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 

TRUTH is a warrior

Jan 1, 2014 | Hope & Encouragement, Sovereignty, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I’ve spent the last few days at a beautiful, private, and extremely quiet place. I’ve spent a lot of time looking out at the water, the mountains, and more breeds of birds than I can count. I’ve rested. I’ve read. And I’ve even written a little. I’ve spent intentional, sacred time looking back over 2013.

Consistent themes have emerged, right alongside some pretty twisty threads. I’ve focused on the themes: patterns that have powerfully, almost miraculously appeared and made themselves at home in my world and my heart. And I’ve pulled on the threads – in some cases, pretty hard; my resistance high to the unraveling necessary to weave something stronger, more beautiful, and better able to support all that lies ahead and all that I deserve and desire.

The word that has come to me, again and again, on both ends of this spectrum – themes and threads, past and future – has been TRUTH.

I have seen Her presence made manifest in powerful ways when I have been willing to speak. I have heard Her voice within me when I have been most afraid, most heartbroken, most insecure, and most alone. I have felt Her in the words and actions of my friends – women who have called me to the TRUTH they see and experience in me when I am loathe to forget.

I have had also to acknowledge that there have been many times in which She wanted to be more present. When She waited quietly (though impatiently) in the wings. When She was ignored. When I was too afraid, too heartbroken, too insecure, and feeling myself to be too alone to bear one more reminder of Her vast and magnificent presence.

Here’s what I know – and what you know, too: TRUTH will not be denied.

She comes as ruthless cure and kindest companion, as double-edged sword and heroine’s scepter, as quietest whisper and on-a-soap-box shout. And She longs to be given even more reign, more space, more permission, more room to be expressed.

Because here’s the thing: TRUTH knows that when She’s seen, spoken, and experienced everything changes.

You’ve heard it before – my very favorite-of-all-time quote:

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open. ~ Muriel Rukeyser

Which is exactly why we don’t want to tell it (and why, TRUTH-be-told, we do). It’s exactly why we hear, with great clarity and acumen, that know-that-I-know-that-I know voice within, but hesitate to let it out. It’s exactly why, when it’s spoken to us or about us we either wince or weep, hide from or herald its coming.

Truth is a demure lady, much too ladylike to knock you on your head and drag you to her cave. She is there, but people must want her, and seek her out. ~ William F. Buckley, Jr.

TRUTH is what I want, what I seek, what I offer.

I’m inviting you to the TRUTH-telling you most need, most want, and most deeply long for; what you know and need to talk to someone else about. Yes, you and me, one-on-one, having TRUTH-filled conversations about stuff that matters.

Themes and threads. Past and present. Certainly, the future. The fears, the heartbreaks, the insecurities, and the loneliness. Most definitely the know-that-you-know-that-you-know voice within. And in all of these, the Sacred – present and accounted for when we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart that desires. A safe place to tell your TRUTH and to see it transformed and transmitted into every aspect of your life. Exactly what you’ve been looking for. Take the next step.

******

As I’ve worked on this post, I’ve continued to look out at the water, the mountains, and the endlessly-passing-by birds (two hummingbirds are to my right, a small finch to my left, and I saw a blue heron an hour-or-so ago). I’ve felt my fear ebb and flow. The TRUTH? It’s daunting to state intentions, plans, goals, even dreams.

What if I can’t keep up? What if my TRUTH doesn’t resonate with yours? What if it results in more unsubscribes than subscribes?

But I’m hearing deeper, more heart-rending questions than these. What if writing my TRUTH leaves me feeling like a voice crying in the wilderness? What if telling my TRUTH results in more winnowing than gathering, more loss than gain; hard choices, tough calls, firm(er) boundaries, profound risks? What if living my TRUTH means that goodbyes are on the way – to patterns, to particular behaviors, even to people?

Other possibilities beckon and abound, as well. What if writing my TRUTH is what will create exactly the platform, the context, and even the content I most love, most long for, most live to create and share? What if telling my TRUTH invites opportunity, people, and places into my world that defy my wildest imagination? And what if living my TRUTH actually serves to draw me even closer to the Divine, to the Sacred, to a way of being that is more powerful, more breathtaking, and more wildly passionate than I’ve even and ever dared dream?

TRUTH makes no promise to be a gentle or barely-felt presence. She is a warrior, a fighter, a lover, and the fiercest of friends.

And this, it occurs to me, is who I want to be, as well.

May it be so.

A Woman’s Faith

Mar 14, 2013 | Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power

It takes faith to be a woman. Whether married or single; a mother or not; a lover and/or friend; self-employed, other employed, or unemployed; a home owner or renter; physically fit or not; old(er) or young(er); extroverted or introverted; religious/spiritual or atheist/agnostic; sister, cousin, aunt, daughter. Each of these requires something more of us, takes something more from us, and calls forth something more in us.

This is not the Faith of our Fathers: a rock solid, immovable system of belief in a male god, a hierarchical church, a patriarchal theology and all the tenets therein.

This is the faith of our Mothers: oft’ unknown and unnamed by them, but ours to carry, to name, to memorialize, to grieve, and to heal. This is a faith that is fluid, highly adaptable, feminine, and grounded in a belief in self.

This is a woman who knows, relies on, and makes her substance known/seen in every realm – living out loud in unconscious, gracious, natural ways. A woman who understands her power, her presence, her passion. A woman who imbues life and wisdom in every conversation and relationship. A woman who gives a resounding, “Yes!” to all things beautiful , tender, vulnerable, courageous, and justice-
focused.

A woman who risks everything for what/who she loves. A woman who sacrifices and suffers much on behalf of her own heart and the hearts of others. A woman who can see the impact and ramification of her words, her thoughts, her actions and chooses integrity, compassion, and generosity at every turn.

