Posts Tagged ‘women’

A journal entry from 10-30-09

The little boy I picked up in the labyrinth (http://liciaberry.com/blog/2009/11/10/the-boy-in-the-labyrinth/) is beginning to stir now…he has more life in him, whereas he did not seem to inhabit his body very much before.  I feel he is a personification of my power.  I am healing my power as well as exploring what authentic power looks like for myself.  As I do this, I predict I will see this little boy grow into an actualized man.  And that I will feel comfortable and confident in the world, a genuine soul expressing their authentic power, informed by the Sacred Feminine in her power.

In recent weeks, I have felt such outrage and despair about the plight of women and children who are preyed upon by those who would use their power to dominate them.  So many stories of rape and murder; it is so heinous to me.  I was worried about myself because some modern “spiritual” folk say that anger is a bad thing to feel and it “takes your vibe down”.  I find myself wanting to fight them, which of course means I am fighting a part of myself that wants to gloss over the feelings and pretend everything is okay.  I also don’t want to be one dimensional, the angry feminist who drives folks away by her intensity and ire.

But I chose to trust my body and emotions as a message to me that there was something wrong, and I let it take me down a path.  Trusting, trusting.  As I allowed my anger and expressed it in my writing and conversations, it took me to a new place. 

I saw a purple matrix on a field of black, or a Great Web, and heard “Mending the Web”, over and over, for days and now weeks.  I saw that it would be fairly simple to continue down the angry path, let it fuel itself continuously, and break the web by posting and publishing angry thoughts. 

But then I saw that it is “women’s work” to heal, to mend the breaks in the web that out-of-balance folks cut.  I understood that my original desire in the world was to heal, and that has been the case until I got angrier and harder in my heart, wanting to be acknowledged for being right and for being victimized.  It is such a tricky thing to stay on that tightrope of balanced, righteous anger that needs to be felt and expressed, or falling over into letting it consume you, become who you are.  Letting ourselves be human when we have studied spirituality can be a tricky game to play with ourselves.

As I continued with some trepidation down this path into greater room and understanding, I also saw that women who are empowered (and me) are strong enough to be the big ones, the ones who will take the first step and reach out our hands to do the mending.  Just as many wise and respected feminists have said, it is the women who must lead the coming awareness and shift in consciousness to balance.  Quietly, perhaps in some ways…..but that it is up to us to start the healing of this world. 

Spider Woman, by Susan Seddon Boulet

Then, I saw and heard “healing the masculine”.  Ah, is it not enough to heal ourselves as women, and the damage done to us at the hands of the outrageously immature masculine without (and our internalized fathers and immature masculine within)?  Perhaps we may be called to turn and heal those who have trespassed against us. 

Well, I don’t know how this will work…I sure don’t want to get in a conversation with my father and attempt to “heal” him.  I already know he doesn’t want to do that in ways that I consider healthy for him.  But, maybe by healing my own inner masculine, helping my inner masculine to grow up in a healthy balanced way, with a mature inner feminine to help him, there may be hope.

Family constellation work has shown me that there is no such thing as space and time…that healing can occur for all involved when all the factors are present.  Perhaps if I heal and mature my own inner masculine, my father in some way is released from his own pain, and healing can happen for him (and others).

But first, I must peel back the face I have placed on him, the veneer of goodness, the stories of heroism that I have projected onto him, and believed.  I must see what is underneath.  Better get out the drills, hammers and chisels.  It’s time for the idealized father to die.

"Aidan Cathedral", Peter Berry 2004, Digitally Transformed Photograph

The word “rebirthing” has been in my psyche quite a bit of late; perhaps in part due to the immanence of spring (around the corner, I hope!)    Perhaps in part due to the “collective sloughing off” that’s going on for so many people, in our country and beyond.  And perhaps in part due to the changes I have seen in my own life.

It is a hard thing to describe in quantifiable terms when deep internal change is happening.  It’s like trying to put words on a moving, invisible target made of mist.  The way I know change is happening is that I can feel it.  Of course, I see behavior changes, but that is after the changes are integrated.  The first way I know they are happening is that I can feel motion inside.

I’m not alone.  I’ve been talking to some kick-ass women, women who don’t always have words for what they are experiencing, either, but trust themselves enough to know that something is going on, something big and good and life changing.  They sometimes think they are alone, and they experience such relief when they realize that they aren’t. 

These are the women I want to surround myself with in my life.  These are women who are strong, have been through some things, have survived hardship, or pulled themselves up by their bootstraps when no one else would give them a hand.  These women are feeling something inside of them, too, something that is calling them home.  And they are choosing to listen.

Rebirth is a term that seems perfect for what is going on for me right now.  I feel myself returning to a more childlike remembrance of my soul.   I am having body memories of what it felt like to be me before I learned how to cover up my light.  I am remembering certain qualities of myself that I’ve not really touched in some time.  The experience is like, “Oh, yeah, I used to feel that feeling when I was little.”  It brings tears to my eyes sometimes!

When I think about it from a pattern perspective (I’m always seeing patterns), I’d have to say that my core self is re-emerging after trying on a suit for some years.  The suit worked well for awhile, even though it was uncomfortable at times.  But now, I am done with that particular suit, and I want to try on one that is a better fit for me.  A roomy, silky, blue and green, flowing suit.

I feel some fear and anxiety at times because I don’t quite know what is around the corner.  But at the same time, I feel an anticipation, an eagerness…like the joy I felt at special times when I was a younger person.  Like the whole world is my playground.  I can’t wait!

Rebirth.  Re-emerge.  New/Old identity.  Who am I becoming?  I think it’s more ME.

Mother One-The Sacred Feminine, collage by Licia Berry 2007

Last Thursday, I taught the first class in my inaugural “Faces of Her” teleseries.  With great hopes and expectations, and lots of sweat and labor, I birthed this offering amongst 10 women. 

It touched me in a different way to teach this class; it came from a more vulnerable place.  I’ve taught many teleclasses, classes and workshops in my professional teaching career of 21 years, but this one was different.  It came from the center of my heart, from the core of my being.

The journey to come to acceptance of my own inner Sacred Feminine has not been easy; I faced what all people face when they realize that there is more to our lives than what meets the eye.  I experienced what all folks experience when they open to more feminine ways of being, and allow that to guide them in their lives.  It’s no secret; it’s not the way our culture teaches us to live.  Feminine equals weak or stupid or value-less.  My decision to reject these ridiculous notions was nothing less than anarchy.

Learning to trust myself over all others has absolutely been a feminine journey.  Learning to listen quietly when my impulse is to demand answers has absolutely been a feminine journey.  Allowing myself to feel my feelings of sadness, anger, fear, grief and rage has been a feminine journey, too.  These are all things that are suppressed in our culture.  

But actually offering what I have learned to others…now THAT takes some ovaries (they’ve been making noises at me through out this process, by the way!)  Being pregnant with this information, then going through the labor to birth it, then presenting it Thursday night has been nothing short of a feminine miracle.  

I came into my room yesterday, where I have an altar to Great Mother, and upon entering the scent of jasmine incense wafted into my awareness.  I paused to look at the incense burner; nothing there.  I asked my husband and children if they had burned incense, and they said no, they thought I had been (they smelled it, too!)  This is the second time in several days this has happened to me; a mysterious scent of something that does not exist in the physical reality of the space has asserted itself.  I wonder if, like the scent of roses signifies the presence of the Divine Mother, of the scent of jasmine also portrays Her blessing?  

The choice to offer “Faces of Her” has begun its magic…I am already different, MORE than I was before the class.  In the decision to offer what I’ve learned to other women, I have opened some blessed door within myself, and She is working Her way with me!

