The Gift

This stunning painting is called "Sunburst". The beautiful artist is Terri Gerard.



If we are lucky; if we are intentional; if we are growing; if we are
searching; if we are relentless; we may, in our lives be offered a gift.
That gift will not necessarily be wrapped with shiny paper, ribbons and a
big satin bow. That gift may look like anything but a gift. But indeed it
is a gift. The gift I am talking about is the gift of self-reflection.



It may come in the form of a loved one who reacts to you, or who attacks
you. It may come in the form of a friend who embraces you, or rejects you.
The gift may arrive as a business deal that you close, or that you lose. IT
may come with the loss of a loved one that is close to you, or with the
success of a stranger on American Idol. But if you are fortunate, or
intentional; if you are relentlessly searching, and hell-bent on growing, it
will come to you. And this gift will be the realization that your response
is all about you.



For the uninitiated, the prayerless, those victimized by life and those who
are simple not ready, the fit will be offered. It has been offered to each
of us a hundred times a day, a thousand times a month.
How is this possible? That we would be offered a gift but say "no"? This
is part of the gift. A gift can be offered, but until I am ready to receive
it, the gift will be sent back: no such number. Moved, left no forwarding
address.



The beginnings of receiving are those moments where we notice: boy, I really
got hooked there. Or, I wonder why that upset me so much? These are the
beginnings of the gift that keeps on giving: the gift of noticing, of
awareness. Of taking responsibility for our own experience of life and
seeking to expand our ability to receive more and more, so that we can
become more and more. Being responsible for more and more is the game.
One cannot receive without being simultaneously able to hold more, and less.



The alternatives to receiving the gift? A blameless life full of blame for
others. Judging others and remaining separate from them. Pitying yourself
or others and becoming pitiful. Criticizing others and becoming
unacceptable to yourself. Playing alone in the sandbox for fear of exposing
your weakness to yourself.



Here we are, on our journey. If you find yourself in tears, in the flow, in
the arms of another man or woman, know that you have found yourself, with your
million and one reactions, predictions, declarations and early dismissals.
Know that these are not the gifts. Your receiving of these happenings with
your awareness is the gift. To be able to receive the ripple effects of
every action and reaction is the gift and it is offered to you in every
moment. This is a treasure. You are the mine.



IT happens for those persistent enough to look
into the next dimension, where life is the mirror of you.



May you continue to expand your tenderness, your ability to feel, your
asking for and receiving, and all the ins and outs of a life lived fully.
This is my prayer for usall tonight. Amen. Awomen. Aho.

Writing by Karen Blum RadicalDander@blogspot.com

Dancing For Darfur

Day 4 of my teeny tiny commitment to raise funds for displaced persons in a women's refugee camp in Darfur, that just happens to be changing my life...

www.darfurpeace.org/programs/womens-center

This is turning out to be a wild ride on the home front. My husband and son have unexpectedly got involved.

On the second night, having not yet developed a routine time for this dancing, I came home exhausted and ready to crawl into bed and slip into heavenly slumber. (Just now as I wrote those words a wave of gratitude for having a bed, a deliciously warm cozy soft dry bed, enveloped me. How many nights do I take that for granted?!)

My husband reminded me, "Ahem- didn't you make a promise to dance daily for that Darfur fund raiser?" Uhoh. *gulp* My mind raced for a cop out, something along the lame lines of I'll dance twice as long tomorrow started to form in my mouth. He cut me off with this save the promise invitation, "Come on I'll dance with you!"

As I shuffled thru my ipod searching for the right musical choice, my son hijacked the DJ role and announced, "Mom, if you let me pick the music I'll dance with you too!"

That settled it. For 3 evenings we have turned our living room into a most unlikely dance club. Songs from Jack Black, Flight of the Concord, to Usher have been the soundtrack of this nightly event. This wasn't quite what I had in mind when I signed on. I imagined mySelf lost in the rhythmic sounds of world beats, drumming, chants, and some Nia blends.

This is perfect! All day I look forward to this time together, laughing, busting out sweet faux break dancing moves, and being supported by the 2 most important men in my life! I am so blessed!

Check out the fundraiser, get involved! www.vividlywoman.com/darfur.htm

Stretching ourSelves

There we are! (We are missing a few). Circles to Spirals Sweaty Goddesses surging with life and renewed passion for Sisterhood and ourSelves!

