lovedance

45. SACRED FEMININE CONNECTIONS

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

I alone chose Cat as the Druid oracle of my Intuition. Cat is aware of the spirit world. That I am. Cat observes without judgment. This, I’ll have to work on.

In 2003, I was given the Native American Medicine Cards as a gift and promptly chose my nine animal totems. Was I shocked! I had thought of myself as strong almost masculine in my ability to achieve. Yet I chose very feminine cards. Even my masculine side was represented by Spider which the Native Americans refer to as Grandmother Spider, the one who weaves our reality.

And Steve chose very masculine cards like Wolf and Mountain Lion. While I showed the world my tough side, Steve had no qualms revealing his softer side. The friend who gifted me with the cards was not surprised by my totems. “The world perceives you as very feminine, in spite of your masculine stance.”

The veil had been lifted. And from then on I knew myself as an embodiment of the Sacred Feminine. Writing LoveDance® allowed me to live freely as Woman. As the Divine Daughter, I danced my heart through the free expression of my emotion. And over time, I have come to cherish my Divine Mother Self. Now entering menopause, I hope to know myself as the Divine Grandmother.
The Change doesn’t come quickly. It is a process. I recognized this after reading Women Who Run With the Wolves.

April 5, 2009
I am undergoing a transformation. I am entering the change…and it is truly changing my life. My relationship with my sisters is improved. And although I rarely write, rarely blog, rarely market, all the old seeds are coming to fruit.

Dreams are lucid, exploring my inner psyche. I am being initiated into the grandmother’s council and I love it.

I type this on a new computer. The old died, like so much passing in my life…Sara, Auntie, Karen …death leads to birth. The winds of change clear the way for the new.

Most profound of all is my ability to instantly manifest. What I think becomes. If I desire something greatly enough, it manifests. I have had little need to confront my worries as they absolve before me. I am in the state of realization. Becoming the Magdalen, the way to the divine.

The polarity of good and evil does not exist in my world. All is of joy. All is of love. All is well. Lessons cloaked in distasteful garb are often the most profound. Rarely is it difficult now. I move into my sage-hood with ease.

Estes relates stories as a means to understand the psyche. I see great connection with LoveDance® and her rendition of the archetypal stories. I naturally wrote into the story the maiden, the child-self, the queen/bride, the king/groom, the mage and the gardener. Perhaps this is why the book touches so many on such a deep level. Story heals souls.

I am so very well, so very blessed. Gratitude has become a way of life. Love is my essence. The world is opening to receive me and I am prepared to bare all to be Joy.

And here in this book, I bare all and you, my reader, are open to receive. Tonight I shall take the role of Crone in the triad that serves our women’s circle. A practice run as sage or the beginning of the next phase of my life…hmmm…

43. CAUSE WE’RE ITALIAN

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

A few days before Steve’s Gran died, she was expressing her gratitude: “I’m so fortunate to have my family taking care of me.” My mother-in-law responded, “Of course, Mom, it’s what families do.” Gran smiled, “It’s because we’re Italian.”

My mother-in-law gently explained that they are not Italian. (In fact very Anglo-Saxon. The family name is Jones!) Now I’m from an Italian American family and Gran spent an awful lot of time with us…I do believe Italian rubbed off on her. How could it not? We spent most of the time in the kitchen cooking. The rest of the time in the garden enjoying a cup of coffee. Gran loved her coffee. While she was here, I never drank so much in my life! “Come, Debbie, have a cup of coffee with me.” She would ask late in the afternoon. “Oh, and maybe we can have those cookies we made the other day. Just a couple. We don’t want to spoil our dinner.” How could I refuse? It was precious time spent with an amazing woman…my only grandma.

Italians pass the time playing cards. Gran never played cards before, but she learned fast. Her youngest daughter was surprised, “Mother doesn’t play cards!” Gran was brought up in the Reformed Church of the Latter Day Saints…no card playing allowed, no dancing, no drinking, no swearing. Well, in our house Gran played Gin-Rummy, enjoyed “just a sip” of Steve’s homemade wine and no, not a virgin margarita, but a real one “you know I love the salted rim!” and once we were having a frank discussion after dinner about the consequences of proposition 8 and Gran got upset, “It’s no one’s damn business who people love!” Oh yes, and she and I would dance. Foregoing the walker, I would hold her tightly in my arms and we’d sway to the music.

