I love this man, his words, his shares. He only just started, chck it out and enjoy.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
To discover who she is, a woman must descend into her own depths. She must leave the safe role of remaining a faithful daughter of the collectives around her and descend to her individual feeling values. It will be her task to experience her pain...the pain of her own unique feeling values calling to her, pressing to emerge.
To discover who she is, a woman must trust the place of darkness where she can meet her own deepest nature and give it voice...weaving the threads of her life into a fabric to be named and given...sharing it with the women around her as she comes to a true and certain sense of herself.
Quote from "Circle of stones. A woman's journey to herself." by, Judith Duerk
This book changes lives, I am rereading it again. It is my quest....
Saturday, January 23, 2010
So it seems that many of us, myself included are looking for miracles out in the world. For signs of some sort that we have not been left behind, that life or God or whatever has not forgotten us....that we matter. Maybe I am just speaking of my own personal experience but I do know many people who are also what I call seekers.
I cut my finger badly about a week ago. While cooking, slicing and dicing, I slit it open really deep. About an inch long. It bleed for a few days and needed a few band aids to protect it. That was on Tuesday night. It is now Saturday morning and although sore it is almost healed.
As I examined it this morning the glorious fact occurred to me again as it has in the past. Why am I looking outside for miracles when I AM a living miracle. I am in a body that literally heals itself. All by itself it knows what to do. I assist it with neosporin and band-aids but that is all I do. It knows just what to do...... It is a miracle.
I cannot tell my heart to beat. Or make the blood pump through my veins. Make my eyes see things or my ears hear. Much as I'd like to take credit it has nothing to do with me doing anything. I am being breathed by something far greater than the little me. By the life force itself, the Initiator....
This is not egotistical, it is a reality. We are all in these incredible bodies that heal themselves. OK, yes, not always. If a certain dis-ease comes in it may or may not heal. That is more God's business. And to deny we are all "dying" on some level is silly. That is NOT my point here.
My point is that I am often looking outside of myself for what exists pristine and untouched inside of myself. I am always assuming that I am not enough or am flawed, damaged goods, etc. And am coming to the realization that this is all a big lie. The great lie. One of the greatest lies of humanity frankly.
It causes so much distress, pain and harm these false beliefs I have carried around about myself for so many years. Creating self-fulfilling prophecies left and right to support my false beliefs. Unconsciously manifesting that which I fear the most and am trying to run away from. But wherever I run to, there I AM.
And so I am the proverbial hamster on a wheel. Going around and around, getting nowhere fast and absolutely exhausted in the process. I am thrilled to report that I believe I have finally, after 44 years on the planet, gotten OFF this wheel. From sheer exhaustion. From the immense pain it brings. From a desire to move on into a more joyful life for me and my family. I am off!!!!!
You may ask how? It is not so simple. I think much I have done has supported and led up to this moment. With some blessed angels along the way. I have been a seeker of truth my entire life. I have a gift of vision that has been squashed and was relegated to the basement early in my childhood. But it never died, it just went dormant for awhile. I have read and studied much about philosophy, studied conscious beings, and done more therapy then I care to admit.
All of this has added to it but is not really needed I believe in the times we are living in. It is a very special time and the forces of light are conspiring everywhere to wake people up if they have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. The signs are everywhere when you choose to see them. But we all have free will so one must choose to go on the path. And once you do it will pull you along at a rapid pace. It is as my friend calls it= Sign of the times.
For some this will not be their truth and that is okay too. There is no wrong just many different and beautiful expressions of the infinite. All of them have a place. It just happens that I write about mine and encourage others to find their own. Truth has many faces. All as perfect and beautiful as the next.
I did an incredible workshop last weekend. It is a method to discover, uncover and recover that child that exists in me. In everyone really. It has changed so much in my life. I cannot yet articulate all that occurred and continues to. But it is my path to report on my life and so in this moment I am trying to do just that.
It was confirmed yet again that all that goes on as a baby in the womb up until 7 years old sets up and defines who one is in their life. For most of us there was much pain and disillusionment. There was a taking on of family lineages of stuff. And especially taking on the parents stuff. We are these ripe soils as children and so many seeds get planted. Mostly not such good ones. Again, that is my experience and that of the peeps in my life. That is all I ever speak about and to.
Recovering my child and seeing and feeling and discharging her pain has been cathartic. To hear her, to mourn her pain, to declare to never let her be hurt again.....I am forever changed. Rachel and Vicky have quieted and are happier that their job has lots of time off now. I put my little girl in a beautiful new pink and purple dress, she is free and happy again. I love her deeply.
She wants to dance and sing. And she is so powerful she does not care if she gets judged. She will fly high. I swam the reservoir of her grief with her and am on the shore now. We rest, we love, we prepare for a future unlike our past. I invite you to rediscover your truth, your child, your gold. We all have this alive and well inside of us. Don't become heavy and dense and let the societal tribe drag you into its collective sleep anymore.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
I am not sure what I am gonna write about. But something is telling me to do so, and I listen when this happens. Most of the time I know but not now. My 45th birthday is in a few weeks. It is on Feb 1st. It seems so strange. I do not wish to be any younger, except when I get tired chasing my 2 year old. And yet, it is just a number. One that does not seem to fit.
I sometimes still feel like a kid. The same old me. Scared, scarred and unlovable. I still get shy around strangers. I still want to be liked , loved etc. I once saw a really funny cartoon that made me laugh because it is so me. It has become a running joke between me and my dear friend Joan.
It was a little girl. Not one that I have ever seen before, not a famous character at all. In fact I have not seen it since so maybe it was manifest just for me. Some white magic. Anyway, she is bouncing around saying,"Do you like me??? Do you love me ???? Do you think I'm pretty??? Do you wanna be my friend???"
Being pretty was very important to my mother. She got her tapes from her father I am told. I remember rushing home from grade school one day, thrilled to tell her my great accomplishment! I had taken what I felt HAD to be a really pretty school picture! I had my pretty red and white checkered jacket on. It had a dark blue checkered fluff of fabric coming out of the front pocket. It was smart looking to me.
The only bad part was that it itched immensely. But I had heard from my mother that beauty is pain. So I put a t-shirt under it to minimize the polyester itch on my skin. I'd be pretty if it killed me.
I furiously brushed my hair with my fingers before the fateful moment in the girls bathroom. Borrowed my best friends Bonnie Bell strawberry because it added a little red to the lips. My mother fancied herself a hairdresser at this point and had become the addicted to giving everyone in our neighborhood the newest hairstyle. The "shag." Which was disastrous for my thick and course hair. If you have forgotten.... "I have naturally curly hair!" So it seemed to bend and curl in ALL the wrong places.
I had been practicing my smile for weeks. I must admit before I went to get my last license picture, I practiced in the mirror. Sad, huh? Anyway, I was certain that I had it down. Ready for my first good school picture. Up until this moment I always had unattractive school pictures, but not this time. I was certain it would be stellar.
So,predictably it was not. In fact it was the worst one to date. I can still see it in minds eye. I would share it but I believe I destroyed all copies. My big goofy smile, with my teeth that were too big for my small head at the time. My hair curling every which way, desperate to fit into the newest trend. But failing miserably. And the ever present shoulders up to my ears. A thing that would often manifest as I tried desperately to please.
I was a very late blossomer. I was not popular or pretty or any of those things that society brain washes little girls to think that they need to be. It was all about the blond haired, blue eyed girl with straight hair. The one my mother had died her to be. The one that I would later dye my hair to be. Barbie, I suppose. Boring Barbie. Boring Big Boobed Barbie.
I was at my brothers house a few months ago for his daughters, Haley's 4th birthday. She got some new Barbie dolls among many other toys. Have you seen them lately? Apparently Ken became a plastic surgeon and is plumping up Barbies lips at an alarming rate. It seems the new odd species of women that seem to be inhabiting our planet now have become the prototype for Barbie. It is frightening really.
I really want a baby girl, but for now am glad that I don't have one when I see shit like that. Someone once said to me that if I had a girl first, I would have been too hard on her. I agree. Especially if I saw her walking down the funky path young girls are going down these days. I am glad I grew up in Michigan.
I also despise this 40 is the new 30 saying. Lets break it down, shall we? So, 30 is the new 20. And 20 is the new 10??!!!!! And 10 the new infant??!!! It is fucking stupid. Why can't people be grateful just where they are? What does age matter anyway? Or hair color? Or height? Or weight? That's a big one. Even I worry about it.....ugh.
We waste so much time trying to find ourselves looking in all the wrong places. At all the wrong things. I for one have never been able to find myself in a mirror. In fact, a certain point I lost myself there. At a time when the world, or my world was focused on that. What a bore.
Well, I suppose this is just a nonsensical rant. But it is my nonsensical rant.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
I grew up in Michigan . Traveling back and forth between my mother's various husbands and my grandparents house. We at times had to throw our clothes into garbage bags and move on. It was awful.... creating to this day my inability to say a simple goodbye to someone without feeling great overwhelming sadness in my heart. That peppered with abandonment issues and the fear that ALL men leave. Actually that women leave too, being that was a pattern of my mother. Basically summing it up, I felt and feel at times that I am not worthy of love. Woe is me.
My grandparents door was always open to my mothers gypsy ways. And my two older brothers and I spent a lot of our childhood there. My grandpa was Italian. My grandma, Hungarian. She called their relationship the marriage of garlic and paprika. It was a loud and passionate household. And in truth, extremely vain.
My grandpa was a designer/engineer for General Motors by day, and a ham bone musician by night. There were many nights for my grandma left alone in 'her chair' watching tv. His chair was empty, shadowing the outline of his body in the cushions. It made me sad for her. I wondered if all relationships looked like this. I'd hop in his chair and keep her company. Paint her short little nails on hands that look just like my own. Help in whatever ways I could. But a child could never fill that hole, try as they may.
My grandma and I were very similar. We were both sort of not wanted and spent much time together. She even took me to my very first day of kindergarten. I remember standing there grasping her left leg, not wanting to go into the class. What if she left like everyone else and never came back. How could I live without her???
Even after all those days of she and I walking my two older brothers to the corner on their way to school, waving goodbye to them, tears streaming down my little face. Wondering and imagining what great adventures must lie ahead for them at this thing called school. I thought I could not wait for my day, for my turn.
Yet now, with it here in front of me all I could do was to cry. I did not want to go. I did not want to leave my grandma, my rock in the stormy sea of my life. I peeked around her leg and saw through my tears the dreaded destination. It was a big classroom with all different stations of seeming fun set up but it mattered not. I stood outside with her, looking in through the two large glass doors. I have for so long in my life done this. Stood outside looking at the seeming fun but dare not enter it. This was where it all started.
As the teacher approached us, used to these moments of hysterical 4 year olds, she tried to offer assistance. Bad move, it made me scream even more. Nnnooooo Grandma nnnooooooo. My grandma brushed the teacher off and she gently loosened my grip. Looked deeply into my red bloodshot eyes with her matching blue ones..... She wiped my running nose on her dress, kissed my forehead . She then reminded me that it was only a half a day. That she would be back in a few hours and would take me to Saunders for a strawberry ice cream soda. And then we would hit the JCPenney for a matching Grrranimals outfit. My favorite. Shopping appealed to me even then.
For those who don't know.... JCPenney had a line back in the day of kids clothing. They had these different colored animals [Grrranimals] and when you matched the tags, the outfits matched. So you would learn WHILE you shopped. It gave me a great sense of independence. I could pick out my own stuff. And of course at times, I would mismatch the animals for a funky look and sensibility that I still keep today. I am so NOT a fashionista. I like what I like and fuck it. There are many timeless pieces in my closet. I will not be put in a box. Except literally. hehehe
The ice cream soda and shopping softened the blow and I finally let go of grandmas now turning purple leg, her knee high was down around her ankel. So I rubbed the rest of my tears away trying to regain some dignity as I walked in, put my chin up, a few layers of cover on my heart and walked into yet another situation of my early life that I did not want to be in.
I had learned early on that so many things would occur in my life that I had no control over. And ones that I promised myself not to repeat on my own kids. I've been pretty good about it too. But this was a long way from that moment. A child's first day of school is usually traumatic. I think...well, we can only know our own experience and often mistake it for everyone elses.
I never had any conscious desire to be an actress. Or a musician as my grandfather encouraged in all of his kids and grand kids. The first time it occurred to me was around my aunt Suzi. She seemed to be so loved by the family. Always talked about. Always praised to the moon. But I hardly knew her, she was always gone and was an enigma. A complete stranger.
I personally didn't get it. I mean, her music was just okay to me. I was only a kid. I was told how successful she was in Europe. Well, who cares I thought. I was a 10 year old in America. That was all I really knew about the world. And it was not lost to me young as I was that music and a band was what took my own mother from me as a 2 year old. Broke apart my parents. So of course it would leave a bad taste in my mouth.
At a certain point all the family was ablaze with the fact that Suzi was to be on Happy Days, even I was excited . That was a great show, one of my favorites. Now she had some credibility to me!!! Now I thought she was cool. However it did not last very long.
So the episodes came and went. We all gathered in my grandparents living room. Many of us, friends, family, the neighbors, the milkman.... Frankly it was hard to hear the show over all the LOUD Italians and my grandpas roaring and praise over whatever she said and did. There was no modesty here. There never was with this crew. For me the show was a little disappointing. Again, I thought well, she was ok. Not the earth shaking response the Quatros seemed to have.Then again, it was always this response in regards to Suzi. Thank God I am a Fenn, I thought.
When later down the timeline we moved into a new neighborhood again my mother had an alarming suggestion. When I got home from yet another day of excruciating embarrassment of eating alone at lunch in a new school with no friends yet. Being the "new girl" again. My mother said in all her bizarre wisdom..."Well, did you tell them WHO your aunt is??? "
I almost died. Did she just really say that. Is she fucking crazy. Well that had already been proven, I suppose. Okay, maybe not crazy but certainly lost. I replied,"Why??? SO THEY'LL LIKE ME???" My voice dripping sarcasm for such a ludicrous idea. It was just to redunkulous!!!!! It sums up the mind set of the Quatro's . Now don't get me wrong, I love them. They are my family. But I also SEE them. And don't feel the need to make excuses. It simply is what it is. And it was NOT me. I seemed even then to be cut of a different clothe. A far more humble one.
When Suzi finally made a long anticipated trip to her home town to actually see her family it was quite an event. You'd have thought the Pope himself was coming to grace us with his presence. Every corner of the house was scrubbed, all people of interest were alerted even sickeningly enough, THE PRESS!!!! Because you see, my grandpa could use this as a way to get HIS name out there more and this might increase his music business in addition to his ego, so he could spend even more time leaving grandma at home in her chair lonely and sad.
It is not a wonder that she died later of cancer. In her stomach. The size of a football was removed. She used to joke it was her alien. But it was filled with sadness and resentment, I feel. When she went in for surgery I was in the midst of my Twin Peaks fame. As we said goodbye to her as she was rolled into the operation, even she felt it was important to share a piece of vital information. Drugged and cotton mouthed she told the nurse, "Dats my gwandaughter, Sherri. Ow mightwrecognize ur, shes on Pin Tweaks." It seems she had the bug too.
Before my appendix was removed a few years ago, I cried to the doctor who was putting me under... You have to be careful and take care of me. I have to wake up. I am a MOTHER!!! I have a son who needs me. Hmmmmm. Just cut from a different clothe.
So with all the pomp and pageantry of Suzi arriving I floated around in the shadows. I never seemed less important. But Suzi's husband Lenny was kind and good to me. He seemed to be unimpressed by it all and could actually SEE the kids. My brothers and my cousins and I. He played with us and said really funny things. My aunt just seemed to only talk about herself and was perfectly happy with everyone talking about her too.
Another really odd thing was that Suzi now spoke with an English accent? Huh?!!! She had not even been in London that long and it seemed to me so weird and affected. She was able to drop it for her Happy Days episode but here with her birth family, it flourished. Most people when they go to their hometown fall back to talking like them. But not Suzi. She seemed to be desperate to be different than us, better than, so sophisticated and English. Some might have bought it but I did not.
One day I walked into the bedroom she was staying in and my breathe was taken away. She had the prettiest clothes I had ever seen. Thick, lush corduroys in every color imaginable that looked and felt like velvet. Size zero it looked like. And all kinds of snakeskin boots. and beautiful leather jackets. Gorgeous jewelry. None the likes had I ever seen in Michigan. Grrranimals fell out of grace in my eyes in that moment. I did not want to be a grown woman someday shopping at JCPenney, I thought.
These clothes became the representation of Europe for me. Now I wanted to go there and buy some. And hey, maybe this fame thing was cool because look at all the pretty things you can buy and wear. And look how everyone seems to listen to her, even when she is arrogant and speaking a lot of nonsense. There always was a rapt audience around her. I had never experienced that in my entire life. I thought naively that maybe that was what love looked like.
I believe that event with those various factors planted a seed to become "famous." Even as I first started acting, my 17 year old head would just think ....it'd be fun to be famous. It was not until much later that I would discover the gift of acting from my beloved Roy London.
One thing I knew was that I never wanted to be on stage, live, dancing and singing. That takes a kind of vanity the likes of which I have never possessed. To this day I get nervous when there are too many people on the set. And almost NEVER see my own work. YUCK. Who can watch themselves, esp on film and see your face as big as your body actually is, your voice blasting through speakers. It is a form of torture, for me. I am too subjective. When I was forced to go to premiers, I would sneak out as quick as I could.
So I suppose you can take the girl out of Michigan but you cannot take Michigan out of the girl. At least not this girl. I am what I am. And I like what I am. I have changed very little over the years. But I have gotten wiser. I learn everyday more and more of who I am and it is often from the reflection of others and me being clear about who I am NOT.
Never forget your little self . It is your truth. It is your gold. Love it and it will love you back.
To Thine Own Self Be True. Fuck the masks.....
Monday, January 4, 2010
The great epochs of life come when we gain the courage to re-christen our evil as what is best in us.
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