosen to be still instead of spin, it’s a single voice: the clarion call of Esther.

She was a woman who had an entire book named after her in Scripture (one of only two who can claim that distinction). And though the well-known aspect of her story is that of being a queen, it holds far more dark realities than golden ones. An orphan, raised by her uncle. Forced to join the king’s harem when a violent roundup of all young girls was made throughout her village. Prepared for a year to provide the most exquisite of sexual favor and delight. Paraded before the king at his fancy and whim. Indeed, chosen to be the queen. Frightened by the discovery of a plot to kill an entire nation of people through genocide. Aware that to not act would cause the death of thousands and that to act would certainly cause her own.

It was in this place, backed into a corner, and completely overwhelmed by what was required of her, that her uncle spoke these words:

…if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

For such a time as this…

This is the whisper that Esther breathes into my confusion, reluctance, and reticence. It is her voice I hear when I keep wishing for a savior, a fix, an easy-out. And it is her face I imagine when I take a deep breath and realize that it is up to me to do what needs to be done – no matter the risk, the cost, the consequences. She is the one who assures me I am up to the task.

I would wonder if Esther’s whisper might be exactly the thing you need to hear right now, too; if maybe you find yourself in a place that feels trapped, damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t, and impossible to come out of without battle scars. I would wonder if maybe you need to be reminded – by her and by me – that you are not alone. And I would wonder if taking ownership in the fact that you are the lineage of a queen who dared greatly, risked profoundly, and dramatically changed the course of events, might just give you the courage you need to choose, to move, to speak, to act.

The circumstances in which you find yourself, though not preferred, are the very ones that invite you to be you. For such a time as this…

The pain you know and the fear your feel are the very emotions that declare the necessity of your perspective, your\ heart, your voice. For such a time as this…

The risks inherent and the nearly-certain costs you will bear are the very realities that compel you to rise up to your full stature, your royal identity, your core strength and step forward. For such a time as this…

And in all of this, not alone.

Esther whispers. Countless other women encircle and chant. The Sacred Feminine swirls, surrounds, and supports. And the blood that courses through your veins carries everything you need to do what must be done. You know this. You’ve got this. You are here for a reason.

Is it hard? Yes. Is it scary? Undoubtedly. Is it necessary? To be sure. Do you-and-me both continue to wish that something else, anything else could happen to shift the earth on its axis and prevent what we are called to do? Mmm hmm. But that is not to be your fate – or mine.

“…And who knows but that [we] have come to [our] royal position[s] for such a time as this?”

May it be so.

*****

Here’s a post I wrote a few days back that tells of Queen Vashti – the woman whose bold stance created the context for Esther’s story in the first place.

And if you wonder whose voice whispers on your behalf, you can order a SacredReading from me. One card. One story. One woman. Just for you.

The 3 Secrets of the Gifted Soul

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

“Since you were born gifted, you will never lead an ordinary life.”

“Eccentricity is the first sign of giftedness. You are made one-of-a-kind, with all your oddities. They are arrows pointing straight to your giftedness.”

“If you are seeking to be normal, I hope you’ll get over it. Normalcy is the enemy of giftedness.”

These are not my words – though I wish they were. They are those of Clarissa Pinkola Estes – a woman who knows just a little bit about women, about giftedness, about the power and glory that we possess…even (and especially) if we’ve forgotten.

I’ve had these three points written out and in front of me for a couple of years now. They encourage. They strengthen. And more than all else, when I really listen, I know them to be true. Deep-in-my-bones true. Cannot-be-argued-with true. A know-that-I-know-that-I-know-this true.

I’m guessing you might feel somewhat the same, yes?

To be given the freedom to be un-ordinary, eccentric, odd, and anything but normal is profound gift and grace. It calls us to be extraordinary, uncommon, and frankly, ourselves!

Consider this your permission slip. Print it out. Hand it to the principal. Turn it in to your boss. Slip it under the pillow of your lover. Repeat it to your kids. Sticky-note it to your mirror, your dashboard, your monitor. And tattoo it on your heart.

You ARE a gifted soul!