Posts Tagged ‘women’

 

“I am not a victim. I am victorious.” -Jennifer Schuett

 

(here introduce the Old WiseWoman, the Teller of Stories)

 

Come round ye women, of old and of young

To hear the tale of a Shero sprung

From the heart of a child; a lion emerged

To claim her true power…all factors converged.

 

Come round me, women,

and listen to my tale

Of a woman who spoke up

When no voice was there

 

Come round the fire and lend me your heart

As I show you a vision of your own Lionheart.

A story of the strength you possess

Whether you be healer, sage or sorceress.

 

Listen to me sing this song of triumph and woe

Listen to this song of a true Shero

She who has risen from the ashes,

She who did not bow before the lash.

 

A woman who loved herself so much

that she would not allow the heinous crime

committed against her to claim her life,

and now she is speaking out, loud and proud

so others will have courage to do the same.

 

 

(here introduce Women in the crowd, around the fire, gathering)

 

Let us raise our voices to the Shero in all of us

 

Who perseveres and vanquishes her enemy

 

Let us take heart and dare to feel hope

 

From hearing her song

 

~

 

(Old WiseWoman, Teller of Stories)

 

On this day from the banks of clouds

A mortal woman inspires song

Her trials she bore at the hands of a man

Did undo her, but not for long.

 

As a maiden, but a child, she was plucked

From the warmth and safety of her nightly bed

And stolen away in the dark, beaten and deflowered,

Her tender throat cut open, and left for dead.

 

Oh, what did she wonder as she watched

The stars o’er head, her silent witnesses?

Did she want her family, miss her dolly, 

worry for her life, while the sickness of men possesses?

 

(Women around the fire, incredulous, angry)

 

A child is to be protected, cherished, adored

Not beaten, abused, and made into whores!

A child taken by adult woes

Carries that pain wherever they go!

 

(Old WiseWoman, Teller of Stories)

 

Powerless to overthrow him, powerless to stop him,

Powerless to scream, run, fight, or beat him

A little girl in her nightgown, tendrils of sweet curls hanging down

She was the victim of his madness, prey to him. 

 

Her voice, her sweet voice, it was made obsolete

By his cruel knife, an attempted final defeat.

No way to call, no way to cry

It is truly a wonder that she did not die.

 

He threw her away when he was done, lifeless

Onto earth’s field, her blood spilt on the ground

Did he have a moment’s remorse, a thought to whom he’d laid bare?

Or like so much trash, turned his back on her that made no sound?

 

She lay there until the light of day, almost one with the dirt

Barely alive, semi-conscious; and thus began the true work

Of reclaiming her life from that awful night, when innocence was taken

And retrieving her spirit from the blood, semen, and murk.

 

(The Women around the fire are stunned into silence; the Story Teller continues, quietly at first )

 

The choice to live after one’s heart, mind and body are broken

Is a courageous one, to be sure, make no mistake.

A victim as a child, most certainly; but as she grew,

Her goal to have justice was a thirst unslaked.

 

The burning to find her monster, to put him away

Formed a kind of resolve, a strength, a spine.

To put right what was put asunder

To take back, to reclaim what was thine.

 

How many would cringe, wish for and hold tight to their deaths

Rather than stand up, point and loudly scream his name?

How many would turn the old patriarch over on his grey head

And show him the grit of our spirits, the scars from his shame?

 

(Women around the fire, enraged and feeling their ire)

 

The choice not to die

Despite some men’s wishes

Is a clue to our strength.

In your face, sons of bitches!

 

And well meaning advice is forced upon us,

“Let it go”, “It’s karma”, “Forgive and forget”

Not knowing, they perpetrate

The violence that silence begets!

 

(Old WiseWoman, Teller of Stories)

 

The stories of old would nourish us in these times,

When women and children still bear the brunt of men’s weakness.

Stories of women and goddesses, who were erased from the books

But nevertheless, through their sex, show their uniqueness.

 

There is a power, unspoken, quiet but sure

A thread of life that runs through us, no matter what we endure

If we are but willing to take hold of that thread

The long ancestral line of Woman will tenderly hold our head.

