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

"White Woman Syndrome- This Woman's Journey Of Self Discovery" with guest blogger Ellie M. Bateman

       Growing up it was always my perception that I was a "white" child.  Being born in the heart of the nineteen sixties, even a child too young to verbalize it knew that being white spared you from being ridiculed and called unkind names by some of the other children on your block.  Around the time that I entered school I was starting to mimic parental behaviors, and fortunately my parents taught me that I was never to make fun of those different than myself, but rather to offer my friendship.  At this time began the early formation of character.  Fast forward many years; I am now middle-aged.  With both of my parents now passed away I feel compelled to understand my ancestral history all the more.  A generous gift from a wonderful friend allowed me the opportunity to discover the answers at Christmastime.  She purchased me gifts- one using 23andMe and one using Ancestry.  There were known factors, yes, and confirmation of my Native American heritage.  But I discover so much more!  All at once I know that I am of 28% African background, with most of that being from around the area of Kenya, and a trace of Ethiopian.  I am 12% Semitic, of a Spanish-Jewish line, 9% Lenape, and 5% Sioux.  I am not in fact a "white" girl, but rather a woman of many races who happens to be light complected.  What does this mean to me?  It means that along with the shame I carry that some of my European ancestors owned human beings and raped and otherwise tortured them, I also carry pride in the courage of my African ancestors.  It means that I am Jewish according to maternal heritage lines.  It means that I am of Spanish heritage.  Then there is my Native American heritage; such a rich and beautiful culture!  The most important thing it means is this: embrace all of it!  No matter what criticism it gets you from the racists and the bigots, for the women I came from were strong!  Sometimes if I listen in the silence, though you don't hear them, it is as though they whisper, "Find us!  Tell each story!  Because you are us and we are you!"  To every woman I say: take your own journey and find who you are!
       -Leslie Marie (Ellie M.) Bateman
What's your heritage?

   

Photo by Jessica Bigi

"My name is Leslie Marie Bateman, but some friends call me Ellie M. because my first name starts with an "L" and my middle name with an "M".  I like the nickname and invite new friends to use it as well.  My life is busy with budgets and dust rags and dishes.  Ode to joy!  My life is busy with gardening and reading and late night writing.  My children have red hair and tails.  The thing I value most is kindness.  I deeply love kids and animals and nature.  I am much concerned with the safety of women and children.  No one earns my trust if they don't give it as well.  I am a wonderful friend, or so I am told.  My wish for all?  Love and peace.  Go ahead and call me a tail-end baby boomer.  I don't mind, that is exactly what I am."  

-Leslie Marie Bateman AKA Ellie M.