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.’

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 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.

 

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 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

 

i dont mind dirt under my nails

 

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

-Hemingway

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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.

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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

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.IMG_5801

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. IMG_5913 IMG_5925 IMG_5919 IMG_5929 IMG_5928

a thought

there should be a two-year period after high school where it is socially expected that kids not work, or go to school or do anything but take road trips, read books, meet new people and take lots of pictures..

-via withshoeslikethat

what a wondrous ‘une période de transition’  from adolescence to adulthood and learning about one’s self.

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thoughts on Venice

Venice, she’s relic, loved passionately, admired for all her beauty,taken

advantage of, mistreated, deep in-depth, full of secrets, helpless, relentless, breathtakingly beautiful, fierce yet ravishing, seductive in nature and history, provocative, hidden, devastatingly captivating and deeply mysterious in all her ways..  how could you not fall madly, deeply in love with her.

-carly macaulay

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artists apartment

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Of all the places we stayed while on this wonderful adventure, this was probably the one I would say we fell in love with the most. Called the Artist Apartment set in the heart of Trastevere; it was love at first sight. From the moment the door opened and we were introduced my heart knew that this place was going to be hard to leave. We were welcomed with wonderful art, hanging plants, crisp white sheets.. it was like it already knew who we were.  The windows were large and when left open, we would wake to the warm air and sound of Rome beginning its day, coffee grinders and pleasant chatter, the smell of fresh croissants and pastries. Such a world away from all that I have ever known. This place, lent itself to inspiration, for writing, for dreaming, loving and being still. It was here that we found our Italy,the one we held so close in our hearts. It was here that all we ever thought it would be, Was.

Artists Apartment Trastereve, Rome https://www.airbnb.com.au/rooms/1418867?s=2k-A