A second class has been created due to popular demand!  Starts this Tuesday, Feb, 23 at 7pm eastern.  Join us!

Roots, by Frida Kahlo

“Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know. In perfect stillness, frankly, I’ve only found sorrow.”
— Barbara Kingsolver (The Poisonwood Bible)

“When we traded homemaking for careers, we were implicitly promised economic independence and worldly influence. But a devil of a bargain it has turned out to be in terms of daily life. We gave up the aroma of warm bread rising, the measured pace of nurturing routines, the creative task of molding our families’ tastes and zest for life; we received in exchange the minivan and the Lunchable.”
— Barbara Kingsolver (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life)

“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.”
— Barbara Kingsolver

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)

"Woman as Stone-She is Awakening" collage 2006 by Licia Berry

Dear Women!

What a year it has been, and it’s only early February! Many of us have felt both the exhilaration of the new year energy and deep intensity as the purging and transformation of our consciousness continues.

It’s only 10 days until my teleclass “Faces of Her: an educational and experiential exploration of the Sacred Feminine Within” begins on Thursday Feb. 18th.

If you are anything like me or the rest of the folks I am hearing from lately, you will understand that the old way of the world is not working any more. Many of us can feel internally that a new era is beginning.

What is happening? Why do so many of us have an inner knowing that the world is changing? What can we do to midwife a smooth rebirth? These questions and more will be explored in my “Faces of Her” teleclass.

If you FEEL and nod your head to the writings of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, if you DIG the art of Frida Kahlo, if Starhawk’s sweet words whisper into your very heart, if Jean Shinoda Bolen makes you want to jump up and create a women’s circle, if you admire and say YES to any strong, wise woman you hear speak her truth…then you will want to register for this 3-part class starting Thursday, Feb. 18th.

These women are shining examples of having integrated the Sacred Feminine qualities with their inner masculine qualities (the qualities in ourselves we are all taught to live from in western culture). Can you imagine if all of us brought the fullness and balance of the Sacred Union of the feminine and masculine to this world?

This teleclass will show you how by exploring:
• What is the “Sacred Feminine”?

• What is the “Light/Solar Mother”?

• What is the “Dark/Lunar Mother”?

• How do these universal energies show up in our lives?

• How is the Sacred Feminine already within me? How do I recognize Her?

• How can our lives be richer, more magical, and more alive by consciously experiencing these universal energies?

• How can I cultivate a relationship with the Sacred Feminine in my own life?

• Why is the embodiment of the Sacred Feminine important to our continuation as a species?

This class is designed to be appealing to the heart as well as the head, to be full of interesting information as well as an invitation into personal experience of the Sacred Feminine Within.

Personal experiences of the Sacred Feminine Within will be encouraged, inspired, and supported with images, story, poetry, meditations and exercises as well as educational material. You will leave each session FULL and looking forward to MORE.

This tele-class takes place on the phone in the comfort of your own home-you can wear your pajamas and fuzzy slippers!

Join me in this enlivening new/old experience! Choose now to step into your role in this amazing time of rebirth!
Come Home to Mama!

Register here!
http://www.liciaberry.com/Faces%20of%20Her.htm

Can’t wait to talk with you!
Licia Berry
Faces of Her
Creator of the Circle of WiseWomen (FaceBook women’s group)

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.

Witch Power and Grandmother Nature

Like so many GOOD things that have been twisted, misinterpreted, and manipulated, the conclusion that I am coming to about the word “WITCH” is that it needs to be shed of its nasty connotations (at least in my own mind), and that the word needs to be reclaimed.

In the spirit of reclaiming, I invite you to play with me and create an acronym from the word “witch”…several of you have already offered some:

• Wisdom Intuition Transformation Compassion Healing -Peter
•  Woman’s Intuition Touching Communal Heart –Liza
•  Women Inspiring Truth Change + Harmony –Peter
•  Wisdom Interconnected Terra Caring Hope –Licia
•  Wonderful Intuitive Teacher Called Healer –M.

