Sister, I see you.

ChooseLoveSister, I see you.

Holding your handmade signs and shouting words of anger and frustration at the young woman walking past, using your voice to inflict pain on another wounded soul. I wonder if you’ve given any thought to the woman who might hear the words coming from your mouth.

The scared teenager, desperate to break the cycle of abusive relationships and poverty, trembles under the weight of her decision. She has for the first time, seen her own value and taken responsibility for herself. In that instant, her path shifts and her purpose solidifies. She will eventually go on to impact the lives of other young women but first she must lift the blanket of shame your words have thrown over her.

Sister, I see you.

Hiding safely behind your computer screen, sharing words of condemnation for women you have not met, using your platform to spew hate. Blindly sharing words you have not validated, written by someone you do not know. I wonder if you’ve given any thought to the woman who might read what you have written.

The young mother with the precocious toddler who has just been told her unborn baby has not developed a brain and it matters not at all how very much she wanted this baby or the many months she tried to get pregnant, he will not survive birth. Laws in the state she resides force her to leave her little boy and stay overnight at a hotel in order to safely end a pregnancy she would give her life to save. It is during this horrendous drive that she scrolls her facebook page for distraction and reads your words labeling her a murderer. She will not conceive again and will eventually find joy in the child she has but your words will forever echo.

Sister, I see you.

Sitting in the café, surrounded by friends, chatting righteously about your virtues. Pontificating the holy difference between you and those “other” women. I wonder if you’ve given any thought to the woman sitting next to you quietly absorbing the weight of your judgment.

The friend you assume to know, secretly raped by a man she thought was safe, a well-respected man who wielded power in the community. His power used to silence her much like your words. Holier than thou postures shaming misunderstood choices, building walls where bridges should be.

Sister, I see you.

Sitting in fear of the truth that we are all the same, working furiously to build the case that we are different. Doing our best to navigate this human experience, we are faced with choices designed for our growth. We rank choices as if they have varying levels of value, as if some lessons are more important than others. This is not true. All lessons have value to the learner. It is not our place to judge the lessons of another person. Judgment comes from a place of fear. The ego uses this fear to drown out love, because where love exists, the ego dies. To recognize the connection between us would mean recognizing our own shadow parts and sitting in a space of vulnerability. It is in this space that love exists.

We are the same you and I, created of the same Divine energy, often in need of reminding. We stumble our way through this life doing the best we can at any given moment. Not one of us knowing any more than the other, our obstacles become our foundations, the building blocks on which we stand. Let us not use them to stand against each other. Judgment is a hate filled tool. Lift it not, for its purpose is not to build but only to break.

Together let us end the cycle of division that feeds on labels of judgment. Let us dare to stand face to face and look into the mirror of our sister’s soul seeing the Divine light that joins. And when asked to choose, let us be brave and choose love. For we are more alike than we are unalike.

-namaste

 

“Holding Tight while Letting Go”

I picked up “Live What You Love” by Bob and Melinda Blanchard to read yesterday morning. It was a random selection, something I do occasionally when I’m in between purposeful readings. The process: I stand in front of my bookcases and scan titles until the book I am meant to read jumps out at me. This book is orange. I don’t remember buying it, which is often the case – one of many impulsive book buys in my life. Trusting the Why will be revealed, I buy the books that speak to me. I don’t always read them until years later.I love the moment I understand the Why. This morning it was clear.

Timothy left for Utah last night and my heart is crying a steady stream of sadness, a whole body feeling that weighs you down from the inside. The outside can smile and express how excited you are for him. You can imagine his adventure and beam with pride at the young man you’ve raised. You can know with certainty that you have done a good job and prepared him well. You can know without a doubt that he will be better than okay – he will grow in so many ways. You can feel all of that incredible, positive, exciting stuff and still your heart will cry. Inwardly, knowing how much you’ll miss his smile, his laugh, his hugs, his sarcastic wit, and insatiable thirst for life.

You’ll feel like you should have paid more attention along the way. You should have realized the day he first left he wasn’t coming back. When was that day? It feels like it was the first day of Children’s House. He was three. I didn’t want to take him. It feels like it started then, his pull to leave – my pull to hold on.

