Tag Archives: Love

If you want to change the world, love a man

“If you want to change the world love a man, really love him. Choose the one whose soul calls to yours clearly who sees you; who is brave enough to be afraid. Accept his hand and guide him gently to your heart’s blood where he can feel your warmth upon him and rest there. Burn his heavy load in your fires. Look into his eyes, look deep within and see what lies dormant or awake or shy or expectant there. Look into his eyes and see there his fathers and grandfathers and all the wars and madness their spirits fought in some distant land, some distant time. Look upon their pains and struggles and torments and guilt; without judgment. And let it all go. Feel into his ancestral burden and know that what he seeks is safe refuge in you. Let him melt in your steady gaze and know that you need not mirror that rage because you have a womb, a sweet, deep gateway to wash and renew old wounds.

If you want to change the world love a man, really love him. Sit before him, in the full majesty of your woman in the breath of your vulnerability, in the play of your child innocence in the depths of your death. Flowering invitation, softly yielding, allowing his power as a man to step forward towards you… and swim in the Earth’s womb, in silent knowing, together. And when he retreats… because he will… flees in fear to his cave… Gather your grandmothers around you… envelope in their wisdom, hear their gentle shushed whispers, calm your frightened girl’s heart urging you to be still… and wait patiently for his return. Sit and sing by his door, a song of remembrance, that he may be soothed, once more.

If you want to change the world, love a man, really love him. Do not coax out his little boy with guiles and wiles and seduction and trickery only to lure him to a web of destruction, to a place of chaos and hatred more terrible than any war fought by his brothers. This is not feminine, this is revenge. This is the poison of the twisted lines, of the abuse of the ages, the rape of our world… and this gives no power to woman it reduces her as she cuts off his balls. And it kills us all and whether his mother held him or could not show him the true mother now. Hold him and guide him in your grace and your depth, smoldering in the center of the Earth’s core. Do not punish him for his wounds that you think don’t meet your needs or criteria, cry for him sweet rivers, bleed it all back home.

If you want to change the world love a man, really love him.
Love him enough to be naked and free, love him enough to open your body and soul to the cycle of birth and of death and thank him for the opportunity as you dance together through the raging winds and silent woods. Be brave enough to be fragile and let him drink in the soft, heady petals of your being. Let him know he can hold you, stand up and protect you. Fall back into his arms and trust him to catch you even if you’ve been dropped a thousand times before. Teach him how to surrender by surrendering yourself and merge into the sweet nothing, of this world’s heart.

If you want to change the world, love a man, really love him. Encourage him, feed him, allow him, hear him, hold him, heal him. And you, in turn, will be nourished and supported and protected by strong arms and clear thoughts and focused arrows because he can, if you let him, be all that you dream.”

~ Anonymous

…from a random tumblr post

LOVE

Love is a dynamic force; she pulls together strings and strains of magical experiences that are unexplainable and unfathomable to our minds, sometimes it is difficult to even fully articulate the experience being lived, only to show you the opposing force of pushing apart these entangled strings, creating space, uncertainty and even a disconnect from the magic she once bestowed upon you. She has a way of coming back, however, full circle, drawing you into her depths and enclosing you within her veil, showering you with tenderness, compassion and, of course, the purity of her love.

Love accepts all, and sees no faults, although she thrives on imperfections, for the most complex and chaotic of students of her ways are the most beautiful. To love, everything holds beauty, everything is beautiful, even in the most appalling and beastly of places, she’s finds the hidden gems and sparkles of true beauty and magic.

Love asks for nothing, for she is already full and complete, but gives nothing short of everything freely and openly to those who are ready to receive her offerings with an open mind and expanding heart.

Love heals wounds of pain and anguish; she can be your greatest medicine if you allow. But she also has a way of slowing seeping into the ever so slightly opened cracks within your inner barricades and unleashing your inner discomforts and unlocking your triggers. Her intention, with this, however, is to only lead them into the flow of her ways, and guide them into her lightness with compassion and grace.

Love will not intentionally cause you hurt and harm, but instead she will trigger you into a space of healing; by the slightest brush of her magic on your skin, or a sample of her taste on your lips, or even an eye catching glimpse of her captivating beauty that cannot be missed. Her aroma has the ability to engulf you into her seduction, offering you a space to melt from within, pouring your innermost self out into the waves of her essence, and trusting she will carry you into the ways of her intent.

True love, she speaks to those who are ready to hear the gentle vibrations of her tone; only when you have created and explored such vibrations from within yourself and from within your own heart are you ready to hear and fully welcome the sweet whispers of her unmatchable frequencies and Divinity. ~

Jordi Klassen
Inner Awakenings
https://www.facebook.com/innerawakeningss/

Being Vulnerable Is Being Powerful

“”Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness” and the like, is becoming a fairly popular catch phrase these days.

I wholeheartedly stand behind that statement and believe it to be entirely true.

However, it’s a whole lot easier said than done.

To actually exercise the depths of our vulnerability, especially with another person, not having any idea how it will be met or received by the other we’re choosing to share it with, truly feels like it requires super human emotional strength sometimes.

Because — living in a society where more often than not, we’re taught in one way or another that it’s safer to harden rather than soften ourselves.

Hardening, shutting down, and closing off becomes not only the norm, it becomes easier for our emotional bodies to do.

So, we hold grudges, stay angry, and resent, resent, resent.

While holding onto those feelings actually consumes more of our energy than choosing to soften into our vulnerability does, the fact that we’ve been so ingrained since childhood that vulnerability equates to a sense of weakness, closing down because more of the automatic response.

“Stop crying.”

“Don’t let them see you’re hurt.”

Vulnerability involves softening into our authentic emotional state, and allowing ourselves to be witnessed there — whether it’s in honestly seeing ourselves in that place, or letting another person in enough to see us there.

Sometimes vulnerability is exposing anger we’ve been withholding but often, behind that anger even, is sadness, grief, or hurt that we’ve been afraid of expressing.

Allowing ourselves to express our sadness, grief, or hurt in the safety of our own space with ourselves or with someone else, never knowing how they might take it is inherently vulnerable.

The reality is that there is a deep seated risk within being vulnerable, especially with another, which is that it might be met with insensitivity, coldness or a closed heart rather than the love we’re seeking from them.

Recently, I was met with insensitivity, coldness, and a closed heart in the face of having shared deep vulnerable emotions and the reality of my feelings with someone.

All I received was a metaphorical closed door and frigid, resentful emotion.

Immediately, I regretted being vulnerable, I regretted opening my heart, and I regretting allowing myself to be seen so intimately by this person.

My ego felt intensely bruised

I felt less than.

A sense of being deeply unseen, unmet and hurt washed over me.

I thought of all the ways I could retaliate to try and feel like I had the upper hand again, to reclaim my power, and essentially to take back my vulnerability.

But then, I realized —

There was no need to try and reclaim my power from this person, just because they didn’t meet me with the reciprocation of vulnerability I was hoping for.

What I had just done, was exercise my power to it’s fullest.

If our vulnerability is indeed our strength, I had just claimed the greatest extend of my personal power — not power over, but simply power engaged — by dropping into my most vulnerable place and sharing that.

Maybe even more-so, because I wasn’t met with the same vulnerability in response and I survived.

While it hurts when we aren’t met with the response to our vulnerability that we might be hoping for, at the end of the day it doesn’t entirely matter how that person responds, receives or reacts to it because it doesn’t take any power away from our act of vulnerability.

Not only that, I think it strengthens us even more because we lick our wounds and have the opportunity to make the choice to keep softening into our vulnerability with ourselves and with others, knowing that we’ve been hurt in that place but we’re choosing to stay open and loving no matter what.

We should never allow one person’s insensitive reaction scare us entirely away from our ability to be vulnerable.

Maybe we give ourselves some time to heal from the wounding, but then we pick ourselves back up and head out into the world again, hearts forward.

Just because one person was unable to reciprocate our vulnerability says absolutely nothing about us.

It says everything about them.

So, I say — keep being vulnerable as hell.

It’s our strength and power, regardless of what others do in the face of it.” ~ Alexandra Schueler

http://alexandraschueler.com/musings/being-vulnerable-is-being-powerful?mc_cid=fac3984e38&mc_eid=a30032d823

Rebelliously Entering The Forbidden Land Of Self-Love

“Our era is calling us into unknown territory. This uncharted place cannot be held in your hand but is a realm within the mind. This is a prohibited realm, as taught to us by our foremothers and forefathers. This forbidden world is the land of self-love.

In many cultures and in many ages, humanity has defined itself as a misfit of creation. Whether it is Adam and Eve as blemishes in the heavenly Garden of Eden, or our current self-assignment as “the planetary pest,” there seems to be a profound sense of non-belonging in our collective unconscious.

Today we are being asked to move beyond this misunderstanding of self. We are being asked to muster enough faith to remember that everything in creation is wanted and here for a reason. We are being asked to re-assume our identity as beloved children of the Earth.

Something alchemical occurs when one holds oneself in one’s arms and says to oneself: “You are precious and I love everything about you: your perfections and your imperfections.” I would challenge you to look into the mirror and say this, but one must be ready for the experience. If you are anything like me, it may trigger some very strange, foreign and maybe even uncomfortable sensations. Not because it isn’t true, but because it has been so many hundreds of generations since many of us have actually said this to ourselves and meant it.

The poem I share here is based on the Diné philosophy that we are not only accepted by Creator and Creation, but that we are celebrated by Creator and Creation. We in turn celebrate Creator and Creation. This all makes for one grand party that my Diné ancestors knew quite well.

In fact, our European ancestors knew this world quite well, too. The only difference between the white woman and the red woman is the white woman’s ancestors were slaughtered and tortured much further back in time. We often forget the 8-9 million European Medicine Women who were burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, raped, beaten and/or tortured as “witches.” We often forget how this not only harmed them, but spiritually wounded their brothers, husbands and sons who loved them. These were the women who prayed to stones, who made herbal medicines, who knew the land and the language of the land. We often forget how this episode and others served to severe our connection to the sacred motherland of Europe and engendered this sense of non-belonging.

Even in the face of this trauma, it is never too late to abandon the lie and enter the forbidden dimensions of self-love. For it is not the Creator who forbids us, but the dark. We are not only permitted by the Creator to enter this land, we are begged to enter it. For only then, will the party start again. Only then, will humanity know the joy it was created for again.

The topic of this poem is Hozhó (zh is pronounced like the j in taj mahal). Hozhó has been translated as beauty, but it means something more close to joy. Joy/Hozhó is the natural result of knowing oneself. Because to know oneself is to understand the grand celebration we are a part of. It is to know, profoundly, without a doubt, that we are loved, profoundly, by the Creator.

There are many things that keep us from feeling loved by the Creator. For women, rape can make us feel unlovable if we think it was our fault. For boys, domestic violence can make them feel unlovable if they believe they failed to protect their mother. It is our divine task to fight through the voices that say we are unloved and unworthy and find our Creator.

Only when we accept the truth of our beauty, will we let go of fear and insecurity. And only when we let go of fear and insecurity can we begin to have a real relationship with Mother Earth. A relationship that is not based on domination, separation, hierarchy, or other forms of insecurity, but a relationship that is akin to the relationship between a tree and the sun. Like this tree, we become the grateful receiver of life who, in the midst of this gratitude, is moved to give life to others, lovingly offering everything it has (shade, fruit, wood, beauty) to all that it sees.

What is really spectacular is when you have a community of these givers. In the context of the forest, even the giver is gifted with blessings unconditionally. It is not a trade. It is two beings that happen to be pouring out their heart at the same time, overtaken by the splendor of living in and as Creator’s design.

This is who we were created to be. Perhaps the pain we feel is the pain of trying to be something we are not. We are not the black sheep of the earth. We are the welcomed sons and daughters of the land. Remember this, and you will be doing your part to heal the whole earth.

Hozhó

It is dawn.
The sun is filling the sky
and my grandmother and I
are singing prayers to the horizon.
This morning she is
teaching me the meaning
of hozhó.
Although there is no direct
translation from Diné Bizaad
(the Navajo language)
into English
every living being knows
what hozhó means.
For hozhó is
every drop of rain.
It is every eyelash.
Every leaf on every tree.
Every feather on the bluebird’s wing.
Hozhó is undeniable beauty.
It is every breath we give to the trees.
And every breath they give to us in return.
Hozhó is reciprocity.
And my grandmother knows this well
for she speaks a language that
grew out of the desert floors
like red stone monoliths.
A language like arms
out of the earth
reaching into the sky,
praising creation for all
of its brilliance.
Hozho is remembering that we are a part of this brilliance.
It is finally accepting that
(yes)
you are a sacred song that brings the Diyin Diné’é
(the gods)
to their knees in an almost
unbearable ecstasy.
Hozho is re-membering our own beauty.
And my grandmother knows this well
for she speaks the language of a
Lókʼaaʼchʼégai snowstorm.
She speaks the language
of hooves hitting the dirt
for she was a midwife and would
gallop to the women in labor.
She is fluent in the
language of suffering mothers;
fluent in the language
of joyful mothers;
fluent in the language
of handing a glowing newborn
to its creator.
Hozhó is an experience.
But it is not something
you can experience
alone
the eagles tell us
as they lock talons
in the stratosphere
and fall to the earth as one.
Hozhó is inter-beauty.
And my grandmother knows this well
for she speaks the language of the Male Rain
which shoots Lightning Boys through the sky,
pummels the Green Corn Children
and huddles the horses against cliff sides
in the early afternoon.
She also speaks the language of the Female Rain
which sends the scent of dust and sage into our hoghans
and casts rainbows in the sky.
Us Diné, we know what hozhó means!
And you! You know what hozhó means!
And deep down I think we know what hozho
does not mean.
Like the days we walk in sadness.
Like the days we live for money.
Like the days we live for fame.
Like the day the conquistadors came,
climbed down from their horses
and asked us
if they could buy
the mountains.
We knew this was not hozhó
because we knew
you could not own a mountain.
But we knew we could make it hozhó once again.
So we took their silver swords
and we took their silver coins
and we melted them
with fire and buffalo hide bellows
and recast them into beautiful
squash blossom necklaces
and placed it around their necks.
We took the silver helmets
straight off their heads
and transformed it into
a fearless beauty.
We made jewelry:
Hozhó is the transmuting of broken bones.
Hozhó is the prayer that carried us
through genocide and disease.
It is the prayer that will carry us through
global warming;
through this global fear
that dances like a shadow
in our minds.
This morning my grandmother is teaching me something
very important.
She is teaching me that the
easiest (and most elegant) way
to defeat an army of hatred
is to sing to it beautiful songs
until it falls to its knees
and surrenders.
‘It will do this,’ she says, ‘because it has finally
found a sweeter fire than revenge.
It has found Heaven.
It has found Hozhó.’
And so my grandmother is talking
to the colors of the sky at dawn
and she is saying:
hózhǫ́náházdlíí’
hózhǫ́náházdiíí’
hózhǫ́náházdlíí’
(beauty is restored again…)
It is dawn, my friends.
Wake up.
The night
is over.”

Copyright 2016 (c) Lyla June Johnston
https://m.facebook.com/notes/lyla-june-johnston/rebelliously-entering-the-forbidden-land-of-self-love/10153776757606007/

True Love

“True love is a knowledge: I love her. To know is to love, to love is to know. Not to know what Einstein’s theory is, or how to give way at the next traffic lights, not that sort of learned knowledge. But to know because I truly love her. And although I truly love the woman, it is not the woman that I truly love finally, it is the principle, that demonstrates itself in her, that I love. I don’t love anything else, I just love loving her.

Man, do you love loving her? I don’t mean just having sex with her, which is a very beautiful thing, but do you enjoy just loving her? Do you enjoy just having breakfast with her? Do you enjoy just being alone with her? Do you enjoy waking up in the morning and putting your arms around her, and how blessed you are to have her there beside you?

Do you love loving her? Well, I don’t want to put any futuristic concepts in your head. I’m not trying to make you love like that, I’m just telling you what love is. The human race doesn’t love like that but the individual can. The human race doesn’t because there’s too many distractions, too many other loves. Like your four-wheel drives or your new car. Or surfing. Or going to the pub at night, having a sing-along. So many other things to “love”!

And finally, when you’re going to love the principle of [the Creator], which is the principle of Woman and Man, all the distractions disappear: you just love loving, that’s all. And you can’t possess it: it is your life, to love. [Love + Life = the same thing]

And of course that’s the love of [the Creator]. Isn’t it amazing? It comes round to: that’s the love of [the Creator/Great Spirit/Creation]. Because this principle of Woman and Man, … is the principle of [the Creator].”

Barry Long

© The Barry Long Trust