Monday, June 27, 2011

Our Mother's Mission Part I: Walking, Singing, Laughing, Weeping



Kansas City, Missouri
June 25, 2011
1:15 p.m.
Our Mother’s Mission Part I:  
Walking, Singing, Laughing, Weeping
“Every woman should spend a year in an R V with her mother.”
--Wynonna Judd 
Before my daughter Viveka and I set out on this Sole 2 Soul Walk across America on March 8, 2011, an astrologer whom we barely knew offered this comment about our relationship:  “You are like two ships in the same part of the same ocean.  That means you share a lot of important things in common.  But you are facing in different directions.”  This has proven to be a valuable observation which has helped us to understand and to diffuse the inevitable tension between us.  If this walk has been about anything, it has been about addressing and healing our mother-daughter relationship, which has been showing up as follows:
  • First of all we are mother and daughter, which means we have personal, family history -- some would call it personal karma -- to work through.
  • We are from different generations -- I’m in my 70s, she’s in her 40s, therefore as far as life cycles go:
  • I’m “waning,” and tend to conserve my energy; she is “waxing” and has energy to burn
  • I’m a Taurus, grounded, loyal and practical, she’s a (double) Leo, powerful, creative and dramatic
  • I’m a quiet introvert; she is a talkative extrovert
  • I’m a bookish writer; she is a flamboyant performer
  • I’m academically inclined with advanced degrees; she has street smarts with no degrees, but professional credentials.  (Google Viveka Davis for her entry in Wikipedia)
  • I’m deliberate; she is spontaneous
  • I’ve raised a family; she has not
  • I lead with the head; she leads with the heart
  • I like things neat and tidy; she doesn’t mind “creative chaos.”
  • For the artist in me, “less is more.”  All I need is a quiet space with a computer; the artist in her needs a spacious studio, equipped with  materials ‘n stuff.
When we started out on our journey in our 1984 Ford Econoline R V, “The Lindy,” I was (and still am) neatly confined to the back bedroom with 3 suitcases, which I keep stacked on my bed and 3 overhead cabinets for books, files, maps, CDs and personal supplies.  Except for our common areas for food, dishes, and kitchen and bathroom supplies, Viveka’s “stuff” completely filled the rest of the R V, including the aisles, seats and shower area.  
There was no room for Smitty, our driver, to keep his personal effects, so he lived out of his jeep, which we were towing.  After three weeks, Smitty left for home as planned and Viveka got the front “upper” bedroom, which she quickly lined with stuff.  
Then she began bringing in stuff she found along the road.  I hesitate to call these “art materials” trash but it’s all a matter of opinion:  rocks, pieces of tire tread from the road, rusted bottle caps, colored glass, a hub cap, a willow stick half the length of the R V, and literally anything that caught her fancy, like a dead bird with bright yellow feathers.  I would cringe when she passed by a thrift store for fear she would find more stuff to cram into the space.  This stuff was cheap, she reasoned.  Besides, she needed stuff for costumes.
“Costumes?  What costumes?” I wondered.  
In Yuma, a fellow woman craftsperson we met, who walked with us, saw the kindred spirit in Viveka, and gifted her with a 30-year-old sequin-covered soft-sculpted cloth mermaid about 4 feet long, hanging from a frame.  Viveka was delighted, for she immediately saw a way to incorporate this figurine into plans she had for a ceremonial costume and for scenes she plans to shoot as part of a film she wants to make -- a personal project on the side -- in addition to the documentary film she is making of our journey.  But I was appalled, for there was no place for this creature to live unless we gave her what was left of the shower space.
Now I know Viveka will read this, and I have not written this to insult or demean her in any way.  But I do have to be honest:  For the first couple of months, I felt cramped, let’s say “unfairly spatially marginalized.”  To her credit, however, she was aware that this was a problem for me and kept working on it.  Finally, probably somewhere in Arizona, I got access to half of the dining table!  When we arrived in Kinsley, Kansas -- the midpoint of our journey in both time and space -- she was able to downsize and consolidate enough for me to feel comfortable at last.  I finally had access to the front passenger seat!
It was at that point we both acknowledged that we had turned a corner, somehow, and this trip was beginning to feel like FUN!
*   *   *  
If, as the astrologer said, my daughter and I are simply like two ships moving in different directions on a common sea I can now happily report that what we have in common -- the ocean beneath us -- far outweighs our differences -- the waves around us, although during storms it is tempting to overlook the ocean for the waves.  
What we have discovered in the course of the last 3+ months is that although there is much that separates and divides us,  we are both on a mission from the Divine Mother, who daily reveals herself in both small and large ways.  We are on a joint mission, as mother and daughter, carrying the message of the inevitable return of the divine feminine -- in culture, community, consciousness and communication.  The fact that we have different ways of going about delivering that message, is much less important than it would have seemed in the beginning.  The fact that we are mother and daughter, and that we are using this opportunity to address and to heal all personal wounds on behalf of ourselves and our family is a large part of what we hope to accomplish.
If you would like to hear a very clear and compelling statement of this mission which we call “Sacred Activism,” please listen to Andrew Harvey’s Mother’s Day Address, 2011, “The Divine Feminine.”  It can be found at  http://beyondawakeningseries.com/blog/general/andrew-harvey/  


Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Just Two Dumb Broads Passing Through Kinsley, Kansas

Kinsley, Kansas
June 14, 2011
4:30 p.m.
Just Two Dumb Broads
Passing Through Kinsley, Kansas
O would some power the giftie gie us to see ourselves as others see us.
-- Robert Burns 
Do you ever fret over what other people may think of you?  
I have never considered this to be a major issue in my life, preferring to adopt the attitude “What you think of me is none of my business.”  On the other hand, self judgment and self criticism have always been much more daunting and severe than the opinions of others.  But recently, in Kinsley Kansas, a grain-producing town with a dwindling population of about 1450 older-than-average souls, located on the railway route that followed the Santa Fe Trail, I overheard a man refer to my daughter (and by association, to myself) as “that dumb broad.”  He had not intended for me to hear his remark, and so I had been gifted with a rare opportunity to hear this man’s raw, unfiltered opinion.
“Dumb broad.”  What did he mean by that, and how am I to respond?  Since I’ve never thought of myself as “dumb” I was surprised to see myself taking it very personally, and feeling very misunderstood.
All of this introspection has encouraged me to examine my thoughts much more carefully, and to take responsibility for ALL of them.  I realize that I am as guilty of narrow minded stereotyping as I feel this gentleman is.  And I must admit the world I have made for myself is a little out of joint here in Kansas.
Because I chose to confront him about his remark, I discovered that he had read the materials that we pass out to people we meet along the way.  He  had read the flyer describing the Sole 2 Soul Walk which states: “Imagine a WORLD where Women are Equally Valued Decision Makers in Partnership with Men.”  He had also read the Peace Proclamation which I co-authored as a member of the Culver City Area Interfaith Alliance.   It advocates the rejection of war and violence as “categorically unjustifiable and obsolete.”  This gentleman felt that our uncompromising stand for peace meant that we were being disrespectful to the brave men and women who have given their lives to preserve our precious freedoms.  
One does not have to travel far into Kansas, home state of President  Dwight D. Eisenhower, to understand that Kansans have made patriotism a priority, vigorously defending the Union during the Civil War, and the Nation in all of the foreign wars and conflicts since that time.  Evidently the assertion that “Peace is Patriotic,” is a notion that is difficult for many Kansans to embrace -- and many Americans for that matter.
Born in the midwest, I consider myself to be a loyal daughter of the Republic with immediate family members -- grandfather, stepfather, uncles, husband and daughter -- who have served honorably in every war, since 1898.  But I have come to believe that in our day and age, we have to find a better way to resolve conflict.  I am also hopeful that this can be done through what we have learned about non-violent resistance in the 20th century.  
Still, it grieves me to be so misunderstood.  I am a people-pleaser at heart, and do so desperately want to be liked and accepted by everyone!  So I spent several days fretting over my unfavorable image, and dismal failure to communicate.
A few days later we were still in town, and I was asked to speak to the Kinsley Rotary Club.  As a result of the “dumb broad” remark I came before them with an attitude that was both defensive and apologetic, fearing that although they may be polite to my face, they may secretly harbor private thoughts which might range from dismissive to hostile.  Do private thoughts count?  They do, if you believe as I do that “thoughts are things,” and have real world effects.
Afterwards I felt disappointed in myself for having done a poor job of communicating what our walk is about.  Except for a few, their faces were impassive, and I had a hard time relating to most of them.  Try as I would, I couldn’t find a wavelength that would serve a two-way communication between us. 
On the following morning, while we were on our daily walkabout, we passed a lovely home, newly built in early 20th century traditional midwestern style, with rocking chairs on the porch displaying red white and blue buntings between the pillars.  The lady of the house was out watering her yard and I asked her, “Why the patriotic display?”
“Flag Day,” she said.  Of course!  It was June 14, how could I have forgotten?  Then her husband appeared, who was one of the men who had been in my audience the night before, a pharmacist.  Craving some honest feedback I asked him, “What did you think about my talk?  Please be honest”
“Frankly,” he said.  “I couldn’t relate to your issue.  I don’t think women are disrespected or treated unfairly here.”  Then a light began to dawn in my head. “Maybe it’s because you are coming from a pioneer tradition and a farming culture where women are not only valued, they have always been downright indispensable.”  Both husband and wife agreed.  Finally, the communication felt complete.  I had been able to acknowledge a value that we all shared:  cooperation and mutual respect between men and women.

*   *   *
As far as being a dumb broad -- if “dumb” means silent, or lacking speech, and “broad” is slang for female, I must confess I have been a “silent female” for a good part of my life, for fear of being dismissed or devalued, on account of my unorthodox viewpoints, which may seem impractical and idealistic, or even “unscientific.”   In examining where that fear is coming from, I see that it is rooted in my childhood as I observed the way my father treated my mother (and me), and my grandfathers treated my grandmothers.  Outspokenness in women was not encouraged in the mid-western culture I was raised in. 
Is this what this whole walk is about?  An attempt to address an ancient wound, which was both frightening and unjust?  Perhaps it is just so.
So here I am, back in the Midwest, the heart of the heartland, halfway between the coasts.  These words ring true in my ears:  “Doris, you are not in Oz anymore!”

