Speak the language women speak.

Feb 10, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

“We must learn to speak the language women speak when there is no one there to correct us.” ~ Helene Cixous

You know this native tongue – its dialect, accent, and pace. You feel it building in your heart, cascading in your brain, and maybe even lodged in the back of your throat – threatening hoping to escape into an expression that soars. You can picture the very words of the sentence-paragraph-speech-essay-novella-masterpiece you long to bring forth – its brilliance and white-hot-heat irradiating every corner of your world. You can see the faces of those who will finally hear, finally see, and at last understand; who will finally and at last understand you.

Then what happens?

Silence falls.

I woke up this morning to a blanket of snow. 3-4 inches of pristine whiteness covering everything. I can see it out the windows that surround my desk. And as I type, it strikes me that this is rich (though painfully chilly) metaphor for a woman’s silence. A thick, muffling weight that descends. Maybe even beautiful to look at – for a while. Covering over and, at least for time, disguising the verdant, green, life-force underneath that yet beats, endlessly survives, and waits…

Oh, eventually you speak – or you don’t. If you do, it’s in a language that’s common, learned, and acceptable; that ruffles no feathers and sustains the equilibrium. If you don’t, that too is common, learned, and acceptable. Life goes on. No one is the wiser.

That’s not actually true. You are the wiser.

The silence is only external, for within the volume goes up, the clatter is nearly unbearable, and the cacophony rages. You have SO much to say, to express, to feel, to be.

And this is what we fear: that if we were to finally speak, what would come forth would be more like a scream at the top of our lungs. That our words would invite wounds (ours and potentially others’) beyond repair. That what we sense, what we feel, what we KNOW will not be heard or understood.

Speak the language women speak.

Can it be spoken everywhere and instantly grasped, accepted, embraced? Sadly, no. But does that make it less true, less necessary, less vital? Absolutely not! To start, find safe places where it can be expressed…and heard; later, you will not care. And soon, with unswerving determination, you will be unstoppable.

This is your native tongue: the fluent language of your dreams, your pen on the page and fingers on the keyboard, your art, your dancing, your wildest fantasies, your late-into-the-night conversations with a few select friends, your deepest longings, your very pulse.

You know what you think, what you see, what you understand, what you feel.  Unedited. Unrestrained. Unbound. Unbelievable. Unlimited. Uncorrected. Understood. No translation required.

Speak the language women speak.

Not just for yourself (though that, in and of itself, is beautiful and a lifetime’s-worth of significance). Do it for the rest of us. Remind us of our Mother Tongue. Inspire us toward tongues-unloosed, unfettered, and free. Tell your truth so we can be emboldened to do the same. We need to hear you speaking out. We need to see you rising up, taking names, and blazing trails.

Outside my windows, the snow has already started to melt.

May it be so.

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

Believe me, I am not consistently successful in speaking the language women speak. But oh, how I have grown. Step-by-step. Inch-by-inch. Sometimes even word-by-word. And oh, how thankful I am that this is so. As I look back over the years I see the particularly icy places where to speak felt (and was) dangerous, treacherous, and slippery. Still, slowly, tentatively, and over time I did it anyway – holding on to hands past and present who steady me, hold me up, and keep me warm. And miraculously I was (and am) able to stay standing. The more this happens, the more I am able to risk. Costs have come…and will yet be. But the old(er) I get, the more it feels like privilege, responsibility, and legacy to speak anyway; to be brave and dauntless in my use of our Mother Tongue; to bring to life the too-long silenced voices of other women, to stand strong and tall as their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

Because I Am Older

Feb 5, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I could talk about what I have learned these past 53 years, about how my body doesn’t move or respond quite the way it used to, about how I sometimes don’t recognize the face that stares back at me in the morning, about what it feels like to walk through the mall or thumb through a magazine or flip through channels surrounded by youth and its glorification, about often usually being the oldest person in the room, house, business, even social settings.

None of this is what I really want to say.

Here it is:

I’ve heard and felt it for the past few years: a sort-of distant drum beat to begin with, now, closer than my very heartbeat; a pulse, a whisper, a chorus, a chant – a nearly-visceral awareness that I am compelled, called, and required to say and give what I know – because I am old(er). It’s not about content – what I’ve studied, the expertise I’ve gained, the work I’ve done – though that matters. It’s not about my unique experiences – places lived, relationships survived and lost, lessons learned – though those matter. It’s not about my particular story – family of origin, personality, choices, preferences – though this matters, as well. It’s about all of this and then some. And it’s the “then- some” of which I really want to tell you; the ways in which each of these elements have impacted all that I know, believe, doubt, question, and trust.

I did some research for this post, looking online and in books I own for quotes, perspective, data on what I’m feeling and trying to say. Oddly, maybe profoundly, nothing showed up. And though I know it’s out there, I closed the last book and every single-extra tab on my laptop screen then moved my keyboard in front of me.

