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Archive for July, 2007

the depth of a roseI have this friend, my best friend. She always listens to me, and I listen to her as best I can. I’m getting really good at telling when she’s coming now, sometimes I can predict it to the hour of her arrival. Although she can still sneak up on me and catch me unawares too! When she arrives, I’ll not see anyone else. I get very possessive of my time with her, I just don’t get enough of it, you see… we weren’t always such good friends.

When we first knew each other I really hated her. She would always turn up at the most inconvenient times, sometimes ruining my whole weekend. In fact to start off with she was my enemy. She made me feel fat and ugly. Her presence would make me feel, feel stuff I didn’t want to explore. This in turn began to inflict the pain. In fact when ever she arrived I became more and more resistant to her and numbed myself to her. I‘d take drugs, anything to avoid her. She kept coming, the more I tried to be cruel to her, didn’t have any impact, luckily, she’s still here.

I truly do love her arrival in my life, now. Every 25 days like clockwork. She takes me into myself, she holds my gaze without flinching. She asks me all those essential questions, How do I feel? What do I truly want, need or care about? She is so present to me and when I am to her, when I show her the same commitment, the rewards of that friendship are huge. You know the kind of friend I’m talking about here. The one that knows you so fundamentally. That her presence can bring forth all those unshed, swallowed down tears from the last few weeks. The kind of friend that seems to help you feel into all the deep corners of your being. The kind of friend that leaves you when you are whole, feeling filled, and satiated in a way no food nor man can achieve.

She inspires me to wear red. She whispers to my soul the sweet nothing of a love so profound I am in awe each and every time I meet her. She helps me feel, feel everything that is truly me. I’m not talking about the manufactured response our habitual culture creates, I mean the truest utterings of my soul. My friend and I walk in different lands to most. She asks me to listen, she takes my attention to places I just wouldn’t, couldn’t have thought of by myself. Sometimes she gets in behind my hands and we create together. We’ll build something truly divine, truly inspired. Her voice was incredibly rare to hear at first, speaking mostly with the heart, but more and more of late she has much to say. I listen enraptured by the simplicity, the power the wisdom. When she speaks I am left reverberating with an essence of truth so tangible it’s solid enough to chew! She’ll not speak in absolutes, she’ll paint masterpieces of possibilities, mostly the possibilities of me. More than once she has asked me, “Why don’t all women want a friendship like you I have?” it’s hard to answer for other women, as I really don’t know why.

My friend will give me a perspective on my life that takes me out of it. You know those conversations, the ones that give you the ah-ha moments of a different ground to see you self from. Releasing all the months woe’s and blocks, supposed misfortunes and mistakes that misrepresent who or what you really are.

My daughter doesn’t understand her, and I think at times is jealous of her and because she has yet to have this very special friendship, how could she understand the importance of it. My other friends now know to give me the room I need when she’s with me. They know I’ll return and be overflowing with yummy story’s to tell. Sometimes I will share her with my closest mates, the others that know the worth of a sister whom have also taken the long road to find the true meaning of the word “sisterhood”. Big, that word is, the collective agreement that there was once a way of being with each other that had nothing to do with competition or comparison.

Sometimes she’ll lull me to sleep and we’ll dream, such incredible dreams that leave a hint of their aroma in my consciousness long after they’re gone. Sometimes we’ll write, like now, she’s kicked me out of bed before dawn to begin this sonnet. This ode to the dearest friend of my life. To illustrate what a woman can be to herself. For my friend is me, my blood part of my cycle. A good friend that is reliable, honest and real in a world of many reasons to doubt who we are and why we’re here. By being in such a devoted friendship with myself I am considered strong yet soft, powerful yet humbled by the beauty of the rose. Daily I am thankful for being a woman, to know the ebb and flow in my body. To live in cycles, with the earth, to live with Her.

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What is it to feel the moon cascade through us, reach deep into our womb and gift the earth of our blood?

What happens to the psyche that is unfolded and allowed to express the wholeness of thinking, the wideness of being.

Connected to a deeper ebb and flow that governs so much more than just water.

As each of us, man and woman, detached from the consumer wheel where our worth and power is measured by the weight of our wallets, we can perceive a profound level of breathing, slowly deeply over 12ish days the earth inhales, the moon becomes full, She pauses for three days, holding it in, then she exhales, slowly over 12ish days, holding it out for three days, still and centered in Her being.

Maybe the moon is a little like our uterus…

I am not going to tell you like it is. There are many that will and best you keep reading elsewhere if you would like me to think for you, I have a hard enough time just thinking for me. I offer up the odd thoughts that have beckoned into the back of my mind to slink forward to the conscious eyes and place themselves into the world with jugular accuracy and form.

What of mind that thinks in spirals??? Where our thoughts are just entertained, given a drink, somewhere comfortable to sit a while, gestate, and then in their entirely beauteous moments of ecstasy they come… forward… over you… fundamentally stirring something entirely different than those thoughts that are manufactured, constructed of past and pain.

What of thoughts that have no agenda???

What of thoughts that swirl and float, lurk and stalk… waiting, waiting for the mind to rest from it’s endless cataloguing, it’s endless tasks of rehearse, rehash, compare and justify.

