As I begin a time without internet, I realize I had, as a child, stopped trusting my psychic senses because most people in my youthful experience spoke contrary to how they were feeling and the truth they were knowing. If it was not being expressed, it became irrelevant and untrustworthy. It made for sickness in my stomach to feel reluctant giving. They didn't want to, couldn't afford it and I'd feel it. They would still do it and expect my response to be all grateful and happy ut it couldn't be because I was sick to my stomach over it. Or hopes would reign as I'd feel "Yes! A good idea! Let's go with it" but the answer was "No!" absolutely and I felt a deceiving and a dashing. It all became too much for my stomach. So, I closed myself off and took all at face value. And no, it didn't soften my experience as much as I believed it was doing. The body still knows, the depths still speak.
In the days leading up to moving, the spirit of the wolf was making it's self more and more noticed in my experience: a towel given, a blanket, a new phone book left at the new apartment....
When we went outside I pointed out to the children, who generally only see what is immediate, the view right out our front door besides the other houses-a cliff face. My children's jaws dropped in awe. My daughter tried running for it, not realizing how the big sky deceives the distance. Getting there would be a bit more complicated. The picture doesn't do it justice but it's all we've got, lol
Then I began to delve in. "Women Who Run With the Wolves", Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Ph.D. Turns out the Archetype is a God/Goddess archetype, not specifically a human woman's archetype and a wildness/natural state not just of the feminine. The book may be more about women's natural spiritual initiations that occur with or without the outer world's holding to the matching traditions, but it is also about men's natural psychic experiences. And holy crap did I recognize them!
So, quotes in this writing are from this book about this Goddess archetype, this Wild Woman.....
And begins my journaling of this period, a recording of my 'dream' experiences, general observations, understandings wanting to come in...... for when I began reading, I also began menstruating and without internet I was more so in a period of isolation, as close to spirit as I could have been with sole responsibility for care of two children and new neighbors visiting.....
I hear her, La Loba, singing over my bones. She has been doing so constantly and has been at for centuries, I am only now recognizing, knowing her identity because of the stories. The symptom I have have in common is literal dryness. In adulthood through all my pregnancies, literal dehydration, my physical living unwillingly.
When I was around 12 years old we were given a writing assignment in school. Excited, I set the stage of a girl about my age. Wonderfully picturesque, as is my writing talent, a girl from the country was walking the dirt roads to Rome to worship the gods and goddesses. There the story ended and I froze. I didn't know anything about worshiping these gods and goddesses of old.........so I believed.
My experience of that story has been the story of my life: I repeat it every time an initiation begins. La Loba sings over my bones. I am wet with excitement, full of life, vitality, ready to do something. I look around me and see no tools, no resources, no vessels for what I know.
And I know I've fallen into the "rapture trap" of this space between, the third rabbi......again and again becoming dry bones.
But in the past few years I have learned to sing. Oh, there are no words my modern culture would recognize in these songs I sing. They appear to be just sounds I am making. But I DO feel them, what they mean. I feel the ancientness to them. I sing them as they are given, without question. Some of the sounds so profound, singing life and dimension into my soul. Even if I am only tracing my finger in the sand, I am creating. I am hydrating. I dance ecstatically. I am creating.
-----Dream....I look to the wall and notice that someone has taken away the fire extinguisher.-----
One of our new neighbors is a young girl with Wild Woman intact. You can see it in her eyes, in her demeanor; open, friendly, without fear. "We weren't going too far", she admonishes the whining boy of near the same age following a block behind her. Exactly the experience with myself, my daughter and my son trailing behind afraid we're getting too far ahead of him. A replay of myself and my brother when we were children. He was only 9 months younger. I became small for him, thinking it would solve the problem. It didn't. My daughter and I will remain big for him; the man child trailing.....
I lay in the sun on grass a rich green and plush. Yet I feel I am at the beach in this climate because of the wind blowing across the sparse brown prairie surrounding this artificially coaxed carpet of green. A beach is an expanse of desert, apparently dry of life and windswept. All can be intimidating: the desert, sparse prairie, the beach with apprent inability to nourish and yet we are brought to these places to be moisturized, brought to life, brought to flourish. So, I am supported. A constant lining up of synchronicities.
