Witch-hunts, revisited…

 (This text was first written and published about a month ago. It has been slightly changed)

Today yet another of my Heart Sisters was declared mad (“psychotic”), apprehended against her will, drugged into a zombie state of compliance (“She’s much calmer now”) and incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital for an undetermined period. She is the fifth of my close acquaintances to be subjected to this kind of experience.

 More and more of us are waking up to expanded awareness and what were once considered extra-sensory capabilities. As we peel off the shrink-wrap that has kept us small – tightly-swaddled infants, secure in our imprisonment – we open to other-dimensionality and all that this implies.

Courses in Shamanism, Trance-Mediumship, Working with your Totem Spirits, Talking to your Guardian Angel, Connecting to the Angelic Realms, etc, etc. have proliferated exponentially over the past decade, seeds sown in the fertile ground of a collective consciousness finally ready to breach the illusion of separation between Spirit and Matter. All the Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, et al who attend their houses of worship and enter into prayerful connection with the Other Realms are lauded for so doing. They are considered good, moral people.

So how can it still be justified to violate a person’s free will and impose on her a materialistic, what-I-can-touch-is-what-is-Real definition of “Normalcy”? 

It is when our deviation from the norm disturbs the Clan – when it attracts too much attention and becomes a source of embarrassment to the social standing of The Family – that we find ourselves in peril. We are led by a kind of social mafioso, with a duty to bow to the Rules or suffer the consequences of exile or death.
But who among us does not hear that Little Voice – or maybe even many of them! We are having to learn to discern between all the voices that have been recorded inside us (that of Mom, Dad, Church, School Teacher, etc.) and the voice of our own sovereign Truth.

There, but for the grace of the Multiverse, go I – when I went through my most intense spiritual openings, it was in the 70s and I was living on the edge of Chinatown in San Francisco, separated from anyone who might have been frightened for me and easily melding in with the thousands of others experiencing alternate realities for a variety of reasons.

Today, I am infinitely grateful for having had the freedom to walk my own circuitous path to my Self. I am incensed and deeply wounded for my Relations who do not.

The members of our Heartroot community have often heard me say that we’re a flock of black sheep, each of us accustomed to an identity of The One Who’s Different, who sticks out … who disturbs. We have often comforted ourselves with the certainty of being Special.
If Heartroot is a place of refuge, it is not necessarily just to escape the deep solitude of The City and find commune in Nature. Here, people tell me that the greatest relief is to feel safe and free enough to really share what they’re thinking. We may talk a lot about the weather 😉 but there is also, in the silence of the forest and the starry darkness of the night, the space to express all that we have in our hearts without feeling weird and different.
  Perhaps this feeling of acceptance could help you better navigate the life you have been bequeathed – the fortress you have continued to build. Maybe it could even inspire you to find the keys to open the door and leave in peace, free and sovereign ….

AHO….

 

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La Chasse aux Sorcières…reprise

(Ce texte a été écrit en anglais il y a un mois. Il a été traduit et un peu changé.)

 Aujourd’hui encore une autre de mes Sœurs du Cœur a été déclarée folle (“psychotique”), appréhendée contre sa volonté, droguée dans un état zombie (“Elle est beaucoup plus calme maintenant”) et incarcérée dans un hôpital psychiatrique pour une période indéterminée. Elle est la cinquième de mes connaissances proches qui vit une telle expérience.
Nous sommes de plus en plus nombreux à nous éveiller à une conscience épanouie et à des capacités qui était autrefois considéré comme extra-sensorielles. Alors que nous nous débarrassons du Shrink-Wrap qui nous a gardé petits – emmaillotés étroitement, en sécurité dans notre emprisonnement – nous ouvrons à l’autre-dimensionnalité et tout ce que cela implique.

  Les chrétiens, les musulmans, les juifs, les bouddhistes, les hindous et autres qui fréquentent leurs lieux de culte et entrent en relation de prière avec les autres domaines de l’Existence sont loués pour ce faire. Ils sont considérés comme des bonnes personnes morales. 