Maybe I did pay attention but I didn’t listen. Maybe I’ve known for twenty years that he would leave me. My gut trying to tell me all those years ago, “Get ready. This one is going places. Prepare yourself. This one will love you fiercely but he’s gonna need you to love him enough to let him go.”

That is the Why of this book. As I read “Live What You Love”, I’m reminded of exactly what this child of mine is doing at this moment. He is living the life he loves, stepping bravely out there into his dream and I am blessed to be the mom who witnesses it. It is my honor to be the mom who encouraged the boy to draw geometric designs for hours and days and to love Frank Lloyd Wright to the point of obsession. Something inside me planted within him a seed that has grown into a passion for architecture and a spirit of adventure.

How lucky am I to be the mom who for years watched the passion he felt each time his foot touched the soccer ball, his enthusiasm and energy filling the space, allowing me to feel the excitement vicariously through him, that moment when his body, full of adrenaline pushed itself to be all that it could be. Now, that same young man has found a new passion for the outdoors and he’s moving to Utah to hike and explore a place he has grown to love with the girl he has chosen to share his life with. How lucky am I to be the mom of this young man?

So I’ll let my heart cry as long and as often as it feels the need. After all, I will miss him. But I will feel gratitude for all that this next adventure is with this boy of mine. Together we are growing as I learn to hold tight and let go in one grace-filled movement.

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How lucky am I to have something that makes saying good-bye so hard.

My Dream of Dreams

One day an old woman with short silver hair, I’ll view life quite differently, without any care.  

Through blue eyes that sparkle, I’ll cherish the groves of my velvety skin each new smile improves.

My soft cushy places, pillows they’ll be, supporting wee heads so the stars they can see.

We’ll lay on the riverbank warmed by a fire, watching as stars go higher and higher.

I’ll paint for them pictures of far away places, of decadent dishes, and welcoming faces.

I’ll make sure they know fear is a four-letter word, an illusion that fades when the truth is heard.

I’ll share with them stories, the good and the bad. I’ll teach them to know happy is less without sad.

I’ll share my adventures, some grand and some small. I’ll explain without love, life’s no adventure at all.

We’ll sing and we’ll dance, reservations thrown far, knowing we’re perfect just as we are.

Together we’ll laugh til our tummies are sore, til our eyes are crying, then we’ll laugh some more.

I’ll be certain to see them for all that they are, beautiful souls made of dust from the stars.

And through their sweet eyes, I will finally see the beauty and grace that has always been me.

Connected through lifetimes, our hearts are like one, these magical creatures, grandchildren, my Sun.

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When I look at this photo

When I look at this photo

When I look at this photo I see my grandmother’s wedding band, the pearls my dad gave to me on my eighteen birthday, my precious grandbaby, and a mother pausing for a moment to soak in the last moments before her son is married. This moment in time highlighted by memories of the past and promise of the future.

I’m reminded of words my Dad gave to us, given to him through his mother. Words with meaning that grows deeper as the years pass.

“The past, the future, are linked together by the now. What is today is because of what was yesterday, the day before, and long ago.” – drw

From the vantage point provided by experience, I’ve begun to see that what I once thought was a past littered with missteps and fumbles, was in reality, perfect in every way. There are no missteps and past fumbles only serve to propel us a little further down the path. Every thing happens for a reason and all of it leads to where we are meant to be today.

With the passing of each life event, Dad’s wisdom comes more clearly into focus. His words echo Universal laws and teachings I have come to embrace. I believe in soul contracts, all part of a Divine plan of agreements we make before entering into this life experience. A Divine plan that provides a map of sorts for the journey that will be our life. Each journey provides opportunity after opportunity for the soul to have exactly the experience necessary in order for it to learn lessons agreed to in the original contract. The choices we make when confronted with these opportunities determine the next turn our path will take. In the moment these turns often feel like problems, challenges, tragedies, and drama leading to what we perceive as missteps. Only through the passage of time are we able to see the wisdom gained, the growth experienced, and the blessings hidden in these turns along the way.

