As I sit here with clay masked neatly over my face, I ponder the weird new world that we are living in. Yesterday I went to the Supermarket; a major excursion and a bizarre dystopian experience… As I wandered round the aisles with my red polka dot face mask (a hand made appropriation from the left overs of my Rosie the Ricketeer costume, worn for Purim only 6 weeks ago) I awkwardly try to smile with my eyes to the other fully masked patrons who pass me by. I see my cousin who is now working there and want to hug him, but we cant. A little girl in a trolley looks over at me with big eyes of wonder and I smile at her, feeling creepy without the curves of reassurance that my smile can so effortlessly give. I wave but feel even creepier doing it with a mask on. She is about 2.5 and looks at the with absolute fascination. I don’t blame her. I cant even imagine how weird a world this must be right now for toddlers and young kids. How are they internalising this madness? Smiles no longer received with the mouth, only our eyes to communicate with , the absurdity and unnaturalness of it is clear to us but perhaps just another part of this new life for them, easily accepted. Is this strange reality in fact drawing our attention to each others eyes more…? I gesture goodbye with a blink, and a wave, feeling weird all the while. I have never engaged with little kids whilst wearing a mask. I move on through the aisles, negotiating aisles and trolleys with the other masked men and women, and complete my mission. Somehow my groceries add up to a whopping $300. I hand over the last of my cash. I thank the mouthless cashier, and walk from one masked world out into the bigger one. Not a mouth or a smile in sight. I cannot get used to this.
As I drive home, I am struck by the irony of this moment in humanity. We have been living in a masked world for much longer then this moment… the only difference is it hasn’t been so brutally obvious as being plastered all over over our faces.
Our masks have been our neatly painted on with ruby lips and mascara, smiles pasted over frowns, bearded identities and terrifying scowls a cover up for emotional repression. Suits, and ties, and high heel masks, letters behind your name masks, and numbers in your bank account masks. Our masks have been everything that define us, divide us, and help us forget that we are all human beings, and that one day, every single one of us will die. Our masks have encompassed our entire lives, including our jobs and our titles, our bank accounts, our stories our histories. We have hid behind politics and religion, and righteous opinion, at times we have masked our true intentions with good intentions and have even fooled ourselves with our own self-betrayal. The masks we wear run deep and disguise the bleeding obvious, that beyond the stories, we all still have ourselves to work with till this ride on the earthly plane comes to a halt, yet again. These masks have taken us away from the simple pure reality of meeting one another on the same page, human to human, right here right now, as equally vulnerable to the onslaught of emotion that comes with being alive. As equally vulnerable to the throes of nature that can turn our world upside at any moment, and equally vulnerable to our unequivocal and inevitable destination - Death.
The mask that hides us from our mortality is so well concealed that we barely notice we are hiding at all. Though we know the fact of reality, we rarely talk about it, but we live life as if this life will go forever.. We live as if we have time to spend caring about who took the rubbish out last, and that extra bit of fat growing around our waist. About whether society will approve of us, or whether we are ‘high performing’ enough, or whether we ‘made.the.right.choice’. Life speeds by, with the present moment graciously keeping up with us every second of the way - if only we could wake up and notice, before its too late. Spirit/god/consciousness does not care about world domination, nor whose name is remembered throughout history… nor which religion or political party had the most compelling authority. None of this actually gets written down up there, and none of it matters. The only real measure of success that exists, is how much we dared to love, to share, to be kind and compassionate with one another and ourselves in this world of ‘otherness’ and separation. The rest is an imaginary story - hidden behind a mask of reality.
As we find ourselves wearing masks over our masks, I wonder if this case of double negative could actually lead to a positive…? How powerful it could be for us all to look into each others eyes, in an attempt to understand where the ‘other’ is coming from. To understand each other. To see one another’s reflection within our own fragile humanity, and the blessings we all have to be here, surviving another day as human beings on planet earth. To be reminded that we are all in this together… and to appreciate that random stranger’s smile again one day, when it can finally be released back into the world. What it could mean to never ever take the power of our own smile for granted again…
So next time you go out, try to catch the eyes of the people walking by and remember that no matter how thick a mask we wear, no matter how fooled we have become by our outfits and disguises, we are so very much in this together, simply humans on earth making our way through the galaxy.
We come together, souls embedded within one another - a babushka of lives, hidden and revealed by the shedding of time. Etched into the darkness of starry skies burns an earthly desire that swells from the centre of creation; to be seen and to be acknowledged against the vast backdrop of humanity. We ache to connect with our Greatness, despite being birthed into little bodies of selves that crave to be seen - to know ourselves as part of this world that breathed us into existence. We face one another in love and fear, eye to eye, heart to heart, reflections of projections and introspections, to know ourselves through each other and discover ourselves as all that we are - as One.
Sacred smoke wafts over body and earth alike, burning with gratitude, cleansing through space and time. We stand. Naked and raw, a testament to our humanity. Strong, empowered by our vulnerability, authentic & exposed in all our glory - ready to be seen to disappear. We extend our hands and hearts to spirits calling and latch on to the possibility of magical metamorphosis through the universal language of art and ceremony. Becoming one with the earth, this day we merge, reptilian reminders of where we come from surge through our bodies, pulsating with the presence of our ancestors who meet us at the precipice of this holy production. As the Great Spirit hums her tune to our creative weavings… we begin.
Spiralling between the ecstasy of sensual strokes and the agony of simple stillness, our breath guides us into the Now as the sun sails across skies. Gaping winds twist and twirl as voluptuous clouds scoop up light and sprinkle dancing rays upon the minutes - the hours… Time passes. Inhaling molecular synchronicity, praying with the swaying trees that exhale our life force - we forget ourselves. Our lives no longer ours to own, false identities evaporate into the intensity of this collaboration. Lovers of the earth, we are.
Our blood flows with the rivers, and our bones become the fresh fossils of today. Skin stretches across the horizon as hair follicles tingle with vibration. Feet on earth, toes digging into dirt, energy drawing upwards from her core to ours; we tense and tighten and release again - Shedding. Shaking with truth, surrendering into trust. Geometric patterns blanket our thoughts into trancelike states and we breathe deeper, yogic and stoic. Chaos transforms into peace as our colourful metaphor morphs into metaphysical experience, holding space for polarity as one being darts to and fro whilst the other surrenders into stillness. Eyes skip back and forth, a blur of perspective transpires into illusion, to see you disappear. We see you disappear…
Heart beats deepen with the rhythm of our shiva shakti dance, as we break apart to find our way back to each other. To graduate from our menial realms of this, that and the other - the ‘otherness’ of outsiders casting selves aside in order to discern our unity in humanity. We strive. We strive for one more minute of stillness, whilst the rapids of time crash upon us… becoming the puzzle piece of perfection, as our bodies mould into the forms of spaces, once know as places but best known as The Mother; we strive to remember her as we become her experiencing ourselves as her. We merge. Stillness with chaos, time with eternity, spirit with technology, ebb with flow, skin with colour, land with body and breath with the beat of the earth. We inhale as she exhales and together, we are the masterpiece.