  Les cours de chamanisme, de transe-médiumnité, de travail avec vos esprits totémiques, de discussion avec votre ange gardien, de connexion aux royaumes angéliques, etc., ont proliféré de manière exponentielle au cours de la dernière décennie, semés dans le sol fertile d’une conscience collective enfin prête pour briser l’illusion de la séparation entre l’Esprit et la Matière. 
  Alors, comment peut-il encore être justifié de violer le libre arbitre d’une personne et de lui imposer une définition matérialiste, ‘ce-que-je-peux-toucher-est-ce-qui-est-réel’, de la “normalité”?

  C’est quand notre déviation du norme dérange le Clan, – quand elle attire trop d’attention et devient une source de gêne au standing social de La Famille – que nous nous trouvons en péril.  Nous somme menés par une sorte de mafioso social, avec un devoir de nous incliner devant Les Règles ou de souffrir les conséquences d’exile ou de mort.

Mais qui parmi nous n’entends pas La Petite Voix – ou peut-être même plusieurs! Nous sommes en train d’apprendre à discerner entre toutes les voix qui ont été enregistrées en nous (celle de Maman, de Papa, de l’Église, de la Maitresse d’école, etc.) et la voix de notre propre Vérité souveraine. 
  Là, sauf pour la grâce du Multivers, j’y vais. (Traduction libre 😉 de l’aphorisme anglais: ‘There, but for the Grace of God, go I”) Quand j’ai traversé mes ouvertures spirituelles les plus intenses, c’était dans les années ’70s et je demeurais sur le bord du quartier chinois à San Francisco, séparée de tous ceux qui auraient pu avoir peur pour moi et facilement fusionnée avec les milliers d’autres personnes qui vivaient des réalités altérées pour une raison ou une autre.
  Aujourd’hui, je suis infiniment reconnaissant d’avoir eu la liberté de marcher mon propre chemin vers ma vérité. Je me sens exaspérée et profondément blessée pour Tous mes Relations qui ne l’ont pas.

Les membres de notre communauté Heartroot m’on souvent entendu dire que nous sommes un troupeau de moutons noirs, chacun d’entre nous accoutumé à une identité de Celle Qui Est Différente, qui détonne…qui dérange. Nous nous avons souvent réconforté avec la certitude d’être Spéciale.

Si Heartroot est un lieu de refuge, ce n’est pas nécessairement juste pour échapper la grande solitude de La Ville et communier avec la Nature. Ici, les gens me disent que le plus gros soulagement est de sentir la sécurité et la liberté de “dire des vraies affaires”. On parle quand-même beaucoup de la météo 😉 mais il y a aussi, dans le silence de la forêt et la noirceur étoilée de la nuit, de l’espace pour exprimer tout ce qu’on a sur le cœur, sans détonner ni déranger.

Peut-être que ce sentiment d’acceptation pourrait vous aider à mieux naviguer la vie que vous avez été léguée – la forteresse que vous avez continué à construire. Peut-être qu’il pourrait même vous inspirer à trouver les clefs pour en sortir en paix, libre et souverain….

Aho…

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For Mariela, in preparation for Women’s Day…

Namasté…

There are photographs you may have seen with a water droplet that has splashed and rippled a watery blue surface, while above all the movement another drop hovers in time, isolated and intact. The sweet, brilliant architect and inventor, Buckminster Fuller, described the Feminine as wave, begetting wave, begetting wave, and the Masculine as represented by that singular drop of water.

This explains so very much.

The feminine principle in each one of us is about Connection to All Our Relations: to our Human Family, our Earth Family, including the animals, plants and minerals, and to all other Beings in the multiverse. Waves upon waves radiate in concentric circles of reality, ripples in the Ocean of Existence.

The masculine principle is concerned about our individual identities – who am I and how am I different and special? Humanity has come through a long and painful period of defining the value of an individual in terms of power and dominion. Physical strength, intellectual prowess, moral superiority – whatever sets us above others and separate from them – has been identified by our cultures and societies as a positive, and masculine, trait. Being a Real Man has been defined as having some kind of power over someone. The antipode of this has been the powerlessness that our cultures and traditions have taught us is the state of a Natural Woman.

Those of us who choose to identify primarily with the feminine aspects of ourselves have a calling to honour and nourish the Earth and all Beings with whom we feel connection. Particularly when we become parents, it takes deeply encrusted judgements and prejudices to suppress the hard, physical fact that everyone is somebody’s child.

Those still struggling with the desire for power and dominance are having to work harder to justify and maintain their positions of superiority, for their time has passed. What I am seeing is that our value is more likely now to be judged in terms of the degree of our alignment with an individual Mission or Truth that is not imposed by any external authority but is rather the unfolding of our own, sovereign selves. As the dignity and integrity of the masculine principle is resuscitated in this way, the feminine is freed to blossom as well.

Peace, harmony, love, self-realisation – these all arise from an awareness of connection – of Oneness with All that Is. Anchored in this awareness and aligned with our individual Light, our individual Truth, we walk in balance and in beauty – in service to the World.

Blessèd Be!

water drop ripples

 

 

 

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Collateral Damage: the Culture of Christianity

Written in October, 2010, first titled: “Duality and Sexuality: The Law of the Jungle”

(This text may have been written based on my experiences in Costa Rica and Quebec, but it pertains equally well to any cultural and religious context that has its foundation in the suppression of the Feminine)

Over the past 2 weeks, I have had the honour of touching so many people here in Costa Rica, their lives and stories filling my heart and belly with the history of this land that I love so much.

I am told that someone has decided on the basis of statistics that Latin Americans are the most sexually well-adjusted people on the planet. Oh dear…Perhaps this mess is a harbinger of “the only way out is up”, and Costa Rica – along with all the other places on earth where the Catholic Church has cut its wide swath – are at the forefront of a shift in the way we live and love. Let’s hope….

Catholic men and women have historically been taught that sexuality was a bestial necessity of the need to go forth and multiply, and The Church had the foresight to co-opt Motherhood as the guardian of Family morality, convincing women that God would still love them long after their husbands had left them to go out and do more multiplying. Trading therefore the pure love of God and the assurance of a cozy afterlife in His care for the temporal carnality of – ugh! – sex with their husbands, the righteous Founding Mothers of this country left a legacy of shame and repression that still resonates its complicated patterns in every cell of each indoctrinated body.

But this is not the whole story, it seems. While the Founding Fathers here in Costa Rica – the white men who “broke” the land- were out conquering the jungle with roads and railways and the indigenous people with guns, money and semen, it seems that a goodly number of the Founding Mothers, perhaps tired of being civilised and doing needlepoint and such – maybe it had something to do with the wildness of the Life busily replicating itself around them – decided to divert their creative energy elsewhere. I am told, in tones strangely hushed for these modern times, that familial traits often pop up in the darn’dest places – the nose and eyes of an old and respected family appearing, for example, under another name….Children here, in the social strata where properties and genetic material are carefully hybridised, grafted and cultivated, carry the family names of both parents.

Class differences are as marked in Costa Rica as elsewhere in Latin America, but at least here the poor feel they are equal citizens of the land. Here, Ticos unencumbered by material possessions will look you in the eye when they speak to you, call you “Mi Amor” or “Mi Reina” and dispatch God to accompany you with the confidence of those who are still on intimate terms with the Divine.

The first time I came to Costa Rica, not quite 20 years ago, I stayed with my young family in a beach house near Esterillos on the Pacific coast. On our first trip into town for food and sundries, I was surprised at the tight clothes, over-the-top makeup, stiletto heels and general come-hither looks of dozens of beautiful young women strolling the main street. When I commented on the high number of prostitutes for such a small place, our host, a transplanted Quebecois, informed me that these were actually the upstanding young ladies of the town, from good Catholic families, advertising their availability to potential marriage partners – strutting their stuff. For poor families the world over, a beautiful daughter can be a precious commodity, possibly attracting a man of better standing, or even a foreigner. Although marriage is the preferred outcome, the men with power and money here in Latin America are notoriously generous with their…attentions.

