Naked Beauty

       Sometimes I like to sit and think about all of the things that I hate doing.  I know that I shouldn't dwell, but some chores are simply no fun and a waste of my life.  Dishes, laundry, vacuuming, working, doing my hair, shaving, applying make-up, painting my nails...wait a second.  At least half of the tasks that I just listed don't REALLY need to be done.  Do they?  As a child I couldn't wait until I was old enough to do all of the "big girl" things like what I saw my grandmother doing.  You really need the full picture here: my grandmother was from Alabama.  She never left her bedroom in the morning until her face was "on", her hair was curled, and her perfectly ironed blouse was tucked snugly into the waistband of her slacks.  This was the same woman who weighed herself everyday, re-painted her nails if there was even the tiniest of chips in the lacquer, and carried her poodle like a fashion statement.  She was high-class country, and my grandpa thought himself lucky to have snagged himself a "Lineville girl".  My grandma, who insisted on being called Grandmother Ellen, was the first consistent female role model in my life.  She would roll in her grave if she knew that I was writing this without a bra on.  So thirty years later, like her, I wake in the morning and put on my face before work, pin back my long hair, and spritz on perfume.  At the end of the day I wash my face and weigh myself and powder my bottom.  ...I think I just made myself throw up a little in the back of my mouth.  You see?  Times have changed, WE have changed, but we're still doing the same old things.  Society's idea of beauty is still skinny, plucked, shaven, polite, and waxed.  Here's the kicker: I know that I don't want to conform and wear makeup just because it makes me more pleasant for people to look at, but I still will because I want to feel pretty.  I hate taking the time to shave my body everyday, but I'll still feel self-conscious if I haven't done it in a while.  It's like it has been ingrained in us to please others by altering our own bodies, and it's so hard to retrain our brains not to think that way because everyone else still does it too.  The first time I ever met my sister-in-law was at a pool party in the late afternoon.  She had just driven in from California, or Colorado, or wherever she lived at that particular time, and it had been a long journey.  Her curly, red hair was uncombed and her bra straps were falling down her shoulders.  She reached out and wrapped her arms around me in the warmest hug that I had ever experienced, and I noticed that she had underarm hair.  Like, a LOT of armpit hair.  And she didn't give a flying shit!  It did not register to her at all that it may be weird for people to see that she hadn't shaved in a few weeks, especially since she was wearing a sleeveless shirt.  I LOVE her!  She likes to creatively paint her face from time to time, almost like a canvas for her next art project, but she doesn't feel the need to wear cover-up daily.  Her hair is so wild that she couldn't tame it if she tried, and I'm so glad that she doesn't even bother.  She is wild and open, honest and FREE.  Other people can see whatever they want to see when they look at her, but when I look at her I see naked beauty and pure reality.  We are all beautiful, just the way we are.  Anyone who thinks differently should probably check their own ideas of beauty.  Let them be the ones with the confining societal standards, I'd rather just be me.
What's your idea of beauty?

"Embracing your true self radiates a natural beauty that cannot be diluted or ignored.  Confident, powerful, untamable, badass you!" - Dr. Steve Maraboli

I Never Knew

       I once knew a woman whose hair grew long and free.  I would visit with her from time to time while she stared off into the distance, far past me.  Stories of was and when tumbled from her lips, but her words brought tears to my eyes because I never realized what I never knew.  I had never known that her small frame had once been beaten by fists of disgrace, her fair skin blemished with the scars of hate.  I loved to stare into the glistening pool of her eyes, never knowing that their depths had been dug by the fingers of despair.  I felt that she had accomplished much through her bravery and creativity, but I never knew that each day was a struggle of life and death, no's and maybe's.  A crushing weight sat upon her chest, but to me it looked as though she was laying upon the ground on purpose.  Her doll-like feet seemed to float above the blades of grass as she walked, but underneath were striped scars from the glass and the rocks.  Her breasts were humble, not hidden but not boasted, while underneath were the secreted burns of the branding iron.  I thought her perceptive, all knowing it seemed.  But the truth is that she was hyperaware, needing to always know her way to safety if danger began to scream.  Her body appeared to move seamlessly with the wind as she danced around the nights fire; I never knew that she was really dodging the hot sparks of desire.  The stars seemed to shine down upon the halo of her simple brow, the flowers and trees bending while she passed with an extravagant bow.  She told me of far away places and caverns and caves, beaches where century old soldiers unearthed graves.  She had witnessed the birth of the moon in all of its wondrous glory, and had sat in awe as the suns flames rose to chase the infant underground.  I watched as her fingers wove colorful lives together, magic and stars exploding instantly without sound.  In her passion and fury her words blew smoke and her eyes shone blue as day, red as night, and finally green as her breath began to slow.  Her scarred chest heaved up and down in time with the feathers that round her head wound.  When her tongue spoke no more, the stories were at an end, I looked up to beseech her to tell me more, "one more!" I implore.  I felt desperate, not knowing where we would go from here without her words to carry me through another afternoon of laughter and tears.  She held one palm away, allowing its  emptiness to blow away on the breeze of the past.  The other she put to her lips and whispered quietly into, her eyes closed in peace.  The flowers dancing under my toes were the only sound as I suddenly knew that I would have to go on.  I could still visit my muse occasionally, but I felt within myself the truth that was always there.  That I am her, and she is me.  I'm beautiful and lovely just as I thought of her, her journey was a path that I also traveled.  I can wear her flowered crown, pricking my own fingers and growing my own star-laced gown.  My own eyes shine with the galaxy and planets that align, my own womb bearing the pain of all who could have belonged.  I too am strong; I also have a tale to tell, and the words that flow from my fingers have the power to grow like cancer or shine like moonbeams.  I too can turn my scars into ribbons of grace and wear past injustices as a smile upon my face.  I also harbor magic in the palms of my heart and, if I so choose, can toss my glittered sorrow to spot the sky as stars in the night.

Moon Goddess painting by Karen Ferrand Carroll

The Anatomy Of A Teardrop

       It starts on the inside.  Deep within, a heaving and choking in the innermost parts of the heart.  It slowly works its way up, burning the throat and suffocating the breath.  Burrowing through the tunnels of the face it ravages the smile and tears at the eyes, struggling and wrenching its way to the windows of the soul.  It floods the glass panes, blurring reality and drowning composure.  With a final explosion of pain it bursts through the casement like a typhoon of emotion wrapped in a single pool of mirrored sentiment.  Though small and beautiful, it alludes to the entirety of life in a single unique shape.  Within its shallow depths lurk the fathomless storm of rage, hurt, doubt, joy, fear, and hope.  It's okay to fall down, to make mistakes, to lay on the floor and sob.  It's okay to be hurt, to care, to worry.  It's okay to need, to desire, and to let your guard down.  It's okay to fail, to feel, to scream.  It's okay to run for a while, to hide for a time, to detach for a phase.  It's okay to feel it all and let your mind run wild.  It's okay to be aware of your sadness, shortcomings, disappointments, defeats, and deficiencies.  It's okay to not feel good enough, loved enough, wanted enough, worth enough.  It's okay to wonder if you'll ever make it, ever be someone, ever make a difference.  It's okay to disbelieve, to distrust, to feel alone.  It's okay to be ashamed, be disgusted, be envious.  It's okay to carry helplessness, to suffer, to weep, despair.  It's okay to be overwhelmed, underwhelmed, surprised, indifferent, numb.  It's okay to wish you were different, looked different, acted different.  It's okay to wish you were the same, looked the same, acted the same.  It's okay to not know, not know who you are, or why.  It's okay not to know what you believe, what you stand for, to hesitate.  It's okay to love, to hope, persevere.  It's okay to cry, just let the tears fall like painful raindrops.  It's okay to struggle for breath, to be tired of trying, to want to give up.  It's okay to fall down; it's NOT okay to stay down.  It's not okay to give up on yourself.  Don't give up.

JUST BREATHE

Just. Breathe.

just breathe

just breathe

just breathe

just breathe

just breathe

just breathe;  

The Tear... Drawing by Rima V

"THE BREATH- The Ultimate Exercise" with guest blogger Meg Yandell

       This chapter has just been sitting here waiting for me to have some intelligent twist on how important it is, and all I can come up with is, "I don't know when I started holding my breath".  I don't breathe deeply, and everytime I am on the floor I realize that, in real life, I don't breathe any deeper than just below my shoulders and sometimes, if I am being honest, no deeper than my throat.  When did I start holding my breath?
       Imagine when we are born, and of course no one can remember, but can you imagine the first rush of air through your lungs as you are thrust into this world and you breathe that very first breath. Breathing so that air was pushed all the way down into your toes, breathing so that every cell in your body was filled with life and waking up, and breathing yourself into becoming a part of this world or this existence.  Breathing yourself into humanity.  Breathing yourself into being.  Can you imagine the rush of all that is, filling your lungs with air to the deepest part and then screaming it back out over and over until all of you is as alive as you will ever be.  The first triumphant announcement that you  make to the universe that you have arrived.  A new soul  has been manifested in human form.  A new star is in the heavens.  New potential on the horizon.  God is here.
       I have said many times when witnessing a child screaming at the top of its lungs in a store or restaurant in public, that it wants something, that I wish that I could do that.  Just kick and scream and demand that I want... but at some point we are either punished for the action, or shamed out of it and the deep screaming that comes with, "I am here!" and, "I want!", is slowed down to, "Would it be alright if I did this?", or, "Would I be bothering you if I voiced this?".  Breathing shallowly could only be an indication that at some point you were trying to be quiet, trying to hide, trying not to be bothered or to be a bother, trying not to be heard.  In essence trying to hide your light.  Very far cry from, "I AM HERE, I AM ALIVE,  and I WANT."
       All that said, and still the chapter seems an insurmountable task to write about, but it is the most important part of being alive, breathing in your life, breathing in joy, breathing in the wonder of it all. Breathing in health and acceptance, breathing in memories, breathing in and past heartbreak, breathing in loss, breathing in all that life has to offer, without holding the breath back.  Screaming that I have a purpose.  Small things like that.
       There have been times with me that the most important thing was getting on the floor and remembering to breathe the breath of  being alive, the down to your toes breath, the fill up  your cells breath.  Even if the world takes your breath away everyday, you can come to that quiet place and get your breath back.  Take a while to remember being empowered to your toes and "catch your breath".
       It all seemed to start with the breath, just to quiet down.  Deep breath.  Laying on the floor feeling my body, once again, deep breath.  Doing a scan of where everything lays on the floor, deep breath.  Then all is quiet and just breathe.  I like to remember that when the breath stops so do I.  If I have tried to be small in my life my breathing has been small.  If I have been big I have been screaming big breath.
       I was on the floor this morning and began just watching the breath going in and out of my body.  I noted where it stopped.  You know, the normal breath.  I then took it further.  This is where once again intention and imagination will come in.  Let yourself take your breath in and out of your lungs.  Fill your lungs to full capacity.  Breathe in your chest.  Breathe in your stomach.  Allow the oxygen in your breath to breathe into your blood stream, be with the oxygen as it carries this breath to your toes, to your legs, to all your extremities.  Experiment with the breath running in all directions of your body.  Hear the rush of your breath and hear the familiar sound of the ocean and waves running up and down your spine.  In my ears the breath sounds just like being in the ocean.  I try to find that wave of breath that goes all the way from the top of my head, down my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, and then out my coccyx bone to the world and then bring the breath back up from my coccyx, vertebrae by vertebrae, back to my head.  Watching the breath as it goes up and down.  Losing yourself in this ocean that is you.
       Being with the breath is being with your first relationship with this planet.  You came here and you breathed in, when you leave you will leave with the breathing out.  There will be many breaths in your life, the universe willing.  You will hold it, catch it, lose it, and let people take it, but the most exciting thing you will do is look at it.  It is there and it is life and when it stops, so will you.  Christian tradition says that God breathed and life started.  So it is with us, we breathe.  Take your time to look at this wonder.  I believe it is life itself.
       - Meg Yandell
How deeply are you breathing in life?

This excerpt from the upcoming book "Lavender Snow", written by Meg Yandell, explains the art of slowing down to "just be" and the quiet within yourself it takes to do so.  Meg is a Reiki Master and a bass guitarist, but mostly she's just a woman enjoying the experience of life and all it has to give.

Insanity- Step 2

       The second step to recovery is the knowledge that we "came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity".  I don't belive that I'm INsane, but what does it mean to be SANE?  The definition of sanity is the ability to think and behave in a normal and rational manner.  I can nitpick anything to death, so let's go ahead and overlook the word "normal", purposefully choosing not to confine ourselves to societal standards, and focus on the word "rational".  The dictionary defines rational as action based on, or in accordance with, reason or logic.  Synonyms include sensible, reasonable, intelligent, prudent, practical, down-to-earth, etc.  That makes a little bit more sense; I've been known to be a little...unreasonable at times.  But since we're applying these steps to our personal lives, let's take a closer look at what makes a person seem insane.  The western world holds mental health to a completely different standard than the shamanic societies of our indigenous ancestors and peoples of Asia, Africa, and Australasia.  People around here hear the word "shaman" and think of demons and witchcraft.  Shamans are simply people who were thought to have access to, and influence in, the spirit realm, much like we rely on our preachers to do.  Shamans and pastors are alike because they both believe that in order to heal mental illness one must mend the soul, thus restoring balance and wholeness.  The difference is shamans believe that in order to understand sickness that they must first become sick. To become a healer, they must first heal.  In this sense, shamans view mental illness as the "birth of a healer".  Wow!  In western civilizations we take people with mental and behavioral disorders and try to "make it stop".  We prescribe medications or lock them away in an attempt to make the symptoms disappear.  A shaman will take a mentally ill person and try to merge their physical selves with their spiritual selves in order to heal their psyche.  They believe that what causes a person to feel depressed, anxious, hear voices, or act out is the result of a spiritual being trying to get a message through to our world.  This causes a disruption in the human consciousness that results in fear and confusion.  We don't have to completely believe in the shamans view, but doesn't it make a little sense?  Pay attention to the people around you.  The most sensitive people are the ones who act tough, like nothing bothers them, and quite possibly they may turn to alcohol or drugs to numb the overwhelming emotions that they feel.  But what if these people, the "empaths" if you will, have a higher purpose?  What if they learned to accept the fact that they have a huge influx of feelings and energy from the people around them and they chose to FEEL those feelings?  They could really change the world through kindness and empathy.  The cockiest of people are the ones who can't bear to sit alone with themselves in the darkness.  The rudest people are the ones who are trying to protect themselves from all of the hurt inside.   There is an aligning that needs to happen within ourselves.  A connection between our spiritual and physical selves that can only be achieved through accepting that our hurt is actually a GIFT designed to channel through us to help others.  Self-harm and suicide are nothing to play with; please seek help if these are thoughts that you are having.  It is a long road to mental healing.  But once we learn to accept ourselves, align our spiritual energy, and TRULY HEAL, then we can allow the birth of our inner healer to touch the lives of the broken.
What's your insane gift?