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.

Untitled Female Figure, Licia Berry, 1988, ink wash

It’s really true what they say, that if we are not aware of history we are doomed to repeat it.  We can see it on our world stage, we can see it in our relationships, and we can see it in how we become our parents if we have not done a significant amount of consciousness work.

Having internalized my father as the more positive role model of my two parents (if you know anything about my history with my father that may be jaw dropping to you!), I sought my way in the world with a dominant immature masculine energy as my primary lead.  I worked hard, I forced and pushed, I didn’t let myself feel much, I succeeded when I should have totally failed or died.  It was survival of the fittest; there was no room for getting soft or taking a breath or self care or soul care…none of that pansy stuff. 

That served me well enough to get through 5 years of full-time university and student teaching, all while making good grades and working enough jobs to pay the rent.  I had no help from my family and was living on my own in downtown Atlanta, a young girl with nothing to her name but a hand-me-down station wagon that stalled while driving and a scrappy attitude.

When I met my future husband, my survival was more assured.  He took me out to eat and I tore up a steak, threatening to spear his hand when he reached for something on my plate.  I had not eaten properly in 2 years, making due with one box of macaroni to last me a week, and mooching off of my wealthy roommate when she would let me.  Mostly I got through by just not allowing myself to think about food.  Keep moving, keep moving.  Besides, I was getting calories from the alcohol that folks would buy me at the dance club.     

It took some time to start to calm the wild beast who was fighting to survive within me.  Being in close proximity to Peter’s family (mine had been mostly out of the picture since I left home) induced a deep depression; those feelings I had been too resistant to give air time to finally had some room to come up to the surface.  I became a very uncomfortable FEELING creature.  I started therapy to learn why I was feeling the way I was, and began the long slow climb into consciousness and the light.    

The year that I was pregnant with my first son was when I began to consciously feel female.  I had been tough and together and sharp minded, but now I felt softer, squishier, joyful, less concerned with working hard to survive and more concerned with the baby growing inside of me.  I took wonderful care of my body, learned about organic foods and alternative ways of thinking.  This was when I started to see my inner nurturer come to the surface.  Somehow I knew how to treat myself as more precious.  This was such a great gift; it was truly the first time I can remember feeling feminine in an authentically powerful way.

My second pregnancy drew me ever more into the feminine, but the wild, deep, dark feminine.  I craved tribal music and walked in the woods and the mud.  I talked to the trees and the wind and the earth, feeling the eyes of nature on me as I moved through the world.  I carried sticks and rocks as talismans, weighing down my pockets with precious bits of ground that seemed to want to walk with me.  It was as if I were a child again, but a powerful, pregnant woman-child, innocent and knowing at the same time.  I found myself drawn to women in Asheville who taught me about birth being a natural process that my body knew how to do.  It was the beginning of learning to trust myself and my body as way-showers.

It was during this time I first heard the word Goddess, at least consciously.  I didn’t like it much; “Goddess” evoked images of hippie women in long skirts with wild hair and flowers in their teeth.  It evoked witches and feminists and crazed, alternative thinkers.  Even though I was coming into my feminine self in a powerful way, I was way too practical (read fearful) to embrace the “goddess”.  I experienced the Divine as something more abstract, a combination of feelings and love and creation and evolution.  I wasn’t going to worship anything.  I didn’t believe in a dude in the sky as my god, why would I believe in a woman in a skirt as my goddess? 

But my feet were firmly on the path of embracing Her, whether I saw her as a figurehead or not.  My internal knowing was taking me deep into Her, and what I discovered was that She was inside of me, in my body and heart and belly.  She wasn’t outside, wanting to be worshiped.  She was part of me. 

(to be continued)

Jess in SLO 11-2008

Today my first born turns 16. 

 I naturally ruminate on the events that led up to this day, the anniversary of his birth.  It was a hard day that revealed a lot about both of our most basic traits.

 My pregnancy was flawless…I LOVED being pregnant.  I felt powerful and sexy, the embodiment of Great Mother.  I had none of the issues that many pregnant women do, as if my body was doing what it did best.  As if I was built to make babies (if you saw my hips you would agree!)

I fretted about what to name this baby boy that was coming down the pike.  We discussed some names, but I wanted to be sure to pick the “right one”. 

One night I had a dream that I was with a grown boy, maybe about the age Jess is now.  He was sitting at a white kitchen table in a white kitchen, and I was standing and talking with him.  He looked exactly like Jess does now, with the exception of having very blue eyes instead of the green eyes Jess actually does have.  In the dream, I asked him about his names.  Do you like this one, do you like that one?  He would shake his head at each choice.  When I finally asked if he liked the name “Jess”, he shrugged, and I took that to mean it was the best of the choices we’d presented.  I woke up knowing his name.

As I got closer and closer to Jess’ due date, I wondered how I would get this giant child out of my body.  He was a big baby (I seem to grow big babies); at almost 10 pounds, my doctor was concerned that we would have to go the C-section route if he didn’t hurry it along.  I didn’t know any better, not having given birth before, and not having any mothering influences around to remind me to trust my body’s knowing.

As the due date came and went, I puzzled over why this baby wasn’t coming.  Was it up to the baby to decide?  Was it up to my body?  Was it a dance between the baby, my body, and something larger that made the decision as to his arrival? 

 My doctor gave me an ultimatum.  We would wait no longer than two weeks after the due date, or risk having surgery to bring Jess into the world.  We scheduled a date “just in case”.  I asked a woman I worked with about how to choose a date, and she told me that more animals are born before a full moon than after, so I chose to schedule his birth the night before the full moon.  Those two weeks I prayed a lot.  Please come, Jess.  Let him go, body.  But to no avail.

The morning of his scheduled birth, I was so scared and sad.  Scared because I had no idea what to expect and sad because I felt my body had somehow betrayed me.  It hadn’t allowed the birth process to happen as it was supposed to.  My body wasn’t letting this child go…it wasn’t releasing him into the world.  That was a big clue for me much later in my life about my core emotional wound…the world is not safe.

The birth itself was long and hard.  Pitocin to rush things along, and an epidural to keep me from losing my mind during the birth of an almost 10 pound baby.  I have since learned an immense amount about the often unnecessary “medical menu” experience; my second son was born at home in the water with a midwife.  But that’s another story.   After labor pains of 9 hours or so, I pushed for 2 hours, lost a lot of blood, and Peter thought both I and Jess were going to die.  I felt as if there were two of me; the one that wanted this baby out of my body and the one that was hanging on to him as if life depended on it.

Eventually, the me that wanted him out won by a slight margin.  I remember the moment; the doctor said Jess was in distress…this remarkable baby had been moving his head in an effort to help the move down the birth canal, but he was weakening.  He was stuck and losing strength.  I had been bleeding and pushing for 2 hours, exhausted and freaked out because I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.  The room was filling up with varied medical professionals, and a room for surgery had been prepared.  I thought I couldn’t do any more.  But when I heard her making noises that intimated that he may not make it, something bigger than the me that wanted to keep him safely in my body took over, and I pushed with a strength that came from Source itself.  I was no longer in the room; I was the big bang.  Suddenly I exploded and gave birth to the universe.  And Jess was born.   

He was blue and limp, needing oxygen for a couple of minutes.  His poor little head was shaped like a cone from being in between my pelvic bones for so long.  But he lived. Thank god for his determination.

My body was torn to shreds physically; the inner conflict I’d experienced left me exhausted and ripped open emotionally.  My most basic fear had been exposed, the scab of an old, but very alive wound, ripped right off.  The pulsating well of grief and fear within that was subsequently exposed took me down a rabbit hole of two years of post partum depression, and the re-emergence of my spirit back into my life.  And healing.

So, in a very real way, this beautiful boy who turns 16 today saved my life.  He is a teacher to me every day; wise beyond his years and with seeming nerves of steel, he has a tender heart and genuine caring for all humanity.  When he decides to do something, he does it with mastery.  I am amazed sometimes at the ease with which he moves through the world.

But it was his entrance into the world through my body that taught me one of my most precious lessons. No matter what our fears and doubts, no matter what wounds may seize us up and make us try to prevent flow, life wins.

 I enjoy Christmas for some of the feelings it brings…The decorating of the house for the pure purpose of enjoyment and sparkle and light…….The anticipation of seeing my children’s faces when they wake up Christmas morning….the fun of making gift baskets, imagining the healing I put into the cookies settling into the tummies of those that enjoy them… and the hunt for gifts I actually buy, looking for the perfect thing.  I like the feeling that comes when people smile at me and say “merry Christmas”, and I smile back and wish them a happy Christmas, too.  There is a feeling of something larger connecting us all, a feeling of something brotherly or sisterly, of goodwill.  It is the feeling of love that I am riding this time of year. 

I have the not so nice feelings, too….the trance state that I feel attempting to overtake me Christmas Eve like a dark undertow, a tide threatening to take me out to sea where I lose all sense of bearing and the way back to shore.  The not so nice memories of the drunken holiday wildness I experienced as a child, when there was no adult who was totally safe and responsible.  The feeling on Christmas that there is something I am supposed to be doing, something I am supposed to be, and yet I am not, so there is a vague sense of missing the mark.  Worrying about the people who do not have a family or loved one to be with on this day when the expectations can be so crushing to our fragile hearts.  And the grim dissatisfaction I get when I am reminded of the “reason for the season”, a story about a Divine Child, a story that has been bastardized and manipulated in order to wield power over the minds of those weaker than me.

Cynical, oh yes, absolutely.  You see, I was having direct experiences of God when I was 2 and 3 years old, and so when I was sent to a Christian preschool at age 4 and my teacher preached hellfire and brimstone and judgment, painting a picture of God as a mean and nasty all-seeing fellow in the sky, I was in a serious quandary.  “What she is saying does not match my experience.  Do I believe the adult who is supposed to be taking care of me, and upon whose sense of responsibility my safety depends, or do I stick to my inner experience of the All That Is as an unconditionally loving force that has nothing but good to offer to me?”  I chose to believe myself and my own experience, but to be somewhat quiet about it.

I would have liked to know Jesus.  My belief about him was that he was an enlightened man, much like the Buddha.  I believe when he said to love your brother he meant to love everyone, no matter what their beliefs were, no matter what religion they ascribed to, what sexual orientation they had, how they behaved in the world.  I believe he got it that one does not have to be “worthy” to receive the unconditional love that this universe provides.  That whole worthiness thing is something I think humans made up.  How can we be “worthy of unconditional love”, it’s unconditional!   I believe Jesus really understood at a visceral level that we are all One, just like my indigenous ancestors also knew in their walking life.  With every breath, we are affecting the One, with every thought and every action, we are pulling the strings of the web, and all will be touched in some way by what we choose.  I think I would have liked Jesus very much.

So when I hear the Christian ethic that feels so far removed from what I feel to be true about the man called Jesus, and I feel judged because I do not ascribe to those beliefs, it is hard for me to reconcile the anger I feel within towards those people that made Christianity what it is today, and my deep and earnest longing to feel my connection with ALL people, with ALL parts of creation because I feel my Oneness with All That Is.  Sometimes I will be quiet, turn my eyes away and smile, and other times I will change the subject, all because I am a good Indian and too polite to argue.  But then I get to discourse uninterrupted when I write about my feelings.  It’s tough for a southern girl who wants to be a good, loyal Daughter of the Divine to find her own way to Jesus, through all the obstacles placed before me since I was little…the judgment and rhetoric invented by people, not by Love.  But find my way to him I will….like everything else in my life, I will define and cultivate my own relationship with Jesus in the way that feels right to me. 

I honor the Solstice because it is a celestial event, not manmade like Christmas is.  It is well documented that Santa was a commercial invention, so I need not discuss it here.  Even the birth of Jesus has been determined to be in the spring rather than December 25^th, another convenient feathering into a pagan holiday in order to bring more pagans to the fold when Christianity was young and needing to convert followers.  For me, Solstice is the “reason for the season”, in that it is a turning of the season and a shift in our orbit, changing our relationship to the light of the sun, a symbol itself of Life. Yes, we do some of the Christmas rituals, and I think that it is largely in part due to the collective trance that I was raised in and now choose to continue to participate in to some degree.  But Solstice is the Holy Night for me, and the beginning of this truly magical season of remembering my connection to others, and showing them that I love them with generosity and open arms. 

I do take Christmas to be an opportunity to remember the Divine Child Within, and spend some time honoring that innocent, sparkling, all knowing One that resides within each of us.  This is a beautiful way to connect with the story of Jesus, at any time of year. 

I am continuing to define what this time of year is for me…to choose more and more consciously each year what I will participate in, what I will pass on to my children, how I will assist to create an unconditionally loving world.  Perhaps there will come a time that I do no “Christmas” at all, but only Solstice.   I don’t know.  All of these intellectual constructs and words aside, the guiding star for me is how I feel….what feels in integrity, and what feels like being out to lunch, a mere moving through the trance?  What I LOVE about this time of year is the feeling of magic and connection and internal-ness that comes with the onset of winter.  I treasure this turn of the wheel of life, and honor its coming, just as I will honor its going.  Perhaps if I focus on those feelings, my walk in the world will get clearer more light-filled at this time of year.

“The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year and the longest night, known also as the Mother Night. It is considered to be the start of a new year and the rebirth of the new sun. We honor the power of darkness, the Divine Mother, the womb of creation. Yule is the return of the sun and rebirth of light. It is a time of new beginnings and a great time for dedication to new projects. We celebrate and welcome the rebirth of the sun Goddesses. Winter Solstice is a magical time for visions.”

Starhawk’s traditional Solstice Greeting: “This is the night of Solstice, the longest night of the year. Now darkness triumphs; and yet, gives way and changes into light. The breath of nature is suspended; all waits while within the Cauldron,  The Dark King is transformed into the Infant Light. We watch for the coming of dawn, when the Great Mother again gives birth to the divine Child Sun, who is the bringer of hope and the promise of summer. This is the stillness behind motion, when time itself stops; the center which is also the circumference of all. We are awake in the night. We turn the Wheel to bring the light. We call the sun from the womb of night. Blessed Be.”

Licia Biker Santa, by Terri 2009

I wrote this back in 2006, when I was fiercely examining how to reclaim the holidays as my own delightful invention, rather than something belonging to someone else that I was trying on. 

Many of us seem to blindly follow the crowd, as if in some sort of trance, when it comes to holiday time.  I certainly did this for many years!  But the anxiety and disgust that I started to feel about the holidays clued me in that something wasn’t quite right in my relationship with what could be a truly joyous time of year. 

You see, in order to see the culture, we must step outside of it.  Whatever it is that we are enmeshed with, it is very difficult to get clarity about the relative health of the situation unless we remove ourselves from it.  The extrication can be messy, especially when we are dealing with families and the high expectation of holiday time. 

It’s not an easy road to walk to look with a critical eye at the unconsciousness that can abound this time of year.  But I feel it’s better to deal with the discomfort that comes with the truth than to live with a lie. 

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Here we are again!  It’s the holiday time, and it never seems to fail to come back every year.  In my healing work, I think of things coming back over and over to prompt me to look at something about myself that needs some love and perhaps a change for the better.  I wonder if the holiday season might be a ripe opportunity for this kind of self reflection?

I think of the holidays as a time when we lose our center so easily!  It’s when the family trance comes over us like a mist, and we move about like robots following our marching orders.  Where are those orders coming from?  We are indoctrinated early to associate the holidays with over-consumption of all kinds.  We buy in to the idea that we must get together with families and that we must all have a wonderful time together.  We keep expecting the magic and mystery of the holidays to fill our hearts, but more and more of us are barely surviving until after the New Year, when we thank our lucky stars that we made it through one more holiday season.  ENOUGH!

I have come to see the madness that begins at Halloween and lasts through January 2^nd (here in the U.S.) as an embarkation on a crazy, out-of-control bus.  If you ever saw Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, you might remember the wild bus ride that Harry endures when he is whisked away from his ordinary muggle-life to another year at Hogwarts.  As Harry alights on the bus, the driver steps on the gas and the bus careens at insane speeds through traffic, almost running pedestrians over.  The ancient, decrepit bus driver is guided by a shrunken head who advises in a creepy, sarcastic tone when to brake, when to lift the skirts of the bus over other traffic, and when to make the bus pancake-thin in order to get through various obstacles.  Harry seems to doubt whether he will survive this bus ride; it is so crazy, so out of control, so frightening.  It is INSANE.  Perhaps the holidays don’t always make us wonder if we are going to remain bodily intact, but I know that many wonder if they will survive the crazy ride emotionally intact!   

It is interesting to me how I have moved through different cycles during my years of celebrating the holidays.  Certainly, as a child, I was delighted and mystified and just loved the essence of the holiday time, but I picked up on the adults’ stress and discontent, too.  They talked a good talk about the reason for the season being about giving and thankfulness and love, but that did not match with the alcohol, the family fights, the tears and stress around holiday time.  I dove into my presents and played with my cousins and tried my best to ignore them.  I hung on blindly to the idea of santa claus, a sweet, generous man who expected nothing in return.  I was devastated when my mother broke it to me that he did not exist (at age eleven!)  The mystery was gone.

Then it became about getting stuff….as an adolescent, I wanted but could not have the fancy things my fellow high schoolers had.  As a young adult putting myself through college, I do not remember a single Christmas (was I in a fog or did I just not celebrate?)  When I met my husband, I was adopted into his family and became part of the mega-family-holiday machine.  They had traditions that had been in place for generations in their southern aristocratic lineage.  I did not feel the permission to question or reject their traditions, so played along for awhile as a I thought a dutiful daughter-in-law should. It was overwhelming and exceedingly uncomfortable for me.   

When my husband and I had our own children, at first we tried to continue to attend holiday gatherings with the extended (and I do mean extended….like 50-plus people) family, but then there was the hardship of trying to honor my own family of origin.  Whose turn is it this year?  Let’s see, Christmas with mine, Thanksgiving with his…no, that’s how we did it last year.  I started to feel like the sausage two dogs were fighting over!  Then I got bitten by the Martha Stewart bug and wanted to create the most magical holiday season possible for my family-the only problem was I did not have a staff of 300 to help me out!  I got over that one pretty quick. 

And then there was this little voice inside me that said it was time to create our own traditions, in our own nuclear family, on our own terms.  I wanted to choose consciously where to put my energy for the holidays.  It was a huge shock to Peter’s family (not so huge for mine as I had already set some firm boundaries with them) for us to elect not to participate in the machine.  Peter’s parents expressed their unhappiness, and I am certain we were called some unattractive names by some in his family of origin, but we held our ground.  Now, some years later, it is expected by all that we will be having our Christmas at home with our own little family of four (and our cat!)  They are allowed to feel how they want to feel, and that is okay; I cannot control their choice to take it personally when we stay home.  But I do not feel responsible for their happiness any more.  They are free to choose what they want to do with their time just as we are.  AH….freedom!

It has been quite an exploration over the years to look at where I am trying to make others happy, trying to meet some unspoken obligations, trying to exceed expectation.  Identifying what resonates with my heart, instead of blindly clinging to traditions just because others do.  And now, our own family is expanding our idea of what the holidays mean to us.  We feel into our hearts as to what is best for us.  Yes, we consciously choose to incorporate some “traditional” rites during the holidays, but because they resonate with us.  And we incorporate some other things that are not traditional, again because that is what resonates with our family.  For example, we choose to celebrate the Winter Solstice as the beginning of our Yule celebration; we have a giant party with bonfire and wonderful food, and several craft stations set up to make snow flakes, paper-bead jewelry, cinnamon ornaments, and other fun things.  Then we have a ceremony to acknowledge the year that has passed, giving thanks for the bounty and the successes.  We write on colorful pieces of paper those aspects of ourselves that we feel we can lovingly release and transform, and then we throw them into the fire, blessings them as they burn.  We dance, we sing, and we celebrate being alive.  It is a wonderful night of kinship and love.

I am realizing it is always up to us, that we can choose consciously to enjoy what we already do for the holidays by being fully present and with a loving heart, or we can choose consciously to re-form what we do to reflect what makes us happy.  I don’t see much sense in a lot of running around and stressing out and settling for interactions that make me feel unhappy or even crazy!  Life is too short!   

Blessings to you and yours for this holiday season and always!

I hear many saying how disturbing it is and wanting it to go away.  I understand that, for sure.  It is ugly, uncomfortable, and unbelievable that sexual abuse goes on.  But as a survivor, I know it does, and I also know that the culture of secrecy around it is why it continues to infect people’s lives.  It must be talked about, it must be SEEN, in order for it to stop happening.  Children’s lives are at stake, RIGHT NOW.

The below article is something that I found some years ago that was helpful in knowing what adults can do to stop sexual abuse. Source- http://www.darkness2light.org/KnowAbout/adults_responsible.asp

Child sexual abuse: the hidden epidemic

Child sexual abuse is a hidden but significant problem in every community in America. Experts estimate that one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before their 18th birthday. Less than one in ten will tell. Research clearly shows that individuals who are sexually abused as children are far more likely to experience psychological problems often lasting into adulthood, including Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, depression, substance abuse and relationship problems. Child sexual abuse does not recognize region, race, creed, socio-economic status or gender; it crosses all boundaries to impact every community and every person in America.

If child sexual abuse were like most childhood diseases, the prevalence and consequences of it would lead to telethons to raise money for its cure every weekend. But child sexual abuse is one of the last cultural taboos. With the exception of child-focused personal safety programs, almost nothing is being done to address it.

Darkness to Light believes that adults should be taking proactive steps to protect children from this significant risk. It is unrealistic to think that a young child can take responsibility for fending off sexual advances by an adult. Adults are responsible for the safety of children. Adults are the ones who need to prevent, recognize and react responsibly to child sexual abuse. Yet, the statistics clearly show that adults aren’t shouldering this responsibility. Darkness to Light believes that adults just don’t know how.

What adults need to know about child sexual abuse…

• It happens more than you think. A lot more - one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before their eighteenth birthday.
• It can happen right under your nose and you may never know – less than one victim in ten will tell.
• The perpetrators aren’t usually “dirty old men hiding in the bushes” – 34% of those who sexually abuse children are family members. A further 59% are friends and acquaintances of the child and his family.
• You probably don’t realize how big the problem is – 67% of the victims of all sexual assaults (including adults) are children.
• And we’re not talking about young teenagers having consensual sex – the median age for sexual abuse is just nine years of age.
• Child sexual abuse is not just a bad experience. Child sexual abuse wrecks young lives – victims of child sexual abuse are at far greater risk for all sorts of psychological disorders including PTSD, depression, substance abuse and relationship problems, often lasting into adulthood.

The personal pain of child sexual abuse…

• Adolescents and young adults with a history of childhood abuse are 3 times more likely to become depressed or suicidal as compared to those without such a history. ( Brown, Cohen, Johnson & Smailes, 1999 )
• Women with histories of childhood abuse report a greater number of physical and psychological problems, and lower ratings of their overall health than their peers. ( Moeller & Bachmann, 1993 )
• 34% of children who are either physically or sexually abused, and 58% of children who are both physically and sexually abused meet the criteria for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. ( Ackerman, Newton, McPherson, Jones & Dykman, 1998). Untreated, PTSD is a chronic disorder. The residual emotional, behavioral, cognitive and social symptoms persist and contribute to a host of psychiatric problems through life. ( Ferguson & Horwood, 1998 )
• Adolescents and adults who are abused in childhood are significantly more likely to drink alcohol and/or use illicit drugs than their peers. Adolescents and adults who were victims of childhood maltreatment have been consistently found to be more likely to engage in high-risk sexual behaviors.

And the cost to us all…

• A 1996 National Institute of Justice study estimated that each year child sexual abuse in America costs the nation $23 billion
• Victims of child sexual abuse generally spend more on psychiatric care and medical services throughout their lives. Some victims of child sexual abuse require more expensive special educational services. Child sexual abuse causes lost potential and productivity. These expenses, which would not be necessary if not for sexual abuse, are a financial drain to each and every one of us.

So, what is happening to prevent child sexual abuse

• Preventing sexual abuse with child-focused programs… There are several well-known and successful programs that teach children self-protection skills and techniques, as age-appropriate. These programs also teach children about physical boundaries and about discerning types of touch. These programs are valuable to children. The skills learned by children in these programs have thwarted some abductions and sexual assaults. However, we must not fall into a trap of thinking that these skills are the only protection children need.
• Think about it. It is unrealistic to expect a six-year old to fend off sexual advances from an adult relative. A six-year old can’t recognize sexual advances for what they are. And a six-year old has been taught to “mind” adults who are authority figures. It is unrealistic to think that a six-year old can or even should protect himself in this situation.
• Adults are responsible for the safety of children. We strap children into car seats, we walk children across busy streets and we ask our teenagers questions about where they are going and who they will be with, all to keep them safe. Adults should also be responsible for protecting children from sexual abuse.
• Why don’t adults do a better job? Child abuse statistics show that adults do not adequately protect children from child sexual abuse. There are a lot of reasons why, but the main one is THEY DON’T KNOW HOW!!!
• Research suggests that adults are unaware of effective steps they can take to protect their children from sexual abuse. Most do not know how to recognize signs of sexual abuse and many do not know what to do when sexual abuse is discovered.

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.

"Under the Wing", photo collage by Dascha Friedlova, 2009

(Author’s note: It is interesting to me to see how my thoughts and writing style have evolved over years of time.  I see that there is still some use to the writings below, so offer them for your perusal.  Perhaps an updated version will follow!)

The Gift of Gratitude

How Giving Thanks Raises Our Vibration

By Licia Berry, 2004, originally published on www.liciaberry.com

The woman feels herself sinking into the familiar deep well of despair as she watches the nightly news.  She knows where this will go; she will be hit in the gut with absolute hopelessness, and in response she will find something to eat to fill the gnawing in her belly or she will pour herself a glass of alcohol to numb the pain.  Or, she will go upstairs to her bedroom and cry, wringing her hands over the state of the world, and fall asleep in tears.  This road is all too familiar to her; it goes nowhere good.  Then, something quietly dawns on her.  She hears a subtle voice; something tells her that she doesn’t have to choose this road, that there are others.  She makes a small move that begins to break the pattern she has lived over and over.  She goes into the room where her dusty sewing machine sits in the dark.  She pulls out a pattern she abandoned a long time ago and begins to sew, with devout attention and precious care, as if her very emotional well being depended on it.  She feels a bit better, a little at a time, then notices when two hours have flown by that she has been completely absorbed in her creative work.  She hasn’t thought about the horrific state of things for even a moment.  By making a leap out of the familiar, she has cut a new pathway.  She has made a new choice.  And the more often she takes the small step to do something different each time she goes into reaction about something, the easier it will be to have power over her response.

