Category Archives: authenticity

Pioneers of Change

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are not my beautiful words but those of Sophie Bashford; intuitive, spiritual writer and blogger.  

You may find her at her website, Facebook and Twitter

 

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Pioneers of Change

Carving out new ways of being, of living, of loving, of creating, of working – this is what pioneers do.

Pioneers of change are rare because at some point, they always have to stop caring about what others think of them. They have to risk possible disapproval from others, because a part of creating freedom is being free to follow your own inner guidance, regardless of what it brings up for other people.

As you bring in new consciousness, you reach down deep – deeper than you ever believed was possible – and haul out the ancient treasure, the old wisdom, the cosmic truths, the wild and untamed instinct. This may sound easy, but many who have eschewed the familiar, domesticated, soul-restrained, heart-numbed paths will tell you that it is not.

It takes enormous, usually daily or even hourly, courage to stand apart from the herd and assert the newness, the shining fresh-air, the less-understood rhythms of Life and Universe.

Make no mistake, every single pioneer that you look up to, have learned from, take spiritual succour from, recognise as having blazed a trail for you to follow: every single person who changes vibration and consciousness has had to endure sometimes agonising inner and outer transformations and dark nights of the soul.

They wouldn’t be able to hold the energy they do if this was not the case.

If you wish to rise up and grow into your Soul’s Light, realise your spiritual destiny and make a difference here, you must know that the darker times are vital in order to build your sacred muscles.

When you look back on all your times of loneliness and alienation, confusion, insecurity, lostness, and intense fear at bringing the spiritual light of you out to be seen, and used as the Universe desires – you will come to see that this is the process of a pioneer.

When you are waking up to the truth of your destiny, you have to be plunged into the sacred fires of purification and oceanic depths of the Unknown. Many, many people will not understand why you are changing so much, why you are choosing this path, why you are speaking out, and why you have to stand alone in many ways in order to purify yourself from the mass conditioned mind.

True pioneers have to make hard choices about their lives.

No-one else can do it for them.

If this is you, then you have what it takes. You were designed for it. Not everyone will like, or approve of it. In many ways, that is a sign that you are doing it perfectly.

No-one who ever created the New, did so without determination, perseverance, patience, and extreme – though perhaps hidden – levels of courage.

They were all scared. They just carried on and did it in spite of the fear.

They didn’t wait for another day.

They did something that their Souls craved and yearned for – even if it terrified them, especially if it did – they did it today.

And thus they were lifted, deeply supported and touched the hearts and souls of the world.

 

 

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How to Speak to Someone About an Unspeakable Loss

unspeakablelossfeature

 

Reblogged from Linda Carroll at http://www.lindaacarroll.com/blog.php via Uplift

 

Five Ways to Help When You Feel There is Nothing You Can Do

“It’s not about saying the right things. It’s about doing the right things.” ~Unknown

 

Years ago, my family and I moved to a bucolic little town in New Zealand, where we were immediately swept up into a group of ex-pats and locals. We felt deeply connected to this community by the time I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy in the local hospital.
When our son was three months old, a doctor heard a heart murmur. Twenty-four hours later, he died.

In the days and weeks that followed, I wandered in my own fog of grief as I went about the necessary tasks of ordinary life: shopping for food, taking our other kids to school, doing the usual mounds of laundry.

Meanwhile, my new friends kept their distance. I saw them take great care to avoid me: to cross the street, switch supermarket aisles, literally do an about-face when they saw me coming.

Invitations stopped coming. The phone went silent. My grief was marked by a deeper isolation than I’d ever known.

Later, many of these people apologized. They told me they were terribly sad and distressed about what had happened, but hadn’t known what to say. My loss was so enormous that words seemed inadequate, even pitiful.

They said nothing, out of fear that they would say the wrong thing.
This sort of experience repeats itself in many different forms: a friend gets dumped by the love of her life, a colleague is given notice at a job he’s held for two decades, or a loved one receives the dreaded news that she has inoperable cancer.

What can you say?

While it’s not an easy question to answer, one thing is certain: It’s worse to say nothing than to say the wrong thing. Here are five ways to respond helpfully to people who have suffered an enormous loss.

 

1. Manage your own feelings first.
When we learn that disaster has befallen a loved one, we initially feel shock. Our heart rate increases, our thoughts either speed up or slow down, and we may experience nausea or dizziness.

The anxiety we feel is real and personal. Our instinct, though, is to ignore it, find ways to numb it or minimize it. That’s a mistake.

If we address our own anxiety first, we’ll be in a much stronger position to respond well to the person most directly affected. Do the things you know how to do to manage stress. A walk in the woods, some meditation or yoga, or talking to a trusted friend can help.