One within the breath of the wind that blows, spirit smiles upon us. The sacral fire flows down the river into the bellies of babes of babylon - and creation is reborn. Wiggling into the light of sight, crackling with delectable inspiration, the serpent’s tongue flicks the air, reminded of salty sweet memories of the times before time… Satiated by spirit’s dance upon the fertile force of this moment, the serpent weaves figure eights against the spectrum of light’s possibilities, upon the escapement of life’s happenings. Happiness upon the skin of manifestation, creation upon creation, we return to the star dust of our dreams, the same dust that birthed existence itself and sparkles with the memory of eternity… as her tongue meets her tail and she devours herself in a magnificent cosmic embrace.
Zoom… Focus… Click!
Its a most bizarre moment of life, of Humanity, and Historical-Day-to-be...
Its been about 3300 years since we escaped enslavement in Egypt, since the inception of our Seder tradition, a ceremonial remembering of our fortunes of FREEDOM. All my life this tradition has been challenging for me - it felt like dragging up the victim past, year after year. It was long and arduous, and fell at the same time as Easter which meant that eating chocolate was not allowed! My favourite and least favourite part fo the ceremony was always the story of the Four sons; The wise, the Evil, The Simple and The One who is too young to ask. I was drawn to the concept of Humanities differences, but vehemently disagreed with the descriptions given to these four archetypes. Today I realise that these are actually four aspects of a human being that exist inside each and every one of us, revealing themselves in different ways at different times of our lives.
This year for the first time I appreciate the essence of this festival more than I ever have - because for the first time our as an entire humanity, is affected and what we may have sometimes taken for granted about being together, is no longer. On this day, the theme of FREEDOM is pervasive and magnificent. New perspectives are being birthed, changing understandings of the great message… for example, **** https://www.haggadot.com/clip/four-daughters here is a newly circulating rendition called The Four Daughters. A moving rendition to traditional descriptions.. one that I think I will use year after year. *** And because the core of our Monotheistic tradition is UNITY, it seems more than clear that we have reached new levels of this experience right now in the time of COVID-19.
So we have been talking about Unity for a long time. Abraham said it on On that mountain and then started to bargain with his ‘god’ (because spirits indeed speaks many languages on many channels) about how to run our world - possibly with the aid of plant medicines like mushrooms, as a way to connect with the divine, - In any case, a story was born.
Everyone has different access to the divine, and the expression of the channeling can truly be like different radio stations. Every channel is inevitably expressing something entirely unique, valuable for sure but far from truth. The channelling relationship is a relations in of itself - medium and spirit. And life is such a mystery, we don’t even get to experience a tiny pinch of the big story in our personal lifetime... we could guess until we lose breathe, but eventually we will die and never know the next chapters. And so, our divine messages and stories that we live into are like stepping stones - a bit like the Bahai Faith teaches, that each manifestation of divine experience is perfect for the time period it exists, but that the story and message also changes. Yes we are responsible for the stories we create to live into, but these stories are just one piece of a much bigger puzzle…
The Messiah or the Messianic Era
I never really entertain the possibility of ‘A Messiah’. The possibility of a literal solo messiah fixing all our problems feels romanticised and part of an old unrevised Bible story that for me is flawed by the sheer fact that it was channelled only through Men (revision due!). But recently a friend made a powerful post about the craziness of humanity’s current predicament and the timing of Passover (and of course Easter, intricately connected), and whilst I was listening to her talk about her beautiful innocent but powerful yearning for the Meshiach/the Messiah, I too had some downloads. Through her I was reminded that the Messiah was destined to arrive within 6000 years and, we are currently at 5780 - so we are cutting it all pretty close! She described what a Messiah would feel like to her, an all compassionate leader who would make leaders out of all of us and make the world, better, healed, whole… Feeling into that possibility of a new world made me smile. Partially because I have always sensed it, that there will be more stages in our human existence, and that humanity will go through a significant death in order for there to be a rebirth. And also because I love Jesus. He represents the one who rebelled against tradition and expanded love thy neighbour to the whole world rather than only one’s kind, expanding Abrahams Unity message out to the world at large. On top of this, he came to me a few times in ayahuasca ceremonies, and taught me a lot, including that good and evil are two sides to consciousness - all perfect parts of life, and that consciousness has the capacity to be compassionate of all. I live 20 min away from Nazareth (kinda ‘stuck’ here for now actually) and I feel Jesus’s historical presence through these sacred forests. So, for me, Jesus is a brother, very close to my heart and here in spirit with us always. Was he a Messiah? Yes. A divine messenger of God, as we all are, who encompassed all elements of humanity. He was human. And much in the same way as Abraham’s sacrificed lamb gave life to Issac, Jesus ‘Lamb of Sacrifice’ gave a whole new quality of life to the world through his death. It seems that the Messianic experience of Oneness is born out of Death itself.
I digress -
the more I thought about my friend’s callings for a ‘Messiah’ the more I heard her yearning for a Messianic Era. The way things are set up in this globally connected world, I couldnt help thinking that we would actually need a team of equally phenomenal compassionate leaders (aka a team of Messiahs) in every nation state, (or at least here in Israel/Palestine 😂) simultaneously, to make this work. This lead me to thinking that maybe we are not waiting for a Messiah anymore - maybe we are moving in the direction to our prophesied Messianic Consciousness Era. That Messiah does not lie with One individual but with the energy that emanates out, into an entire Era of Humans, via a trusting true and guided relationship between world leaders.
My Dreamy Messianic Utopia:
Imagine a community of bright selfless international leaders governed by The People, people who have access to having a say on every decision - digitally voting on an open platform to make the world what we want it to be - but on top of that, each decision reaches the bottom line through a strict (and continually reviewed) algorithmic measure that put the best interests of our planet and humanity’s sustainability, against ANY AND EVERY choice made. The algorithms go through huge testings and reviews by people all over the world, including a public forum and become the wager for all decisions.
Governments are set up like a big non-profit organisation where leaders, alongside companies and corporations get capped wages and capped capital. Indescriminate capping of capital for all human beings. Capitalism on its head. A new World Order governed by the fundamental aligned premise that all nations put the health of the planet and the people first at all times. Sacred unified leaders working together to survive and thrive in harmony with our planet as is required. Ahhhhh…. issue solved?
But… Do we have time for that kind of overhaul? Or is that all we have time for?
Or is the Messianic Era born through the death of an entire era/system/way of life ? In this case, we could see the demand for women leaders increase during times of desperation… born out of the people’s urgent need for nourishment, nurture and care.. Or maybe the Messianic Era kicks of when the leaders of Israel and Palestine happen to be best buddies that refuse to act selfishly and choose their love of one another and life itself over historical feuds.
Who knows how this death and rebirth will manifest in the coming days, months, years, decades, but one thing is for sure - change is in the air, and a timely Pink full moon tonight is the perfect opportunity for us to reflect on our lives, and initiate our freedom to step into the stories that actively create our world and a future that we will never know.
Pain, Promise, Party & the Potential Paradox of Perpetuating war...
This land, dense with people like a box of stuffed vine leaves, each grain of rice a human life, rich with pain, instilled with survival... has been ready or not willing to die for their freedom for a very long time. Whilst the world watches this tiny bit of land on their television screens, witnessing sensationalised firing lines, and political poisons, life here goes on. People struggle to pay bills, whilst the young go off to protect the borders, and religious holidays permeate the days of the year.... like pollen falling from trees, and life goes on in this holy land of war and wine. Life goes in as the plastic cups fly away in the breeze into the seas, the pipelines of gaseous chemicals are fitted too close to shorelines and the post traumatic stress becomes an underlying part of this nationalal Consciousness. Life goes on as families gather every week for the sabbath, and friends sing in circle to the words of ancient sacred prayers, and warm winds return to sandy summers... Life goes on as bank accounts continue in minus until the end of people’s lives, life goes on as Druze, Muslim, Jewish, Christian all practice their holy days and live side by side... How does this work? It is easy to wonder and I have often marvelled and struggled with the incredulousness of it all. Having lived in this land on and off for the last 11 years, I have come to notice one of the most significant days of the year that make it possible for life to go on as it does. This day is today.
Today is Yom Hazikaron Remembrance Day and the eve of Yom Haatzamaut Independence Day. it is indeed a day like no other I have witnessed and experienced anywhere else in the world. Every time I am here on this day, I am struck by the poignancy of it all. A day where devastating sorrow turns to exhilarating celebration on a national level within hours. This setup occurs every year as an uncompromisable, institutionalised set of events that has become a deeply ingrained part of the Israeli people’s consciousness and culture… The social construction of this day forms an entirely unique emotional experience that is intended to serve to protect the people and the country, and yet I cannot help but wonder whether indeed there is an aspect of this day that paradoxically perpetuates the cycles of war, anguish and trauma, as a point of maintaining identity.
Many have died. My family have lost dear loved ones to this country, for the safety of our people. And, many have died on every side for thousands of years. The children go to war, they stand on the frontline and in doing their duty, experience a kind of ‘life and death’ fear very early on. A kind of fear that has no choice but to fight even when it wants to take flight, a reality that defines the human spirit in such a way that is impossible for many who live in the West, to even imagine. The people of this country learn what it means to be comrades in their most formative young adult lives, and the lines of love run deep. At times they lose their friends in the plight. At times they see them killed in front of their faces, memories etched into their minds eye forever. As soldiers, at times, they are required to scare people and in the extreme moments of war, it can come about that they find themselves having killed. This they have to live with for the rest of their lives. All of this happens to maintain safety of the people of Israel; Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Druze and Bahai who struggle to live in peace upon this tiny piece of earth over the last 70 years, the last 5779 and probably beyond.
This land is fitted with sirens that soar their terrible song through every house and heart when chaos strikes. Almost every house, and every singe village, has a bomb shelter to run to. In the unfortunate moments when missiles are launched, people run to safety and most of the time, they get there before the missiles fall. Sometimes they dont.
I have a Druze friend who was alone at home when a missile hit is home in Peki’in. He was miraculously unscathed. Not everyone is that lucky - a man mowing his lawn in Kfar Aza heard the sirens and urged his wife inside as he continued to go about his day… he was not so lucky.
On this day, sirens ring throughout the country to commemorate the fallen. The entire country stops for these moments, stopping their cars in the middle of highways, getting out of their cars, heads bowed, eyes closes, and at times tears defy the incessant israeli narrative, to “be strong”. Our hearts beat alongside memories of anguish and fear that have been and many who suffer trauma are indeed returned to their nightmares, once more. There is no escape from the sensation of fear, sadness and imminence of death that reverberates though the people of Israel, when the sirens ring. Missiles or not. In my heart of hearts, I wonder, how the people are ever meant to move on into a new way of life, with such blatant reminders of war present year after year? Yes it is undeniable, that this story has long to go, as Gaza continues its vicious attacks - but I sincerely doubt whether this country would ever alter the setup of this day, and therefore, find it impossible to see the end of the struggle, the end of the trauma, and the end of history repeating itself. Ceremonies take place and songs are sung as history is redrawn into the present moments. Commemorating is a part of human dialogue. A part of what it means to be strong, to never forget. In this way, we reignite our pain bodies and allow the past to become our present once more. We will not be defeated even though they will try… and we will always be ready to fight and to die. This is the song of this day.
The radio blares with words from a new song, created especially for this year… it plays over and over as the weeks lead up to the day. I must have heard it 5 times yesterday, a sure way to wake up with the words circling in our heads, tune humming upon on my lips as I was first thing this morning..
Here is home, here is heart
And you I will not leave
Our ancestors, our roots
We are the flowers, the melodies
A tribe of brothers and sisters
The people of Israel form a long daisy chain of pain and promise.. and there are few words that could encapsulate the depth of emotion that pulses within each grain of human life here.
As soon as the ceremonies are over, the preparations for the celebrations begin. We move on as the day directs, wiping tears and waving flags. Celebrations are fuelled with the energy of the narrative ‘We have fought for freedom and we have won, and here we are home at last’. The familiar blue and white national flag multiplies into waves of patriotism that sway in the wind, from the cars, the houses, the hands of young religious boys who sell them at every traffic light. Parties are set up in every corner of every town and city, people organise their outfits, travel to festivals, and gather with friends and families. It is indeed the structure of this day, that follows only a week after Yom Hashoah, Holocaust day, that keeps the the people of this country ‘strong, righteous, and ready’. The ignites both passion and pain and above all, makes present, the inevitable prevalence and strength of spirit that will ensure the survival of its people.
I ask myself, and speak aloud... What kind of identity would Israeli’s and arguably Jews have if we didnt have struggle to survive? Would we still need to awake the pain and trauma of the people by sounding war sirens? How can peace of the people come about if the sounds of war continue to be relished and glorified year after year, and are they not in fact triggering people into a state of insecurity? Does this state of sadness and fear behave as an emotional prop up for the instant Independence Day after party? Are there not more conversations to have on this day, regarding the unfortunate ways in which Arabs had to be shifted and relocated to pave way for the massive amount of jewish refugees relocated to these lands 70 years ago? Should this land talk more of the pain of ALL its people, for surely its an outdated illogical ideology to still think that one kind of human is more important than another? Do the activities and structure of this day allow for the complexities of healing to take place so that history does not repeat itself…? Would we know who we are anymore, if these siren’s ceased to ring…?
I give thanks for the courage I was born with to rock the apple cart. May my commentary, commemoration and enquiry encourage all people to think and ask and check and check again that the ways of the systems we follow are feeding the insatiable appetite of the wolf that matches our intentions.
“It is No Measure of Health to Be Well Adjusted to a Profoundly Sick Society” Krishnamurti
I think one of the biggest problems is that people are using the supposed normalcy of society as a a yard stick to impose judgement upon those who are struggling to find their way, their place, their footing in this world. Why is it so hard to see the inherent normalcy in the struggle? The fact that stability isn’t always preferable to truth, when you feel like the living dead? The obviousness of wanting to escape from feeling stuck between a wall and hard place? The painful injustice that festers in ones heart when they realise that the people who told them what was what growing up had vested interests in controlling them. Why is it so unreasonable to understand the individual who supposedly has it all, who can turn around and say “fuck it” to the world, whilst wandering into the unknown because thats the only way that they can feel alive before they actually die. Why is it so hard to realise the rationality behind the words of the person who is in pain day in and day out, deciding that they would rather end their life than continue to live like that? Why don’t we question the one’s who made us assume that this was wrong in the first place?
Or is it simply that these years of humanity, are truly our first opportunity to break it all down and start thinking for ourselves?
As the generations roll on faster and faster, there’s no stopping the extent of our ability to question status quo and what has been assumed of us. We are all part of a big story, cogs in a machine that are creating something far from what we ever had a chance to choose. In one way or another, we have all been manipulated for reasons beyond us, because well, we were born into a world where the powers vested in whoever the fuck they are supposedly vested in are calling shitty shots for humanity. For sure comfort and security play a huge part in our wilful submission to be moulded and even our conscious effort to conform - and no doubt there are so many of us that agree with the need for law and order, that believe that democracy i.e. the will of the majority, is obviously a great thing! There are endless discussions about whether that is indeed the best we can hope to achieve for our sapien selves, knowing very well that the majority is more than often fearful if not ‘wicked’ and oh so easily manipulated. Combine the illusion of free will with the rhetoric of democracy and you get a game that is playing us as the empowered when really we are still just pawns in a much bigger, much greasier, gassed up oily machine that is chugging away at the earth’s resources.
Today, there are a growing number of us that feel not only do we have nothing to lose by speaking up, that the very essence of our soul depends upon our courage to say STOP. NO. WHAT THE FUCK. THAT’S WRONG. I’LL DECIDE FOR MYSELF. I have personally spent my whole life being like that, it came completely naturally to me and I had no inkling that there was something unusual about it - much to the dismay of most of the world around me, and most definitely much to my discomfort. When I was 10 I decided to take the negative position on the primary school debating team that argued the phrase “Dont upset the apple cart’ and had a deep affinity with all the amazing beings like Gallileo, Socrates and Rosa Parks. I knew which side I was on from then on. I was a dissenter and proud of it! What I didn’t realise, as a young outspoken-come-angry little girl, was how my rage was being experienced through the lens of society. That despite the somewhat changing way’s of our world, I was essentially compromising my femininity and simultaneously challenging the authority of masculinity - and that this was quite possibly one of the greatest causes for ostracism that had ever existed. So much so, that completely different communities, who don’t necessarily agree on anything at all and have even fought and killed each other for eons. can bond over women’s oppression and subsequent ostracism. Women have been the bottom of the human chain for a long long time, and being born into a supposedly FREE world has often left us bewildered and confused as to our identities. The foundations that built us, though covered with the waters of Western uprising, are still the pillars of our society, the underpinnings of our assumptions, judgements and experiences. Until we recognise where we have come from, we have no ability to see ourselves for what we have become. Take the Hasidic community for example. It never existed in this way before World War II. It is one of the tightest, most exclusive, righteous and ostracising communities in the world, that defends its ways through the armour of protecting that which was almost destroyed in WWII. Ironically I see this way of behaving as a key factor in perpetuating the unfortunate cycle of anti semitic persecution, and without a doubt, as another institutionalised justification for the systematic oppression of women.
Where have our beliefs lead us and what does it take to wake up and chose for ourselves?
For some people, choosing to explore life in order to be able to make educated decisions is simply not possible. Many of us have been robbed of time, money and independence and to take a leap of faith out of our communities is just another way of committing suicide. So many poor parents being sold on shelter and food in exchange for the souls of their young muslim children’s Jihad education has already lead us into territory that is more dangerous than we can even imagine. There are so many people out there who simply cannot speak up, cannot choose another way, cannot say STOP. We must first acknowledge the inherent struggle that exists inside humanity to think for ourselves, in order to realise what we are - players in a game full of rules that we didn’t make up.
Through each and every generation there have been people who have broken the rules, who have spoken up, who have risked their lives, compelled by some strange unafraid force, to stay integral and true. Today there are more of us than ever before and this includes the ones who are still unable to find their voice but know that if they could just do it, if they could just speak up, they would tear the fucking place down. Pain has a voice. Suffering has a voice. Oppression has a voice. Ordinary fucking depression has a voice. These are the voices that make up the song of change, the most empowered beautiful song that this world has ever heard, and its time for this chorus to find its way to the airwaves.. and bring the house down. Its time to break down the walls they built around us and build ourselves a huge open air amphitheatre!
I often wonder what I’m here for. What’s the cause that calls me, there are so many.. do I have to choose? What’s my purpose, why am I here? Sometimes I get flashes of possibilities - like now. Decidedly, I’m here to hold space for the masses to speak up. I am here to say that YES, we can go out on a limb by ourselves and survive, we can educate ourselves beyond our schools and universities. We can explore life outside the bubble of our communities, outside the safety of our homelands, outside the comfort of our personal beliefs. Im here to say that at some point we must risk our very selves to speak up today before the window of opportunity is gone. We go on assuming that change is slow and freedom is forever… but we have no reason to think this way. Everything can and will change. Nothing is a given! This is it, we are on schedule and maybe just in time… Born with voices to booooooom - not a second too late.
Worlds within worlds!
Flowing in every which direction with no idea of where we are going.
Our path a myriad of happenings, layers of interactions and intersections.
Our direction dependant on the exact tilt of the flipped cup that makes us US, all before we reach the age of 7, the foundations of our being already set in motion before we are even 4 years old, at the first moments of amnesia, when we have forgotten why we chose the colours we chose to manifest as we have.... when we are at the start of a new flow of being formed.
A puff of air, breath of the wind, creating spaces in between the masses of colour that becomes our 'pattern', our personality, our. way of being in the world...
At times our eyes focus on a particular space, a corner of our being, and cease to see the incredulous possibility that exists in the full picture.
Fractals of cells, joining and separating, becoming whole as they split apart, blissful moments when we fail to distinguish our bodies from another, we are one when we are all that is, in time and space.. until the paint starts to dry and we solidify our perspectives of our lives, when the stories inside our patterns reveal air bubbles and stray drips, when we have forgotten that all it takes to recreate ourselves is another full cup of paint, filled to the brim with whatever colours we choose to spill, for us to begin another chapter of our lives, another masterpiece just waiting to happen, unknown, mysterious, divine and infinitely perfect every time.
Is to be caught between a rock and many hard places
This essay is depicting an experience of being a woman like ME which is almost entirely personal but to which I have asserted particular generalisations. I would like to note that these generalisations are not meant to be depictive of ALL woman’s experiences. I acknowledge that not all women ache to procreate and that this does not make them any less woman than another. To be a woman is to be creation itself in all its infinite forms. Enjoy.
Perched at the precipice of an era, a first in human experience; to be an educated free woman, is both liberating and like being caught between a rock and many hard unyielding places. On the one hand, we have the ability to seek greater expansive perspectives of the world, enabling us to see patterns of life, from where we have come from to where we are going. At the outset this is an amazing opportunity fo us to develop knowledge and perhaps even wisdom. However, upon this deep inspection the discover more and more about about the big picture, which has this inevitable effect of leaving us feeling hopeless, wretched, full of with self loathing and doubt about our future. With an educated eye it is easy to see, that humanity, aka ‘US’, have created a situation of carnage and consumption. On the way towards this almighty sapien hold up of the world, humans have become dependant upon a certain way of life that feeds the beast. One of the most obvious and powerful components of being a woman is that of being able to bring the new life into the world. This usually exciting prospect, today, is understandably fraught with anxiety for those of us who know and who dare to think about the state of the world and the future of humanity. To bring new life into this world, we accept the fact that we are essentially condemning the greatest loves of our lives to finding their way through this maze of escalating chaos. And yet on the other hand, the ancient biology of a a woman’s body still yearns to to do what it has been literally bleeding to do since the tender age of 11 years…
As with all great dilemmas there are many sides the story. One may easily claim that having a child with the intention of bringing up an educated moral and ethical being is exactly what this world needs! Some may go so far as asserting that one would be selfish not to follow this path. But of course, we only have so much say on how a child will grow into an adult, and there is no guarantee that the little person will want to become an environmental earth warrior, activist or conscientious objector. On top of that, unless strong measures are taken, the sad reality is that our children may be swept up in the roaring frenzy of technological uprising and capitalistic normalcy and join the unconscious masses. And then what? Just another mouth to feed? Am I to sacrifice myself for the possibility that my child will outlive me and go on to serve humanity? And what’s with consciously choosing to bring a new life into in a world that I have endless issues with… environmentally, politically, emotionally….?! A world where the state’s imposition of authority over our autonomy has become acceptable and normal, where the general flow of society is to follow the orders imposed upon them. Where our freedom is conditional upon us being owned in some way shape or form and where war is the way of the future… why would I choose to do that? I have looked after zillions of children and am aunty to so many. I wonder what part of me is grieving to not have them myself, and whether this feeling is more about me fulfilling a role I was supposedly made to fill, as a woman.
Where is the ‘right’ choice inside all of this?
The answers to this heart wrenching dilemma, are truly no where to be found. Choice is in constant flux with the waxing and waning between knowledge and biological callings. It seems we can either accept ourselves as part of a human species, and multiply forth as we have done since the beginning of time, or we can put a stop to this incessant consumption of the earth, by taking a stand in not having a baby and use every second of our own lives to stand up for change on this planet.
Birthing new life has become (or perhaps always was) a double edged sword. On the one hand, modern technology is destroying the next generation’s interpersonal skills and on the other hand, technology allows me the freedom as a single woman, to choose to have a child without a man. But, to devote every waking hour to childcare and financial accumulation for the purposes of maintaining the care of the child, and potentially compromise aspects of my own life, at least to the extent of what I can do with it, seems like a crazy choice down a difficult road without a solid reason - and yet, to argue with the wanting, wishing and resounding will of the womb is based on rationality and doesn’t stand a chance against emotionality of a hormonally charged woman. The truth is there really is no right answer; and this is only the beginning of what it means to be caught between a rock and many hard places!
The issue of being a woman today, and dealing with the above predicament, is steeped in many hundreds of thousands of years of social history, and yet essentially, we have all been learning from the generation directly before us about what is right wrong standard and acceptable. For this reason, unless we are educated, we have very little context to understanding why we think the way we do. For example, born in the 80’s, sex was already an everyday word, and by the 90’s the issue of contraception bombarded our lives from a very young age. Pregnancy was ultimately to be avoided at all costs. We didn’t really ask why, or even when might be a reasonably time for the motherhood ban to be lifted… We ate the daily contraceptive pills we were given and were left to fend for ourselves as we tended to our own sex education. In other words, completely and utterly blind and alone. It came naturally to think that being able to have sex whenever we wanted with whoever we wanted equated ‘sexual liberation’. It so a particular undertone followed, that a woman’s right to be promiscuous was in fact her instating her power over being controlled. And though this might all make some sense, there were other consequences of meeting sexual suppression with the same aggression that man had imposed on women for so many years. Young sexual women suddenly ripe to explore, who had not been taught the sanctity of our bodies or the importance of sensing and knowing our boundaries, collided with a social assertion that being sexually active was analogous to being empowered. And away we went, raring to learn about men, sex, ourselves and life, the hard way. As can be imagined, this combination equated nothing short of disaster for many women. During this time, the internet came to life. Porn became a key player in our education of what was sexy and what was expected of us. We were taught to perform in certain ways instead of listen to the feelings inside our bodies. As a young woman, expectations were imbued with servitude and surrender, whilst men were taught to take without asking, pound without concern for whether the woman being pummelled was actually enjoying it at all. Sadly, he was given very little to no guidance as to women’s sexual nature, and often had absolutely no regard for whether she had reached climax or even been enjoying herself at all. Standard.
