Fallacies of Our Fathers' Faiths

I never wanted to be a fabulous female. What was I thinking?
The fabulous women seemed to appeal to men excessively drinking.
I wanted a relationship that was comfortable for me and my man;
Running away from other men was not part of my family plan.

I worked hard to be a best friend rather than a concubine sort;
I didn't know that competition and conquest was a marriage sport.
I groomed myself to be attractive enough to shy men,
Steering carefully away from those with over-confident grins.

It never occurred to me until I'd failed at marriage twice
That there were men out there who only wanted a trophy wife.
Once a trophy is won, it's time to pursue a higher honor degree;
It was never enough for these men that I continued to be simply me.

Where had I gotten the idea that an alpha man wanted an equal companion?
Did I think that walking on two legs made an animal more human?
I was even careful to vet the men for a upbringing that was Christian,
Having been assured that freedom of choice was part of the Christian plan.

I was completely blind to the belief that one could confess to another,
And be exempted from seeking reconciliation with sister or brother.
Much less would a man whose rib had produced his life's mate
Be required to, in other than procreation, with his wife to cooperate.

After all, men who had created a god in their own image and likeness
Weren't likely, to their own weaknesses, wrongs, and needs confess.
Humanity had set up oldest sons as the god-designated progenitors,
Making this male's bothers and sisters into servants, soldiers, and whores.

How great is our American melting pot of those who escaped tradition,
Who have become the progenitors of what many still call sedition.
We are not held to the fears and fallacies of our fathers' faiths;
We have re-defined the rules of justice for the global human race.

I will not go back to the years where we were part of a colony;
Nor will I support the notion of our country's absolute superiority.
Every person, every culture, every one of our global nations
Has something valuable to add to our human survival conversation.

We need those with institutional memories, as well as innovators.
We need the plodders and care givers as well as the creators.
We need those who simply know how to provide comic relief,
And those who can bolster us when we have the need to weep.

There will come a time when we can't count on new generations
To provide everything we need to continue our current creations.
We must stop fighting for the authority of tradition to impose
The way of life on which subsequent generations should repose.

I am willing to give up all my right for my generation to have a voices
If the subsequent generations take full responsibility for their choices.
It seems to me that we need, more than in ancient societies,
Fully cooperative, compassionate, multi-generational communities.

Our Perception of Pain

What a disservice we do to ourselves when we deny our abilities to change. So many of my loved ones have said "This is simply the way I am." Doesn't that negate the purpose of continued life on earth?  When any organism stops changing, it begins to die. Doesn't denying the human ability to continually evolve deny us our choice to leave more positive energy on earth when we do physically die?

Growth is stressful for all organisms. New life is never created without a struggle that we may experience as "pain." Maybe we need to change our ways of looking at stress. Maybe we need to stop seeing all "pain" as punishment, but as opportunities for discovering new things about ourselves and those around us.

All change is stressful, not only to the individual growing or decaying organism, but to the whole system surrounding it. Notice how the seed splits as the seedling emerges, and how the earth heaves as the seeding breaks the surface.

If we want to see the soul-deadening results of holding fast to our old selves, we need to look no farther that our sports stars and other entertainers. We pay them great sums of money to continue to inhabit empty shells of pasted on personae, so that we can live our old selves over and over through them. Meanwhile, they become caricatures of who we want to see.

Some of my favorite portraits have always been those of very old people. I attempt to to read their life stories in the lines of their faces and knots in their gnarled hands. This scares many as evidence of the decaying process; I see it as the turning of their energies into new life energy for the universe. Some of the most delightful stories I've heard have been long-past memories of Alzheimer's patients, whose minds have gone back to play with their childhood families and friends.

It seems to me that the problem facing our society is that we don't properly prepare ourselves for our own evolution and that of those people and systems around us. Too much growth, too soon can cause a weakened person, plant, and system of support. In today's seemingly chaotic times of super-charged evolution, our choices seem to be global synthesis and synergy of all, or annihilation of the earth.

Will only the earth's raw (God force?) energy remain? Will all go back to the parts of The Divine Spirit that was before the Big Bang. Will those who produced no positive energy in their lifetimes simply become as the black holes in the universe?

I don't know the answers, but I hope to die continuing to grow and bond with others in positive power.

Incremental Improvement

Many years ago, I read that businesses don't succeed by inventing something new; they succeed by improving something already in existence by ten percent. I also learned from the Girl Scouts that we should leave everywhere a bit better than we found it. I decided to combine these two teachings for success at parenting and being fully human. Because both my faith background and my country's constitution advocate freedom of choice and rebirth, I have been able to start over several times, striving to better my existing world by ten percent.

I do believe that the generation that I came from improved our country by at least ten percent. Before the sixties, we in America believed that fear-based religion, maleness, whiteness, and war were superior to all the alternatives. We believed that it was right to persecute and prosecute any that disagreed with our views. We came, in my generation, to look for alternatives to war and accept differences of opinion, skin tones, gender boundaries, and paths to eternal peace.

We now seem to be facing the alternative of going backward to our fantasy of our country's former reality or forward to a further enlightened set of values. I will probably not live to see the realization of world peace. I only pray that each succeeding generation of my America will move at least ten percent closer to the peace that comes from a respectful Spirit.

My first husband was the father of my children, who adored his mother to the point of being her "little man." I had no shot at being strong enough for his undying trust and affections as a partner. This failing on my part was only exacerbated by his mother's death after our first year of marriage.

Her impending death came with the accompanying injunction that her oldest son should take over her protective role for her children, his siblings, even though their father was still alive. My parents also looked to us to parent their children. Our young marriage was crushed under the burdens.

My second "husband" had none of the attributes that would make him a parenting partner, but at least he offered some stability without threatening my children. He was, however, intensely jealous of my affection for them. He chose to go rather than grow.

My third husband helped heal my mothering self. This man knew what he expected of a marriage partner, and was able to eloquently articulate his values. It was only through his respect for the right role of a wife and mother that I became able to face myself.  He also honored the place my mothering played in his life, having developed extreme self-control, which served him well in allowing me to mother so many in need.

Many years ago, marriageable men had to prove that they had the resources to protect their women. In my opinion, the greatest among men is the man who will husband the resources to protect his woman from those who want to overpower her and leave defenseless children and suffering women in their wakes. No matter what we may now think, we are all made vulnerable by our motherhood.

Perhaps it is time for women to honor our men for their valiant efforts at partnering and parenting, at their own great emotional and physical expense. Women typically outlive their men, which gives women many years of following late-in-life missions. Is it too much to ask that women offer our men our gratitude for protecting us while we mother? Mutual respect and gratitude would likely improve our families by ten percent.

I know that my children are at least ten percent better at being parents than I was. I am so grateful for this. Will this count as my ten percent contribution to a better world? I will probably never know for sure, but I hope so.

Live, Love, Laugh

My daughter has the slogan, "Live, Love, Laugh" prominently displayed in several places in her home. I love light-hearted laughter, but am not comfortable with much of the "snark" that passes for funny. So much of who we like to be with seems to be based on what we find fun and funny. Shared humor certainly makes my marriage much more rewarding.

Although the thing that first attracted me to Richard was the twinkle in his eyes when he gazed at my infant godson, there have been many points of his humor that didn't amuse me one bit. Richard was brought up in an age when ridicule was seen as a way to change the behaviors of others. We had to negotiate this tendency out of our relationships to the children in our care.

There are things that I find amusing that don't make him laugh. Humor about my failing female body parts simply embarrasses him. I know some women who only laugh with their fellow female friends, and men who do the same. I am so grateful for the friends that I find funny who also love to laugh with me.

When we finally trust our relationships enough to find each others' and our own foibles funny, we can get through almost anything life throws at us. It took many years of our own healing for us to get to that point of trust. I am eternally grateful that now my best and funniest friend is my husband.

Giggles are the purest form of laughter, as they come from our child-like innocence way down deep in our souls. A good guffaw, not at another's expense, can really clean out our emotional cobwebs. Maybe marriage preparation should include a giggle and guffaw gauge. If you can't find any mutually funny moments, you marriage will probably be one long, hard road.

Isn't it amazing that even a laugh can be healing or hurtful? I'm not sure we can ever achieve "faith like a child" until we reclaim our ability to giggle and guffaw as we did when we were still innocent.

Giving In to Growth

In honor of a verse from Corinthians: When my children and grandchildren were young, I embraced their youth, what they thought, what they said, that which they read, that which with they played and those with whom they were friends. Now that they are grown or almost adults, I look forward to encountering what they have become. I only hope that we can relate as respectful adults.

Today, as I cleaned our condo in which only one grandchild has slept in our two years here, I realized that it may be time to put away the books I read to them as infants. What a sad time this was for me in realizing that I will never again be surrounded by their innocent awe in all around them. This comes with gratitude that I spent so much time surrounded by my children and their children in the glow of family protection for so many years.