What happened when this woman made the choice to do something positive in the face of her despair?  Her body and mind were accustomed to going down a particular road…in fact; our bodies begin to expect us to go down certain path in the face of certain stimuli.  It is as if we train ourselves from an early age how to respond to emotional stimuli, mental challenges, physical difficulties, and even trauma.  But we always have the choice in how we respond, no matter how automatic our responses may feel.

“Both abundance and lack exist simultaneously in our lives, as parallel realities. It is always our conscious choice which secret garden we will tend… when we choose not to focus on what is missing from our lives but are grateful for the abundance that’s present — love, health, family, friends, work, the joys of nature and personal pursuits that bring us pleasure — the wasteland of illusion falls away and we experience Heaven on earth.”
Author: Sarah Ban Breathnach

We all experience moments in our day when something unexpected arises, or we don’t achieve a desired outcome.  We can perceive these situations as negative, positive or neutral.  Our attitude towards the event is not pre-ordained or automatic, although it may feel that way due to its being conditioned in our bodies for our entire lives.  In actuality, how we respond is our choice.  When faced with a potential shift in our attitude, there arises a single moment of decision about how we will handle it, what I call a “choice-point”.  We can choose whether we will tumble down the rocky hillside of victimization, ending up bruised and battered at the bottom, or we can choose to look at the situation as a learning opportunity, asking ourselves questions like, “What is the gift in this situation?  What message has the universe brought to me?”  By examining the situation from a larger perspective, we realize that we do indeed have a choice about how we respond.  And if we do go down the victim road, we can always stop and focus on what we are grateful for to bring us back up.

Scientific studies have confirmed what the sages and mystics of earth’s history have been telling us all along.  Gratitude, prayer and love carry a high vibration, whereas despair, anger and fear carry a low vibration.  Our bodies carry vibrations that change with our thoughts and with the vibrations we encounter as we move through the world.  A person whose body is wracked with disease is suddenly cancer-free after several hundred people prayed for him. A partygoer may show up grumpy and feeling anti-social, but winds up giving up the grumps because everyone else at the party is having a good time.  I may intersect with a rude person in a store, whose vibration is quite low due to their anger.  My body’s vibration may fall into a lower state if I allow myself to be triggered by this person.  Or, I can consciously choose to respond to the situation with love and maintain a high vibration in the face of the rudeness.  If I am around this person long enough and I focus on maintaining my high vibrational state, the other person’s body will be affected by MY vibration.  By the end of our interaction, whether we have said anything to each other or not, his vibration may have risen to the point that he is not angry anymore. This is the principle of resonance.  In layman’s language, the principle of resonance says that when there are two differing vibrations, one will rate of vibration will soon resonate like the other or they will move towards each other and meet in the middle.  This can mean that a lower vibration cannot remain constant in a sustained field of higher vibration.

This principle of resonance is played out beautifully in our physical bodies in the phenomenon of kidney stones.  We know that kidney stones are hard little calcifications that have to be passed through the body or surgically removed.  However, a recent technology now uses very localized doses of high vibration, aimed at the kidney, to actually dissolve the kidney stones.  The kidney stones are reduced to their smallest particles and passed easily through the body.  We can think of this as an example of how a low vibration, no matter how solid it appears, can be changed by focusing high vibration onto it.

Another example of this phenomenon of changing the vibration of something that seems unchangeable is the study done in 1993 by the Institute of Science, Technology and Public Policy in Washington DC.  This National Demonstration Project to Reduce Violent Crime and Improve Governmental Effectiveness brought approximately 4,000 participants in the Transcendental Meditation and TM-Sidhi programs to the United States national capital from June 7 to July 30, 1993. A 27-member independent Project Review Board consisting of sociologists and criminologists from leading universities, representatives from the police department and government of the District of Columbia, and civic leaders approved in advance the research protocol for the project and monitored its progress. The study, led by John Hagelin, PhD., showed a 25%-48% decrease in violent crime during the time period of the study.  The conclusion that can be drawn was that the high vibration of the 4000 meditators infiltrated the DC area, and that the low vibration of the aggression causing violent crime could not be sustained in the high vibrational filed created by the meditators.  (For more information on this study, go to http://www.istpp.org/crime_prevention/ )

A beautiful example of how our thoughts change vibration is evidenced in Dr. Masaru Emoto’s work.  He has documented, through remarkable photographic techniques, water’s response to positive and negative thoughts.  (Remember that positive feelings such as love, gratitude and prayer carry a high vibration, where as anger, sadness and fear carry a low vibration.)  In the case of a highly polluted river in Japan, the water photographs show a diffused, disorganized water molecule group.  When the very same water was blessed with prayer, the water formed exquisite, organized crystal shapes.  His research went further when he placed written phrases on bottles of distilled water and left them overnight.  Water responded to these phrases similarly; the water which sported the label “Thank You” formed beautiful symmetrical crystals, where as the water that carried the “You Make Me Sick” label responded with a discomforting display of pockmarked blobs.  As is evidenced in Dr. Emoto’s work, our attitudes and thoughts are reflected perfectly in the structural integrity of the water.  The really interesting implications of Dr. Emoto’s work lie in considering that human beings are more than 70% water.  If these thoughts affect a bottle of water so powerfully, how do our thoughts affect us and each other?  (See the website www.hado.net )

Even when some things may not be going the way we want, we can find other things in our lives that ARE supportive and be thankful for those.  And this will raise our vibration.

I was in a situation recently where I was reminded of this truth.    My family and I have been traveling now for almost a year in a motor home.  We recently encountered issues that have necessitated taking our home in to a dealership for repairs.  What was supposed to have been a simple overnight repair became a two-week ordeal.  Because we are living in the RV, we have been unable to access the things that we normally need to live our daily lives.  After a week of “not having a home”, I became triggered into feeling “homeless” and victimized.  While this would seem a reasonable response to the situation, I was miserable.  Life looked a whole lot less wonderful because of the state I was in.  I was in a low vibrational field of hopelessness, anger and depression.  After a few days of hanging out in this state, I remembered that I had other choices. I looked around me and was reminded that home is where the heart is; I have my beautiful family, we are together, and we are healthy and well.  AND, I was reminded that my Spirit is my true home, and that nothing can ever take that away from me.  Choosing not to identify with the low vibrational state, I slowly felt my perspective shift as I focused on how grateful I am.  It literally took me 10 minutes for my perspective to shift radically into feeling like I was basking in a ray of warm love.  I could not wipe the smile off of my face (nor did I want to!)  I see now that if I want to be happy in my life, there is great wisdom in choosing to be grateful and look on the bright side!

In addition to feeling better, being in a high vibrational state brings a clarity and focus that is not present in low vibrational states…we can think of acting out in anger and regretting later what we have said, or how people who are depressed feel fuzzy headed, as if they cannot think clearly.  This clarity that comes with high vibration suddenly brings everything into focus.  What is important becomes very pointed and clear!  And from this place we can make better decisions in our lives – decisions that make a positive contribution to our own well-being as well as the well-being of others and the planet.

And, if you don’t have enough reasons to consider feeling gratitude on a regular basis, consider this additional benefit, noted by Christiane Northrup: “Feeling grateful or appreciative of someone or something in your life actually attracts more of the things that you appreciate and value into your life.”  Here we see the principle of resonance yet again, as well as the law of attraction.  If we hold a high vibration, not only do we shift the rate of vibration around us, we attract similar vibration.  If you want more true love in your life, radiate true love.  If you want more kindness shown to you, overflow with kindness towards others.  If you seek more abundance in your life, look for the abundance that you already have and shower gratitude upon it.  (And remember that abundance is not only measured in money!  It is also love, health, freedom, creativity, wisdom, experiences, inner satisfaction, caring, giving, receiving teachings, giving teachings, blue sky, rain, good food, friends, time, togetherness, good books, options, loyalty, growth, family, manifestation, spiritual help, wide open vistas, sunrises, sunsets, trees, birds, animals and plants, air, water, fire, space, the stars and planets, and this beautiful earth which holds and sustains us!)

So what can you do to raise your vibration?  There are many resources you can draw on.  Some examples are mediation, reading holy texts, creating, dancing, singing, moving your body, celebrating, laughing, praying, making a list of the things in your life you are grateful for and thanking each of them, and of course setting the intention to raise your vibration.  Almost anything that takes you out of your usual pattern of heading down “Victim Road” will point you in the high-vibe direction.  And you and the world will be a better place for it.