“Each thought, each word, each deed acted in the now becomes a fragment of eternity.” –drw

Life moments are precious, each one filled with meaning. What we choose to do with these moments is up to us. We can wish them away, ignore their significance, or treasure them for what they are but regardless of our behavior, all become fragments of eternity. Every thought, word, and deed carries significance whether chosen with intention or performed mindlessly and forgotten. Given the power of choice, choose intentionally. Wake up to this moment. Use this gift to craft your life. Pay attention to the lessons as they present themselves along the way and make choices that challenge you to expand and grow to the fullest expression of yourself.

“Life means there is no choice but to use this gift…the trust, the love, the power…indenting destiny.” -drw

When I look at this photo, I hear my Dad’s voice reminding me to pause, to appreciate the moment, its connection to the past and link to the future. Life doesn’t provide a pause button. It’s up to us to create moments of pause, time to breathe, to reflect, to soak it all in.

When I look at this photo my heart fills with gratitude for the woman who wore this wedding band, for the man who gave me these pearls, for my child about to be wed, and for the baby snuggled against my chest. I am blessed with the gift of appreciation that allows me to savor moments like these, because truly, these moments are what life is all about.

What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?

“If you’re going to be a writer, you have to f%#&’n WRITE.”

I go through life with words, phrases, sentences, messages swirling around in my head, bumping into each other in a chaotic mess that vibrates and echoes often leaving me exhausted and dazed. I’ve waited for the words to arrange themselves, thinking that was a necessary step before written expression would be possible. I’ve given up that idea. Whatever comes of this exercise is no longer of importance but only the act of release that matters, for without that, I fear I’ll soon be rendered permanently STUCK. Stuck in this plane of life, unable to move beyond what I am now.

And what is that exactly?

Aware. I am aware, aware to the possibilities before me and aware of the struggles behind me. Accomplished enough to know what I am capable of yet inexperienced enough to remain fearful of failing. Aware that failing is a natural step in the progression of personal evolution. Starving for the next step on this journey, I’ve seen glimpses of what is to come. In my mind’s eye, I’ve lived brief moments of this destiny. Through dreams and visions I’ve felt what is possible, just enough to whet my desire and leave my soul craving more. Nanoseconds of realization experienced with a divine truth signaling my soul, “this is IT.”

And what is IT exactly?

Physically, IT is adrenaline rushing through the body creating a rapid flow of blood and a pounding heart that invigorates, stimulates, and inspires. It is a flush of heat that starts in the chest and spreads up to the head, down to the hands, and radiates out in what I imagine is a visual display of vibrancy. My body feverish and my palms sweaty. My ears, clogged with a slight ringing noise that distorts the sounds around me, not unlike that feeling of floating underwater.

I imagine the physical body’s vital signs might register like those of a runner after crossing the finish line and yet inwardly, calm. There is a knowing that all is well, a beckoning to relax and let go. I’m standing at the edge of a magnificent cliff. The air is crisp. The sun is warm. A slight breeze passes over my body and sends a chill up my spine. This is the edge of destiny.

“Breathe deeply and let go. Trust that this is who you are. Everything that has happened before has prepared you for the next step. Take it. Embrace your destiny. You are worthy. This is your path. All else is a dream. You are the observer. This is your reality.”

And what does IT mean?

It means creation has already taken place. Communicate that which the soul has created.

“Step out of the way and let that which IS be received.”

It means I have only to quiet the noise and trust in the message.

“There is no doing to be done. There is only being. Trust what comes in and let it pass through without thought, judgment, or interpretation.”

There is a fear of madness, a fear of letting go and losing control. Like an addict, never knowing when the point of no return might be crossed, the high is intoxicating. To lock one’s self away and let go without timetables or commitments, abandoning all worries or ties to a world that is constantly demanding and distracting, that is the lure and there in lies the fear. But what exactly is that fear?

Loss? – Fear that connection to everything held dear might be broken and I might find myself alone and with nothing. It occurs to me that I’ve faced this fear before at another crossroad in life, only then the fear was much stronger and the outcome much less predictable. Desperation propelled me forward, not awareness or courage. The pain of the status quo at the time was far greater than the fear of change. It felt less a matter of choice and more a matter of survival. Regardless, the fear was faced and the outcome was growth, confidence, trust, self-love, expression, and ultimately, the experience of a love greater than I have ever known. Had fear won that battle everything I now hold so dear would not be in my life. This realization causes me to pause, the “what if’s” screaming inside my head. Images of the person I was never becoming the person I am makes me feel sad. Ironically, who I am now, living this beautiful chaotic life that resulted from the ashes of what was, is exactly what I am fearful of now losing.

But what if instead of losing, I win again? Instead of desperation pulling me away, what if intuition propels me forward? Imagine the power of that energy. If out of desperation, this beautiful life could emerge, imagine what might be birthed through the energy of inspired creation.

There are two choices: to rest in what is or to evolve into what might be. When what IS no longer fits, there will be no choice but to evolve or to die.

What are you waiting for?

 

Let us pray.

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Recently, I read of a group of people who planned to be in Washington DC on inauguration day to pray for the incoming president. I couldn’t help but ask myself exactly what it was they would be praying for: His safety, given his divisive rhetoric? His heart, given his plans regarding human rights? His intellect, given his ignorance of the office he would hold and the many policies he would influence? His soul, given his inability to display modesty or gratitude for his situation?

What would these well-meaning individuals have asked God to do on that fateful day in history? To change a man into someone he is not? To step in and provide some Divine intervention that would save his soul and perhaps also the world as we know it? Many may believe that God chose this man to be our next president and therefore, God most certainly would not leave us in harm’s way.

I, myself, am not a religious person. However, I am a reflective person and as I reflect on the past year I’m reminded of a story about a man who’s house was consumed by a flood. The short version of the story is that the man sat on his rooftop and prayed for God to save him. He prayed as a friend came by in a canoe, a policeman came by in a boat, and a rescue helicopter flew overhead, all offering the man a ride to safety. He prayed and prayed as the flood waters rose until eventually, he drowned. When the man reached the pearly gates, he asked why God had deserted him. He was faithful in his prayer and steadfast in his belief that God would never forsake him. God shook her head and said, “I did not forsake you. I sent a canoe, a boat, and a helicopter. You refused all three.”

If one is to believe that God sent us this president, aren’t we also to believe that she sent the other 19 primary candidates from which to choose? The Bible is filled with stories where believers were tested. Perhaps the story of the 2016 US Presidential election is a modern day story of such a test. I imagine God might have thought this was an easy one for us to pass. After all, she had provided a book with lessons and rules as a guide.

“I’ll give them 17 candidates on one side, a few of them will be so extreme that they can eliminate them right off the bat, but I’ll leave one or two reasonable choices. Then on the other side, I’ll give them a flawed but qualified woman and a jewish guy who’s fighting for all that my son was sent to teach.” 

I imagine as the primaries progressed, God may have started to feel a bit concerned and by the time the GOP debates took place, God was most likely losing faith. Childish insults, rude behavior, false statements, shouting. At one point, in an effort to get attention, one candidate was heard to say, “Can someone attack me please ?” God watched as we officially entered the land of the absurd. Week after week she upped her game but it didn’t work. The more obscene the situation, the more popular the candidate.

The situation wasn’t much better on the DEM side. The choice for the Left was between a kickass woman who refused to play nice and a fatherly old man who fought to feed the poor and tax the rich. I’m certain God felt confident that we could get that one right. Checking in on things daily, she would see massive crowds of people supporting the jewish socialist as he spoke of income equality, human rights, worker’s rights, peace, love, and protecting Mother Earth. I imagine God felt little concern for the outcome of the DEM primaries but just to be safe, she sent that little bird to sit on the podium to seal the deal. #BossMove

Then the primary results began to come in. It was most likely at this time that God started to regret the whole “free will” thing. Realizing what she had to work with in the general election, God stepped up her game yet again. Providing opportunity after opportunity to showcase the difference between the two candidates: hateful rhetoric, Islamophobia, misogyny, mockery, adultery, conceit. Audio and video evidence was released to help us separate real facts from “alternative facts.” At one point, I imagine God shaking her head and considering a googleAd:

7 DEADLY SINS - FREE & EASY ACCESS
www.DonaldTrump.wth 
Pride. Envy. Wrath. Gluttony. Lust. Sloth. Greed.

And then we voted…

At this point, I imagine God cried. And then, like most of us, she took a few days to grieve and collect herself.

