Death, Middle-Age, And A Rolled Up Sports Bra

The cultural cringe I’m experiencing is one that has been building since my 20’s. And middle-age is giving me the brass to talk about it. I feel like I’m peeling off hot, sticky, wet, shrunken, layers of social conditioning. I feel like I’m in a sauna dressed in tight jeans, knee socks, a sports bra, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. My hair is wringing wet. And all around me are people screaming, “you shouldn’t feel that way!”

You know that feeling of changing out of a wet swim suit into dry clothes? How the dry clothes get stuck and roll up? Maybe you’d have to be a fat woman to understand that I don’t know.

But, it’s crazy uncomfortable. And infuriating trying to unroll it and pull it down over skin that is still damp and has become sweaty after you’ve toweled off. Am I alone in this? Tell me I’m not alone in this.

Tomorrow will be my 45th birthday. It will be my first birthday without my mother being alive. I can’t believe she died at 64. It sucks. I always knew her death would be a complex issue for me. She was not at all maternal in the human sense. But, she was in the animal sense. She was a mother who operated in animal consciousness. Instinctual, sensual, survivalistic, dropping her young in the wild on it’s own after weaning. She was fiercely feminine, wondrously wild, awesomely amusing, and hauntingly hurtful.

While I am owning my healing I am finding that there are no resources to help me access perspectives about death that won’t leave me without the power to cope with it. My culture is largely characterized and defined and guided by American Christianity. So we’ve been conditioned to focus on the afterlife and how to meet all the rules that lead up to death so that you can go to heaven. Life gets plenty of study. The afterlife gets lots of attention. But, the liminal space of death has no press. How do I help my elderly grandmother cope with the fact that after a life of being exposed to constant trauma and disappointment that she was the one who found my mother dead? Why can I not accept her death? Why does death, even “untimely” death feel so abnormal when it is the standard of normal?? It has never not happened. But, we don’t talk about it. We only talk about how to be a good person and the streets of gold in heaven and family reunion that will happen once we get there. We are earthly! And heaven isn’t our final destination if you take the Bible literally. Heaven is a holding place for good people until the earth is destroyed and ready to be recreated at which time all the good people get released from heaven and somehow come back to the earth and exist as eternal humans where there is no more death and the earth will perpetually be the paradise that God wanted it to be.

Yeah, my cultural cringe is deepening. It feels like rage. It feels like an insult to my intelligence. It feels proudly ignorant. Militantly mindless. And, death is pleading with us all to better accept its existence.

No Water For The Wolves

Lying in the silence. All is black around me save my phone and wifi light. And all I can think about is how my mother’s death is stirring in me an even greater fire and resolve to be living light. I want my light to shine into the cosmos and to be a home to every human without exception.

I want to be….wide, long, deep, tall, ever expanding light, warmth, and peace and safety.

I want my table to extend into the nations.

Where there is light people feel seen, where there is light there is clarity, there is life, there is strength, and hope.

In a world filled with humans who despise what they don’t get, fear what they can’t understand, and murder either with their thoughts or hands those who are divergent…..I want to be different.

Love is beautiful anarchy

Light is the epitome of rebellion against darkened understanding

Brilliant bright light so the world can see
Recklessly loving us all into anarchy

While the planet is threshed wheat from tare
I’ll gather and glean to me those in despair

It is enough for those standing accepted in the sun
To carry the status of a chosen one

I’ll cast my lot with the vagabond parade
I vomit at the charity of pretentious charade

Babylon, Babylon, can’t you see she’s imploding?
Or are your ears deafened from your own gloating?

Superiority, elitism, white washed graves
Their throats lie open like wilderness caves

But they won’t catch me or mine
Unbeknownst to them we are made of brine

And, I refuse to give them water…

I Am The Dream Cartographer: A Poetic Sonographer

I am the dream cartographer

A poetic sonographer

Sounding the unseen

I take my throne as Queen

Through my poetry

I sift the nations and discern

Through my poetry

The chaff is made available to burn

The burned up remnants

Who thought themselves chosen

Plying the poor with hearts that are frozen

They wouldn’t know Jesus if He smacked them in the face

Yet they deem themselves a superior race

Judgement begins at the house of God

They think He’s not looked while they’ve run roughshod

Over the people He intended them to care for

But they fornicated with politicians and became the great whore

Fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great

They thought they’d find themselves at the Pearly Gate

A shocking surprise awaits them all

A Father’s heart isn’t small

They thought His scope and love to be narrow

Singing that His eye is on the Sparrow

But, as they read the words of my prophetic poem

They’ll gnash their teeth and their mouths will foam

They’ll drip with the venom they accused satan himself of

While claiming themselves to be harmless as a dove

But, the Father sees it all from above

And their time is at hand….watch them begin to shove

They’ll muddy the waters like goats always do

Trampling the nations claiming their blood a martyr brew

Ever the victim

I want them to see

Time will be granted

A little while yet

While Christ casts His last fisherman’s net

We’ve gone out to work the harvest

But, they say it belongs to them since they plowed the farthest.

