fearless ::

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

a few weeks ago i wrote about thin places and sacred spaces. i've been marking mine left and right, for these days of mine have been transparent-thin like glass. this year, so fresh and new, already feels like a wise old soul. i feel like i'm swimming in secret messages  and i love this. it scares me and it comforts.

a #secretmessage from one my soul loves.

tomorrow i round a curve in my sojourn and enter territory both familiar and unknown. i can feel my legs strengthen as i rise, fearless and expectant, and maybe a little breathless?

::

in the meantime, as i move through my day today and prepare for this unfolding in my life, i'd love to hear a story of what fearless means to you. what does it mean to be unafraid? to walk a sacred path without flinching ... or flinching, and walking anyway?

{{and a final whisper: if you think of it, i crave your thoughts or prayers. thank you. <3<3<3}}

xoxo.

portrait of a warrioress :: storyteller

by elora ramirez

i'm going to go ahead and confess something from the start: i don't consider myself to be a warrioress. 

i mean, goodness.
this year has been a roller coaster of emotions. if anything, i'm learning how to work my lungs.

i am rising, though. and i have survived.

i've mentioned before that i feel a little like i'm waking up from a foggy dream. things from my past suddenly started rearing their ugly heads and i had no other choice but to face them - to own them as trinkets waiting for me.

i'm learning i don't have to keep them. 

this summer, i started to feel the pounding of feet inside - the ones rain so often refers to in her eloquent way of encouraging us. i knew my time was coming. i could hear the distant cries of stories begging to be told and i really didn't want to go there - didn't want to wade deep into those dark memories.

but i did.

and i wrote. as i spilled the words on pages, the tears often fell. warrioresses don't cry, do they? because my keyboard felt the weight of my mourning for things lost. i'm sure i didn't look fierce - wiping my face and blowing my nose and glancing around to smile at those around me.

i really am okay, i'd think to myself as their eyebrows would sink in concern.
 but then i'd laugh because...honestly? i wasn't okay. i was finally admitting this to myself.

so i finished what i could and sent it off to friends to pray over and give me feedback.
you're so courageous! and i feel like i'm on holy ground...were a few things said to me in response. i'd just kind of stare at the computer dumbfounded. me? courageous?

they did realize i cried my way through telling this story, right?

and it took months for me to believe the fluttering of fear inside was actually a little girl gearing up for battle. her face streaked with war paint and her hair filled with feathers, she sounds the alarm and it's all i can do to hold on -

this is where i'm at now.

i do not feel like a warrioress. if it weren't for those speaking Truth into me, i wouldn't consider myself one either.

but i'm learning.

and i hit publish on words that frighten me and i know the feeling of flapping wings inside my chest is really a little girl just aching to be free.

::

 __________
Elora Ramirez is a warrioress-storyteller who lives in Austin, Texas with her chef-husband Russell. A self-proclaimed story-theorist and champion of beauty, she poses as an English teacher during the day and writes by night. You can find out more on her blog where she writes about her journey of healing and recovery and encourages others, specifically women, to find beauty in brokenness and the strength of leaning into grace.

::
<<< previous entry: prelude to a portrait
this is volume 1 in the portraits of a warrioress series. would you like to join my warrioress tribe? please sign up here!

prelude to a portrait ::

Tanya D. by Venetia Scott AnOther Magazine FW 06.

dear warrioress,

let us arise!
for we are brave,
and shall do fierce
and beautiful things.
we are luminous offerings, 

we are poet-prophets 

tattooing secret love messages 

onto every buoyant, vibrant, and dazzling limb.

we are light-chasers and dark-dwellers,

moonlight revelers and warrior-dancers.
let us awake, 

let us arise into light!
let us mark 

our holy ground

with the blood of our birth, 

and the skins of our becoming.

from lullaby for a warrioress

::

this week ... oh, this week, how do i gently lay you down, peel back translucent layers, and build elysian altars from your threads and bones? someday i will weave together your days, the "seen and unseen" of you, to quote a tender and beautiful friend who writes, 

your blog is a fire-circle 
and the drum beats are going far 
and deep. women are hearing it 
and souls are coming alive! 

src: tumblr

these words? i cling to the life in them, to their prophetic promise. for so long i've yearned for such (commune)ity, for a gathered tribe of fierce and gentle women doing brave things, who come alive, who heal and nourish and overcome and survive, who are life-artists and storytellers.

is this not a deep, primal soul-lament?  

don't we need our tangled rhythms? 

yes, a thousand times yes! we need to see and be seen with sacred eyes, to hold and be held with arms built to carry life. we need to know that when we stretch out our hand, we will feel a gentle squeeze in the dark. we need a place in the circle, a place around the fire with other strong and vibrant women, all of us rising to pound the earth while drawing warmth and light from souls pressed close. we need the comfort of together-with, even when we dance alone, even when our sojourn darkens and firelight flickers into an obsidian memory.

::

tomorrow i feature the very first in my new portrait of a warrioress series. these portraits will publish monthly ~ with perhaps a bonus feature from time to time ~ highlighting brave women who are rising and living their sacred life to the fullest. please join me? new:: to subscribe to my warrioress tribe and receive sweet rhythms for you and your sojourn, please sign up here.

src: tumblr

lullaby for a warrioress ::

a lullaby for light :: between black and white, we find gray(ce).

she::

give me your face, my love, give me your bones

i will cradle you in the womb of the earth

i will enrobe you with the darkest of gardens.

give me your skin, my love, give me every rippling cell, and i

will paint your portrait on the glistening orb of the sun

i will paint your eyes like eden in the spring.

::

the dancing of light

 we::

let us arise! for we are brave,
and shall do fierce and beautiful things.
we are luminous offerings, we are poet-prophets
tattooing secret love messages onto every buoyant, vibrant, and dazzling limb.

we are light-chasers and dark-dwellers,

moonlight revelers and warrior-dancers.  

let us awake, let us arise into light! 

let us mark our holy ground

with the blood of our birth, and the skins of our becoming.
 ::

inspired by a friend ::

fallen ::

source: tumblr. image from centurion, the movie.

i'm feeling raw. not the good, bare-your-soul, now feel free kind, but the raw that burns and chafes, the rubbing together of raging soul-skin. it's not a pretty primal. as i sit with myself tonight, my soul fumbling around like when i grope for light in the dark, i feel lost. i'm irritated in ways that could bring true hurt to myself or others. i know this isn't a helpful post but i wanted to mark this moment. i'm not proud of what i feel. my dark, the true dark that is the ugly and the shameful, is reallyreallyreally yucky. and i just wanted to say all this, well, just because. my fallen is showing.

::
how do you deal with your less-than-stellar moments? with the ugly and the raw? when grace just disappears and the normally-loving-you transforms into a raging beeyotch? when you don't like some people and want others to just go away? when you feel suffocated and stalked and stifled? when maybe you have legitimate reason to be upset, but really can't do anything about it? blech.

a lullaby for light ::

I awake shimmering today. 
I wish you could see me, I tell my friend.  
I look like Her.

The portal between this world and the other glistens with transparency. The veil between, it rises and falls with a reverent sigh, parts-like-lips for a hallowed kiss, and I melt into holy like fingertips pressed against water. The air is gentle and electric and alive.

I grope for language, tongue imprisoned by the gravity of earth. It is like ... it is like being in the presence of one passing over and you taste love on your lips, salty and wet, and you slow-motion swim your way through life and joy and sorrow. It is being sculpture-still to not break the spell, and a child waking up to a snow-draped world. It is wordless enchantment; it is angels among us. It is being suspended in grace and barely breathing.

It is the shadow of God.

warrioress. via tumblr

“Truth abides in thin places,” writes Mindie Burgoyne, “naked, raw, hard to face truth. Yet the comfort, safety and strength to face that truth also abides there.”

