"Joy"

This is poetry in motion...
The innocence;
the utter unabashed joy of life.

Taken at FUSF (First Universalist Society Franklin) Annual Retreat at Ferry Beach, ME. 5/18/08.
Asherah, age 4. (Yes, she was in the ocean in Maine during May!)
If you're wondering what she's saying when she runs back to the ocean after giving her a Dad a shell, she's taunting the ocean; "You can't touch me, you can't touch me...."

Updated "About Me" and Updated Poll

Peruse at will.

Speaking Through Me

I'm sure that anyone who is artistic can relate to the following...

That feeling that someone, or something, is speaking through you. Like there is a voice in your head that is not quite your own, and it is demanding that you do something with it.

Certainly, this feeling is not restricted to artists--although they may be most familiar with the sensation. Call it a Muse, the Voice of God/Goddess, or simply inspiration...perhaps some people experience it as a kind of intuition.

When I have this sensation of "speaking through me," I am often able to quiet it--give voice to it(?) by writing a poem.

Here's one from this week:

The Voice of the Sea

She said, “I am the voice of the restless sea…”

And I, drawn to her ever inexplicably;

Sat my aching body down

On sharp, salt-stained rocks.

I groaned imperceptibly.

She said, “I have called you to me,

As a maiden calls to her beloved--

Using her eyes; using her lips;

Swinging her lustrous hair,

Swaying her hips…

I call you here to give yourself to me!

You have seen me up close;

I’ve nourished you from my stores

And lulled you to sleep…

You have loved me well.

You have loved me as I tore through sails;

Tossed your crew mates around—

Called my children to me;

‘Use your keen senses;

Use your ripping teeth.’

They have listened; you have bore witness;

Yet you love me still.”

And I, a once youthful man;

Solid and humble from a lifetime--

Spent serving at her pleasure

Give myself to her...

A fitting end; who else would take me now?

Here is another, from a few months ago:

This is Why I Hurt You

This is why I hurt you, he said.

He towered over me, fists tight

And hard as stones.

I see the fear you carry

In your bruised eyes, he said.

I plunge myself

Into your sorrow--

And I know I am still alive.

Both times, it was as though I heard another voice--that is the best way to explain how it was I "felt" the the aching body as it sat on a sharp rock; how it was I tasted the briny air as a craggy, worn fisherman. Or how for a short time I "became" an abusive husband/boyfriend, so sick from self-loathing and so emotionally damaged that the only way he could 'feel' was by inflicting pain upon someone physically weaker.

Is it muse? Imagination? The voice of God or Goddess? Is it valuable to write these at all?

What do you think??

Finding the Goddess

There are so many ways in which to discover Her. I have had the privilege several times lately to find Her gazing at me through the eyes of other women. Beautiful, incredible women.

If everyone could see the Divinity within others, what a peaceful world we would have.

Becoming Who You Are

So many thoughts have been swirling in my head. And life being what it is, it seems I never have enough time to process them by writing.

I turned 40 earlier this month. Overall, it was OK. I was surprised to find myself in "crisis" mode about this particular birthday a few weeks before it occurred. The crisis came out of nowhere. As a Goddess-y person, I embrace the concept of embracing whatever life-stage you are in, and being in your full beauty and power within it.

And yet, I spent a week putting on wrinkle cream every night and combing through my hair looking for grays.

Then, luckily that passed. I actually had a very good birthday "week."

It's not like my mini-crisis was about wrinkles or gray hair or my boobs that hang around the vicinity of my waist. It's easy to think it's about these things--and maybe for some people it is--but for me it's really not.

For me, it's about WHO ARE YOU? WHO WILL YOU BECOME?

When I was younger, I imagined that by the time I was 40 I would be IT. "IT" as in whatever fabulously successful thing I was into imagining that particular day. In my fertile imagination, I have been:

* A happy-go-lucky, organized stay-at-home Mom
* A singer
* An actress
* An Astronomer
* Psychologist/counselor
* Owner of my own business. Usually a bookstore, eclectic witchy shop, or healing center
* A professional Healer/alternative healthcare professional
* The first woman to play for the Boston Red Sox
* Aromatherapist
* Priestess/Minister
* A writer
* A professor of sociology

You get the idea.

Here's the problem: I'm not organized. And the few years that I was home full-time with my kids I was going crazy. I can't sing. I'm not a great actress, and truthfully wouldn't want that lifestyle anyway. (I recognize that those two things are born from my desire to share myself with the world.) I'm bad at basic math and never took any higher math, save statistics. Being a professor ultimately felt too "restrictive." I scrapped my idea of going into mental health care because I'm too intuitive and was afraid I'd become too enmeshed with my clients. I think the Red Sox are doing OK without me. etc, etc....

So where does that leave me now? I have a wonderful husband and great kids. I have a full-time job I really enjoy, and co-workers who are great. But I can't say as though I feel like "I'm doing my life's work."

One thing that has always been there for me is writing. I was writing in elementary school. I was writing in Jr. High. I poured my anguish out onto paper throughout High School, and into college. And then I "discovered" my path as a Goddess-woman. Part of that path involves showing others the way to this path if it is right for them. It involves being out of the broom closet and educating others about the nature of my religion/spirituality.

And now I am 40, and the two things have have remained consistent are writing and being in service to Goddess.

But how does someone "become" a professional writer? It's not like you can go to Monster.com and look for jobs like "novelist," "poet," or "Priestess."

Yet some people seem to figure it out so easily--whatever their "IT" is. I envy them.