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Taos, New Mexico: Looking Back On Enchantment

Dodge City, Kansas
June 7, 2011
11:37 a.m.
Taos, New Mexico:  Looking Back on Enchantment
We left New Mexico a week ago, but I cannot quite bring myself into the “midwest mindset” engendered by the hot, flat Kansas plains, without one last, wistful look backward at some memorable moments in New Mexico, which aptly calls itself “The Land of Enchantment.”  
The Pueblo of Taos lent itself to mystical moments and memorable encounters in bookstores, old and new adobe buildings, all in earth brown tones with soft contours.  We visited galleries, homes, churches and  intentional communities -- not to mention the sustainable “earth-a-tecture” building sites.  We attended spiritual services and were the object of a blessing rite offered by a radiant Peruvian brother in a Hindu ashram.   
The “Divine Feminine” -- both as a concept and as a presence, is everywhere evident (both in Taos and in Santa Fe) in the Virgin of Guadalupe.  We encountered a number of “heart-centered men” who were not ashamed to be labeled as such.  Our message about the importance of balancing masculine and feminine energies in the critical social and environmental decisions affecting all of humanity received a favorable reception.  In fact, among the people we met, it was a bit like preaching to the choir.
So much for the journal and travelogue.  Let it serve as context.  If you have been reading this blog you know that I am not confining myself to mere reportage, but am trying to add a dimension of personal revelation on top of that.  So what I really want to share with you is a specific moment of mystical enchantment that happened in Taos.
*   *   *
Deborah Marcum, a friend of a friend had graciously allowed us to park our RV on her property for a few days.  She lives in a charming adobe house, tastefully decorated by her own hands, on an acre of lawns and gardens bounded on two sides by flowing streams.  Her property is remarkable in that water is a rare and precious commodity throughout the Southwest. 
One morning I was sitting at the dining table in our RV, looking out upon a corner of Deborah’s garden when I noticed a couple of hummingbirds.  Now you have to understand that I have been a reverential fan of hummingbirds since my 20s when I began to notice that they always seemed to appear to me at special times, bringing a clear sense of joy, hope and well being.  I have adopted these remarkable creatures as my special “totem” animal, and am always on alert for them.  Since we began this walking pilgrimage or March 8, I had seen very few -- one in Joshua Tree, California, and another one in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  So you can imagine how excited I was to see two of them at that moment.   As I looked closer, however, I realized that the flowers these hummingbirds were visiting were wild roses growing beside Deborah’s stream.
Hummingbirds and Wild Roses?  So what’s your point?  But if you knew me at all you would know that the wild rose is another symbol deeply embedded in my psyche.  Briefly here is the origin of the attachment:
One day, more than 20 years ago when I was living in Montana I climbed a mountain on some sacred land.  While meditating in the sunshine at the top I noticed a small bush with a single rosebud on it -- a wild rose.  The only flower around at such a great height, I thought it was remarkable and it seemed to speak to me:  “Way up here on top of this mountain I have found a way to live and survive, and offer my flower.  Thank you for noticing -- that makes us friends forever.”  (It was truly “A Little Prince” moment, for -- if you recall that tale -- The Little Prince learns from the fox that the important things in life, like the precious rose he loves so deeply, are visible only to the heart.)
Now the wild rose is not showy or exotic, just five pink petals that bud and bloom and quickly fade; but because they are the predecessors of today’s cultivated modern roses they can be traced back to the period between the demise of the dinosaurs and the most recent Ice age, 70 million years ago.  This means that the wild rose predates the evolution of humans!  Every time I look at these modest flowers in their simplicity I sense I am seeing something remarkable, literally, as William Blake has written:
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
So when these two deeply personal symbols came together for me in time and space in front of my eyes for the first time in my life it was as though I was resonating through many octaves and layers of consciousness all at once.  At the risk of sounding corny and impossibly self indulgent I must say that it was like seeing into the heart of my own soul because of the many layers of meaning that came together.  It was a rare gift of the moment, and, I might add, thoroughly in keeping with our current knowledge of the more “feminine” or “intuitive” right brain mode of knowing.
If only I could give each reader of this blog a comparable gift!  I cannot do this, because a moment like the one I am describing must be personally meaningful to the individual on a level where his or her own personal mythology dwells -- a level deep enough to trigger the rare “music” of the soul.  Every artist longs to make such a connection happen, and endeavors to tap into the underground rivers of feeling that we all share in common as human beings, both male and female. 
What I find most remarkable in retrospect is that every morning we stayed on her property Deborah and I would have a heart to heart conversation over an excellent cup of coffee.  On the very morning this event occurred -- the last day of our stay -- she and I worked on a statement of intention in the form of an affirmation that we could each carry into the days ahead.  Here is what she came up with, and I simply could not improve upon it: 
“Today may you find what glows your soul and happys your heart.”
In my case it was hummingbirds and wild roses.  What is it for you?