X – ing

 

x-ing is a  mary daly word  found in the wickedary and here is what  I understand of it.

 

Mary Daly named it as the symbol for the unknown and variable qualities of questing women.

 

among these qualities is contrariness

the state in which women go other wise

in which they do things differently

in which they spin anticlockwise  

in which they go against the grain /drain

of the moguls of merchandise

whose only dream is to increase profits.

 

 

and then there is

…Being…….

women resident in Being

where women inhabiting their Authentic Original Selves

shamelessly explore cosmic encounters.

They dance and sing with Elemental energies

honouring synchronicity and living in Real Space Time.

 

another quality of x-ing

is women as boundary riders

always hunting fearlessly for the edge

and leaping off it.

 

 

we are x-ing women

when we refuse to be used

when we decline to be denied

and when we rebuff compromise.

 

 

Elizabeth Oakes Smith in a speech at the National Woman’s Rights Convention 1852

said

“my friends do you realize for what purpose we are convened?

do we fully understand that we aim at nothing less than an entire subversion of the present order of society, a dissolution of the whole existing social compact.”

 

 X-ing women unite !!!

.

.

 

what is it this weight

 

 

What is it this weight

that walks  around with  me

this heaviness and deep sighing like feet caught in mud,

like a body of treacle trapped in a tin.

 

what is it

this perceived problem

this anxiety

this state?

 

And why is it that it will be better

when I sleep deeply

or when the sun shines 

or next month

 or when I camp beside a surging ocean

or when a lover whispers sweet words to me?

 

what dependency have I cultivated

to desire peace from a place of uncertainty

to desire truth from denial

to desire a future different from the past present moment?

 

What stress am I suffering between the layers of cell tissue and organ

when I scheme urge cajole fret court and canvas

options solutions and promises

to dramas solely enacted in my own mind?

 

How deep is this well that I have dug for my self

 how high is this mountain that I cannot climb

and how low is this mind that plots ???

 

can it just Be?

 can it be released riven free from self grasp

and encouraged to flutter

to fly

to transform???

 

 

 

 

 

…we are voyagers…

today it is a very very very happy birthday

to jessica may

 a star come to earth to sing and dance her journey.

 

birthdays are always arriving and departing

memories hover on the fringes of a long long voyage thru charted and uncharted territories.

it is true that the uncharted areas of the map are most often the places where I am most happy.

what is also true is that until these spaces discover us we are none the wiser of their existence.

it is fascinating how you can tell a story to one person and they nod and return the gift with a similar felt presence

and other times we draw a blankness a non comprehension a puzzlement or an outright you are looney…

spaces are the most fun to explore and can happen from exactly where you dwell right now

there is no monetary cost but more than likely the ego will have to sit back

there is no available insurance no guarantees no surety

except that as humans we are voyagers thru a space time continuum

and this space is deep eternal and always there

waiting on the edges of our awareness for a visit.

 

and we all love you jess very very very much.

xxxxxxx

 

going to town today so undie up girls

 

 

once upon a time in a mudbrick castle four little girls played 

one year apart from each other,

one of those blended families as they call them these days.

 

living in the bush meant clothing was a haphazard affair

warm stuff  in winter if you could get it on them

but summer  meant ditching clothes and running naked more often than not 

or wearing only a  ‘kirt or a string of beads

but underpants ,

well lets face it they are very tricky with the whole bladder training thing that goes on.

when you have to go you have to go,  best if there is nothing  in the way.

so we had a rule

and it was

going to town today so undie up girls.

no undies no going out.

 sometimes there were grumbles and sometimes they couldn’t find them

and sometimes they squabbled over what belonged to who

but gradually they got the hang of it.

this morphed into   “ dress ups “ followed with costumes and wearing ‘grown up’

high heels lipstick jewels clips  bows and nail polish

 all too soon  modesty kicked in and appearance mattered

fitting in with ‘the norm’ became important

and to tell the story of the no undie years brought a blush to their cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

a cup of TEA

 

 

the water kefir bubbles away on the kitchen bench next to the milk kefir next to the kombucha.

below on the floor in a crock sauerkraut does its blurbling and farting.

fermentation heaven.

or as bec says we are the masters of rotting.

once I only had to sieve the milky yogurt kefir add some water and drink it first thing in the morning to ease its goodness into my intestines stomach and future well being.

before that it had been a squeeze of lemon juice in warm water.

they are all terribly beneficial of course with their anti oxidant rich properties their sour fermented gases their minerals of this and that.

the pressure is on now to accommodate all these other beneficial drinks.

and I am not sure I am up to the task especially since I haven’t given up on pots of tea.

Oh no not on your nellie not ready to give the cuppa away.

afterall there is something sacred about it.

in some ways it smooths out the edges.

it is the upper and the downer

the fix of all fixes.

the highlight of the morning and the classic end to a long day.

it is high ceremony;

a teapot warmed, the cup and saucer waiting, tea leaves added , the water boils and then left to brew under its colourful crocheted cosy.

Add a milk jug  a sugar bowl for those not sweet enough a pot of honey even

then there is the peace and surrender to the  gentle grace of sitting and sipping .

aaaahhhhhh can be exhaled as you place the cup back onto its saucer.

witness

the lewins honeyeaters flying in and out of the wisteria arbour carrying fine threads of down hair and grasses.

a sacred kingfisher flashes its turquoise coat from the fig tree and the heavy scented honey flowers of the angophora drift in bursts to the ground.

skinks slide along the window sill and scuttle about the dishes on the sink.

the black snake cruises the grey water channels tongue busy scouting frog, rat or lizard.

wonga pigeon bobbing its head struts importantly around the shrubberies

whichever season whichever story whatever the joy or the grief

that cup of tea holds a magical place beside my heart hearth.

 

Sylph Aware

 

one day as I was sitting in forest green

I felt a Presence totally unseen

it played with my curls

and blew gently on my face

it rustled the leaves

and took up residence in my space.

 

 

I heard a womans voice calling out to me

a woman who I could not see.

She spoke to me loud and clear

I am Elemental 

I am Spirit of the Air.

 

I am Sylph

I am Sylph Aware.

 

 

 

I am a voice from deep space

she said with a caress upon my face.

I want you to listen to the Sylph that you Be

and claim your inheritance

some of which comes from me.

 

 

I am your existence

your most precious support

I animate your very thought

I’d like you to consider your Sylph within me

and fly further to space that you cannot see.

 

 

 

Have Sylph respect and practice Sylph care

Sylph esteem is Sylph evident in the currents of the Air

show Sylph discipline in the eye of the storm

and

embrace Sylph acceptance as your norm.

 

 

 

 Come explore other dimensions

and Sylph knowledge will grow

Sylph control Sylph confidence

and Sylph love will flow.

 

 

I am found in the breeze

and the howl of the wind

I am seen in the clouds

and heard in a hymn.

 

 
I am a Sylph

playing in Air

I invite you to join me

and Be-come

Sylph Aware.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

rebel yells

with a rebel yell the little king launches himself at the six foot monster

a boot aims and a well fashioned  fist lashes out at any presenting soft flesh.

a grunt a yow and the monster collapses to the floor covering its head and rolling about wounded and yelping.

buoyed with success eyes a sparkle the little king grins and  plans another assault.

a long arm snakes out and jabs slaps hits picking him up and turning him upside down.

put me down put me down bashing and pummelling wherever he can reach.

what what what feigns the monster stumbling in confusion.

back on their feet they dance around

push shove screech prod squeeze pinch shriek

until one or other calls quits.

in the background the women sing out

steady on buster don’t hurt granddad.

 

the little king knows he is safe,  knows he is held within the space of a loving adult

 safe to explore the huge embodied energy coursing thru his veins

 safe to test boundaries

 to learn about strength and power

to learn about gentleness and drama.

 

 

as babies they were introduced to biggling

that lovely soft squealing tumbling rolling about play much like kittens or puppies

the play that generats a field of delight.

then it morphed into rumbling and wrestling tumbling and flipping over and around on futon or couch until one cried for mercy

or cushions thrown and slammed with accuracy broadsiding giggles and shrieks

or tea towels whippings around sinks and dishes.

 

and then the game was over as they grew beyond it

and we paused until the next generation appeared

and now the rebel yells fill the house again.

 

questing into the question

I am on a quest

nothing piratical.

the little king has gone home

and the mighty chowla is stuffed back into a corner of the bedroom.

new occupants have arrived in the shape of a rob and a glen

the glen being a Glenda

so far today we have chatted and had cups of

the men are on stairs still and there are now four solid wooden steps with more to go.

the weather has taken a sharp dive introducing a wind from the south bringing extra layers and another log on the fire.

 

the quest has been my companion for as long as I can remember

it is what has driven me to open my mind

to seek into shadowy places

and confront the stories of how it all is.

invariably I have come to ideas of knowing of certitude

an arrogance if you will.

I know I am not alone in this

it is how we are made to answer the question.

the right answer tick the not right wrong.

 

what if this is playing into the delusion / illusion

the ego self importance ?

what if we pause and look around…?

then,

I can admit that I don’t know

that I really don’t have a clue

and then,

in that moment I am standing in the space of the question

and I notice a field of possibilities all around

in your heart and in mine.

perhaps we don’t have to work it out .

perhaps it is enough that we are seeking the way

that we are open

and that we are ready to grow to learn to love

and Be.

 

 

 

 

 

Peerless dreamers where art thou?

 

 

maintaining the world

but whose world

and whom does it serve ?

 

Dreaming

 I am doing it all the time

I learnt as a child 

I learnt to dream into other realities, 

other dimensions

it came  easy to me.

I understand now why Don Juan says that women are peerless dreamers, 

the difficulty as the witches pointed out is in escaping the masters world. 

I can see where I erred,

I kept the dream small 3D and tonal

convinced that I wasnt a slave.

no training

no big picture

no true seeing

no idea

and that is how we women can remain slaves

because we dream solely into the masters world

never realising how much we are owned

locked into survival 

and endless repeated  maintenance of a world  that chokes our freedom

 and thus all of our relations. 

 

 

oh peerless dreamers where art thou?

O the circle of life

early this morning the rain started

tentatively 

and then it stopped 

now  resumed at a steady modest beat.

we are happy having recently transplanted a chilli bush from elsies next door neighbour who went off to hospital a month ago and is not coming home.

else is very upset because her and frank who lived in the flat opposite were friends

him in his seventies and her nearly 30.

being italian with a maltese grandmother and one of seventeen children frank loved to cook and regularly fed else who as yet doesn’t love to cook and joy of joys it was all the things she loved like pasta pastizzies etc

she listened to his stories was called over to have  dinner with his family when they visited

and cuddled his grandchildren. 

from his hospital bed frank has made sure that else got the sandwich maker and a heap of knick – knacks. 

 we wish him well and a peaceful and dignified departure from this realm.

O – the circle of life