My Blog

Forgotten Lessons/Recurring Blindspots

Sometimes we learn a thing, internalize it even, then before we’ve done it for enough time to become expert at it, life happens and we return to old habits without notice. It can be hard to notice a thing that slithers up your leg and find its way into your soul when it used to be an intimate and integral part of you. It knows where the secret entrances are to reclaim their residence within.This isn’t a revelation to most folks, who can recall the times this has been true. Periodically I go back and read my old blog posts to remind myself of those hard fought lessons. Often this proves to be a really useful action at just the right time. This happened again today.

This is from a response to a post I’d written that is only tangentially related to the discussion that occurred in the comments. As part of her reply, my friend Cyn said: “Time and time again, I am valued and loved only commensurate to how Super Woman I can be. ” Her comment prompted a dialogue about vulnerability and Shadow Work I had done surrounding it.

My reply: [My Work was] allowing myself to be seen in my vulnerability and more importantly, allowing myself to be loved in it. Sure, there are some out there who WILL reject people with exposed fragility in them. Just not everyone, nor even most. I was operating under the erroneous belief that most of the people who loved me would stop “if they knew”. And that no-one new would love me if I allowed those parts of me to be visible. I was wrong.

There were people who auto-rejected me because I showed no vulnerability at all. About the same percentage as those who may reject me for my fragile parts. The difference now is not in them. They remain the same. The difference is in me – if I am to move forward with any bit of grace and become who I wish to be fully I had to not only accept my fragile bits, but to handle them with love. This requires a level of exposure I hadn’t had since before the sexual abuse and the coping mechanisms adopted by virtue of living with an alcoholic parent.

So, that’s been my learning and my progress thus far. And yes, “Time and time again, I am valued and loved only commensurate to how Super Woman I can be, “ that was me. But I stopped. I chose to no longer gauge my lovability quotient based on other people’e expectations of who I should be. This was/is part of the same work. I have lost things because of it. And I’ve lost some people because it. Those losses hurt like hell. They do not hurt more than the manner I was hurting myself when I was living for them instead of me, though.

So while I don’t want a t-shirt screaming, “I am vulnerable! Take your best shot!” because I’m not completely unsound, I neither want one that screams “Vulnerability sucks!” If I had to have one I think it would say, “Vulnerability just is. Deal with it.”


I had forgotten my commitment to vulnerability while interacting in some spaces. I had forgotten my commitment to not act based on other folks’ expectations. I had forgotten my commitment to my lovability quotient being determined by me alone. Now that I’ve been reminded, I can see how those commitments were slipping away in my life. Until the reminder, I was ignoring the slithering, leg-climbing, blindspot from my past. Beautifully useful hindsight, I can tell you the occurrences that I believe started the slippage two years ago. I won’t use that hindsight to flog the me that lives in the now. I do hope to use it to keep this habit strong until I am expert at it so it doesn’t slip away again when I’m not being vigilant. That’s part of the point of holding a new thing until one is well practiced at it, once that is achieved, vigilance can be released to make room for other things you are tending into permanence.

To banish this most recently returned blindspot, I am renewing my commitments:

I will not act based on other folks’ expectations.
I will gauge my lovability quotient based solely on my own desires.
I will allow my vulnerability to be seen.
Ashé.

A Slow Walk to Death

I have a hospice client I’ve been visiting since March. She is on a slow walk to death. She is unhurried about the process in all ways. She is directing it. Never doubt that the one who is doing the business of dying has a say in the progress. Every person I’ve sat with has shown this to be true. Not a stop to it, mind you, but the final puff of breath doesn’t come without consent.

Each week there is a little less fat under her skin as her illnesses take from her more than she can manage to replenish. She gets chilled easily so she wears thick clothes, lap blankets, and fingerless gloves pulled halfway done her hands. I see the upper half of her fingers, and I see the bones more clearly each visit. This week her gloves were pushed back to her wrists.

It was like an anatomy lesson laid out in topographic relief across the backs of her hands. Almond and purple tissue paper skin creates the ground with raised blue roads running the length, winding around knuckle-boulders as tendons stretch taut between unnaturally long looking bones. As she drifted in and out of naps I looked at her hands, fascinated that they could be reduced to their base elements, yet still function to pick tiny bits of of fluff from her blanket, grab my hand and pull it to her lips to give a kiss, then entwine her fingers for our prayer before I leave.

The human body is an amazing thing, and it stays just as amazing during the final slide to the door that we all go through. Blessings to the hands, and all they have done, and all they continue to do, even as they waste away to resembling the model strung up on poles in physiology labs. Blessings to the hands of the dying, offering poignant visuals to become memories for those who will remain.

The Way It Should Be

Yemaya agrees with my blogger friend here and said, “repost this”. And so I am.

