My oldest daughter suggested I write of my life, my pain, my anger. Someday I am sure I will if for only myself and the women who will follow me in this particular flow from the river.
The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh speaks of being mindful of anger. He teaches that we can show attention and even affection toward our anger and that such added focus can lessen our own suffering. There is a reconnecting that I continue to work on in my own life. I am reconnecting to my body and to my life past the traumas that have separated me from my own heart and best self-interest.
Thick Nhat Hanh's teaching in his book "Anger" uses the illustration of anger being like potatoes placed in a covered pot of water over a flame to make them edible. This illustration teaches that the warmth of mindfulness prepares our own anger for ourselves.
No one can eat a raw potato.
Years ago I was in psychotherapy. There was a great deal of frustration and anger that dwelled inside of me at all times much like a huge knot of my own internal organs threatening to choke out my very life.
Perhaps my doctor and I were a bad match or perhaps I simply had to find my way in a circuitous route. Whichever the case, the only thing I understood from my psychotherapist was that my life was a rotten tomato and that I had to slice that rotten tomato up and make of it a sandwich for some kind of final supper.
Perhaps my daughter is right; perhaps there is a book in this path I have taken, particularly of these most recent years. If nothing else, I have decided, I will have the pleasure of the recapitulation this writing promises to be and through that I may likely find even greater healing. Time will tell, time and these words that I place in this healing blog.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Reverend Mother
I love her so much! And, I miss her. But, I know I will see her again because life is in many ways a circle.
She calls me Reverend Mother. She came to me during a time of great loss and great pain about seven years ago. I will call her Mara.
Barely five feet tall, Mara had just gone through the kind of betrayal that threatens to pull us under and never let us rise again. Both her employer and her lover had turned on her.
Mara was not openly gay at that time but had lived as a bisexual in her previous life in another city and state. A woman of many natural and spiritual gifts, great depth and love, she had come to her new job to serve others from the heart. She had placed her new boss on a pedestal and was, perhaps, a little bit in love with her. (You know the kind of idolization that comes naturally when we think someone is the cat’s pajamas?)
Mara worked long hours, was always cheerful, and made many sacrifices to do the best job she knew how. When others tried to disuade her from being so selfless, she heard and answered the high call of self-less-ness.We worked for the same company. It took her new boss less than two years to betray her. And, in fact, Mara was suffering betrayal in her department at the very same time that two women decided that I needed to be cleared out of my own department. We were on parallel tracks of betrayal and trauma.
But, we did not come together at that time. We knew each other but we did not spend quality time together until a year or so after our traumas.
The first time she came over to my house, I served her herbal tea and I gave her a hand massage with warm oil. We made our confessions and shared the absolution that is available to us all by God's grace. That was the first time she called me Reverend Mother. The name stuck.
Mara described my spirit as that of a healer, a wounded healer and that of a Reverend Mother. She said this meant that I knew how to preserve what I was given. I was able to defend myself and others and knew how to fight for those that were entrusted to me.
At first, I pushed this appellation away. But then as the circle of women that I began to be a part of grew and our different roles emerged, Reverend Mother began to make sense to me. Reverend Mother. Tend to, care for, look after, protect with reverence. That is how I understand this title.
Mara and I came together at various times since our first meeting. I have had her alone for tearful sessions in my meditation room where we prayed and I practiced Reiki on her. Sometimes we simply sat in silence. She said my house (and certainly my meditation room) and my garden were healing places.
She with her (then) new partner came over for cook-outs and holiday gatherings in the ensuing years. She danced at our youngest daughter’s wedding. Mara regained her health and her sense of worth. She is a vibrant woman. Mara continues to call me Reverend Mother.
Mara now lives in a distant city in an eastern state of the United States. She continues to wrestle with her imperfections as we all do (if we are lucky enough to not be paralyzed by them). She had returned to school and is now working as a counselor who empowers other women who have suffered various forms of trauma. She *is* a wounded healer. This I know from my own experience. Because, as much as I may have helped her, she brought forward in me a mothering agency in which I have developed a strong confidence. Mara, I bless you and Godde blesses you...And, I thank you.
