Much maligned monthlies not for marinating in....

Gentlemen I give you this bit of advice: reduce a sauce, your waist line, or your power bill before you ever, ever reduce the sum total of a good woman's thoughts down to her hormones. I don't care if you know for a fact that she's straddling a mattress, bloated and riddled with cramps, and that her breasts are clearly two vertically suspended Hindenburgs. In your effort to appear all knowing or empathic, you reveal yourself to be another card carrying fascist pig.

What allows me to say so with such precise insight? Call it the same instinct that tells me you might want to happily eviscerate a woman who whenever you expressed something she didn't like simply observed "This is really about your fear of erectile dysfunction, isn't it Hon?" No amount of penis envy would excuse that kind of self-serving presumptuous remark on a woman's part now would it? Of course not.

Yes, we menstruate. Yes, it amplifies what's already there. No we don't appreciate reminders subtle or otherwise that both these things are true. It's about as useful as pointing out to an alcoholic that they behave differently while drinking. Notice that it almost never changes a drunk's behaviour when you do that. Likewise, the t-shirt I saw in the mall pretty much sums up how most women view their period: The one time of the month when I can really be myself.

20-25 days a month we soothe, we listen, we anticipate, come man cold or anima attack. We don't earn your wages but we do take your shit and try to turn it into fertilizer.

So what can you do that would be helpful? Think NASA and give your woman some space. I mean real space. No you don't need to build a menstrual yurt or disappear for the weekend--though Goddess knows I'd pay my husband to take an occasional sojourn through Arctic tundra and leave his map at home.

But then I'd miss him. I appreciate it enormously when I am PMS'd off my face and instead of rubbing my nose in blood, he simply takes me in his arms for a soft, sensual cuddle that includes a prolonged stroke of my lumbar region.

If I'm over-sensitive or bitchy, let him consider the countless ways I prop up his manly ego and walk over egg shells so as not to bruise his pride or provoke his temper. Let him be the change he would see in me and model the self-restraint.....just once. It wouldn't even have to be once a month.

Resurrection

We never lose anything we own with our soul. Likewise, it's never too late to lose an internalized distortion. The very long subtitle here might read: Lessons my Dad is teaching me twenty four years after his death.

This is about clarity. A huge moment of it, which came just on the tail end so to speak of making love with my husband. I know some use nicotine to focus their mind, for others maybe meditation is the catalyst of choice. For me this morning, a big piece of the puzzle lay waiting in the arms of the man I love. As partners often will, he's watched me struggle with myself for years over one particularly persistent pattern that dogs my being. You see, I don't often stick with people, places, or things. I've made choices that manifest in much being left unfinished. Big things sometimes, like marriages, jobs, projects, even parenting when I was younger. You get the picture. Nothing too remarkable here- except that before this morning a piece of connective tissue that had been missing as to "how come" would finally get connected.

I call these missing pieces loose threads, and they're potentially transformative when they poke out your sleeve end at just the right moment. I lay there contentedly in my bed, beginning to contemplate the day as is my habit, and the feeling came. The one that always comes. The one that judges me for being directionless, lazy, lacking in meaningful goals and is accompanied by intense inner restlessness and impatience. "I must be in the wrong place on the planet- that's it. It must be time to move somewhere new". Or, it used to be "I must be in the wrong relationship", or "I must not being trying as hard as other people who deserve to live self-fulfilled lives".

So goes the refrain. Day after day like some irritating bit of plant fiber stuck between my teeth. The difference is that today this thread this time had a new context. The context that has come from a moment on the Isle of Iona while walking completely on my own down a windy dirt road in cold light rainfall one early July morning. Suddenly I just was. Walking. Nothing added or taken away. I noticed it. No needs and no mental static or distractions. My soul alone animating my two feet, each unhurried step following the other. Non-linear, totally awake, and completely at peace. This was it, and it was self-evident. No more searching. I was Rumi's poem come to life- I was what I was looking for. Like an answered prayer on two legs, I spent the rest of the day in perfect alignment with all that ever had been or would be. A gentleness, born of pure love and effortless appreciation shone from every pore of my being and I knew my Self to be timeless and perfect.

"You'll lose this when you're back home" I reminded myself. It wouldn't matter. Surely. I had walked through a gateway and that had to mean a door would remain open if only by the tiniest of cracks. It had to mean that somehow, back home in a very quiet suburban life I could still find my way back as many times as required until living in a place of enlightenment was easy.

