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Where Wisdom Dwells

Apr 16, 2014 | Women's Wisdom

Where is wisdom to be found when you need and want it the most? 

Here’s the quick answer: within you. 

Here’s the more in-depth answer: within you. 

Here’s the known-by-all-women-throughout-time answer: within you. 

You’ve already got it, woman! All that you need. All that’s required. All the perspective. All the insight. All the knowing. All of it is yours. 

If even the slightest shadow of a doubt enters your mind, I get it. It’s highly possible that your deep, before-the-dawn-of-time knowing has not been honored. It’s highly possible that it’s been questioned, critiqued, even shamed. It’s highly possible that what you thought you understood was said to be wrong, silly, uninformed, and impossible. And it’s highly possible that over time, you began to believe this. The voice got quieter and quieter within as the voices got louder and louder without. 

But here’s the good news: Silent, does not mean lost. Forgotten, does not mean absent. Hidden, does not mean gone.*

Here’s just one way to call it forth: 

  1. Picture/ponder the circumstance or situation in which you want insight, answers, direction.
  2. Without editing, censoring, or giving one whit of attention to what anyone else thinks (at least for this moment-in-time), say out loud, fast, and clear, exactly how you feel about what’s happening (or not happening). “This makes me feel ______________.” ‘Super-critical that you do this quickly – spur-of-the-moment – with complete freedom and permission to say whatever you want. 
  3. Now that you’ve named the feeling(s), articulate what you want to be true – right here, right now. Again, without overthinking or critiquing, fill in the blank: “What I want to have happen is _______________.” 
  4. Next, respond to this: “If my want or desire in this circumstance/situation were a reality, I would feel ____________.” (Is it safe to say that you deserve to feel this way? Mmm hmm.) 
  5. Far more dicult, but oh-so-important is this: trust that what you long for is good, worthy, and valid; trust that you deserve this to be so; trust that you are right! 
  6. Realize, allow, accept, and affirm that what you just said, what you see, what you envision, what you know, no matter what, is true; that it is wise; that you are. 
  7. And finally, lather – rinse – repeat. 

Honestly, your wisdom is that clear, that accessible, that present. It can be trusted. You can be trusted; for you are so, so wise! 

It’s true: I can rattle off these 7 steps as though they are the most obvious and simple things to do, but I have struggled (and sometimes still do), to make these practices my own; to actually believe that my answers could possibly have merit, let-alone the capacity to be real, to be wise, to be lived.

It was (and sometimes still is) scary for me to admit what I actually felt and wanted, because it prompted an acute and impossible-to-ignore awareness of the gap between my current reality and what I longed for. It was far easier for me to settle, to downgrade my desires, to work harder to keep things on an even keel with the status quo intact, and no one the wiser. But in making that choice, I lost sight of one critical truth: I AM the wiser! 

So here’s what my wiser, wizened self offers you: 

Wisdom is your birthright. It dwells. It flourishes. It exists because you do. It’s all within you. Already. All the time. Amazing. 

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! 

Transforming Your Story (Part 3)

Mar 17, 2014 | Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Transforming Your Story – The “How”

Part 3 of a series. 12 posts scattered throughout 2014 on Transforming Your Story.

Part 1 – the “what:” To transform your story means that you are awake to and aware of the book in which you find yourself and the pages you are writing.

Part 2 – the “why:” This is your story. You’ll decide where it goes from here.

And now, Part 3 – the “how.”

In order to transform your story, you need to consider how you came to tell it the way you do.

Have you ever listened to yourself tell a story about something that happened to you and wonder why you chose to tell it the way you did? Why you used humor, sarcasm, dismissal, emotion, or any other myriad of devices?

Whatever choice you made in that moment is not objective. The ways in which you experience the events of your life and the way in which you interpret, translate, and tell of them is always subjective; always influenced by the lenses that are yours. And one of those lenses is the assumptions you make.

We all make them: assumptions. We jump to conclusions, have opinions, feel our gut response. We can’t help it, really. It’s knowing what they are and where they come from that makes the difference.

Here’s a quick exercise to prove my point:

  • When you see an online personality who appears to be completely put together and undoubtedly successful, what thoughts run
    through your mind?
  • When you spot a composed, attractive, and perfectly thin mom at Starbucks with her well-behaved, well-dressed children, what do you think?
  • When someone passes you on the freeway, what is your directed response toward the other driver?
  • When you hear someone mention the word “God,” what happens inside?
  • When you watch a political debate, what thoughts formulate concerning the “opponent?”
  • When following a truck with bumper stickers that offends you, what do you already know about the people inside?

