What is it to listen, deeply, to the voice of another speak something that must be spoken?
What is it to not flinch when hearing the truth that flows from another’s heart and soul?
Many, many women are writing their stores. And, many women are reading these stories. We are bearing witness to each other, to our lives, and yes, even our deaths.
“Rhonda is now in hospice, and though she doesn’t fear death, she does dread it a bit because she still has so much she wants to say. And there’s so much we need to hear. “Jeanne, they tell me to rest,†she said in a recent phone call with a tone that’s as close to whining as I’ve ever heard come from her lips. “Fuck that,†I said. “You can rest later. Now you write. And write. And write.—
As I writer, I know how it feels when I must write. And as a writer, I know how it is to have my words witnessed, read, and considered.
::
Take a moment to read Rhonda’s stories and, as Jeanne writes, “join me as we bear witness to her words, to her life.”
As Rhonda writes, “I write only truth.”
I imagine that when it comes time to die, one’s patience for anything that is not truth grows thin.
a mixture of flowers, herbs and spices used to scent one’s space and
a more generic mixture of things.
This post is both. We’ve got flowers, spice and…not sure it’s an herb, but then we get to mix it up however we want. I’m hoping this potourri scents your space and day with love and beauty.
The flowers… Dahlias in the window of the flower shop that’s just down the street from me. I love walking by to see what the latest arrangement is. And, I love capturing an image of both inside and outside, looking through the glass both ways.
The Mystery Robed in Clothes of Sacred Feminine Flesh
Representation
Humans use representations to make up, in their minds, what the world is like, how people behave and even how they should be and what they should do. We create images in our minds of how things are, and then we compare ourselves to those images, and more often than not, see how we don’t measure up.
There are so many representations of women in our world; so many archetypes; so many images and idols. How do we come to know ourselves anew, broken free of the gazillion ways women are represented in the manifested, constructed and imagined world?
I’ve wanted self-love and fought self-loathing for most of my life. Both have been hard to experience, but for different reasons.
Self-loathing does its devious work undercover. I can’t say that I’ve ever really known, consciously, that I loathe myself; but, I can say that I’ve struggled with finding myself ‘deserving’. The self-loathing part was undercover; what showed on the surface was a lack of confidence and being afraid to show myself to the world. It was only fairly recently that I came to feel the stuck emotion of self-loathing. It had been buried deep down for a long, long time.
Self-love has always seemed out of reach. For me, affirmations never worked. It has always been much harder for me to love myself than to love others. And it wasn’t until I began to look at the deepest and darkest places within me that the light of love within began to really shine. It was then that I realized I could never really love another until I discovered what it was to love myself.
Doing the work to find true self-love can be daunting, yet it is sacred work. It is deep, soulful and compassionate work.
When Jenn Gibson, founder of Roots of She, asked me to contribute to her new e-course called Self-love Warriors, I felt called to add whatever I could to what she was creating. One of the greatest things about Jenn’s creation is that it can be experienced by yourself or in community, or both. Learning to love oneself isn’t easy, yet it is important work. I believe Jenn has created something that is going to help many of us deepen this sacred work.
In the course, I’m the break-out guide for the fourth week, honoring the sacred feminine. Coming to know, in a deeply profound way, that the sacred is within you is one of the most beautiful ways you can honor and love yourself, other women and all of life.
I am an affiliate for the Self-love Warrior course, meaning that when someone uses the link I’ve provided here to purchase Jenn’s course, I receive a percentage. That being said, I feel it’s going to be a great course. Whether you decide to join us or not, I hope you dive in and open yourself to the deep well of love inside your own heart.
Today, a friend sent me a link to this video by Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee and his article, Praying for the Earth. In it, Vaughan-Lee speaks of our need and about how our need is a way into prayer. It is truly beautiful. Watch it full screen, if you can.
During my time in Hana, I could feel the land, the ocean, the air and the fire that lies at the heart of the earth. The elements are strong there.
As I slept at night, the breezes blew across my face and the smell of rain filled my dreams. In the daytime, the fragrance of Frangiapani and the sight of dolphins playing just across the street from where I was writing awakened the pain in my heart, the pain that comes when one sees so many faces of beauty and feels its immediacy.
To remember the earth, is to know her soul, to know her aliveness and our connection to her.
To wake up to our bodies and the wisdom and aliveness within them is to awaken to the same aliveness and wisdom of the earth.
As I communed with the land of Hana, I became painfully aware of how much I need the earth, of how much I long to feel connected to her, to know her, to witness her, to hold her and to be held by her. Just writing these words causes the tears of love and longing to flow.
flowers along the trail
At home here in the city, it is harder to feel the land. I find places in which to do so when I can. Yet, I feel this need to go back to Hana and I know I can’t. I must be here where I live. So I ask myself, “What is this longing?” What is this great need I feel in my body and heart to be in communion with the earth and the elements, with the rhythm and feel of Hana?”
In Hana, the earth fed me with her fresh pineapple and mango. She held me as I swam in her waters and walked in her mud, mud sprinkled with delicate beauty. I found a joy and peace, a sensuality that is born from life touching me directly, in so many simple yet profound ways. I felt an organic connection with her. Gratitude flowed up and out of me toward her. Not the kind of gratitude that is a thought, or something I should do. I didn’t do it. It just came in response to her beauty and all she gives.
Perhaps my longing for the earth, for the land is an organic recognition of the connection of woman with the earth, and an understanding that she needs us as much as we need her. To honor her is to awaken her to her beauty, to her wildness and grandeur. And perhaps, it is a way to awaken women to what we have forgotten about womanhood.
My time in Hana was a gift. A big, beautiful birthday gift to me. I turned 55. That makes it sound sort of like my odometer rolled over (do you watch yours when it nears repeated digits, too?).
I guess my odometer did roll over. I’ve traveled a lot of miles in my life.
Or maybe it’s a pedometer. You know, the kind that measures your mileage on foot. That would make more sense, since I have two of those.
Muddy
On Saturday, I hiked the two miles up the side of Haleakala, the dormant volcano on Maui, to Waimoku falls, which fall from 400 ft above.
Waimoku Falls
(insert cool waterfall shot)
Saturday morning was rainy on and off. The following evening we’d had a long steady rain, so the trail was exceedingly wet…and muddy. I forgot to bring my tennis shoes, so I was wearing my thongs. As I trudged up the hill, I could feel things getting more slippery along the way. I found myself trying to stay ‘clean’. Big smile, because after the fact, I can now see how futile this was!
At the top, just prior to the falls, you have to cross two parts of the creek/river. This didn’t sound like fun in thongs, so I took them off and proceeded barefoot, making sure to put the thongs back on across the way.
On my way back down the hill, I was still trying to walk in my thongs, but it was more slippery by now because the rain had been falling for a bit. Just as I was feeling frustrated with myself and the mud, a group of people going up the hill came into view. One of them was a teenaged girl. She was barefoot. She took one look at me and said, with a smile, “Why don’t you just take them off? I did.” I looked down at her feet and, sure enough, bare feet covered in mud.
muddy feet
I thought about it for a moment, and realized I’d been not fully present to everything around me because I was afraid of slipping and gettingdirty. Here I was in this glorious place and my attention was more on walking than on my surroundings. So I took them off and walked barefoot. The mud was warm and squishy. Why had I been avoiding this?
I felt connected. I was aware. I enjoyed it so much more. I had a deeper sensual experience through my feet.
It was so freeing because by taking off my shoes, I stepped right into what I had been trying to avoid…getting dirty. Suddenly there was nothing to avoid anymore. Why was I trying so hard to avoid the mud?
A similar thing had happened back in January as I hiked in Tilden park. The paths get very muddy there in the winter and spring months, and I would try to keep my running shoes from getting muddy. One day in particular, I was trying to get through a patch of mud and slipped right into it. Once I was dirty, it didn’t matter anymore. I felt lighter, more free and enjoyed the walk much more.
Wet
I had realized the same thing on my first full day in Hana. I was swimming at Hamoa beach. My towel and bag were on the sand. It began to rain quite hard. I noticed many of the people there rushing out of the water to get their things and carry them to a dryer place under the trees. I decided to get out and attempt to do the same. We were all trying to keep our stuff dry.
When the rain subsided, we went back to the beach, laid it all out again and went back in the water. Sure enough, back came the rain. Here I was in the water all wet, and I was worried about keeping my stuff dry. I thought about it and realized there was nothing in my stuff that couldn’t get wet. So I gave up trying. I continued to swim and it was quite an amazing experience being in the warm pouring rain while swimming in the warm ocean.
Water, water everywhere.
When I did decide to return to my bungalow, I gathered my things and put on my hat and it began to rain again. My hat was dripping wet, my cover up was dripping wet. My towel was dripping wet. I was dripping wet. Everything was wet. There was no longer anything to keep dry, and it was incredibly liberating. Nothing was getting hurt by getting wet.
In both cases, I let go and relaxed more deeply and immediately into my surroundings. I was more in tune with the sensual nature of the experience itself, and not surprisingly, with my own sensual nature. Without the worrying brain spinning fast, I was available to notice and feel what was immediately present…and the most noticeable thing was freedom, with a gentle joy following closely behind freedom’s feet.
Messy
I’ve been contemplating this in my life and wondered how often I hold back on doing things completely for fear of getting wet or muddy (either literally or metaphorically).
Where do I fear jumping in because it might get messy?
How much less awareness is available when much of my awareness is focused on my worry or fears?
I can now feel how liberating it would be to let go this way in everyday life.
Most of our fears are not really fears of immediate danger. They’re more like fears of avoiding things we’ve been conditioned to fear experiencing…like getting too muddy or getting our things wet, lost, broken, stolen, etc.
Avoiding messiness is avoiding life.
The joy I felt when I let go into what I was already immersed in was so much more real than what I had feared.
Life is in the mud, in the wet, in the full-on contact with all that we’re swimming in. When I am in avoidance, I am not living.
Yes, a good pair of pants might get stained. Or not. But,
rediscovering this place of joy is priceless.
p.s.
the mud washed off.
my pants cleaned up.
i dried out.
pedicure is still mighty fine.
I am changed by it all.
…
and, you?
I’d love to know about a time when you let it all go, when you realized it was futile to keep avoiding what you were obviously swimming in…
What is it to not flinch when hearing the truth that flows from another’s heart and soul?