She calls me Reverend Mother. She came to me during a time of great loss and great pain about seven years ago. I will call her Mara.
Barely five feet tall, Mara had just gone through the kind of betrayal that threatens to pull us under and never let us rise again. Both her employer and her lover had turned on her.
Mara was not openly gay at that time but had lived as a bisexual in her previous life in another city and state. A woman of many natural and spiritual gifts, great depth and love, she had come to her new job to serve others from the heart. She had placed her new boss on a pedestal and was, perhaps, a little bit in love with her. (You know the kind of idolization that comes naturally when we think someone is the cat’s pajamas?)
Mara worked long hours, was always cheerful, and made many sacrifices to do the best job she knew how. When others tried to disuade her from being so selfless, she heard and answered the high call of self-less-ness.We worked for the same company. It took her new boss less than two years to betray her. And, in fact, Mara was suffering betrayal in her department at the very same time that two women decided that I needed to be cleared out of my own department. We were on parallel tracks of betrayal and trauma.
But, we did not come together at that time. We knew each other but we did not spend quality time together until a year or so after our traumas.
The first time she came over to my house, I served her herbal tea and I gave her a hand massage with warm oil. We made our confessions and shared the absolution that is available to us all by God's grace. That was the first time she called me Reverend Mother. The name stuck.
Mara described my spirit as that of a healer, a wounded healer and that of a Reverend Mother. She said this meant that I knew how to preserve what I was given. I was able to defend myself and others and knew how to fight for those that were entrusted to me.
At first, I pushed this appellation away. But then as the circle of women that I began to be a part of grew and our different roles emerged, Reverend Mother began to make sense to me. Reverend Mother. Tend to, care for, look after, protect with reverence. That is how I understand this title.
Mara and I came together at various times since our first meeting. I have had her alone for tearful sessions in my meditation room where we prayed and I practiced Reiki on her. Sometimes we simply sat in silence. She said my house (and certainly my meditation room) and my garden were healing places.
She with her (then) new partner came over for cook-outs and holiday gatherings in the ensuing years. She danced at our youngest daughter’s wedding. Mara regained her health and her sense of worth. She is a vibrant woman. Mara continues to call me Reverend Mother.
Mara now lives in a distant city in an eastern state of the United States. She continues to wrestle with her imperfections as we all do (if we are lucky enough to not be paralyzed by them). She had returned to school and is now working as a counselor who empowers other women who have suffered various forms of trauma. She *is* a wounded healer. This I know from my own experience. Because, as much as I may have helped her, she brought forward in me a mothering agency in which I have developed a strong confidence. Mara, I bless you and Godde blesses you...And, I thank you.
CARE FOR SELF – TOUCH TIME
In talking to women I often hear that taking care of ones self is something that we do for our bodies; self-care happens on the outside. We exercise, treat ourselves to a book, a day at the spa, or even a favorite restaurant or wine–all are good things but none satisfy the soul’s thirst for touch.
We hunger for the oil of genuine praise and the encouragement towards holiness/wholeness. Woman holiness/wholeness is neither a formula for austerity nor an outward adornment. Women want to be touched. Our bodies crave healing and nurturing touch.
Our holiness/wholeness is in our feet as we place them upon the earth. We are made holy whole when we lay down our lives and when we take up our lives. We are holy whole because God/Godde is holy and whole. For no other reason are we holy and whole. That is all. Because God/Godde is, we are.
We are created in the the image of Godde/God.True self-care is to explore the Godde-ness of our selves. As we explore how God reaches us to teach us we begin to grasp how Godde teaches us all that we need to know if we will listen. For the Sofia of God is not aggressive – though she is persistent.
The love of God/Godde (from The Message version of the Bible), never gives up, cares more for others than for self, doesn't want what it doesn't have, doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.
Now, women can take care of ourselves by wrapping ourselves in this love and insisting upon no other Lover than the Lover that is capable of such love! We seek Godde.
