Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Ancestral Attachments

I honestly have never understood attachments to people, places, or properties. I carry the spirit of all of these with me wherever I go. Every person, place, and thing that ever impacted me on a conscious level still lives vividly in my present through the human mind's miracle of memory.

I learned very early in life that I had no control over my physical destiny, so I began to repeat the stories of who, what, when, and where to myself on an endless loop. The saddest experience for me is in understanding that others need physical continuity in order to feel that they are centered in their own lives, and that many refuse to share in memory what we shared in experience.

It is my experience that when we live fully aware of what is going on around us, our pasts and our present become melded as one. I cannot see my grown children without also seeing them as infants. I feel the same way with all that allow me into their spiritual selves.

I don't mean to have others feel as if they have been stripped naked. I obviously, wrongly assumed that we all felt naked. How foolish I have been in assuming that intimacy was a universal need, or that any wanted to embrace true intimacy with me.

How I wish that all Homo sapiens felt comfortable emotionally naked in front of each other. Perhaps then we could bury our long-dead ancestors' issues with each other and embrace peace.


Saturday, July 12, 2014

No Priests or Prayers for Me

I finally came to the realization that it wasn't my fear that was holding me back from being the biggest, boldest blessing I could be. It was the fears of my family and friends, who still believe that other people have the power of eternal life and death spells over us.

I have been involved in too many near-death and death scenes not to have given a great deal of thought to what happens from the time of drawing our last physical breath until the time the earth ends. I have searched the scriptures and asked everyone I knew, but could get no answers that simply seemed true to me. In a few recent Eureka moments, precipitated by a long-awaited silly time with my daughter and her youngest daughter, I finally feel good with what I know to be true for me.

I am catholic down to the marrow of my bones; not the Vatican brand, but the brand of being catholic that leads me to embrace the universe as my friends and family. I have suffered greatly at the hands of those who continue to attack me to see where my boundaries actually end. The fact that I don't react to others in traditional ways has, more than once, put me in jeopardy . Those who really love me have noticed this and many have simply given up on attempts at saving me from myself.

It is reasonable to rely on the shared boundaries of one's immediate family to sort out which behaviors are good for the group and which ones are detrimental. It is not reasonable to have one's friends and family who have no dependence on one's continued life define the boundaries for oneself. This is the glory of old age; we can stop having others dependent on us.

I love to laugh with those I like. I also cry with great abandon. I am sorry for those who aren't tough enough to take big bursts of me, but I will no longer allow their boundaries make me feel badly about my own. In an effort to make it possible to be anywhere but in a private padded cell together, I generally establish what is appropriate behavior for any given public situation. I also avoid most public situations where laughter and other forms of passionate interchange are not allowed or accepted.

At the time of my death, I want no priests and prayers to the gods that rule the lives of others. I have full faith that the huge energy I have shared with others will live on after my physical shell is long gone. I don't want another physical shell, and certainly hope all who believe in such things as resurrection of the body don't wish such a thing on me.

I have had a recurring dream, ever since my daughter was threatened with death. It is that I could, at will, breathe in deeply enough to rise above all the earth and fly; not with wings, but with the sheer power of my spirit. I look forward to the day that my spirit is freed from dragging along the old hag that keeps it too close to the ground and unable to simultaneously see, hear, and feel all my friends on earth. What a party that will be, in so many languages and colors!

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Sticks and Stones

I live my life for the written word, because only those words can we be held to. There is a saying, "Say it and forget it; write it and regret it." I absolutely abhor that saying and that way of thinking. Words can be as harmful to the life of the spirit as swords are to the life of the flesh. Those who say what they will and then deny any responsibility for having said it are usually guilty of self-delusion. Any words that don't fit into their views of themselves simply could not have come from their mouths.

The denial of their actions adds insult to the injury. It is to call into question the sanity of those attacked. This, in my opinion, is the worst form of bullying, when one hides from what one has done behind a facade of lost memory. It isn't even as deep as lost memory, as it wasn't deemed important enough to the attacker to be paid attention to as it happened. This leaves the attacked emotionally bleeding, while others continue to believe in the friendly facade of the attacker. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words denied by friends can make me feel crazy.

I have no use for parroted phrases, no matter how powerful they may be to some. Unless a person is willing to attach enough thought to how a phrase has actually impacted or inspired their own experience, and is willing to put that into words that can be dissected and discussed, it seems to me not worth sharing. Passion is personal for me; I don't enjoy following mindless crowds.

How can it be that whole societies can be taught to deny what they see and hear with their own eyes and ears? What is it in humans that we are taught to avoid the danger signals that our animal instincts were fine-tuned to pick up? We wear perfumes to hide the animal smells that should tip us off about aggressive instincts of others, and learn to look into other than a person's eyes to see what is in the spirit.

I would rather live a life with one true friend than many lifetimes with multitudes of mindless admirers.











Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Cautionary Tales and New Creation

Every time a woman or child cries in despair, I cry with him or her.
We simply can't control what we're brought into when we are born.
There are men who have achieved ascendance climbing onto others;
The rest of us have to live our lives under these white men's heels.

I am a white, attractive woman, living among my appointed peers,
And the thought of how we agree to present ourselves sickens me.
I wish I had the strength of even one of my past black employees,
Those who served me as their mistress and returned home to families.

I was reared for beauty and cunning, not to be an example of success.
White males were to be the masters of their family's and the world's fate.
It mattered not what sins they committed against family or community;
We were to all bound, or be rejected, in protecting their supremacy.

Until women stop obtaining their strength to fight injustice from children,
And until men cherish the women that produce their sacred progeny,
Their is no hope of bringing only cherished children into our world,
And no hope for all protecting our children from the destruction of war.

We continue to produce more young men as expendable creators
Of children and themselves to feed the maws of ancient  retribution.
We force women to carry and birth children that they don't accept,
Only to have more angry animals taught none of the ways of humanity.

When will we forget the fights handed on by our ancient ancestors,
And accept our responsibility to create our own human society?
The words of the ancients are seen by me as cautionary tales,
Not as the instructions for the ways humans are meant to be.






Thursday, June 26, 2014

Please Don't Pray for Me

Please don't pray for me to your god unless I know of what your god is capable.

I want nothing to do with any entity that demands suffering or death from his or her own children, as a way to assuage his or her rage. Never do I want to answer to an entity that accepts incest as a way to advance the lines of those subject to him or her. Nor will my knee bend in supplication to one who allows forgiveness of sins, without any attempts at recompense to those whom we have harmed. The god we are told chose Abraham is not a god for me.

 It matters not to me whether you believe me to be in heaven or hell. No prayer on earth can change or erase the impact my energy has had on others. I have caused pain to many, some because they needed to purge poison from their pasts, and the only way to do so was to hold them until they broke. Others I have given great joy, to tide them over when the lives that they were living seemed nothing but dark clouds. Only in eternity will the energies be balanced. Nobody has control over the energies' eventual equilibrium.

What I want around me when I am in anguish, physical or mental, is a reminder of all the happy times we shared while I was not in pain. I care not what my future holds; my only important work is long-since completed. How I live from here on out is simply attempting to avoid causing pain.

Moses, Jesus, MLK, Gandhi, and Mandela are all examples of people on earth who must have experienced a different god. Abraham was simply wrong when he thought he heard the true god. The god of peace is the only eternal entity that heals the earth with willing human hands.

Don't pray for me, unless your hands are busy comforting my flesh and that of my loved ones. In my opinion there is no value in loving "pure and chaste from afar."






Wednesday, June 25, 2014

My Mothering

After a lifetime of wondering what others wanted from me, so that I could seek to fulfill their fantasies, I am faced with wondering what I want for myself in my life. This seems to be the plight of many women my age who were taught that our mission was to mother all on earth. We were informed that we should not make any move without checking out our actions with others, and that we should keep a constant eye on others for their approval as we progressed in any direction.

This "emotional intelligence," or empathy, was the hallmark of being a good woman. Sadly, I find this to still be the case so in many circles of females. We are still taught to honor our empathy above all our other skills. So much of our rhetoric is about mothering our earth and all on it. What about those of us who want no part in eternal dependency of our progeny and those that come after them? If our children never grow away from their need for our assistance, I believe we have failed them. Did I work so hard at impressing independence on my own children only to be a pariah among other women in my old age?

I am sick to death of the conferences of women spending all their time and energy seeking to heal their own inner children, rather than in forming game plans for healing the earth in which we all live. The soft, sweet voices that tell us all to remain calm in the face of the continued destruction of our planet and all on it seem mostly misguided to me.

Moses, MLK, Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela did not spend all their time contemplating their own navels and shopping for shoes. They made their marks on our earth by identifying their own strengths and drawing to themselves those with complementary characteristics. They planned actions and marched forward with steely determination, dressed in a manner that did not threaten their oppressors.

The women of old knew that women's sensuality was as important in winning wars as were weapons. I am excellent at feeding and creating fun for males, in order that they should relax. When they are relaxed, they will often let down their guard and listen even to women and children. When will we bring the men most threatened by our militancy to our tables and ask them to help us protect them and their progeny? Where have we lost the real glory of our own gender?

It matters not to me what makes my men most comfortable around me. I would wear a burka or chador, if it worked to make the language of my eyes more intense. In my country, we have finally found that even nudity doesn't necessarily bring men begging to be held to a woman's breasts. It is imperative that each of us, in our own arenas, use all the gifts granted to us by the universe to help sway the conversations between males and females toward action that promotes world peace.

My version of mothering is to continue to bring resources to all who will join the effort in helping others share in just success. I may not bail you out of jail, but I'll support you along your mission's trail.