What must she be thinking now? I imagine there’s a part of her, like any parent when their child makes a poor choice, that would like to say, “Don’t ask me to fix this. I did my best to guide you toward the path of righteousness but you chose to go a different way. Now you can live with the consequences of your decisions.”

But she won’t.

She’ll listen to every voice and feel the heaviness of every heart. She will inhale a deep breath of compassion and exhale love all over the universe. With unconditional love, God will forgive our arrogance, forget our shameful selfishness, and provide us the opportunity to come together and heal the divisions we allowed to separate us from each other, but she won’t do it for us.

God has provided each of us with everything we need to fix this mess ourselves. We are, after all, each created in God’s own image, each of us a spark of the Divine energy of the Universe blessed with the gift to show love and compassion, but we must wake up and be responsible citizens, not only of this country but of the universe we inhabit. We cannot sit on the rooftop of our ideals praying to God for evidence of why we are right and others are wrong. No, we must take action or we will all soon drown.

 

 

“If your Why doesn’t make you cry, it’s not big enough”

I spent the morning responding to comment after comment from women who have read my article “An Open Letter to the ones who have never been assaulted.” The article was published 8 days ago and has been viewed 15,719 times by people from places I’ve never been. My husband has made it his daily mission to provide a visual so I can grasp how many people this is. Each morning he reports the name of a town with an equivalent population. So far, the towns have all been small coastal villages. That is comforting to me.

The words were written for myself. I shared them for my daughter and for my future granddaughters. Never did I expect that I was sharing them for women I have never met, women as close as South Carolina and as far away as South Africa and Australia. Women thanking me. Thanking me for sharing my story. Thanking me for speaking up, for being brave.

“Your timing is ideal. I needed this right now.”

“Courageous and touching. Thank you.”

“I’m not brave enough to speak up but it helps to know I’m not alone.”

“Thank you for sharing your story…our story.”

Women sharing. Voices joining. My eyes soak up their words. Their message makes it’s way into my mind, through my heart, and one by one passes back out as droplets from my eyes onto the keyboard. Connection, kindred spirits across the miles connecting through the written word. Seeking solace in knowing we are not alone. Gathering strength from each other in order to face and stand down that which has silenced us. We are stronger together. Our combined energy, a force to be reckoned with.

For  me, writing the article was cathartic. During the process I began to feel an inner shift, an ease, a confidence, a relief. I felt a need to place my story out into the world in a way that was more real, more tangible than the spoken word. I wrote for myself. What I didn’t realize is that I also wrote for my Self, my inner being coaxing me along, leading me closer and closer to others who shared my story.

“If your Why doesn’t make you cry, it isn’t strong enough.” Advice from a young man with an old soul made me pause and reflect. What is my Why? It’s the reason I do what I do, to pay bills. Some days, just to pay the water bill. My Why now expands beyond basic needs to include tuition, vacation, life insurance, and savings plans. All noble desires centered around family but never has any of it made me cry. At times it makes me anxious, disappointed, often frustrated, but I don’t believe it’s ever made me cry.

So today, I observe the eagerness with which I prepare my coffee and settle in for my morning routine. With a physical desire felt deep in my belly, I anticipate what I might read when I open the comments section. The stories, a thread connecting souls across time and space. Energy flowing. Strength growing. Whispers amplified when spoken through the megaphone of solidarity and understanding. Brave women reaching out with shaky hands to touch others to be assured and to reassure.

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This is the Why that makes me cry.

Tears of understanding + Tears of connection = Tears of Joy

An Open Letter to the Lucky Ones – the ones who have never been assaulted

To all of you who still don’t get it,

You are the lucky ones. Good for you! A small number of you, by the grace of God, have never been subject to assault or known anyone who was assaulted. You are in the minority. Three out of four women have experienced some form of sexual assault in their lives. So unless you are the one out of four, you actually do know someone who wasn’t so lucky. And after reading this, you will know of one more.

The first time I was five. A family friend visiting in an RV. A mini home. I could be the wife, he said. I loved the little kitchen with the icebox just my size. I served him pretend food and brought my baby doll with me.

The wife has to do things, he said. I didn’t want to. In my strongest five year old voice, I said no. He didn’t hear me.

Shame crept in. It crawled up my back and over my face, muffling my still small voice.

The second time I was eight. High school boys, my neighbors, like brothers. I trusted them. They touched me. I closed my eyes and left my body behind.

The shame grew heavier.

The third time I was twelve. He was trusted to drive me home but his hands on my barely budding little breasts betrayed that trust.

“stop”   He couldn’t hear me.

The shame was too thick for my tiny voice to escape.

I was raped in high school. Under the pier. In the sand. He was a ‘friend.’

In college. In a car. I was drunk.

In relationships. I was silent.

Why don’t women speak out?

Why don’t they confront?

Why don’t they press charges?

Those who have been there never ask why. Most don’t know. Often it isn’t a single assault but the cumulative toll of a lifetime of smaller events. The effects of shame compounded.

Jokes are made and memes are created. Efforts to verbalize assault are dismissed as over reaction and unwarranted sensitivity. Meanwhile another young woman is groped, grabbed, forced, molested, raped….

Shame is a cloak that muffles the voice. It takes a strong woman to lift the edge and speak out. Her voice only a whisper that alone, often is not heard but when combined with the voices of other brave women, begins to grow louder and eventually those who ask why will hear the answer loud and clear.

Why? What good will it do if no one listens?

Listen.

For the sake of your mothers, your daughters, your sisters, your wives, your friends.

Listen.

Don’t just listen when we are strong and shouting. Listen when we are scared and shaking. Listen because we matter. Listen because this isn’t just bigger than life politicians, wealthy men, and locker room banter. This is our life.

Don’t think because we have been silent that we don’t remember. We never forget.

If you are one of the lucky ones, share your voice with someone who has lost theirs. Speak out and speak up. You were spared the shame of assault for a reason. Use the strength you have to help lift the edge of someone else’s cloak. Don’t add to the weight with your insensitivity.

It’s taken nearly forty-seven years, hundreds of hours in therapy, and the love and understanding of a strong man to develop the muscle to lift my own cloak. Recently, I’ve felt my muscles quiver but with the strength of every woman who finds the courage to speak out, my voice grows louder and for that, I am grateful.

-namaste

 

Don’t call it love

Don’t call it love

Somehow we as a society have come to believe that love is a given based on the nature of some relationships. The idea that family is forever, a mother’s love is unconditional, blood is thicker than water, etc, etc, have created a false sense of what love actually is.

For those whose blood-based connections are anything less than supportive and loving, there is a feeling of inadequacy and loss. If you were raised up to feel that love is conditional, you’re left with only yourself to blame when that love is withheld. Hallmark cards covered with quotes glorifying a mother’s love, sibling connections, and the ever present bond of family, only add insult to injury.

In reality, some of the deepest pain is inflicted by the closest relationships. Family is not necessarily forever, some mothers love conditionally, and blood has little to do with how we treat each other. This idea of “family equals love” has created an entitlement attitude where relatives carelessly take each other for granted.

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Love doesn’t hurt.

The bottom line is this: If it hurts, it isn’t love. It matters not at all who the relationship is with. Call it something else, but don’t call it love.

Love comes from within and radiates out. Love yourself enough that you no longer allow those without love for you to affect your sense of self. Ultimately, it has little to do with you. Surround yourself with those who radiate love and the family you were born to be a part of will emerge. ❤