 

And when we feel Her strength and resolve,

We will find our voices again, stand up and behold

Our own significant part of All Creation

So marvelous, precious, fierce and bold.

 

~

 

And now in this day of bombing the ancient face of the moon,

Women everywhere would take heart from Jennifer’s role

To find her OWN voice, to face her offender, no matter the years

To bring eyes, justice, awareness, then freedom to her soul. 

 

“To thine own self be true” was ne’er so bright

As when a little girl overcame fear to set things right.

And while we all may be spiritually “playing our part”,

I will go with the Amazon, true to her warrior heart.

 

 

 

Jennifer Schuett, you are a SHERO.

 

In deep and humble gratitude,

With Love and Blessings,

Licia Berry

www.liciaberry.com

Copyright Licia Berry, 2009, all rights reserved

 

 “He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”   Friedrich Nietzsche  

 

Like most babies, I learned how to walk the first time by the age of 11 months.  I crawled successfully at 8 months (seems a little late, but I’ve always been on my own timing), pulled up to standing at 8 ½ months, then the world was my oyster before one year old.

 

I say that I learned to walk the first time by 11 months because I am learning to walk a second time at the age of 44 years.  Yep, you read right; after 44 years on this earth, this girl is learning how to walk again.

 

Due to a violent and (pretty gross) compound fracture and severe dislocation of my right ankle in February, I experienced surgery, metal plates and screws, and 8 weeks of weightlessness; for me, a new meaning to the word “stillness”, and the sudden and complete absence of forward motion in my life.

 

Well, not entirely; the movement that I have been experiencing since my injury has been on the inside, and lots of it.  What I’m noticing is that the movement on the outer world can sometimes be a distraction from the movement in the inner world.  I discovered that I sometimes used physical movement to help me run from feelings that I didn’t want to feel.  Feeling powerless or afraid?  Go for a run or a bike ride.  Feeling angry?  Go clean something.  Feeling anything uncomfortable?  Go MOVE, do anything, but don’t sit still or else it might catch up with me.

 

I’m exaggerating a bit here; for the last 10 years, I have been working consciously on myself to wake up, and much of that has been about getting more still and paying attention to my feelings.  In my house, I am the one who is most vocal about her feelings, and the one who is most actively reflecting on what I am feeling.  But I live with three guys (one husband and two sons) and a cat.  Well, okay….maybe the cat wins the most vocal about how she feels award…

 

But all the work I’ve done had taken me only so far; then my ankle met with a series of metal stairs on a rainy day in California, and my knowing of being still so I could feel my feelings got a whole lot deeper.  That’s how it works in process, doesn’t it?  We go so far with something, then find stasis and equilibrium, then a new expansion experience is introduced and we get to grow again (oh goody!)

 

I am happy to say that I chose to go for it with this experience; I know that when things happen, there is the opportunity to relate to it as a victim or as a choice maker.  I wanted to harvest all of the AHAs and lessons and insights that I could from this experience.  I sure never want it to happen again!  And I haven’t been disappointed; the amazing healing and awarenesses have been profound and bountiful during my weeks of convalescence.  I can look back on it with just a little perspective now, and it feels like a precious gift to be allowed to be so vulnerable. 

 

I was given the okay to bear weight on April 27, “letting pain be my guide”.  I took off my “Darth Boot” (my affectionate name for my big, black, kick-ass removable cast) and started learning to walk with the aid of my crutches.  Within a couple of days, I noticed that I started to forget where I left them; that’s a good sign!  By the end of that week, I was hobbling around without any help from my rickety metal friends.

 

But the hobbling is a little troublesome; I look like Frankenstein, arms flailing out in my attempt to keep balance.  All that’s missing is the metal bolts in my neck and the mantra, “FIRE BAD!”  The scars are not pretty, my ankle gets swollen quickly when I am up on it, and it does hurt a bit when I come down on it.  But it’s a good pain, or so I think.  It is the pain of learning to use something in a new way.