I shiver a little as I rise, unafraid.  
Warrioress unafraid.
Heart pounds my chest while my feet pound the earth in a sacred, rhythmic integration of flesh and spirit. It's a cracked, feeble portrait of incarnation, of clay-meets-heaven, of eternal and now. And my footpath? An ethereal artery of blood and earth where I slow-motion dance, where I ripple along the face of that whisper-thin veil.

Burgoyne continues,

All through our lives we walk through these places.  Some people notice the thinness.  Some do not.  Yet the idea of  “thin places” is not new. Memorials ~ made by humans  ~ have been marking thin places for thousands of years. Ancient people, especially in Ireland and Britain were forever marking spaces as sacred and worth remembering, as if to say, “something special happened here.” You can look for thin places, but frequently they will find you ... Once you set your spirit on finding them ... there is an intrinsic, mystical spirit woven into the fabric of nature, landscape and sky that calls out to every human heart ~ if only the heart is willing to listen.” :: Mindie Burgoyne, Walking Through Thin Places  

Sacred spaces worth remembering etched in ancient lines across palm, and did you know that remembrance is synonymous with love? Love-marked space says something special is here, something mysterious and worthy and holy. My sweet friend Shelby calls us beautiful, earth-pounding women, and so we are. Let our staccato feet and the life that is our rising mark those moments that, like veil-brushing-skin, breathe soft against our sacred selves. Let us carve memorials as Beth-El and let our primal rhythms be a lullaby for Light.

::

I awake shimmering, today. 
I look like Her; I shine-like-Moses cradling testimony on stone. I pulse to the anthem of warrioress, rising and make my own marked-memorials a curious kind of praise, a tribal offering as I melt into holy.  I am the temple and the sacrifice, and every day my altar. This is my ceremony. This is my graveyard, the graveyard of the life I lay down.

Christer Strömhol

::

How are you marking your thin places? Let me encourage you to create some kind of memorial-marker as sacred becomes you. This will help adjust your eyes to another dimension; it will remind your bones that holy breath courses through your flesh. This might be as simple as pausing to offer a silent prayer as you stand at the portal. It might be journaling your sojourn through art, words, or photos. It might be laying a stone in your garden like Jacob at Bethel. Did you know that Bethel means House of God? And we are the temple of the living God. It is easy to forget sometimes, for we live in a messy world where exist bills and stress; we're falling apart at the seams and people rub us the wrong way and trample all over our sacred. But breathe deep, brave one, and let holiness drape all over you, for you are a sacred space, marked and remembered and loved before the foundations of the world. You are a beautiful, earth-pounding warrioress.

wisdom and poetry from waystation one ::

brian miller infuses ordinary words with sacred. as a lifelong pursuer of sacredness, i've followed his work for the last several months but it was just this week, after reading the piece shown above, that i tapped his virtual shoulder and asked for an interview. i hope you enjoy our conversation and take a moment to visit his introspective, poetic blog, Waystation One.

::

me: I discovered your blog via Imperfect Prose and was immediately drawn to your beautifully simple, deeply profound reflections on life. Why do you write?

brian miller

brian: I started my blog because a friend badgered me into it...ha...and I started it to capture moments of life for my boys. I have written since a young age, usually short story. I guess I write because I do. I enjoy it. The form I write in has changed, but not the heart behind it.

me: When did you start writing?

brian: My blog is three years old. Everything prior to that is in notebooks...I guess I have been writing, though, all my life. My first piece I remember getting any attention was a controversial piece I wrote in the 4th grade. I got in a little trouble for that one. Smiles.

i, romulus by brian miller

me: Your recent poem, Inside the Lines (above), rocked me. What inspired you to write it? Has there been a measureable impact you can see from the significant feedback you've received?

