she ::

many thanks to a friend who created this while her son rested in womb. this, the divine she.

i'm listening to ray lamontagne. i told my friend that his songs are like lullabies for grownups, and right now i rock gently in a hammock, wrapped in a golden negligee of languid sun. i'm cocooned in sacred, like a babe in womb :: a holy womb, one we are trained to pretend does not exist.

i've heard mothers say that the first time they see their baby's face is their holiest moment.

but we, those of us raised within patriarchal religion, are denied the comfort of our own beginning, like a babe snatched away at birth and our mother, exiled.

::

i threw my arms around Her legs

came to weeping, came to weeping

~ only if for a night

::

abba::amma

my sojourn curves into her arms, the sacred God-mother. if you asked a year ago i would have gasped at myself in dismay, but i need only to look in a mirror; i am made in her image, yes? and i am hungry and desperate and lonely for her, the ancient She. at first i was afraid. the old voices of fear, they are loud and strong. they demand that everything be laid out flat in black and white, then they trample the pearls before tearing me to pieces.

but i('m) grow(ing) strong.

i am made like her.

for so long i viewed a one-sided picture, and even that was skewed and punctured through like photographs on a cork-board. but i want the whole image, which means i need to study the unknown for a while, behold Her face like a newborn blinking at her mother for the very first time. i need to let Her hold me, nourish me, cradle me. i need to see Her and hear Her voice. i need Her to tell me about herself and Him, and myself and the earth and all the other souls. i want to see through Her eyes; i want to know and be known.

she was there all along, even in the scriptures i read again and again.
she stood before me, face to face.
i have opened my eyes, now. and even though the mirror is dim, i can see her, see the outline of her. but mostly i feel pressed close, clutched close in comfort, and cradled.

::

you know when you gather your child close and bury your face in her hair?

you breathe her in deep; you kiss her forehead and fingers and toes and pour all your love into every glistening fiber of her being, knowing that you would do anything for her, you would die for this darling beautiful creature you made?

and her whole being lights up at the sight of you, and only you can still her cries, soothe her spirit, calm her fears? only you can kiss her knees and make the pain go away?

and she calls to you first in the night, and whispers stories and dreams and cuddles herself right on up to your heart?

yeah, i think it's like that.

::
this is part of my journey that perhaps not many will understand. i don't wish to defend anything or to convince anyone to see things as i do. please, each one, seek the creator and follow the path you are given. this is very personal for me, and i write these things out as part of my journal and sojourn. please be respectful. regardless, love is what matters.

fractal ::

you know what you remind me of? she asks while the sun shines bright and we dance to secret ceremonials of our own, soaking up every sweet, evanescent moment. hands float on hidden currents and light glints off our skin; another friend calls it together-with, and our together-with hovers all shimmery on the brink of the otherworld.  

you are like a fractal, she says, layer upon layer swirling deeper and deeper, your spirit like the dance of the oracle.

words are my love language and how does she know? it is the week of christmas, and the whole weary world of me lights up, rejoicing.

there is nothing more beautiful than (commune)ity, to be fully seen, all stripped and bare and safe in that seen-ness. as years go by i cherish them more and more, those sacred few who embrace me soul to soul ~ for in this tender (commune)ion we find home.

do you need someone to see you? to cocoon you in safe-ness as you bravely strip down bare? i'm reminded of one of my favorite poems by hafiz:

Admit something: Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops. 

Still though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect. 

Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that sweet moon language, 

What every other eye in this world is dying to hear? 

::
i am a fractal.

::

and so are you. 

you do know that, don't you?
we creep along the glistening horizon of all things made new and maybe you only need someone to breathe these words in your own secret language, to send them soul to soul on a silver whispering thread. you are a fractal, shimmering, organic, and alive. you, the very essence of you, are eternal. there are shadows of you and sparkles of you; both are sacred, both are loved.

that's what this means, you know? in your sweet vulnerability, as you bravely grip the earth and grow, undaunted, into light, as you choose and abide and rebel and embrace every moment as it comes, the main thing? yes, the very most important thing to remember is this:

you are loved.

she is life. i am rain. we share (commune)ion.

warrior (soul)stice ::

from tumblr. artist unknown

light is laconic, now, and dark is long, and all darkness is a womb if we allow it to be, that dark and secret place where sacred becomes you.

i love this child because she is how i want to be. tender :: fierce. staunchly unafraid. a surprising warrioress full of, as shawnacy marie kiker says, her life voice, her own strange and woven music:

when

the fear-voice grows small

like an echo

or a photograph from atop a distant hill

50 years ago,

and when

the joy, and the life voice grow strong

and near

and full of strange woven music-

turbulent and prophetic . . .

::

(shawnacy marie kiker) 

::

::
she has sown me in the earth.
::
i am sown.
rooted.
i gather strength from my (commune)ity and like a warrioress, i rise: unafraid, and strong, and tall, and made to be seen.

i will press through the unseen and silent portal until, until

i fall before grace.