Well, it hasn't been easy. The resistance to letting go of the old messages and mental patterns has been huge. Instead of the static becoming quieter it's become maddeningly louder. If you're an advanced spiritual teacher or an inherently wise soul reading this, you're most likely smiling or nodding at the perfection of this kind of angst following on the heels of a profound revelation.

But what about my Dad? He's been gone for a long time, which any good psychologist will tell you doesn't matter. A message from him, spoken to my eight year old self had taken root in my consciousness and was thriving like the root ball of a weed. "God gave you a gifted mind and you're going to waste it--because you have no self-discipline". He was probably just frustrated at the time, maybe I'd dropped the ball at school and disappointed his ambitions for me. Dad's expectations were high and his opinion was who I was- was how I saw myself and what I cared about most-- namely, pleasing him. Earning his hard won approval was everything. I'd seen this before- had waded through my family of origin work-- but this time I saw it. Classic, obvious, simple. Juxtaposed against a back drop of a mother who loved me unconditionally and whose one request was that I finish high school; I have been a self in limbo if not at war between ambition and ambivalence for forty some odd years. How wonderfully silly.

My husband stopped and looked at me and smiled. "That was the key message" he said. I looked at him and got it. Got that I wake up each day in a place of wishing that just for today I could stop feeling as Jackson Browne sang " I guess they've got a lot to do before they can rest assured, their lives, are justified". I'd been praying to God that she would let me slide, because I wasn't about to. Until now maybe. For just today...the mind my Dad said would be wasted, because that was his fear, his way to love me--that same mind has forgiven us both.

Home Again. Same But Different

Dear Reader,

6 weeks, 50+ hours of flying on 8 different aircraft, 4 ferry boat rides, 2 bus rides, 3 train trips, and 45 public restrooms later, it was finally time to land in Auckland after a long and rewarding quest-- the solo heroine's journey I'd been dreaming of. My two most potent destinations turned out as expected, to be the ancient sites of the Goddess in Sligo County Ireland, and on the Isle of Iona in Scotland- also known as a place where Druids lived, where Christianity was birthed in Scotland, and where the veil between the worlds is thin....

According to one interpretation, the last stage of the hero's journey a la Joseph Campbell is: "TO RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR." This is where "the hero returns home or continues the journey, bearing some element of the treasure that has the power to transform the world as the hero has been transformed".

Transformation is a big word. A big-self-help-human-potential-Hollywood's version-of-the-quest word. What follows is a small story about transformation and the subtle power it brings. In this case the setting was in a cave known in Gaelic as Oweynagat or Cave of the Cats, located at Rath Croghan / Cruachan in the great archaeological complex in north Co. Roscommon, Ireland. This small cave has huge mythic importance as the ancient capital of the goddess-queen MEDB, often pronounced and spelt as Meave. Inside are two ogham slabs that when translated mean ‘the pillar of Fraech son of Madb’.

An 18th century text tells us that the cave is the “Hell-mouth of Ireland”. But my interest in the place is to do with another ancient association with the Goddess Morrigan, The Great Queen" one of the archetypal Mother-goddesses of the Irish Celtoi. Goddess of war, death, prophecy, she escorts souls to the underworld. It is said that at Samhain, she comes out of the cave with an enormous monster cat.

Ok. Now that you have a bit of context, imagine yourself about to enter the interior of this 120 ft deep natural limestone fissure, the entrance to which is covered by a Hawthorn tree. As with many of the sacred sites I visited, no sign posts of any kind mark the site from the road, nor is the entrance to the cave sign posted. I arrived with my friend and guide Ursula on a summer's evening in late June. We put on coveralls, checked that our hand held flashlights were working, and crawled carefully with a few small votive candles and offerings into the mouth of the cave. I felt a little nervous like a school girl on a dare. Once inside, the temperature noticeably colder, I shown my torch down into what looked like an abyss with no visible end in sight. The walls were cold wet and slippery from ceiling to floor. We moved a few feet slowly inside the pitch blackness.

I really hadn't expected to feel afraid, despite the chills now crawling up my spine. I was also physically exhausted. Jet lag was lingering like never before. I hadn't slept since arriving in Los Angeles a week earlier. My throat had been growing more irritated and sore by the day. On this day it hurt to swallow or speak.

