365 Mary

Last week I found myself with time to "waste" in a local Borders' bookstore. Mmmmmm... I had a goal in mind, to find a journal specific to my dreaming. What I came away with, however, were two devotionals that I'm truly enjoying.

The first is John Baillie's A Diary of Private Prayer, released in 1949. This wee lil' gem offers a morning devotional as well as an evening recitation for 31 days with an additional Sunday. What drew me to it was Baille's humble note at the beginning: "These prayers are to be regarded as aids; they are not intended to form the whole of the morning's or evening's devotions or to take the place of more individual prayers. . . The prayers are suited to private use, not to the liturgical use of public worship."

I love how this author simply lays at my feet this small offering of help. Rather than being the end-all, be-all of devotionals, Baillie says, "Hey, here's a little something that may help. Take from it what you will . . ."

The second devotional has been filling as well, 365 Mary by Woodeene Koenig-Bricker. It's a daily guide to the wisdom of the "Virgin" Mary. Lately, I've been feeling a desire to call upon the Mother Mary as well as the Magdalene, for their strength and guidance and protection. When I opened up that day's reading, the theme was forgiveness (which I've been struggling with Big Time). I couldn't help, but smile, knowing another little sign was being brought to my shore.

In the different Magdalene things I've read, I'm seeing that many prayers, shrines, services, etc. that are devoted to the "Mother Mary," are actually heretical honoring of the Magdalene. And today's reading from 365 Mary hints at that: "The Litany of Loreto."

In the long list of homage to Mary, it starts with "Holy Mary, pray for us. Holy Mother of God." HELLO!!!! Wasn't Jesus said to be the "son" of God? A little further down the list there's, "Mother of our Creator" and "Seat of wisdom" and "Spiritual vessel" and "Mystical rose" and "Tower of David" and "Ark of the covenant" and "Queen of apostles" and ends with "Pray for us, O holy Mother of God."

Now isn't that crazy wild?!!! Koenig-Bricker then poses the question, "What title of Mary appeals to me most?" With so many from which to choose, I think it's pretty obvious that this Mary she writes of is more than just the Mother of Jesus. She is a MARY, she is MANY MARYS. And I find that to be pretty dang cool . . .

Where for art my Magdalene

This blog has been through quite a few changes. About a year ago, it began as a Bible read, but I simply could not find the willingness to continue with that venture. Being quite prickly about the oft discarded female role in the story of "christian" spirituality, try as I might, I simply could not proceed with the read.

So what changed? It was finding the blog of an author who helped to re-ignite my wavering faith in the Sacred Feminine. When I found Joan Norton's Mary Magdalene Blog, I was amazed to suddenly find connection with a community, albeit small and thousands of miles away, that not only supported my desire to know the Magdalene better, but encouraged a deepening of the conviction that this woman, Magdalene, this goddess, is at the core of spirituality for me.

The Magdalene caught my attention years ago, specifically during 4th grade catechism when, being groomed for confirmation a few years in the future, we were encouraged to think about which saint we would choose as our patron. Well, any good catholic girl knows the female options are few and far between. But there was this Mary Magdalene, this sinner that we were told of who washed Jesus feet with her tears, drying them with her hair. Something about her, not so much the brief story, but HER, sent a vibration through my heart.

When I mentioned thinking about choosing Mary Magdalene as my patron saint, my teacher, a lay woman in the church, told me, "Oh, you don't want her, she was a sinner." Distinctly, I recall reminding this teacher, "But aren't we all sinners?" To which she replied, "Not that kind of sinner," and walked off.

Despite the Vatican's recant of this lie in the 1960s, this experience proved that such an erroneous belief was alive and well in Grand Mound, Iowa, 20 years later. And for better or worse, my faith in the Magdalene remained stifled for another 15 years. Sure, there was Scorsese's "The Last Temptation of Christ," but by my late high school years when it was released, I'd already given up hope that Jesus could actually have lived as a normal Jewish male. And because of all the flack the "fathers" of the Church raised, I just didn't have the energy to hope such nonsense could be possible.

But in my final year of college, taking a 'Women in Antiquity' class, my desire to know the Sacred Feminine was pricked. Suddenly I learned about pre-Bronze Age cultures that worshipped a female, life-giving Force! While I still didn't believe such heresy was possible, I couldn't quiet the stirrings in my soul that something was coming at me.

That something began emerging a decade later when a couple of my Bitches started a book club as a means of staying connected with each other after 9/11. One of the first books we read was Anita Diamant's "The Red Tent." The power of this author to weave an amazing tale of female strength and belief encouraged me to actually believe the Feminine Sacred was more than just funky goddess jewelry, crystals, and incense.

Looking back, I can clearly see how the Magdalene threw my search into overdrive. Shortly there after, the pastor at my Congregational church, Ginger Taylor, invited me to join a woman's book club. One of the first she recommended? Dan Brown's "The Da Vinci Code." Hollah!!!

It was 2004, a year after the book had been released, and suddenly the blasphemy of even hoping that Jesus had been a real guy was something no longer hopeless! It was as if the Magdalene was joyously dancing in my soul, stirring up my thoughts and pulling me to her. The very next book I read was Margaret Starbird's amazing and groundbreaking, "The Woman with the Alabaster Jar."

The rest is herstory! And while many authors including Starbird admit much of their research cannot be supported by factual evidence, one must not discount the resonance these tales strike in the depths of one's soul.

For me, so much of what I have read and continue to discover about the Magdalene is my Truth, my Gnosis. And each night, my spirit rests in knowing that both the Masculine and Feminine are divine and exalted and that those with eyes to see and ears to hear, know this too . . .

The cooley coincidence

I know I've shared how crazy-beautiful my life is. Are there moments of complete sucky-ness? Oh yeah. But then come the moments that blow...me...away...

Anyone read my last post, waxing about life in the beautiful valley and climbing out for better views? Recall how struck I was by a reading from one of my meditation books: "My sense of failure is a sure sign that I am growing in the new life. It is only struggle that hurts. In sloth -- physical, mental, or spiritual -- there is no sense of failure or discomfort." Turns out, I was not the only one to find comfort in those lines.

Later that day, I met my angel Miss Denise for coffee and she presented me with the most lovely raisin soda bread and a card. In it, she penned the exact same lines I quoted above.

I LOVE moments like that! Those times make me grin like a silly fool and get all giggly!

That deep part of my being, call it the Soul or Time Eternal or Sacred Intelligence, but that part of me just bubbles over and all I can do is smile at the realization of Jackie Warner's little gem: "The Universe is taking care of me." It really is!

For a long time, as I was being conditioned to a new way of living, I was constantly told: "You will be lead. You will be lead." Usually I say I believe that, but the coincidental words in that card jolted my body awake to that truth. Rather than thinking about that truth, I felt it at the core of my being. And Miss Denise, from the moment I met her, has shown herself to be a person of beauty and truth, love and supreme kindness.

Many of you may not be aware (ahem), but I'm a bit of a nut job. And Miss Denise has been unfailing in her willingness to talk me off the ledge. All my love to you Miss Denise!

Another year climbing out of the cooley

I'm back to loathing my blog. Why? It's the pressure! Ugh. Every time I open my page to visit my favorite blogs, that Obama-con picture of moi smiled it's silly grin back at me, taunting me to come up with something to write. Well, I'm still dry as a day-old toast.

But I will say this, Life is Good. Really good.

Without going into detail, (I spilled those about a year ago if you're that interested) today is a super special day for me. It's the anniversary of the day my life veered off a crazy, serpentine road full of potholes and no shoulder and found an exit ramp that dropped me into a valley so sweet, so ripe it continues to amaze. But it's a valley, nonetheless.

Valleys, or if you're a Cheddar Head, Cooleys, may be beautiful -- shady on hot days, lush with pastures -- but valleys are also kinda chilly and offer the ever-present reminder that better views await, if you're willing to make the climb.

And because I'm one selfish, self-centered beastie, I crave the better view. But the climb can soooo SUCK. Yet I keep going, many times without even knowing why except for the feeling, the inner propulsion that I must move forward.

Deep down in the pit of my guts, I know something amazing waits for me. A book I aim to read every morning offered this little gem to me for today: "My sense of failure is a sure sign that I am growing in the new life. It is only struggle that hurts. In sloth -- physical, mental, or spiritual -- there is no sense of failure or discomfort."

So am I to trust that the laziness that I fight EVERY day is not sloth? I'm keenly aware of my laziness, my lack of follow through and the yucky feeling it leaves within. I feel failure at every turn. (True, that may be the perfectionist within.) Am I to trust that the wee lil' action I do manage to take is enough?

I guess the Universe thinks so. Within the last couple of months, I've experienced such a blowout of Magdalene support. Connecting with different authors, learning new methods of prayer, gaining deeper understanding of what the Magdalene means to me, and snatching glimpses of the Truth that is buried far down in my soul, I keep taking that wee lil' action.

Having hiked just a bit out of the valley, I am gaining a better view. But I want more. I want more peace, more serenity, more joy, more love. So I guess I'll pick up some more PowerBars and keep climbing. Anyone feel like joining me?

Mags, Mom & my 3 sisters

It's been awhile now, but I think I need to share the full story behind my homage to the Magdalene for her role in the reconciliation with my sisters which I blogged about back in November.

Long story short, I was on the outs with my sisters, like I've never experienced before. So bad that after skipping Thanksgiving, I truly saw no way out. So on the Saturday morning following Turkey Day, I found myself up before sunrise (I wasn't sleeping too well), talking to my 'Mags' (code for Mary Magdalene). I remember praying to her, saying, "I have no idea how this could ever, EVER be worked out! I don't know what to do! Take it!" And then I went about my morning, joining friends for coffee, but saying very little.

Afterwards, Mr. Mart called to report my mother had phoned the house. THREE times. Mom was searching for a way for my sisters and I to work it out. Given my prayers earlier that morning, when Mom tossed out the idea of me coming down to the farm for a talk, I knew Mags had cracked open a chance for change.

Now I won't rehash what I've already blogged, but I will say that I BELIEVE. I believe, deep in my soul, that Mags came through for me. She not only put an opportunity at my feet, but gave me the courage to go with it. Honestly, I don't see myself as some pillar of strength, I'm more of a noodle. It's Mom who's got the courage. When I left my parents home that night, hugged all my sisters good-bye, and then looked at Her waiting at the front door for me, I saw Mom choking back tears.

She hugged me and whispered into my ear, "Thank you for coming." It was then, in that moment, that I not only heard the pain she'd been in, but saw it on her face, heard it in her voice, and felt it in her arms around me. I saw, for the first time, how painful this rift had been for her, to watch her daughters fall apart from each other and, suddenly, miraculously, reunite. Whoa.

How are things now? Well, last week, A1 and I got together for pizza with our kids. Last night, K2 and I jawed for two hours, about nothing. Today, C3 called me for lunch. I can honestly say, if any of these women are talking about me, they're not stabbing me in the back, they've got my back.

And all this reconciliation, this re-newed bonding, this chillaxin' with one another, came about because of Mags' and Mom's unwavering love for their daughters. It is my hope, my prayer that I never forget that day back in November when, from sunrise to set, I KNOW that I experienced the gift of grace delivered by my Mags, this amazingly Holy Spirit. If it were up to me, I'd still be yelling, isolating, pouting, and hurting. And I'm not doing that today!

I head off to bed, smiling because I'm so damn blessed . . .

Namaste~

Bad storm gone

My girl Daisy's been wondering whaz up! Without totally airing everything, let's just say there's been a lot of hurt that I've both hurled and caught, mostly with my 3 sisters. Mom and Oh-Dad were brave enough to referee a sit-down yesterday. And I've got the emotional hang-over to prove it. But after two hours, things actually look a little brighter, feel a little safer, and appear as if we will move forward toward a better idea of what it means to be a family.

But family is a weird thing, I'm learning.

A mentor of mine has tried to explain that "family" is not a spiritual term. "Family" is a term that comes from the material world, and with the material comes all sorts of baggage with how a family should be. You know what I mean: the Norman Rockwell bullshit? the Brady's? the Ingall's? the Huxtable's? All cheery and happy with a 6th sense of always knowing what the other members need at the exact right time, forever on the same wavelength and completely "getting" the others. Fictitious crap, really.

What I'm seeing is that family, while not a spiritual term, definitely comes with opportunities. For me, it's THE opportunity to see just how little I've grown.

I have 38 years of old ideas and views about what family is "supposed" to be. What I experienced yesterday was a mixture of expectation and surprise. I have a deep hope that my family will always love me no matter what, and the fact that Mom, Oh-Dad, and us girls hung in there until the proverbial David Hasselhoff was singing on a tumbling-down wall, proved to me that they are willing to love me. That expectation was met.

What was surprising was how skewed my perception is. A lot of shitaki mushrooms hit the fan this summer and the pile grew from there. My recollection of events was completely different from what was shared by my sisters. My recollection of events doesn't even include some people who were there. And that frightens me. It scares me that my memory is that selective. It's spooky that what I heard was WAY different from what was said. (So I guess it's a good thing I went and got me a shrink and a psychologist last week.)

I know there's the old adage about an event: there's her version, there's my version, and there's the truth.

But what also came to light is just how careful I must be with this blog. When I started it, it was more of a private journal where I vented my religious anger and self-righteous crap. But it didn't make me feel any better. In fact, it felt like I'd swallowed the family hedge hog (poor Otis). I started taking personal pot shots at people close to me. It was usually tongue-in-cheek, joking kind of stuff, but there was an edge to it.

What I'm learning is that if I'm going to honor this penchant for writing, I must use it in a loving, positive way (thank God the election is over). What I am seeing is that when I get caught in negativity, it creates such a shit-storm in me that everything I touch turns to guano.

A few weeks ago I confessed to my doctor that I didn't want to drink, but was afraid I would (hence the additional head guys). Despite my years of recovery, my head was full of such fear and anger and worry and dread that it was manifesting itself in all sorts of harmful behavior. And that's some dangerous stuff. And I was reaping what I'd sowed.

So does this mean it's all daisies and lollipops? Any of you who know me even a tad know that I'm not capable of prolonging sickening, cavity-rich, dimple'ed BS. But I no longer look at the Litterbox as a dumping ground. It's more a platform for sharing that which is good, or changing, or happening. So, I guess I'm back -- a little deflated, a little-less angry, a lot more grateful, and delighted to report that the Magdalene heard my prayer for reconciliation . . . and she delivered.

I send you all so much love---

Namaste~

When churches fight . . .

I just received this funny, fun fun and found it too fab not to share. Besides, it proves my theory wrong that the catholics are total nut jobs. It would appear from this little conflict between a southern catholic church and an across-the-street presbyterian church that the catholics have a pretty good sense of humor. It's certainly not the first time I've been wrong about a group . . . Enjoy!