Let’s hear some more!

My last post has struck a nerve for some of you, and I’m glad to know I’m far from alone in critically examining this word “witch” and trying to understand what it means in an original sense, rather than a pop culture, commercial, colonial, Christian or patriarchal sense (did I leave anybody out?)

 I feel the need to explain why being called a witch is something that stopped me in my tracks.  I have been proud to be a rebel or outsider all of my life, not being willing to be defined by any category or fit into the main stream ideas of what a woman is supposed to be.  I have flaunted my independence, and happily yelled “THANKS!” when someone told me I was weird or different.  However, unlike when a fellow yelled at me from his passing car, “DYKE!” in my buzz cut college phase (I was fine with that mistaken label), being called a “witch” felt too close to home, insidious, and brought up a sinking feeling of terror. 

 I couldn’t understand why I would feel that way in terms of my actual life.  I have never identified myself as a witch, although in my spiritual practice I do some things that might raise the eyebrows of bible thumpers (such as meditation, using homeopathy and herbs to treat illness, and dowsing, a very useful skill I learned from an old woman in the mountains of North Carolina). Of course, my shamanic work could be classified as witchy were it not for its connections to the indigenous populations…or are they “witches”, too?

 While I lived in the village where I was “identified as a public enemy” (before I knew anything about these behind-the-hand remarks about me) I had intuitive flashes in which an angry mob would come drag me out of my office, grab me by my hair and drag me down the street.  The intuitive vision would stop there, not revealing the fate of the woman I seemed to be in the inner vision.  But the feeling of cold stones weighing down the innards of my belly did not easily or soon cease. 

This was not an entirely new sensation for me.  Back in Asheville NC, where we lived for 7 years, I had multiple odd spontaneous awarenesses that involved flashes of me being disemboweled, drowned, or beheaded.  One such instance was preceded by a physical break down of my right shoulder…for weeks it got more and more sore and incapacitated.  After many attempts to have it corrected through chiropractic and massage work (and Advil), in a strange fit of inner knowing, I paused in the living room on my way to take some laundry upstairs and asked silently what my body was telling me. 

Giving in to the motion, my body then took over…I began to move as if somebody much bigger than me was rearranging me like a puppet.  My inner eye saw a lovely young woman with reddish blond curls and a long flowered dress being brought forcibly into a crowd of people.  She must have been 18 or 19 years old.  She was pretty, but had a gleam in her eye and a set to her jaw. My right arm went slammed tight behind my back, fist up behind my heart.  I was forced down to my knees.  My head was pushed down so that I was crouched over.  In my mind’s eye, I saw a bloody stump of a tree, where I was now resting my chest.  As my eyes looked down on red ground, I heard and felt a stalwart, “I will never let this happen to me again.”  Then the “memory” faded, and miraculously, my right shoulder was completely cured.  Never another pain.

I stood there in a bit of a daze.  What the hell had just happened?  Was that girl me?  I wasn’t scared; more I had the feeling of knowing that my body had revealed something to me, and because I gave it permission, something had been released.  It was a pivotal experience affirming my life philosophy, which I have incorporated deeply since, that our bodies are the key to so much wisdom.

Was what happened a playing-out of some kind of cellular or collective memory? Or did I actually live through that?  When I was called “witch” in the tiny town in Colorado where I used to live, was it bringing forth another wave of memories that were asking to be acknowledged and released through me?  If so, what did this mean to me personally?  Why is this such a prominent and repeated feature in my life?

And that’s why I am asking these questions of all of you wise people, and why I feel the need to explore this line of thought.  What is a witch, really?  Where did the word come from, what are its origins?  And when did it become a word for something that was evil, scary, and needing to be put to death?  

And do any of you have these spontaneous memories or experiences?  If so, I would be so honored to hear them.