Tag Archives: healing

A Letter to My siStars…

My men, my brothers, sons and godfathers, I wanted you to know I wrote this to my siStars on your behalf.

I heard they were frustrated in looking for you, not finding you.  I heard judgement and resentment that made my heart ache.

I am so sorry they misunderstand so much about you.

I am so sorry they hold back and harden up.

 

I will be working with more of them soon.

 

For you.

 

 

Dear Awakened and Awakening siStars,

 

I want you to know…I work with awakened and awakening men.

I get to see them unarmoured.

The men I work with are working so hard to being and ever more becoming the conscious men conscious women need.

They are struggling. They are sorting through eons worth of tangled beliefs, pains, fears, confusion, false beliefs…the dysfunctional patterning entrenched within them and our world.

In their efforts they have failed and failed again to be more what they need to be and they can barely stand it.

But they get up over and over to try again.

They tell me, when I gain their trust, how desperately they need soft places to land, eyes that see them and allow for all they are, ears that will listen til their own voices find what’s been buried deep inside.

They need voices that speak only when there is quiet to convey faith, admiration, appreciation and encouragement.

Some of them have found this in pure spirit. Some have a siStar or Mother who provides this.

We need not give of ourselves in ways that do not work for us.

But please let us consider how we might shine for the men who are, by their own admission (when they are safe to admit it) not perfectly ready to be exactly what we need …yet.

They want so much to be…they struggle to *get* what it takes, to change what must change to make it all work.

Our mixed messages and cold distances confuse and perplex them.

As I work with them I see how far I still have to go.

I see how much more clear and compassionate I can become, how much is yet unresolved within my own self.

We are in this frustration together.

I just wanted you to know…the men are working on it.

For you.

everyone cares

it’s pretty cool what happens when i open my heart/voice/mind to someone who has faced the shit i’m facing, who is as sensitive as i, who has time for me, and the love and bravery to say what’s true for her.

here’s to you, ivan marko.

in conversing with ivan, she hit this beautiful chord of words:  everyone cares, really, deep down.

 

i’d lost sight of that.

because “everyone” also misunderstands, jumps to conclusions, is scared to ask hard questions, worries what people think of them, doesn’t want to be taken for a ride, errs on the side of caution, prefers to play it safe, judges before the evidence is all in, forgets to give credit where credit is due, fails to notice the truth, takes the easy way out, pretends to be strong when they are sad, blames multiple someone elses for their unhappiness, is waiting for the world to change, forgets how to feel hard feelings and think hard thoughts, is a sucker for love, wants to protect their image, worries that being generous wont pay, is embarrassed when they fuck up, gets jealous of others sometimes, forgets to tell others they care, uses careless language that leaves room for misunderstanding, assumes the worst of others, defers to others opinions, worries about rejection, thinks crying means you are weak, judges anger, is wary of power of any kind, has growing pains, and forgets who they really are…

…sometimes.

 

and all this hurts.  every time it happens. at least a tiny little bit.

and sometimes a whole paralyzing lot, especially if it’s another hurt piled on a pile of other hurts.

 

i have been hurt, and hurt and hurt some more.

and as a sensitive thing, i have been hurt when no one meant to hurt me, and then hurt again for hurting.

 

but everyone cares.  even when they don’t look like they do.  even when they don’t talk like they do. even when they don’t act like they do. and perhaps…even when they don’t think that they do.  and even when they think they don’t want to.

no one means to hurt, really.  when they do it, they think it is their only choice.

 

 

no one meant to hurt me.

too few people can accept that feeling hurt happens when you get hurt.  it just does.

it happens, and when it does, it lasts until it stops.  you can’t pretend it’s gone when it’s not.  you can’t make it go away before it goes away.  and when it’s gone, there is no need to pretend, not even an inclination.  and only the one who was hurting can tell.

 

all of us who care, let’s spread this truth:  healing happens when hurting has run it’s course.  hurting when you have been hurt is ok.  once it’s happened, it’s done. and…if we stick around (giving space, perhaps, but not too much)…it will pass.  and…

…it will become obvious…

that everyone cares, really, deep down.

 

 

walking on shards

as i write this today, my life is broken in some critical ways, deep down.

i am walking on the shards these last two weeks.

i have given up my two sweet girls entirely into their father’s care, for i have no money to buy gas to drive to fetch them, for food to feed them, for activities…

i haven’t been able to work since…since…well, i don’t work.  i don’t function.

i have been pretending REALLY WELL that i do.  but i don’t. not in this world.

i told my kids i was sick, i couldn’t see them.  my physical body is alright, it is strong and healthy, by design.  i have cared for it well enough.

it is my emotional body that is a wreck.

it has been cut so many times, by all these shards.