When Kyra would come home, we would all be in the kitchen making something delicious. My Mom would join us—she runs my practice which is right here on our property so I could be home for the kids and then for Gran—four generations making fig jam, stuffing zucchinis, preparing yet another meal. Mom would squeeze Gran and give her a kiss. “It’s not a kitchen without a grandma in it!” Just as Gran took me in as her granddaughter, she treated my mother as a daughter.

Gran had enough love for all of us and more. Years ago, she “adopted” a young black man who reveres her. And her Hispanic caretaker came to the hospital in February, laid her head next to Gran’s and wept. She stayed hours petting and fussing over Gran.

Gran worked in the Farmers Market for thirty something years making friends with Jewish, Asian, Hispanic and Blacks. She did not see race or color or religion or sexual preference. Gran only saw people. And she was always delighted to meet them, all of them…and perhaps share a cup of coffee?

Steve and I were reminiscing. I know you tend to elevate the dead, forgetting their worldly transgressions and focusing on the good. But no need to embellish Gran. Like Steve said, “She was always genuinely glad to be see me, accepted me completely and my presence brought her joy.” Gran treated all of us like this…in her presence our truth shone…because she really “saw” us…she looked past the shadows and embraced the light in each of us…

Steve believes karma is incurred over your lifetime. He’s spent his consciously banking good karma. Gran didn’t know much about karma…but her bank was full. I believe karma can be imprinted. My research shows it begins in the womb…remember the Red Cord…yet I have been branded by Gran. She has imprinted me to the roots of my soul.

When the family made plans for the funeral, I called my mother-in-law and told her “Mom said the Italian side of the family is cooking! Oh, and we don’t do petit fours.” She laughed and told her sister. I could hear Auntie in the background. “Thank goodness, I love tomato, mozzarella and basil.”
I’ve entitled the menu—Gran’s Day—the day we gathered to celebrate her life: Bruschetta, melon and prosciutto, marinated grilled veggies, olives, of course lots of bread to dip in Mom’s sauce…she’s doing most of the cooking. I’m the baker in the family… Gran loved my holiday cookies and they go so very well with a cup of coffee.

Mom comes up behind me and gives me a hug and a kiss on the back of my neck, “Someday you’ll do this for me.”

There are no tears as we connect in the kitchen—Gran joins us—to reminisce and to prepare delicious food, lots of it… It’s what family does…because we’re Italian.

41. FIGHTING OVER GOD

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

At my Mormon sister’s daughter’s wedding a few years ago, my aunt (a Buddhist married to a protestant minister) asked how the church responded to my book. She had read LoveDance® and loved it.

“Oh, we’re not part of the church anymore. Gosh, not for the past 22 years!”

“Well, that makes sense. I wondered where you got your material.”

“I dreamt it and later researched what I wrote.” I shared with her that a few months after I wrote a particularly disturbing part regarding the Essenes in Qumran (it disturbed me because I knew what the Dead Sea scholars thought they found and what I “saw” and wrote was very different), my rabbi friend called me up to tell me archeologist had just discovered evidence of what I wrote.

Apparently, when one of us remembers the past it opens the doorway for the truth to be discovered. It’s like how inventors are often working on the same inventions at the same time. Archeologists are always surprised to find modern technology in ancient ruins. I believe it’s because we think we’re the only ones. The only ones who know the truth.

Which is why so many religions believe that their way is the only way to get to heaven. And why there are so many jokes about who you’ll find in heaven. And why there are so many wars.
When we were in the Vatican, Steve said “Wars are seeded in religious conflict”. Including, I think, the Church of the Golden Coins. Because most wars bring the victors much wealth. Except the last one…

9/11 was the beginning of the end for many of us. The moment the towers were hit, I felt it. Although I didn’t know until my mother called a few minutes later what had happened. I couldn’t tell her what I felt. Nor anyone for a very long time. But I felt…great relief.

Like finally the birth waters had burst. The pressure was on. Time to push. It felt like the birth of the New Earth was finally eminent and that was such a great relief. Everyone was frantic of course. We hooked up our cable just to be a part of the tragedy. For days, we watched with the rest of the world. Finally, my daughter said enough. “Let’s turn it off, Mommy. We aren’t helping them by watching. Maybe we should send white light?” I heartily agreed.

Something happened to us on September 11th 2001. I wrote this poem the day after…

The Commencement

After all the tragedy, how will we react
Will we sit in fear, anticipating
Or will we allow the opening of our hearts
Letting this event move us beyond

Dear ones just on the other side of the veil
Watching us, wondering if their sacrifice be in vain
Will we face the challenge with love
Or will we lash out in fear

We have reached the fork in the road
Which path will humanity choose
As the leader of the free world
They are looking to us to choose wisely

No longer the time of Solomon,
Although biblical tales true for then
Yet an eye for an eye, a warrior’s cry
Be not the best choice for our souls’ sake

We are our own enemy
Not good against evil
But a gracious opportunity
To find a way to heal

Dark and light are both of the One
Let go of judgment, let go of fear
Live in love and enjoy this life
Live in fear and repeat the cycle

React as the male warrior
And we take a step back
React with feminine compassion
And we move into the next dimension

It’s time to change, it’s time to love
Release the United States and be a United World
Una faza, una raza, one face, one race
For we are each a facet of the One

Even those who appear to be dark players
On the stage of life, we cannot all be heroes
Some of us offered to play the villains
So the rest could learn about love

Thank the players, wish them well,
Our karmic cycles to end
If we release fear, once and for all
Never again will we have to play dark parts

911 was an emergency call
A call to arms, not weapons
But a linking of arms, a holding of hands
Uniting us in a circle of love

Joined together as one being,
No one richer, no one poorer
Children living with conscious adults
Free from fear, surrounded by love

It’s time to make our choice
Choose to evolve the collective human soul
To be in a higher dimension of awareness
Embrace the commencement of the age of compassion

Perhaps I was ten years before my time. That is not unusual for me. But I do see a shift in our reality. I see hope. I see change. I see that we have evolved. This last war (and I pray it is our last!) brought us transformation. And that’s better than gold.

When only one of us realizes our light, we illuminate our world. That is my hope. That by shining my light into your world, you find your own divine light. It matters not what you call your god…for all is of the One…and it is all Divine.

40. A HERETIC IN THE VATICAN

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

And then I dreamt I was Mary Magdalen. And ten days later we were in Rome. Oh, not because the archdiocese found out about my visions…because it was our 20th anniversary trip to Italy.

Our first European trip was right after 911…but that’s another story. Maybe later.

We began in Rome and on the second day visited the Vatican. Imagine this. Me — educated in scientific theorem, left brained, mathematical, logical, yet trusting my intuition implicitly with a lifetime of prophetic dreams — ascending the winding staircase leading to the Sistine Chapel. The energy of the art overwhelms me. Emotion drips from the frescoes. I can hardly breathe. A guard takes notice and gently guides me to an open window. I take gasping breaths of fresh air. “Not everyone is so sensitive.” He nods towards the herd of people peering at the art like they are visiting the zoo. Apparently not.

Torn between visions of the past and the present hustle and bustle of this iconic museum, I realize viscerally how the sacred feminine was lost. I knew, yet didn’t have gnosis, of this loss until I walked the ancient streets with my husband in form and Yeshua in spirit. Behind a covey of nuns, I say silently. “They believe they’re married to you.” And I hear, Not Yeshua the man, but the mythical Christ.

Before entering St Peter’s square, I hesitate. Yeshua’s presence is so palpable even Steve perceives it. “Come on, you two! I bought the tickets and we are going in!”

It costs a little to view history, the religious relics. It cost a lot to be reminded of a past not completely told. And to have Her side of history flooding my memory.

Grateful to openly discuss my visions with Steve, yet feeling a little schizophrenic with the aliveness of this other reality. The voices, the images, the feelings, I am in between the worlds – Yeshua, angels, facets of god brought more vividly to life in the ancient city.

September 27, 2003

In the wee morning hours I am awakened from a dream in which I, as Deborah, am laying my hands on Mary Magdalen who is laying her hands on me blessing one another as goddesses unto eternity. Then all energies merge into one essence. I lay face down on the bed flattened out by the sheer power of the dream with Yeshua comforting me, whispering, I am she, I am the goddess. I know the secret of manifestation, I know joy. I am joy as is the hummingbird. I taste all of the nectar in life.