___
what is your word for 2012? what does it mean to you? how do you envision yourself and what you hope to achieve?

the god who died ::

artist unknown. from pinterest.

amazing how choosing to be unafraid throws wide every door and window to my soul and shrieks a warm welcome to the fear and insecurities crowding outside. like a startled hostess, i stand wide-eyed as they charge right in, trampling sacred altars, crashing through artful hedges, stomping across gently cultivated hope.

i chose the word sacred early this year and it wove itself deep, pouring in like holy rain. our words become us. i see that, feel that oh-so-clearly. but is it too late to un-choose unafraid? i am afraid to be unafraid. my fingers clutch roots and grip tight. i tell myself that the new year is still two weeks away and i can find something else, a word less bold. i'm not ready for bold. not ready for the journey, because somehow i know that to become unafraid, my sojourn must take me straight to the dark.

i've battled the dark before.

this week i read an article that made me want to leap to my feet, pound the earth, and raise my voice in a victory cry of relief. Stacey Robbins writes,

... I started to meltdown. And I started to get sick. Which only made some of my Christian friends say, "Oh! See! It's because she's gone away from the Lord..." And they squealed with inner delight that God was 'getting me.'

Because their God 'gets' people.

Like my old god used to.

My more mature Christian friends would tell me they were 'sad' and 'praying for me.'

And I welcomed the prayers because my God knew how to turn their prayers for my good. Despite their judgments.

And then there were other friends from church -- they'd come to me, and ask me real questions like "How are you doing?" and "Tell me what really happened in New York."

And i told them about a god that had died and a God who was revealed. I told them about the journey of rest and trust and love. And how I went through what felt like hell, to end up questioning heaven

and hell.

i don't want to minimize the pain and difficulty that other dear friends of mine have. i am blessed, i am graced. my life is easy, comparatively. i am warm and loved. i am, in many ways, right where i want to be. but i feel like i have a huge coming-out to do. that's the only way i know to describe it. coming from a fundamentalist upbringing and writing about it has made me tired. i think that's the biggest thing. i don't know that i'm afraid so much as just.f'n.tired.

for now i edge my feet forward, unpeeling the layers of fear and holding out tentative hands. grace always embraces and i stand before the God who lives, the God who is just as much of a She as a He, and i see myself with new eyes. sacred eyes. i gaze at both of us, expectant.

maybe even typing this out tonight is me doing brave things, the practice of being unafraid. the older i get the shorter life gets, and the sweeter and more desperately precious. i'm inspired by my (commune)ity and i feel like i need to plunge into the dark (or even the possibility of dark) so that something new will grow.

all darkness is a womb if we allow it to be.

a new way ::

i've invited my dear friend bethany to share a little about her new dream and venture. if you haven't visited coffee stained clarity before now, please take a moment to slip over to her site for reads that will make you laugh and / or think deep. if you are a writer, you will especially appreciate this humorous look at life and finding your muse.

by bethany bassett

It’s twenty to midnight, and my footsteps are splashing far too loudly on the asphalt. An urban legend I once heard about attackers hiding under cars with razor blades sweeps over me as it does every night when I’m the one locking up the offices. It won’t help to worry, but I grip my car key with bone-white knuckles and don’t breathe again until I’m on the road, headlights washing over empty parking lots and prostitutes with umbrellas. Their eyes haunt me all the way home, my prayers grounded with exhaustion. I pull myself upstairs, peek in on my sleeping daughters, and set an alarm to startle my next workday into motion six hours later. 

This is not the way.

primal ::

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope  . . .

 

my window.

i'm listening to ceremonials by florence in the machine. for the 147th time.
i listen as my voice changes and i face the fear that what if my new voice doesn't sound pretty? what if it's gravelly and growly? what if it's too strong and harsh before it mellows like fine wine?

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day . . .

 :: do brave things ::

my voice deepens and my hips, they carve out space beside me.
i raise my foot to pound the earth.

The grass was so green against my new clothes,
And I did cartwheels in your honour.
Dancing on tiptoes,
My own secret ceremonials,
Before the service began.
In the graveyard, doing handstands.
 
And the only solution was to stand and fight,
And my body was loose and I was set alight
But she came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light

Only if for a night

i curve into my new path, where the ground is holy and i am oh-so-alive;
my steps, a war-dance of their own.
and i cradle these primal soul-lungs
with the same wonder and enchantment as if they were newly-born
(because they are)
and i do my own secret ceremonials
ceremonials and handstands in the graveyard of the life i lay down.

I threw my arms around Her legs,
(Came to weeping, came to weeping) . . .