 

Amongst my reflections and ruminations during this time of forced stillness, I have wondered if I was walking in a way that was not good for me.  Maybe not the physical way I walked, but from a symbolic standpoint, where was I leading myself?  How was I getting there?  Was I being forceful or was I being discerning?  Was I afraid of moving forward, or was I walking in balance and ease? 

 

And now that I have the opportunity to walk again, I also have the opportunity to learn to walk in a different way, perhaps a way that serves me and the world community better.  How do I want to walk in this world?  Confidently, in balance, knowing that I am supported…at ease in my own power, looking forward to my future, knowing I am part of this world and that I have something to offer…with grace, strength, discernment, wisdom, and love. 

 

I can’t help but reflect on what it must have been like to learn to walk the first time; I can’t remember, although I wish I could.  What would it feel like to feel the inner impulse to move, to get up on one’s feet and take a first step forward?  What kind of innate trust is there in all children as they fly through their developmental stages?  What kind of crazy motor drives the impulse to get off your knees and start walking?!  How amazing is it that we go from being born helpless to moving around at light speed in under a year’s time?  I seriously doubt that we could handle that kind of rapid growth as adults…if I picture me trying to assimilate so many changes in one year as a new baby does, I think I would explode!

 

I say this because I am a grown woman, in her mid forties, and I have learned to be afraid.  Life has taught me about people and things and events that hurt, and that I must be protective and watchful and wary, lest something bad happen to me.  Even when I am all of those things, sometimes bad things still happen.  That innate trust we are born with can slowly erode over time, to the point that it seems quite unbelievable we ever possessed this gift.

 

However, I am hopeful.  When I put my injured foot to the floor, I am in essence saying, “I trust that this leg will hold me up”.  When I choose to engage my body with the earth by walking, I am saying I WANT to trust again.  I WANT to be part of the earth walk again, I WANT to move and run and dance and play.   

 

As I learn to put my foot down and do the careful dance of rolling my heel and pushing off with my toes, I wonder what kind of a little girl I was when I took that first step.  Was it a joyful and exciting adventure?  Was it a feeling of complete trust and knowing that I was supported?  Can I harness that level of trust again as I learn to walk this time?  I pray that I can.   

To Carry-to take, to bear, to hold, to bring, to lug, to transmit, to transport, to convey, to transfer, to move, to pass on, to conduct, to relay, to contain, to include, to involve, to store, to supply, to keep (from the English Thesaurus)

As a result of my injury, my sweet family is feeling some pretty big adjustments.  The tasks that I usually have done in daily life towards maintenance of our family and our home are now meted out amongst the remaining three family members that can walk and carry things at the same time!

I am halfway through my 8 weeks of no-weight-bearing, and get around quite well on crutches, holding the right ankle above the ground and depending on my left to move me forward.  I have gotten good at being Hop Along Cassidy out of necessity!  But when you are holding yourself up with crutches and have a somewhat unstable balancing act going on, it isn’t possible to carry anything in your hands.  Having that possibility now removed, I never realized how much carrying I was doing!    

This has inspired in me a desire to examine the concept of carrying.

All moms know about carrying….we carry our babies in our bodies and in our arms and on our hips….we carry the food from the fridge to the sink and to the stove, we carry the groceries from the store to the checkout line to the car to the kitchen,….we carry our kids to school and carry their coats, their homework, their lunches…we carry our laundry to and from the washroom and then carry folded piles to the dresser drawers….we carry information from one place to another…we carry the intention of well-being for our families and our communities and our earth….we carry the well-being of our loved ones in our hearts, and we (sometimes to our detriment) carry the burdens of others simply because we care about them. 

I know that in my experience of being a woman and a mother that I see the feminine as a vessel, and that vessels are great for carrying and holding things.  Think in terms of the clay pots hand crafted by our ancient women ancestors, in a search for something to hold water and to cook in.  Think in terms of the female body’s amazing capacity to grow and nurture and carry a child within the vessel of the womb, and our arms as a vessel to cradle the baby while nursing and to rock the child to sleep.  I think in terms of the universe as a giant womb in which All Creation is held and carried.  Nothing can exist unless there is a space in which to exist, right?