Bluebeard is no enemy as purported. Yes, needs to be kept in place but like any immature part of us, it is seeking to know it's proper place, testing boundaries, seeking parenting. The old hag can collect bones, but an old man can't? Is it not naivete of youth that does need to die? If the feminine within in the story could not accomplish it (sisters, mother) and it took 'a man', to isn't it all the same? Predators specialize-the wolf and the badger, the woman and the man, the masculine and the feminine. He also gets redemption in me.
And why am I placed under the power lines where they leave a power station, the place from which they direct pulses of fear and dread and cause of irritation in the population? To sing life into them instead. On the edges, where woman meets wilderness, to where the "uncivilized" are condemned, a play that backfires because among the 'uncivilized' are the wild men and women...remembering. From here we feed the population, we nourish my valley.....
Wind In Her Hair speaking.
The lesson of the mother wolf is necessary and it is "Bluebeard" who taught it to me. It is Bluebeard in the growl.
My attention wanes from the reading......
My son hates that my daughter now has her own room to retreat to. She can escape his relentless need to instigate and harass when it comes upon him.
"Bluebeard" becomes the 'temperor' in maturity, the prover of the immortality of the "master", the initiator of the Goddess, proof of immortality. "Do not be afraid to investigate the worst". Our best qualities living in shadow of poor defining.
My children are remembering they prefer to live life naked.
Because I am coming from an exploration of "We create our own reality", there is immense trust in me. I do not need to trust "others", I need only trust my creating, which makes everything trustworthy, which then allows only that which is trustworthy into my experience. Even if it is not trustworthy and in my experience, I trust me enough to recognize this and deal with it accordingly. Thus my eyes are wide open and rarely suspicious.
The psyche knows the fairy tales. It knows a bid for time. Bluebeard won't allow a period of prayer for the next bride.
Ahhh, she comes to, the redemption of Bluebeard, by dismantling. In the beginning she said he was pure evil, irredeemable and yet now the author gets into it. Does she even realize her own assertion is not supported y where has taken it? How shall we dismantle the pure glory of Bluebeard in his fullness? An acceptance of his 'irredeemable' nature IS his redemption.
The mother who is single, coming from married parents is making a profound journey not to be judged by the single mother coming from the single parenting experience. They each began their journies from a different foundation. The one raised by a single mother is doing nothing different. The one being raised by two parents now living as a single parent is the one bringing change.
I went out to the cross roads, where the light is on then off again. I saw a doe meander across the road. Then a second. A baby followed. Then two. The light went out and doe meandered to the right again, 8 of them! Does and young crossing and re-crossing the road again.
"Women find as they vanquish the predator, taking from it what is useful and leaving the rest, they are filled with intensity, vitality, and drive....." "We are creatures then;...."
"each group and culture appears to also have it's own natural psychic predator......allowed absolute sovereignty until the people who believe otherwise become a tide." A tide. I like that feeling, a silent whooshing away, a whooshing cleaning of our reality.
A wild rabbit showed it's self to me today.
Resources spent completely, no usual sinking feeling, joyous "O.K.", nervous system shaking at carrying this "higher vibration" acceptance of things, this expanded energy flowing through my body as resistance recedes. A tide. I got to shop without counting the cost. Remembering how my sister thought that disgusting when my aunt shopped like that.
Butterflies, yellow and white, ever so tiny in this climate.....love bugs...the sleeping giant of the mountains....
It sunk in that spirits that are welcoming me into the community know exactly who I am, what I bring consciousness-wise. No more painted face dreams, no more small playing, no more underestimating, no more repressing. I have been, layer by layer, completely undressing.
So, the narcissists were the Baba Yagas in my life, initiations into power and discernment. And I did, I took some of their power and I used it. I made it my own.
Little bees buzzing, following me...use the honey for my son's detoxing, he's been repressing and accumulating.