Once you have had children, in or out of wedlock, you do everything in your power to keep the father around. You ignore his peccadillos and the abuse of whatever sort might come your way and you make sure you “get your body back” as soon as possible. You get a nanny if you can afford it, and get back as soon as possible to the business of keeping your man. The thing is that within the mythical constellation of Catholicism, once you become a mother you are set up for the role of Madonna – you become unsulliable – the Mother to the man who is supposed to be your mate. The obvious solution for the male is to find another sexual partner: The Mistress – The Whore. We see this everywhere in the world, different cultures with differing degrees of acceptance of the arrangement. A logical way off this Mary-go-round would be to be gay – if the Holy Mother Church only had less hold on the privates of the people. The other option that leaves one perhaps in the best of all possible circumstances is to be a moneyed widow: power, freedom and the moral high road in one neat package.

“This is the way it works – this is just the way it is”….and yet….Men I have spoken to here seem to be divided into two camps as well. Some of them seem bound to the responsibilities and privileges of a monogamous family relationship, expressing mostly an incredulous “Who has the time and energy for anything else?”  These are fathers who are involved with their children, often not wanting them to have to experience the pain that they did at having absent fathers. The other men have simply replicated the time-worn stereotype of the Latin macho man, sometimes with a sense of a kind of addictive inevitability – of not being able to stop themselves though they might want to on some level. Others are just proudly/defensively certain that “men are made this way”.

Both wives and mistresses are often left to care alone for their children, but there is always the chance that he might pick YOU and not HER….Competition amongst women is furious and largely unacknowledged. I see women exhausting their energy, finances and morale attempting varying proportions of Madonna and Whore – the Virgin and the Magdalene. Plumpness in the wealthy class is a point of shame and ridicule; “fat” is an epithet, spat out with disgust and pity. About 50% of the women I have seen have breast implants….

An elderly women stopped on the beach once to admire my children, especially the blond curls and green eyes of the youngest. She took my hand and with a toothless smile of complicity, stared into me and said,” But you are a brown woman (una morena), like me”. She was acknowledging what seems a global fact of life: lighter skin is perceived as a sign of elegance, civilisation and respectability. Dark-skinned women are for pleasure, and hard work; women throughout the world have told me of being labelled as ugly (and therefore worthless) because of where they landed in this hierarchy of hue. The old woman on the beach was in her thirties – the same age as I – and had already had ten children. She put my hand to her belly to show me the beginning swell of the 11th with a familiar mixture of sadness and joy – I have seen this and felt this myself, so many times….

Beautiful, juicy women attract the most wealthy, powerful men. If you do not believe that you are beautiful, you need to be smart; here in Costa Rica, there are plenty of smart women. Lawyers, architects, doctors, business women, artists, psychologists, biologists…. The country is being run more and more by women fueled by their insecurity as women, who have either decided to make the changes they can in the traditional patriarchal hierarchies or have become one of the guys themselves.

Women still throw themselves into motherhood as an escape from the dangers of being sexual women. Sacrifice and devotion are the by-words here: “My mother was a Saint” usually means that she put up with all manner of activity on the part of her spouse. Women who pull their energies out of their sexuality – out of their bellies and into their morals  – make themselves less or not at all available to their men, and put their daughters at risk. Incest is as rampant here as in Quebec, but is socially still much more of a source of shame – a dirty family secret. Children who have experienced incest pull their own energies out of their sexuality, but learn that they have a secret and dangerous power that they can be easily tempted to employ. Young women who learn they can be sexy to survive and have potential access to money and power are subject to ever more exploitation and abuse.

Arriving in San Jose’s Juan Santamaría Airport, standing in line amongst the eco-tourists with their backpacks, the Business Class with smart-phones and briefcases and the pleasure-seekers of all manner and mien, an official notice – posted as the last thing you read before passing through Customs and entering the country – warns:  In Costa Rica, it is illegal to have sexual relations with a minor. Offenders will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. I think I remember a prison term and a fine being mentioned. One is left to ponder the realities that precipitated this bluntness.