What? a woman enjoys sex - wait, she can also reach climax?! For many boys and men, this was and still is a) unknown, b) a trivial possibility and c) not entirely relevant or his problem. As young developing adults, we continued to deny the significance of having been taken without asked, whilst we were drunk, asleep or simply too shy to speak up. Trauma built up over time, until we began to understand what had happened to us. Until our bodies started to react in ways we suddenly needed to listen to. And only then, did we start to question the system that lead us down the illusory plank of ‘sexual empowerment’. Surely feeding ourselves to the wolves was not the most empowering way of owning our sexuality, but the path that IS a woman’s empowerment is long and bumpy. It is within her willingness to walk the path at all, that the requirement for empowerment is met; to meet oneself every step of the way, this is what it means to be empowered. To explore, to discover, to learn, to grow and to teach. Contextually, my generation had very little idea of the history of women; that women have never been allowed to speak up before, let alone vote or be educated. We were effectively the first generation to take these rights for granted, and therefore, have been unable to sense or feel that this deep historical oppression still lies underneath our progressive story of empowerment.
Fast forward, I, alike many of other intelligent, beautiful and independent 30 something year old women, have not met my match yet, or become pregnant along the way. In fact, by this stage of life, its feels as if the generic relationship between man and woman has almost reached a climax of collision. Women finally finding their voice, and their freedom to speak up and out for the first time, and men completely unequipped to deal with the emotional entourage they have been fuelling for the last hundreds of thousands of years. Additionally, once we reach our 30’s most of us have loved and lost. And it fucking hurt. We gave our innocent selves away and got whipped in the process. Now, whilst women hear the tick tock of their womb clock and see the looming end of the line, men start to realise that they have much more time then they had initially given themselves space for and get married to the ultimate non-committal social movement: Polyamory! Its like a tug of love; she pulls too hard and he lets go altogether. She goes flying into a pile of other fed up women and he goes off to fuck the younger ones on their polyglamorous path to empowerment! The dirty 30’s are so much dirtier than we ever imagined them to be.
Meanwhile, I return to the central question and find myself faced with the urgency of whether I am going to choose to make a family, On My Own. To choose to go out on a limb and become a single mum, like so many of my friends have ended up. I was never 100% sure or determined to be anything in particular… but there was one thing I thought I “knew” for sure, and this was that I would be a mother one day. Today, as a single woman, I am forced to think hard about whether making a baby by myself is the most integral choice for me my life and the journey of humanity at large - and what life could be like if I decided to choose otherwise. That I could choose a childless path despite the the agony I have gone through every month for the last 24 years, despite the fact that body is literally bleeding to reproduce and that my breasts were definitely designed for suckling… and that perhaps choosing NOT to have a baby, is what it means to be empowered as a woman in my position today. Such interrogations of the issue lead me to recognise and acknowledge that myself and other women like me, are indeed mothers of humanity, regardless of whether our body produces babies or not and that no matter what happens, we are the results of hundreds of thousands of years of formation, of giving ourselves and our lives to the big picture of life. The only difference is that NOW, we have a voice and are ready to use it - we are in the labour of a story that has been in the gestation of humanities womb for a long, long time and like all births, this one is messy, painful, complicated and bound to be astonishingly beautiful.
Every woman has her own story to tell about the ebbs and flows of her menstrual cycle. Some suffer less, some suffer more than words could propose to express. For me well, i fall into the latter as many people in my life will already know. I’m going to try to describe what it feels like…There is an edge to everything. Soft sounds can ring harsh and easy tasks exasperate me. I misjudge corners and stub my toes. My mind becomes foggy and frazzled. I sound hostile. Patience levels start to plummet, eventually falling to somewhere below the zero line. I was never particularly patient with men, but the week before my period, if he interrupts me whilst I’m speaking, I will tell him how I am feeling very clearly. If he argues, clear becomes more assertive and if he gets defensive, well, he has just asked for the full expression of telling-it-like-it-is. Thats just the way it goes. I have tried to contain myself at these awkward moments, to avoid the ignorant male who cant see past his own reflection, but when a surging of fury born from multitudes of generations of silenced women comes beaming forth at the speed of light… I seem to be at the mercy of raging hormones.
Sadly, obviously, and at no fault of their own, most men (though I have never had a man turn to me with compassion and say, sorry for interrupting, I can see you are suffering right now maybe you are at that shitty stage of your cycle) have no conception of what it means to be a women. Hey, us women weren’t even taught about our cycles, and neither are the little girls being educated TODAY. There is zero education about The 4 Stage Cycle running through her body every single month, until menopause when the entire hormonal story changes into another extreme hormonal reality altogether. Needless to say, it is a hormonally hardcore situation to be a woman. My question is, why is it so easy to see, that nothing is for free in business, in life generally, but when it comes to gestating and rearing a human civilisation, this is supposedly a one sided offering? No guys, its not. It takes a lot of inner workings, chemical reactions and hormones to do this magical creation thing, and it costs us our sanity at times, can be agonisingly painful, and emotionally exhausting. On top of that, women are still expected to do everything men do to take care of ourselves and our lives and of course, the babies and children we have pushed out of our vaginas. We have 24hours of child care giving ON TOP of the bleeding, the shitty moods and it’s hard for most men to understand why a woman who gets frustrated, angry or assertive sometimes.
What are we going to do about this? Feels like we really need to rethink education. Firstly, I, as a woman, was never taught about my 4 stages in my cycle. When i started to bleed it was not really an event that we celebrated… it was hushed to save me from embarrassment as far as I can remember. Today I think that’s a bit sad and wish we had had a party.... I think boys should be taken aside at school when they are very young and taught exactly what's what, including the fact that women are super special because of all the hard work their bodies, mind and spirit does for this species, i.e. creating us from the inside out! That the most basic law of nature is that boys and men must respect them as if they are gods because that IS basically what they are.
For the last forever-as-we-know-it, women have been dealing with servitude, oppression, persecution, tyranny, endless abuse, imbalance of power, exploitation, subjugation, repression, suppression, enslavement, rape and murder the list goes on and this is the first time in history that we have the ability to actually BE ANGRY OUT LOUD. Halefuckingluja. Surprise! No, dont be surprised if we express ourselves loudly at times, because Its about time. To the men who still interrupt when she is expressing how she feels - please, Listen. There is so much to learn from women, and not only do we deserve your respect, but you owe it to the divine who is gracing you with expression of how she feels, for what you could never ever fully understand but only imagine, to hold your tongue and hold space. I know this all comes as a shock and feels like a knock to your 'masculinity' but there has been some confusion. Listening and holding space for a woman IS your masculinity in action. Dont even do it for yourself, do it for humanity.
We have a long way to go to bridge this gap between men and women. Yesterday I listened to a podcast about the times not so long ago when Dr’s aka men were trying to discover what the strange little knob above the vagina hole was, they where so confused as it clearly had nothing to do with making babies so why was it there? At one point they decided that the clitoris was an abnormal growth and some women where made to have it cut off! Then they started to explore why women would get so upset at time... Angry upset women were labelled as ‘hysterical’ and treatments where usually a ‘pelvic massage’ that resulted in an orgasm. No doubt this helped somewhat, but at no point in this exploration is there a record of men asking women how they where feeling... having so many demands placed on them and not being able to say how they felt... How did it get the the stage that men thought of women as unintelligent and incapable? After many years of thought, I have come to propose a theory that the general case of men hold an inherent insecurity that lies at the core of their oppressive behaviour - And how did that happen? There are very few things that are cross culturally relevant - and there are also a lot of layers of cellular memory and societal teachings to take into consideration - but most essentially, the thing that binds us all together in common, is that all women make the babies and bring them up as young children. This is a universal thing about humanity. And therefore, one specific thing has occurred for all men and it is this: at the point at which a baby boy realises it is separate from its mother, it is not simply another being like a baby girl is, who is a continuation of her mother who will (typically) automatically become a woman when she starts to bleed. For a boy, at the same time he realises he is seperate, he also realises that he is a completely different thing to his mother. The depth of his ‘what am i?” is mostly unconscious and results in the little boy needing much more guidance as to his role and place in the world. Traditionally this was always the way things played out with boys being guided and initiated into manhood via very specific rights of passage. Today, and historically in the west, this guidance and initiation into manhood has almost all but been eroded into the everyday plight of making money to buy things to live. Yes there are bar mitzvahs, but I would argue that the teachings of becoming a man are grossly lacking in reference to the necessary reverence for woman that is required to wholeheartedly realise that the mother EARTH and all the women on her is the ultimate gift he has been given to take care of. (Which means listening and learning from her wisdom!). I can see that such a deep rooted insecurity has both intensified and become hidden over the years, to the point where men today (not all but generally), have no idea why they are the way that they are. Threatened by the creator, the mother, because they are entirely confused about who they are and what their purpose is in this world. The more they oppress her the more confused they have become, and they have forgotten the reason behind this confusion: which is ultimately fear of the power of pure creation itself. When a woman expresses herself, when she roars, when she is angry, when she says, writes, or yells how she is feeling - this is the power of pure creation itself, and apparently its the most threatening thing in the world. Just as Llith was when she said “No, I will not lie beneath you” and was consequently banished from the garden of Eden - * Alphabet of ben Sirach (c. 700–1000 CE)
In my wildest imagination, an appropriate and effective ceremony for boys when they have come of age would be to be guided into a large multi layered circle of women from the community, to stand in a small circle mapped out for him in the very centre of all the layers of women, young old and in between, as they slowly walk in a circle, allowing him to see all of their faces and feel all of their strong sacred energy. No smiles of comfort given, no looks of judgement. Only pure love from their hearts met with what I can only imagine would be pure fear of a young boy, would be the magic of this initiation. A lesson of reverence, about what it means to be with the grace of a woman, to know how powerful women are is what it takes for a man to truly know what he IS as a man. A sacred protector in reverent service. For if he knows this in every cell of his body, over time, I think that the rage would begin to quell, and the healing would be profound.
Truthfully, If I could do exactly what is best for me the week before my period, (yes - The whole fucking week). I would stock up on food, lock myself up in my house (or a red tent), turn off my phone, cut the internet connection, and paint, write, do yoga and meditate all day every day. This would be best for me and quite possibly the whole world. Inshallah that is exactly what I am creating... in the meantime I apologise to anyone who has found themselves in the line of fire this week! PMS and grief is a deadly combo...! Forgiving myself, and getting ready for my monthly ritual of shedding releasing and surrendering to the flow of pain and pleasure and all that IS.
There comes a time in life where we realise that This Is It. Such a thought comes in waves… at times a gentle caressing reminder, and at others, a total ass whipping. This is it. And though it may be that we are born again and again and again, from a deathbed to delivery bed, out one story and into another, the fact of the matter is, we still only ever have this moment to experience ourselves as a living breathing self conscious human. ‘This is it’ is a NOW thing. An absolute all encompassing realisation that what has been and what will be has absolutely nothing to do with anything anymore because life is swooping by and our momentum to realise what we are is but a crawl… Time, whatever that actually is, isn’t waiting for us to figure this out. Instead of grabbing our own shoulders and shaking the shit out of our fearful bewildered bodily beings, we find ourselves seized by paralysis , making a million reasons why life didn’t go the way it should have. The way we wanted it to. We pick up yet another self help book that declares the ways to grow and conquer - we read half of it, feel demeaned by the authors seeming greatness, skip to a TEDx talk on how to get on with life, get distracted by an ad that reminds us of something else we need in order to be whole - and then feel hungry again. Hungry for another fix, to ease the pain of not being able to feel ourselves, our bodies, our lives, right now in the here and now. A cigarette will do - Or maybe a meditation. We all have our own ways of escaping. We are all holding on in our own ways, to our stories, our sadness, our rightness, our methods.. Those of us without children desperately trying to find meaning for our existence before we die. Demanding a legacy of ourselves so that we can feel we contributed to humanity somehow, because, wasn’t that the point? Or is it simply our ego challenging us to be still? As we spend our lives trying to be remembered after we die, we simultaneously ignore the reality of our mortality as we meander down the path of life’s everydayness. Trivial worries and concerns guide us down the path yesterdays tomorrow - leading us nowhere but closer to the inevitable moment of loss - when we least expect it, the people we love most in the world, will die, and we will be faced with a whole new entourage of This. Is. It.
Sometimes the urgency of this realisation lifts us up, and sometimes it breaks us down. Seeking the point only leads one down the rabbit hole, and living a life for no particular reason at all etches question marks upon all ‘worthy’ endeavours, despite the fact that the gift of life is already staring us down the barrel of existence. We are alive NOW. What to do? where to go? when to change it up, and what does it matter if everything will simply turn to dust? If it weren’t for the depth of lessons and bridges of being that lead our species on in the quest for meaning, we could pretty much skip life altogether - and yet here we are. Making our way through as we have for millions of years, trying to understand the rhyme and reason for our existence. Comparing grandiosity with presence, balancing survival with a life well lived. Women torn in two, whether giving birth, or childless; for the yearning of the body to give birth is met with a painful reality, a questioning of whether it is even the right thing to do to bring another human into this deeply fuct up world. Torn, when body meets mind and tries to make sense of it all - tries to understand what is the best, right, and true way to live this one and only life that we get to experience right now until we die. Hidden behind banners and mottos of positivity and power is a deep seated fear of life’s inevitable tragedy - presence disguised by pretty parades of people speaking up for their rights, the same people who so easily deny their authentic selves during the most intimate conversations with trusted companions - What is real in this game of life?