There was a time when women had to work hard to run a house. Today women work hard to run a house and an office, or hospital ward, or production line, or service route. Women work hard. And over time, the amount of our time that is touch time has dwindled. Time is at a premium. We often do not do things for ourselves because of the time we would have to take from our other (believed to be) more important responsibilities. As a result, we attempt to convince ourselves that having our car serviced is something we actually do for ourselves –and it is since a safe car contributes to our own safety. But having our car serviced has in it none of the touch time so many of us women hunger for.
Western theology and traditional Christian thought has provided a clear division between the natural and godliness. We even have language like “carnal” and “divine” as being in opposition to each other. The dichotomous mindset of the West is one with which I strongly disagree. I think spiritual worship can be through the body (considered carnal) as much as I believe that physical contact can possess the nature of worship.
I do not believe Godde allowed evil to be made from what God created as good no more than the religious quackery practiced by some has not changed the gospel of grace one iota! I refuse to imagine that there is something filthy about my body that is so amazingly and wonderfully made. God was not the one who told us we were naked!
What were you taught about your body? What struggles do you have to this day because somewhere along the line someone showed you or told you that your body was dirty or ugly or base? Offer these up to the Divine Spirit and create ways to heal your own spirit...
We hunger for the oil of genuine praise and the encouragement towards holiness/wholeness. Woman holiness/wholeness is neither a formula for austerity nor an outward adornment. Women want to be touched. Our bodies crave healing and nurturing touch.
Our holiness/wholeness is in our feet as we place them upon the earth. We are made holy whole when we lay down our lives and when we take up our lives. We are holy whole because God/Godde is holy and whole. For no other reason are we holy and whole. That is all. Because God/Godde is, we are.
We are created in the the image of Godde/God.True self-care is to explore the Godde-ness of our selves. As we explore how God reaches us to teach us we begin to grasp how Godde teaches us all that we need to know if we will listen. For the Sofia of God is not aggressive – though she is persistent.The love of God/Godde (from The Message version of the Bible), never gives up, cares more for others than for self, doesn't want what it doesn't have, doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.
Now, women can take care of ourselves by wrapping ourselves in this love and insisting upon no other Lover than the Lover that is capable of such love! We seek Godde.
There was a time when women had to work hard to run a house. Today women work hard to run a house and an office, or hospital ward, or production line, or service route. Women work hard. And over time, the amount of our time that is touch time has dwindled. Time is at a premium. We often do not do things for ourselves because of the time we would have to take from our other (believed to be) more important responsibilities. As a result, we attempt to convince ourselves that having our car serviced is something we actually do for ourselves –and it is since a safe car contributes to our own safety. But having our car serviced has in it none of the touch time so many of us women hunger for.
Western theology and traditional Christian thought has provided a clear division between the natural and godliness. We even have language like “carnal” and “divine” as being in opposition to each other. The dichotomous mindset of the West is one with which I strongly disagree. I think spiritual worship can be through the body (considered carnal) as much as I believe that physical contact can possess the nature of worship.
I do not believe Godde allowed evil to be made from what God created as good no more than the religious quackery practiced by some has not changed the gospel of grace one iota! I refuse to imagine that there is something filthy about my body that is so amazingly and wonderfully made. God was not the one who told us we were naked!
What were you taught about your body? What struggles do you have to this day because somewhere along the line someone showed you or told you that your body was dirty or ugly or base? Offer these up to the Divine Spirit and create ways to heal your own spirit...
Christian Woman! Put Yourself First!
Finding the bold to take care of ourselves helps us find new meaning in our daily lives. The simple truth I found is even if I am on the right track; I can get run over if I just sit there so doing something everyday for my own enhancement will move me along! Perhaps it is the same for you? I urge you to consider it!
Let me remind you that the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth and, sisters, plenty of us spend too much time in ruts! I knew I had to slow down and start doing for myself the day I stopped to think and forgot to start again.
I decided it was time for me to rise up. It was my time.
I needed to *do* less but *be* more. Do less stretching of my time and my patience. Be more present, be more caring of my needs and focus on what I really wanted. And, I found this works.
That’s how I quit smoking cigarettes almost six years ago! I quit smoking cigarettes after I started to put myself first and started to live like what I wanted matters. (And that was after smoking for more than 30 years!)