brian: As far as impact, I dont know. Honestly, once I write something I release it to the winds to go where it will. I received quite a few comments on it, several side emails. It is a true story of a boy I know and our first meeting. He was a homosexual Wiccan and had been ostracized because of it and did not believe that i wanted to get to know him. we have known each other for about 3 years. The fact that I was a christian was scary to him because they were his greatest persecutors. I did not argue with him because I have been there. I stopped going to church at 16 because I did not fit and was made to feel like I did not fit. I had longer hair, I was figuring life out, and church was not a safe place to do that. It took years to get back to church. And I spent those years in some very dark places looking to fill that gap in my life.

me: I've noticed that you often take ordinary, everyday moments and transform them through your own unique lens. Where do you get your perspective? What moves you?

brian: Smiles. There is so much magic in the ordinary that we often miss. I think it comes from a realization that everything has significance. There is nothing and no one that is insignificant. No action. We are all linked together. I dont know when that shift came to looking at the details. From a writing standpoint, I wanted the reader to feel like they were in the scene and that meant capturing things that we see but not notice. Often the same happens with interactions. We see them as insignificant, but in reality, it bears significance to someone.

me: What is your favorite piece (or two) you've ever written, and why?

brian: Ugh. You realize I have, like, 1100 pieces on the blog, lol. Actually my favorite poem I ever wrote was called girl on the 7:15 train.

girl on the 7:15 train

across the body packed aisle
of the 7:15 train,
unbelievably, our eyes meet
and i read a poem,
in their endless green.

i would write it for you
but then it would be
open for interpretation,
twisting what makes them
truly spectacular, into dross.

that's what we do
with poems &
other beautiful things,
deconstruct them until
all that's left is old
shoeboxes full of
miscellaneous parts
and no way to put them
back together again.

doors swish open with a hiss
of compressed air & we
exit, going our separate ways,
me to work, you
snuggled tight to your
mother's shoulder &
i twiddle my fingers,
deciding to keep your eyes,
an unfathomable green,
only for me.

As for others, I probably change my favorite quite often. The post that got me in the most trouble was one from October of this year entitled "I wish I was a Phone Sex Operator". It actually was picked up by an adult magazine, someone at church got wind of it, and next thing I know I got a call from one of the pastors. The piece is about how we will share intimate parts of our lives with perfect strangers, sometimes over those that should know us the best. The point was, if it took me being an anonymous voice on the other line, i would go to that length to really know you.

crayon love songs by brian miller

me: You are a prolific writer. Do you ever experience writer's block or simply feel burned out? If so, how do you refire your creativity?

brian: Yes. and No. Are there days it is hard to write? Yes. I dont believe in writers block though. There are always things to write about. Writing is a discipline. You do it every day. Some days it is good, some days it is not. Some days you feel like it, some days you do not. But you do it any way. On the difficult days, I go back to basics. I put myself in the world. A coffee shop. A library. The mall. At work. At home. And just begin to capture the scene and it usually goes from there.

me: As writers, we often find inspiration and encouragement through other writers. Who are your favorite bloggers or authors to read?

brian: Good question. I do get inspiration from others. My favorite blog poet is my partner at dVerse Poets, Claudia Schoenfeld. She is amazing when it comes to evoking feeling and capturing a moment.

I could list any number of bloggers but then I would miss someone, so i will leave it at her.

Books: Stephen King. Anne Lammott, Nami Munn, Charles Bukowski, Nikki Giovanni . . . I have book shelves full of books so this could go a while as well. Smiles. Music is a great motivator too so often I write while listening to music. U2, Robbie Seay band, 30 seconds to Mars, Jay Z, Adele.

me: What is the best writing advice you've ever received?

brian: Write every day. I know I already mentioned that, but if you are a writer, write every day. It does not have to be good, but you have to write. magic does not happen if you are not putting yourself in the game. And 80-90% of what you write will not be good. But you have to go through it to get to the gems. That takes the pressure off for me.

me: Finding your voice can be the most elusive and tricky aspect of excellent writing. My voice is currently shifting and deepening as I grow older and hopefully wiser. :-) How did you find your voice, and what would you tell another writer who is struggling to find theirs?