Did they forget His parables too?

Too busy they were embodying Donald Trump’s coup

A destroyer and destructor of all things good

Capturing the nations with a spirit of intrigue

Puffing up the petulant while he laid siege

This message isn’t from me. It’s from God I assure

This isn’t some piece of syncretic lore

I write because I’m told and it is my charge

It is my duty by and large

I’ll not dandle you on my knees like a child

You’ll not hear my motherly coo comforting and mild

I come with a warning that shit’s about to go down

I really hope that you come around

It is not at all like you think it is

Please remember Jesus was an ironic whiz

He went against the grain and picked grain on the sabbath because his students were hungry

The religious people would rather them die than offer them sundry

The laws you see are unimportant and carry no weight

What matters most is humanity not the timing of some religious date

It is insane that the body of love pursues others with such hate

What Are The Mechanics Of Receiving?

Thinking today about all the good things I deserve.  Life, love, respect, fun, rest, good sleep, etc.

When I think about the good things it occurs to me that in order to have them I need to “come”  to receive them.

Here’s what I mean.  Say you get a notice that you have a package at the post office waiting on you.  And, you know it’s something you’ve been wanting for a long time.  You have the emotion or feeling of being excited.

But.  It’s not going to be brought to you.  It’s going to require work and cost to get it.  1.  You have to leave your house.  2.  You have to drive.  3.  You use gas to get there and back.  4.  You spend time in the getting.  5.  And, if you’re a southern introvert like me you have to endure random interactions with strangers while smiling as they hand you the package when you arrive at the desk, possibly after standing in line.

For some reason I have a disconnect when it comes to receiving.  I am willing to show up and do the work.  But, after that it’s like I’m standing at the postal desk smiling back and forth with a stranger and the reception never happens.

I don’t know “how” to receive. Like, what are the mechanics of receiving?  Maybe I’m guarded?  Maybe it’s the self-hatred I’ve unearthed and am still working through?  Maybe its skepticism about what’s really in store for me?

All I know is that I feel called to, “come and receive.”  And, try as I may I never get beyond the part where I show up. 

Anyone else relate to this?

How do you receive all the good things you need and deserve?  The good things being offered to you.

There is a verse from Matthew’s gospel that has tugged at me for some years now.  And, I can’t help but feel such resistance and ignorance when I meditate on it.

Jesus Christ quoted as saying:

“Come to Me all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

To further expand on the original Greek tenses and richness of context and spirit for the verse The Message reads it like this:  “Come to Me.  Get away with Me.  You’ll recover your life.  I’ll show you how to take a real rest.  Walk with Me and work with Me- watch how I do it.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.  I won’t lay anything ill-fitting on you.  Keep company with Me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

(Matthew 11:28-30).

What are the mechanics of receiving? 

I understand allowing is part of this puzzle.  I understand that perhaps open arms, or up turned hands are part of it.  But, I feel there is some sort of inner disposition and maybe spiritual quality involved that I either don’t have or just need to develop in order to receive good things.

What are some of the best things you’ve ever received? 

How did they come to you or how did you come to them?

Were you able to receive quickly and readily?

What advice would you give to help someone you care about understand how to receive?



The Serpent: Healing My Symbology

This evening in my meditation I found myself gently rolling my head.  Clockwise, then counter clockwise.  My mind was clear.  The movement felt good for my tense neck and shoulders.  There were a few moments that as I moved, my movements reminded me of a snake.  In fact, when it first occurred to me, the word, “serpent” popped into my head.  Creepy right??  But, what if its not creepy at all?

I began to journal.  Honestly, I wanted to push the notion of identification with a serpent out of my head and focus on other things.  I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of dualistic thinking.  This box so many of us operate in.  It’s a framework that says life is “us vs them” with comfort coming from feeling like one is a part of an inner circle.  Once that is sensed their is a deceptive reassurance that one’s thoughts are all correct and that person feels justified and vindicated in thinking those outside are wrong.