How humbling it is to know that they will now make their own life choices; that they may take our teachings backward or forward a generation or two.  Unless we sequester ourselves and our progeny, there is no way that we can predict what they will be. All of us, and our subsequent generations, are products of so many influences that their futures are impossible to predict.

My faith is in our ability as humans to choose to be reborn and to come to a point where we embrace our own support groups for growth. No more is our ancestral history our destiny. The greatest gifts I've been given are encompassed in my coming of age during the counter-cultural revolutions.

Gone are the artificial boundaries of religion, race, gender, class, and political bias, at least in theory. Women and other vulnerable, minority, and formerly disenfranchised populations are now considered as fully functional and honored members of our voting American populace. My focus, now that my primary motherhood mission is accomplished, is to do whatever I am able to assist in securing the realities of our nation's truly "Democratic society" promises.

Breath after Death

There is a saying, "That which doesn't kill you, makes you strong." Gayle wrote in her blog today OneBirdWatching.blogspot.com of "a change of vision and a new relationship with the Spirit of God, a "new breath" that brings life to our souls after an experience of death."  

In the past four years, I have felt myself dying a thousand times as I lost relationships with many through illnesses, deaths, moves and finally becoming aware of my past as part of my present. It has always been important to me to revisit the points of my pain's origins in order to begin again with a new "skin." 

I have been rejected by many who are angry with me for not being "there" for them, and I am blessed by many  more who have been here to help me heal. Connecting with the energy of these people is the purpose of my pilgrimages to places and people from which I was formed.

My daughter reminded a recent faith focus group that even Jesus needed to take time off to refresh his spirit because so many, as the woman who touched the hem of his robe, drained energy from him. We are told that Jesus felt great grief in facing his own physical death, and that he went to hell before he was reborn in his strictly spiritual self. Is this the path that we must all follow to become truly born again as people of the Holy Spirit?

All creation is suffused with Divine energy that we can either accept or reject. I believe that the only permanent death is the rejection of the positive power of Divine energy. Whatever we touch on earth, positively or negatively, becomes our legacy in the rest of life. Perhaps if we are willing to face dying a bit to ourselves, we can leave more positive power of The Spirit for future generations.

Companionship and Creativity

We finally gave ourselves permission to do what we do best while in Coker Creek. We worked and relaxed with friends instead of staying so much to ourselves. Mary and Don have taken over the management of our property, so we walked into a welcoming ambiance instead of facing the first few days of our stay cleaning cobwebs and mice droppings. Thanks to them, we felt like guests in our own home.

Richard was willing to take time to "go visiting" several of our friends. We actually took rides simply for the sake of enjoying the scenery, while even Richard found occasion to wax ecstatic about the glory of the beauty surrounding us. Nancy and Jim brought along Mary when we met at Tellicafe. We enjoyed all of their company along with a marvelous meal. Being into seafood and local cuisines, I had a great mountain trout stuffed with a shrimp dressing. Is it still sea food when it comes from a mountain stream?

Deborah and David showed us around their antique shop and treated us to the best sweet potato fries on earth at Cotton Pickin'. Richard had good Pasta Alfredo and I had the Eggplant Parmesan. David is quite a character who seems to be giving Deborah a new lease on life. There were no dull moments at that supper.

Several days before that, Richard and I ate at the new Mexican restaurant in Tellico Plains. Who would have predicted that we'd ever see ethnic food added to the country cooking in the Bible belt town of Tellico Plains?

Our final weekend held a great finale with the Coker Creek Autumn Gold Festival.  Richard manned his usual post, collecting money for the Ruritan food concessions while I floated around spending and grinning. Wanda talked me into helping to judge the festival queen contest and I assisted at the Quilts for Kids booth, which is always a joy.

Donna and her co-chairs lead a powerhouse of women creating crafts which they sell to fund quilts that they make and donate to children in medical and other life crises. Their blessings become love on the laps of all these children to whom they offer their compassionate gifts. I guess Donna and her co-chair Delight were meant to meet. Donna's last name is Powers and Delight's is House. Hence: PowerHouse. 

I had a blast meeting so many talented crafters and catching up with so many who stopped by the booth to chat. I met two authors whose autographed books I bought, one at the festival and one at the new Coker Creek Gallery. We also came home with great gifts for friends in Louisiana and some for ourselves to extend our mountain memories until we come back to Coker Creek.

Our next trip won't be very far in the future, as the trip across the street led us to our next commitment. Stephanie, the owner of the gallery, wants assistance in setting up a weaving room. I asked Ralph, whose mother brought weaving to the area, if he'd be willing to help. He has recruited Richard to help him help Stephanie upon our return. I love being a catalyst for creativity.