|eclipse. light and shadow.|
I am guest-posting today at the lovely Gypsy Moth Sol. Please join me with Katelyn to continue reading!
|eclipse. light and shadow.|
|my beautiful friend who lets me dress her up and lay her down in railroad beds.|
She canalizes through women. If they are suppressed, she struggles upward. If women are free, she is free. Fortunately, no matter how many times she is pushed down, she bounds up again. No matter how many times she is forbidden, quelled, cut back, diluted, tortured, touted as unsafe, dangerous, mad, and other derogations, she emanates upward in women, so that even the most quiet, even the most restrained woman keeps a secret place for her. Even the most repressed woman has a secret life, with secret thoughts and secret feelings which are lush and wild, that is, natural. Even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape. ~ Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves
Each woman has potential access to Rio Abajo Rio, this river beneath the river. She arrives there through deep meditation, dance, writing, painting, prayermaking, singing, drumming, active imagination, or any activity which requires an intense altered consciousness. A woman arrives in this world-between worlds through yearning and by seeking something she can see just out of the corner of her eye. She arrives there by deeply creative acts, through intentional solitude, and by practice of any of the arts. And even with these well-crafted practices, much of what occurs in this ineffable world remains forever mysterious to us, for it breaks physical laws and rational laws as we know them. ~ Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves
|artwork by Messy Canvas|
|light on my lover's skin|
All of you women with lines on your brow, with cracks between your fingers... it's been a long winter. All of you, you are beautiful and so am I.
The thing is, my children are perfect. I am the grown up, so I'm supposed to show them everything about life. When they wake up in the morning, though, I stare at them and they're new. They teach me everything. They are babies and they teach me what it means to be a person. It's easy to see that they're beautiful.
I am slow and I am tired. I am round and sagging. I am harried. I am sexless. I am getting older.
I am beautiful. How can this be? How can any of this be true?
I don't want my girls to be children who are perfect and then, when they start to feel like women, they remember how I thought of myself as ugly and so they will be ugly too. They will get older and their breasts will lose their shape and they will hate their bodies, because that's what women do. That's what mommy did. I want them to become women who remember me modeling impossible beauty. Modeling beauty in the face of a mean world, a scary world, a world where we don't know what to make of ourselves.
"Look at me, girls!" I say to them. "Look at how beautiful I am. I feel really beautiful, today."
~ From I am Beautiful, Girls by Amanda King
Until I was seven years old, I lived in a trailer park on the outskirts of a coal mining town in Pennsylvania. The children who lived down the hill from us didn't wear clothes. They wore underwear and nothing else. I used to stand on the front porch of our trailer and watch them squatting in the street, their naked torsos bent over long, naked legs, flipping over rocks and collecting worms after it rained. Those children didn't appear to have any clothes or a mother, either.
I had a mother. She was pretty and blonde and had yellow green eyes that nobody else picked up on their way out of her belly. All four of her children had eyes that were so dark that you could almost call them black, except in the sunlight they were brown. My dad had brown eyes and he passed his darkness on to us.
~ From I was Born in a Trailer Park
::I live with the roots of trees. There isn't a sky.I was nothing, once. So small, I floated here on the wind. I fell, and then I waited.There is some magic in being nothing. There is nowhere else to go. You have only the choice to be what you are, and long for something other.When you are compact within yourself, an impenetrable thing, light reaches you in feathery fragments. Some shifting of the soil might gain you a breath of clean air or a glimpse of something living, but mostly, you hold yourself against the decaying matter that holds you.I hold my bones together, to keep them from breaking. I hold my femur to my shin. My tendons and muscles would tear otherwise, under the pressure of seconds ticking by, silently. It happens that I fall apart, that some piece of me will suddenly snap and vanish, leaving a curling tendril of promise in its place. I have lived with my head in my hands, my spine rounded and shoulders slumped. Every moment of my existence is exquisite and tender, like a glistening pink mark where I've been burned.The mark is where my body will split. I don't know anything, a tiny thing in the dirt, but I will grow.
|Mary Oliver. Artist unknown.|
It seems to me…
That we search much too desperately for answers
When a good question holds as much grace as an answer.
[God], you are the Great Questioner.
Keep our questions alive
That we may always be seekers rather than settlers.
Guard us well from the air of settling in
With our answers hugged to our breasts.
Make of us a wondering, farsighted, questioning,
And give us the feet of pilgrims on this journey unfinished.
~ Macrina Wiedekehr
“I was chatting with Michael saying how it seems like there's always something around the corner, like there's always something out there, not looming anymore, not negative, just sort of there, and he said, “that is called HOPE” .... OH MY GAWD epiphany time ... so what she says above about the restless feeling, if we wipe away the negative connotations we've attached to restlessness, then it is there, gleaming as the pure embodiment of hope.” ~ SaraAnd I am okay with hope.
Whenever you leave cleared land, or a path, or a road, when you step from someplace carved out, plowed, or traced by a human and pass into the woods, you must leave something of yourself behind. It is that sudden loss, I think, even more than the difficulty of walking through undergrowth that keeps people firmly fixed to paths. In the woods, there is no right way to go, of course, no trail to follow but the law of growth. You must leave behind the notion that things are right. Just look around you. Here is the way things are. Twisted, fallen, split at the root. What grows best does so at the expense of what's beneath. ~ Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum
|#secretmessages from a dear friend.|
When the first chakra is disconnected from the feminine Earth, we can feel orphaned and motherless. The masculine principle predominates, and we look for security from material things. Individuality prevails over relationship, and selfish drives triumph over family, social and global responsibility. The more separated we become from the Earth, the more hostile we become to the feminine. We disown our passion, our creativity, and our sexuality. Eventually the Earth itself becomes a baneful place. I remember being told by a medicine woman in the Amazon, “Do you know why they are really cutting down the rain forest? Because it is wet and dark and tangled and feminine.”
... I formed a question of my own in my mind and without ceasing my direct stare I spoke to the wolf, asking my own question: “Wolf,” I said, “your people are hunted from the air and poisoned from the earth and killed on sight and you are outbred and stuffed in cages and almost wiped out. How is it that you go on living with such sorrow? How do you go on without turning around and destroying yourselves, as so many of us Anishinaabeg have done under similar circumstances?”
And the wolf answered, not in words, but with a continuation of that stare. “We live because we live.” He did not ask questions. He did not give reasons. And I understood him then. The wolves accept the life they are given. They do not look around them and wish for a different life, or shorten their lives resenting the humans, or even fear them any more than is appropriate, They are efficient. They deal with what they encounter and then go on. Minute by minute. One day to the next. ~ Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.” ~ Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum