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pretty pink and blue thoughts

I am going to spend a fun-filled long weekend (happy birthday Queen Victoria!) with my dear Andrea and so I am thinking all kinds of pretty pink girl thoughts. I don't get nearly enough woman-energy around me these days! I used to live in a world populated almost exlusively by females, back in my midwifery days. Now I am mostly around my boy-partner and his boy-friends and our boy-cat ... plenty of boy. Don't get me wrong, I like boy-energy too. All the same I think I may wear a tiara all weekend.

Imagine a Woman

Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is a woman.

A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.

Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman who trusts and respects herself.

A woman who listens to her needs and desires.

Who meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman who acknowledges the past's influence on the present.

A woman who has walked through her past.

Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman who authors her own life.

A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.

Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and wisest voice.

Imagine a woman who names her own gods.

A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.

Who designs a personal spirituality to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman in love with her own body.

A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.

Who celebrates its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman who honors the body of the Goddess in her changing body.

A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.

Who refuses to use her life-energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman who values the women in her life.

A woman who sits in circles of women.

Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

“Imagine a Woman” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995

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Both images by Sabrina Ward Harrison

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(I had seen the first one before, but this second one is new to me ... a new gift!)

Imagine a Woman II

Imagine a woman who is interested in her own life.

A woman who embraces her life as teacher, healer, and challenge.

Who is grateful for the ordinary moments of beauty and grace.

Imagine a woman who participates in her own life.

A woman who meets each challenge with creativity.

Who takes action on her own behalf with clarity and strength.

Imagine a woman who has crafted a fully-formed solitude.

A woman who is available to herself.

Who chooses friends and lovers with the capacity to respect her solitude.

Imagine a woman who acknowledges the full range of human emotion.

A woman who expresses her feelings clearly and directly.

Who allows them to pass through her as naturally as the breath.

Imagine a woman who tells the truth.

A woman who trustsher experience of the world and expresses it.

Who refusesto defer to the thoughts, perceptions, and responses of others.

Imagine a woman who follows her creative impulses.

A woman who produces original creations.

Who refuses to color inside someone else’s lines.

Imagine a woman who has relinquished the desire for intellectual safety and approval.

A woman who makes a powerful statement with every action she takes.

Who asserts to herself the right to reorder the world.

Imagine a woman who has grown in knowledge and love ofherself.

A woman who has vowed faithfulness to her own life.

Who remains loyal to herself. Regardless.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

“Imagine a Woman II” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995

Finding Her Here

It is a grey day today. The sky is so low outside my window, I think that if I reached up I could touch those grey clouds and run my fingers through their wool. Shake out the rain. I need to borrow some pretty words today, to lift my spirits.
This is a poem that my mom has on a poster at home, so whenever I see it I think of her. Since it is mother's day week I will post it in honor of her. ♥

Skywatcher by Susan Sedon Boulet

Finding Her Here

I am becoming the woman I've wanted,

grey at the temples, soft body,

delighted, cracked up by life,

with a laugh that's known bitter

but, past it, got better,

knows she's a survivor-

that whatever comes,

she can outlast it.

I am becoming a deep weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman I've longed for,

the motherly lover

with arms strong and tender,

the growing up daughter

who blushed surprises.

I am becoming full moons and sunrises.

I find her becoming,

this woman I've wanted,

who knows she'll encompass,

who knows she's sufficient,

knows where she's going

and travels with passion.

Who remembers she's precious,

but knows she's not scarce-

who knows she is plenty,

plenty to share.

Jayne Relaford Brown © 1994

the world is Magic

Yesterday, even after feeling so joy-full all week, I wound up feeling down right joy-less. I am not sure what it was that triggered my mean reds (the colour blue does not conjure sadness for me, it is too soothing and pretty... red on the other hand I can more easily associate with pain) but in the end I "wasted" the entire day. By which I mean that I spent a great deal of time on the couch with my cat getting caught up on season three of Lost. A friendly voice kept whispering in my ear that I should leave the house and follow the long-awaited sunshine to some café where I could read or write or watch people walk by. That voice specifically invited me to the old port or to the plateau, which are areas of Montréal that I don't visit nearly often enough. I tried to respond to the voice, even put on a watery blue-green skirt after a rejuvinating shower complete with coconut shampoo. Thought about leaving, looked at the door and then... sank back into the couch. Part of me felt that I should stay home and do my chores. The house needed attention. And yet, even though I forced myself to stay in until they were done, I did none of them.
One good thing I can say about my behaviour yesterday is that I continually silenced the Bully. I am refering to the other voice, not the kind one who wanted me to have fun, but the snide one who usually shows up at such opportune low energy moments to dispense charming little observations like: "you are so lazy!" Each time this voice started up I was more or less successful at redirecting my thoughts. Unfortunately I redirected them to the computer screen where downloaded episodes of Gilmore Girls and Lost were playing, instead of towards something a bit more creative (it seemed easier to replace negative thinking with no thinking than recklessly jumping straight into positive thinking) but I none the less see it as improvement.
Luckily when Adrien got home from his fun day out with friends he was in a buoyant mood and immediately started peeling me off the couch, though I resisted obstinately and clung to the throw pillows with all my might. Eventually he was able to lure me into the car with the prospect of eating dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, Le Santropol. I think I like it so much because it is almost like accidentally finding out that a tiny little scrap of Vancouver has mysteriously vanished from Commercial Drive and re-materialized in the heart of Montréal. Not only is the interior a hodge-podge of bright bohemian furniture, and the walls alternate between showcases for 3D artwork that spills right into the room and glittering mozaics but also it has a fenced-in back garden where you can eat under a canopy of faerie lights and birch leaves. There are numerous shaggy fraggle-esque nooks amidst fountains, trees and overgrown flower beds. Cats wander through freely, on important cat missions. And they serve divinely, ridiculously, jaw-stretchingly huge sandwiches which ensure that you will not leave without embarrasing smears of cream cheese and mint jelly on your cheeks. It was the perfect sweet antidote to my sour mood.
On the way home, rushing up the little side street where we parked, and feeling startlingly chilly in my whispy blue-green skirt, I suddenly happened upon a night-time, lit up view of the city. I realized that I live in a pretty neat place actually, and the heavy grouch-creature on my chest finally took off for the rest of the evening. We took the long way home through winding streets lined with centuries old stone houses and I repeated Alissa's mantra to myself while peering out into the lamp-lit night: the world is Magic, the world is Magic, the world is Magic.

A hive for the honeybee

This post is for Nicole for her Honeycomb blog and of course anyone else who likes honey and/or great children's literature.

I found this magic little book at the library and was drawn to it because of the art work by Patience Brewster , which I have often liked. The story is lovely and sad and quite clever. It is a story about the lives of honeybees (one in particular) done with an anthropomorphic kind of narrative but also (from what I can tell with my admitedly limited knowledge of the life cycles of bees) with a large dose of real bee life woven into it.

joy

I am feeling such a burst of joyfull energy this week. I can`t say why for sure, and in truth the last thing I want to do is analyse it. I just want to bask in it! I started an online reading circle with friends (who I hope to see on here quite soon!) and even finally joined facebook which is a lot more fun that I would have guessed. I had a delicious yoga class last night (the frog pose was torture but the fish pose felt amazing!) and then walked home under a cobalt sky. I can feel some new creative ideas gathering energy. I also made a pledge to be kinder to myself this month. A good idea any old time, but I was feeling so good Tuesday that I decided to try to carry that feeling with me for the rest of May by focusing on it and making it grow. I am trying to re-connect to my thirteen year old self (don't worry mom, not all of her). I was so confident at that age. I know a lot of people feel very self-conscious and shy as young teens, but I think the exact opposite was true for me. I was fairly sure of myself and although I thought I wanted time to rush past so I could be an adult and conquer the world I was also glad to be the age I was. I was happy to be starting high school, I was learning to read and play music, I was just entering the perilous world of dating, I was discovering all kinds of new interests and passions. It really felt like the very begining of what was sure to be a fascinating adventurous life! More recently I have waited for midwifery to call me back, waited for the longing to be back in that space but it has not come. And so in some ways I feel thirteen again, or maybe a little older, but in that place of searching for myself. It can sometimes be overwhelming to be back in that place now, at thirty. But it also feels kind of wonderful to imagine the possibilities.