In honour of Dr Estes and the story of the handless maiden - a story of innocence and betrayal, of sorrow, loss and never being truly abandoned i read the story from Women Who Run with the Wolves.
Recently i was asked if i qualified for senior discount. Twice in the same week.
Now, i laughed and said no ( i am more 13 years away from that cheap ride) but it got me thinking about age and appearance all over again.
A while back i railed here about the violence our ageist community inflicts on women.
So after that carding attempt i circle back to think again about aging and the way our world sees it.
Ok, so here's my truth. I'm 51 years old. I lived most of my life on the coast in a part of the world where the ozone layer has had a big hole in it since the 1970s. I was a burn, peel, burn baby of Celtic mongrel extraction - white skin developed in the haar of Scotland and the dusky dells of Ireland. And yet, self proclaimed part lizard that i am, I have lived my life loving the sun.
All of this prefaces the fact that I am wrinkly and sun damaged.
I have grey hair, finding my first one at 16.
I have a wattle. I have deep mean looking creases between my eyebrows and deep creases from the corners of my nose to the corners of my mouth which show the well worn path of all the smiles and grimaces i have made over my life.
I look like an old woman.
When i look in the mirror i see the wrinkles and the sagging and the pigmentation and the other varied marks of time, the way i have been taught to by my culture; sneeringly, critically.
To all intents and purposes I have committed the heinous and self destructive crime of "letting myself go".
Go into aging.
Go in without the immense sums of money spent on face cream or treatments.
Go in without botox or surgery or (and i kid you not i know a woman who has done this) only ever sleeping on your back in order that your face is not squashed into wrinkles while you sleep.
Why does this bother me?
It bothers me because we rob ourselves of a sense of beauty if beauty is only able to equal agelessness or youth.
For a while i was heartened when i began to see images of grey haired beauties turning up on my social media feed and then i looked a little closer.
If you don't beleive me go now and look.
When you look at images of grey haired beauties they have two things in common. They have grey hair which i will grant is a rebellion against one facet of aging.
But they also have flawless skin.
Do they show any other signs of aging apart from the hair?
Wrinkles? Liver spots? Sagging?
No. No. And No.
These role models for aging beauty are either airbrushed - in which case we are being lied to, or they have worked damned hard to avoid wrinkles. Which of course is a personal choice and more power to them but I wonder why being unwrinkled makes people happy and the only answer is
Aging is abhorred in our society.
Is it because it reminds us or our perishable nature? As my friend Vynka says, aging is a privilege not all of us get to enjoy. Aging is actually a gift - we get more time on this beautiful planet with the people we love. But the spectre of death that has its whispers in our creases scares people it seems.
Is it because we are so fixated with newness in the consumer culture we live in we have to want a new looking body and face?
I don't know.
What i do know is that our perception of aging is being mightily fucked with.
We don't see people aging naturally. We see, and applaud people fighting aging. The rhetoric around aging is all about the battlefield.
There is no winner in this war though. Only skin care companies and other's who profit off of our fears.
So i wondered how do i strengthen myself to walk away from the fight?
How do i remember that it is ok to sag and wrinkle and crease?
How do i look in the mirror without admonishing the tracks of time?
I realised that what i really need was the company of other women who have walked this path.
So i asked myself...
Where are our aging role models?
I went looking for memes and images about aging that showed women aging naturally and i either found those grey haired beauties with their ironed out skin or very wrinkled natural looking African or Asian women in traditional dress.
It seems aging is only acceptable when you are "ethnic" Racist aging? I think they might be linked.
Where are the wrinkly European women? On some warped plain do we think we are "above" that?
The only one i could think of was Georgia O'Keeffe - who with her angular-i -don't-give-a-fuck-because-i --am-a-desert-loving-art-making-icon seemed to defy the norm.
Are the women who are wrinkly and European too busy trying making themselves invisible? Hiding in sensible shoes? Not dressing like lamb? The uniform of short hair and unthreatening dress?
Are we hiding our potential role models in a cloak of shame?
Lots of women say when they hit 45 they begin to become invisible.
I think it's probably more true to say that when women get to 45 they often pass out of the overculture's subset of desirability; they commit the crime of moving away from youth. Our societies' gaze no longer naturally falls on women beyond this age. Is it that youth so completely equals desire that we forget the rich complex beauty of an old woman. Is it that desire is the only way we get to make the equation for beauty work in our tiny well corralled minds?
Or is it, more insidiously, that we as older women believe the bullshit rhetoric enough to be brainwashed into thinking we can't be gorgeous if we are wrinkly and we just begin to dim that inner light?
Why does it matter?
It matters because when we rob the world of beauty we all suffer. A paucity of beauty is a meagre mingey unhappy-making thing.
It matters because we, each of us have the capacity for immense beauty up until, and even after we die.
It matters because a narrow definition like beauty = youth robs us all.
If somehow we can't find a way to decolonise our minds as older women, find a way to overcome that fucked cultural paradigm that robs us and our wattles of feeling as celebratory about life and our own unique beauty as we can, then we let the overculture win. The patriarchy gets to live in our heads, robbing us the chance to sashay and wear whatever the hell makes us happy for some invented perception that crushes hearts and makes us and our world a less generous place.
So what do we do about it?
My best suggestion is to start something new. Take a selfie without filters with our wrinkles and our beauty showing. With our sagging and our grace showing. With our liver spots and our lusciousness.
Let's start a hashtag revolution on facebook - #oldANDbeautiful. Post a photo of yourself untouched and hashtag it with #oldANDbeautiful and see what we can cook up.
I will if you will.
Something we all need from time to time and it is something I feel so tangled about. Let me start out by saying I am a shitty helper and an even shittier help recipient. I am also learning about what will make be better at both of these things. I want to talk about help because as a human being I need it. Every day I need help. And my world is better if I receive it too. So here is as far as I have gotten with the untangling so far.
I have been helped immensely by my friend Vicki in understanding help and the glorious gift of a clean ask. I wrote about it in this blog post. Reading that today made me cry - the generosity of a clean ask and the clean give was something that up until that time i can't ever remember seeing. There always seemed to be so many rules around help and asking and politeness that i tripped up more often than i care to remember.
But this reciprocity between giving and receiving is the stuff of deep humanness. It is the in breath and the out breath and i had felt like i had been wanting to hold my breath rather than participate in that flow. Like there would be some badge of honour for holding the breath that was my birthright and my responsibility to tend to so that i was well. Is it that it is so akin to the life death life cycle that we are scared of the flow of giving and receiving I wonder?
Help in our western world is something we are often ashamed to ask for and more often ashamed to take. I learned pretty early in life that it was better to give help than receive it, and I think this stems from power. The giver of help is the one who is seen as better than and can bask in the beneficent glow of having imparted their goodness on someone less fortunate, hell let’s just say it, less than, them.
I know I watched things foisted on people they didn’t want. Heated fights over who was going to pay for things where the one who ended up paying wasn’t paying attention to the feelings of others they just wanted to be The One To Pay. (cue spotlight and admiring glances). I didn’t like the feelings this aroused but I watched the dance so many times it became normal.
I learned to equate asking for help with weakness, power under, and when I had the temerity to ask (or observed others squirming under the weight of asking for help) I discovered that what greeted me was seldom what I needed. When I asked for help with something, often what I received, rather than the thing I needed, instead what i was delivered was a big pile of shoulds. Steaming hot with righteousness, the shoulds landed on my doorstep in a well–meaning pile that I had to be grateful for and spend quite a long time sorting through and disposing of.
Let me give you an example that makes me cringe when I think about it. My darling friend was struggling with anxiety and a physical body that broke down/through under the weight of an immense burden. I had never dealt with anxiety myself (it’s come to live in my house now so I know it much more intimately, I am sad to say) and her health spiral was frightening. I went into help mode. My nursing background kicked in, with advice and recommendations. My creative side kicked in using information from other friends who had managed anxiety I made a set of cards. With “helpful” advice and “calming” thoughts on each card I thought I was going to really make a difference. I presented these to her, in the midst of her anguish and release saying maybe she could pull one to help. Oh Lord. Here is a woman of immense beauty and love almost crushed under the weight of her own sorrow and illness and I was giving her cards for fuck sake. Now I am grateful to say she is well again and yet I reflect now on what well-meaning arrogance those cards represented. They also represented my own discomfort in the face of her overwhelming pain.
In the face of her sorrow I could only manage to say the equivalent of “do this” “just be…” or “it’s all…” I turned, in my own discomfort, to flimsy generalities. In the face of her sorrow I could not bear to be nose to nose with her and with her broken heart.
And that is what I think is at the crux of my problem with help. When we ask for help we NEED something. And help needs to be what helps. Not what makes the helper feel useful or important. Not necessarily what makes a sudden change. Help needs to be there.
Help needs to be that which nourishes the help asker. It’s as simple as that. Not what we think will nourish them. Not what nourishes us. Nope. Help needs to nourish the asker.
And the uncomfortable truth is that all help begins with witnessing. Really seeing the difficulty that the person needing help reveals. Not glancing at it and running for muffins, but looking it in the eye, breathing with it. Staying with the person in their place of need and seeing the need for what it really is for them.
Not leaping in with a “Well when i….” story (raises guilty hand) Help is about dropping our stories and supporting someone to hold their story, their own need in the gentle spotlight. We must caution against knocking the person’s hands away from their own need in order to help, usually with the conviction that we can do it better.
But instead help is hearing the other person’s truth and having the guts and the compassion to sit with it is the help that matters.
And before my inner martyr starts girding her loins, let me say help is in my experience only worthwhile when we as the helper do what we can. Not exhausting or depleting ourselves. Any help like that has a very short shelf life and starts to smell like resentment pretty quickly. When we help in a way that is freely given and doesn’t cost us a huge amount, we really help. For bonus points we might model self care in a way that is liberating but that is not the point, when we give it must not be about martyring ourselves.
Help is seldom, unless specifically asked and even then not always, telling someone what to do. Anything advice-wise that starts with “You should…” Is a sign i am on the wrong track. If the word should makes an appearance we are usually wanting to be in control of what happens and taking the reins away from the person who needs help does not help them, it helps you. The reins must remain firmly in the hands of whomever is in need. And asking for advice,after hours of soul searching, i have come to see, is me wanting my deepest needs to be confirmed and advice seldom nails that so is again, seldom useful, even if well intentioned.
Supporting people to learn to find their own way through the confusing business of life is true help. Staying with them while they figure out what their unique recipe is – that’s true help.
Giving something to make you feel better is not help for the other person although it might of course be helpful to you but own that and don’t make it the other person’s responsibility. The guilt of throwing away a well-meaning but for us unpalatable casserole is adding burden not taking it away.
If you need to do something and you want to see results and the person isn’t asking for anything. It might be good to say “I want to help and I am a doer – what do you need done?” If you are lucky there might be lawns or laundry or groceries and if not, please remember that is not a rejection or an insult to you, rather it is a statement about what that person’s need looks like and at the moment it just doesn’t match what you have to offer.
If we help in ways that remind the person in need that they know, that they have capacity then we strengthen and en-courage them. That is what help looks like.
Help sometimes requires us to remember people are doing the best they can. People are vulnerably asking us to meet them as humans, not as the better model of human but as a person who knows what it is like to need. Help truly is what helps.
My dear friend has helped me by never mentioning the cards again (lordy I hope they made good kindling). Learning to sit with my own discomfort long enough to be able to tolerate the discomfort of others has taught me a lot. Need and discomfort are basic human experiences and when we shun them we shun true connection. And true connection is the deepest gift of friendship.
If we can help both as giver and receiver; if we truly connect in the vulnerable and needy spaces we have as humans we affirm life and build love.
And if in doubt, build connection. Connection always helps.
i would like to know if this was helpful - please let me know in the comments
x love jane
As women there are unsaid rules about how we should be.
These are rules like;
We are asked to look a certain way, say certain things, make certain things, be a certain size, be a certain shape.
There are many certain ways we are expected be.
Being anything out of these 'certainties' is an act that threatens the sureties that make others feel safe.
What is a woman who steps beyond these bounds?
What is a woman who dares to threaten the bounds of expected behaviour?
What is a woman who makes others, by her unruly presence feel uneasy, unsafe and uncertain?
Who is she, this woman? Who is the one who dares to break the bounds of decency?
Who is she who dares to be bigger than, louder than, quieter than, less pretty and more beautiful than she should be?
Who is she who is unfettered and unpredictable? Who is she who dares to resist the pressures and certainties?
She is a woman who is free.
She is free to be true to herself. Free to follow the urgings of her heart, to respond to possibilities and desires and hopes.
This woman is capable and alive and through this action she is worthy of this gift of life.
I hope this woman is you.
Because life is worth so much more than being acceptable and tidy and smaller than you need to be?
May it be the you are the woman who is able to be all that she wishes to be and all she is capable of.
And if you are anything like me when you read those brave and fearless words, all that chest beating and drum banging can be intimidating and make being free seem even further away.
Finding our way to a freedom that feels further than you can see, can be very hard.
One way that I have envisaged and discovered a new form of myself is by Painting Myself BIG.
I was lucky enough, at a time in my life when i felt small, so small that the box i was in felt closed on my windpipe, that i found Connie Hozvicka and her painting course BIG.
Painting a BIG portrait of myself allowed me to imagine myself out of the box. And with that image of myself as BIG I could use that like a magnet to draw myself towards that freedom, that future, that Truth.
Painting myself BIG allowed me to see myself differently. I would like to be in a world with women who can imagine and then draw themselves out of the box.
I want to live in a world where our lives as women are ours to decide about, mete out, measure and enjoy. I believe it is our birthright to be outside this box. That truth is something which we are required to remember and with that memory, turn up any way we wish to.
When you paint yourself big you create a new vision for yourself, you can create a new space for yourself to inhabit.
Painting yourself big means you get to experience BIG for yourself. Taking up space. Like an arrow out into the future, painting yourself BIG means you are drawing yourself towards who you want to be.
And creating yourself free means you are able to be whatever it is that calls to you from outside the box. You no longer feel limited to the box. You experience taking up space in however you are drawn to do so.
If you would like to join the gathering of women who are Painting Themselves Big in Whangarei on 30th April and 1st of May please contact me here for details.
On my most recent newsletter (link on the top right of this page) I talked about being available to awe.
I believe that the world is full of incredible and deeply precious magic. And i believe it is everywhere. On the hard days it can be more tricky to find it but mostly we just have to make ourselves available so it can turn up and floor us.
In the newsletter I suggested that people might like to go through their days making themselves available to awe and let me know how it went... over the next couple of posts i will share their responses.
This response is from the beautiful Monica Herald whom i have met online and learned to value for her deep kindness, her insight and wisdom and her very tangible warmth - it is in everything i have seen
I think you will agree with me by looking at these photos that the awe she found was rich and i found some of these made me tear up - the quality of connection and softness was beautiful.
Here's where I've found awe this week:
at the beach
my cousins' brand new baby
goddess in the rock
red powder puff from south america, found at the conservatory.
my cousins and my great-aunt (who's 94!)
seeing my mom in an old picture of my grandmother.
and the love these two have for each other
There is something so loving and soft about these images for me. I notice the wide attention and the truth that miracles are everywhere - in the extraordinary (a seahorse!!! new life!!! heartshaped stones!!!) and the seemingly ordinary (family gatherings and snuggling cats and yet as i write this i remember how remarkable it is to have family and that another animal learns to turst us enough to sleep and love in our presence) How we nourish ourselves by noticing can change our hearts - mine feels better for just seeing these images..
Thank you Monica!
If you would like to get some more Monica in your life her website is here and she has a freebees page with an amazing book here
photo by Nigel Kelso - GaelicKiwi on Flickr
Working as i do with one eye in the world and one eyein the other world gifts from the unconscious or synchronicities are especially important to me. They let me know when I am on the right track, they remind me of when i need to turn or return. They give me the feeling that my work is being acknowledged. They are gifts, celebrations and signposts in my life.
One such gift fluttered at my feet this morning as i went on my walk with Billy, our poodle
It was a Puriri moth. Nocturnal and shy I had only ever seen a photo of one of these before but they are unmistakable, New Zealand's largest moth and other worldly.
It felt like a gift. It felt significant and as i took it back towards the trees I remembered why it felt significant.
The second ever time i tended my own story, one of the metaphors i used was about the Puriri Moth. Their silence and otherworldly magic held the energy i wanted to bring in to my story, into my life with this new story.
This process of tending to your story is called Reframing and it was with this Puriri Moth story that i began the work that is one of my favourite ways to tend to others in the world. A process i have called Reframing Your Story this work is around listening with my auditory ears and my heart ears to what you hold and what is asking to be born from you and writing the story for you with new possibilities and new windows through which you can see your own life.
This process launches our coracle hearts into the imaginal realm and uses the magic and language of the unconscious through image and metaphor to begin to open pathways in our hearts.
I believe in the power of reframing deeply. And in that vein i would like to share with you my very personal story in which the Puriri moth starred.
The appearance of this messenger today tells me it is time and so i ask that you make space in your heart for something very sacred to me - A Flotilla of Puriri Moths.
And if this calls to you and you like the idea of creating a new story, being joined in your life by metaphors that will sustain and transform, images that will hold you strong and lash you to the mast when life is full of sirens then contact me here about Reframing Your Story.
i wonder if you could take a moment to imagine that you are a tiny tiny bead of light.
for many of us imagining that we are tiny is not a problem - there are times when it has been hard for me to imagine i was anything other than insignificant- but if you could just play with the idea of being a tiny bead of light for a moment it would be great
Look out beyond yourself into the darkness around you... out there are other beads of light you might know their names or just be able to feel them - friends, family, mentors
Some of them might be bigger or smaller, some of them might be brighter...
Imagine that you as a bead of light are connected to those other beads...
those connections might seem faint or strong, just see if you can see them, start to follow them with your eye, see where they reach, see if you can see where some end and see where others disappear off into the darkness.
Now see if you can notice your light
I want you to think about something that you have recently experienced that might have been difficult, an argument, a loss, a scary experience, notice what that does to your light.
Then thing about something good you experienced, it may be a physical experience like having your feet in the ocean, smelling your favourite perfume being held lovingly or it may be something successful you have completed, something you are building what does that do to your light
While you are experiencing that look out along the web of connection and see what that does can you see how your good experience lights up along your web.
Can you see how people are nourished the web is strenghtened when you are doing things tht light you up?
Can you see how holding up the web, is done by transmission of light.
When we have a difficult experience we are able to use the web and our connection to others to move through the hard stuff and our responsibility is to strengthen the web with the things that nourish us.
For me it might be painting, oraying, walking on the beach hanging with my girls, for you it might be dancing or cooking or writing or gardening
WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WEB, for feeding ourselves and the connections we have by doing what we love. Deny ourselves and we deny the web. Rob ourselves of the experience of tending lovingly to ourselves and we rob everyone. It is there for us to lean on when we need it and it is also our job to charge it up as much as we can.
Love ourselves and the world benefits. Go strengthen the web My light needs your light.
The other day i wrote a newsletter about the power of listening - about how we have to have the courage to be vulnerable when we listen.. it might be painful, we might have to change but listening is the only thing that will change us; open our hearts, remind us of the truth.
Being immersed in the listening of course raises the shadow of listening and that is Defendedness.
I am wondering about being defended and how that stops us from reaching into vulnerability and having an open heart. I see people all around me and in my scared moments i become one myself, who defend their right to be right over everything else.
Years ago i had the brainwave to call it The Tyranny of Right.
Wanting to be right over learning, over growing, over listening, over tending to someone i care about
Being defended against anything that threatens what i know and believe to be true, is what keeps me small and disengaged from the world.
I facetiously wrote that not listening was like a monkey in a cage flinging poo at passersby. It might feel good temporarily to have flung the poo, hell your cage might even be less smelly at the end of it all, but after a while you realise you are still in the cage.
Being defended is like that. We sit in our well barricaded ideas of what is right and how things should be and we deploy all kinds of missiles - harsh words, judgment, meanness, sarcasm, sneering - which help us feel safe and keep the "others" at bay.
At the end of it all however we are still in a cage.
What will get us out of the cage?
By realising there might be another way. By understanding that in order for life to be any different we have to make changes. We can't wait for the "others" to change. It's up to our sorry monkey selves to do something. It might require something more of us which can be hard and scary and the thought can be tiring as hell when you are already exhausted from flinging poo. But unless you like the poo flinging more than you like the idea of not being in a cage we monkeys have to do something different.
We have to pay attention to the "others". We have to learn about them. We have to notice the ways they do things, change our own behaviour and one day we will find the way to take the key and set ourselves free.
Oh i may be stretching the metaphor but i think we humans have a much greater capacity for understanding than many of us, me included, allow ourselves to believe.
Does it mean that when we listen we have to adopt the attitudes and beliefs of the "others"?
No the monkey doesn't have to start wearing clothes and taking photos, once out of the cage the monkey is free to monkey on but won't ever learn what truly works, what suits them, what is their natural state without first learning from the "others".
I wonder how many cages i can learn my way out of. What about you?
Today's blessing comes by way of a parable. Settle in.
Once there was a woman who was imprisoned in a dark and dank room. The air was fetid. The walls and floor were slimey.
