“If you want to change the world . . . love a woman — really love her. Find the one who calls to your soul, who doesn’t make sense. Throw away your check list and put your ear to her heart and listen. Hear the names, the prayers, the songs of every living thing — every winged one, every furry and scaled one, every underground and underwater one, every green and flowering one, every not yet born and dying one . . . Hear their melancholy praises back to the One who gave them life. If you haven’t heard your own name yet, you haven’t listened long enough. If your eyes aren’t filled with tears, if you aren’t bowing at her feet, you haven’t ever grieved having almost lost her.
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman — one woman beyond yourself, beyond desire and reason, beyond your male preferences for youth, beauty and variety and all your superficial concepts of freedom. We have given ourselves so many choices we have forgotten that true liberation comes from standing in the middle of the soul’s fire and burning through our resistance to Love. There is only one Goddess. Look into Her eyes and see — really see if she is the one to bring the axe to your head. If not, walk away. Right now. Don’t waste time “trying.” Know that your decision has nothing to do with her because ultimately it’s not with who, but when we choose to surrender.
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman. Love her for life — beyond your fear of death, beyond your fear of being manipulated by the Mother inside your head. Don’t tell her you’re willing to die for her. Say you’re willing to LIVE with her, plant trees with her and watch them grow. Be her hero by telling her how beautiful she is in her vulnerable majesty, by helping her to remember every day that she IS Goddess through your adoration and devotion.
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman in all her faces, through all her seasons and she will heal you of your schizophrenia — your double-mindedness and half-heartedness which keeps your Spirit and body separate — which keeps you alone and always looking outside your Self for something to make your life worth living. There will always be another woman. Soon the new shiny one will become the old dull one and you’ll grow restless again, trading in women like cars, trading in the Goddess for the latest object of your desire. Man doesn’t need any more choices. What man needs is Woman, the Way of the Feminine, of Patience and Compassion, non-seeking, non-doing, of breathing in one place and sinking deep intertwining roots strong enough to hold the Earth together while she shakes off the cement and steel from her skin.
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman, just one woman. Love and protect her as if she is the last holy vessel. Love her through her fear of abandonment which she has been holding for all of humanity. No, the wound is not hers to heal alone. No, she is not weak in her codependence.
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman all the way through until she believes you, until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion, her wildness have returned to her — until she is a force of love more powerful than all the political media demons who seek to devalue and destroy her.
If you want to change the world, lay down your causes, your guns and protest signs. Lay down your inner war, your righteous anger and love a woman . . . beyond all of your striving for greatness, beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment. The holy grail stands before you if you would only take her in your arms and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy.
What if peace is a dream which can only be re-membered through the heart of Woman? What if a man’s love for Woman, the Way of the Feminine is the key to opening Her heart?
If you want to change the world . . . love a woman to the depths of your shadow, to the highest reaches of your Being, back to the Garden where you first met her, to the gateway of the rainbow realm where you walk through together as Light as One, to the point of no return, to the ends and the beginning of a new Earth.”
Do you know why? Because an 8 year old’s tank was empty.
The boys had already started their school day at their desks and I was preparing to leave for work when I noticed my littlest standing in the bathroom wiping his face.
I paused at the door and asked if he was okay. He looked up with tears silently dripping and shook his head. When I questioned if something happened, again he shook his head.
So I sat on the side of the tub and pulled him in my lap. I told him sometimes our heart tanks feel empty and need to be refilled.
He cried into my chest and I held tight. I asked if he could feel my love filling him up? A nod, and tears stopped…
I waited a minute…
‘Has it reached your toes yet?’ He shook his head no…
‘Okay man. We will take as long as you need. Work doesn’t matter right now. School isn’t important either. This right here, is the most important thing today, okay? Filling you back to the top. Is that good?’ nods
One more minute… ‘Is your heart full of mamas love now?’ ‘Yeah…’ looks in his eyes I see it shining in there, you’re full to the top, and you’re smiling!
Y’all. You may not be 8- you may be 28, 38, 48 or whatever- but ALL of us run on empty just like he did. His weekend was so busy and so full and his little soul was just dry!!!
We all have to pause, and take a moment to refill with the good things. Scripture, prayer, sunshine, worship, song, laughter, friends, hugs. Refill your empty, or you’ll find those emotions (tears, anger, snappy words) overflowing with no reason why.
Take a moment. Refill. It’s the most important part of your day!
Blood mysteries teach that menstrual blood and birthing blood are holy blood, power blood, healing blood. The blood mysteries teach us to remember that life and healing come from and return to woman, to the wise woman, to the woman who bleeds and does not die.
Blood mysteries reveal that menstrual (moontime) blood and birth blood are so holy, so full of potential, so full of the void, that they are to be used only to heal, to heal by nourishing. Holy woman-blood is nourishing blood, blood of love, blood of abundance, blood that heals the earth.
Blood mysteries recall the immense power of the bleeding woman. Power enough to share in great nourishing give-away from mother to matrix, give-away of nourisher to nourisher. When we bleed into the ground (in reality or fantasy) our power regrounds as our blood flows through the personal root chakra and into the earth.
Bleeding into the ground, bleeding freely, we know ourselves as women, as nourishers of life, as givers of nourishment to the plants, givers of holy nourishment: our moontime blood.