Focusing on what is best for me made some people sit up and notice but I didn’t get much negative feedback. I stopped dithering about what I wanted in my life and began to make choices that reflected my deepest desires, my most important values. I gave up lying after I realized that I had developed the habit of not telling the truth because I did not want people to think less of me, get angry with me, or mark me off their list based on whatever answer was true. It was a little scarey but I began to feel so much better about myself and my life choices!
Another thing I gave up was gossip. I just never was good at it and it always made me feel ashamed. I was never one to snicker or wink at mean-ness cloaked as information sharing--I was the one who had trouble sleeping later that night! Now, my refusal to gossip does make me an *odd* person out in some circles particularly among colleagues or other members of the same group I am a part of! I never had a lot of girlfriends as a girl so I never practiced the mean-girl behaviors or language (which is what I have learned is what some social scientists call this form of group bonding) so I never learned how to do it.
The fact that I do *not* gossip has cost me some relationships. I am suspect because I don't join in on what others might consider just having fun.
But, on the whole, the fallout from my deciding to *be* who I want to be as opposed to being what others *need* be to be has not cost me as much as I first thought it would. Those who have marked me off their list? I was never high on that list to begin with. And, the people and things I have made more time and space for in my life? Have been well worth the exchange!
And all of this happened because one day I asked myself what it was I truly wanted! One day my response was: I do not want to smoke cigarettes. Another time the answer was: I do not want to have to lie. As a result, I am actually (finally) getting to know *who* I am and what I am *really* like.
I lost some weight, too… because the one thing I truly want to do is live and live healthy… I am not talking lots of pounds disappearing but the ten that have gone have helped me imensely! Maybe I am finding the boldness to take care of myself. Maybe this will help me be open to more of my own healing? I will probably always have girth because I love good eating but I garden and stay active.
I still struggle with this idea of putting myself first even though it makes perfect sense and even though I have reaped some benefits from it. It’s like when you fly and the flight attendant’s instructions are clear: put your own mask on before trying to help someone else put on their mask. If we all try to help someone else first, the flight attendant would have an airplane full of passed out people!
I know I am more important than my house, car, pet, or yard but I also know that I have put more energy and imagination into taking care of these things than I have in taking care of myself. Acting boldly on my faith sometimes means I put yourself first.
I know we each have a history and like all histories, not everything is *sunshiny* or squeaky clean… This may mean we have to act boldly on our faith and give to God any negative teaching we have received about our bodies or any part of our bodies being dirty. Now anything can *get* dirty but no part *is* dirty. It may also mean that we have to act boldly on our faith and give to God any memories of negative touches we have suffered.
Touching can be healing wisdom sent by God’s love! So, touch and be touched…get a massage, learn how to give a massage, volunteer to rock babies or wheel patients at your local hospital, enroll in a ballroom dance class, become a gentle hugger…
Healing wisdom resides in our bodies through touching and being touched. I encourage you to act boldly in your faith and start doing something new for yourself! Start today! You have no time to waste! I mean it, in just two days, tomorrow will be yesterday.
Let me remind you that the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth and, sisters, plenty of us spend too much time in ruts! I knew I had to slow down and start doing for myself the day I stopped to think and forgot to start again.
I decided it was time for me to rise up. It was my time.
I needed to *do* less but *be* more. Do less stretching of my time and my patience. Be more present, be more caring of my needs and focus on what I really wanted. And, I found this works.
That’s how I quit smoking cigarettes almost six years ago! I quit smoking cigarettes after I started to put myself first and started to live like what I wanted matters. (And that was after smoking for more than 30 years!)
Focusing on what is best for me made some people sit up and notice but I didn’t get much negative feedback. I stopped dithering about what I wanted in my life and began to make choices that reflected my deepest desires, my most important values. I gave up lying after I realized that I had developed the habit of not telling the truth because I did not want people to think less of me, get angry with me, or mark me off their list based on whatever answer was true. It was a little scarey but I began to feel so much better about myself and my life choices!
