Into The Otherwhere

There are times in my life where I felt so much weariness just maintaining my facade that I couldn’t bring myself to explode. I mean strip down to the bare bones and rebuild myself into my birthright. The very idea of destruction to create something real seemed counter-productive, but without truly understanding, I invoked Inanna, Goddess of Love, Fertility, and War. One of the Ultimate Mother Goddesses that I embraced with great fear but deep trust. I had no idea what I was doing, but in the core of my being, it was the right thing to do.

Gate of Authority

I removed my crown. I released my prayers to a God I didn’t believe in, or rather, doubted his existence. I surrendered my name that identified me by birth and allowed it to become dust of the earth. I gave my power to the winds of change, the solid earth, the fires of passion, the waters of emotions, the edge of the Universe clenched tightly in my abandoned fist. I allowed myself to become whatever would become.

Gate of Perception

I took off my rose colored glasses to allow any vision of the new world to manifest. I needed to understand the rawness of reality. I required it because I could no longer make my mind see what wasn’t there. I had to face the illusion that I’d created; safety, love, comfort, stability. I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. I opened my eyes and felt shame for what I’d allowed myself to be fooled by because it was truly obvious.

Gate of Communication

For every time I justified words that weren’t my truth. “Oh, you just have to get to know him. He’s not really that bad of a guy.” or “You don’t understand. He’s not like this at home.” or my favorite lie, “He didn’t defend her because he was defending me.” All lies.

Things I told myself because I wanted so desperately to be loved, to be worthy of love. I needed to speak a truth that nobody seemed to want to hear. If I raised my voice, deafness fell on my audience. I became (to cross pantheons here) Cassandra, the soothsayer that could see the future with 100% accuracy but nobody would believe her.

When I realized my voice was aimed at the wrong people, I let it go. They didn’t need or weren’t ready to know me at that level. Onward!

Gate of Compassion

For so many years I was groomed to be the perfect victim. So much so that it never occurred to me that I was one. Even now, at 50, I still have difficulties thinking of myself as anything other than me. But world events or politics such as they are, remind me on a deep level that I was bred to be consumed by men like popcorn, until I found this gate. I had to find a way to love every broken piece of myself. I had to discover that the words I was taught to destroy myself by people that sought to destroy me, were theirs, not mine.

My words were those of a mother caring for a sobbing child. My words were ones of comfort and reassurance that I was worthy of love, capable of love, in fact, I AM love. This gate held me for the longest time because centuries of anguish had to be unwoven, stripped, and remade into my light, not into their darkness.

Gate of Personal Power

At this point I realized that I was harming others with my shards of broken edges and broken promises. I released deception of myself. I released deception of others. I had no reason to manipulate others to suit my needs even though I tried constantly. I allowed others to take from me because if I gave it, they couldn’t steal it.

I returned the power I had stolen from others and set them free of me. For example, I had to walk away from relationships that no longer served me or my companions. I gave up drugs, abusive relationships, alcoholism, nicotine, and the acceptance of violence against me.

I no longer gave sex away willy-nilly (I know). I found more power in holding my core strong. I mean, I love sex, I won’t lie, but there’s something different when it’s given freely and not coerced or forced from my loins. Now, you may think, “Well, duh, Mare!” but I again point out that I was groomed to believe that my vagina was my worth. I didn’t understand the power because it was not seen as power but shame.

Okay, so I also learned that telling my truth to large groups of people was extremely cathartic. I was allowed to say what happened to me and my family lived. I was safe when I walked the stage and spoke of the gun violence I’d experienced at the hands of someone I once loved. I learned at this gate that my personal power was more than who I am, it’s what I am to myself, to others, and to the world. It is my light of LOVE that will not ever again be dimmed.

Gate of Creativity

I found new ways to value myself. I had to believe, from top to bottom that I was created with a purpose so Divine and sacred that only by walking deep into my belly could I find the earth in which I was planted, the water which nourished me, the air that I knew so intimately, the fires that cleansed me, the spirit which guided me. I had to eliminate anything that contradicted that balance of perfect love.

You may hear me joke about my body size, but it’s my shell. I love every inch of this meat suit. It’s kept me moving forward for half a century. It’s weathered so many stormy seas and still sets sail each morning. How could I discount one inch of this glorious being I am? I love me. I love my body. I love how I feel. I love how I look. I love who I am. I had to accept me to love me with no conditions. It was hard work, but baby, look at me now!