We danced, played, were in ritual, nature, and bliss last weekend!

Here's what I notice after a fabulous weekend of expansion:

I walk back into my life and it feels too small. I grow each time I surrender mySelf to another retreat. No matter what my role at the retreat, Growth is inevitable and somewhat uncomfortable. (Yet not growing is far more painful.)

I feel like Alice in Wonderland, bumping my head on the ceiling of my old life, cramped, and awkward. It takes a few days of maneuvering, lots of rest, writing, oh and let's not forget the crying. Yes the unexplained grief, Who knows? It's just my process. Your is probably quite different. I'm not setting this up for a good sale am I?

Wait I'm not finished... On the other side of it... where I am today are:

waves of creativity

awareness of pure potentiality

elation at the view from up here

a deep calm grounded knowing

It's delicious. Oh yeah, now I remember who I am. I do have a definite purpose, even some clarity, and some kick ass tools I am wielding with ninja like precision!

Kindness Poem

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

sometimes S is for shame

There is a still a part of me creaky with rust, not quite decomposed that clenches onto the inherited shame stories of sickness.

I have fallen sick 3 x since the Solstice, I feel the shame unleashed.

Confusion. Hypocrisy?. Why the healthy lifestyle, if health isn't the result?

What old religious debris hangs on whispering, "I am bad- this a punishment."?

Ruby drives solo to Austin TX. Our road trip left up to her. Healing my body left up to me.

There are other voices soothing, singing, and chanting truths to remind me and bring in presence.

My head keeps asking, what should I do? I hear, "just be" my body resonates.

One of my NSA practioners, Brian Lumb, once explained to me, every time we build another floor on the tower of our being, we immediately return to the basement. The foundations need checking. Are there any cracks?

I've been doing a lot of Self building, expanding and I found some cracks...

I am grateful for the opportunity to be. Just be. To rest, dream, soak in the bath, cocoon at home, and heal.

Ruby Dee, I'm gonna make that road trip to Austin with you one day! Just you wait and see...

The Force of Life

Just received these powerful words from Karen Blum, one of the amazing women on my Circle.

But you can suppress it, and like water, like the feminine, like emotion, it will rise up again, appear, make itself known, seep through, humanifest, womanifest, find its level, and suddenly what was only hinted at, longed for , deeply hidden, becomes splendid and on display, in the midst of a streaming white light dripping with blood of menses, of murder, of childbirth, of ripped hymens, of bleeding hearts, of ecstasy lost and wisdom comes pouring forth again as women reuse and refind their voices, their byways and scarcely trodden highways, their footpaths, their natures, their longings, their strongings, their weakness, their meekness, their pouring forth into abundance, gratitude and heat, their surrender of pain and rebirth into the privilege of speaking, laughing, storytelling, moaning, giggling. Celebrating, ululating, until the secret pathways and shrotas and incense trails and lacy fingers on the backs and behind and gaping pussy holes become mouths and voices, all of them ululating in the ancient cries of woman’s voice. Woman’s voice. Women’s voices raised in singing, crying, lullabying, joking, laughing, bubbling, giggling, whispering, praising, raising, phrasing, all good, all loving, all flowing in the ceremonial space that is woman. She is crafted for ceremony, naturally spiritual, connected, needing no form. We are the form. Built for loving, being loved; cradling, being cradled: there is no life without woman. We are life. We are drive. We are power. We are desire.

Celebrate yourself. Wake up to the music that is you.
Lift your head to whiff the smouldering incense that you are.

Shield your eyes as your gaze is brightened by the radiant white light of your being.

Feel the textures of silk and saliva, velvet and blood, satin and hair that drapes and adorns the fiber you are made of.

Taste the salty you, the sweet you, now the pungent and acrid you; the smoky burning paradise of you, the pickled you, the honeyed you, the candied you, the peppermint and rose hips of you.

You are the embodiment of all of life.

You are a celebration.

Your are the feast and the feasting, the dinner and the diner, the sup and the superb, the breakfast and the break slow, the snack and the morsel, the taste and the treat, a neverending changing and delicious banquet of woman.

Celebrate! Allow the bells to ring, the drums to beat. Entice the hips to move and the pubic bone to find its own rhythm. Allow the lovers to emerge into the light. Hide yourself no more. Be free. Warm your wings in the sunlight. You are nascent. You are alive Your many voices poised to shout as one, in birth: