Receiving, collage by Licia Berry, 2010

Sunday, July the 11^th is the new moon and total solar eclipse.  I hear from astrologer friends it is going to be a big one; this is confirmed by my invisible friends.  It is a new moon in Cancer, a water sign, involving family, relationships, feelings and the Sacred Feminine. 

For weeks preceding this event, I have been coming into wonderful alignment within, marveling at the information Consciousness is bringing through me for the book on Sacred Union and feeling great love for and connection with my husband after a time of challenge. It is blissful.

A couple of days before the event, I start to feel a little tension inside, a feeling of being a little less in the flow.  Fits and starts.

Sunday I ask for suggestions about how to work with the energy the most effectively, and am told to align with the energy of the eclipse, and do.  I feel the push to focus on what I want in my life, what new energy I want to bring in.  I do this.  I think about healing and love in my relationship with Peter, success and fulfillment in my work, joy with my children, healing and love for the waters and the world.   Ease and flow in my life.

We watch the world cup final and it is full of contention and conflict as one team plays dirty.  The other team, the better soccer players, win the tournament.  The octopus is right again.  Pete says 4 billion people are watching this game; it is amazing to be part of something that so many in the collective are involved in at the same time.  We bring thoughts of healing the gulf waters into this mix at this time.  I feel the beginning of a deep wave within me start to build momentum that night.

Monday, July the 12^th:  I awaken with a very sore jaw; I have been grinding my back teeth again, hard.  I feel odd, a little separate from my body.  I know this feeling; it is the feeling of something being “up” in my energy field.

I have immense release of grief and outdated energy dealing with feelings of unworthiness in the studio.  Very, very painful, racking sobs ripping from my heart, holding my head.  I am stunned by the depth of this wound, the message that I am bad, unworthy of love, a waste of space, a bother, etc.  This goes back too far for me to remember the origin of it, prior to age 2. I realize that all of my life I have been trying to prove that wrong while secretly believing it.  At times, it has felt like trying to hold back the tide with my finger in the dyke, and today I have to give in to the pain of this internalized feeling about myself.  It is what I have tried to hold myself above forever, the thing I would not let myself feel.

July 13^th:   I am very scattered in my energy, have trouble hearing intuitively when it is usually so easy.  Trying to do work is almost impossible.  I give up and ask what is going on, and am told that major energy movement has occurred in my system due to the release and that I am re-making myself.  The falling apart in order to be put back together in a new, improved way.  It feels like chaos.  I choose to be very easy on myself for the rest of the day.

July 14^th:  Awaken with sore jaw again, but feeling more “together”, as if the parts that were scattered about yesterday have come into a more seamless alignment.  I have profound awareness of and write about the imbalanced masculine within me and its efforts to prove wrong that I am unworthy through competitive behavior, seeking outer approval from the world, the pushing drive to be seen and be shown through physical evidence that I am loved. I see a tough little boy with his arms crossed and a defensive, protective scowl on his face. 

My inner masculine is so concerned about the outcome; he has a feeling of panic for his survival –All about the outer drive to succeed, to “make it”, to get the outcome, rather than the focus of being in the moment and revealing the message that is truth in my heart.  He is my internalized father, the one who pushes and forces, rather than acts in accordance with the feminine’s knowing.

I have made out-of-balance decisions from this place; this has led to things occurring that did not serve me in the end.  I have made some choices through this filter that had unpleasant consequences, such as pushing my divine timing.  I cry with grateful tears for this knowing, and wrap this wounded inner masculine up with Great Mothers arms within.  He needs love so much.  I rock him.  Hush, child…..heal, child.  Shhhhh.  In the feelings of being safe in the arms of the Sacred Feminine, my imbalanced inner masculine calms; he lets go of the need to prove himself as worthy.  Suddenly it doesn’t matter if I am successful, known, recognized, famous, fulfilling my purpose by reaching lots of people, etc.  I am overcome with feelings of love and connection.

As I drive to the studio, I have trouble focusing on the act of operating the car because I am having distinct sensations of being All That Is, the knowing of the truth of this, that I could say “Wake Up, Dreamer” and I, along with all of physical reality, would cease to exist. A feeling of death approaching, or the end of some existence….the threshold is close.  Looking back on my life as if it were a story or a dream, with fondness.  It is all okay.

July 15^th:  Another awareness of the pain in my life as a great teacher, including this year with a girlfriend that has triggered feelings of betrayal (this has happened over and over in my life).  Again as I am driving to the studio, I thank her out loud for being a teacher, for she has brought to my attention my core mother wound; she has been of service in this way.  I set the intention to heal my core mother wound from the inside out.  Perhaps she and I have helped each other with this mother stuff.  Interestingly, I am also guided to set intentions around receiving from the universe. 

Also very thankful for those who came into my life not bearing pain, but love and acceptance…I have learned and am learning much from them, as well.  I think I am moving towards learning in that way as much if not more than in the painful way. Maybe it doesn’t always have to be painful to learn.

I must be one powerful, big Being to have signed one for so many lessons in this life!  I’m smiling as I write this, feeling appreciation for myself and a sense of humor about it all.  I guess it’s true I like to learn.

I’m aware that the collective energy has been very intense these last weeks and days, but that every one has a different journey.  I do feel there is a common thread, though; I think it’s that we are being grown, being brought into more and more integrity with our true nature, being “pruned” of the things that aren’t in alignment with our authentic soul and expression.  If I allow this, open to it, flow with it, I find this kind of support to be a beautiful expression of how All Creation loves me with the tenderest of hearts.  It feels like coming Home.

pricking the crusty scab over the wound in my heart…letting it bleed

I must…there is no alternative if I want to be an alive, pliable, feeling human being

a moment’s courage to stick the needle of my consciousness in

please, hold my hand, Greater Self

and it’s done.  see, it only hurt for a moment

~

ahhh, the relief of letting it flow

the cleansing tears, the exorcizing of little demons in the dark corners of my psyche

the ones that have held court, whispering lies into my ears,

stringing nets and springing traps

grabbed up by the rush of cleansing waters from the genuine soul

lifted by the torrent of feeling, they are exposed and expunged through the grand golden portal of my heart

poured out onto the stones at my feet where they flip and writhe

I feel awe and compassion as I watch them dissolve in the light of the sun

My subjective experience has been telling me that there has been some extraordinary energy moving through the collective these last few days.  What I’m hearing as I report in from my corner of reality is that many are feeling this larger wave of energy, but some experience it as very difficult and others very lovely.

Thursday is when I started to feel that rise begin…it feels to me like being in the ocean, out beyond where the waves break.  You can feel that a wave is coming because you get lifted off the bottom of the sea, and your body bobs up to the top of the lump that begins a wave, then you are dropped down and toes make contact again with sand.  The wave continues onward towards the shore, where it crests and crashes down, becoming one with the larger body of the ocean again.

Thursday some extraordinary things happened in my life.  My beloved husband confronted an oooolllllddddd habit passed down to him by his ancestry and brought it into consciousness, breaking the pattern and freeing himself (and us, his family).  When it happened, there was a palpable feeling of something having changed.  Our whole family felt it.  A few hours later, a professional opportunity came his way, literally dropped in his lap, which has invited more good feelings in our family. 

Then, Friday some folks looked at our house in Colorado, the one that’s been on the market for 1.5 years, and promptly feel it love with it and made an offer.  We signed the contract yesterday, the day identified by astrologers in the know as a profoundly lucky day of 2010 due to Jupiter and the sun being in alignment.

The current energy wave is intense, don’t get me wrong.  It’s not all sunshine and daisies; the recent earthquakes would indicate that there are folks who are in great distress as a result of the energy movement.  And I have been hearing that some folks are having difficulty navigating the current energy.  They feel anxious, pregnant, full, like they are ready to explode.  Sometimes it feels just plain bad, and we want to hide under a rock until it’s over.

I do believe that what is within is also without, and vice versa, so to me it makes sense that we would see manifestations in the physical as well as emotional worlds of the internal or invisible universal energy waves that wash through us.  I don’t think this is going to change; my sources tell me that these kinds of experiences are going to continue, and that the intensity will lessen a bit as we cycle through, until we get to the next wave. 

Are we being cleansed?  Are we being shown where we are putting energy that doesn’t serve us?  Are we getting the opportunity to trim out the deadwood and let go into a life that we are truly meant to live?  And why is it easy for some and not for others?  Is the difference that sometimes we cooperate with the flow of the energy and other times we cling to the rocks, refusing to let go into that larger life?  What keeps us attached to those habits and beliefs that threaten to take us under, even those that we love? 

My sweet husband has had direct information for 3 years (via myself and my invisible helpers) that his unconsciousness was causing a major energy drain on himself and our family, creating havoc and despair, putting him crossways to his own soul.  But he wasn’t ready to hear it until Thursday, and when he let it go, the energy wave that was building already bobbed him (and our family) up to the top of the wave, instead of holding us down at the bottom.  The relief and feeling of rightness is unmistakable.

So now we are coming through this wave…the full moon today feels like an apex to me, and perhaps things will smooth out a bit for awhile to allow the next wave to build. This will allow us time to integrate the changes that have been made during this last part of the cycle; the deadwood having been trimmed (don’t go trying to pick it up and stick it back on the trees!), we will hopefully find our ground and center in a new way.

Great Mother, collage by Licia Berry, 2008

While I was unmistakably being drawn ever deeper into a mystery that seemed to reside within my own being, my prickly mental self still fought the concept of the goddess. 

This is where my inner “immature masculine” had been holding court all of these years since I’d had babies and devoted time to the feminine side of me.  When I say “immature masculine”, I mean a quality of energy within me that feels like an adolescent boy, still growing into his paws; but subject to the spikes of testosterone along with not having the wisdom of age and experience, this boy has an uneasy relationship with authentic power and right action in the world.  He pushes and forces because he does not understand yet that finesse is sometimes required to get where you want to go, that there is subtlety and nuance that makes slowing down worth doing. He gets angry and dumb in his pointless rage because anger feels like power.  He wants control, to make the plan, to be in charge.  He argues for the sake of arguing; he thinks it is a demonstration of his rightness, and therefore dominance.  When a boy grows up in a supportive environment and wisely learns the lessons of life, this immaturity gives way to a beautiful, mature masculine that is a true wonder to behold. 

My intellectual mind was the last hold out, and this is where my inner immature masculine had made his final stand (think Geronimo fiercely defending his last stronghold in the mountains of Arizona).  A natural part of motherhood is the loss of some mental acuity due to the brain being overwhelmed with mothering hormones, resulting in a (hopefully) softer, nicer, more maternal mommy.  And of course my body won; I couldn’t prevent the slipping into the agreeable pink and light blue cloud of baby bliss.  But I grieved for the fact that I’d lost my edge, that I couldn’t think as quickly, retrieve words or names with lightning speed, debate with as sharp a tongue.  In resistance, my mind dismissed the idea of Goddess, similar to God, as so much wishful thinking.

But when I learned that the archetypal energies of Great Mother/Sacred Feminine and Great Father/Divine Masculine were qualities of energy (ala Jung and Campbell and Pinkola Estes) that existed in the collective consciousness since the beginning of time and in the energetic structure of the universe, my mind could grasp that.  Suddenly I gave myself permission to begin to know these concepts of Sacred Feminine and Divine Masculine, and my mind let go and allowed me to flow with what my spirit had already been bringing me to.

I began with looking at what the term “Sacred Feminine” meant.  I read and researched texts from all over the world.  Multi-cultural resources showed me that “Mother” and “Goddess” and “Feminine” were terms that were sometimes used interchangeably, but also had a multitude of faces, or qualities.   I uncovered over 200 names of goddesses in multiple cultures and eras of time, each with specific qualities for which she was respected and called upon.  I could connect with these faces of the feminine, no matter what era or culture; there was something about each face that could teach me, assist me, cause me to feel more alive in the world.  I could seek these feminine archetypes within myself, bring them to the light of my consciousness, and successfully integrate them.

Some of my experience in working with specific names or faces of the Sacred Feminine have been utterly mind-blowing.  Working with a Mother goddess left me weeping in her arms as She scooped me up, feeling so grandly mothered for the first time in my conscious awareness.  Working with a particular feminine face that embodies righteous anger cleared the path within me to access and express and begin to heal my own inner rage.  Working with a goddess embodying creative power unleashed a river of creative energy within me that had been blocked behind a dam of self hatred and negation.  Working with an aspect of the Sacred Feminine that advocates sensuality and sexuality has blown off the puritanical doors that shut off my healthy sexual expression.  Working with a face of Her that brought love of the body has opened up a new relationship with my physical vessel and all of its workings, and an awareness that it is precious, a treasure, sacred.  There is so much goodness here to be had.

My Soul-Surrender, collage by Licia Berry, 2008

Things have happened which I have no explanation for.  I have felt and experienced revelations within my own mind and body and spirit that were undeniably resulting from my desire and choice to connect with this archetypal energy.  It was as if I was opening doors in myself that had been closed for a long time; ancient information lay behind those doors which was mine to inherit all along. 

The greatest gifts that I have received from this decision in my life to consciously connect to and embody the Sacred Feminine through Her myriad faces is that in doing so I am coming into great peace and acceptance of myself, which leads me into providing the same for others; I feel permission to be in this world, and an important part of existence.  I am okay.  In Her, I am finding peace, healing, love.  And claiming Her in myself, I can bring Her gifts to the parts of myself that have been crying for Her for so long, and then, to the world. 

If you are interested in learning how I successfully work with the Sacred Feminine in order to integrate Her into your own life, please join me for my experiential “Faces of Her” tele-class, starting February 18^th 2010.  For info and to register, click here: http://www.liciaberry.com/Faces%20of%20Her.htm

Down the Road: Growing up my inner Masculine to become the Divine Masculine so that my inner Sacred Feminine and my inner Divine Masculine can have Sacred Union.  YUM.  Stay posted!

In my inner guidance time this morning, I asked what to write about-my question comes in the form of “what to offer humanity today”.  I was interested that the guidance came in very clearly to write about the fear for our survival, and the suggestion to heal that fear.

The fear for survival is one that is a collective as well as individual fear that we are being faced with.  It is so deep under the surface of our daily walk that we don’t know it is there.  But the fear of ceasing to exist ranks up there as one of the greatest there are.

Naming this fear alternately seems so basic and yet such a revolutionary act.  We have so many other issues we are looking at; gay marriage, religious tolerance, racial affirmation, women’s rights, children’s protection, world peace.   I certainly have spent time and energy on all of these worthy pursuits!  But they all become a moot point if humanity no longer exists. 

What could be more basic, more primal, than our relationship with our Home?  The ground we walk on, the physical matter from which we came, is so under our noses that we cannot see it.  We take for granted what is the most beneficent force in our daily physical lives.

My sense is that it is important to name this fear.  I find that naming something within me is the first step towards healing it.  Otherwise, it has power over me because it is unconsciously driving me.  Naming a fear calls it to the surface of my attention, and allows me to look it in the eye, size it up, and deal with it.

The next step in healing after naming what is happening is to accept that this is going on.  I am surprised how often we will deny that something is wounded inside of us, and amazed by the expert coping mechanisms we will develop in order to continue to deny it.  It is only possible to change if we accept that there is indeed an issue first. 

The next important step is to make a choice about whether we want this issue to be an unconscious driver in our lives anymore.  This is a pivotal moment.  Once I can see something and name it, then accept it is an issue within me, I have the power to do something to change the situation or to let it lie.  I find that making the choice to change is a powerful decision that moves worlds, both within and without me, that support the change.

We are threatened like we never have been before…of course, there have always been threats to our survival, whether it was the herd of buffalo we stalked trampling us, or the famine, or the bomb…but now it is the very ground we walk on that is compromised. 

We cannot underestimate the intensity of the fear that we are all carrying, whether we are conscious of it or not.  Under the surface of our thoughts, under the skin of every decision we make, there is the question as to whether or not we will survive.  We make some very poor and short sighted decisions because of this fear.

If humanity wants to be around for more than another 100 years, then each of us as kernels of the collective must make decisions that ensure our survival.  Naming, accepting, and then choosing to change the issues that prevent us from having a balanced relationship with Home is the way to heal.  The earth will go on without us, that is for sure.  But if we want a world for our descendants, we have to get right with Home.  There is no escape.

In cultivating respect for our partner in physical existence, the Earth, we must heal ourselves and ensure a future for our species.  In healing our own fear for our survival, we can begin to create this ideal relationship with Home.

Wingapo Cheskchamay (“Welcome, All Friends” in Powhatan language)

I share this excerpt from my book with you now because I have lately struck a chord in some of my posts….there are others besides me who do not feel that they fit in, and are looking for their tribe.

Being “lost” is a kind of dramatic tale to weave…..it appeals to many. There are certainly lots of stories in history of “lost tribes” and their tragic search to come home.

I am a prime example of this in a genealogical sense….I see no separation between what lives in my blood, what lives in my mind, and what lives in my heart…..the greatness of my spirit holds all aspects of myself within its hands.

However, I choose that my having been “lost” has brought me many gifts and learnings, and that in the end, I have not been “lost” at all.

An excerpt from “The Blue Eyed Indian”
By Licia Berry www.liciaberry.com
Copyright 2008

Outer Banks of North Carolina

“My European ancestors were among the first to arrive at the remote barrier islands of what is now called North Carolina’s Outer Banks. In the 1500’s, the islands were alive with the Croatoan Indian hunters and fisherman who scoured the maritime forests and the rich waters for bountiful fish and game. When the fair-skinned people with the blue eyes arrived from the giant crafts on the water, my Indian ancestors were intrigued, and being polite, welcomed the visitors to their island. They feasted together, they showed the guests their lovely island (like we would for any tourist to our home town), and eventually, some of them fell in love.

Some of the fair skinned people feathered into life with the Indians; others went north to create the English settlement of Roanoke Island. This settlement later became “The Lost Colony”, when, fearing they had been abandoned by the English and needing help to survive, they returned south to live with the friendly Croatoan Indians in what is now Buxton, NC. These are the people I come from.

When the next larger waves of Europeans would arrive to the New World a generation or two later, they wrote with their quill pens in their journals of the peculiar “Blue Eyed Indians” they encountered along the North Carolina coast.

As more Europeans arrived, the goodness of the land on the Outer Banks was coveted for its rich resources and its location as a close ally to the ports in Virginia. The Indians began to feel the conflict that these fair skinned people brought into their midst. Skirmishes broke out, and eventually, the fair skinned people overtook the islands that had been occupied by Indians for 10,000 years.

Outer Banks Indians fishing on Pamlico Sound

The blue-eyeds among the Indians had a choice to make; were they white, or Indian? They would lose their lands on the island if they sided with their red-skinned kin….Would they survive if they sided with their European blood? For some, the call to explore the blood of their parents or grandparents, those who had come from far across the waters, brought a certain sense of longing, and they stayed with the whites. A few elected to go with the tribes, who retreated inland to nurse their wounds and to make plans about how to carry on. Some went north to now Virginia to be absorbed into the great Powhatan nation; others remained in the woods and wetlands of inland coast and eventually disappeared into the trees with their culture. The Croatoan had lost their best fishing grounds, lost many of their children and suffered humiliation after opening their arms and hearts to these fair-skinned people. But those who were part Indian, those who elected to stay with the Europeans, lost the precious knowledge and support of their Indian culture.

Generations of Europeans came to the Outer Banks and settled on this wild coast, making their living fishing those waters once enjoyed by the Powhatan, and scavenging off of the hundreds of ships that floundered on the Diamond Shoals, earning the nickname “The Graveyard of the Atlantic”. My father’s side of the family still remains on this remote outpost, miles off the mainland of our country. They speak in a soft brogue that reminds of me of Scotland, England and a faint tongue that is lost, the language extinct except for a few words. They are stoic and stubborn, refusing to leave the island when hurricanes bear down on the fragile sands. They also don’t like to admit that they are part Indian.

In fact, I didn’t know that we had any Indian blood until I was in my thirties, when a rebellious aunt whispered to me of our history. I have observed a bigotry and arrogance in some of these noble Hatteras people, as if they are better than every one else, perhaps because of what they have survived as they eke out their livings in this harsh place. I have never understood this stubborn need to protect our “heritage” as all-European (or, all white as they would say). Perhaps when they were forced to make the decision to be “white” in order to keep their homes and land on Hatteras Island, a psychic door closed on any other possibility.

But I was different.

All of my life the spirits of the wind, the water, the rocks and trees and earth have spoken to me. As a child, I was a wild nature girl; tangled hair and dirty face were my costume….I fought taking baths and showers, preferring to remain sister to the dirt. In frustration and in answer to my defiant nature, my mother chopped all my hair off at age 6. I tried to get lost in the woods and never could, because I knew the way home. The animals were my guides and messengers. The forest whispered of its love for me. The universe supported me, and Nature was my friend.

Yet, I was so different than the family who surrounded me. I didn’t fit; when I spoke of the subtle energy that I tapped into, I was ignored or strongly corrected. I wasn’t hearing and sensing and seeing those things; I was making things up. I got quieter about my feelings, but they never went away. Under the protection of the dense brush and out of sight of my elders, I performed ceremonies to honor dead birds or lizards that I found, to listen to and guide the ghosts that needed help to find their way home, to dance with all of creation as my cohort in life. No one had taught me these things; I just knew how to do them. And then came my initiation into the shamanic world….”

To be continued….

A Blue Eyed Indian

free bird

There is something about having an audience that provokes an artist (of any kind, whether writer, musician, visual artist, actor, etc.) to rise to the occasion and express themselves.  I find this to be what will cause me to sit down and write, sometimes more than the need to express, itself.  But the need to express today is strong.

When I was a little girl, I had a vivid imagination.  I imagined worlds and dramas and tragedies and great tales of heroism.  I sometimes told these stories during show and tell in 1st grade, interweaving the facts of my life with the fictions in my mind.  These acts of creativity were unappreciated for what they were, however.  The era, the lack of knowledge or understanding in the family I grew up in, and the location of backwoods North Carolina where I grew up had little appreciation of normal child development, and so I was labeled a Liar.

That label followed me around for many years….again, doing what normal children do to sometimes cover up their mistakes, to try to look good in the eyes of those who have the power, to try to minimize the punishments for falling down, I sometimes did not tell the truth.  No, I did not take a cookie.  No, I don’t know anything about the candy in Grandmom’s drawer being gone.  No, I did not take the few coins on my father’s dresser.  It is absolutely true that I did those things.

Later in life, as I understood some of the crazier events that happened to me in my family, I began to see that labeling me as a “Liar” was a brilliant, if unconscious, strategy.  No matter what excellent grades I brought home, no matter what awards and accolades, my identity at home would be one of not being trusted to tell the truth.  And so, when I did understand the importance of speaking out about my early life and dealing with it head on, I would have an inner conflict set up even before I started.

I wonder now if there is a different standard for boys and girls when they do the inevitable and make up a reality, or lie.  Are boys expected to be “naughty” and therefore not stigmatized about lying?  Are girls expected to be pure and chaste and innocent, and so if they act out in ways that children do, they bear the brunt of unfair discrimination?

I remember a particular day when I was 11 years old, when I was caught in a lie (I cannot remember what it was, perhaps the stealing the change on the dresser thing), when I was sent to my room.  I lay on my bed and cried for a long time, feeling a sense of injustice and not being understood.  My parents did not give me an allowance, so I did not have money to buy myself little things like candy or toys.  At the time, I didn’t intellectualize the fact that children need to feel a sense of power and control over their lives in some aspects as they begin to enter adolescence, a healthy, normal development, and that my taking the change from my father’s dresser was an attempt to have some power.  I just knew I felt zero support and understanding in my world.

My father came up and sat on the bed with me for a long time, speaking the importance of telling the truth and how all we have in this world is our reputation.  It may surprise some of you to know that this was one of the most beautiful gifts my father gave to me in our twisted, convoluted history together.  While he raged and sexually preyed on me as a drunk at night, when sober, he became the kind of man my inner masculine wanted to model myself after.  His sharing of his concept of honor made such a deep impression on me at that age that I am touched by his teaching to this day, and part of my moral code and devotion to truth I attribute to this conversation.  How interesting and ironic that my dear father, whom I love and hold in my heart despite everything, would coach and prepare me to reveal what he did to me.

Perhaps I was at the age that I began to understand the difference between truth in the consensual reality and the truth of my imagination.  Perhaps at age 11-12 the child’s brain is capable of conceiving what that means.  Already a prolific writer and winning competitions for my essays in school, I had some sense of the worlds that I had access to through my artistic ability.  I began to learn that I was intelligent, and that the way I put words together had an impact and inspired people.  But add the complexity of what had been done to me in the name of satisfying sexual greed in the dark of night, and the desperate need to keep the secrets in an alcoholic family, and you will see how the telling of the truth has become a very loaded topic.  The gravity of the truth began to shine clear, and the heavy weight to burden me.

What is the truth?  Is something true if we don’t want to look at it?  Is it true despite our attempts to deny it?  What are the ramifications of pretending something isn’t true when it is?  These are all questions that I have wrestled with in endless cycles since I began to wake up.

To this day, I have an obsession with truth.  To the point that if I try an experiment and say something that is NOT true, such as “My name is Beth”, I will start coughing.  I can’t do it.  My inner barometer won’t let me speak or write something that I don’t personally experience as true. 

I have examined many spiritual traditions as well as modern physics and understand now that there are as many realities as there are perspectives, and all are valid.  I also know (and experience) that if a reality is unobserved it may as well not have happened. 

Additionally, I understand that there is some modicum of truth that we can all agree to, if we are willing to acknowledge it.  While my family has given slight, grudging acknowledgment of the sexual abuse and no acknowledgement of the alcoholism I encountered as a child, there is great resistance to me talking about it.  Does this make it untrue?

In my desire to be a loyal daughter, I have censored myself for many years, even though the truth has leaked out in ways through my writing and art and conversations.  Even in therapy I have protected my family as a “good daughter should”, revealing only parts of the story, perhaps the parts that I could handle revealing to myself.  I love my family, as people and as having been the sieve through which I arrived in this world.  I would not be who I am without them.  I have even attempted over the 21 years that I have been in conscious recovery and healing work to actually heal my family, out of my love for them and desire that they, too, be free from the sickness that bound us.  They have been unresponsive, however.

Now, the bird that has lived caged in my throat must be freed, and I am going to talk about my life openly and unapologetically.  I will censor no more.  I choose not to become a raging fanatic for a cause, because that would be out of balance.  Yes, I am a survivor of sexual abuse and an adult child of alcoholics, but that is not my identity or the sum total of who I am.  Not by a long shot. 

My desire is to tell the truth in a measured, grounded way, honoring myself, with the intention and purpose to heal and to give permission to others to acknowledge the truth within themselves, no matter how heinous it may be to see.  I know from my own life journey of looking at these truths that therein lays the path to integration and Wholeness.  And an even deeper appreciation of The Truth.

They say in therapeutic settings that we always confront and heal what’s easiest first.  For me, first was to confront the sexual abuse, then to confront my father, and to reclaim my sexuality, my feelings of safety in the world, and my power (and probably will continue to for the rest of my life).  Harder for me was confronting that my mother knew what was going on and did nothing to stop it; that betrayal has been harder to bear. 

Over the 21 years that I have been doing active consciousness and healing work, I have made great strides.  Most recently, in the last 4 years or so I have had the most amazing sense of relationship with the Divine Feminine, or Great Mother as I have called her.  It was my decision to actively cultivate this relationship and even embody Her on earth, to really fully claim my Feminine Self.  It has been challenging at times because this meant confronting and feeling the pain of what my biological mother did to me.  I realized that there is a direct relationship between my relationship with the Sacred Feminine and my feelings about myself as a woman, as well as how I feel nurtured in this world.

These last few years of choosing to embody the Great Mother or Sacred Feminine has been utterly delicious at times….I have distinctly felt Her grace and presence in my life, and I feel how different Her energy feels than the energy of the masculine or angels or Source energy.  There is indeed a distinct quality of energy that permeates the feminine principle.

I was under the impression that if I embodied the Divine Feminine, I would be providing a great service to the Whole as well as providing a wonderful service to myself.  I had always felt that masculine and feminine balance needed to happen in everyone, but for some interesting reason, I did not give a lot of thought to integrating my own Divine Masculine.  

It seemed that things were going swimmingly when I broke my ankle in February of this year (my right, masculine ankle in my case).  My ability to embody Great Mother came in very handy, as my inner immature masculine was very, very grumpy about the ankle breaking and being forced to sit still.  I realized I had used movement and busy-ness to distract me from feeling the painful feelings of my powerlessness as a child (and even as a baby, I am coming to find out).  When I was forced to “sit down and be quiet” for a solid 8 weeks, it provided the opening for me to discover that I had some work to do to heal my inner masculine.

Fast forward to today, when my ankle is mostly healed, I am getting around to some degree, and living a happy life in a new town, surrounded with beautiful family and friends who support me.  I had the most lovely invitation to attend a beach retreat as the resident writer (I am writing an article for the hosts that will be used to market their business), and looked forward to the time with women on the beach with nothing to do except pay attention to my needs and inner life.

One of the activities available to us was to walk a labyrinth that had been constructed on the beach.  My second full day in attendance, I was relaxed and happy, and went out on the beach that sunny morning to do some intuitive movement and breath work.  As I listened and deepened my inner awareness, I noticed that in my body’s experience and my inner vision, I picked up my self as a little girl, and she whispered in my ear “You are such a god mom.”  This delighted me to no end, as I have had a tough time convincing her that I would be a good mother to her!  I smiled and allowed this lovely experience to permeate me, then I felt the prompt to walk the labyrinth. 

As I stood at the opening, I prayed to experience my inherent wholeness.  I was in a very happy place and did not feel the need to initiate any healing process as per my usual stance.  As I walked, I hummed to myself as I felt my inner little girl integrating into me even more than she had before.  When “we” got to the center, I waited in silence for several minutes.  I could not discern anything in particular in terms of a course of action or intention, so I just paused there.  I definitely felt I was at the center of some womb space, far from the outer world of the beach and sun and sound of the surf.  The insulated quality of being inside the labyrinth was reflected in my mind and heart as I listened deeply for any sign of message or instruction. 

I did not feel anything in particular except great, great joy, so began to move out of the labyrinth’s center.  I got a few steps away when I noticed in my mind’s eye that there was a little lump of a person in the center.  I continued to walk forward, not really thinking much about it, when I felt distinctly I was to STOP.  When I get a strong “STOP” message, I am learning to do it on a dime.  I paused, and as I listened, I was told to go back to the center and “pick him up”. 

Him?  When I looked back at what had been a little lump of a person, I saw now that there was a dejected looking little boy in the center of the labyrinth.  Perhaps 3 or 4 years of age, he looked so sad and so lifeless, like he had no energy in him at all.  I was puzzled, but my maternal instinct took over, and I walked back into the labyrinth’s center to be with this mysterious little boy.  I sat there with him for a little while, me next to him on the sand.  He did not look at me except occasionally with a sideways look out of the corner of his eyes…he made no contact and did not speak in any way to me.  As I sat there, I had the distinct feeling that I was to pick him up and carry him out of the labyrinth.  I still did not understand at that point who he was or why I was to help him, but I did lift his limp body into my arms and carry him out of the labyrinth into my life with me.       

I have been carrying this little boy ever since.  I have learned since that day when I was so puzzled about the arrival of this boy that he is a personification of my inner masculine.  Thwarted very early in my life from expressing my power and will, this aspect of myself was arrested and has been in a de-powered state ever since.   In his de-powered but frightened state, he would holdup his fists sometimes, perceiving the whole world to be a threat, and other times he would just lay about and do nothing.  Another symptom of his immaturity has been to force, force, force things when instead some quiet stillness or discernment was needed.  My tendency to push myself relentlessly, as well as to analyze with my head are both outworkings of this immature masculine within.  His anger has been palpable; his rage at having his legs cut out from under him, being belittled and made to be still for unspeakable atrocities have made him a very mad little boy.   The fact that I did not know to acknowledge him within myself for all of these years might have added to his feelings of being so alone in the world.  So focused on my womanliness and my embodiment of the Divine Feminine, I did not see that what was even more broken inside of me was my own inner masculine.   

As the weeks have gone by, he has begun to show signs of life.  The more I get to know him and acknowledge him, the perkier and more animated he becomes.  He is looking at me now, and talking to me sometimes, too.  I am working with “him” every day, listening for guidance about how to support him, to heal him, to help him grow up.  My dreams of tiny babies, just inches long, being lost in my pocket or in a drawer have evolved into dreams of laughing baby boys that are able to morph into full grown teenagers, with full awareness of and delight in their remarkable evolutionary process.  My dreams, messages from my subconscious, are telling me he is healing. 

The pain I have felt as I opened this door into my consciousness has been very real and very intense.  There are days when I am hurting inside so much it feels like leaving the house is too much.  I have also doubted my sanity; in all the years I have done this hard work to reach into and heal the darkness within me, I have always been able to hold myself above the swirling dark waters of my feelings of rage and powerlessness.  A dip into the madness here and there, but never complete immersion…a coping mechanism, to be sure.  I keep reminding myself that I would not be feeling the intensity of the pain if I were not strong enough to do so. 

 And then today, there is light.  Despite the grey skies and downpour of heavy rain here in the panhandle of Florida as a tropical storm passes its eye over us, I feel some sense of a phase completed.  A very dark cloud which has been over me for some time is lifting, and I feel my life coming together in new ways.  A return of my joy, but deeper and more grounded this time.  A sense of wanting to DO in concert with the BE parts of me.  The little boy is now a teenager…he will periodically be a baby or a toddler or an adolescent again, I imagine.  But the evidence shows me that he is growing and learning that he is safe and loved.  Hallelujah. 

I am once again reminded how miraculous we all are in our unique processes, and have a humble, deeper sense of love and appreciation for myself and All of Creation.

Licia at age 4

I’m undergoing a change of epic proportions…I’m happy.

After many years of not knowing who I was, and therefore looking outside of myself to get the answer to that question…..leading to choosing to be in community with others that were not a great match for me, I am finally finding myself very at home. 

I am seeing now that I was getting closer to being with people that were an accurate reflection of my authentic self.  Back in 2001, after 9-11, when I got a very clear message to stop hiding out as a healer, I attracted some very special people.  Just a handful, but notably important and unusual nonetheless.  Then we took off for the long journey into the hinterlands.

Now, in 2009, I am in the right place at the right time, and have let go of so much programmed thinking, thus uncovering my authentic self.  And, this bright shiny flower wants to PLAY.

This has led me to think a lot about the ways in which human beings become indoctrinated into being someone they are not. 

Reflecting on how I felt as a small child (which I remember as if it were yesterday-I hear that lots of people don’t remember their childhoods, and I find that sad), I knew who I was.  I was independent, capable, resilient, curious, and observant.  I remember feeling these things about myself.  I believe that I was feeling my soul, my essence at a core level.  It was only after I got reflections from people in power that those things were undesirable that I started to feel bad about myself, like who I was at the core was a bad person.  So I started to doubt, and that consistent undermining of my concept of self cost me a pretty penny.

What I’m discovering is that the more I have been willing to be open to self examination…even when painful or unflattering…the more able to recognize the constructs that I internalized due to my desire to please and to my desire to survive in the nuthouse.  And when I can recognize them, then I have the opportunity to choose whether they are still a fit for me, or whether they are holding me back. 

Sometimes, I will choose to alter a construct to be a better fit for me, rather than throw it out completely.  Such as the construct that being polite to all people is nice.  Not all people deserve my politeness, or my niceness.  I have discovered at the age of 44 that some people are assholes, and that’s just the way it is.  So I adapted this one to “be polite until shown the need to be otherwise.”   It has been hard, but when someone treats me with disrespect, I feel more ability to stand up for myself and recognize that they are the one with the problem, not me.  It feels like growing up to come to this awareness, and to consciously incorporate it into my life.

Over the years of this kind of self-examination and application, I am getting clearer and more frequent glimpses of who I was as a child.  I feel the natural joy and wonder that I felt then, more and more often.  I feel safer in the community I am choosing to be around, because they are the kind of people that appreciate me for who I really am. 

I have a strong intention, borne of longing, to live in authentic expression of my soul.  Perhaps this came out of feeling lost in the world for such a long time, searching for my real self and for permission to be her.  I am learning that the permission that I need to secure is my own…I am who I am, and coming into acceptance of who I am is freeing up so much energy and happiness in my days. 

Seriously, I knew that having resistance expended energy…I have been preaching that one since I went professional energy engineer in 2001.  And I have made little adjustments here and there in my own energy field, choosing to surrender to flow rather than to fight it. 

But this one…this big letting go of resistance to being who I am….it is freeing up so much of my chi that I can scarcely believe it.  I had no idea how much of my creative juices and my, well, just sheer JOY was wrapped up in me fighting myself.  And when I am fighting myself, you can bet that I am feeling defensive against the world, and projecting onto every face of reality that it is against me.  Which creates it’s own stew of conflict and unhappiness.

Do you ever feel like you are up against a wall inside of yourself?  Like you can’t get past that last obstacle, or through a ceiling you can’t see?  That’s what I experienced, and the wall was my own resistance to being who I am….out of fear that I would not be accepted by others.  Turns out it was my own acceptance that was truly needed. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  I found the worst that I could imagine was the unnamed fear that drove me to sell myself out was that I was afraid I would be annihilated.  Killed, physically, sure…like all those lifetimes of being burned, disemboweled, beheaded, drowned, murdered in front of my children, etc.  But there was a deeper fear …the annihilation of being rejected and unloved by the source of my life…my parents….. and then ultimately, God/dess.  That’s the fear worse than death.  To be rejected by that which made you, what could be worse than that?

My sense is that fear is the motivator for us to do something so dire as to choose to stop being who we are in favor of who someone else wants us to be.  I think it’s worth examining those fears, and facing them to see if we can deal with them.  Sometimes, it is about confronting what we are most afraid of, and accepting that it is something we must inevitably face, such as death.  Other times, I have found that the fear is bigger than the reality, and sometimes the fear is just plain untrue.

I wonder….if folks could remember what it felt like to be a child, before all the indoctrination set in, if they could get a sense of their authentic self.  Do you remember being a child?  Were you self reflective?  Do you remember feeling your life, what it felt like to be in the world?  Who were you?  What were you like?  Perhaps there are clues there about your own soul, and who you really are.

I fantasize about what kind of a world this would be if we all were in loving acceptance of ourselves.  Can you imagine if we were all at peace with who we are?  No inner torture, no self doubt, no cutting our own self off at the knees just before we succeed…wow, what would that feel like?  Would we feel the need to make war on each other?  To judge each other can call each other names?  To create whole institutions and organizations and religions that say the others are wrong?

And may I humbly suggest that who you really are is sooooooo perfect?  That it is who you came here to be?  That the world needs you just as you really are?  And that if you are pretending to be someone else, you are doing us all a disservice because what we really need and want is the REAL you? 

I recently had the joy of reading an unedited 2004 interview with Barack Obama, just after he had won the democratic nomination for senator of Illinois.  In the interview, he was asked very specific questions about his religious beliefs; I found it refreshing and affirming about our choice of him as our country’s next leader.  You can read that article here: http://blog.beliefnet.com/stevenwaldman/2008/11/obamas-interview-with-cathleen.html

Obama’s graceful words and willingness to expose himself at a deep level inspired me to reflect on my own beliefs and experience in my life.

As a person who has experienced being oppressed, whether due to the fact that I am female, have indigenous ancestry within my blood, or due to my beliefs not matching someone else’s, I know the pain that is caused when someone else sees you and tries to fit you in their box, and when you don’t you are belittled or discarded.  It is tempting from that place of pain to polarize, aligning yourself with a box, too, one that is comprised of your own beliefs and that negates the beliefs of others.  It is tempting to act out from that pain in the name of the box being right.  But this is just as out of balance as someone else acting out in pain from their box.  Fanaticism is fanaticism, not matter what the belief system may be.