I have no agenda inherent in any of these statements; rather, I list them to show how our brains so quickly leap to what we think we know, what we think we understand, what we’ve sometimes been indoctrinated to feel. Assumptions form quickly, naturally, and make their presence known. It can be a little scary, really.

These unconscious perceptions and preconceived notions have been developed and highly-honed over time – through our own and others’ voiced experiences; through the particular circumstances and cultural realities that have influenced and shaped our lives.

If this is true as it relates to the things and people external of you, it is just as true, if not more so, within.

You have interpreted the events in your past, in your own story, in a particular way. You experience the day-to-day aspects of your life with a learned-perspective. And you even consider your future with pre-determined beliefs about what can and will happen (or not).

You are living (and telling) your story within a swirl of assumptions.

Knowing the assumptions you have and do make within your own story (the “how” of how it’s told) is one of the most profound ways to transform it – past, present, and future.

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

A personal example:

A NOTE: My theological perspective has shifted more-than-significantly since the following story occurred, but it serves in this context.

I assumed, during my excruciating years of infertility, that it was, apparently, God’s plan that I not become a mother. It was not mine to question, to doubt, to feel anger over. And this created incredible angst and nearly insurmountable levels of ambivalence for me. If I believed that God was in control of all things, then this too, had to fall under “his” purview. And if that assumption were true, then who was I to question, to rage, to exhibit pain? I needed to suck it up and accept God’s will as best for me.

And therein lied the problem: I couldn’t – at least with any degree of honesty.

Adjectives that describe those years are words like gray, bland, and flat. It’s true: I was sad when the clinic would call to tell us the latest insemination attempt hadn’t worked. And yes, I was devastated, at least momentarily, when I was reminded of my fate every 28 days. I even recall expressing tentative anger with the-God-I-thought-I-knew through my journaling, but quickly talking/writing myself out of such by listing all the ways in which I was grateful; more, the ways I clearly needed to change my attitude, my perspective, my response. I argued with myself incessantly. I fought every temptation to despair. I kept a stiff upper lip and marched onward because to stop long enough and actually experience, let alone express my anger and anguish would have undone me…or so I thought.

The assumptions I held and the beliefs they perpetuated (or maybe the beliefs I held and the assumptions they perpetuated), reeked havoc in my mind and soul. They shaped my story in marked and undeniable ways during those years. And if then, how many times before and certainly after?

Herein lies a pathway for me to look at my story anew: to wonder about where grief remains to be expressed, where true emotions have been hidden under layers of practiced behavior, where learned-belief has superseded lived-experience. And the more of these layers I uncover, the more profoundly my story – as I’ve been telling it – becomes clear to me; the more ability I have to tell and live it as I prefer – to transform it – with beliefs chosen, assumptions put aside, new lenses donned.

I can re-play that tape in a much different way today. I extend myself considerable consolation and kindness. I grieve after-the-fact. I wonder anew about where the divine was showing up all the time – but in ways I couldn’t see…yet. I look with appreciation and gratitude at the infinite strength of my heart to endure, to persevere, to hold on to hope. And I look at my two daughters with infinite amounts of awe – continually amazed by their presence in my life; miracles, both.

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

In my story – and maybe in yours – to get underneath assumptions, acknowledge them, and then gift ourselves with new and ever-deepening understanding – might be the most transformational thing we
could ever do.

My story is worth that. Your story is worth that. Even more, you are! 

May it be so.

The only piece of wisdom you will ever need

Mar 10, 2014 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I (re)watched The Matrix a few nights back. I hadn’t seen it for years and it was even better than I remembered.

Enraptured by the Oracle, I saw an aging woman in an apron bake cookies while she smoked cigarettes, tssk-tssk at various things, make jokes, and surreptitiously,
almost nonchalantly supplant her wisdom into Neo’s mind.

It hardly seemed spectacular, but that made it no less true. And it was what eventually enabled him to step into his role in profound and world-saving ways.

