Reflections on healing

Healing our wounds is terrifying ... the wounds become part of who we are, or who we think we are - how we define and view ourselves.

We rely on them, especially if they form part of the foundations on which we build ourself from ... if we start excavating, even just a little, the tower of ourselves threatens to fall .... and then we'd have to start rebuilding. And it will be a new, possibly completely unfamiliar person we will become - and for most of us, the fear of the unknown is far too great. We're content to keep with the Devil we know.

It's a lot easier to keep the status quo, make friends with our demons, put some sticky plaster over our wounds and get on with life. However when we do this, we live a lie, we create a world in which we cannot be truly open to our own greatness, to truly and deeply experience and enjoy the world in which we live, the relationships we engage in, pursue our intersts with real passion, be honestly and authentically happy ...

My wounds are deep - they are sexual, they hurt, they ache, they strike at the core of my being as a woman. They sadly define great chunks of who I am.

I think I am ready to start that excavation though ... in actual fact I've already begun ... as early on as Week Two of working on The Artist Way memories surfaced, I began making links between the past and the present.

However I dont think it was until this evening I was really willing to confront them - to make them real, physically in my hand, symbolic and out of body - rather than thoughts in my head, experiences kept locked in my body. I put them all together and created something new and beautiful from the guilt, the shame, the warping, the pain, the hollowness, the fear, the violence, the powerlessness. Now I have a new mask in which to wear - a new and beautiful way to see the world and myself.

Its a risk to take ... perhaps the biggest risk of all - to decide that we are worth healing and to look for a new reflection in the pond, a new face to wear proudly and openly.

Circle of the Sun: Hail Scorpio

Tonight was the Circle of the Sun ... this time in broody and intense Scorpio. The theme of tonight's gathering and the focus for our creative endeavours was the masks that we wear. Alex also spoke about the inner child, the artist we have when we are young and the censure that comes with adulthood (all themes of The Artist Way - that I'm now half way through!) To simply 'do the creative' and not 'think the creative.' About being in and part of the process, and not worried about the end product.

In the meditation we went deep into a primeval forest and to a pool of water. Beneath the light of a full moon, we had to look at the reflection in the water. I couldn't get myself to look into the water, and when I finally did it took forever for a reflection to emerge. When it did it was an ancient old crone, with her head covered. I didn't look away, I kept looking at her.

When we came out of the meditation, I wondered what the crone was telling me. She's been coming up quite a bit for me recently. I wondered, tying it in with Dan's comments on my natal chart over the weekend, if the crone was reminding me that I needed to dig deep, to find maturity and wisdom.

With the template of the mask in my hand ... I knew what I wanted to create. I wanted to create a bright, brash red mask ... I was drawn to the sacred whore, though this wasn't what I had seen in the pool. The face of the sacred whore is certainly not a mask that I am wearing at the moment, nor have worn for a very long time.

Exploring the art supplies, including a box of material remnants, I found some red material, along with some sequined red ribbon. It seemed like a good place to start. Looking at the template, I felt stuck ... blocked. It just didn't seem to go together. Looking across I saw some red tissue paper ... and I finally got it.

I began the creation of my mask, by drawing cat's ears onto the top of the template .. and felt as though I was creating a 'sex kitten' mask ... it seeemd to neatly symbolise the modern embodiment of the whore, and Mystic was talking about cat's being super edgy and spooky at the moment.

The tearing of each long strip of tissue paper was cathartic ... the trearing felt as though I was stripping the sexual wounds free of myself - disembodying them, so to speak. Then tearing each strip into its own little unit ... I symbolically created all the sexual wounds that I carry within. Once all the paper was torn up, I began to piece by piece, stick the paper, collage style over the mask. It represented a healing, a coming together, putting all the pieces together to create something new. Putting myself back together, if you like.

Over the 45 minutes, I just managed to cover the small mask with paper ... and then was stuck deciding on how to 'decorate' it. Around me there were all types of magnificent masks being born, and my small red mask seemed a little insignificant and quite plain in comparison. I reminded myself that this was about process ... all those small pieces of tissues paper stuck together.

