With the Makers

I’m all done with notional condemnation,
nonsense posing salvation
suggesting pre-birth agendas and all the control
a robot might covet.

Take me to the truth, down to the bone of it.
Marry me to the wonder found in the midst of
all this chaos and randomness daring us all
to make meaning.

I see their meaning made in fear.
The meaning they make
spews the poison in their hearts,
the snare in their aid.

Take me far away from the righteous.
I want to live with the undone and undoing.
I want to dance with the makers and shake
every foundation lost to the mold of stagnation.

Deliver me to love, love in spite of it all,
love because of it all,
love morphing, rolling up sleeves
and shaping this mound of flesh into new and ancient songs.

j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2015
j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2015

International Women’s Day

Other than the ones I’ve deemed worthy, like birthdays and well, birthdays, (and when I was married, anniversaries) and the obligatory holidays, I don’t do pre-canned days, prescribed events, pre-planned observances, annual lah-tee-dahs…

Oh wait. But I do. I’m in this world and I provide social media support and that includes strategy and that involves well, today. And, it’s true, I do respect that these marked days draw our attention to what we might have otherwise taken for granted. But, for whatever reason, it’s not my natural inclination. My natural inclination is to go “Right, I need the world to set a date to remind me of what I value as if I wouldn’t otherwise? And I wouldn’t do anything about this otherwise, right? And, naturally, there’s something I should purchase today to show my dedication, sincerity, etc., right?” Yes. I can be that cynical and snotty.

But I do have nobler parts. And they’re in the game today and seeing it as something other than a GAME.

Here’s a lovely quote from Liza Donnelly I appreciate: “When you become a woman, there is no manual,  you have to figure out how to “do” being a women by doing it. You watch other women, read magazines, listen to your mother, sister, grandmother. You practice being a woman and adjust how you do it by the reactions you get. For example, wearing a really short skirt gets one kind of reaction from men, another reaction from women. By performing your gender, you learn how to “do” it from how others respond to you.

If there is one thing women have in common around the world, other than anatomy,  it is that we have to be constantly aware. Women need to be alert to their surroundings not only to avoid possible physical harm to their bodies, they have to be aware of whether or not they are performing their role as women correctly.  Because in many societies, if they do not perform their roles correctly, they can be ostracized, or much worse.  In many parts of the world, women are in constant danger because of their membership in this group.  In too many parts of the world, women are not free.”

She has a knack for drawing, to put it mildly: 

And then there’s a man I find perpetually addressing the heart of the matter, Jeff Brown: “Dear Divine Feminine, Me and my brothers are readying for our movement into the heart as a way of being. It’s a slow-winged process, but we are dropping down a little more with every lesson. Bless us with your ongoing support as we figure out how to feel our way home. We have some experience with the relational path, but not as much as you do. We have often moved with a heartfelt intention, but swimming in deep feeling is another experience entirely. We have been so vigilant for so long that it’s a challenge to relate to the moment vulnerably. We intuit that the life of the heart is the path home, but we need some time to embrace it, to integrate it, to understand how to move the way that loves makes you move. We have the willingness- we just have to learn how to convert our armoured nature into receptivity. We have for too long associated surrender with weakness. But it is not. It is the depths of courage- you have taught us that. Please be patient as we stumble back to our old patterns. We will not disappoint you, once we understand this new way. We will meet you there. At the gate to our shared heart.”

And it’s heart that keeps us busy with the work of respecting that somewhere in the layers of these nationally and internationally recognized days is a sincere opportunity to add a little extra love-in-action to what must be a perpetual mastery of the practice of love itself. That’s really what it’s all about. As idealistic and pollyanna la la la as it sounds, it’s a gritty, fierce, real, sometimes in-your-face, other times sweet sweat of work…love.

The Divine Feminine . . .

“It is time for the divine feminine, courageous and open and honest and clear, to be handed the walking stick, the talking stick, and political power in most every jurisdiction the world over. The shift from survivalism to authenticity cannot be led by men. We don’t get it (yet). Only women understand the path of the heart deeply and can rule with their hearts on their sleeves. Casting my vote for the Divine Feminine. Show us the way.” Jeff Brown

Found via Jeff Brown’s Facebook status spill . . . http://on.fb.me/GGs9pa and in light of yesterday’s inspiration (see previous post!) this was the inevitable next post.

 

Church of The Flesh

“The cultural power of the body is its beauty, but power in the body is rare, for most have chased it away with their torture of or embarrassment by the flesh. It is in this light that the wildish woman can inquire into the numinosity of her own body and understand it is not as a dumbbell that we are sentenced to carry for life, not as a beast of burden, pampered or otherwise, who carries us around for life, but a series of doors and dreams and poems through which we can learn and know all manner of things. In the wild psyche, body is understood as a being in its own right, one who lovs us, depends on us, one to whom we are sometimes mother, and who sometimes is mother to us.” Clarissa Pinkola-Estes, Women Who Run With The Wolves…

I need these words as I traverse a path here that unfolds historical self and transforming person along a story of acceptance and change. When my body was perfect in the strictest sense of aesthetic flawlessness I was horrifcally harsh at the slightest hint or ripple of imperfection. One dimple on my backside and I was undone for weeks, working out like a maniac, starving myself. One. Only one.

wild psyche

I got married, had children and kept that inner demon on a long chain, that shredding perfectionist sadist rearing her ugly head when life gave me two seconds to breathe. Self-acceptance was an occasional seasonal jaunt down luscious lane. But the time of facing what and who I am after many years of parenting, chronic illness and so much else reveals a deep need to embrace that deeper truth of inherent power in the body. Funny…I get there when I just give myself with joy to life and to being. But I struggle still with this particular monster. I’m fine until I have to reveal my arms or. Oiy. Practice of self-acceptance requires embracing moments of exposure and risk. Who would think a sundress could put a woman in a tailspin? I want to announce first, “Um, sorry for the flaws it’s not that I’m lazy. I have had a few challenges and you wouldn’t believe how often I lift those weights that sit in my living room waiting for my perfection and my sons who weigh a ton and.” Forget sunbathing…

But not…

So, come on life, take me to that naked place in the sun baking mind/body/soul into a new perfection fearless, a worship of what is and what can be, of all that created the body of being and the being of body. How much mechanical duty piecemeals the parts meant to flow, glow and sigh in a restful acceptance of this am… melt the mountain of resistance and leave me to sparkle in the sand.

a view to perfection