Gate of Manifestation

So at this gate I stand Naked. Bare bones flapping in the breeze like wind chimes. Flesh stretched over shells to make drums, entrails stretched into harp strings, and nothing of my former self remains. There isn’t a door or an audience to applaud this place I find myself. I can’t even stand to be around people at this point. It’s not that I’m afraid, I can see them as they are. I see them for their lost paths and misguided anger. I’m not different than them, but I’m not the same either.

I want to step through and see myself reborn. I want to become what I’m meant to be. I’m ready. I have nothing more to lose. Seriously, nothing. Every material good is vanquished. Everything I thought I knew is scattered on the side of the highway between there and here. I have so much lost blood that I’m crusty with scabs of things I’ve torn from my body that didn’t belong there. Leeches of my energy, parasites of my love, rapists of my body, shamers of my spirit are all released into the mud I’ve created in tears cried zig-zag across the country. I am ready.

Gate of Death

And there she died. The part of me that couldn’t love. The part of me that was so devastated she hated the sound of her own name. The knife-like pieces that stabbed anyone that got too close, that wanted to take anything from me, that needed anything from me, that wanted me to be happy or not. I had to allow her to die. I had to lay her to rest with a fancy wreath of flowers in a cold field under the ever-watching stars where the milky-way sang a dirge and witnessed the sacrifice. I was finally free.

Rebirth

As I write this, I realize that for many years I struggled to find my footing. I had many people along the way that helped me even when they didn’t have my best interests at heart. I had to trust the journey. I had to reach out to people that I was deathly afraid of, but found them to be some of my strongest allies. I’ve trusted some people to my error, but they taught me to be cautious with whom I interact my power with because not everyone has my heart.

I still have years to go in this life, Lady willing, but I want to know what it’s like to find that peace of mind. I am strong, I know that, but I’d like to help others find what I’ve found. I’d like to show them the way to love of self, others, and the divine spark within. Here’s hoping for another fifty years!

Aprons mingle

food-pizza-kitchen-recipe.jpg

When the aprons mingle, women clucking like hens

discussing ancestral wisdom from way back when

The ancestors live in gestured words

the matriarchal echoes of blood’s songbirds

Strum the butter pat to the rhythm of snipped beans

lower the babies down from the hips of Queens

biscuits on the table, floured dough, cut rounds

the mother’s mother’s hands knead risen dough down

No family recipes laid writ in tattered tomes

each muscle memory “how to” made the house a home.

Where the aprons mingle clucking women like the hens

granting the ancestral wisdom from times long spent

Advice of a Falling Leaf

I love Autumn. Everything about it brings me giddy glee. The red plaid flannels start trickling out of closets to combat the chilly mornings. The coffee pot, that in my house never quits, starts perking earlier against the darkened dawn that used to invite iced tea with its chipper light. The apple festivals are polluted with the joy of pumpkin spice while the silent witness of the changing leaves hang like ornaments blazing with remembered warmth.

As I sit watching the wheels of nature turn, I wonder what advice those leaves would give to me if they could tell their life stories. I’ve seen them grow on what appeared to be desolate deadened trees, blossom into their spring and summer finery, challenge the fashion of green with orange, red, and yellows, then gracefully drift on the winds of the changing seasons to carpet the ground with rustling tapestries. They speak to us in their ancient tongues and we hear them when we listen.

Don’t be afraid to bloom

In the spring, the beginning, the start of any project there is darkness. There is a point where we don’t know and we don’t understand. We wonder “What if…?” Will the risk we’re about to become engaged to grow or will it whither? We don’t know, but we can hope. We take the idea that needs great care. We water it, coax it, and nurture the idea like we would an infant. The idea becomes a concept.

Reach for the Light

Every good concept, and even the not so good, needs to see the light of day. It needs to be explored, coddled, and embraced as the truly important part of our lives. Particularly when it sings to our soul spirits the song that makes our minds dizzy with gratitude, hope, and joy. Allowing the concept to gain momentum from the creative input and outbursts of potential fruition help us to realize that maybe our ideas weren’t all that crazy. Perhaps our vision is what the world has been waiting to see for many moons or many seasons. It’s an enticing bite into the dawning light when we can understand that our hibernating ideas, need light to grow.