"Ursula, I'm scared" I whispered, looking into the warm understanding eyes of my guide. "So am I" she replied. After a moment's hesitation I decided to go first. The way was treacherous as my sneakers kept slipping on the surface of the rocks and boulders. About 30 feet into the tunnel, I peered with the small hand held torch into what lay ahead of us, realizing that I had serous doubts about continuing. The way ahead made a sharp descent, and even if we managed to reach the chamber at the end, how would we climb back out with nothing to hold on to. We were two women alone in a remote place where few people go, if one of us fell who would know? Cell phones don't penetrate this far underground. Help could take hours to reach us.

"Something is telling me this is as far as I should go". Ursula looked at me and nodded. I knew this was her third attempt at going all the way to the cave's end. Our breath now visible in the dampness, she said, "I think I might try to go further". I told her I would wait for her, and would shine my torch as far ahead as possible, although our lights were feeble in the largeness of the blackness, surrounding us as if it might swallow us whole. It wasn't that I felt there was evil here, far from it. I simply knew we weren't alone, that eyes were upon us as they had been in the Dragon Wood.

Ursula began to try and lower herself down the slick ledge in front of us. I had the overwhelming urge to tell her that my sense was that if it were merely her curiosity driving her on, she might want to reconsider. She stopped and breathed heavily. Just then both batteries fell from her camera. "I think you're right" she said.

It was then I knew what I wanted to do next. I asked her if we could extinguish our flash lights and meditate in the total dark. Silent for a moment, she asked softly "Would you mind if I hum"? We both began to hum, and as we did the darkness eased it's grip, with our voices echoing off the walls we felt safer.

Then, as if it were a song we knew, we both stopped at the same moment. In the silence that followed, I heard a buzz, and then a soft whir...something brushed my hair as soft as a whisper. More shivers down my spine came with a greeting spoken non-verbally...."My daughter, what you are sensing is power in a form you're unfamiliar with. The important question is; what does power mean to you?

The answer that came was " it means the the power to harm or the power to heal" was my first thought. "Are you so sure they're different"? Came the unhesitating reply.

At that moment I let go of every childhood nightmare, fears of every description began to flood from the pores of my skin. All the things I'd feared would find me, haunt me, even death lost it's sting and began to drain away within this womb like passage to the depths of where the unconscious and the otherworld are joined.

We lit our small votive candles, laid them on a ledge and set our offerings beside them. Mine was a three pronged piece of corral found on Maui the day that my Sister and I had spread my Mother's ashes. Now it would rest here in the cave where I had been released.

We emerged changed. I no longer had any trace of the sore throat which had plagued me for days. I was filled energy and elation. Ursula was too. Later, in the images like the one above, orbs would be clearly visible in large images of the photos. One such orb, bright blue is clearly visible-- perhaps whatever healed my throat was matching the colour of that particular chakra.

So this, is what I now understand transformation to mean; a moment of trust and surrender to something powerful that raises us up to a higher vibrational level and opens the heart.

I have a new response when fear finds me- I remember the Morrigan's fingertips in my hair, and then I can smile.

She's Leaving Home

I’m 52 years old and it’s time—time for a journey home to myself. I’ve spent this life looking for, finding, and caring for a multitude of loves. Whether falling for a new man, a babe in arms, or losing myself in the thrill some new country or calling, these passions have in common that they are ultimately about something or someone external. Relationships are a woman’s great distraction from herself, as much as they are a place where we give and receive gifts. A few years ago I began to know this was incomplete for me. Not the whole story. The longing for a place and time to really face myself reached a fevered pitch upon emerging from the depths of grief 2 years after my mother died. My Mother’s song was sung, her precious life on earth had ended, but had she truly been her own person? Mistress of her own soul? Would I ever be? The answer seemed a resounding “not likely”-- unless I go away. Home is a place where losing myself in the business of care-giving has become all too habitual.

So I’m telling myself it’s now or never…In less than a month two dreaded twelve hour plane flights will see me leave my son and husband to fend for themselves, to answer a call on the other side of the globe. My hope is for a 6-week sojourn to lead me into deep recesses of all that I’ve been too busy or scared to discover about the truth of who I am- and to learn something about the forgotten history of who we as women once were. I’ve chosen Ireland for its’ well preserved ties to the Great Mother- the religion of the Goddess which the invasion of Roman Catholicism was unable to destroy. With the help of two local guides, the plan is to go climbing down into ancient sacred burial sites and meditate in deep forgotten wells. Where Druids once drank and ritual sacrifice was part of life, my challenge to myself will be to let go of my carefully constructed identity. To let go of living life engrossed in the glue of my for need for relationship- for mothering, caring for, sharing with, talking to, living for. I’m ready to give up the routines and comforts that keep me comfortably numb so that I bring back insights and inspiration into my daily life.