A woman who extends herself and others grace. Who does not hide in places of shame or silence; rather, can and will acknowledge her goodness (sometimes fleeting and floundering, other times bold and amazing) and her truest voice. A woman who knows patience – with self and with others.

A woman who is real. Afraid. Tentative. Hopeful. Dangerous. Weighing. Balancing. Walking a tightrope. Hanging on by a thread. Loving with abandon. Getting burned. Making mistakes. Achieving greatness one moment at a time. Believing in herself. Laughing. Weeping. Comforting. Knowing. Holding.

The Sacred Feminine with flesh. The power, knowledge, and beauty of the ages woven into her heart, her mind, her soul. Undaunted. The goddess within. Not an entity outside ourselves in which we place our belief, our trust, our hope. She is seen and experienced in a strength, a power, a beauty we know in our bones – even if only faintly – as an echo, a whisper, a breeze.

This knowing, this belief, this faith is intuitive, resonant, and wholly ours. We imbibe it/her. We inhabit it/her. And she inhabits us.

Have faith, woman. She is here.

In Me. In You.

And I Roar!

Jan 28, 2013 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

Commemorating the 40th anniversary of Roe v. Wade

In this moment, one’s feelings about, or position on abortion are not what matter. What does matter, a lot, is that a woman’s right to manage her own body is still, or ever has been, at question. How is it possible that this topic is even entertained in politics, religion, or cultural critique of any kind? How is it possible that anyone is still talking arguing about this? Why is this legitimate tenet given enough media coverage to continue being discussed and proselytized?

It’s an old, sad story…

The Old Testament tells of Esther; a young girl who was captured and then taken to be part of the King’s harem. She was prepped and readied for a year before being eligible to be “chosen” by him then risked life and limb to protect her people from a route of ethnic cleansing by the king’s power-hungry, right-hand man. It is from this text that we hear the well-known words spoken by Esther’s cousin, Mordecai:

“Do not think that because you are in the king’s house you alone of all the Jews will escape. For 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 been made queen for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:12-14)

Esther’s is a powerful narrative worth knowing, (re)telling, and redeeming; words themselves that impact and transform when internalized and allowed to inspire. And (as is always the case) her story rests on the shoulders of another’s: Queen Vashti.

The prequel…

The King had been celebrating (translate: drinking) for days. A huge party that included all the dignitaries and military leaders under hisreign. On day 7 of this endless revelry, he remembered his wife, Queen Vashti, and called for her to join him.

“…he commanded the seven eunuchs who served him to bring before him Queen Vashti, wearing her royal crown, in order to display her beauty to the people and nobles, for she was lovely to look at. But when the attendants delivered the king’s command, Queen Vashti refused to come. Then the king became furious and burned with anger.” (Esther 1:10-11)

Her “no” unleashed a chain of events that culminated in losing her throne and being deposed. And this led to the region-wide search for all eligible young girls, including Esther. These realities, in and of themselves, are upsetting, but it’s the reasoning diatribe that ensued about why Vashti had to go that causes me to hyperventilate almost every time I read it:

One of the nobles present said, “. . . the queen’s conduct will become known to all the women, and so they will despise their husbands . . . There will be no end of disrespect and discord.” (Esther 1:16-18)

My response . . . 

I’m taking deep breaths.

(Parenthetically, let me calmly state that this is exactly what has happened for centuries upon centuries. Women’s lack of rights, silencing, less-pay-for-equal-work, and an exhausting list of atrocities borne throughout time has, in large part, been motivated by the same reality that motivated King Xerxes: fear. Fear of a woman’s strength. Fear of a woman’s power. Fear of a woman’s “no.” Even fear of a woman’s “yes.”)

Enough of the deep breaths. Enough of the calm. I feel the emotion build – way, down deep within. I roll my shoulders back. I stand up even taller . . . 

And I roar . . . 

on behalf of Queen Vashti-deposed and Esther-turned-concubine-and-queen. On behalf of Eve and Noah’s wife and Sarai and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet with her tears and the hundreds and hundreds of ancient, sacred narratives of women waiting to be heard, understood, and honored. On behalf of the countless named and unnamed women before Roe v. Wade and after. On behalf of you. On behalf of me. On behalf of my daughters. On behalf of our daughters. And on behalf of our sons, our husbands, our fathers, our lovers, our friends.

And I roar . . . 

until the day when it never occurs to me to write this post. Until the day when the sacrifices of so many are a distant, but esteemed memory. Until the day when terms and concepts like feminism and record number of women in Congress and sexual trafficking and rape and domestic violence are no longer in our lexicon or shared consciousness – other than to proclaim, again and again, the stories of those who suffered so we don’t have to.

And I roar . . . 

to praise the enduring strength and power of women. No matter the obstacles, the harm, the silence, the struggle. This is the nature of women. This is the capacity of women. This is what we do. Not as martyrs; rather as necessary and willing fighters, advocates, lovers, fierce friends, champions of truth and justice and all-things-good-and-right.

And I roar . . .

in the belief that despite how heavy our hearts and sore our throats, we do and will have the strength to continue, to keep hoping, to keep believing, to keep our desires for healing and change alive . . . 

. . . for such a time as this.

Lucky are you, reader, if you happen not to be of that sex to whom it is forbidden all good things; to whom liberty is denied; to whom almost all virtues are denied; lucky are you if you are one of those who can be wise without its being a crime. ~ Marie le Jars de Gournay, from “Grief des Dames” (1626) as quoted by Elise Boulding in The Underside of History.

We are lucky. And with such privilege comes responsibility – and a roar that has the potential and passion to shake both earth and heaven.

So go ahead and roar – on behalf of women’s stories, your stories, and all else that matters. I hear you. And I feel the quaking even now.

As it should be.