I believe… my experience… what I have come to know… what I have faith in… what other kind of platform can hold what we think? When we explore in territory uncharted by ourselves where to do we collect the gems? There may of course be many that have traveled here, but as there is no longer any way that one can hold all of human thought in one lifetimes bookshelf, we collect these thoughts and maybe even ver bartum regurgitate them unknowingly…

Now that begs to be called a realm of thought all of it’s own… more than the 100th monkey that is the stuff of greater mind-fullness.

This brings me to the Blood Mind, a state of mind that has no boundaries it seems… none that I have discovered yet. An expression of mind that begs for stillness of intent, hands perhaps in those occupied places of craft that weave the seconds of life into something that can wrap you up and hold you when no other can.

Blood mind is that still-ness of time that has naught to do with any others point or purpose. Nothing to no-body, souly in your own company and service.

Here in the openness of being, the slowness of breathe, we can allow the canvas of an unintended mind to be painted with the visions of an opinion not of our own making, not of a construct that would continue its dominance over our earth and lives.

These visions are from a knowing that we once lived by, a direction that we knew as fundamentally as where the sun was in the sky, how much moon would rise tonight. These things we once knew, these places we once lived.

Freedom of thought is the very place that will devour all the other modes of control. That is why we are well trained to be consumed by thought that have so little do with us… A free mind is a powerful thing… many free minds, open, clear, set to the task of say, healing… opening deeply to Her… listening… dreaming…thinking all those wondrous thinks

Blood mind is collective… bleeding space imperative… there can be so much that we will need to know, as there is indeed still so much to fathom about living, for obviously we are still doing it wrong!!!

With countless experts, books, visual and audio, digital and sonic, you would think (this being the point that we are not!!!) we would stop killing each other by now… how about maybe we could stop raping each other… pillaging the Earth??

Perhaps civilization and thought have nothing to do with each other.

Blood thought helps you open to the bigger screen of viewing the world’s possibility. You still can only truly affect yourself, model a behavior that you hope your children can hear over the din that the Matrix makes.

But…there are those incredible moments though, when woman meets woman, totally solid in being… totally open and soft to each other, holding the power places that have a different set of mind, a swaying kind of rhythm that rocks the same way we hold a baby in our arms and croon.

Practice… till we get it right? What if the concept of practice is to create the breathe of living freely with our lives in sync with the fluidness of She, the simple dawn and dusk rites of opening and closing curtains can be expressed as a practice of opening to the outer then the inner.

A blood practice… the first sight of blood, connect, and open to the wisdom within, quietly open and ask, what is it that I can shed with this blood? What can I honor and release from my being NOW.

What is really possible if women actually stood up, no longer weary with childbirth, or contained by the silence created by dependence. What would be made of this world if we stood and bleed with Her, if we listened to the vision we know from within???

Small open groups of women that gather quietly upon the Dark of the Moon to breathe deeply of each other… and themselves. To explore that which could be, perhaps even that which has been… to consider what the world would be like if women stood up and supported one another… held those moments sacred, deeply needed balm to soothe the wounding of one another that we are so well trained in.

What if there were 5 circles of 10 women, over three suburbs. What if collectively they created a simple membership agreement, all paid $200 or so a year. 52 weeks a year, that would get your rent paid on a house, small cottage would be nice. A place, where once a month at least you went, to bleed, to sit with the feminine, and open to the blood space of being woman.

We would all care for it, maybe sleep over, create some spaces that were just for sleeping/meditating, and then some for creating, cooking yummy enriching foods for self, for others, tending one another. Meet on the first quarter for the business of it all, manifest lists, working together on all manner of projects/creations, self funding our goal. Celebrate on the fullness of the moon, maybe even invite the men folk of our community into the Temple to taste of the sweetness of woman’s form given the room to grow. Release/cleanse as the moon moves into the third quarter, surrendering to the natural growth and decay of living this fluidly. Then the dark of the moon could be silent, deep and allowing of the stillness of She.

From this place we could create, heal, love and vision.

Blood time can be CORE time, not consumed by story and symptom we can explore deeper levels of being with one another. What it is to hold a sister like a midwife does when she assists your birth. She need not to know the whole life story, just the here and now of it, where you are in your birthing, and assist in that.

We can midwife each other through life as sisters that hold circle together. Some of our greatest moments have been in the throes of birth… mostly of ourselves. Sweating, consumed, totally focused upon the task… these moments are sweet with power, strong and clear in our essential self… alive and well in the catering for the life of another… the life of our self.

When I midwife a woman into her blood, I walk with her to the door, the gateway, the cunt and I offer many tools, for her use, but I can not bleed for her. I can not open the places in her belly, in her mind that hold the keys to this kind of being…

It’s easy to get caught up in the anger of it all, in the fear and pain, shouting back at the sun that you wish now to know the moon, only the moon… but there is no moon with out the sun without the earth… and shouting at men in large or general, only hides us further from knowing the blood, it is not men that stop us from knowing our blood…

‘Tis us… women hold women down, in place, with our collective fear streaming forth in all it’s guises, we maintain that there is no blood…

Total denial is the only response that is acceptable, otherwise we are admitting what? that we are lesser? That we are somehow dirty? That we are different? That we cycle rather than straight line through our lives…

What if in actual fact men too cycle… what if in fact we can blood sponsor men, initiate them into the blood mysteries so that as we both uncover the inherent power in being human, with this planet, we can share what we have learnt rather than fear one another???

Do we have to go there first? En masse… do women need to quietly step to the left of life and bleed, well, first?

Do you bleed well?

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