Caw, Motherfsckers (Estara T'shirai)'s avatarCaw, Motherfsckers

Once upon a time, yesterday in fact, there were two chiefs. The elder was a priestess of Oshun, and the younger a priestess of Yemaya. They agreed to confer, with students observing them, on a subject in which they had not reached total agreement. What matters to this story is not the matter on which they disagreed but the manner in which they did it:

Priestess Younger brought forward her well-researched explorations of original lore, along with resources to share for others who wished to follow the threads she had found. Priestess Elder brought forward regional variations she had found and the historical context borne of her lifetime of experience.

Priestess Younger said, “This is my Work, here and now. I want to pay you respect because I know that it is the Work you have already done that makes mine possible. I wish you continued success in your own…

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One True Way™ leaks in everywhere

One of the reasons many people turn to walk a different spiritual path than Christianity is because they balk at the way its tenets can be presented as the One True Way™, leaving no room for personal conversations with God about how to be of service to Them.

Unfortunately, the mindset that allows One True Way™ thinking doesn’t always get left behind with the religion. At first, and for awhile, it is pushed to the edges of the mind, but then time rolls on and the freedom to embrace Many Ways tarnishes a bit. More than one right way means that my voice cannot be always right, and in fact, sometimes my voice is wrong when applied to others. It is at this time that I turn and embrace more tightly the belief that there is more than one right way to do things, to approach things, and to hear the Gods.

It feels like bright and obvious hubris on my part to suddenly turn around and insist that all messages I receive from Them are applicable to all the humans. It’s  one reason I chose the path I am on, to allow for variance, and differing thoughts, and loving supportive discourse interspersed with spirited dissent.

One True Way™ thinking is gaining voice in Pagan places. It is disconcerting and disappointing, but overall, I guess it is to be expected. In the past number of years it has become more popular to proclaim how to be a proper polytheist, why there is or is not any hard or soft polytheism, why and how to be a heathen, why and how to be Feri, who does Reclaiming better — the stench is all around and the only thing it can accomplish is to divide and divide some more. To pretend at “my beliefs are valid for me, not necessarily for you” instead of living it and to not take to heart “We are all our own spiritual authority” is the height of self-important arrogance and one of the reasons many left their childhood religion behind. It is one of the reasons I left mine behind.

That last one, the spiritual authority belongs to you one? You either live it or you don’t. There isn’t an in-between for when I want to Be Right and then move back into it when the subject matter isn’t really important to me. In my path we all get to converse with the Gods. Their messages to us are our own. While they may be applicable across the board, usually they are applicable to a much smaller group than everyone on earth.

Gods are multi-issue beings, same as humans are. They have many thoughts and a range of issues they wish the humans would pay attention to and address. Who They tell what varies greatly, and one message isn’t more important or more correct than the others. Kudos to you (and me) for speaking with Deity, but un-kudos to you (or me) for thinking we have the one true connection. That is anti-freedom of religious process and wholly opposite the idea of folks being their own spiritual authority.

If Moses wasn’t a necessary piece for the Christian God to have his message of ten delivered to the whole world, but rather one messenger to reach a particular group of people, then I’m pretty certain none of my Gods need a Moses to speak to all humans. Be a Moses to your small group, but accept there are other Moses’ and other messages being delivered to others.

One doesn’t get to allow others their own spiritual authority only when they agree, and insist on one true way compliance when they disagree. Well, one does get to do that, free will and all, but others get to have thoughts about you and me because of it.

From Tumblr

I have to believe that you’re a monster.
There’s no other way. It’s like in the movies
how they show us why the bad guy became bad?
It’s to keep us from hating him. It’s to make us understand.
I don’t want to understand anymore because when I understand
I love you and I don’t want to love you anymore.

I wish I could see you on the street without wanting to throw up
but I can’t look at you without falling half in love with your eyelashes.
I can’t look at you without wishing you were stretching your hand back for mine.
I have to believe that you’re a monster because if I go back to thinking that you’re just lovely and damaged then I’m done for.

People will whisper about our love for years to come.
How terrifying it was to be in the same room with two people so destined to ruin each other.
How completely we ruined each other.

People will whisper about our love for years to come
and this is what they will remember.
How brave I was.
How I understood and understood until I couldn’t anymore.
How, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t anymore.

Fortesa Latifi – I don’t want to understand because when I understand, I love you (via madgirlf)

Overt or Covert – it’s all racism, and it’s in all our corners

We have a lot of covert racism where I live. Not because I live in the the worst city ever, but because racism is everywhere. We have a lot of overt racism, too – even by long time TV anchors – who exhibit blatant racist thinking and benevolent racist thinking.