My context: I am a white, middle-aged, southeastern American woman born in a small town and into a southern American Christian world.  So, the value I ascribe to certain symbols are different than say a middle-eastern man or south African woman.  If you share my context you will likely have already picked up on and experienced a sense of discomfort or unease or morbid curiosity when you saw the title of this blog and the reference of identifying with a serpent.  Why?  Because in my culture that is colored by the Christian Bible and the fact that we claim a savior who was Jewish our minds immediately refer to the negative connotations of the serpent in the Bible.  From Genesis to Revelation the snake is given a bad rap.  Really bad.  In fact its image often represents Satan.  The ultimate adversary of God and tormentor of humankind.   In Genesis there is a prophecy that the offspring of Eve will bruise or crush the head of the serpent.  We understand that offspring to be Jesus Christ and the serpent the devil.  Only twice in scripture is the serpent presented in positive light.  In Genesis the serpent is called, “more crafty, intelligent, cunning than any beast” and again while the children of Israel were wandering in the desert looking for the promised land there is an instance where “fiery serpents” entered the camps and killed and made sick many people.  In order for them to be healed from this attack they were instructed to look upon the image of a serpent that had been crafted from brass.  Needless to say I grabbed onto the positive symbology.  More importantly…I allowed my mind to explore the biological characteristics of snakes.  I’m very blessed to have done so and here’s why:

  1.  Growth-when it comes to growth in humans or animals the visual of that is so subtle you really can’t see it happening.  Except when it comes snakes.  The growth of a snake involves shedding it’s skin and that is something everyone can see.  Can you imagine your skin coming off every time you have a revelation, make a good choice, learn something new or celebrate another birthday?  Awkward.  Scary looking. Startling.  Right?  Additionally, it puts the snake in a very vulnerable position.  But growth spurts do that to us too right?  It usually isn’t pretty when we shed old ideals, behaviors, patterns, etc.
  2. Right before the serpent enters it’s first scene in the Bible where it is cursed for cajoling the woman into eating forbidden fruit that her eyes may be opened to the reality of evil as well as good, it receives a rave review.  It is said to be the most crafty and intelligent and cunning animal elevating it’s intelligence above all other beasts.  To me this is very moving.  My childhood and adolescence held a running theme where my intelligence was constantly questioned.  When I got in trouble the first words I heard from my grandfather was, “stupid, silly damn thing.”  My grandmother’s words were a little less harsh.  She would immediately say something to the effect of, “well you should have KNOWN better.”  Because, all kids come automatically knowing right?  And finally during the times when my mother orbited my life and we fought she would always say, “you’re not even old enough to have an opinion.  You have no idea.”  Now as an adult I find myself in a pursuit to be one of the greatest minds in history.  Yeah, I know.  My ability to “correctly” perceive and righteously act has hijacked the relaxation and fun and ignorant bliss I could have experienced thus far.  I developed this obsessive umpire in my mind.  Every moment of everyday I have discovered that I am judging each moment as either good or bad and I’ve robbed myself of simply being.
  3. Had I never known this context I have found myself in, a white, southern Christian woman, I may have been conditioned and introduced to the imagery of the snake as the epitome of wisdom, a master of growth, a symbol of success, a representation of healthy sexuality, an expert hunter.
  4. As I allowed my mind to open to these truths and additional meanings I began to feel a sense of pride rather than unease.  I am…wise.  I am one who is always growing and requiring more of myself and determined to stretch.  I aspire to be a symbol of success, one with healthy sexuality and an expert hunter or provider for myself.  I am serpent-like.  My nimble movement inspires.

As a psychology student, an empathic person and aspiring professional counselor it is important to me to be relatable.  I want people to feel open to me.  And, I feel like one of the greatest medicines or gifts I can offer to myself…is healing my symbology.  I want to take all the disowned and shamed symbols and revive them.  I want to give them new meaning and the place of honor they deserve.  On a practical level I want to not immediately have a negative connotation of someone who perhaps loves snakes or brings up dreams about morphing into a snake in their dreams during a counseling session.  Healing my “seeing” better ensures my ability to be an agent of healing in the lives of others.

This year I have plans of shedding life-long patterns.  And, I’m going to be honest and warn you.  If you know me well, if you follow me on social media there are going to be times my shedding is visible.  And, that may look weird or make you uncomfortable.  But, I am determined to stretch.  I am determined to enjoy the feel of a new skin.  One that is more pliable and more suited to the joys of experiencing growth.

So, starting off 2020 I’ve healed at least one symbol and made new room in my mind and heart to better understand the world around me.

I am serpent.  And, I’m healing my symbology.

Snake shedding skin

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