Sometimes life sweeps you off your feet and it seems like all the decisions of what to do and where to go have been obvious, and sometimes we are left standing at the fork, fighting the indecision of which way to go and what to create. Sometimes we feel lucky and sometimes we feel cursed. Mostly it just depends on how we look at it . Always best to take responsibility for the weird and wacky random synchronicity of divine timing. In other words, it really doesn’t matter - seize the day and choose a way. OR, just take on the challenge and sit in stillness until the waters part and the path is revealed. When in doubt do nothing, close your eyes, sense the body that houses the answers, and wait… wait for the dust of millions of lives lived to settle upon the yellow brick road of destiny, let us be walked home to ourselves, to our lives right here right now. Back to the inevitable realisation that there is no where to go, nothing to be. Because This. Is. it. To BE the infinite expanse of time is to LIVE, because life ain't waiting for us to figure it out. Breath, Choose, release. Breath. Choose release. This is the game. There is no right. Just here and now, choices made and choices to make, this is a life lived. And then we fly on… every time. Death awaits us, in every friend that we meet, in every heart we hear beat and in every love shared - death beckons us to live in ways we never dreamt of. To live as if we are alive, for only a very short time. Because really - thats all there is.
There comes a time in life when we hear the sound of our story being wound up inside our heart, like a music box, the handle starts to turn slower and we can hear each and every note.. and if we choose, we can hum along in our broken beautiful scratchy worn and weary voice. This is the moment when we hear the beat of our own heart, because we have finally realised that one day, this pumping organ will stop and we wont have ears to listen anymore. This is a game of forgetting who we are, to remember who we are. The game is on, and there are no winners. Death awaits us and THIS IS IT The rules to the game? Grab your shoulders like they are dice and throw yourself off the abyss of creation! let go, love and play with all your heart because there really is nothing to lose. Before we know it, this game is over and another round will be beginning, again as a tiny unknowing dependant baby screaming for that which has all but been forgotten....
How strange and ironic it is, that the one thing we are all going to have to face in our lives at some point of another, is the one thing we avoid until it happens… this experience that changes who we are forever, is something that we are simply unable to appreciate or empathise with, until the day we experience it for ourselves. Yes, I am talking about Death. The inevitable ‘loss’ of our loved ones.
The end of the two way physical realm relationships.
The ultimate goodbye.
They say it is better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all - to be spared from the experience of loss is to have missed one of the fundamental highlights of life. Love. And not only is it impossible for us to prepare for this goodbye, it remains one of the vital and most significant aspects of our human lives. They say, that the way we deal with loss and grief, plays a crucial role in who we are to become. Whether we cling, and get stuck in regret, emptiness and sadness; or whether we let go and allow a new sense of wholeness to be born; the turning of a this new chapter propels us into our lives once and for all, urging us closer to our own inevitable death. And yet - this process of healing is long and infinite with no single passage to the other side.
I recall the times before, hearing of people, friends and even extended family, losing loved ones. I remember having felt the general pain of loss, on the surface of my being and knowing that i was somehow unable to feel further than my own experience.. In retrospect, my ability to empathise was extremely limited. Now, i can see, that I was so so far from understanding the true pain of loss. My imagination unable to comprehend such an emotion; humanities survival mechanism perhaps, for to know of the inevitable grief that comes with life and love could indeed jeopardise the way we experience life at all. I always knew that nothing would prepare me for the devastation I would feel one day, when someone dear and important to my sense of being and identity would disappear forever. I dreaded this inevitable moment. I tried to prepare myself by facing the reality of it - and yet, sudden loss is merciless. And here I am. Unprepared as ever, raw and devastated - In the thick of grief, a seemingly never ending ocean of heart palpitations, tears, waves of numbness, and disbelief. Utter disbelief that the main hero in my story, is gone.
The mind wanders to strange places and I find myself asking whether the degree to which we have expressed our loved, measures the depth of our grief.. or whether one’s pain is heightened due to love that was held back in a case of too-little-too-late? I wonder how many ways a person can be thrown into the desperate sorrow of never seeing someone they loved again. Does grief ever end? As this nightmarish reality seeps into my being, and I wake in fright from bizarre dreams that feed my nights, the weeks pass by, and the pain merely intensifies. I still have no idea how life will shine again. I feel like i’m swimming in the dark, with no shore in sight, as the world continues to spin and life goes on around me. I look around at people living life, people who have lost and people who will lose…. I try to understand how they can go on despite this seeming thievery, the gaping holes that are left in place of significant others. And I am left with nothing but a distance form of trust - if they can do it, so can I? i wonder. Sometimes, It feels like so few people understand this pain… and yet, most people must? this is LIFE after all - and life means Death. How is it that we dont talk about this? How is it that people rush onwards without pause? The strange things people can say in response to the sad news of death, like, “Many people dying lately” and “you must be hurting so much, but guess what i have a new boyfriend!” are comments that catapult me into the abyss of solitude.. I’m sorry - what? i just lost my father. my hero. my saviour. my friend…
I find myself Seized by desperate desire to know where he went…
Does he know he died? Does he miss us? Can he see us, feel us, help us…? Anxiety grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me but i cant move.. time is flying by and all feel is the paralysis of sadness. I am spent - another day passes and my heart is still in pieces. Time oh blessed time, my friend, my enemy, my mirror to the other side. I pray for healing. For understanding. For forgiveness. For the rhythm of life’s receded waves to become an outpouring of love, abundance and creative flow… that the death of a loved one could bring me deeper into the realisation of who i am, during this brief stint of living, is my wish.
Death bring me closer to living. Loss, leave me with a wholeness undreamt of. Love, leave me with unfathomable trust. Emptiness, bring me richness of spirit. Broken heart, reveal the pain of others so that compassion flows bountifully upon everyone I meet… pain, teach me gratitude for all that life is and all that it isn’t. Darkness, help me to see the light so that I can see the path to another beautiful day - That my willingness to feel, wonder, cry and question shall eventually deliver me into a new space of peace, ease and grace... I pray.
17 years world traveller, internationally recognised award winning body painter with a background in Anthropology, Orly delves deep into the enquiry of what it means to be a human being and ceaselessly expresses her art whilst following her heart. , Specialising in mimitism (camouflage), Orly's current expressions are a moving living creative and expansive entity that represents her passion for re-merging humanity with the earth from which we came, sustainable conscious living, healing the sacred feminine as we learn to respect our mother earth and advocacy for balancing commercial gain with global and local contributions.