Full Moon Transformation: women’s animals

Full Moon Transformation…..

I grew up in a culture with a father and teachers- in a community that was frightened of women’s animals. By animal I mean the primal, ferocious, raw, screaming, clawing, chaotic aspect of the feminine. The feminine that will not be silenced, orderly, rule-following, and will stand sexy and powerful on her own. This is not to call all of these people out as bad or wrong- they are in a long line of patterned patriarchs who gain security through being around “safe” women. After all, a woman’s animal is ferocious, unpredictable- and that can be intimidating (and undermine current “way things are”).

But, and here’s the thing, we women (all of us really) need our animals. It’s our primal instinct, that part of us that defends our sense of worth, individuality and power until the end. Not power over others, yet power birthed from standing in a healthy sense of self: the power of being a beloved, worthwhile child of God. It can be said that a person who knows their power in this way can never be a slave of anyone or any thing. 

Ini and I have been fighting for days. It seems this full moon has brought even another layer out of the subconscious stew, revealing more and more growth, transformation, learning. Our animals have been beckoning each other. Claw, talon, tail whip, verbal slash- we’ve been “in it”. I am grateful for this heightening; I’ve come to fully know my animal. I have a deep feeling I’ve needed to let it out, to test it, to know if someone else whom I’ve put deep trust in cold hold it. And he can.

This type of relational transformation, this carving out and testing has helped to whole (heal) me. It’s given me more self possession. It shows me that perhaps I don’t have to let my animal out every time now that I know it’s there. Through this I’ve come to know my animal more, and like the person who knows their boundary and doesn’t need to scream it to be heard, I can speak it and so it is.

Culturally speaking, in the lineage of generations of patriarchy, we all need to bring in this ability to hold an empowered feminine. This is the work of people with male, female and whatever bodies, not solely of a feminist movement. Yes, it is scary, both on a personal and collective level to allow this level of animal in- but we must do it to move from a level of suppression (of creativity, individuality, universally empowered and free humanity) to one of full-life. 

This may be one of our greatest cultural taboos- the fear of strong women. Generations of patriarchy have indoctrinated and carefully trained women how to dance with power in subversive and behind-the-scenes ways. Women hold power, it’s just usually handed over on the surface- and they follow this route for their own safety and success. Yet for us to evolve in the necessary ways, straightforward demonstrations of feminine and masculine desire, attainment, sexuality/passion, and strong self-hood must come in- one animal at a time.

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That other night in Las Vegas

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When they started playing ‘Thank god I’m American where at least I know I’m free,’ I knew then that we were in a mind-control zone. Las Vegas is a place of entrancement and of illusion. My third eye glowed and pressed the entire time- I wasn’t going to be fooled or sucked in.

All this year my lips have refrained from alcohol- a message I received while with ayahuasca bid me to abstain for the year. It’s the first year since my early 20s I’ve not had anything to drink. On Bourbon St in New Orleans, the closest thing I’ve witnessed to Las Vegas, I tried all of the ‘drinks to have’ and, of course, wound up incredibly drunk in a near-stranger’s bed.

Being very sensitive, alcohol, paradoxically, was my way of coping with strong & base energies, cigarette smoke and ‘heavy’ environments. It gave me a kick of unconsciousness that I would’ve otherwise not had, and probably wouldn’t’ve been able to endure nor had the desire to engage in many of the social climes I’ve dipped in.

Yet tonight, and all this year, I’ve been thankful for this sobriety. My warrior self needs it as I connect dots and see all that I can see. We didn’t spend any money on the strip, save $2 for parking. We were driving through the area on our way to California from Arizona and thought, Hey, let’s check it out (in a “keep your enemies closer” line of thinking– and from curiosity). We tried the free slots on Freemont St. Ini got 2/3 on all three we tried. A man tried to rope us into some promo deal. We walked on.

Quickly I started to feel sick in the unnatural lighting, smoke and glaring emptiness. In an earlier moment I might’ve grabbed some booze to acclimate, so that I could actually be there/ stand the environment. Yet we walked on, observing all of the displays.

Only two people, out of hundreds, were dancing and singing as if they had won something significant. They were two older republican-looking men wearing near-matching Polos, skipping, arms around each other. Everyone else was wrapped up zombie-like staring at some half-naked dancing person, street display, or glued into the machines.

I knew we were in a mind-control area when that song started playing. Everyone stopped moving and many took their phones/cameras out and started videotaping the ceiling which became a uniform image of an American flag with scrolling military faces and fighter jets. Then that song came on. All noises collaborated with this one song. Every disparate energy became united beneath the American Flag. Drunk people started singing and tearing up. We were surrounded by patriots and, though previously they were like hotels flashing vacancy signs, they all suddenly woke up and started marching like wind-up toy soldiers. It felt like a moment at church when the people are moved by something that strikes you as preposterous. Yet everyone was playing along, entranced. That’s when I saw the thread connecting this reptilian lineage. Money, War, Oil, bright flashings lights (media) and the songs and symbols (flag) that tie it all together.

I learned that song in 5th grade. We sang it, all of the grades in unison, at our end of the year performance at Amy Beverland in middle-Indiana. It probably felt so good at the time, as we basically unconsciously learned this song, to all sing together, ages 6-10. The attempt at programming, you see, has passed by all of our gazes. It’s especially strong with the bright lights, naked dancers, cheap booze and possibility of winning thousands of dollars, but it’s as subtle as a McDonalds on every corner and the media craze of the ‘War on Terrorism.’ The Patriarchs from our country are terrorists enough; they ought to call war with themselves and leave our land and people alone.

As we drive away from the bright lights into the solitude and darkness of death valley, the moon rests in front of us. Yellow timeless crescent, she will far outlast these bright shining lights. Our culture is like a pigmy elephant riding the back of a large whale in the middle of the ocean the size of three worlds. It doesn’t make any sense and it is so very small in comparison… With time & galaxies firing and off setting.

Ayahuasca gave me this message, too, as we laughed into the night. We all are so small! Generations! Ha! It’s like the skin off of that Great Serpents back. Shed and shed and shed. We are like a flicker in comparison of the passing sands of time.

It’s good for me to remember this, to reflect with the moon as she sits there cradled in the sky and I feel the dark close in around me, the pressing dark of the cold desert night. In the reptilian game of bright flashing lights, the built up system of money, all of that illusion of external gain, it is good to feel the cold, powerful desert press close, womblike, as we ride into the night and I remember what endures as the stars shine overhead. Perhaps tomorrow we will be mesmerized and directed by our solar system’s brightest flashing light, our sun and further humbled by the heat. We are out of Las Vegas into Death Valley, after all, and that precludes a whole different game of survival.

notes on the patriarchy, awareness, death &, finally, life

One time when I was little my family went to Florida for a couple weeks. We rented a house there right by the ocean and her white sands. I remember feeling so excited! Oozing with the glee that makes you shiver.

Erin and I made it out early one morning and found purple sea cucumbers splattered all over the beach, as if it’d been raining squishy tubes. Long and responsive, we poked them with sticks. Purple goo came out. They were still alive and I didn’t understand them. I felt intrigued and a little creeped out and made sure not to step on them.

I found sharks teeth in the eroding cliffs and I remember the house we rented had a shower room, not just a stall. With two shower heads and tiled walls. I loved the shower. It forever changed my ideas of what showers could be.

Our ancestors can pass on many things to us. Mine passed onto me white skin, which, as I grow older, holds a lot more implications than I realized as a child. One also passed on a few shares of stock in McDonalds. Isn’t that ironic?

We get many patterns from our family, some of which we may wish to no longer keep. We’re all dying. And with us, hopefully, generation by generation, our unheard & unhealed patterns and wounds. Our nasty repetitions embedded before birth, hammered home in childhood and cemented in adolescence to be lived out into maturity and passed on once again.

We can be the ones to shift the cycle, though some patterns feel as deep as the Grand Canyon. Time, presence, awareness, loving support, envisioning and witnessing new possibilities- all of these can help to start shift age old patterns. Some may seem as natural as breathing, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for change.

I was reflecting on the patriarchal control or possession often called love or care. How these things don’t always make sense and they’re not easy to put into words because they’re so pervasive and therefore hard to see. But these hold memories too, capable of being fresh, recalled, and looked at.

For example, this morning the smell of lumber, black coffee and a sound like the droning of Rush Limbaugh (who I used to complain “gave me a headache” even in my youth), brought back memories of feeling trapped and detained as a child. Not all childhood memories are sweet and not all parents’ actions are perfect, not all of the ancestral hand-me-downs are things we consider keeping. Some should be burned in an incinerator. The patriarchy is dying and, as I wrote earlier, so are we all.

Let these cycles stop with me. Let my form be a fresh breath of awareness. Learn me love full of freedom, care without control, & loving intention without possession.

Let there be true love in the world and let it start with me.

May these old forsaken patterns die with us. May we awaken to a fresh dawn, a new spring, a lively, enchanted and bright morn.

the way home

We are maybe not as firm or as steadfast as we thought we were. We are more porous. Leaky. Searching.

We are so full! Ever-wafting the breezes of the night watchmen. How old do you think I am? I am as old as the cypress trees. I smell it coming every time it rains.

We have to bring back our animal. Shake off the colonization. Take off that old pelt; frisk yourselves and each other of it. Know yourself as spirit animal. Reach deeply into your own core and come out throbbing.

There is no future. There is no past. Speak! for the infathomable and glowing now. Let it haunt you on your day breaks. Carry it with you as an old friend. Caress it as it beseeches you for its favorite food. Concede. Continue.

We are all pressed by our souls to do these things. What my animal wants may not be what yours has a tongue for. But they all love the open air. Let it out to breathe. Bark. Whisper. Feel the moon press upon your ancient forbidden crown. Feel your eternality grow in the space between breaths. Press the middle of your ribcage between your breasts. This is where magic happens. This is what we live for. Let this ripen and fruit and fall from your tree in a myriad of successions.

Be poor if you will, yet hone this. Do not forget though your oppressor calls you in to punch the clock. This land is your land. There is no time. Be like the root in the ground that no one sees or assumes is breathing. Breathe still. Know the vibrancy you carry may be buried in the ground and keep rowing anyway. Your root will find you. Watch as it beckons your strange animal. There is nothing to fear. You are your own best friend. Your animal, piqued, will always lead the way home.

medicine people, new and old

As in times of old, the people went to the doctors for their ills. Yet, as time would have it, in keeping step with modern life, the face of the doctor has changed much. You see, it used to be there was a woman sitting out beneath the oaken sheath. She’d sit there all day in yonder field, sewing, milking her one goat fair, making cheese, or spinning an old yarn for the children who came by after school. It’was like this in the olden days. Whereas now, the old man you go to see in a sterile room doesn’t know your family, doesn’t have a goat or sheep and himself is harboring a cold from spending all his time indoors and is sick from false air.

‘Tis no surprise that it’s ended up in this way, my kin, but it is a shame if you ask me. With the new modern white-coat, who beat out the old hag long ago, many of the finest things about country medicine have been lost in those times, too. Many aides are lost in this sterility. Before, the midwife would come tromping over on a horse, she’d sit with ya while you were ill and she’d bring her knapsack of herbs picked from her very own garden. But now, we again have ‘em in white lab coats making medicines in glass beakers. ‘Tis nothing wrong with this, in fact, it’s an advancement in many ways. Yet, what’s fallen out in the middle of this great divide has a lot to do with bedside manner and accessibility.

You see, along with that there midwife having the keys to yer healing in her own garden, she’d share somma those seeds with you, too. And that very plant which did grow in your very garden then, was the same plant that healed ya last year. She’d’ve taught ya how to use it and so you knew that and could pass it on. It became the medicine of the house, the medicine spreading everywhere it’s needed. Try to do that with a beaker drug! No, in that way this current medical system makes us dependent.  And when someone’s dependent, it’s true that they become helpless in some way. Use to be people knew how to take care of themselves and pass on the healing knowledge, but now it’s relegated to ol white gown in his white sterile room.

The dependency isn’t doing good things for our society, you see. Yes, it saves lives and makes some a great deal better, but a lot falls through the cracks, a whole lot isn’t getting much better. And it’s this I’m writing about, this that needs a-pointing-to, cuz it’s easy to get swept up in “what is” and forget there could be somewheres better we can go. Medicine of the people, medicine of the earth, the old white coats make a fear factor about the herbs, but they’re the traditional allies of what cures.

a softening

Among the people you’ve known for a long time, who is the person who’s changed the most over the years? Was the change for the better?

people at my age just dig in further. they get more intense in a certain thing, like entrenched, which sounds terrible.

so i’d have to say it’s either you or your sister.

she goes on to talk about my sister. and her softening.

i was really saddened by her harshness. i didn’t want her to turn into this bitter person who was so controlling. cuz she’s a worrier, she really is.

i’m so glad to see her soften.

how do you think she softened?

her relationship with her husband. 


 

i asked my mom this question, as she was sitting here near me on this saturday morning, and i didn’t really have anyone come into my mind. my sister was a feisty child. at around age 8 she had a life threatening asthma attack. she almost died & was in intensive care for 2 weeks. my parents were there around the clock. people everywhere were praying for her. my family still gets emotional when it gets brought up. after that, my sister changed from a soft spoken yet strong willed princess to a sick child. she started to take tons of medicine all of the time. this defined her, as did her constant headaches & other ouchies that only grew with the years. it continued this way until she got into college and met the person she ultimately married. as my mom said, this softened her. she’s more willing to step out into the unknown with her partner. sometimes relationships can do that for people; create a sense of safety that allows them to step outside of their boxes of fear and perhaps bitterness. i’m glad to see my sister more willing to hike, play outside, explore in caves again. for so many years, the sicknesses defined her and kept her cloistered.


 

Also, in celebration of my 200th post, I’m doing 15 Days of Writing Prompts from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. Join me and others for Day 2: found here. 

the full moon, psychic powers and letting go of my past

as i more fully step into who i am, my powers come back. as i turn the bend on another soul-cycle, i feel more integrated, more whole, more ready to further fully allow my creator-self to manifest.

Last night the super moon was just that SUPER. It hung low in the sky and was huge. My whole being felt drawn to it, magnetized, as if I was going to start floating up toward it. it was supercharging me energetically! Lately I’ve been coming to the realization that I am psychic. I’ve had this feeling for years now, but the confirmations are getting stronger, more palpable & astounding, even laughable at times! I think of friends who I haven’t thought of in ages and the next day they send me a message saying, I was thinking about you yesterday. I can also read people’s minds sometimes or I get “information” about people from near or far.

I feel hesitant to write these things, which is natural. I even feel some fear or a little scared (maybe genetic memories from the witch trials?). These gifts are not readily accepted in our society. They’re not really well-known or understood. By me even. I can’t control this power and, as of yet, I’m not even sure how I can use it as a gift. I know it gives me insights, yet I’m not sure how I can use them. I’m sure this will unfold in time. What I’d like now is to get more comfortable and familiar admitting it. Why do I choose the word admitting? Because it feels like letting some taboo cat out of the bag! I think this is for multiple reasons, some of which I’ll list below.

When I was growing up, I went to a fundamentalist Christian school, went to church, had a Christian mother, etc. I was taught a lot of stuff from the Bible about how witches are bad, magic is bad and is against God, magic is scary and you should stay away from it and that anyone who has these powers is basically a bad, evil witch who is against God and on the dark side. Now, that sounds so black and white and almost laughable! But, in summation, that’s really how my upbringing framed witches, paganism, witchcraft, psychic powers, etc.

I’ve spent the last few years getting to know the New Age community- its people, its trends, history, fashion, spirituality, healing methods, ceremonies, etc. It took a lot for me to “get over” my Christian upbringing to even let myself step foot in a pagan ceremony. Really! I remember in the beginning, I was so hesitant of it because I was taught that it was evil. It is evil to pray to any god except for the One God of Masculine Christianity. It is wrong to challenge this. It is wrong to make altars out of earth elements. It is wrong to invest yourself in New Agey stuff.  All of these “fears” I’ll call them, washed under me like a current and instilled hesitancy in me. Obviously there was something stronger in me that came from within and reached towards these experiences, but the original programming (imprinting, as one therapist called it) still lingers.

I’d like to release this! That is my intention in writing this article: I’d like to release this to live the life that I want to live, fully serving whatever god (god, goddess, spirituality, whatever) that I want to, living the life that I want to, being the person I want to be. My mom is a very heartfelt and strict Christian and I think this is a remaining thread I have yet to totally let go of. Because she openly disapproves of and says she is afraid of my path. That if I have pagan symbols or deer skulls, etc in my house, she won’t be able to visit. This hurts me and I am bothered that my mom has such a negative feeling toward my choices in life. Especially when they are choices that come so naturally for me.

I think this is also why I have hesitancy in admitting or fully stepping into the psychic powers that are starting to come through me. I am working on creating safe space for myself in it, because honestly it can be pretty scary when I start feeling them come in full-blast, like they did last night in the light of the full moon. I can feel a strong energy in my crown chakra and I start receiving all this information. I’m becoming more “okay” with this realization that this does happen to me. I think more acceptance will come with time and experience. For now, I am working on centering and grounding myself, creating a safe space around myself that only allows unconditional love, and really listening to what I hear, listening with the eyes of my heart and soul. I was so inspired last night to pay closer attention to these happenings after I read an interview by an amazing dancer who is also psychic (thank you spirit guides for orchestrating that 🙂 ).

This quote by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes encourages me to frame and claim this transition from “survivorship” (from Fundamentalist Christianity & judgmental imprinting) to one of thriving and naming myself,

“Being able to say that one is a survivor is an accomplishment. For many, the power is in the name itself. And yet comes a time in the individuation process when the threat or trauma is significantly past. Then is the time to go to the next stage after survivorship, to healing and thriving. … One can take so much pride in being a survivor that it becomes a hazard to further creative development. … Once the threat is past, there is a potential trap in calling ourselves by names taken on during the most terrible time of our lives. It creates a mind-set that is potentially limiting. It is not good to base the soul identity solely on the feats and losses and victories of the bad times.” 

 

All in all, I feel deeply (on a soul level) excited about these powers that are coming up for me. I have laid many times beneath a full moon and known that these powers will come in stronger one day. I have been told by numerous healers and people who are psychic that my gifts will just get stronger as I heal myself and grow up. This is exciting! My intention is to use them for healing, for beauty, for joy, truth & love.