Another thing I gave up was gossip. I just never was good at it and it always made me feel ashamed. I was never one to snicker or wink at mean-ness cloaked as information sharing--I was the one who had trouble sleeping later that night! Now, my refusal to gossip does make me an *odd* person out in some circles particularly among colleagues or other members of the same group I am a part of! I never had a lot of girlfriends as a girl so I never practiced the mean-girl behaviors or language (which is what I have learned is what some social scientists call this form of group bonding) so I never learned how to do it.
The fact that I do *not* gossip has cost me some relationships. I am suspect because I don't join in on what others might consider just having fun.
But, on the whole, the fallout from my deciding to *be* who I want to be as opposed to being what others *need* be to be has not cost me as much as I first thought it would. Those who have marked me off their list? I was never high on that list to begin with. And, the people and things I have made more time and space for in my life? Have been well worth the exchange!
And all of this happened because one day I asked myself what it was I truly wanted! One day my response was: I do not want to smoke cigarettes. Another time the answer was: I do not want to have to lie. As a result, I am actually (finally) getting to know *who* I am and what I am *really* like.
I lost some weight, too… because the one thing I truly want to do is live and live healthy… I am not talking lots of pounds disappearing but the ten that have gone have helped me imensely! Maybe I am finding the boldness to take care of myself. Maybe this will help me be open to more of my own healing? I will probably always have girth because I love good eating but I garden and stay active.
I still struggle with this idea of putting myself first even though it makes perfect sense and even though I have reaped some benefits from it. It’s like when you fly and the flight attendant’s instructions are clear: put your own mask on before trying to help someone else put on their mask. If we all try to help someone else first, the flight attendant would have an airplane full of passed out people!
I know I am more important than my house, car, pet, or yard but I also know that I have put more energy and imagination into taking care of these things than I have in taking care of myself. Acting boldly on my faith sometimes means I put yourself first.
I know we each have a history and like all histories, not everything is *sunshiny* or squeaky clean… This may mean we have to act boldly on our faith and give to God any negative teaching we have received about our bodies or any part of our bodies being dirty. Now anything can *get* dirty but no part *is* dirty. It may also mean that we have to act boldly on our faith and give to God any memories of negative touches we have suffered.
Touching can be healing wisdom sent by God’s love! So, touch and be touched…get a massage, learn how to give a massage, volunteer to rock babies or wheel patients at your local hospital, enroll in a ballroom dance class, become a gentle hugger…
Healing wisdom resides in our bodies through touching and being touched. I encourage you to act boldly in your faith and start doing something new for yourself! Start today! You have no time to waste! I mean it, in just two days, tomorrow will be yesterday.
Laugh and the World Laughs with You!
Rise up for the Lord –not for pride or for folly but for the Lord…Trying to please others is one of women’s biggest challenges…
You may have heard this one: An old man, a boy & a donkey were going to town. The boy rode on the donkey & the old man walked. As they went along, they passed some people who remarked it was a shame the old man was walking & the boy was riding.
The man & boy thought maybe the critics were right, so they changed positions.
Later, they passed some people that remarked, "What a shame, he makes that little boy walk." They then decided they both would walk!
Soon they passed some more people who thought they were stupid to walk when they had a decent donkey to ride. So, they both rode the donkey.
Now they passed some people that shamed them by saying how awful to put such a load on a poor donkey. The boy & man said they were probably right, so they decided to carry the donkey. As they crossed the bridge, they lost their grip on the animal & he fell into the river and drowned.
The moral of the story? If you try to please everyone, you might as well kiss you’re a#% good-bye.
I think women are the biggest people-pleasers around. We make it a habit of trying to please everyone and then we wonder how we end up losing. We lose relationships. We lose money (Yes, salespeople are just one more population we can seek to please!). We lose time. And, we can lose our ever loving minds. This is serious business.
I think if my own mother would learn how to take better care of herself, she would not be so sensitive to imagined slights. Just this past winter, my mother gave me two sweaters for Christmas. We saw each other last week at my Uncle’s, I made sure to wear one of the sweaters. But, instead of the expected smile, she said, "What's the matter? You didn't like the other sweater?"