"......in the upper Midwest the Mother and Father Of God are still said to roll about in their spring bed, making thunder". As the thunder rolls overhead, the explanation suits me: Mother and Father creating new potentials for the children to experience in this reality.
"Those who endeavor in the ways and means shown in the story shall be lover and mate to the wildish woman forever". Am I even looking for a forever mate, a happily ever after?
Manawee
A new perspective of men who keep dogs-their wildish nature precious to them (if their dog is) or they've rejected their wild nature within, separating it from themselves and projecting it/keeping it outside themselves as dogs they can control.
If orgasm is for procreation, we are taking what is left alive in a man who is dying and giving it it's life, giving form to that which is still living in him. Orgasm during sex is a highlight for the dying. Amongst the living it is a thief, for to achieve is to kill and draw forth seed.
The heart is the first from given to one's essence-weak amongst those who fear the intuitiveness, the sensitivity, digging deep into the heart of things, taking responsibility, giving meaning.
True, if we act small, there are many who will not see. To those who do see, we have made ourselves a bite-sized morsel, easy to devour and eat. When we allow our fullness, no mouth can surround us with it's teeth.
If we were not meant to be distracted from our journey, to hold ourselves accountable to the pleasure, the joy of existence, we would not be. We live where there is engagement. If it is not engaging, we recede. Life is a response, not a purpose.
The absentminded professor always mutters genius at just the right moment. "Too much makes us old too soon". Mastery is knowing our eternality enough to allow ourselves to be human in a story where we are expanding, trusting we will leave that limited perception for our expanded self/higher perspective when the story is well-lived and completed. Sometimes we do not know the importance of something to us (how much something means) until our way to it is challenged. It is in fighting for it that we discover our true passion for it. Thus the dark man serves as ignition/light shiner upon our passion. And how would we know of our passion if we do not allow ourselves to feel challenged because we want to remain detached perceiving it as "just a story".
"Go forth, subdue, become many" the bible says the command was given. God proclaimed and ordered Adam and Eve to die, to orgasm, to procreate. In eating of good and evil they sought knowledge to be among the living. When they refused to die, he cut them off from the tree of life. He was seeking to create an imitation of the natural cycles of life for his children who he took prematurely via 'c-section' , unnaturally.
----dream----
Black snakes and baby black snakes grooming, lounging, relaxed all around me. As I walked toward a path with trees shading it up ahead, I caught a glimpse of a boa constrictor moving up onto the tops of those trees. It's belly was swollen as if it had just eaten. "It looks like the shape of a man in it's belly", I pointed out. Sure enough a black man without limbs, golden light sparking in wounds hwere digestive juices had eaten away at him came out in answer to me.
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I associate lack snakes as being a good thing, protectors of my environment because I lived with a king snake who I was told was a good thing as it kept the poisonous snakes away, was known to eat them.
Seeing a snake used to cause me to break out in cold sweat. Then I was accused of being a snake. I thought that is accurate. I was quiet until I was tread upon and couldn't escape and then I'd bite devastatingly. So, I taught myself to 'rattle' in warning. I lost the need to be venomous. I lost my extreme fear of snakes. At my most recent campsite a snake came for a visit and it was as awkward as I when I noticed and it noticed I noticed it's presence. I began to be able to really empathize with the snake. No matter who came across it, they would be uncomfortable with it. Smaller beings terrified of being eaten by it, larger terrified of it's quiet, speed, unexpected presence, choices, decisions, direction.....then I was told snakes represent the Mother's presence and I've been pretty cool with them, seeing them as a good omen in my dream.
More reflections on recent spending with no accounting, judgement of those who put no effort into saving while shopping. Shouldn't we live life effortlessly? Shall we hate those for whom material things come easily? I've had enough of efforting, worrying, penny pinching, of never having enough, being enough. I am enough. Enough is not a bad thing. Enough is enough of not being/having enough or pinching me into smallity!