__
:: all lyrics in bold by florence and the machine.

i love you ::

waiting to be filled

i love you.
i do. i have some amazing readers who have become friends; i look forward to your messages and comments, your encouragement and support, and seeing how your journeys unfold throughout our spaces. i am honored to share this space with you as we develop commune-ity.

as this year draws to a close and i feel a new me emerging ~ a raging warrioress me, desperate to do brave and beautiful and true things ~ i can't promise that things will be predictable around here ~ or even pretty. sometimes i'm tempted to go private (and i give myself the grace to know that if i have to, i will) but regardless, i'm so thankful for all of you who have taken time to leave little love notes and to listen to me, and to open your hearts in response and be vulnerable and sit with me in the dark.

what better time than the christmas season to show my gratefulness to you? 

please leave a comment sharing 1) your favorite post here on the sacred life, and what it means to you; and / or 2) tell me about a time you underwent a serious, personal change, and what were the risks? was it worth it? what advice would you give to others who are experiencing metamorphosis of spirit / soul / flesh? every comment counts as an entry. sometime this friday evening, dec. 9, i will choose two commenters through a random number generator to win a special, personalized gift package (you must be willing to give me your address!). in the event that the number generator picks the same commenter twice, i will choose a different person (one gift per person). i look forward to reading your thoughts! <3

12.9.11
updated: so happy that random.org selected 1 & 8 to receive a special christmas thank-you gift!  thank you ALL for your sweet comments and love! i'd love to send you a little love note to share my appreciation. please email me your mailing address! have an amazing weekend! xoxo

flowers in december ::

flowers in december

i grew up on fear.

fear of God and man,

fear of self

fear of the future.

it was the kind of fear that picks apart everything sacred and beautiful until nothing holy remains.

it wasn't always a scary fear (except when it came to hell) but the kind that doubts and over-analyzes and stands frozen with futility, the kind that never accomplishes anything and that trusts no one, least of all, self. i inhaled this fear till i choked, till it sprouted within me and coiled roots so deep around soul and bone that every thought and prayer and dream was shrouded with heavy, bitter poison.

it's impossible to realize the true depths of a fear-based life until we begin an arduous excavation of it. this process can, almost literally, kill you. i flung myself on this road a few years ago, launching a spiritual, emotional, and psychological journey that culminated in deep healing. i threw out much man-made doctrine and embarked on an intense quest to discover what i believed to be true ~ and that's when i came alive: when i left the world of black and white and plunged into color. i came to know grace and what love feels like. i experienced a kind of metamorphosis; now, i'm filling out the shape of my soul, and in a way, i've come home.

this is where i grow fierce.

my becoming has birthed in me an unexpected rage ~ or more accurately, a whole series of rages:
the rage of enough!
the rage of i'm done!
the rage of don't manipulate me!
the rage of i don't care what you think!

and this is the catalyst behind my word choice for the coming new year. unafraid. although, it's less about fear and more about being brave, about rallying my heart and spirit to face life, have courage, and harness those rages as creative and spiritual energy to keep me alive.

yet while it may seem a paradox, i want to rage with the spirit that makes wrong things right. with grace. with truth, even if it is truth i'm still discovering.

i want to do brave things.

actually, i have a whole art series planned on brave things. i want to find the rest of my voice and to love it, to strengthen it, to honor all i've been given.

a dear friend sent me an article this week that falls beautifully in line with my heart. it is titled "The Top 5 Regrets of the Dying". i want to listen to these people. i want my rage to push me past worrying about what others think, past wondering if i am gracious enough, and even past the overwhelm which leaves me frozen in my tracks because i can't do everything that needs to be done. i want my rage to propel me to a strong, healthy, appropriate no. i want to keep healing and growing and maturing like an ancient tree.

i want to rise up a warrioress.

::
please bear with me as i move forward. sometimes it can be awkward when you grow and your voice changes. thank you, friends.

december one :: unafraid

december wakes, whispers soft through the tendrils of morning. a pristine canvas, she spreads her soul before me, waiting to be splashed with all the colors of living. there is something sacred about this quiet close of the year, something holy and contemplative and portal-thin, like twilight.

i loved this album as a child.

i slipped into the world beneath a full december moon.

it was the end of the seventies, but i made it, gasping and squalling. i love that my roots are locked into that bohemian decade; to be sure, i turned up my nose at hippie braids and bell-bottom jeans, but i love them now.

it kind of makes me giggle that i love them.




december is grace for me; her days offer the reflectiveness i always crave. i soul-sift,  spreading all i've got around me, steeling myself for another year, and the urgency to do brave things pulses before me.

brave?

shawnacy marie kiker wrote a battle cry that grips me; i return again and again to these fearless lines:

i want to be fearless.
i want to be brave.
i want to become wholly entangled with life, to stare her in the face and grab her by her shoulders and say “you, life! yes, you.” i will breathe deep and fierce and plunge myself in, and with smoldering eyes declare “life, i WILL love you.”

i will squeeze every last dangerous drop from her heart and let her intoxicate me.

mary oliver writes, 

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

yes, life taunts.
dares?
pleads?
what do you plan to do?

i plan to become unafraid.

:: All the fear has left me now

I’m not frightened anymore

It’s my heart that pounds beneath my flesh

It’s my mouth that pushes out this breath

And if I shed a tear I won’t cage it

I won’t fear love

And if I feel a rage I won’t deny it

I won’t fear love . . .

(fumbling toward ecstasy by sarah mclachlan) ::

::

do you have your word for the new year? something you'd like to achieve? what reflections are in your heart as we close this year and prepare for 2012?