I’m not suggesting that the masculine does not carry its share of things; of course it does.  This exploration is not a discourse on women or men being “better” than the other, or an argument about the roles that each should play; that seems ridiculous and a waste of time to me. 

But the concept and experience of carrying itself seems to me to originate in a feminine principle of being a holder of space, a vessel within which creation can occur.  Is this why the female of species have tended to be the carriers of home, hearth and procreation since the beginning of physical life on this planet?

I consider myself to be a feminist to the degree that I believe in equal opportunity for all regardless of gender.  If a woman wants in her heart to go for it and succeed in business and career, I say it is a free will universe and she has every right to do that.  Certainly, I feel there should not be any human-made constraints to limit her in her desire.  I am a strong woman myself, and in my early years achieved a 5 year university degree and went into the professional realm because I wanted to work and make my mark on the world. 

But as I became a mother, my sense of self has changed (and continues to!)  I saw that it wasn’t possible for there to be equal opportunity for my husband to carry our babies, nor to breastfeed them once they were born.  It was my unique role to do that due to my design.  It was his unique role to provide for us, to keep us safe and protected with a house and healthy food to eat so that I could tend to the raising of our children.  Home and hearth suddenly became very important to me.  I found myself gardening organically, canning vegetables, learning to make candles and soap, learning herbs and homeopathy and other non-invasive health modalities, learning how to heal with my hands, learning how to listen to the subtle guidance of my inner wise voice.  Having children cracked my heart open and my spirit came pouring out, looking to make up for lost time.  I began the journey to own myself as a woman and therefore an embodiment of the Sacred Feminine.

Perhaps one of the backlashes of the feminist movement is that some of us have felt we owed our allegiance to those amazing and courageous women who first stood up and said “Enough!” to being treated as second class citizens or even property at the hands of men.  I certainly respect and admire them, and know that their brave work has benefitted me and other women in the world.  I also honor that their inner journey led them to do the work they felt was right to do. 

However, in this physical world, for every action there is a reaction.  There has been a consequence for some of us.  For me, it was my belief that I should be out there conquering the world in business and making my power felt on men’s terms.  Who am I to not follow up on my fore-sisters work and pave the way for women to become “more” in this world?  Wouldn’t I be betraying them if I did not succeed in my professional life and have all of the benefits of making it in a man’s reality?  For me, the consequence of being a child of the feminist movement has been a confusing of who I really am and who I thought I should be. 

To this day I struggle with this inner part of me that pushes me to do, to make money, to have credibility, to gain notoriety, to be recognized as powerful in the man’s world. What is coming ever forward is the acknowledgment and acceptance of my role as a woman, a vessel, a carrier of the subtle mysteries of life.  I want to succeed in the woman’s world.  I want to nurture and create and hold space for my ever-unfolding.  I want to carry and nurture and hold space for the creation and unfolding of my beautiful sons, who will be a serious catch for some special women in this world once they are ready to be set free from my arms!  My true, authentic expression in this consensual reality right now is to BE the feminine.  It is a constant process of coming into greater balance within me.  I choose to give myself permission to BE this that I truly am.

My examination of my slow and steady reclaiming of my Sacred Feminine self as vessel and carrier for creation has been a constant meditation and realization since I broke my right (masculine) ankle.  My masculine side has been put to pasture for awhile, while my (left) feminine side has had to step forward, to be the one who leads.  How beautiful that my earthly body is being used as a metaphor for this balancing act, as I put my left, feminine foot forward in order to move through my day! 

The insights I am receiving are jaw-dropping, at least to me!  For 15 years, I have been reclaiming my Divine Feminine/Great Mother self, letting her move forward and through me, embodying me, letting her work be done in the world.  It is an evolving process, and one that inspires me to watch, to observe, to record the journey, and to be ever thankful for the mysterious and beautiful way that life continues to unfold.