Women who choose to escape into maleness or motherhood teach their daughters either to never be dependent on anyone, especially not a man, or that they need to be smarter and sexier than their moms; they become men in women’s bodies in the first case or the classic seductive woman in the latter. Sons of deserted or dominated mothers learn not to be like their dads in order to be loved by their mothers; they learn how to keep mommy happy and acquire power by being “mama’s boys”, later morphing into seductive – or gay – men. Those who rebel become “just like your Father”.

Younger men who have witnessed and experienced consequences of their fathers’ transgressions often cut themselves off from their own fertility. Young women who have watched their mothers become slaves to their families do the same, and infertility plagues the land. Fertility clinics have had a rocky path to legitimacy in Costa Rica; couples who could afford to have until recently gone abroad to attempt to become parents, undergoing difficult clinical procedures that they don’t want to even think about afterward. All the humiliation and exertion can be mostly erased if the procedures are successful and they return with a pregnancy that holds to term. After all – someone has to inherit the wealth.

I have been bleeding for several days now – hot dark clumps of suffering flowing from my body, as I cry and cry and cry….

 

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Winter Solstice Meditation…Méditation pour le Solstice d’hiver

winter solstice graphic

http://heartroot.com/teachings/

Blessings to All…Bénédictions à Tous…

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Reflections on the Winter Solstice

winter solstice graphic

HEARTROOT                                                                    Approaching the Winter  Solstice

Here we are again, in the last days and hours of our annual descent into Darkness.

The darkness is so very deep here at Heartroot, under clouded skies, cloaking the still snow-less fields. Even our donkey-friend, Arthur, has stopped his nightly neighbour-rousing ruckus. The porch, the rocking-chair and I are enveloped in the kind of atmospheric blackness reserved for foreshadowing tales of horror and ill omens… or being lost at sea. I know Attila is beside me only because I can hear him whimpering as he chases a marmotte or a skunk in his dreams….

Yet…I feel radiant with a disconcerting, cellular peace.

We’ve learned to be so frightened of the Dark – the unseen, unknown…. Ce qu’on ne peut pas saisir – what we can’t see and grab hold of…what we can’t dominate with our muscles, judgements or rationale. Is this not the genesis of our concepts of Evil and Good? Can we not find, in our relationship with the Dark, the foundation for our fear of The Other?

What is not familiar (from “family”) – what our eyes and brains have not registered over and over until we adopt an attitude of lazy insouciance – makes us alert. The hormonal cocktail served in the face of the Unseen/Unknown is laced with adrenaline and testosterone – we are suspicious, ready to pounce or flee.  We are Hunter or the Hunted….

The religions of the northern hemisphere run on solar-powered Sons. We have focussed on these darkening times as a test of our Faith that the Light will indeed return.

But…what if we were to not experience Darkness – or being Light, winter druid symbols imageincarnate in a material body; or the powerful, uncomfortable emotions that arise from these bodies – as something to escape? What if we instead found within the black, velvety Void, the Source of all potential – the Womb of Creation – and revelled in this opportunity to become conscious Creators of our destiny?

Children under the age of three who have near-death experiences do not see the infamous brilliant white Light, but rather an enveloping black fire that does not burn (see the work of PMH Atwater), well-known to Kabbalists, Buddhists, Sufis…to mystics of all stripes through space and time.

We are aware now of the Zero Point unlimited potential of not-yet-manifest Reality – and then there was Light!  Perhaps when we learn to become very externally still, allowing ourselves the adventuring exhilaration of the inner voyage, the darkness outside loses its power to terrify.

When we stop running around filling every nook and crevice of our lives with Stuff to do and acquire, and allow ourselves the natural process of releasing what no long serves, fear-fed demons rise from the depths where we have kept them chained. All the things we have learned and believed about ourselves that we’ve hidden in our bellies – in our cellular memories – with shame (I will never be Enough; I am unlovable; I will always be alone….), scramble to the surface of our consciousness. I believe we are able now to choose to bless our wounding, and let it go.

On the level of the collective unconscious of humanity, we can clearly see all that has been suppressed, all that has been ignored and denied, rising into manifestation in perfect parallel to the process in our individual lives and bodies. Apocalyptic visions of every tint and texture swirl through and around us. Our challenge, I believe, is to let them go as well. Duality and destruction, strange as it may seem to some, are a question of personal choice – of free will.

hare moon winterI am startled to realise that this deep peace that has flowered in me was seeded in the dark. It seems so obvious, now that I …see it! Although I know that at some point soon the Light will return and grow, I’m not waiting for it.