(See, you can drive yourself nutty trying to please some people…)
University of Chicago studies show a great sense of humor can add an additional 8 years to your life. Stanford University studies show a good belly laugh can give you health boosting benefits equal to 10 minutes on a rowing machine. Every time you have a good hearty laugh you burn up 3 1/2 calories. Laughing increases oxygen intake, thereby replenishing and invigorating cells. It also increases the pain threshold, boosts immunity, and relieves stress.
Make it a habit to read jokes. There are plenty of clean jokes online!
And, don't take yourself too seriously, either. Trust me--no one else does!
I am going to share with you a little about my own struggles through this blog and I am going to share with you some of the ways I have learned to take care of myself, too.
I’m learning about bold faith. I'm learning how to take care of myself. But I have had one main question about taking care of myself: how do I actually take the time from doing such-and-such for so-and-so to do things for my self?
Aren’t I supposed to take care of our relationships with others? Isn’t the fulfillment of my faith found in community? Isn’t putting myself first, selfish? What would Jesus do? …
Hmmmm… well, I recall Jesus often going off by himself, in fact, I think he went off by himself often for it to be mentioned as many times as it is mentioned in the Bible…And it makes sense, doesn’t it? Jesus was no less human than we are and he knew that if he didn’t go off by himself from time to time…. Well, who knows what would have happened?
:o)
I mean, I my husband proved he doesn't get me... my husband and I debated the purchase of a new car for weeks. He wanted a new truck. I wanted a fast little Mustang so I could zip through traffic around town but that was way out of our price range. So, finally I said to him "Look! I want something that goes from 0 to 200 in 10 seconds or less. And my birthday is coming up. You could surprise me." So, for my birthday, he gave me a brand new bathroom scale.
Sure you can laugh…my birthday was three weeks ago, in three more weeks the cast will be removed but my husband is doing really well with his crutches for now…
But, that’s my point! A lot has to happen before we finally decide to do for ourselves. And, learning to laugh at what life hands you is one way to start! Go ahead, laugh! Laugh because God loves you! Laugh because that is actually true!
You may have heard this one: An old man, a boy & a donkey were going to town. The boy rode on the donkey & the old man walked. As they went along, they passed some people who remarked it was a shame the old man was walking & the boy was riding.
The man & boy thought maybe the critics were right, so they changed positions.
Later, they passed some people that remarked, "What a shame, he makes that little boy walk." They then decided they both would walk!
Soon they passed some more people who thought they were stupid to walk when they had a decent donkey to ride. So, they both rode the donkey.
Now they passed some people that shamed them by saying how awful to put such a load on a poor donkey. The boy & man said they were probably right, so they decided to carry the donkey. As they crossed the bridge, they lost their grip on the animal & he fell into the river and drowned.
The moral of the story? If you try to please everyone, you might as well kiss you’re a#% good-bye.
I think women are the biggest people-pleasers around. We make it a habit of trying to please everyone and then we wonder how we end up losing. We lose relationships. We lose money (Yes, salespeople are just one more population we can seek to please!). We lose time. And, we can lose our ever loving minds. This is serious business.
I think if my own mother would learn how to take better care of herself, she would not be so sensitive to imagined slights. Just this past winter, my mother gave me two sweaters for Christmas. We saw each other last week at my Uncle’s, I made sure to wear one of the sweaters. But, instead of the expected smile, she said, "What's the matter? You didn't like the other sweater?"
(See, you can drive yourself nutty trying to please some people…)
University of Chicago studies show a great sense of humor can add an additional 8 years to your life. Stanford University studies show a good belly laugh can give you health boosting benefits equal to 10 minutes on a rowing machine. Every time you have a good hearty laugh you burn up 3 1/2 calories. Laughing increases oxygen intake, thereby replenishing and invigorating cells. It also increases the pain threshold, boosts immunity, and relieves stress.
Make it a habit to read jokes. There are plenty of clean jokes online!
And, don't take yourself too seriously, either. Trust me--no one else does!
I am going to share with you a little about my own struggles through this blog and I am going to share with you some of the ways I have learned to take care of myself, too.