We often wish for an Oracle that is ours; to sit at the feet of wise and beautiful crones, soaking up their wisdom, asking them questions, getting their advice, reveling in their presence, and hearing exactly the words we need in order to be compelled into our future, our destiny, our life’s work in profound and world-saving ways.

Believe it or not, I have an Oracle. Actually, I have lots of them. Countless women who surround and support; who, when I’m ready to listen, tell me what I most need to hear. And so do you.

Let me introduce you to just one. Her name is Anna.

She lived in a time long ago, or maybe it was yesterday, or maybe yet to come. She was 84 years old at the time of this particular story, but had lived countless stories beforehand. Married only seven years until her beloved had died, she sought solace and refuge in the only place she could find: the temple. And every night and day since, she’d never left; endlessly worshipping, fasting, and praying.

People came and went. Sacred feasts. Sacrifices. Praises uttered. Alms given. Baby boys consecrated and circumcised. Parents looked away while others looked for miracles. But all of them came seeking. She could see it in their faces. She could feel it in their souls. And she both knew and had what they sought. But rarely was she asked, so rarely did she tell.

Until one particular day.

She spotted the couple immediately – walking through the maze of activity and din of noise. And she saw Simeon, the old priest, talk with them as he held up their son for all to see. Their son. She saw him.

Time stood still. Silence enveloped. Everything stopped. And words came from deep within her. She hadn’t anticipated them, hadn’t rehearsed them, hadn’t thought them through in advance. She didn’t need to. The deepest truths require none of this.

Were you to ask her what she said that day, she would tell you it was only one thing, just a small thing, and just the right thing…

In The Matrix, after all the build-up and anticipation of what the Oracle would say to Neo, it came down to this:

“I wanna tell you a little secret. Being the One is just like being in love. No one needs to tell you you are in love. You just know it, through and through.”

The prophetess Anna said almost exactly the same thing.

What Anna saw and named in that child so long ago, was no different than what the Oracle named in Neo. That young boy held within all he would ever need. Full of the divine spark. A birthright of wisdom. Profoundly gifted. Whole and complete. The sacred in our midst. On the planet for a distinct purpose. And his only work, just like hers, would be to live what he already knew, through and through.

Anna whispers (and sometimes shouts) the same to you:

“You hold within all you will ever need. You are full of the divine spark. You have a birthright of wisdom. You are profoundly gifted. You are whole and complete. You are the sacred in our midst. You are on the planet for a distinct purpose. And your only work is to live what you already know, through and through.”

It’s not a secret: this deep, before-the-dawn-of-time, Oracle-like wisdom that this prophetess (or any wise woman) holds and offers. It is simply and profoundly this:

You already know, through and through.

That’s it.

Your wish for the wisdom of the (s)ages and the seeress, the accumulated brilliance of all women throughout time, and certainly Anna’s, is encapsulated in these few words. This one sentence. All that you will ever seek, everything you long to find, the only thing you will ever need.

You already know, through and through.

So sit at the feet of any and all women you can find. Soak up every word they have to offer. And realize that all of them, every one, whether mythic, legendary, archetypal, or even apron-wearing-cookie-baking-cigarette-smoking, will tell you the same thing:

“You already know, through and through.”

There is only one catch: you have to believe what they say.

May it be so.

What I know for sure (about women)

Feb 28, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

What I know for sure about women; about us:

When I read the ancient, sacred stories of women I am ever-finding intimate, generous, wise companions who come alongside to strengthen me; who make sense of the circumstances in which I find myself; who soothe my tired brow, who bless me, and who provide me the encouragement I need to continue on.

Sometimes their stories enrage and embolden me – their circumstances so much harder than my own, their silencing so much more blatant than mine has ever been, their marginalization and dismissal so much more excruciating than I can begin to imagine.

Either way and in all ways, I am compelled in nearly out-of-body ways to tell these stories, to tell of these women, to hope that you will come to know and love them as I do. They deserve that. And I believe that you do, as well.

If I could, I’d tell you story after story from my life; particular circumstances and scenes in which these ancient, sacred stories of women have been nearly the only thing to sustain me. And if I could, I’d strive to make sure you understand that I do not read or love them because they are housed within scripture. I read and love them because they exist, period. Because they have survived – despite thousands of years of less-than-stellar tellings. Because if they can survive, so can I. Because they remind me that I am not alone; that I am their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

In all my reading and telling of their stories, and in the living of my own, there are two things I’ve come to know for sure about women; about us:
1. We persevere.
2. We are prophetesses.