I found some little silver stars, and glued nine of them on ... nine to honour the gifts of Aphrodite, that still seem to abound weeks after the Goddess conference.

With a stick stuck to the back, we joined back in the circle to dance a masquarade ball. It was thrilling, crazy, spooky and utterly out of this world ... can only imagine what it is like to actually be dressed for it as well.

Looking at my mask, I now, I need to find some falsh eye lashes ... put them on the other eye and then perhaps some black feathers and a coil of black ribbon down the same side.

It made me realise, just how important art is as a means and mode for healing. Perhaps this is the creative work that I have been looking for to base my sexual wounds healing circle around? This tearing, and reconfiguring .. taking from in here and putting it out there. Being in the right brain and out of the left brain ... allowing myself to be totally and utterly open, to be healing without consciously realising just what was happening.

My life continues to be truly blessed .... photo to follow tomorrow

Fiction Friday

This Week’s Theme: Write about an Auction The celebrity auction was building into cacophony of bids, and counter bids, laughing, cheering and applause. The bottomless wine and beer had loosened the purse strings on even the most dyed in the wool Scrooge. Lulled into the realisation that tomorrow, when the hang over lifted, there would be an element of sensibility in their actions. The money pledged had gone to a good cause. She smirked at the snippets of the cash register rifts from Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ that played over and over in her head. With any luck the auction and gala would pull in much needed funds for Homebirth Queensland and the Community Midwifery Legal Fund. In the audience the who’s who of the birthing community in Queensland, mingled with a sizeable turn out of celebrities and sporting personalities from across the country. It was a night in which everyone felt special. Everyone but one. “I can’t believe the ABC boys are here, without their cameras and stunts,” Louisa commented, the smile from the beginning of the night, still proudly playing on her lips. Abby remembered the cordial nods she had exchanged with the boys from ABC’s top rating political satire she walked in and saw them clustered together, enjoying a beer and a laugh. She also remembered the momentary clutching in her chest when she recognised them from afar. “If you’re thinking I invited them, I know nothing about it. Would be a little too much like consorting with the enemy I would think. I fear they’d think they were being set up if I asked them to an event” They both laughed. The easy camaraderie of their friendship continued undiminished by the change in Abby’s circumstances over the past year. “So Senator Malone.” “Yes boss.” ‘I’m no ones boss and I keep telling your that.’ ‘Technically, as a tax payer, you are my boss El Presidente.’ They laughed again and relaxed against the wall of the corridor that lead through to the rest rooms on one side and the kitchens on the other. The stress and tension from earlier on in the evening subsiding as the bids continued to climb to ridiculous heights. ‘I’ll be putting in a bid on your brownies Abby. I doubt my maxed out credit card will keep up with the bidding though.’ ‘Yes in between political engagements,’ Abby stated in her best 1940’s newsreel voice, ‘Senator Abby Malone finds time to spend in the kitchen making brownies with her family.’ ‘We miss your brownies.’ ‘I miss you guys. ‘Canberra is a hole and I know I’m the black sheep of my political party, despite all the stupid spin doctoring in the media. I’m not the golden girl of my party. It’s a cess pit.’ ‘Oh darling, we appreciate everything you’re doing.’ Louisa put her arm around her friend’s shoulders and squeezed her firmly, but gently. A thousand exchanges passed in that simple gesture of support. ‘I’m doing fuck all, that’s what I am doing. Can you see the permanent mark across my forehead from banging my head against the wall, desk, filing cabinet, my PA’s back side. Fuck … ‘I thought motherhood was frustrating, but this has nothing on motherhood. I thought being part of the engine, part of the political machine would make a difference, but I just feel like a sell out.’ ‘You’re not a sell out. Look at what you’ve helped to create here tonight. This will bring in more money than we could ever have imagined. This will mean our midwives will have money to cover their costs against the Nursing Council. And you’ve changed the way we do politics in Australia. A few years ago we were nauseous with all the lies and back stabbing … now you could almost joke we’re nauseous on the truth. You did that.’ Abby shrugged her shoulders and rearranged the sequined straps of her dress. ‘I guess I’m just having one of those nights. But it’s lovely that we had this chance to talk.’ ‘You know you can always call me, even if it’s my tax dollar you’re using to call me from your plush desk in polly la la land.’ Louisa hugged her friend tightly this time. ‘Hang in there babe, it is all worth it.’ Abb nodded. Louisa kissed her staunchly on the cheek and disappeared back into the ballroom to find her seat. Abby remained in the corridor, wishing she could find the servants entrance to sneak out of. She felt physically ill, despite the comfort of Louisa’s company. ‘Senator Malone, here you are. Hiding out the back. Not terribly befitting a Madame Social Butterfly’ She turned and glared in the direction of the voice. ‘And a good evening to you too.’ ‘I was starting to think you’ve been avoiding me all night. Giving me a complex. I haven’t seen you in months.’ ‘I’ve been busy and as far as I know, we don’t actually know each other socially.’ ‘When did you go get so high and mighty.’ ‘When did you go and get yourself obnoxious and full of your own self righteousness, with a peroxide blonde dripping off your arm.’ He lent awkwardly against the wall next to her, his breathe heavy and stale. ‘So tell me, Sen-aye-tah. Have you gone and got yourself a new lover yet?’ ‘That’s enough Hurley. My business is no longer your business OK. It’s over, finished, history. Just the way that you wanted it back in January.’ ‘It had nothing to with me. It had to do with your mate Jeff.’ ‘I thought we promised to never mention him.’ ‘Mention what, the little accident Jeff had? Or the little bit of blackmail? You’ve got no idea what that all cost me?’ ‘Cost you! It cost me too – you weren’t the only one.’ ‘Yeah but it was your career wasn’t it. None of it mattered until you went and became a fucking famous politician.’ ‘You’d have loved it had I just stayed at home, tending the house and all of that, let you be the big star footballer huh! Been the one at your beck and call. This is our secret, not my secret.’ ‘No you got that wrong sweetheart. It is your secret. I’m not the one going to have a little chat with the coppers about it if it makes front page headlines.’ ‘What do you want Hurley? Are you going to blackmail me now, after all we’ve been through together,’ Abby cried out, tears of frustration and disbelief stinging her eyes. The noise of the auction filtered down the hallway, punctuating the growing chasm of silence between them. The tears began to flow down her powdered cheeks. ‘Please don’t cry Abby, I’m sorry. I’m full of piss and bad manners.’ He reached out to wipe away the tears. ‘Fuck off,’ she spat. ‘You’re not pissed, you’re high – I can smell the shit seeping out your pores. ‘I didn’t put an end to us because I became a Senator. I have loved you for 10 years of my life and there’s still a part of me the loves you unconditionally. But you’re a liability to yourself and your career. You didn’t want to give up the drugs for me, so how about you give them up for yourself. You only love yourself.’ He laid his sweaty head against the cool wall. ‘Do you still have the film?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Why do you keep it Abby?’ ‘It reminds me how close I came to losing everything.’ ‘You lost me.’ ‘No Hurley, you lost yourself.’ She turned and left him standing strung out and despairing in the corridor of the ballroom, face still pressed into the lilac paintwork. At the gilt mirrors, in the rest room vestibule, she resmudged her foundation to correct the arroyos the tears had made on either cheek. She tried to blink away the redness in her eyes mentally making a note to blame it on her new contact lenses should anyone bother to enquire. Back in the hallway he was gone and a quick survey of the room found his chair empty. The blonde was gone too. ‘Abby, you missed your brownies being auctioned off you darling,’ her husband commented as she sat back down, taking her hand in his. ‘The most ironic person won the bidding.”
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This continues on from last weeks Friday Fiction ... and is a bit of a character building exercise leading up to NaNoWriMo ... if you're intrigued, or even just a little interested, keep an eye out!

Fiction Friday

This Week’s Theme: What happens when a character, while cleaning out a house before moving out, finds a roll of film? The contracted removalists moved about the house with a stealthy organised grace that she hadn't expected. In a blur of bubble wrap, tissue paper, collapseable cardboard boxes and packing tape her home was systematically being reduced to a neat stack of boxes in each room and on the company inventory. It was a perk of the job - having someone paid to pack up your home. In the bedroom, she sat among semi organised piles of belongings. Taking FlyLady's advice there was a pile of clothes and trinkets to be given to St Vinnies, a pile of rubbish to go into the skip and the rest was to be packed away and labelled 'Main Bedroom'. It was while rummaging through her lingerie draw, deciding which bras were donatable and which were keepers, that her fingers brushed the cold metal canister. Her heart seized for a moment. She remembered that she had forgotten and wondered how that had come to pass. The green and white roll of Fuji film had arrived in the first week of the election campaign. It had only arrived after she had organised a direct debit. It was not a once off payment, it was an ongoing blackmail. Even though she had the photos (and she assumed that they were indeed the photos that they were said to be) he had the knowledge. This had been the beginning of her career as the virtuous politician. She realised too late the error she had made, in trying to hide the past. It was this mistake that had lead her to revolutionise the way the political game was played in Australia. At one stage one of the journalist had dubbed her the 'Eminem of politics'. She didn't wait for the opposition parties to dish out the dirt on her, she willing offered it up in what, at one time, would have been political suicide. She had spoken honestly about the termination she'd had at 23, about living in a violent relationship, she'd even fessed up about speeding tickets. There was no stone unturned, no scandal to be found - except in this one small roll of film. The blackmail payments stopped a year ago. There had been an accident, brake failure on a wet and windy road. It sounded cliched and set up. She didn't know if it was. She was only one part of the high profile secret. What Hurley had decided to do with his part of the blackmail was his business. She was sure that he too was paying money up until the accident. She rolled the film cannister between her thumb and forefinger. And now this was the only remnant of the potential scandal- a metal casing and some film, ghosted with the images of a forbidden love affair that had spanned years. It was this roll of film, which held both her political success and downfall. How come she had kept it?Sshe didn't know. Was she another Queen Elizabeth - keeping her Dudley close by to remind her of just how close she had come to political annihilation. Or was it a bizarre talisman, that had bought her luck and acomplishment far beyond her wildest dreams. Looking thoughtfully at the different piles in the room, she couldn't decide where to put the film. 'Scuse me - we just wanted to know how much longer you'll be in here so we can break down the furniture' 'Is half an hour OK - I've got myself sidetracked with stuff.' 'Lost holiday snaps?' 'Something like that.' 'I'll let you get back to it then.' Removed from her reverie she deftly tossed the cannister into a cardboard box clearly marked 'rubbish'. She knew you created your own success through tenacity, intelligence and wile. It wasn't the roll of film and the threat to expose her that had created her successful political personae. It had been her ability to deal with it, learn and grow from the experience that allowed her to flourish. She'd kept her integrity and become a political high flier. Who would ever have thought a Mum from the suburbs with a dirty secret could have seduced politics into honesty and uprightness!
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Apt advice for today .....

Expansion, contraction and the spiral dance

The thoughts are firing through my head so fast I dont know if my typing can keep pace with them - especially since I am having to back track to get the original thoughts down first.

The themes of expansion and contraction seem to keep popping up for me. First it was an early morning experience of travelling with my thoughts forward until I reached a point where I thought 'how did I get here?' and backtracked through to the original thought, noticing the twists and turns and deviations. This was something I did a lot when I was younger and when I did lots of long distance driving. I was forever in awe of my minds capacity to weave such intricate webs of thoughts and fantasies.

At the last circle of the sun I got speaking to another lady, who has a Hindu background and began recounting my thought journeys from the morning - about the return of my love for being lost in thoughts - the expansion and then contraction of my thought patterns. She told me about contraction and expansion from her point of view. She suggested finding some quiet time after my walks, while my heart rate was still up to sit quietly and feel the expansion. Reminded me of my yoga teacher saying when I was pregnant that peace was the pause between the inhalation and the exhalation. During the weekend just past I can a chance to experience lots of moments along this theme of inwards and outwards motion.

Having spent a blissful two days at the Goddess Conference on the Gold Coast, I can see that as my world and my experience of that world is expanding, I am really honing down other aspects of my life, as I search for and begin to practise my truth.

Lucy Cavendish spoke on the second morning of the conference - urging all the women there to go out into the world and share their stories with others - to share them with those who will feel least inclined to share with. I realise as I become more certain of my truth (as the contraction down into the truth is strengthened) that my confidence level increases, I am more certain of myself and will have the ability to go out and share my stories with those I would have long steered clear of in the past.

I realise in this constant ebb and flow of movement, that my path is not a linear one and neither is my experience of life's lessons. My friend Dalissa pointed out in our creative cluster yesterday that learning can also be seen in a spiral sense - points being revisted and contacted again over time (reminds me also of the retrograde motion of the planets and the other conjunctions that they create in their backwards transits!) It makes such better sense to see life in this manner. Two steps forward and one step back can always seem soul destroying.

And just to round out the beautiful synchroncity of it all ... on the weekend I got to dance the spiral dance for the very first time. Interestingly enough as the line of dancers began, I realised that I would be on the outer perimeter of the spiral and was thankful (being claustrophobic) and was grateful, but as the dance progressed and the circle became tighter and tighter, I would have been happy in the expansive joy of the dance to have been held tightly in the middle. A lesson for life perhaps.

Postscript: Lucy lead us in an Aphrodite visualisation, where we met with the Goddess and asked her a question. On our seats when we sat down there was a Tarot card placed face down. The answer from Aphrodite was in the card. My card was Temperance and when I sought Lucy out later on to ask after it, she said that I was sitting at a midpoint (yes - we've already been through that!) that it was like a sword that had be fashioned, and my Truth is that Sword. She said that to make the sword hard and durable it needs to be forged in the fire first. Lucy told me that I know my Truth, it is there, but I haven't had to go through the fire for it and once I have done that I will step out of the middle and make a decision.

Fiction Friday: I'm not one for sentimental ....

This Week’s Theme: Use this quote as the spark for anything you want."I'm not one for sentimental endings. Not this time." At some point you have to draw a line in the sand and say 'enough is enough'. At some point you have to admit an ending is needed, necessary and you will not go on without it. At some stage you have to admit that your sanity, in fact your life is more important and move on. "I'm not one for sentimental endings. Not this time," she sang under her breath, to herself. Being sentimental implied a reverie, nostaligia, a sense of losing something good. That was not what it was like this time. This ending came with a sense of relief. There was nothing good being left behind, anything that she would miss. There would be no more fear coursing through her veins, like a second circulatory system, that kept her wired day and night. The undercurrent of fear would finally have it's light turned off and she could go back to a life that was normal. There was no sadness as she said good bye, there was no need. Do you wistfully bid violence and mind torture a sweet and protracted farewell? Do you ache for it to return, you miss it so much? There was no sense of loss here, just sombre anticipation of a new beginning - finally!
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Blackout

It's a media blackout here this week. As part of The Artist Way we're having a reading deprivation week - no reading ... so for me that means just shutting up the computer and leaving it that way.

I'll be back in a weeks time - I'm sure with lots of insights and other tales, as I will be attending the Goddess Conference on the Gold Coast Friday and Saturday, staying over night which will be my first night away from Dylan ever.

See you next Sunday ....

Sunday Snakes

Dylan wanted to do some drawing this arvo - so out came the lovely oil pastels (that seem to be much nicer than the ones I remember using at primary school) and he decided that he wanted to draw snakes. This is what I came up with ... not sure on the meaning of the colours - though I'm aware that the serpent is a strong female symbol (shedding of skins, rebirth, healing etc - nothing to do with the crap trotted out by the Christian faith in their desire to undermine the goddess faiths!)

As I write this I'm being harrassed by an insect that looks suspiciosly like a bee - though doesn't look like any bee I've ever seen?Another moment of synchronicity?

Fiction Friday: Bye baby bunting

This Week’s Theme: Use the first line of a nursery rhyme (your choice) to start your own story. "Bye baby bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting" "Bye bye love, bye bye sweet caress." "Bye bye Miss American Pie." "Bye Bye black bird" "I give up!" "One to me - your turn now." With a sigh they both fell back down into the pile of the pillows on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The warm summer breeze blew the sheer lace curtains inwards, brushing the tops of their upturned faces. "One more turn and whoever loses cuts the cheese cake and pours the wine." "Sure." She rolled onto her side, with a cheeky smile, singing the first nursery rhyme that came into her head. "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross." "Whaaht! I don't even know that one." "You don't have to know the rhyme - just get on with it. Ride." "Ride Sally, ride." "Ride on time." "Bah-bowh! That's the song name - lyrics are right on time. Got to get up, got get up ... da da da." "You're not old enough to know that!" "Ahhhhh - makes me your toy boy then and I know lots of stuff even if I am younger than you. And you're cutting the cheese cake, unless you can come up with a lyric. Tick .... tick .... tick." He began to nuzzle her long slender neck, out stretched ... ripe to be kissed and caressed. Her head craddled in the palm of her hand. He could ever so faintly feel her carodid pulse beneath his lips, gathering pace. "I can't concerntrate when you do that." She gently pushed him away and sat up to stare at the posters on the wall. They weren't giving up any clues and she struggled to think of a song lyric "Really .... You can't concerntrate when I kiss you like this." He began kissing her neck again to annoy her rather than distract her, just to see if she would take the bait and bite. "Yes reeeee-allly ... and you know how much I hate losing." "No you just hate pulling the cork out the bottle in case it breaks and I make fun of you." "Shush! I'll think of one." "How about ride me all night long." "In your dreams sick boy. And it's shook me all night long and I can't stand ACDC. It doesn't count." "Ahh ACDC ... ride on, standing on the edge of the road, ride on, thumb in the air. ride on, one of these days I'm gonna. ride on, change my evil ways." "Shit!" "That's two to me and none to you." "Bogan!" He began to hum the music from Perfect Match. "How do you know all this eighties crap when you weren't even born!" "I was so born - just still shitting my pants." "Nice and I give up. Cake?" "Yes please!" He smiled and folded his arms behind his head, as he lay back. "I can't believe you made me cheese cake." "Not just cheese care - lemon cheese cake with pineapple and lime jelly on the top. Hope you know that I had to actually go out and buy the cake tin to make this." "I'm honoured." "No you are sick." "Apparently with syphillis according to your mother." "She didn't say that - she just said to check that it wasn't syphillis. She works in Sexual Health so everything is in that frame." "Well the rash on the palms of my hands looks nothing like syphillis." "It's apparently a strange place to have a rash." "Yes it is." "In your learnered opinnion." "Yes in my learnered opinnion. How's the cake coming along." She was carefully freeing the jelly top from the sides of the cheese cake tin, allowing the cake to come out perfectly. "Not too bad. I don't think I left any jelly at home in the bottom of the fridge. Last time I tried this the tin didn't hold shut properly and all the jelly ran into the bottom of the fridge." "Do you love me?" "Love is a many splendid thing. Love lifts us up." "Do you know the whole bit from Moulin Rouge." "Hmmmm .... I used to." "But do you love me?" "That's a loaded question if its a question and not a lyric." She placed the plates of cheese cake down on the dressing table and sat at the bottom of the bed staring straight at him. There was a small red wine stain in her white shirt. He was with her when she bought the shirt. He used his Coles Myer employee card and she'd seen the ex girlfriend’s name on the card. She looked bothered, but she laughed it off saying she was broke and could use the 5% discount that it got her. He felt bad, felt that he had to explain it all ... and it all came out. How he'd invested all his time and energy into getting her through year 12 and hadn't got the marks he'd wanted to follow his dream into medicine. He was studying nursing instead and she'd dumped him at the end of exams. Such a waste. "Did you love Liz?" "Did you love Mark?" "What a stupid question. Mark and I were screwing ... it was an arrangement." "But you were still cut." "I was peeved. I gave him a chance to be honest and he didn't." "So is that what this is. Is this an arrangement too?" "Where has all of this come from. One minute were singing silly song lyrics and the next thing you're asking me if I love you." "I feel as though if we don't have this conversation right here, right now we'll never have it and you'll be gone." The shrilling of the boom gate alarms cut through is thoughts. He was too late. The train was pulling out of the station. He pressed redial on his phone as the boom gates came down infront of him, barring his way to the train station. "I'm sorry. I'm at the crossing." "That's OK. It means a lot that you made the effort to come to the station. I'm just sad we didn't get to say good bye properly. I can see you at the crossing. I'm waving." "I'm really sorry, this wasn't how I wanted it to end." "It's OK, really it is. We'll keep in touch?" "Yes, we'll keep in touch. Have a safe trip home. I'll miss you." For a moment he thought he could say I love you but the moment passed and the phone was dead. The train trundled through the crossing, gathering speed on its way out of town and towards Sydney. He realised only after she was gone, that he'd let a good thing slip away and it need not have been this way.
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Power Colour

Your Power Color Is Indigo

At Your Highest: You are on a fast track to success - and others believe in you. At Your Lowest: You require a lot of attention and praise. In Love: You see people as how you want them to be, not as how they are. How You're Attractive: You're dramatic flair makes others see you as mysterious and romantic. Your Eternal Question: "Does This Work Into My Future Plans?"

What's" Your Power Color?

They need someone who can correctly edit their answers ... forever the Editor I found at least one readily apparent mistake in my output! I really find these quizzes difficult as the answers seem to hit off different aspects of myself. A few of them came easily others were a few minutes in the making??My fav colours are green, red and black ... though more recently started a new love affair with purple?I found the Eternal Question quite amusing ... considering for almost 34 years I have had no real idea what my future plan was? But now I'm pretty set on my path ... I wonder if this question will bare out.

I too Danae am procrastinating from Fiction Friday!!

Nurturing

When my partner Dave found out that the theme for this issue (Winter 2006) was ‘nurturing the nurturer’, his immediate response, with raised questioning eyebrows was, ‘Well what will you write about?’

Nurture is defined officially as ‘nourish, rear, foster, train and educate’. Implicit in each of those actions is love and support, which to me is really what is at the core of nurturing

I admit that I am reluctant to accept help and to allow others to nurture me. However there have been two rare exceptions in the past three years where I have readily, voraciously and easily accepted the nurturing offered by others - though it’s taken until now to realise that it was a form of nurturing.This nurturing was the knowledge, infomation and wisdom offered to and shared with me by my midwife and by the women at the HMA Brisbane support group.

I know that not everyone places such a high value on infomation, knowledge and wisdom, but for me they are essential. I heard about practises and beliefs regarding birth and mothering, that I had never before been exposed to, at the HMA Brisbane support group (which I religiously attended throughout my pregnancy and into the early months of mothering). The openness and honesty of the women at each meeting allowed me to gain much needed confidence in the ability of my body to birth with the ease and grace which nature intended. It also reinforced to me time and time again - that choosing homebirth was the best decision that we could have made, to lovingly, peacefully and safely bring our child into the world.

The birth stories and insights into the birthing process that were shared over the five months, at support group, nourished me during my fast and furious labour. Without the wisdom that bubbled to the surface in the first hours of my labour - I probably would have been terrified that I could not cope, such was the intensity and speed with which my surges unfolded. I intuited, from birth stories that I had heard, that I was obviously going to have a fast birth and I was going to cope.

In addition to sharing her midwive’s/mother’s/woman’s wisdom and experience with me during my pregnancy, my midwife empowered me to believe in myself - perhaps the most profound and influential of all the nurturing that has been offered to me to date. It is a gift that I am truly grateful for. She fostered and nourished me through my transition from maidenhood and into motherhood very simply, by reassuring me that I had everything inside of me that I needed to birth and mother well. She validated and encouraged me to tap into my intuition. Combined with the trust I had in myself, this empowered me to tackle the challenges of mothering head on once I had birthed Dylan. I also knew that she was only a telephone call away should we not fare well as new parents.....

...On the following pages are articles that I hope provide food for thought, practical ideas or spark happy memories. Please share your magazine around to pregnant friends, family and neighbours, and in doing so spreading the important nurturing wisdom that we have collected here. I hope that the many other women, who like me, have resisted the gifts of nurturing offered by friends and family, will acknowledge the importance of saying ‘yes’ to nurturing. It is so important for us, as mothers and women, to acknowledge that we need to love and nurture ourselves, so we can love and nurture our families.

Have a nurturing and nourishing Winter … see you in Spring!

- July 2006

An extract from my editorial in the 'Nurturing the Nurturer' issue. Artwork is by DTB's resident artist, and my beautiful and inspiring friend Nickole Webb. It was the first illustrated cover DTB had had in many years. Winter 2006 is one of our best selling magazines ever!

Nanowrimo

It's official - I'm going to have a crack at the National Novel Writing Month competition - to see if I can churn out 50,000 words in the month of November. I thinks its been estimated at about 1600 words a day. I think I have the ability to create 1600 words a day - but creating the space in which to do it, is another thing. However its a challenge, both literary and organisational that I believe that I am up to. I've created my profile on the official website and just have to negotiate some ground rules with Dave and Dylan - though I have to come up with the rules (sounds like the sort of behavioural management strategies I used to use at the high school when I was BM officer!)

I've already got a concept and a simple framework to build the piece on, and starting now to fill in ideas of plot and characters. I had a bizarre moment in the kitchen while cooking dinner when I wondered if it were possible to create characters from my own herstory and have them all converge in one place ... but a little afraid that it may be a little two dimensional and wont really stretch me as a writer ( I will be stretched to simply finish, let alone worry about things like well rounded and thought out characters!) At least its a good place to start with the count down of 27 days to the beginning.

The beginning will also coincide with my trip away to Sydney for the homebirth conference ... so November is set to be a rip roaring month. I can't wait to be back at the page to simply enjoy the process of writing and creating - I have not written an extended piece of writing since I finished my last 'novel' in Year 12 as my communications project.

Broken News

"Broken News - 5 continents, 25 channels, 227 reporters - you get the picture." What a splendid way to finish Wednesday night TV ...

We've just finished watching 'Broken News' on SBS ... what a sad indictment of news - or as the Chaser boys dubbed it a few years ago 'newstainment'. Like CNNNN on speed and with the attention span of a goldfish ... you've got to laugh. Our favourites were hosts Richard Pritchard and Melanie Bellamy and not to mention the Mel and Koshie bantering of the two hosts with their aged weatherman. And what's it with non sequiters (being the queen of them in our household) or the ability to string together a couple of sensible sentences about something meaningful?

Several scenes reminded me of my Year 12 History teacher who would routinely come out with 'Yes, you've got a good grasp of the obvious.' It's sad though when its our news reporting. Reminds me why we dont bother with commercial news or 'current affairs programs' ... unless we want a really good laugh.

In retrospect (as the show was from 2005) it shows up the absolute stupidity and absurdity of the Coalition of the Willings (funny that you dont hear that term bantered about any more!) take on why they were justified in storming Iraq. Thank God Bolivia doesn't have nuclear weapons either (you'll understand if you saw the show).

The show has a phenomenal cast of 145 actors and is from the producer of Stephen Fry's Absolute Power. From the BBC website: Each episode mirrors how we, as consumers of continuous news, surf the infinite choice of networks, pressing the button immediately an item loses our interest, desperate for something to hold our interest, moving on as soon as we are bored. It's a show that starts and ends half-way through a sentence with news networks that don't exist but could, reporting on stories that haven't happened yet but just might..." I think however it will be replaced next week my Sean Macaliffe's "Newstopia" - because only SBS would actually allow Macaliffe the freedom to say and do as he pleases. Hurray for Wednesday night TV!

Fav moment from Chasers War on Everything had to be the Beatles version of Anna Coren's nonsensical story lead in (followed closely by Andrew Hansen's piss take of Tim Friedman) They just keep getting better and better.

Mandala for libra

From last night's Circle of the Sun:

"Our inner space is what makes it possible to remain stable,whole and content. Cultivate and hold a sacred space for your truth. From the space of your truth, let your life effortlessly and lovingly flow."

The quality of the photo is atrocious and doesn't exactly do the mandala justice.