Then as I turn onto my back, my hands clasped in prayer, I am guided by the angel Gabriel, who I recognize as the one who escorted me as Mary into my womb to share the forgotten secrets of womanhood. Then Archangel Michael speaks from my right, reminded me that I also have been escorted from darkness by Archangel Lucifer (known as Uriel in Hebrew or God’s light) who smiles at me from my left and delivers me back to myself, back to the One. Then I feel Angel Raphael as the muse behind me fueling my spirit, challenging me to reveal myself to the world. Yeshua speaks, then I hear for the first time the Father above me, the Mother on my left, Yeshua at my right hand as I am his left.

The Father speaks- I am beloved, he has never forsaken me, I will remember all but for now I am to live in the eternal now blending past and present into a glorious future. I can see the glory of my relationship with Steve, as my beloved husband, and Kyra with her joyful goddess energy as a reflection of my own, and Jarys coming into the world manifesting a blend of masculine and feminine energies as an experiment to know himself as god. All my worries are lifted. I am asked to open my heart and to open my arms and invite in abundance. I am reassured that I will be and have been protected and held in the bosom of the One, for I am the joy and he/she/it/the beloved is well pleased.

I breathe in Yeshua, the son, the lover, my friend, and the Mother and the Father. I am whole and I am holy. I am asked to release from my heart all that I believe have forsaken me, then bless them with peace, love, joy and comfort, re-invite them back as whole and accept the abundance and forgiveness for myself and for all. I am freed from all bonds. Even my bulimia is revealed unto me as the false judgment of self not deserving love or abundance. Since the 16th it has been over. I am free and this trip is to be enjoyed with Steve in the eternal Now.

Time is not a line but a spiral circling back and forth weaving in and out of the now. My Italian experience removed layers of history, revealing to me my own truth. I knew for the first time myself as an embodiment of the goddess. Growing up with the patriarchal judgment I saw mirrored in the world, I used the son energies of reasoning and academia to survive – as I spent most of my early life being the scientist, exploring the masculine aspect of self. At 42 I found myself being born again as a sacred feminine embodiment of emotion, my power lies in the creative energies as I manifest beauty and love in my life. Finally, I was free to be the divine daughter filled with passion, emotion and love, infused in relationship to all that is, with people, plants, animals, angels, souls past and present. A bridge to reunite the mind, body, spirit with Love.

September 29, 2003

More comes in clearly during the emotional experience of exploring the museums. The renaissance and medieval buildings are enough to inspire a passionate awakening. The art pulls at my heart strings. The depictions of Christ as a mythical being rather than a man. I just feel that they got it wrong! Yet who am I to enlighten them.

While in Italy, I dreamt of attending a conference where I share with a huge audience how to become consciously connected by highlighting exactly what happened to me. I realized that I would someday share my revelation with the world, yet the novel came first and changed my writing style increasing my inter-dimensional connections creating such an awakening that I would no longer write academically but intimately.

October 7, 2003

My life will be written from my perspective now as well as my life as Mary. Which is fact and which is fiction? They are both my realities.

39. IN THE BEGINNING I WAS CATHOLIC

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

I was born Roman Catholic. My mother is full blooded Italian. My father is Heinz 57—a blend of English, Irish, Welsh, and maybe a little African because us girls got our bottoms from somewhere more exotic. And there is that old photo of my great-great-great grandparents with seven or eight children and one is black. Who knows?

So we were Catholic. Well, all except Dad. He wasn’t anything of the religious persuasion. Dad believes in what is right in front of him. Not a spiritual person, but his doubt allowed me at least to be open to other possibilities. He wonders why I am so different than my sisters. I believe it was a combination of my mother’s faith and his doubt.

Mom and Dad eloped in March of 1960. She thought she was pregnant with me. She wasn’t. I came the next year. She feels she cheated herself out of a big Italian wedding, but she did get Dad to the local priest. And he took lessons so they could be married in the church. By that time she WAS pregnant with me—very, very pregnant. She tells the story that the priest liked to imbibe and in his drunken state whispered to Dad that he didn’t have to go through with this to which Mom exclaimed, “Father, I’m the Catholic!”

Philadelphia, 1961

So we were all duly christened. I still have my tiny christening gown. And I went to catechism. I loved school, so the classes were nice enough. The church was very pretty. Our Lady of Perpetual Help. A lovely statue of the Virgin Mary all dressed in light blue graced the church. She was very pretty and her baby—Jesus—was very sweet. I loved dressing up in my frilly frocks, hats and gloves and on special holidays, I had a little purse. And every mass, we would get up and down and up and down while the priest chanted in Latin, and then there would be a special moment when all the adults and the big kids got up and reverently made their way to the front of the church and then the priest would give them a cookie!