 

one cut isn’t much.  oops, a little cut.

but little cuts have added up.  little cuts like

the shame of letting myself accidentally become pregnant at 20, before i was formally educated, established in a career, and in an excellently secure relationship.

the hurt and shame of words of judgement and withdrawing of connection by family, friends, as they struggled with what had happened to me, or simply got on with their own lives, leaving me to mine.

the noticing that the man i was a parent with was scared, troubled, wanting out.

the hurts of trying to please him so he would stay, and the hurt of him being unpleased, and leaving anyways…three years of tiny cuts all over me.

the hurt of pride as i walked into social services to apply for welfare so i could raise my son, rather than handing him over to the care of others while i worked to net roughly as much pay as welfare would provide.

the hurt of having to prove, month by month, that this little angel boy had a right to a home, food and his mother’s company.

the hurt of learning that i couldn’t be the mother i wanted to be with all the stress of poverty.  each cut when, in a moment, i could not be or give what he needed.

the stabbing blow of my father’s cancer diagnosis, all the little cuts over the next two years of losing him bit by precious bit, not being able to see him, for money’s sake: I was too poor to take the ferry to his hospital with a baby in tow.

the hurt each day ever since of not having him here on earth.

the shame of becoming, in my lonely vulnerability, pregnant again;

and of keeping this secret while I waited for my appointment, booked on the first anniversary of his death.

i couldn’t do it, couldn’t cut out this life from inside me.

more cuts as isolation closed in, no money to pay my way into help, respect, security.

still i stood, gave birth at home again, nursed, gave, gave

and helped others in their times of need.

and was cut

for not getting it right; for not following the rules of a broken way; for feeling, speaking up, challenging the status quo with innocent questions no one else was brave enough to ask; cut as i faced cutting judgements and the distances over which the judgements were passed, for my “choices”; my self-education doubted, dishonoured, discredited though it was true; for feeling, for feeling, for being angry, i was cut down for feeling angry that a mother with two little boys was unsupported, abandoned, left at a loss.

these hurts went unhealed for so long. there was no time between them to heal.

for so long i have walked in and with this cycle of brokenness: our society, me.

i was not broken by motherhood.  i was broken by poverty, lack of support, then broken again by my own brokenness.

now i am 44.  a broken marriage (that was all my fault.  FAULT) and now my girls, my beautiful daughters given over into their father’s care because i am broke.

broken.

faulted.

feeling.

but i am healing.

now i see and feel and nurse each tiny cut, each badly scarred wound.  i cry out the shattered pieces of my soul so they will come together again in the ether and i

breathe

my soul

in.

 

for i am a mother, a healer,

i know the difference between fake and real.

the difference between break and feel

 

and this hurt is real.

feel it with me?  honour it?  nurse it and cry it out so the soul of life can be heard and reassembled as it was created to be, breathed in to each of us and then…

maybe, just maybe, we can find the way to fix this broken world…

so babies can have their mothers and fathers and a world that isn’t broken.

 

 

 

Today I Met a King

I have found a way to love, Love, LOVE Stampede here in Calgary, AB.

Free Hugs.  Giving them on street corners on Stampede Saturdays.

That’s what I did today.  I was the last hugger standing.  I was in for something amazing.

The last man I hugged was covered in drywall plaster, a drunk – but not belligerent – French Canadian.  He was hungry for hugs.

He had one, and a few moments later, asked for another.  I gave it with grace. He asked again … and again.  I moved on.  He sat down for a bit, shaking his head and looking touched.

After watching me a while, he came over to me again, when there was a lull in the hug takers.  He thanked me for doing what I was doing.  He said it did him good.  I said, “you are welcome.”  And took a good look at his eyes.  He took a sudden breath in and put his hand on his heart.

“It hurts?”  I asked. He nodded.

And opened his arms for another hug.  Given.

“I work so hard he said.  And then I drink too much.”

“I’m so glad.” I said “… that you know this”.

He paused.  Held out his hand as if for a handshake.  I took it.  He lifted my hand and kissed it.  I thanked him.  He breathed in sharp again.

He looked at me.  I smiled at him.

“I’m a good man,” he told me.

“I know.” I said.  “You are a king”.

