life – Page 6 – St GEORGIA & Boo

the interior castle

the calling

There is a secret place. A radiant sanctuary. As real as your own kitchen. More real than that. Constructed of the purest elements. Overflowing with ten thousand beautiful things. Worlds within worlds. Forests, rivers. Velvet coverlets thrown over featherbeds, fountains bubbling beneath a canopy of stars. Bountiful forests, universal libraries. A wine cellar offering an intoxication so sweet you will never be sober again. A clarity so complete you will never again forget.

This magnificent refuge is inside you. Enter. Shatter the darkness that shrouds the doorway. Step around the poisonous vipers that slither at our feet, attempting to throw you off your course. Be bold. Be humble. Put away the incense and forget the incarnations they taught you. Ask no permission from the authorities. Slip away. Close your eyes and follow your breath to the still place that leads to the invisible path that leads you home.

Listen. Softly, the One you love is calling. Listen. At first you will only hear traces of his voice. Love letters he drops for you in hiding places. In the sound of your baby laughing, in your boyfriend telling you a dream, in a book about loving kindness, in the sun dripping down below the horizon and a peacock’s tail of purple and orange clouds unfolding behind it, in the nameless sorrow that fills your heart when you wake in the night and remember that the world has gone to war and you are powerless to break up the fight. Let the idle chatter between friends drop down to what matters. Listen. Later his voice will come closer. A whisper you’re almost sure is meant for you fading in and out of a cacophony of thoughts, clearer in the silent space between them. Listen. His call is flute music, far away, coming closer.

Be brave a walk through this country of your own wild heart. Be gentle and know that you know nothing. Be mindful and remember that every moment can be a prayer. Melting butter, scrambling eggs, lifting fork to mouth, praising God. Typing your daughters first short story, praising God. Losing your temper and your dignity with someone you love, praising God. Balancing ecstasy with clear thinking, self-control with self-abandon. Be still. Listen. Keep walking.

What a spectacular kingdom you have entered! Befriending the guards and taming the lions at the gates. Sliding through a crack in the doorway on your prayer rug. Crossing the moat between this world and that , walking on water if you have to, because this is your rightful place. That is your Beloved reclining in the innermost chamber, waiting for you, offering wine from a bottle with your crest on the label. Explore. Rest if you have to, but don’t go to sleep. Head straight for his arms.

And when you have dismissed the serpents of vanity and greed, conquered the lizards of self-importance, and lulled the monkey mind to sleep, your steps will be lighter. When you have given up everything to make a friend a cup of tea and tend her broken heart, stood up against the violation of innocent children and their fathers and mothers, made conscious choices to live simply and honor the earth, your steps will be lighter. When you have grown still on purpose while everything around you is asking for your chaos, you will find the doors between every room of this interior castle thrown open, the path home to your true love unobstructed after all.

No one else controls access to this perfect place. Give yourself your own unconditional permission to go there. Absolve yourself of missing the mark again and again. Believe the incredible truth that the Beloved has chosen for his dwelling place the core of your own being because that is the single most beautiful place in all of creation. Waste no time. Enter the center of your soul.

-Mirabai Starr, The Interior Castle

young body. old soul.

Her feet bare more of that of ninety years,

They are more weathered than any explanation can offer

They are feet that have walked this earth many many times,

I know this to be true.

She is remembering rather than learning,

Her purpose is strong like a ferocious wind,

She is going to move through this life at tremendous speed, I’m not sure we will be able to keep up, that is alright.

She will touch people, move them, to pay attention like she has done since the day she was born, this is her gift.

She was born with old feet, and blessed with an old soul.

She always had that look about her,

that look of otherness,

of eyes that see things much too far,

and thoughts that wonder off to the edge of the world.

_Joann Harris

women who run with the wolves

Each woman has potential access to Rio Abajo Rio, the-river- beneath-the-river. She arrives there through deep meditation, dance, writing, painting…or any activity which requires intense altered consciousness. A woman arrives in this world-between- worlds through yearning and by seeking something she can see just out the corner of her eye. She arrives there by deeply creative acts, through intentional solitude… much of what occurs in this ineffable world remains forever mysterious to us, for it breaks physical laws and rational laws as we know them.’

I’ll tell you right now, the doors to the world of the Wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door; if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much that you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.

The Self must have freedom to move, to speak, to be angry and to create. This self is durable, resilient, and possesses high intuition. It is a self which is knowledgable in the spiritual dealings of death and birth.

…there is in many women a ‘hungry’ one inside. But rather than hungry to be a certain size, shape, or height, rather than hungry to fit the stereotype; women are hungry for basic regard from the culture surrounding them. The ‘hungry’ one inside is longing to be treated respectfully, to be accepted and in the very least, to be met without stereotyping.

-Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

There is a fire that burns within us, no woman is excluded from this. At times it lies dormant, waiting for long drawn out periods, with great patience, for right timing to ignite it to its full force. Women know this to be true. Some are closer to it than others. For some it burns as a quiet tinder,others a ravishing burn or a ferocious flame. The closer we come to ourselves, often after long treks down broken roads and undesired outcomes, we become tired of the search and finally surrender to all that we are in our mysterious ways, we decide to return home. With surrender, comes tremendous acceptance of ourselves despite what the world is saying. We let go of everything and in doing so find everything. We discover that we are essentially all that we ever needed, and it isn’t necessary to better, or move or change ourselves, all that is ever really necessary is to unfold from the inside out. And as Clarissa Pinkola Estes says, in Women Who Run With the Wolves,’Entering the terrain of wisdom occurs at any age. We sometimes step, sometimes stumble, and other times we are pulled into the territory of the Crone when the need for a deeper, larger understanding of our most meaningful path can no longer be denied—when the gifts hidden in our challenges must be brought forth.’

and I know that..