I am woman giving away nourishment to ensure this planet’s life. With my moontime power, my blood, with my birthing power, my blood, I feed the earth who feeds us all. Every month I remember: I am woman. I am earth. I am life. I am nourishment. I am change.
I am woman, confronted with my changes: hormonal harmonics stirring moon time visions . . . I am woman. I know life, death, pain, and health in my marrow, in my womb. I know the narrow space between life and death, the bloody place of birth, the bloody mess of nourishing life, the bloody flow of letting life go. I am woman. My blood is power. Peaceful power. Peaceful blood.
My blood is holy nourishment. My blood nourishes the growing fetus. My blood becomes milk to nourish the young child. My blood flows into the ground as holy nourishment for the Great Mother, Gaia, Mother Earth.
Every morning I have a blind date with my body. And as I do, a million questions run through my head.
Who is this person sitting across from me in the mirror? Am I my own soulmate? Are the dreams in my heart and my thoughts in my head perfect strangers?
How can I open my heart to this imperfect human who is staring back at me? How can I learn to love their wrinkles? How can I build a future with this person?
And every morning during my blind date with my own image I remember the secret to any great relationship … Is to let them see you as you really are.
So, how do I see myself? As a piece of cosmic art or as half-shattered bowl? Maybe it’s both things at the same time.
My love, In order to feel at home in your skin you must learn to be yourself, with yourself. And to see the beauty in yourself when you look at yourself.
All first dates are awkward, so be patient with yourself as you get to know the person in the mirror.
Don’t let them slip through your fingers because … they are the love of your life.
Celtic older women were revered as the ‘wisdom keepers’. Over time they were called the ‘Crone’ which derived from the word ‘Crown’ meaning they were illuminated ‘shining ones’. The church feared these wise women, murdering & relegating them to the role of the ‘evil ugly hag’.
A small list of some of the crone goddesses from different cultures.
Ala (Nigerian) – The spirits of the dead find peace in her womb.
Ama No Uzumi (Japanese) – A Shinto ancestral Goddess of longevity, protection and psychic abilities.
Asase Yaa (West African) – She represents the womb of the earth from whom we are all birthed and will return to at our death.
Annis (Celtic) – Depicted as a frightening old woman, keeper of wisdom and old ways.
Badb (Irish) – The shape shifting warrior Goddess who symbolises the cycles of life and death, wisdom and inspiration.
Baubo (Greek) – This Bawdy Goddess uses female sexuality and laughter to raise a smile from Demeter.
Baba Yaga (Russian) – In Slavic mythology she is the wild old woman; the witch; and mistress of magic.
Cerridwen (Celtic) – The Keeper of the Cauldron. She represents the wisdom of old age.
I was today years old when I learnt that the part of the body we affectionately refer to as a pouch has a proper scientific name.
Ladies and gentleman, introducing the panniculus, “an apron of skin and fat that sags below the navel, particularly after pregnancy or weight loss”.
While I won’t be adding panniculus to my baby names list, I do think we should show it a little more love. Because despite what you might see on social media, having a pouch, or a panniculus on a Sunday, is entirely natural and normal. And to prove it, I refer you to the drawing attached.
This piece of art was created in 23,000 BCE, on the walls of a cave in what we now call France. Opinions vary as to whether it represents a woman in childbirth, or an appreciative ode to the female form, but either way her pouch is clearly visible, and she was important enough and interesting enough and beautiful enough to commit to rock for eternity.
It can be hard to feel good about our bodies after pregnancy and birth, and there’s no denying that we have been forever changed by the experience inside and out, but it’s even harder when we try to live up to unattainable and constantly shifting beauty standards.
That’s why this piece of art brings me such joy, the figure is undeniably and unashamedly female, lumps and bumps and all. And if a woman 25,000 years ago, whose life was undoubtedly much harder than mine, can handle this jelly, then so can I.
The other day, a young person asked me: What did it feel like to be old?
I was very surprised by the question, since I did not consider myself old. When he saw my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question. And after reflection, I concluded that getting old is a gift.
Sometimes I am surprised at the person who lives in my mirror. But I don’t worry about those things for long. I wouldn’t trade everything I have for a few less gray hairs and a flat stomach. I don’t scold myself for not making the bed, or for eating a few extra “little things.” I am within my rights to be a little messy, to be extravagant, and to spend hours staring at my flowers.
I have seen some dear friends leave this world, before they had enjoyed the freedom that comes with growing old.
Who cares if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 in the morning and then sleep until who knows what time?
I will dance with me to the rhythm of the 50’s and 60’s. And if later I want to cry for some lost love…I will!
I’ll walk down the beach in a swimsuit that stretches over my plump body and dive into the waves letting myself go, despite the pitying looks of the bikini-wearers. They’ll get old too, if they’re lucky…
It is true that through the years my heart has ached for the loss of a loved one, for the pain of a child, or for seeing a pet die. But it is suffering that gives us strength and makes us grow. An unbroken heart is sterile and will never know the happiness of being imperfect.
I am proud to have lived long enough for my hair to turn gray and to retain the smile of my youth, before the deep furrows appeared on my face.
Now, to answer the question honestly, I can say: I like being old, because old age makes me wiser, freer!
I know I’m not going to live forever, but while I’m here, I’m going to live by my own laws, those of my heart.
I’m not going to regret what wasn’t, nor worry about what will be.
The time that remains, I will simply love life as I did until today, the rest I leave to God.
opensenseme 