winter_kaleidoscope_by_dr_wolf0014-d366p2rJune 13, 2017           Chesapeake

I didn’t sleep well last night and fought with myself for a good long while before finally getting up and writing the skeleton of this blog post. Many of us do this, I think, lie in bed and think we will remember a dream or a really good poem or idea in the morning and so talk ourselves back into sleep where we forget the wonder of what we accessed in that liminal space. Certainly I do it and so I try to get up and sneak into the next room, where I can turn on a light and write out my thoughts, or the bones of them, before they vanish in the wee hours.

The thing that kept me awake, *those* who kept me awake really, are those who people my dreams with incredible frequency. These are not always the same people. Sometimes there are women and children seeking sanctuary, a place to rest, heal, sleep and retreat from a world that has not nurtured them, has in fact beaten them nearly to death. Sometimes there are women and children picnicking on my lawn waiting for me to *do* something. What I am not certain. My friend and teacher, Anyaa, used to come frequently and I was always madly preparing the space for her but would forget about her on the day she was to arrive, or not remember she had been here visiting until she had already left–as if I’d slept through it all. (Think there’s a metaphor at work here?) When Anyaa finally did come in actual real life, those dreams ceased. Turns out she slept well, ate well and enjoyed her stay and I remembered that she was here and we spent a few interesting, fun and joyful days in each other’s company. I believe that other friends have also hovered on the periphery of these dreams in which they visit and I forget, Melody, EveLynn, Flo, Shoes…

Anyway, the most recent of these visitations have been 4 Shaman. I think that all 4 of them are Mayan and they definitely came home with me from Mexico, though I realized with all crazy clarity that one of them is a real person and lives in Gulf Coast Florida and another lives in Quintana Roo or Yucatan. The rest maybe on this plane or another, I’m not sure. It was at this pondering point where I came to realize something important about how I view things from this perspective of almost but not quite asleep. 

Fractally. That’s it, I thought, seeing in my mind’s eye the way I see all of these people. It’s like looking down the tube of a kaleidoscope and seeing not only what’s at the end but also the lenses that run down both sides and all of the lenses are filled with faces, rather than random, pretty colors.

I don’t know if these people are real, or if they are psychological archetypes or if they are simply my imagination but my leaning is toward real as these do not feel so much like dreams as they do visions, or precognitions…maybe even memories that cross all boundaries of time and could be from the past or from now or from the future or from some parallel timeline that we aren’t aware of.

This fractal view reminds me of the pre-migraine auras that used to plague me and which still show up sometimes, generally before a huge energetic shift. Sharp, angular puzzle pieces not yet in place.

So back to the Shaman who came home from Mexico. I’ve been remembering them in my sleep for weeks now and feeling an adrenaline surge when I recognize that I’ve brought them here and that they expect something of me and that I’ve forgotten them in my waking hours. This morning I grabbed my notes from last night and came to the computer to write and about halfway through this blog post, I decided to google Mayan Shaman Florida. One of the names on the list was a woman who I exchanged well-wishes with yesterday via Facebook. A woman who I have not met in real life, or don’t think I have, but with whom I have a connection–possibly one stronger than I realized until now. I don’t know why I’m preparing energetic space for her, but I am, I have been and I’m curious to see where this leads.

And as to the visitors, clearly they need to be remembered in the broad light of day, visited on this side of sleep and their wishes must be heard. Maybe then I can rest in my dreams, fly a little, and not worry so much about preparing their space.

Do you have dreams you’d like to share? I’d love to read about them in the comments.

The Bees

55d4c9e524d2f-imageToday I went outside, put down a mat and lay full-out on the ground. Sent my thoughts to the hive and they responded. I told them that I had been in surgery. That I loved them. I was afraid and told them that, too, that I knew they were far more powerful than I. That I knew they could kill me in an instant, should they so choose. Then I relaxed, as much as my sliced and mauled belly would allow, and I was still.

Shortly I felt furry feet, a sweet little treading on my collar bone, across my chest, (did she go down my dress?!), then over my right breast and onto my arm. My goodness how those tiny feet tickled but honestly, I felt no need to, no draw toward, slapping her off, toward demeaning the gift I had requested: a blessing. One bee, teaching me with her tiny feet that there is really nothing to fear.

I came inside soon after, lit a charcoal and placed upon its embers several drops of propolis in honor of the gift. Making sacred memory of this event, my initiation, my opening onto a path of which I know nothing except that sweetness and sting lie beyond.

I want to add that after sharing this I went to bed and found myself thinking on the bees. I’m reading The Shamanic Way of the Bee, by Simon Buxton and sometimes, before I read a new chapter, I’m called to do something–some ceremony of some sort–and the going out and lying with the bees was one of them. I then came inside read of his initiation onto the Path of Pollen via Sacramental Venom. I was revolted. Absolutely revolted by the idea of killing those sweet nurse or guard or other worker bees.

Then I went to bed and came into that inter-between place and really went into a space where I was connecting to the drones and did not care one bit that they would die after mating with me. And other queens? I wanted to kill them. All of them. And words are failing me now in explaining this because words aren’t feelings and maybe because bees don’t speak, but when I thought about someone killing one of the lady-bees as some initiatory rite *I was fucking pissed*. That’s all.


My family went to Tulum, Mexico for two weeks in May, 2107. We rented a condo, ate out most of the time and bicycled or took taxis around the area. We visited Chichen Itza, Coba’ and a few cenotes. We played with monkeys.


Our condo, #104 located at Artia by Moskito, was nice. The interior was all neutral colors, the layout was good with a small courtyard off both of our ground floor bedrooms and one in front between the gated entry to our unit and the front door. There was lawn furniture and a Jacuzzi tub, unheated and without a filtration system.IMG_0856The Jacuzzi is pictured above. The white sediment in which you can see my footprints at the bottom is sunscreen washed off of former occupants who did not adequately shower. The tubs are not heated or filtered or cleaned between occupants. Vegetation is another problem as it falls constantly from above and into the pool.
The unit had 3 air conditioning units which worked really well, even in the intense heat. We often had to adjust the temp up in the middle of the night as it got chilly inside! Having traveled and slept in hotels without ac, I can tell you that this is an amazing bonus.
The kitchen was well supplied with cookware, dishes, glassware, utensils and appliances including a range, toaster oven, coffee maker, blender and other things. The unit has a washer and drier which were truly crucial because beaches and pools can create a lot of damp, sandy clothing to be laundered! They supplied a full shaker of salt, laundry detergent, cleaners, dish soap and dishwasher pods.
The beds were hard. If you’re looking for a good mattress this is not the place for you. There were plentiful pillows and the living room has a sleeper sofa.
The unit was very well stocked with linens and towels.
The floors are all tile with one small rug. The closets were probably my favorite thing about the condo. Incredibly well-designed with plenty of space for everyone’s stuff.
The property is managed by Mr Roger, who is the father of the owner, Mr Roger. I think I have this right but possibly am confused on some point. Definitely the men on top are father and son, both named Roger. Any time we had an issue, either I or my husband would contact Mr Roger Sr and help was immediate. The two of them did a lot to make our stay comfortable and to rectify any issues we had.
So, the issues, Housekeeping. I could make a really long list of my issues with housekeeping, there were many, none of which are about my inability to speak more than the smallest amount of Spanish. She moved all of our things around endlessly, as if her opinion of where things should go mattered more than us knowing where our things were; the floors were absolutely filthy, socks quickly turned bad colors when worn around the condo but we had to wear something because, yuck; there were 6 rolls on toilet paper on May 6 and these were not replenished until May 19th. 5 people, 3 bathrooms, 6 rolls of tp. You do the math. We bought our own. On May 19th we received 9 new rolls; the kitchen cabinets have insect bait in little piles on the shelves and I get it, Mexico is hot and damp (Tulum is damp, anyway), and insects are aggressive but I really don’t want the rim of my coffee cup or son’s breakfast bowl to have insecticide on it; the housekeeper seemed to clean everything with the same rag–dishes, countertops, the toilets and shower, spots on the floor, *everything*. When she left the rag neatly folded over the edge of the sink I picked it up and sniffed it. It smelled like insecticide and felt very greasy. After that it was difficult to trust anything in the condo as being safe to put near my mouth without having to disinfect it first; our king sized bed was made up fresh 2x per week, which is great, but the duvet cover that just barely covered the flat part of the mattress that was used as a bottom sheet was distressing. I didn’t want to sleep on the mattress pad like the last 40 tenants; I also didn’t care for the duvet cover that was put on the bed as a top sheet. Same issue.
Again, the management did try and rectify this situation but they were not successful. They even brought us wine and chocolate by way of apology. The intention is great but I would suggest hiring an environmental cleaning service to come in and take care of housekeeping, as what is in place is far below the standard set by the the rest of the facility.
There are security officers on duty 24/7. They were very sweet and helpful.
Al-in-all we enjoyed our stay at Artia but if we return to Tulum, we would be inclined to stay elsewhere.

Well then, where would I stay instead?
I did not see any rooms in person but did visit several other locations where rooms are available.

My very, very favorite was Be Tulum and not only because of the super cool name. The whole place is amazing, magical even, with wafts of copal smoke drifting over from the spa and Nag Champa from who knows where.
At night there are tiki torches blazing and deep urns filled with wood coals and something smoky and which mosquitoes hate. It is incredibly clean and offers amazing weekly events such as women’s circles and cacao ceremonies.
The only down note for me was a feeling of people there to see and be seen.
IMG_6919Mark and I having lunch at Be Tulum.

Posada Margherita would probably be my actual choice. The entry path, to me, felt like home.
PM had a very soft, earthy vibe without the smell of money permeating everything. The beach is beautiful and the restaurant fab, more on that later.
IMG_6996Cabanas and tables at Posada Margherita.


There are stacks of amazing beach clubs that deserve exploration that we didn’t have time for. Papaya Playa if you’re young and into techno music and a very open, larger resort. More informal with great cabanas on the beach and more than 1 bar. The food wasn’t the best but someone recommended the ceviche.

Mezzanine. We went because someone suggested the restaurant and I had planned on booking here until I learned it’s an adults-only resort. Mezzanine has the added bonus of being beside the best beach in Mexico. There are stairs that lead right down onto it. The Thai restaurant is locally-famous but I was very sick after eating there, probably more me than the food. The rest of our crew loved it.


Posada Margherita. linked above, was Mark’s favorite. Italian food, fresh pasta, great beach-front seating with wines and fresh juices. It’s hard to beat.

Be Tulum, best salad, hands down. Also great beachfront and the hotel is an experience of its own.

Mateo’s quickly became our go-to eatery. Solid, eatable food, decent (though sometimes slow) wait staff, smoothies, breakfast through supper to live music. The prices are great.

If you can have drinks and appetizers on the deck at Zama’s, do it. The views are to die for and pelicans zoom overhead. Service has to be hunted.

El Pez has great grilled fish, excellent service–probably the best we experienced, a roof (you might want this if it’s raining!) and a wonderful view. I think Mark had steak and loved it. No complaints here.


Call Juan Santos. He and his son, Gerardo drive cabs, speak excellent English and, most importantly are really great guys. If you want to go to dinner at 6pm, call him and have him come pick you up. If you want to go to Chichen Itza, call Juan and book him to drive you. More than anything else I can recommend, these guys are it. They will take care of you, get you where you want to go safely, and if you want to take off for a day of touring, they’re happy to drive you wherever. I can’t recommend them highly enough.
Juan was a wealth of information on everything, really. He drove 5 of us to Coba, Mul Tun Ha cenote, then to Chichen Itza and Ik Kil cenote the next day. He found great places for lunch and souvenir shopping and helped us with language hurdles a couple of times. They are not tour guides, so will drop you off and be there when you’re ready to go. Tour guides are available for hire on location.

Bicycles are great from Tulum center to the little strip that ends at Zamas. A lot of cyclists get hit by cars and vice versa. Once the bike path runs out, it’s a tiny, 2 lane road with no shoulder. It’s doable but be careful! Leave your headphones in the basket.


Really, ‘what we did that was worth recommending’!

Chichen Itza was well worth it. We left at 7:30 am to get there early, before most of the buses and harsh heat arrived. The vendors, and the place is lousy with vendors, were just setting up their tables. The day long cry was, “Almost free!”

If you want souvenirs, you can find them here. Haggle.

We did not hire a guide. I would have loved to have one if it were going to be 80 degrees all day, but heat is not my BFF and so we read the signs, educated ourselves online and via reading beforehand, and tootled around the complex. It is huge and amazing. Iguanas were everywhere.

Cenote Ik Kil, which was our post-Chichen Itza stop off. So, so worth it! I will post pics to explain.

Coba’ is also worth visiting if you want to climb to the top of a Mayan pyramid. You cannot climb Chichen Itza. The complex is much more heavily treed which I think means it has not had the excavation attention that CI has. Still an amazing complex. The sketchy zip line was fun for the kids.


Cenote Mul Tun Ha was our post-Coba’ stop off and damn! It was grand to descend into the cavern and to fall into the cool, blue water. I mean, it looks blue but who knows? Maybe the lights are blue. Either way, it’s a great way to cool off in the blasting heat of the jungle.

Akumal Monkey Sanctuary and Animal Rescue was awesome. Our guide’s English was pretty good and he was very sweet and helpful. We saw deer, goats, wild pigs, monkeys, birds and a cenote! This was worth it just for the pictures of all of us with monkeys sitting on our heads! We did this on the same day as Coba and Mul Tun Ha.
In spite of what the pictures may tell you, there were a lot of monkeys. I guess I left my camera outside so that they wouldn’t steal it but we have tons of pics on a thumb drive somewhere, with someone who doesn’t live in my house, with pics of each of us with a tiny capuchin on our head, a spider monkey on our lap and hanging out with LEMURS!
It was really a great place to visit.

Yaan Wellness is across the street from Be Tulum. I enjoyed a foot treatment and the Limpia Santiguada, a clearing treatment involving prayer, herbs, copal and a massage with aromatherapy. I enjoyed it, especially the copal and being scrubbed with fresh herbs.
My daughter was severely sunburnt and had the Soothing Sun Therapy but was too timid to tell the therapist to stop when she aggressively massaged those extremely sunburnt thighs.
We arrived an hour early and enjoyed the steam room, sauna, 2 frigid showers in between and the cold and warm pools.
By the time we sat down to enjoy ginger tea with honey, I was limp with luxury. I really loved this place though if you’ve been injudicious with the sunscreen, you might wait a few days.
We were all looking forward to a temazcal ceremony, however one of our party became extremely ill with a high fever and we decided to forego it. It is the one thing I wish I could have done and didn’t. Maybe someday, in another part of Mexico.

The beaches, you need to go to the beach, but that’s the whole reason for going to Tulum, right? (Pics here from Papaya Playa Project.)


Do you have a daughter or young woman in your life who you are hoping will become a woman who is able to care for her own needs?

I do. I do, and one of the most difficult things I run up against in the world and in my own brain, is the tendency to expect her to take care of everyone else before herself. It’s a tough row to hoe, being a girl, having needs, and dealing with the expectations of the world and of those directly associated with you.

Girls are taught to care for everyone else’s needs before their own. This isn’t the same as teaching young men that they are supposed to financially support the entire world, because boys are taught that their needs come first. Generally. Girls are taught to ignore their own needs until we become so numb that it can be difficult to even identify what we want, what our needs are, and even what our feelings are.

I want my daughter to experience life differently. I want her to know her own, vast importance in the scheme of things. I want her to know that she cannot possibly take care of anyone else if she is not first cared for.

This often results in powerful blowback from our community. Spiteful comments when she takes an action that directly reinforces her own ability to tend to her needs. Judgmental comments from those who think that she should care for others first and not worry about her own needs, desires, or feelings. The directness of the attacks, the amazing blindness of the adults, mostly women, who make the charges is stunning in a world where adults are supposed to model good behavior.

These women have no idea how deeply ingrained their training is. They have no idea that they are suggesting that a child completely negate her own humanity in order to shelter, protect, or otherwise care for another person. This is not an across-the-board situation. Often adults see her actions as an admirable ability to take personal authority and the comments are positive.

Adults in our community have also done weird things to try and manipulate me into punishing my child for saying or doing things that either bother them or are hearsay and not real. These folks have no idea. No clue. There is no way they could know, living as they do, the kind of dialogue I have with my children. The idea that I will bring their issues to my daughter, ask her if their words are true, and that she will say what she has to say, confirm, deny, define whatever it is and *that I will believe her, unquestioningly* is beyond the scope of experience for rumor mongering adults who want to lean into teen drama and mama drama.

It is fascinating to watch. And it is frustrating, too.

All I know is this: My daughter will understand and experience that caring for herself is good and right. I will lean into this with her and for her, and for the rest of you wo/men reading this, and for your daughters. Because we have to shift our world. *We* have to shift it through our intentions, actions and thoughts.

This isn’t about ‘self-care’, it is about consent, personal authority and the idea that it is necessary for women to be firm, clear and decisive in their decisions.


It is International Women’s Day and I’m cruising Facebook watching the Inner Patriarchs of so many women, *so many women*, say what amounts to, “Shut up and go make me a sandwich!” There’s so much dogwhistling going on that there are no dogs left.

It is a rude call to awareness to see intelligent, awakening women judging, insulting and insinuating that women who protest are women who do not work, are women whose value is less than those women who just shut it and went to work today.

My Inner Matriarch is on the prowl and be warned, she is fierce and gives very few fucks about who she activates, angers or enrages. She will question your motives, call out your projections, point out that your logic is deeply flawed and, possibly, that you are very strongly identified with something that does not serve you or your sex. Something so insidious within your psyche that you have not yet been able to identify it as ‘other’.

Today, rather than stalking female protesters, why not make a loan on Kiva? Donate to Tree Sisters or the Women of Standing Rock at End of the Line, if Kiva doesn’t appeal to your or if you want to keep your money in the USA. You might even want to bring things in closer to home in which case you could put together care packages for local homeless women. Grab a gallon sized, ziplock baggie and put travel sized soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, a small box of tampons or sanitary napkins, a deodorant and wash cloth into it and take it to your local NEST program or Food Bank. (If you live in or near Norfolk, Virginia, here’s a link to our local NEST program and another to the Food Bank of South Hampton Roads.)

My basic message here is that you be PROactive rather than REactive, and believe me when I tell you that I am struggling with that myself. When I see women making negative comments about and posting nasty statuses based on assumptions and coming from a place of judgment, I go there, into reaction and judgment and sometimes holding my tongue (or fingers!) requires more self-control than I am able to muster.

Today is a choice-point, a day when women can make a decision to fully support other women in the US and all across the world in any way we choose and are able, or to to lean into the Patriarchy and yell ‘get a job,’ to women who very likely already have jobs and, possibly, employers who support equality and empowerment for all women, even those who have never made anyone a sandwich.


Several weeks ago my husband was out of town. He loves to prospect. A strange hobby, you may think, but we are strange folk, prospecting is the least of it. Anyway, while he was gone, I decided to place an energetic barrier around our land. A barrier made of raw quartz and focused intention.


So Baby Troll and I went around with rocks and thoughts of beneficial chi, solace, and safety. We placed stones at the ‘corners’ of our land then connected them to create a circle. Once the circle felt complete, we turned it into a sphere (as above, so below) of protection for this place.

As we set this into place both of us could feel the buzz of energy as the stones linked up and went to work. Stones are amazing allies.

These particular stones, come to find out, talk to my husband. He tosses those who may want to join us here to the side as he digs. At the end of the day, he picks up those who he feels most want to come here with him. The stones I used were gathered in this way without my knowing about it.

The day after he came home from prospecting he told me about a dream he had the night before. He said, “I dreamed that you put crystals all around the house and they lit up and created a cone, or a tipi of light that was protecting our home.”

Just this week I saw a website that is dedicated to linking Ascended Gaia portals all over the Earth by using crystal grids. They ask that you send in a photo of your grid so they can add it to their pics. Well…my grid is a bit large. Maybe it’s not even a grid at all. If it is a grid, is it an Ascended Gaia grid? I have no idea.

What I do know is this. Though I often can’t remember what type of stone I’m working with I can hear them and I know them. I hear them sing and tone and hum and chime. I feel the power as they link up and go to work with their pure, crystalline energy. (See what I did there?) And the stones volunteer for this! Daddy Troll digs all day, looking for gold like its the Yukon circa 1897. He listens to the stones. They’ve been dragged up out of the earth by generations of men and women looking for iron, sulphur and gold and these stones know that they want a job.

And so they come home and they do it. They charge up and run this ‘portal of peace’. They clear out of the land that is healing from centuries of assault and come here, to help hold the frequency of peace and harmony, to help me do my life’s work of healing this land, my lineage and of leaving something for the generations to come.

The roots thread the Earth, tree-veins, dormant

In these winter months. Imbolc, the brief pause

Between Inbreath and Outbreath, as the roots

Feel the first tingle of Spring, feel the sap stir

Just slightly, then begin to rise.

The Canada geese are back, pecking around

The chicken coop, finding the lost grains of corn

The fat mama goose needs as they begin building

And then feathering, their nest inside the pool fence

Laying all in readiness for another year’s brood.

The horses watch from across the fence, dropping

Their fertilizer on the few pecans remaining inside

Their much-diminished pasture, on our family land.

My older sister has cancer, likes to sit on the point of land

Where the horses no longer meander and graze

She gazes out, over the slow, broad river where so many

Of our childhood memories were made, in separate decades.

This is my Mother Land. The place where

I can feel the thrum and beat of the life force as it flows

Along the ley lines created by the stories of my life,

My father’s life, my grand parent’s and my children’s lives,

The life of my mother, gone now for 2 years, who came back to live here

In preparation for her passing.

There are the apple trees I planted with my love and

The horse my daughter loves and rides. Those pecans

Were planted by my grandfather and perhaps, by my

Grandmother (who I never met). The stories of the women

Are never told on my father’s side of the family.

I will tell them now. My sister. My mother. My daughter. Me.

The land does not care that I am a woman.

The land knows my stories, holds them in its bones,

The land and I are connected as those trees are to the Earth here

Our fibers woven down and threaded together the same way with our

Roots peeking out of the dirt, seeking air and light and yet also clinging

And thrusting deep into this land, this tapestry of interdependence

We have woven together, generations deep.

Copyright, Bettina Essert, 2017




A group of women can, potentially, come together as a group and through their work together, channel nothing more than pure archetypes, or the Shadow of archetypes for the Collective.

In this instance I’m using the word Collective to symbolize the Collective Consciousness of spiritual women who are working consciously with Divine Feminine Archetypes.

Last summer I enrolled in a course that ended up being called The Temple of Sophia. We were to work with this most Christed of Divine Femine forms. As it turned out, what we did was dance with the darkness, we created chaos, we opened all of our wounds, lifetimes of them, and allowed them to bleed into the dry dust of the Temple.

Imagine the Dark Mother, abandoning her young in their moment of need. The Killing Mother, feeding her children to wild animals to keep herself safe. The Blood Thirsty Mother, feeding on the warmth spurting from the veins, or wombs, of her daughters.

*Imagine the Trinity of Truth, Beauty (or Love) and Wisdom acting out the Shadow aspects of those things. Truth becomes Lies and Manipulation. Beauty becomes Bitterness, Ugliness and the Cold Queen or Wicked Step-Mother. Wisdom becomes the Dunce, the Fool acting from ego and with a lack of integrity.

*Imagine the 9 Muses, the Sacred Artists, creating chaos, rather than beauty. Calliope, the beautiful-voiced, howling like a banshee. Clio, who ‘makes famous’, using slander and defamation as her tools. Erato, she of the sacred sexuality, using her beauty to woo the lovers of her sisters. Euterpe, Giving Delight, delighting in the havoc and chaos and adding to it in any way she can. Melpomene, Celebrate with Song, singing ballads made of rumors, anger and lies. Urania, Heavenly One, dissociated and uncaring. Polyhymnia, She of Many Hymns, all written about how horrible women are. Tersichore, Delighting in Dance, only the dance she delights in is one of defamation and soul death. Thalia, Rich Festivity and Blooming, ripping the heads off anything beautiful and celebrating only hate and gossip.

And, as in all Greek plays, we have The Chorus, singing from the bottom of the stage, urging the action on. Urging the fall. Playing whatever role they are required in order to see that the Mother and the Trinity and the Muses and even themselves, fall in the worst possible way onto the sword.

There is no Deus ex Machina in this play. The gods do not, indeed, descend on a platform from above to save the the Collective. The Collective must do its own saving, its own  re-sourcing, and find its way back into solidarity, honesty and integrity.

The Dark Mother may find herself ragged and tired, not sated. She will find the Good Mother within her heart, the Stable Mother, the Protective, Caring Mother. The Trinity will find the taste of their work despicable. They will find that honor and adoration are only sourced from Love, Truth and Beauty. The Muses will finally, finally understand dissonance and create harmony instead. The Chorus will wipe the blade and put it away, begin singing songs that are attuned, create action that is sacred.

And having done all of this for the Collective, the Collective no longer must do this for itself, for ourselves, because it has been processed and distilled already.

*Ideas for the Trinity and 9 Muses came from my friend, Camilla Buckley.


90 Days

fullsizeoutput_97dToday is the 90th day of #shift2love90. I made it, posting almost every day and twice on the makeup days.

When I started this, I didn’t realize that today, day 90, would also be Inauguration Day. That today my husband would be gone, not only for the day but for the weekend. That the entire World was going to shift in some extremely powerful ways as I wrapped up this little experiment.

It’s a big day.

The goal of this ordeal, yes it was an ordeal at times, was to say something kind about my husband every day in order to shift my way of seeing him, to create a more loving, kind, rosy filter through which to view him.

Did it work?

I don’t know. I suppose I won’t know for a while. What I do know is that the posts seemed to create a big ego space for him. That I resent that while he agreed to do this with me, he only actually posted about once every 5 days. That he came to me repeatedly telling me he couldn’t think of anything nice to say about me.

Is it any wonder that 2 or 3 of my posts were more passive-aggressive than kind? Hah.

What I did learn is that I can stick with a thing, even if  I don’t like it. As if changing all of those diapers weren’t enough to prove that already. There were days when Mark and I were deeply embroiled in conflict. I posted something kind anyway. There were days when he was a grumpy old asshat. I posted something kind anyway. There were entire weeks when I hadn’t heard an actual word from him (he did text sometimes) and I posted something kind anyway.

So maybe the point was more about proving something to myself. Perhaps the real learning was that I can always refocus, see things through a different lens, that I can get past my own ego and see the humanity in any person or situation.

For today, that’s good enough. It was interesting and it is done.

90/90 He stuck with it until the end. #shift2love90

(It’s a movie, you should watch it.)

Every time you make a racist statement, I wonder why you are so insecure.
Every time you use the word, ‘Nigger’, I judge you. Harshly.

I think less of you as a human being when you show your racist, your *comfortably, incredibly entitled, unaware, pathetic, terrified, soft underbelly. The underbelly that has allowed thousands? hundreds of thousands? millions? of human beings more worthy, more kind, decent and respectable than you, to be killed, raped, imprisoned, beaten, belittled and harmed in so many ways I can’t even being to count them. And I can count into the billions.

How dare you? How dare you sit on your soft, white ass and proclaim someone less than you because of the color of that person’s skin? How stupid can you possibly be? Have you ever had one conscious thought about how small your words and attitude make you seem? How small they make you, in actual reality, as a human being?

I can’t. I just can’t any more. I have no respect for you. I see your stupidity and your fear and I can’t sit around and listen to it any more.

I’ve spent my whole life alternately telling you to shut up or shutting my own words down.

I was indoctrinated to fear black people. ‘Nigras,’ as my family called them. Called you, if you are black. I was indoctrinated into the belief system that white people are superior, that we are smarter, that we are more human.

I’ve spent most of my adult life fighting that indoctrination. Logically, I recognize that it is wrong. Wrong. Not just ethically and morally. Not only wrong because it’s wrong to treat anyone badly. But wrong because, statistically, it is just fucking wrong. Scientifically, is is just fucking wrong.

You are not right, white people. You are not right because you are white. You, if you are racist, are wrong and I will never again sit through it without a word.

Note: this also applies to *anyone* you set your mind against for no better reason than color, race, religion, sexuality or whatever.


All things human

Appalachian Ink ~ Home of Anna Wess (and Granny)

Home of Anna Wess, Writer & Ghost Chaser

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Elemental Meridian

Elemental-simple; pertaining to the 4 elements or forces of nature. Meridian: point of highest development.