I’m learning about bold faith. I'm learning how to take care of myself. But I have had one main question about taking care of myself: how do I actually take the time from doing such-and-such for so-and-so to do things for my self?
Aren’t I supposed to take care of our relationships with others? Isn’t the fulfillment of my faith found in community? Isn’t putting myself first, selfish? What would Jesus do? …
Hmmmm… well, I recall Jesus often going off by himself, in fact, I think he went off by himself often for it to be mentioned as many times as it is mentioned in the Bible…And it makes sense, doesn’t it? Jesus was no less human than we are and he knew that if he didn’t go off by himself from time to time…. Well, who knows what would have happened?
:o)
I mean, I my husband proved he doesn't get me... my husband and I debated the purchase of a new car for weeks. He wanted a new truck. I wanted a fast little Mustang so I could zip through traffic around town but that was way out of our price range. So, finally I said to him "Look! I want something that goes from 0 to 200 in 10 seconds or less. And my birthday is coming up. You could surprise me." So, for my birthday, he gave me a brand new bathroom scale.
Sure you can laugh…my birthday was three weeks ago, in three more weeks the cast will be removed but my husband is doing really well with his crutches for now…
But, that’s my point! A lot has to happen before we finally decide to do for ourselves. And, learning to laugh at what life hands you is one way to start! Go ahead, laugh! Laugh because God loves you! Laugh because that is actually true!
Queen and Mother Earth
Years ago someone told me I was such a juxtaposition. He was referring to my ability to be quite earthy but also quite spiritual--within the dichotomous perspective of the Western mind, such makes me juxtapositional. Little did he know that he spoke of me in my most elemental form when he tagged me as being a juxtaposition
My existence is juxtapositional. There is the blood of the Spanish conquistador and the blood of the Indio running through my veins. Therefore, the concept of being both saint and sinner (a Lutheran theological tenant) is not at all foreign to me.
Mestizo-American. Chiricahua-Spaniard. I call myself Latina to identify with the oppressed. If I called myself Hispanic, I'd identify with the oppressor. Hispanic. There is a way to say it that makes me smile (I admit it): His panic. His Panic!!!
Mexican-American. Latina. Chicana.
In the mid-sixties, my youngest brother was called racist epithets at the Catholic grade school. I was fifteen and I questioned the nuns about this. They told me that while they could tell the children to stop, they preferred the children learn tolerance by learning to empathize with my brother and "his problem." I wanted to pummel that nun with my fists. I went home and told my mother to withdraw him from that school. She did. This is basic physics: for every action there is a reaction.
Action: My oldest brother went first. He was bi-lingual, but spoke more Spanish than English. When he started school, he was placed in the slow track, declared intellectually deficient.
Reaction: After him, my mother and father determined not to teach their remaining children Spanish. They wanted us to have a chance at the American dreams. And, to a great extent, this has happened. A couple of us attempt to toddle forward with elementary Spanish.
Chain Reaction: At one point I decided there was no need for me to relearn Spanish. I already spoke the tongue of one conqueror, wasn't that enough? But then three years ago I did an language immersion in Mexico para dos meses.
Spanish is the language of my abuelas. It was in Spanish that they prayed their novenas. With words of Spanish, they cradled my heart.
One of my abuelas fled Mexico as it was being torn by war. She brought with her the whispy dreams and strangled talents that survive violence. In this country she made a new home for herself and her children.
My other abuela was Chiricahua. She claimed Mexican citizenship to avoid the reservation. One of the only times "passing for Mexican" I have ever heard of... Amazing.
My one abuela taught me absolute strength could be had simply seated in a chair. It was in such fashion, this abuela held court. All of us -- her children, her grandchildren, her in-laws -- would stand before her in a receiving line. She sat as a queen with her thick braids coiled upon her head as her crown, and her full bosom and generous arms serving as her majesty. We came offering her dollar bills, packets of cigarettes, an occasional flask of whiskey, a brooch, or wrapped sweet candy. Food, drink and burnt offerings brought to the goddess.