Mmmmmmm. I hum to resonate every cell in my being. I see and feel a pillar of crystalline energy joining the Heart of Gaia and the Heart of the Multiverse through my human Heart.  In this place of neither Light nor Dark, I dissolve into Peace….

 

Blessèd Solstice….

Blessèd Be….

This was first posted on December 19, 2015. My husky-friend, Attila, recently died, but his Spirit is still here by my side…

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Walking the Talk

For those readers who have never studied with me, please be aware that this is a description of an internal process of spiritual self-analysis, based on the understanding that we call situations and people to ourselves in order to better understand what is otherwise suppressed and somatized. If you want to more fully understand this process, you can check out the e-book, “Through Duality to Oneness: Healing the Wounds of Gender”  – or come see me!

The true identity of the person who had my husky killed the day before I came home is neither the wounded child nor the spiteful sadist who have shared just about equal airtime in my head this past week.

The sadist has made several memorable appearances over the years, so as the facts came, drop by poisonous drop – an IV of arsenic – motivations of jealousy, spite and arrogance seemed the only logical conclusion.

I’ve had to coax the hurting child out of hiding, with only my faith in his existence as justification for the effort. Like a quantum physicist who has the mathematics to show that a phenomenon exists but can’t see the damn thing, I unpacked dusty boxes of memories looking for crumbs of proof. A suddenly-childlike tone of voice, stories with big chunks left out, hints from relatives….

My mind kept wanting to believe in the sadist – turning back to him and leafing through myriad twisted possibilities of intention. I waded into oceans of pain, battered by each new wave of realization and its potential interpretations. Surely this was not all mine?
“Women will always be abandoned and betrayed” Damn.

Once I saw the belief that was anchored in my bones, I recognised my part in this drama.
And he had confirmed to himself what he had learned as well, that he will never be Enough – will always be a disappointment. I’d found the hurting child.
It was easier now for me to see the woundedness in both of us that had called this situation into being.

How many generations of gendered humans have had these beliefs engraved in our bodies, hovering in the marrow of our bones – the unconscious foundation and justification for every hiccough in every relationship we’ve ever had?

Our bodies are like any other war zone on the body of Mother Earth, land-mined , waiting to blow the limbs off any tender step toward Love, Harmony, Peace, and all those other words we use to mean Oneness.
There is so much socio-cultural validation, floating juuuuust under varying thicknesses of political correctness, for the belief that men are angry, selfish, emotionally illiterate, irresponsible fuck-ups, and that women have to simply deal with it. It seeps into almost every conversation among women, but, like racism, it’s not acceptable in polite company.

I’m told that Councils of Grandmothers are being set up once again in northern Canadian communities to determine and manage their leadership. More and more women are winning positions of power in governing bodies around the planet.

But I’ve experienced the desire for power of women who’ve been subjugated all their lives – the 180 degree flip from Victim to Dominator that is oh-so-tempting when we’ve bought the idea that having Power Over someone/something/anything is the only way of accruing personal value.

A magazine editor (I’m imagining a 30-something hipster) recently implied that she certainly didn’t come from a cultural context that idolized the masculine.
Indeed.
We may have learned that individual men suck. But give Us the (masculine-defined) Power Over Everything that They’ve had all along, and we’ll fix the world, right?

I’m afraid not, Ladies.
The only true power any of us,  of whatever gender, possesses is to be in alignment with our Essence, our true identity, which is Love/Oneness/Compassion.

It seems to me it’s time to resist the whole concept of wresting power from anyone so we can wield it ourselves. In the Circle, all contribute the best of themselves, because that is what is seen and honoured.
We probably also need to work our darnedest to stay out of the trap of judging men to hell, and the half-sinking, half-smug “I knew it” feeling when, the way we see it, they’re messing up big time.

I’m working on it…
Blessed Be…

 

 

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