Now, if I thought you quickly and enthusiastically agreed with both of these statements, I could end this post right here, so certain am I of their truth and reality. But I’m guessing you’re not all that crazy about either of them; that to you they sound more like curse than blessing; more like heavy sigh than exultant “yes!” And so, not surprisingly, I have more to say.

First, we persevere.

*Heavy sigh.* Do your shoulders bow at the word itself? Do you feel its ominous weight pressing against your chest? Do you hear the voice within that says, “Please, can’t a girl just catch a break?!?”

But what if perseverance wasn’t a default setting or a required characteristic; rather, something you celebrated and even aspired toward? Maybe some synonyms will help; adjectives that will serve as strong definers of who I’ll bet you already and always are:

Constant. Dedicated. Determined. Dogged. Driven. Gritty. Indefatigable. Persistent. Purposeful. Steadfast. Tenacious.

To persevere embodies the best of who we are as women – not because we must (though that is true, as well), but because we can. We have the capacity. We have the ability. We will endure – no matter what. And because of such, this is not something to sigh over.

Our perseverance is worth celebrating, toasting, and shouting out loud to all who will hear and then some!

How beautiful and amazing are we? Of this, I am sure.

Second, we are prophetesses.

It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Mmmhmm. Truth-be-told, you probably don’t want this title or this role. You might think of a prophet as soothsayer, fortune-teller, or predictor of the future. Or maybe you hearken back to old stories about guys in the bible who had a pretty bad time of it – martyred, tortured, and usually dismissed as crazy. Uh, no thank you.

In truth, prophets have been and are people who tell the truth. They see what is happening around them and name it. They speak and/or act cogently and boldly in response to what is. They articulate the reality within which they live – politically, environmentally, socially, culturally, spiritually, relationally, emotionally. Is it easy? No. Would they often rather just remain silent? Yes. But can they, really, and still be true to themselves? Absolutely not.

More synonyms to sweeten the pot? Aware. Clever. Discerning. Educated. Enlightened. Evocative. Insightful. Intelligent. Intuitive.
Perceptive. Reflective. Understanding. A leader. An oracle. A spokesperson. A teacher. And my new favorite word, a seeress.

To be a prophetess describes exactly who we are as women; who we are when we are functioning at our best; who we are when we are living in places of integrity and resonance with our deepest wisdom; who we are when we do not remain silent; who we are when we boldly and bravely tell and live our truth – no matter the consequences, the risks, the ramifications. It’s got to be done, we know this, and we are up to the task.

How beautiful and amazing are we? Of this, I am sure.

What I know for sure about women, about us, should not be met with resigned sigh, but a resounding-through-the-Universe *clink* of our champagne glasses, the breathtaking sound of our combined tears, the winsomeness of our shared laughter.  What I know for sure about women flourishes when we get out of bed yet one more day and go about the work that lies in wait. What I know for sure about women builds in strength and power when we reveal our hearts in risky, passionate ways. What I know for sure about women feels like certainty, center, and home. What I know for sure about women is endlessly, infinitely made known in our grandmothers, our mothers,
our sisters, our daughters, our nieces, our mentors, our friends. What I know for sure about women is true about you. It is true about me.

It is true, period.

And that truth is what leads me to a third thing I know for sure:

3. We are beautiful and amazing.

As I’ve steeped myself in the ancient, sacred stories of women, I have encountered beautiful and amazing examples of perseverance that would cause the bravest of souls to quake in their heels. I have encountered beautiful and amazing prophetesses who have spoken and acted in such strength, such truth, such power that no matter how their story has been mangled and maligned throughout the years, they will not be silenced. And I have encountered the beauty and amazingness of you: their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

So come to know and love the myriad of stories that dwell in your midst – at your beck and call to strengthen and guide, encourage and befriend, even enrage and embolden.

And while you’re at it, come to know and love your own. It’s just as inspiring, just as important, just as legendary. You can’t help but persevere. You can’t help but be the prophetess you already are. And you can’t help but be beautiful and amazing.

Of this – and you, I am sure.

*****

Every week I write you a letter. It’s sent out on Monday mornings via email – full of truth-telling, my deepest heart on your behalf, and as much encouragement and hope and wisdom as I can muster. SUBSCRIBE.