brian: Stop trying to be someone else. I dont know if there is a secret; it has to come from the heart. Mine has changed over time as well. My prose tends to be rich in detail and always has a point ~ sometimes it is subtle, but there is a point. My poetry usually makes connections between unusual things, dances on the edge of manic and maybe a bit crazy, but then I bring it back to clarity. Hopefully. Smiles. I dont mind ruffling feathers and taking on tough topics, but I always try to let people see my heart and love for those who read, and the world.

me: If there was one piece of art or a song that expresses your soul to the world, what is it and why?

brian: Probably Better Days by Robbie Seay band. It is such a chill song, I love to sit in the car and listen to it as i drive. Life is full of challenges, but better days are ahead. This translates deeply into my life as it has its high highs and really low lows . . .

Or a U2 song, I could pick any number of them.

me: How much of your life influences your poetry? Do you have a muse? If so, who is it and why?

brian: My life is poetry. 80-90% of what i write, be it poetry or prose comes from my life. It is how I process life, by writing it. My beliefs are riddled all through everything I write. I write to engage people. I dont want you to get to the end and say oh that was a great piece and forget it 5 minutes later. I want you to feel it or get mad or get so sick you want to do something about it.

one, with summer by brian miller

As far as a muse, I would say my boys. They remind me to look at life with fresh eyes. And I would say that I want them to think deeper than just what they see or what others tell them to think.

me: I am embarking on the New Year armed with the word Unafraid and the mantra Do Brave Things. What does Do Brave Things mean to you? Is there a time when you've had to push past fear of any kind and be brave?

brian: That is a good mantra. I think it will be important to you to define what that means ~ and what you are willing to give up ~ because to really pursue it, you will have to sacrifice some things. People may not understand why you do things, if you truly live that out. Life and love is risk, if you are really living it.

I dunno as far as a specific. I quit a six-figure job once to follow a call into ministry. Five years later I lost the opportunity. So was I foolish to do it? And now struggle to make ends meet at times? No, I never would have touched the lives that I did if I did not. These are uncommon things. I think it is brave to talk to strangers at times and I try to do that daily; but now its a habit, so there's not nearly as much bravery needed. I think I would focus on the every day bravery over the big events. It's more real.

me: What have you written that most clearly communicates who you are? Is there a story behind it?

brian: You know, I will go back to the post you pointed out in the beginning about the boy. I love people. I put myself in a position to be among the people no one else wants to be with or talk to. I have friends from various races, beliefs, socio economic positions. I love people . . . that's just who I am.

me: I recently read this article: The Top 5 Regrets of the Dying. Which one resonates with you the most, and why? What is your purpose in life, your reason for living? And what message do you want the world to grasp through your work?

brian: Probably 4 or 5. Coming home after stepping out of ministry was really hard on me. I had given up much to pursue it, and I really struggled with God over why this would happen. There are moments I still struggle with it, because I thought it was the direction my life was heading.

he's thirteen and... by brian miller

I will say that, coming out of ministry, I've been given the opportunity to go places I never would have gone if I were still in. The counseling I do now has me in neighborhoods I wouldn't have gone to otherwise, to be in homes I never would have gotten into. Everything happens for a reason. We don't always understand it, but its true.

Working in the tough positions wears on you at times, and it eats at my happiness at times, so I have to check myself.

::

me: thank you, brian, for letting me dig a little deep!

___

warrioress rising ::

“Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.” ― Rumi

You were wild once. Don't let them tame you.

isadora duncan

So writes Isadora Duncan, and with these words a dear and beautiful friend spills light over that primordial ache which is, perhaps, the deepest hunger of all humanity, second only to love:

the desire to be free.

We were created to be so. And since creation, either we fought for our freedom or we didn't, maybe because we didn't know we could, or maybe, because:

we didn't know we weren't free. 