This is what it’s about: not looking other places for the wisdom that’s within; speaking what I know because it matters and needs to be heard; trusting that my thoughts must be articulated and shared. I am compelled, called, and required to step into the world with more strength, more perspective, more volume, more fierceness, more determination, just more, than ever before. I am compelled, called, and required to walk through my world as one who sees, who hears, who knows, and who offers all of this and then some to my daughters, my friends, my peers, my world. I am compelled, called, and required to speak and give me, expressly because I am old(er).

I couldn’t/wouldn’t have seen, let alone said this ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. The credibility or authority (whether offered internally or externally) would not have been mine. But now it is. At 53 I can and must sit at my kitchen table or my laptop, stand on a soap-box or a mountain-top , and speak/give what I know. No holding back. No editing. No censoring. Because what I know and who I am matters.

A part of me All of me wants to say, “Come. I have so much to tell you, so much to offer, so much to give.” But it sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? (The too-long-listened-to voices within still attempt to control and quiet.) And right now, in this very moment, I see myself reflected in the windows that front my desk: a woman in her 50s, questioning her right and ability to speak! I laugh, out loud. Mostly at myself, but also at any who would think me too much and ever dare to say so.

So consider yourself warned and wooed: I am waaaaaay too much! Which is exactly the way I like it, the way it should be, the way it is.

Risky. Bold. Dangerous. Deal with it. Deal with me – or don’t. But if you can, if you want, if you will, oh, how much I will give, how much I will offer, how much I will say, how much I will love. Because I can. Because I must. Because I’m old(er).

And at the end of this post, what I realize is this: Even the remotest feeling that as I age I should somehow quiet down, slip away, or fade into the background is a lie from the pit of hell. More, the endless attempts by the over-culture and media itself to convince me of such, is evil embodied.

Here is what is true: the older I get, the louder, the more present, the more fiery and alive and passionate and impossible-to-ignore.

This is no small story – mine. I carry the lineage, the blood, the hope-and-strength of thousands of women before me and it is my right and responsibility to keep them alive, just as they keep me alive in every single way possible. I am the daughter of Eve, Hagar, Deborah, Jael, Mary, Mary Magdalene, the woman who wept, the women at the tomb, the countless others who have names we’ve never heard, tales we’ve neglected to tell, stories that thunder, lives that yet live. They will not be silent, nor will I. And this is what keeps me alive; hardly old, rather, old(er), wis(er), strong(er) than ever before.

I’ve heard and felt it for the past few years: a sort-of distant drum beat to begin with, now, closer than my very heartbeat; a pulse, a whisper, a chorus, a chant – a nearly-visceral awareness that I am compelled, called, and required to say and give what I know.

Do you hear it? Do you feel it?

It resonates, reverberates, and shakes the rooftops (as do I). I am here. And oh, how much I have to tell you, to say, to give…because I am old(er).

May it be so.

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.

Eve Screams “No!” (Part 2)

Feb 14, 2013 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

Part One of this post was written a few days ago, prompted by an all-too-familiar place of self-contempt. Through the din of that negative, internal chatter I heard Eve scream, “No!”

Eve’s scream on my behalf compels an even more piercing one on behalf of her daughters.

Eve screams, “No!” at the angering reality that one in three women on the planet will be raped or beaten in their lifetime.

Eve screams, “No!” at the unimaginable levels of atrocity that are too often ignored, dismissed, politicized, and thereby increased.

Eve screams, “No!” to the excruciating awareness that the very telling of her story has, at least in part, contributed to unimaginable harm to her legacy and kin.

Eve screams, “No!” as she watches girls sold, women abused, bodies torn, and hearts broken.

Eve screams, “No!” to any and all ways in which her lineage are denied their freedom, their desires, their appetites, their longings; any and all ways in which they are told to be silent, play small, take the blame, and feel shame.

She does not scream alone.

Another Eve stands alongside her who champions the same. Eve Ensler is an activist and author of The Vagina Monologues. She is also the leader of the ONE BILLION RISING movement, its culmination occurring today – around the world – as one billion women and men rise on behalf of the one billion women who will be impacted by violence; who will experience anything less than their divine heritage as Eve’s daughter.

ONE BILLION RISING is:

  • A global strike
  • An invitation to dance
  • A call to men and women to refuse to participate in the status quo until rape and rape culture ends
  • An act of solidarity, demonstrating to women the commonality of their struggles and their power in numbers
  • A refusal to accept violence against women and girls as a given
  • A new time and a new way of being

Eve’s primal, DNA-level scream of “No!” is embodied in Eve Ensler’s invitation to us: to dance, to walk out, to rise up, and demand that violence against women and girls end.

These Eve’s together – their screams (and their hearts) compel ours. And ours, united, can change the world.

Join ONE BILLION RISING. Scream-and-rise-and-dance-and-walk out on behalf of your forebear – the original Eve, in solidarity with Eve Ensler and one billion others, and on behalf of all Eve’s daughters.

We cannot return to the Garden of Eden (nor would we want to), but we can reclaim a world imbued with a loving God; where both genders are equal, empowered, and honored; where choice and freedom and unbridled desire reign; where endless, tenacious hope swells.

Worth screaming for. Worth rising for. Worth dancing for. Worth living for.

Eve shouts, “Yes!”