The above linked news story has created a lot of conversation in social media. On FB people are coming out of the woodwork to defend or rail against the TV anchor. Many of the defenders are trying to be aware and clued in, and still end up being wrong, deluded, and/or engaging in racist thinking. This is particularly evident when they take up along geographical lines.

So many want to believe that their area of choice to live, or their birth city, or their adopted city is so much better than [where they used to live/everywhere else]. And you know what? Your favourite place isn’t spared from being racist because it exists within a country that has systemic racism. You are not spared from being racist even if you’re an aware, clued in white person. You can mitigate the effects, you can consciously choose appropriate words and actions, but we live in a racist society, built on white supremacy, and nobody gets a pass.

You see folks from the North and South making generalizations about those who live on the other side of the Mason-Dixon line. Those generalizations are mostly unfavourable to the other. We love to engage in othering people we perceive as lesser than. And we’re all a bunch of deluded liars because white privilege and racism are institutionalized. I live in the North – being on “the right side of the Civil War” was a big thing in elementary school. The North was on the winning side, not morally superior side. In the South they taught it was only about state’s rights and who doesn’t want that in a Republic? The South was on the losing side, not the indignantly altruistic side. As if one side was more or less than racist than the other. Not so, as evidenced by the prevalence of racism today. Divisive stone throwing hurts the cause of dismantling the system of racism. It is a distraction, used to either center the assumed “good alliness” of a city or region over those other people who are racist, or to derail the conversation entirely. Again racism is everywhere. You cannot escape, only mitigate.

Overt versus covert racism, which is better? The obvious answer is neither, but folks who engage in the covert variety like to think they are less racist. Overt racism such as using racial and ethnic slurs and crossing the street when you see a brown or black person walking toward you is pretty easy to spot. Covert racism, where you don’t use use the slurs because it isn’t polite and you don’t cross the street but you do pull your bag in closer (even if you realize what you’re doing and release your grip) is harder to detect, but it is still rooted in racist thinking. And it isn’t “better racism”, or “less racist”. It is not non-racist behaviour.

Covert racism holds in its grasp the polite racist, too. My dad was the ultimate polite racist, abstaining from using racist and ethnic slurs in conversation. We didn’t “use those words” because it wasn’t polite, not because they weren’t true. In private he certainly believed they were true, even without using the slurs, but he didn’t say them because manners. Manners were the most important thing. And my dad was considered a nice guy, friendly, would help you out of a jam regardless of race, but still he was a racist. Period. He just was. I fight the racist thinking I was raised with. I try to mitigate the effects of the society I live in every day. That doesn’t mean I’ve eradicated it all and can easy-breeze through all of my days. If I ever think that then I’m lying to myself. I’d like for white people to stop lying to themselves about racism.

The difference one sees from city to city and region to region is generally a difference in covert and overt racism. That isn’t to say that some places aren’t better than others. They absolutely are. But in pockets not swaths. And nowhere in this country is it free of racism. Maybe folks could keep that in mind when they get on their geographical high horses. That would be nice.

 

Sitting Vigil and Sacred Presence

I signed up for a sacred presence e-course in November of last year. It centered around sitting with the dying. There was no new information for me in it as I had hoped there might be, but really, what “new” could there be? Once you learn sacred presence it is always there for you. However, good came from taking this course. The knowledge that it is being taught, that the information is out there and available in a coherent easy to digest way is a very good thing. The number of students engaging authentically and with love in the forums was also a very good thing to witness.

Our country has a sizable older population, and the baby boomers will be dying in large groups, so to speak. It is past time to become more comfortable with death. It is past time to treat it as a natural event, a sacred event, that we all will share. Many folks want to be present for their dying loved ones, but we don’t teach them how to be. For those like me, who walk the edge and assist the dying, it becomes a comfortable place because of the pure sacredness of being present (physically and spiritually) while somebody transitions from this life.

It is an experience of honour that is ineffable. It is an act done without thoughts of “what’s in it for me?” because always always always it is about the person doing the dying, not the folks doing the living around them. Those not dying get much time to process their grief later, after the dying have completed their process. Maintaining focus on the dying is the point, sacred presence allows that. It is a gift for the dying. It turns out is is a gift for the ones who vigil, also. Sacred presence must come from within, and holding it benefits all who are present around this sacred, beautiful transition.

Hail our Beloved Dead. Hail.

Reclaiming Pittsburgh Spring Equinox Rite

Reclaiming Pittsburgh (Find us on Facebook)

Intention: Life calls, we return in joy: I am here.

Altar pictures below. In the first photo you can see our SJWW (Social Justice Warrior Witchcraft) global working for women’s access to appropriate health care that some in our community are engaged in. It is the honey jar on the left side in front of the tall white jar candle Thanks for bring that Juniper!

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Life calls. We return in Joy. I am here!