::

Choosing to be unafraid does not mean I will never feel fear. It means running headlong into it with smoldering eyes and a deep, shaky breath. It means I am unwilling to hold back because of fear, but plunging into life in spite of it. In her article Intuition is What? Karla McLaren writes,

Healthy and free-flowing fear is nothing more or less than your instincts and your intuition. When you need it to, your fear focuses you and all of your senses, it scans your environment and your stored memories, and it increases your ability to respond effectively to new or changing situations. When your fear flows nicely, you’ll feel focused, centered, capable, and agile. Thank your fear.

Your free-flowing fear brings you instincts, intuition, and focus. If you can rely upon this form of fear when you’re confused or upset, you can access the information you need to calmly figure out what’s going on; you don’t need to feel afraid to access the gifts your fear brings you. This is one of the specific things I’ve brought to the understanding of emotions, which is that each emotion comes to us in a form we haven’t learned yet to identify, because it doesn’t feel like the mood state of the emotion.

For me, being unafraid means making peace with fear, letting go of what I don't need anymore, while learning from and listening to those who hang on. Like all of our emotions, fear is a reflection or a teacher, depending on the day.

::

Back in December I wrote about fear, the fear that raised me. Fear of God and man, fear of self, fear of the future. And I wrote:

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

artist unknown.

And now, as I fill out the shape of my soul and move my flesh to an ancient cry, I welcome the rage that floods:

the rage of I will not be tamed!

the rage of I will come to life!

the rage of I will be free!

the rage of I will rise!

And I will rise; I am rising, surrounded by a tribe of warrioresses rising in (commune)ion. Within my (commune)ity of brave and beautiful souls, I nourish the blossoming warrior woman who was once a child, who is tender :: fierce and staunchly unafraid; a surprising warrioress full of, as shawnacy marie kiker says, her life voice, her own strange and woven music. 

:: 

I raise my foot to pound the earth, beating the earth to all the rhythms of living. I feel the warmth of it, the raw edges of eternity scraping against my bones. My skin shimmers with sacred light, for I look like She, the one who is ancient and alive; I am made like Her the Holy. I reflect Her face. She fills my lungs with holy breath and says: Arise, my love, awake.

 Arise, my love.

::

I am creating a tribe of warrioresses for strength and (commune)ity as we sojourn this sacred life. Please stay tuned.

::

the image of the little warrioress moves me so much. 

i cannot find the creator of it. 

dream list ::

my dream list.

i kind of gave up new year's resolutions awhile back. more guilt and shame and “shoulds” in my life? no, thank you! but i love to dream, and here are some of my dreams for this year. i love that dreams are like seeds; when we sow them in fertile soil and nourish them tenderly, they blossom forth and bear fruit.

and sometimes we must wrestle them down, stare them in the eyes, inhale their very essence. we must bring them to life. my friend mandy writes:

“let them free. let them live unmolested by the rules, the religious duty, the expectations.”

~ mandy steward, tomorrow's dreams today

i'd love to hear your dreams for the year! maybe we can help each other stay encouraged and strong. what are you doing to make your dreams come true?

one word 365 :: unafraid

she set her face like flint,

she will not be disgraced.

she will not be ashamed.

she dared to want something.

it's written on a little yellow sticky note beside me, a shot of brave in the dark.

and all darkness is a womb if we allow it to be.  my word last year, sacred, made me realize this: that all life begins in the dark. a tree grows down into the earth before shooting towards the sun. the sun slips out of her night-robe and rises to illuminate the day. a child is conceived and carried in the cradle of womb; and it is through darkness that we more deeply know God. we are the dark holy place and abba::amma is our light.

i read a quote recently that sticks with me:

fear makes the wolf look bigger. (author unknown) 

as this new year comes to life and my sojourn brings me to new and unknown places, i find that more than ever i must face the wolves  . . . the ones in me, and those outside. it's scary. but i find courage in ancient, timeless words spoken deep into dark, even the dark of death:

little girl, i say to you, arise.

arise, and awake into light.

::

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?

i plan to become unafraid.