In my dreamscapes black men have only ever stood up for me, protected, defended.My masculine oppressor always took the form of my first husband. Other male figures have been two sons, one of which I had been chosen to marry but which had yet to be decided by their mother. The devil and Jesus figures. The Jesus figure declaring himself unworthy. "If that's what you believe, so it must be!". I'm done with convincing. A dark-haired one I was told to make jealous with a blonde one during a pagan fertility right as he was bound and forced to watch, knowing. I would not resort to manipulation and instigation and such game-playing. I rejected it all and banished them from my psyche "until you two become integrated!". This past year it was one whose kisses were sweet like raspberries but had to leave me because his work required travelling. That one manifested exactly so in my physical reality, my migrant working Mexican lover of an evening.
How synchronistic to be learning of Ofrenda with Halloween approaching. How synchronistic to be learning of an entire belief system based on what I had come to understand and began asserting with less and less insecurity: "....the body is a powerful vehicle, a spirit who lives with us, a prayer of life in it's own right." In Christian mythos, the physical body is the mighty protector (animal skin) given Adam and Eve to keep them safe. "Arise, magic carpet arise!"; 'the body a God in it's own right'. Worth pondering, imo. Would a god concern it's self with anything less than another god?
"..where wolves are women and bears are husbands...."...I had once had a dream in which I was on a path through the woods with a bear. We met on the path and each traveled it without bothering the other, each at their own speed.
"Grey hair certifies that she need no longer observe taboos about touching others". Interesting meaning I hadn't before heard.
I woke early this morning and heard laughter. My son was laughing in his sleep once again. He used to always do it as an infant but then had nothing but nightmares for the past couple of years. I rejoice at the return of his laughter.
I mend a dress late at night like a fairy godmother. This dress worn daily dons magical powers for it's child-like child wearer.
"hombre de alma"-starvation of the soul. "Feral"- wild, then domesticated, then returned to the wild.
I begin menstruating as if I were a teen again, clots and everything. In my dreamscape everything is being re-arranged. Spirits are changing rooms, so everything is in disarray. Another woman's masculine aspect climbs into my bed with me because hers is such a mess. He attempts to have sex with me. I slap his hand away, "I have my period, none of that today". Everyone is sucking on my breasts, getting nourishment from my presence. It is pleasurable. With this menstruation period being so much like when I was a teen, my breasts are swollen and tender as if I was pregnant.
Little Rabbit hopped by again this morning, third day in a row. This must be a part of it's regular daily route. The Rabbit reminds me of the other evening when I lay down to sleep and I was enveloped in a pure cushioning softness. So subtle and sweet it was as if I had completely left the realm of feeling anything.
Years ago I had a dream in which my son raced a woman in a boat race. The winner determined whether or not I got the camper I was wanting instead of just another run down car for the traveling we would be doing. My son won the race and not long after a camper manifested in our reality. The seal woman's son remained on land while she remained in the sea. He brought into the physical manifestation (sound,words) manifestation of her spirit. This tells me the mystical child is the spirit born of the soul that causes physical manifestation of a woman's inspirations and desires. It is her power in physical reality. Unless the male spirit is born of the woman, it is not her own power. This triggers the wondering if that is why we do not live as sovereign beings. If we reject our own power to manifest and influence the physical reality because we have subconsciously absorbed our cultural taboo against incest, then we remain subject to "the spirits of the air", generation after generation, leaving our own power orphaned and disembodied. Aborted, miscarried, abandoned children with higher rates of each occurring despite medical advancement corresponding with increased loss of the concept of individual sovereignty. Have I feared to be mated to my own power because it apears as my own child in my dreamscape? Time to break the taboo and claim my power to influence my physical, outer reality! Incest it is! Time to be dirty psychically! Wanna join me? ;) Seal woman was meant to leave her husband. He refused to live up to his promise, he resisted the natural order of things. The "spirits of the air" manifest the same resistance, becoming ever more creative and oppressive in oppressing and keeping us from the natural order of things. Apparently the gods of old still fear the strength of the new and it is still up to us mothers to save them from their devouring fathers. I had come to see how 'Satan' had come to defend his mother by seducing Eve. A theme which other side we have not been exposed to in Christianity and yet, when I opened myself up to independent exploration and deeply rooted truth, the true story was simply given to me. Only years later am I given affirmation of the stories I had been feeling coming up through me. Our entire history is there for the reading if we know how to release the stories we were given to believe.
"More than I am attached to cooperating with my own oppression, I love my creativity!"-my version of the author's recommended declaration.
I cried through the making of this sign for my door, reminding myself not to nit-pic details, 'imperfect' lines, etc. Something I used to do so lightly and regularly had become something of which I was afraid. I used to not trust what I made, I'd cook and receive compliments but not eat of it myself. I was afraid to build, to create anything useful. My own 'sanitary pads' for this period of my my monthly cycle?!?! Sewn up so nice and pretty and sitting.....and sitting....finally I began using them and haven't gone back to store bought stuff since, but the terror of trying, of beginning.....of letting go of 'perfectionism'.
"Time.Belonging.Passion.Sovereignty.-Stock up on these", the author says. Indeed.
To be conscious and aware of every offense to the deepest inner soul, to feel the terroristic threat of every piece of mail declaring "Do such and such by this day and time or lose housing, sustenance, service,....", to smell the psychic smell of the oppressor in one's own head. To be the only to acknowledge the complete truth of all that without dismissing the majority of it's existence with "it's 'only'...". I am big enough to admit the truth; "these things hurt me. They are violations, they need changing." The inner screeching, the screaming, the burning as old thought feelings are reached for in responding to things...there lives a fire throughout my entire being. The ability to smell that psychic smell of the oppressor in my brain means it is separating it's self from me, it's becoming foreign to me. I AM becoming a sovereign being, marrying the son of my psychic workings, taking back my sealskin and leaving the ancient husband of every other generation before me.
In this tight-fisted outer world, the informing that the king in the underworld counts the pears so he can be alert to our arrival, not so he can punish us for eating.....that he waits to serve only is sweet news. How many would be like me, descend into that garden and refuse to eat simply because the fruit was numbered and counted? We'd believe we were refusing to make ourselves accountable to one with interest in controlling everything.Instead a new concept of masculine is introduced: one alert and waiting to serve and heal and interested in our flourishing.
------dream-----
We were staying at a shelter and someone confirmed my suspicions: bedbugs. We looked at my son's bed and they were crawling all over it. We treated everything., even my daughter when she returned.
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I had been thinking my son had been holding too much in emotionally. So, when he said he wanted to grow up to be someone who taught other people to be nice to eachother the other day, I told him that this job was exactly what his name meant and his body even demonstrated it with the gap between his front teeth which is called traditionally "The Gap of God". I told him in order to be able to teach others how to be good to eachother he would first have to know how to be good to himself, to his own body. For a couple days he drank his detox tea but then said "I don't want to be that anymore". He's very resistant to being in good psychic relationship with his body. Something I won't be able to be changing. I have to trust the trigger will come to his experience when and as appropriate.
The Rabbit showed it's self on it's afternoon trek back the way it come in the morning, pausing in front of me. A doe ran across the road, stopping in it's tracks directly in front of me, looking at me.
and as I end this period of journaling, not wanting to go online again, do the Facebook thing but knowing I'd have to go out into the world again, I posted the following post:
Do you feel the softness of my tread?
Do you feel the tenderness of these feet?
Do you feel my reluctance to come here again,
for us to re-meet?
Have you been where I have been?
Will you be new like me?
Or will it be the same old world of ghosts who only know of their hunger for what I bring while it not recognizing?
May you also be wearing new meat.......the meat of a true King.
(And yeah, I know, I'm speaking to the world I myself am creating)
lol, moments after posting this I went outside. I delighted at the presence of a herd of does close by. I turned and came face to face with a buck by my side.
Do you feel the tenderness of these feet?
Do you feel my reluctance to come here again,
for us to re-meet?
Have you been where I have been?
Will you be new like me?
Or will it be the same old world of ghosts who only know of their hunger for what I bring while it not recognizing?
May you also be wearing new meat.......the meat of a true King.
(And yeah, I know, I'm speaking to the world I myself am creating)
lol, moments after posting this I went outside. I delighted at the presence of a herd of does close by. I turned and came face to face with a buck by my side.