And I know I am deathless.

I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenters compass.

..I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,

I see that the elementary laws never apologize. I recon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by after all.

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much the wise,

Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,

Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,

Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine,

One of the great nation, the nation of many nations- the smallest the same and the largest the same,

All goes onward and outward….and nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

My faith is to the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths.

Enclosing all worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern,

Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years ..

-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

fathers tell your daughters

‘before you say yes, get him angry. See him scared, see him wanting, see him sick. Stress changes a person. Find out if he drinks and if he does, get him drunk you’ll learn more about his sober thoughts. Discover his addictions. See if he puts you in front of them. You can’t change people, baby girl.

If they are made one way, it doesn’t wear off. If you hate how he acts when he’s out of it now, you’re going to hate it much worse eight years down the road. You might love him to bits but it doesn’t change that some people just don’t fit. ‘

-words from inkskinned.

And as a father, it is you that will teach her, her worth when she begins the journey searching for love, She will look to how you loved her, how she is seen in your eyes, if she is all that matters, and that there is no greater love than that between a father and daughter if it is done right. You will teach her to be brave, to speak her mind, to feel worthy, intelligent, important and beautiful, she wont go looking to boys to replace you, if you stay beside her. Know that she will watch you, the way you are beside a woman, the way you love, they way you respect, this is how she learns how to be treated by the ones she lets into her life. This is how she will know how valuable she is. As she grows, she will be demanding, complicated and messy, and at times she will push you to your limits. She will undoubtably test the love you have for her, she will want you to prove it to her, fight for her, she will do all of this to see if you will stay, to see if you love her enough in all of her shades.

takings from, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

takings from, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.

takings from, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

I exist as I am, that is enough

If no other in the world be aware, I sit content

And if each and all be aware I sit content.

Whoever degrades another degrades me…

and whatever is done or said,

returns at last to me,

And whatever I do or say I also return.

The pleasures of heaven are with me,

and the pains of hell are will me,

The first I graft and increase upon myself..

the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say it is great to be a woman as to be a man.

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,

No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.

thoughts over lunch

thoughts over lunch.

thoughts over lunch

The simplicity of

feeding the chickens

who laid the eggs

for me to cook

to feed

to the children.

can all of life possibly be this simple?

I am so thankful that my children are living just a little of this simplicity, in between ipads and youtube train clips. I’m thankful that my three-year old with autism can tell the difference between a carrot and a potato and that I often find play dough in muffin trays in my oven because he has been making cookies. Both of our little ones enjoy cups of tea in the morning, not because they are thirsty, more so because they already in their young minds understand the sacredness of that first morning cup, where sleepy eyes and heads are not quite awake enough yet for the beginning, for play. They will learn where their food comes from and that they don’t really need much to keep their bellies content.. maybe just a few chickens roaming in the yard.

i dont mind dirt under my nails

you are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering

-Hemingway

i dont mind dirt under my nails

You are so brave and quiet, I forget you are suffering

-Hemingway

For a rustic effect wrap your pots in coconut basket liners and tie with brown string. You can buy basket liners from nursery and hardware stores. If you cut them down the middle and open each piece up they will wrap easily around the pots, then secure with the string and trim off any excess. They look really nice when all placed in an area together like on a window sill or book shelf. A little winter indoor garden. For easy watering just place all the pots in the kitchen sink basket liners and all.

words

if there is a place where i ask the questions, it is here, with dirt under my nails and new life resting in my hands. It is here that I hear the sound of my own voice, where life speaks volumes in it’s all alluring silence. It is here where my creativity begins and always ends with a pen and notebook in hand.

mothers

mothers.

mothers

He asks,

‘What is it you do?

I’m a mother

‘Yes, I know that but what else, before that?

She feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach , as she frantically searches her mind for a more suitable answer.

A mother, just a mother.

He is oblivious in the knowing, that in that moment all worthiness was stripped away and her heart was silently crying an abundance of tears

For the self she is yet to know and the self she has whole heartedly given to her children.

when did it become not enough? when was it that becoming a mother became so undervalued? It is true, there are parts of myself, parts that are not a mother or a wife but are simply me. They are most of the time in the shadows or only seen as a glimpse now and again and as mothers, the caretakers of our families we know only too well that this is a selfless journey we have chosen. We move through our days nurturing and nourishing our families by meeting needs and with an abundance of love. Often allowing all those who matter most to us to move on their journeys ahead of our own. We wait patiently, maybe for only a few minutes of solitude, or a full nights sleep, or enough time to take a bath, read a chapter in a book, or a pause long enough to feel the warmth of the sun on our faces, maybe the bigger things we will have to wait a little longer for.

It is undeniably deplorable that the very words ‘ I am a mother’ are so often perceived as insignificant and demeaning. That even I, when asked this was not able to convey my own importance and sacrifices here, that I was, in that moment diminished to feeling like it wasn’t enough. I believe that if it wasnt for mothers, so many that are blessed to be living up to their ambitious dreams and walking the journeys that they have chosen for themselves without the need to pause or defer to raise the children, might look upon us in a new light and with gratitude in their hearts.