He breathed in very hard this time and tears started to run down his cheeks.  “My name, he said, “is Nolan.  Nolan King.  How did you know?”

“I had no idea.” I said.  “What your name was.”

He opened his arms and I hugged him again, more like a mother hugs a child.  He sobbed.

A while ago I could not have stood there with a sobbing, slightly drunk man in my arms on a busy street.

I am so glad that today, I could.

When he was done, he stepped back and looked at me.  “Your eyes are like an angels,” he said.

“Wow.”  I said. “What a wonderful compliment…THANK YOU!”

He shook his head.  “You are thanking ME?”

“Yes.” I said, and, because I was, “I am so glad I met you.”

His hand on his heart again, he said, “my heart feels so sparkly.”

“I’m glad.” I said.  “Take care of it, okay.  Get your crown back on your head, okay?  Stand tall.  You are a King … and your people need you.”

He cried some more.  We hugged some more.  Time was standing still.

I felt something shift.

“I’m going to go now,” I told him.  He nodded and we hugged one more time.  “Merci,” he whispered.  “Bienvenue,” I whispered. “A dieu.”

And I let go, and walked.  Free hugging was done.  I wondered at it.

Knowing I could not have done it a while ago.

Because a while ago I carried too much hurt my self.  A while ago I might have been too self conscious about what others think of me to have stayed the course. A while ago I might have taken pride for hugging a soul in need.  And that kind of pride would have changed things.

I am so glad I could do it.  So glad.  He needed it so much.  I trust he shed some sadness for good…I saw it running down his weathered cheeks.

I trust he will never have to shed those same tears again.  I realize there are likely more tears under that layer…and I hope, I pray, I insist … that he will find someone to bear witness to them, when the time comes.

I am not anyone special. I think we can all do – for each other – what I had the chance to do for Nolan King.  If we have shed enough of our own hurt, the love, compassion, intuitive knowing – of what a person needs – is there, underneath, and we are happy, so happy, to let it flow.

Sometimes I need someone to do this for me … hold space, reflect my self back to me … “It hurts coming out, doesn’t it? … I see your goodness … I see your divinity”.

And the tears course down my cheeks.  Opening the way for my goodness, my divinity, to shine forth for the sake of others.

Peace be with you Nolan King.

Peace be with you King Nolan.

Happy Stampede.

 

Manifesto: As of Today

I am here to assist in the radical co-creation of Earth, and to hereby radically expand consciousness.

 

I am compelled to do so by the tension that has affected me, and inspired to do so by the potential I fathom.

 

I know that change begins with my own transformation from

– hurt, by consciousness, to healing

– fear, by curiosity, to wonder

– poverty, by wisdom, to plenty

– separation, by partnership, to unity.

 

And that by this transformation I become ever more empowered to play my part in transforming the Earth from

– poisoning, by cleansing, to purity

– waste, by nurturing, to bounty

– barrenness, by the generous redistribution of resources, to fertility

– neglect, by the work of many willing hands, to Heaven on Earth.

 

I recognize that the physical and non-physical tools that make this possible are the most valuable resources I can gather:

– accurate information, from research-tested hypotheses through open minds building an accumulation of wisdom, taking into account reason, and intuition.

– effective methodology; habits and systems that work

– quality tools, designed and produced soundly to do the required work efficiently and effectively, taking into account all considerations.

 

I recognize that it takes practice and intuition to use these tools skillfully.

 

I recognize that the restoration of the Natural Order of life on Earth will require:

– an attitude of equanimity:  that ever part of the whole plays a unique part

– an attitude of possibility:  that the impossible can be broken down into possibilities

– an attitude of expectation:  that unfathomable good can come from good intentions

 

I understand that what is truly good and right for me, is, by our interconnected reality, good and right for all; I have only to open my conscious awareness to be able to see all circumstances.  What causes tension for one, also, by interconnection, causes tension for all.  What creates happiness for one, creates happiness for the whole.

 

I trust in my capacity for good, to create mutually beneficial working relationships, deals/contracts of mutual benefit that will produce a surplus of results, which I intend to share generously.

 

I commit to clearing toxicity, un-natural barriers, and dis-ease in physical and non-physical forms, according to appropriate order, as revealed in Nature.

 

I honour the Free Will of each living thing, understanding that thwarting this natural law creates a rippling of disharmonies, which can and must be remedied for greater potential to be realized.

 

It follows that I must, in order to be an effective agent for transformation, take full responsibility for my jurisdiction (awareness, thoughts, words, deeds, stewardship, connections, deals), and honour the jurisdictions of others as their own and act accordingly.