Rise Above Your Roots

Everything you were taught in your lifetime has led you to this very moment. Every tool you need is close at hand. Your history has guided you to this precise time of understanding, of clarity. It is your roots that have allowed you to tap into your potential. Dig down into the earth of your experiences. Find everything you need but don’t be afraid to rise above them. Be who you are meant to be not who you were told you are/were. The ancestors that have come before you had their own fears and insecurities that have trickled over your being in unhealthy droplets. But then so has the strength, the power, and the will to persevere. You are more than your roots, but you’re also of them. Every bit of this is the fertilizer you need to bloom.

Show your true colors

Your concept is sound. Your talents regarding your project are apparent. You’ve had reassurance from your “Amen” corner that your vision is clear. You’ve tested the waters and found they’re receptive. Now what? Strip away the bud to unfurl the sails of destiny. Allow the world to see the glory of your brainchild singing the song of life. No matter which decision you’re facing right this moment, if you’re working towards growth, you’re working towards blooming into your full potential. Don’t be afraid. Just breathe because that will allow things to fall as they need to and you to realize your own dreams. If the process is painful, there is a reason for it. Embrace the push of labor towards your blooming. As a common phrase, don’t be afraid to shake your tail-feathers a bit.

Let it go

When you have given every bit of energy to an idea that actually works, it is sometimes difficult to allow someone else to take ownership in their own lives of their ideas that grew from your seed. Surrounded by the sheep that flock to your idea, the project you’ve created is now out there in the world breathing its own life. It is bounding around in happy abandon through fields of expansion. Allowing it to take a life of its own is similar to cutting ties or watching the death of something precious, but it’s not dead. It has lived as yours. It will always be yours. It has just moved forward to fall gracefully from the branches of your loving hands to the hearts of those surrounding you. Accept the release as a part of the natural order of things. Allow it to be the memorable shades of color it was destined to become when you first acknowledged its presence in your life.

Rest

I find it incredibly cathartic to find the place where I can hibernate for a while to rejuvenate my spirit after I’ve “birthed” an idea into a concept. I retreat to solitude, typically with a good bottle of wine and a warm bath accompanied by a good book or soft music and I wallow. I allow the world to look at my creation and pass judgment on what I’ve brought out of Otherwhere. Once I’ve followed the necessary steps, it’s done. It is what it is. Then I get to allow the next idea to flow into concept form and the cycle, like the seasons, begins again.

Call to Arms

Gods of winds and sons of storms

Awaken to this call to arms

Boil your blood in righteous anger

Be hurricanes of powerful danger

Be your swords quick like zephyrs whirl

Seek out justice in your mother’s world

The holiness of your sacred birth

is denied her value, refused her worth

Defend against the denial of her choice

the objectified feminine merits a voice

Sons or father’s you needn’t speak

but you mustn’t allow those too weak

to erase half of you without a fight

Support the women! Support her rights!

The Abuser’s Abuse

Forgiveness is easy for some

They let the nefarious acts,

Committed by an ABUSER,

S

  L

   I

    D

     E.

But I cannot swallow deceit, for

I’ve tasted the destruction

from the pants of Mephistopheles,

felt weapons to my head,

heard the bloody rhetoric

with innocent ears,

clawed my way from denigration,

Felt the punishment unjustified.

I recognize what I see.

I will not say I’ve seen something else.

I will not lie and say it’s okay or maybe.

I will not wait and see.

You can’t gaslight me.

I’m calling it straight out, ABUSE

From an ABUSER

in a position to ABUSE.

I will not excuse ABUSE for anyone.

I will not TOLERATE

ABUSE

FROM

ANYONE

PERIOD.

Priestess of the Howling Wood

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I hear the trees as instruments

as a Sunday hymn blessing Mother Earth

I feel the loaming heartbeat intense

while the birds call lullaby vespers

I am the tug of moon-pulled tides

with sermon words unfettered

Through and about the indigo skies I ride

Skyclad, adorned with galaxies and stars; together

I hear the forest’s deepest secrets kept

accepting its confessions as I should

with spells more true than of an adept

as a Priestess of the Howling Wood