The room was hard to explore as she could not see and was fearful of bumping into something or losing the tiny amount of warmth she had generated on the spot on which she sat.
The only change that happened in that room was the irregular and putrid food that came through the door that was firmly locked.
In the beginning the woman tried to find a way out but as the darkness around her became more familiar a darkness grew within her and she found it harder and harder to make herself move.
One day she heard a rustling in the darkness.
This was terrifying to her. There could have been anything there and in her mind the only possibilities that gained traction were possibilities of darkness and more harm.
Pinned to her tiny warm spot the woman could do little more than breathe and wait in fear and listen to the rustling grow closer and closer.
But then something miraculous happened, as the food arrived, after what seemed like days, the slam of the door left a tiny crack open in a small window high up in the door. In through that window streamed light.
Miraculous, blinding, radiant, light.
And though it seared her eyes and made tears stream down her face, the woman looked up to the light. She tried to drink it in with her skin. She tried to reach it with her hands. She felt like an old and precious friend had arrived to tend to her.
It reminded her of all she had left and all she had been and the beauty of it cracked her open and she wanted more and more and more of the light.
Unfortunately for her she was so distracted by the light she did not see the snakes coiling by her feet and without notice or fear she stepped towards the light.
My blessing is this: Do not be so seduced by what is promised by the light that you take your eyes from what is really there.
And if you like the way this story feels to you and you would like to look at your own life in this style of using faerytale imagery and metaphor to dig into your patterns and stuckness then click here and read more about my beloved process Reframing Your Story.
I have the privilege of living on one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. The sea here is part of the great strengthening and revivifying forces in my life and i like to be near the ocean as much as i can.
The other day i was walking our dog after a storm. There was a huge amount of sea plant material (can't bring myself to call it seaweed - sounds so pejorative) - the huge variety and immensity of the piles testimony to a great upheaval in that unseen realm.
There was velvety green weed (my favourite) and large bull kelp with its tenacious roots still holding the rock it was melded to. There was neptune's necklace and all kinds of other usually unseen miracles pungently rotting in the sun. There was also plastic. Large pieces of fishing paraphernalia as well as tiny bits as well as the unseen plastic.
My husband and i gathered large bags of it to bring home for our compost heap. It made me happy knowing that the minerals we could give our garden could be harvested in this way. That i could be part of the cycle; the miraculous cycle that something that grew in the depths could be just what my land needs to flourish. Amazing.
I thought about how the cycle of life in nature is closed. A self sealed system that has all it requires and all is useful. Nothing is wasted. The Life/Death/Life cycle is the ultimate recycling. All parts of the system are there in service not only to themselves but to the system at large.
Until of course we get to humans. The source of that unuseful plastic. The source of waste. Humans, in our need to be in control of the world around us, in an attempt to manage our meagreness in the face of the immensity of life, have tried to alter that system. Have tried to have ourselves think that we can be in control. That we can take what we want. That we can make something outside the life death life cycle and it will serve us to do so.
I think that is broken thinking.
I think that humans have a role to play in the closed system and that not with cutting the world open and scooping out what lies beneath. It is not with overpowering that balanced, self righting system. It is not with more power over and control of. I beleive that the place for humans is to be found with their open hearts.
I believe that we are required, in order to take our place in the scheme of things to turn up with open hearts, reverence and prayerfulness and tend lovingly to ourselves and the world.
Our role is one of lover not rapist.
Because we are so embedded in the paradigm of progress and boundless growth (which is impossible and frankly childish thinking - MORE MORE MORE, I WANT MORE is really only appropriate coming from the mouth of 2 year olds and then a bit irritating after a while) it is very difficult to see the value or the worth in this prayerful response.
It can feel lonely to turn up heart open for the planet.
But what spurs me on is the knowledge of the closed system. Because prayerful reverence is a very human possibility i believe that this action is part of the closed system and that because nothing is wasted in the closed system our reverence and love is met.
i found this post on facebook the other day from Grandmother's speak which summed it up for me.
“LET THE EARTH LOVE YOU BACK”
If like me you believe in our human responsibility to turn up lovingly for the world you might like to join us on Praying True, a facebook group dedicated to just this cause.
I invite us all (me included) to open our hearts and step back into that closed system and close the door behind us.
Love is waiting.
jane- creativity activist, synchonicity celebrator, conduit for love.