Wish me luck and watch this space…..

Wende.

Hot Tubs, Mindfulness and The New Fertility

Oh my. It has been a while since my last post. So here's some seismic shift news:

My family of three has come closer together, my husband and I are engaging in way more physical skin to skin touch, and I'm enjoying being in the moment again.....soooo much more! All for the same reason!

Now before those of you who know anything is possible with me start wondering whether I've thrown all morals to the wind ( which I do on the odd occasion) and or adopted some kinky new lifestyle- I'll come clean-- literally. We recently invested in $6000.00 worth of perpetual family therapy. Our new guru of good times is 2 meters tall by 3 meters wide and has a very bubbly personality. Best yet- there's no need to make an appointment and no office hours to worry about.

If you guessed "hot tub" you get a gold star. Turns out I'd been going about this togetherness thing the wrong way. You know, winging about how we need time without screens, food, or chores involved. I've also been feeling less than sensual with my husband after more than a decade of marriage and it isn't just about how often we do it. It's about the quality of how we are together. He works from home and I work now and then- so we see each other all the time without really looking. Sound familiar? I take myself out on dates or sometimes my 11 yr old and I paint the town red, since hubby prefers home based activities such as reading.

Getting back to the hot tub is like getting back to nature. We peel off, slide in and let the heat of the water, the massage action of the jets, and the beauty of green pongas and the mini forest in our own lovely back yard work their magic. Often we don't speak at all, but if we do the conversation is unhurried and relaxed. If my husband and I are alone in the tub, there's no need to create intimacy. It's right there waiting. There's no pressure to try and get away from the house so we can unwind and be different with each other. Now instead of wishing he'd "take me out somewhere" I just ask if he'd like to join me outside. It's also a new favorite meditation spot for me in the early morning- sort of a liquid sanctuary-- who knew?

So, here's the point of my share. I know we can't all afford or maybe wouldn't even want a hot tub in our back yard. The gift and the reminder here for me is that the things we need and ask for as women can come to us in unexpected ways when we believe, affirm, and then let go of expectations. If I had gone out and bought a hot tub with the idea of it saving my marriage, fixing the disconnect in my family's lack of closeness, etc- it probably wouldn't have worked.

Instead, we just innocently went for the idea of a something that would bring us joy and voila- some prayers were answered ( I'm not even sure whether my two guys noticed or care).

This is what I believe pulls the weeds of stagnation, plants the seeds of delight and fertilizes the ground for rejuvenation. Focus on what brings magic, ease, and grace into one's awareness and then be grateful for whatever's there. Celebrate the full moon, cocktails, candle light, and what you do experience as good. When I invest in making the process more fun I'm also more likely to trust simple remedies to balance me when there is a sense of impatience, fatigue, discontent or heaviness. Ask yourself what does it for you? I'm a believer in power naps, walks by the beach and time spent journaling or meditating as easy to no energy required solutions for letting the juices replenish. Winter may be around the corner but what a good reason to get cozy in front of a fire and to justletgo.

Here's to mindfulness,

Love,

Gwen.

Arriving At Your Own Door

Ok. So I stole the title from a book by Jon Kabat Zinn. It just so happens that mindfulness, which as we all know is a) a Zen buddhist concept, and b) easier said than done. Having recently gone back into counseling with the aim of fixing things in my life, it turned out the problem had something to do with me. Amazing! I was sure it was my husband or my hormones, or some lethal combination of the two.

Turns out, even though a lot of things were going well- I wasn't seeing them. I could see problems with the accuracy of an American Bald Eagle at a half mile altitude honing in on its prey. When there's goodness around me- as in every moment, I find that my focus on happiness soon blurs into regret, nostalgia, resentment, guilt, sadness and a whole host of other neurotic attempts to not be here now.

So at the moment, I'm actually spending time here. Now. It's a weird, wonderful, unfamiliar place to be. There's nothing to do here, no one to fix, and in place of the many legitimate and superfluous distractions I might otherwise engage in, there's often stillness.

It doesn't look like the busyness and oh-look-at-all-she-does- she's-so-productive life I had resolutely decided to create for 2010. Nope. This is a life where I listen, chop wood, and carry a laptop. Right now I'm writing to you- there's nothing else going on. Nirvana.