My Chiricahua abuela taught me life was a uniting force and that even a fly had a life force as she carefully shooed flies out her kitchen's back door. I once killed one and she made me feel I had somehow taken the coward's way, the easy-don't-have-time-to-be-bothered way. This abuela taught me to address trees as brothers, to speak to seedlings freshly placed into the earth. This abuela's tortillas were thick and warm, more like flatbread than tortillas, well suited for sopping juices from the pots atop her wood burning stove or smearing with butter cream.
I do not ever remember seeing my abuelas together. Era como si la reina y la madre naturaleza estuvieran bajo un mismo rostro, la abuela.* Perhaps, (and I certainly hope), they come together in me. Now that I am an abuelita, they remain my model. And I have chosen to use the cement of passionate, abandoned love for my grandchildren as their glue.
I thank God for the opportunity to love the lives of my grandchildren...
* It was as if the queen and mother nature were of the same face, the grandmother.
My existence is juxtapositional. There is the blood of the Spanish conquistador and the blood of the Indio running through my veins. Therefore, the concept of being both saint and sinner (a Lutheran theological tenant) is not at all foreign to me.
Mestizo-American. Chiricahua-Spaniard. I call myself Latina to identify with the oppressed. If I called myself Hispanic, I'd identify with the oppressor. Hispanic. There is a way to say it that makes me smile (I admit it): His panic. His Panic!!!
Mexican-American. Latina. Chicana.
In the mid-sixties, my youngest brother was called racist epithets at the Catholic grade school. I was fifteen and I questioned the nuns about this. They told me that while they could tell the children to stop, they preferred the children learn tolerance by learning to empathize with my brother and "his problem." I wanted to pummel that nun with my fists. I went home and told my mother to withdraw him from that school. She did. This is basic physics: for every action there is a reaction.
Action: My oldest brother went first. He was bi-lingual, but spoke more Spanish than English. When he started school, he was placed in the slow track, declared intellectually deficient.
Reaction: After him, my mother and father determined not to teach their remaining children Spanish. They wanted us to have a chance at the American dreams. And, to a great extent, this has happened. A couple of us attempt to toddle forward with elementary Spanish.
Chain Reaction: At one point I decided there was no need for me to relearn Spanish. I already spoke the tongue of one conqueror, wasn't that enough? But then three years ago I did an language immersion in Mexico para dos meses.
Spanish is the language of my abuelas. It was in Spanish that they prayed their novenas. With words of Spanish, they cradled my heart.
One of my abuelas fled Mexico as it was being torn by war. She brought with her the whispy dreams and strangled talents that survive violence. In this country she made a new home for herself and her children.
My other abuela was Chiricahua. She claimed Mexican citizenship to avoid the reservation. One of the only times "passing for Mexican" I have ever heard of... Amazing.
My one abuela taught me absolute strength could be had simply seated in a chair. It was in such fashion, this abuela held court. All of us -- her children, her grandchildren, her in-laws -- would stand before her in a receiving line. She sat as a queen with her thick braids coiled upon her head as her crown, and her full bosom and generous arms serving as her majesty. We came offering her dollar bills, packets of cigarettes, an occasional flask of whiskey, a brooch, or wrapped sweet candy. Food, drink and burnt offerings brought to the goddess.
My Chiricahua abuela taught me life was a uniting force and that even a fly had a life force as she carefully shooed flies out her kitchen's back door. I once killed one and she made me feel I had somehow taken the coward's way, the easy-don't-have-time-to-be-bothered way. This abuela taught me to address trees as brothers, to speak to seedlings freshly placed into the earth. This abuela's tortillas were thick and warm, more like flatbread than tortillas, well suited for sopping juices from the pots atop her wood burning stove or smearing with butter cream.
I do not ever remember seeing my abuelas together. Era como si la reina y la madre naturaleza estuvieran bajo un mismo rostro, la abuela.* Perhaps, (and I certainly hope), they come together in me. Now that I am an abuelita, they remain my model. And I have chosen to use the cement of passionate, abandoned love for my grandchildren as their glue.
I thank God for the opportunity to love the lives of my grandchildren...
* It was as if the queen and mother nature were of the same face, the grandmother.
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