One of the most basic and innate tenets that I have been aware of holding dear in my life is that of tolerance of others.  I remember being judged for my body type when I was as young as four years of age…Being called “chubby” or “fat” (I look back at pictures now and I was no such thing.).  I also attended a Christian preschool, where I listened to my teacher condemn those who did not believe as she and the church did to a fiery hell.  This never made sense to my young mind…I knew better.  I had regular direct experiences with what might be called God, and the ugliness I saw in humans was nothing like the love I experienced in those divine moments of direct communication.   It was at this young age I learned to be afraid of people and their rabid or hateful beliefs, and also learned to keep my mouth shut.

I am now 43 years old.  I am just learning now that keeping my mouth shut in the face of intolerance is not a good thing for me to do, primarily because it hurts me inside, but also because it gives silent permission for the person who is ranting and raving about their beliefs no opportunity to bounce against a wall, no opportunity to see the reflection of their rigidity.  It may imply that I am trying to change someone by speaking of the importance of that reflection….and perhaps that is my agenda…I would like for my children to live in a world of tolerance rather than bigotry.

Fanaticism comes in many forms…..certainly in the religious circles it is easy to see as the condemnation flies back and forth between the camps.  But we see it in matters of race, gender, profession, environmentalism, politics, body types….it seems virtually anything can be turned into a platform for rigid beliefs to set in, and therefore condemnation of others who may not agree.

Just the other night I sat at dinner with relatives who spat the word “conservative” like they had a horrid taste in their mouth.  I recoiled as I felt the venom with which this word was spoken, and later reflected silently on what the word conservative means.  I looked it up (from dictionary.com):

con⋅serv⋅a⋅tive

–adjective

2.	cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate.

3.	traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit.

4.	(often initial capital letter ) of or pertaining to the Conservative party.

5.	(initial capital letter ) of, pertaining to, or characteristic of Conservative Jews or Conservative Judaism.

6.	having the power or tendency to conserve; preservative.

7.	Mathematics. (of a vector or vector function) having curl equal to zero; irrotational; lamellar.

–noun

9.	a supporter of conservative political policies.

10.	(initial capital letter ) a member of a conservative political party, esp. the Conservative party in Great Britain.

11.	a preservative.

Origin:
1350–1400; < LL conservātīvus, equiv. to L conservāt(us) (see conservation ) + -īvus -ive; r. ME conservatif < MF < L, as above

Okay, then what does liberal mean?

lib⋅er⋅al

   /ˈlɪb ər əl, ˈlɪb rəl/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [lib-er-uh l, lib-ruh l] Show IPA Pronunciation

–adjective

2.	(often initial capital letter ) noting or pertaining to a political party advocating measures of progressive political reform.

3.	of, pertaining to, based on, or advocating liberalism.

4.	favorable to or in accord with concepts of maximum individual freedom possible, esp. as guaranteed by law and secured by governmental protection of civil liberties.

5.	favoring or permitting freedom of action, esp. with respect to matters of personal belief or expression: a liberal policy toward dissident artists and writers.

6.	of or pertaining to representational forms of government rather than aristocracies and monarchies.

7.	free from prejudice or bigotry; tolerant: a liberal attitude toward foreigners.

8.	open-minded or tolerant, esp. free of or not bound by traditional or conventional ideas, values, etc.

9.	characterized by generosity and willingness to give in large amounts: a liberal donor.

10.	given freely or abundantly; generous: a liberal donation.

11.	not strict or rigorous; free; not literal: a liberal interpretation of a rule.

12.	of, pertaining to, or based on the liberal arts.

13.	of, pertaining to, or befitting a freeman.

–noun

15.	(often initial capital letter ) a member of a liberal party in politics, esp. of the Liberal party in Great Britain.

Origin:
1325–75; ME < L līberālis of freedom, befitting the free, equiv. to līber free + -ālis -al ¹

Well, I see myself in both of these…I could be construed as quite traditional in the way that I am fiercely loyal to my family of four as the backbone of my life, and my devotion to balance as what the Buddhists call the “middle road” to guide my steps.  But I am also a liberal in that I value freedom and change and have observed that being open to rather than resisting change is the way of nature…and so I am a mix of these two concepts (a hybrid as usual…sigh). 

It is interesting to me that people who tout themselves as liberals and defending the liberal agenda can be so rigid in their beliefs as to appear conservative!  If tolerance and preservation of individual liberties is the goal of a liberal, then does that mean that resistance to such is implied in being a conservative?  If a lack of an open mind is conservative, does that mean that a “liberal” person who spews hatred about conservatives is actually a conservative?  The circle never ends.

My experience teaches me that in each of us is the blueprint for All of Creation, in each of us we are connected with the Whole, and once you get to certain awareness, you are the Whole.  Condemning any aspect of Creation and shutting oneself off from that by rejecting and judging it is akin to cutting our nose off to spite our face.  It is a way to continue the separation game that has gotten us into the mess of fighting and intolerance on this earth that so many of us are praying to mend.

With the recent election of an African American man to our nation’s highest office, I am hopeful that his gleaming light will give those who are in pain an opportunity to expose how they are using their pain to fuel hatred towards others.  This man is one who has experienced oppression, and who has beliefs that align with Christianity, but who is interested in accepting and hearing others’ viewpoints…he has not allowed his wounds to harden him and make him rigid….he has allowed the wounds to stay open, even touching them on occasion to remind him of what it feels like to be hurt by others intolerance.     

The founders of this country drew up a famous doctrine by which to guide the emergence of this amazing experiment called the United States of America. I keep a copy of it in my purse, believe it or not.  I identified with this document very early in my life when I wrote an essay on being an American…I found my innate yearning for acceptance and freedom to be reflected in its pages, the powerful words stirring my heart each time I read them.

In the end, the question arises…by the way we believe (which informs the way we behave), are we uniting or dividing?   Are you looking for the ways in which we are common in order to enjoy one another, or using the ways we are different as a case for your beliefs?  Are you furthering separation and pain, or are you reaching out with the intention to connect, accept, affirm and love others?

Are you a uniter or a divider?