Make sure your own body and emotions are regulated before you turn to the person in grief.

 

2. Now focus on the other person.
Remember that the isolation they feel is almost as painful as the shock and the sadness of the loss itself. If you avoid them because you don’t know what to say, this avoidance serves only your needs.

Our friends and other loved ones need our comfort, support, and involvement during times of sorrow.

Although there isn’t a right thing to say, there are some things to never say. They include the current favorite, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “I know just how you feel.” How do you know there’s a reason, and what difference would it make to a grieving person, anyway? And you don’t know how they feel—only they do.

 

3. Admit that you don’t know what to say.
That’s a good start. Try something simple that breaks the ice and starts a conversation, or at least sends a message to the other person that they’re not alone.

“I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I wish I could say the perfect thing, but I know there’s nothing to fix it. I just wanted you to know I care and am here with you.”

 

4. Listen.
If the person is willing to talk, listen. It’s the single most vital thing you can do.

Listen to their story without interrupting. Don’t turn the conversation back to you with statements like, “I know what you’re going through—my dog died last year.”

Don’t tell them what they will, or should, feel. Simply acknowledge their pain and listen to what it’s like for them.

We all have different styles of managing shock and distress. Some people are angry, while others seem numb. Still others turn to gallows humor. Your job is not to correct them but to give them space to be the way they need to be.

 

5. Rather than saying, ”Let me know if I can do anything,” offer to do something practical and specific.
Taking on an ordinary task is often most helpful. Offer to shop for groceries, run errands, drive the kids somewhere, or to cook a meal or two. Ask if you can call tomorrow, or if they want to be left alone for a few days.

When Survey Monkey’s CEO Dave Goldberg died suddenly, his wife, Sheryl Sandberg, wrote the following:

When I am asked, “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, “My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am?” When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.

Today, as I recall the loss of my own infant son, I think about the one person who did truly comfort me. She arrived at my house with a bottle of fine brandy and said, “This is everyone’s worst nightmare. I am so, so sorry this has happened.”

Then we sat on the lawn and she poured me a drink as she listened to every horrible detail.

As I look back now, I still feel how much her gesture helped me cope through those early days of pain. She didn’t try to fix me or try to make sense of what happened. She didn’t even try to comfort me. The comfort she gave came through her being in it with me.

You can’t fix what happened, but you can sit with someone, side by side, so they don’t feel quite so alone. That requires only intention, a willingness to feel awkward, and an open, listening heart. It’s the one gift that can make a difference.

 

About Linda
Linda Carroll was born in 1944 in San Francisco and adopted into an Italian Catholic family. Very early, she discovered poetry as a form of prayer and a window into an expanded life. In 1961, when Linda graduated from high school, San Francisco was already buzzing with counterculture music, arts, and style, and Linda found herself selling beads and going to peace marches.
After finishing her bachelors degree in Oregon in the seventies, she moved to New Zealand, where she raised children on an 86-acre sheep farm. She returned to Oregon in the eighties and received a masters in counseling, and began practicing as a therapist.
In the nineties, she and her veterinarian husband, Tim Barraud, began to teach a couples course based on the Imago work of Harville Hendrix, the PAIRS training of Dr. Laurie Gordon, and their own insights, study and practices. They continue to offer retreats and seminars all over the world; Linda’s third book, Love Cycles, newly published, is based on this work.
As an adult, Linda found her birth mother, the novelist Paula Fox, and began to understand her deep-seated love of poetry anew. In 2006, her memoir, Her Mother’s Daughter, was published by Doubleday. In 2008, Remember Who You Are was published by Conari Press.
Linda’s new book, Love Cycles: The Five Essential Stages of Lasting Love, is now available. Sign up for her mailing list to learn the latest news for this terrific book. And follow her on Facebook.
Linda has five children and ten grandchildren. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and three Jack Russells* and continues her lifelong path of spiritual seeking.

 


Dark Souls Are Not to Fear, But to Love

Darkness

 

These words are not mine but instead, those of a courageous and insightful fellow warrior.  I’m fortunate to find these souls who in the absence of my words coming together to provide hope and compassion, they take over and provide us with comfort.  Please visit the link below to see the full article and more of Matthew’s beautiful writing.

In fact, do better.  Follow his blog and mine.  Spread the word as kindly as you can about the specific limitations and ultra-sensitive delights of a sexual abuse survivor.  We are worth it.  In this age where we strive to embrace the issues of racism, bigotry, violence, LGBT, transgender, bullying, etc., let’s begin by getting to know one another, the history we’ve experienced and the path on which we forge forward.  I’m ready, are you?

 

Dark Souls Are Not to Fear, But to Love

From Matthew Eaton: Writer, Child Sexual Abuse Survivor, Blogger

 

Do you languish in the darkness, or do you thrive in it?

This question lingers in my mind as I recall a conversation in my idle time.

“You know, the stuff you post is dark – really dark – but you’re always coming in here all cheery and happy.”

I discussed some people’s need to make me be something I am not. Instead, I learned a little more about myself.

I didn’t think anything about this statement at the time, but as I worried over it like a priceless possession, I wondered if it was possible the world was wrong and I, indeed, was correct in my darkness.

I live in the darkness, laughing at my disaster.

Dark souls are not to fear, but to love

What brought this post around was recalling a devotional my mother and I read when I was young. We were still members of the Foursquare church in Scotts Valley, and we weren’t the best of advocates to the holy life. No deep bible studies, no real praying or bonding with other believers, but we did invest in small devotionals that were to be ready daily. We read them in the morning.

They were filled with allegories and mental iconography galore.

So what made this particular devotional stand out? It contained the scientific knowledge (and commentary) on plant growth and the toxicity of continual exposure to light.

Since the beginning of my time as a God-ite, I questioned being in the light all the time. The thirst my other god-ites at the time held was rather interesting and confounding. They would shun people going through darkness, in fear the darkness would get into them like some sort of transmuted disease.

Nevertheless, here we were, reading a god-ite sponsored piece regarding the value of light and dark cycles with plants.

This is paraphrasing the work itself: “Too much time in darkness, and the plant withers. It is unable to reach any potential. Too much time in the light, however, is dangerous as well. At first, the plant thrives, but eventually it also withers and dies, burned beyond the point of recovery.”

Full article here

 

 

 


Into the mind of the abused child…into the heart of the woman she became

clouds-shadows - Version 2This is a profoundly important message from a dear sister friend.  She takes us on a journey and peeks into the mind of a child who has endured and coped through abuse, yet comes out the other side of it transformed.

If we are ever able to understand each other completely and totally, we must begin to listen to messages such as this. We read the stories, view the photos but here we hear the voice behind the story.  Joceline adds a beautiful new dimension to the totality of the experience.

Thank you Crowing Crone for capturing our truest feelings and deepest fears.  You’ve represented us, the silent children, with respect and dignity.

Click below to listen to Joceline’s recording on SoundCloud…….

into the mind of the abused child..into the heart of the woman she became……https://t.co/v2jYjF4eFB

 

 

 

 


My ‘Naked’ Truth by Robin Korth

Today I felt compelled to share this story. I share it as a 57 year old woman who wants to challenge the belief system of women, beauty, aging. Hats off to Robin for her naked and vulnerable story. Enjoy this article as I have and vow to continue to love ourselves fearlessly and to teach our daughters and future generations of women to do the same.

Kindness Blog

My ‘Naked’ Truth by Robin Korth

Robin Korth

Naked, I stood at the closet doors with the lights on and made myself ready. I took a deep breath and positioned the mirrors so I could see all of me. I consciously worked to remove my self-believed inner image. I opened my eyes and looked very carefully at my body. And my heart lurched at the truth: I am not a young woman anymore. I am a woman well-lived. My body tells of all the years she has carried my spirit through life.

I am a 59-year-old woman in great health and in good physical shape. I stand five-feet, nine-inches tall and weigh 135 pounds. I wear a size six in both jeans and panties, and my breasts are nowhere near my navel. In fact, they still struggle to make it full-up in a B-cup bra. My thighs are no longer velvet and…

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Why Too Many Flashbacks Might Be a Warning of Deeper Story Problems

I just enjoyed the heck out of this post.

It’s part stand-up comedy, enough vulnerability to make Brene Brown proud and teeming with great points about flashbacks.

Survivors live in the world of flashbacks. We experience them often in our day-to-day, hour-to-hour lives until our heads hit the pillow and then they often dominate our unconscious dream time.

What appeals to me here is that it gives us an element of control to our otherwise uncontrollable lives. Many of us owe our past a debt of gratitude for making us a fierce, strong warriors of the present. We’ve endured some major shit and can often yawn in the face of adversity as adults. But this gives us the tools to pull the meat of those experiences off the bone and finally end that pointless blabbering of our flashbacks.

Kudos to Kristen Lamb for this gem.
http://authorkristenlamb.com

Kristen Lamb's Blog

Image vis Flickr Creative Commons, courtesy of Yuya Sekiguchi. Image vis Flickr Creative Commons, courtesy of Yuya Sekiguchi.

This week we have been discussing flashbacks. What are they? Why do readers, agents, editors generally want to stab them in the face? Is it truly a flashback or is the writer employing an unorthodox plotting structure (The Green Mile or The English Patient)? Shifting time IS a legitimate literary device, but like ALL literary devices, it has strengths and weaknesses.

Theme is wonderful. But if we lay it on too thick, we can turn off readers because our story comes across as preachy or lecturing. Symbolism? Love it! But overdo this and readers can get irritated. Can the drapes JUST BE BLUE? Deus ex machina IS a legitimate literary device. Feel free to use it. I wouldn’t recommend it, but knock yourself out.

As I like to say, Have fun storming the castle! *waves and grins*

Deus…

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go only as fast as your slowest part feels safe to go…

Nov 14 revised Go Only Cover_Reduced

 

I can’t wait to get my hands on this book.  It’s ordered and on its way.

The full title is  Go Only as Fast as Your Slowest Part Feels Safe To Go: Tales to Kindle Gentleness and Compassion For Our Exhausted Selves written by Robyn L. Posin Ph.D.  If I hadn’t had the enormous good fortune to have crossed paths with Robyn before I knew of her book, the title alone would have been enough to have grabbed my attention. My soul seeks out and especially loves words like this.  Safe. Compassion. Gentleness.

You see, I’m a slow person in the ways that most of our world deems important to be fast.  I drive slowly, like an elderly couple on a Sunday afternoon, I’m the one who is leading the parade down Main Street, holding up traffic and keeping folks from their ever-present tendency to rush.  Yes, I get honked at a lot and am okay with that.   I like the feeling of peace that travels with me now instead of the gut tightening experience of rushing from one destination to another.

My movements are slower now also as I’ve come to realize that my serenity lies within me.  No longer am I chasing the carrot dangling in front of me, going ninety miles an hour inside, always reaching, grasping for the unattainable that is out there, somewhere out there, just slightly out of my reach.  I now know and try to practice a mindful lifestyle based on the innate wisdom that resides within.

But it hasn’t always been like this.  It wasn’t until my body broke that I fell into bed and took stock of my life.  Perhaps through lack of any other choice, I acquiesed to the cruel fact that I had fractured and splintered, used and abused, pushed and prodded myself almost to death.  I quit my job, dropped out of life, accepted the AMA’s diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Immune Dysfunction and slept for an entire year.  Summer, fall, winter, spring.  When I went to bed, my daughter was a high school freshman.  By the time I began to come out of my physical fog, she had nearly completed high school.

But this conversation isn’t about my poor choices or the ramifications of traumatized children or even the physical effects of abuse.  This is about a woman, who is a part of a movement, that exists to open our eyes to the possibility of acceptance and compassion in relationship to ourselves.  It is about physical slowing and emotional stillness.  It is about granting ourselves permission to honor the parts of our psyches that are smaller, littler, slower or feeling unsafe.  And taking that recognition to a level of loving acceptance.

Even though I haven’t read her book, I’m certain the gentleness of her words will blow me away.  I’ve found that to be true when I’ve visited Robyn’s website, For the Little Ones Inside.  Her writing and art struck a chord and I felt the immediate desire to slow down, let go, relax my body, relax my soul.  My exhausted self needed her. We exchanged a few e-mails, she’s on my blogrool and I’m on hers.  Perhaps I just needed to know that beliefs such as hers really exist.  That we can, in fact, lovingly accept our smallest parts and don’t have to hide or push them away. That it’s okay to be confused, unsure, distracted, cautious.  That it’s okay to just be.

 

Suggested Link:  Words, images and tales created by Robin Posin, Ph.D. at Compassionate Ink 


she is meeting herself in unknown ways….

Losing herself more often...These are not my words, although they represent me well.  A wisewoman wrote them, one I’ve recently stumbled upon quite serendipitiously, describing my mystic journey this summer.  As I read this passage, I felt she must have been present in some way to know that I’ve been losing track of time, losing my ability to remain grounded.

My absorption in the knowing of myself stretched out through most of the summer.  It was during this time that I had few words outside of my mind and heart.  My need for solitude became greater than before and I sought it for nourishment and enlightenment.

Thank you to the universe for bringing these words to me during a time when I needed them the most.  Thank you for allowing me to use your words when I had no words present.  Thank you for manifesting this healing concept in my world.

At some point during my summer of secret travels, they appeared with this image and I give credit to Sukhvinder Sircar for their origination.  For more of her beautiful writings and images, visit her blog, Joyous Woman! and find her on Facebook.

Nowadays, she is often losing track of time, day, week and month. Her absorption in the moment, in her work, her art, her prayer is getting deeper. She is beginning to ‘lose time’.  When she arrives back from her secret travels, she says ~ ‘I don’t know where I went’.  Yet she knows she was in a zone where everything already exists.

Some day, when you chance upon such a woman who is deeply absorbed and ask her ‘who are you?’, chances are you may see a knowing coupled with a blank expression. There are no words yet to her knowing.

Sometimes she worries about going missing. Yet loves the sweetness of loosing herself. The more absent she is, the more present she gets. 

She’s meeting herself in unknown ways.

*Sukhvinder Sircar*


Godspeed to Your Running Soul….

Maurice Sendak -Where the Wild Things Are

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The little boy comes to me with stifled tears, head bowed, chin jutted out, lips pursed together to keep in his words

I lie down behind him smoothing his long graying hair off his neck

He fights so hard; not to feel, not to disappoint, not to let the little boy get too far away from the only place he knows to be safe

I ache for his longings; his undiscovered freedom, stifled passions, joy without limits

I hold space for his gentle heart even when he can’t

He silently slips into sleep as I place a butterfly kiss on his salty neck and watch him come alive in his slumber, leaving tormented consciousness behind

Slowly at first, then with urgency, his legs start to twitch and run

I pray for godspeed to his running soul

and to please find my husband and bring him back

 

Photo credit:  Image from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

 

 


love story in there….somewhere….

girl and dragon

There seems to be light at the end of the tunnel.

I seem to have made it through the latest chapter of dark times.

Hopefully.

When I started this blog, I felt lost.  Then I found myself through writing and gave myself a voice that I’d never possessed before, at least for myself.  I’d been championing for others for decades; animal rights, women’s rights, diversity, environment.  It had become painful apparent to me that a great deal of time had been spent advocating for others and not myself.  That was a game changer.

Writing this blog has enabled me to find my voice through writing but look several issues squarely in the eye.  Honoring myself was one.  A simple bumper sticker noticed by the artist, Terri St. Cloud of Bone Sigh Arts.  Honor Yourself.  Simple words that were nearly impossible to integrate.

The next issue was that I couldn’t wrap my thinking around the fact that someone, anyone would want to read what I had to say.  In my mind, my words had to be profound, a literary masterpiece before putting them out for the world to see.  Shouldn’t I get a MFA in writing or something or some sort of artistic approval before being so bold as to put my words, my life, my history into words?  Well, that answer came soon too.  Survivors trickled in, slowly at first, some stumbling and fragmented, some already having honed their beautiful craft of expression.  All were worthy and I felt so blessed to be a part of a counterculture emerging for survivors, men and women, who were taking back their power.  I wanted to be a part of that.  For me, it was coming home.

My most recent absence is due to my utter confusion and re-entry into that dark place.  You see, I thought I’d been through it and had emerged complete, or at least complete enough.  I thought I was finally, finally in that safe cocoon where I could share my story of abuse and survival with the clarity of hindsight.  I was wrong, at least sort of.

This summer I separated from my husband.  My fairy tale crashed and I felt that I was a fraud.  How on earth could I write stories of hope and love when I had failed at my own love story?  Slowly, I moved through the hazy days of summer with my tool bag (purple of course) of rest, solitude, meditation, reading and dark chocolate.  I cried when I felt like it, wandered through the library, raged at Grandmother moon in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eluded me, slept any time I felt fatigued and tried, oh how I tried, to find joy anywhere I could.  I picked flowers and herbs from my beautiful garden and gave them to anyone I could think of; my church for Sunday morning service, the women at the convenient mart on the corner who are always so kind and make me laugh every time I’m there buying chocolate, my dear friend’s mother who was passing this summer, a friend who works long hours and commutes into the city each day.  I gave them just because.  Just because in the absence of my own joy, I needed to create that precious spark of joy for someone else and live vicariously off of that until I had my own.

Many, many people supported me though this passage, you will find them on my blogroll and Facebook page.  I simply couldn’t have weathered this without logging on to see their daily posts on love, writing, poetry, painting, nature, food.  I traveled with several as they made major changes in their lives too and hope that I provided them a wee bit of support also.

Slowly that spark began to burn again.  Now I have more words and more insight into myself.  I tip my hat to the dark side, purpose well served.

I still live a love story.  Really, there is a love story in here somewhere.  One that, once again, must begin with myself.  With or without a partner, my daughter, my dogs, my house.  I can write words of hope because now I’ve lived them again.  I’m not a fraud but an innocent person who stumbles and trips often, sometimes sitting in the mud puddle I fell in, squalling and crying.  But then there are times, when I laugh and dance around with a soggy tutu.

It’s all good.


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