 

Understanding too, that as a part of the whole, the whole is my jurisdiction, by indirect effect.

 

I honour all forms of life, recognizing that all physical creation is founded in non-physical consciousness.

 

I recognize the sensation of resounding LOVE to be the indicator that I have found someone of my Tribe, with whom I am to create one of many work forces for this processes workable unfolding.

 

And I love nonetheless those with whom I do not feel such depth of connectivity, understanding that we are in this together, just not as closely.

Alchemy

One of the most spontaneous, profound and telling healing sessions I have had was with an alchemist.

We had been telling each other what we explore, and I thought that essentially, it is the same; he works with matter, I, with people.

He was showing me a device he had invented and built, a tool that helped aluminum evolve.

I asked him how it did this, and he said it was by softening how the metal was being observed.

Love, I thought. A device that brings love to aluminum.

Again, I told him that this is what, in a very general way, I do; look at people with softness, not judgment, not evaluation…love…and this helps them to evolve.

He asked if I wanted him to try it on me, his device, and I felt a surge of interest.

He directed me to stand, and looked at me through the device.

He asked me to extend my right arm to the side. And looked again. He told me there was “something” just beyond the reach of my hand. I felt a twinge of tightness in my hand, arm and chest. And I remembered I used to feel it when I was a young dancer, in my teens.

I said nothing.

He looked again and indicated that “it” was connected to another “something” on the left side of my upper chest. My eyes must have become like saucers.

I showed him the lump in my sternum where I had stress-fractured my rib during my treeplanting career.

It’s related he said.

I nodded, knowing.

I also mentioned I had been told the aortic valve in my heart is missing a cusp. We sat with that a moment. I confided in him that I was intending to regenerate the petal.

Are you ready? he asked. I was.

He directed me to stand with my right arm outstretched and my other hand over my heart.

He looked.

Then came over and touched me over my left ovary. The one with the benign cyst on it.

Are you ready?

Nodded.

He looked.

And came and touched my right foot where my middle toe meets my foot.

I took off my sock to show him this toe; it is shorter than the others, “Stubby”, I call it fondly.

Energy, emotions swelled in me, and I was compelled to go outside. I was not thinking, just moving. I went to a tree, and placed my bare foot on a root where it was going into the ground, and stood, clearing “something”.

I had just an inkling of understanding about what had happened, but it felt big.

Every physical “problem” that manifests in my body had been touched on.

In the months that followed, things happened, unfolded, like they do.

And just today, I was sitting contemplating some of the blocks, tension points, challenges I am facing today, and it occurred to me to wonder, what is it that I have been reaching for, that something beyond my right hand?

And instantly I new.

I have been reaching for doing. Masculine (right handed) action. Producing results.

And this has directly affected my heart. If my heart’s abnormality is rooted in genetics, or otherwise, this tendency is embodied in me. I perpetuated it as a high balling treeplanter… it broke the bone directly over my heart. In my teens, it showed up in my dancing.

The effects trickle down via meridians to my ovary, and on, to the base of my middle toe. A quick glance of a reflexology chart shows the relationships to my solar plexus, lung and eye, and into the trapezius muscles that would have pulled the bone out, and that still hold tension. All seen by an alchemist with a device designed to evolve matter.

My curiosity and need have led me to study things that all converge in this picture; filling out the pattern, through cause and effect. Where there have been blocks, there is dissonance… and this reaches back into the past through my DNA and family tree, and into the wider collective feminine.

But every dissonance is triggered by a choice that stems from misunderstanding, and is in disaccord with the divine design of creation.

How have I caused this? Where is my misunderstanding?

All here in front of me so clearly.

I am, as a woman, have been chosing to reach into the masculine way of doing, rather than existing within the feminine way of being.

This has created, perpetuated a misalignment with repercussions to my heart (my ability to love) , ovaries (my creative storehouse) , solar plexus (the place where my feelings about myself and my interpretation of the feelings of others toward me manifests), eyes (my clarity of seeing), lung (where I take in Spirit)….

Although I am a single mother and responsible for the income of my family, I am realizing more and more deeply that it is the feminine way of being that inspires the masculine energy of doing, and the production of results.

For me to heal my heart, my ovarian cyst, and free the block that caused my toe’s growth to be stunted, all I need is to put being before doing, rather than the other way around.

Trusting that any results that need to be produced will be thus inspired.