I really wanted to be part of the church. And you had to learn about being Catholic in order to partake in holy communion. That’s what they called the cookie. I found out later it was a wafer-thin cracker that tasted like sour grape juice and stuck to roof of your mouth if you tried to talk which was why you had to be quiet.

The nuns were very strict. And they didn’t like me asking questions.

“Why do I need to be bad in order to talk to the priest?” I was having trouble figuring out what I was going to confess.
“Why does the priest have to talk to God for me?” I talked to God directly and He talked to me. And the one they called His Son, well, he was my playmate.

But in order to partake in your first communion, you had to go to confession, which meant you had to tell the priest something you did wrong. I wracked my little brain for something. Then right before my first confession, I did it. I was bad. I gave my little sister less than half of the cookie I had saved from Brownies. I did it on purpose which is a greater sin, but I had to tell that priest something!

Finally, I got to receive holy communion. And Mommy was so happy and my grandparents made such a fuss. And then I don’t remember going to church too often after that. Just Easter and Christmas.

It was because of Dad. He didn’t like us to be away so long every Sunday. That was his day with us and he wasn’t going to share us with God. By the time, we were teenagers, he wasn’t so possessive as long as church didn’t interfere with dinner and especially Monday night football. Which was a bit of a problem for us as Mormons because Monday night is Family Home Evening and it’s hard to have lessons with the TV blaring. It was harder on us to be Mormon than Catholic. It’s not just because Catholics understand football. It’s because Mormons feel sorry for a family without the priesthood in the house. And Dad wasn’t joining!

Mom was a joiner. She loved community in any form and the Catholic Church provided community for its parishioners. And when we could no longer go to mass easily (we moved even farther from church when I was in sixth grade) the Mormon church provided the community she desired. Plus she wasn’t letting her daughters alone with those darn missionaries—law of chastity or not!

35. DO YOU PRACTICE WICCA?

Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

Part Five
BOXING SPIRITUALITY

My friend is at it again. She called with yet another probing question. “Do you practice Wicca?”

Hmm. I wasn’t sure what to say. “I wouldn’t call my ‘practice’ Wiccan. I hate to put my spirituality into a box.”

She clarified, “Well, I passed your book onto my daughter and she wondered about the symbol on the cover. It is a pentagram, isn’t’ it?”

Technically, yes. The star in the rose is five pointed. It came to me in a vision. I learned later that the pentagram was used by Wiccans. But to me it is sacred geometry. Mathematical proportions and symbols are very attractive to me. The energy of form speaks to my soul.

Back to Wicca. Years ago my husband was part of a police investigation. Some blood found in a park, ashes from fires set in geometric patterns. Before pursuing criminal charges, he felt strongly that what they were investigating was the residual of a pagan ritual. So he did his own investigation. And sure enough, he was right. And then stood up to protect the suspects’ right to freedom of religion under the Constitution.

Now it helped that he was friends with a young Wiccan. Not that he knew much about pagan practices. So she lent him a book—a Wiccan primer. And after studying it, he announced, “We might be pagan, Deb.”

Really? We had been spending our Sabbath in nature for years. Teaching our children reverence for the earth, the trees, the rocks, the animals. We quietly celebrated the changing of the seasons…sending out holiday greetings to our friends of many different faiths…on the winter solstice. My spring equinox birthday naturally lent to celebration and the fall equinox corresponded with our son’s birth. On the summer solstice, we welcomed the hot long days of summer.

Nature was our church. Our temple grounds—the earth under our feet. The canopy of trees our cathedrals. We were nature based in our spirituality. We buried our pets with special reverence. We held communion with the ocean, dipped our feet in her healing waters, and thanked the powers that be for our bountiful life.

Yet we followed no particular religious dogma…not Wicca. Perhaps more Native American. Although we respect the great masters like the Buddha and Jesus Christ, we have no rules. Must spirituality be boxed in to be defined?

26. RIVER OF CONSCIOUSNESS

My dreams provide clues to my soul growth. How far I’ve come and what needs to be worked on. I interpret my dreams soulfully—what is my first impression, what feeling do I have about the dream, who were the players in my dream and how do they mirror me? Sometimes I wake up knowing my dream holds great significance—that I’ve dreamt for human consciousness. I had one of those dreams the summer of 2010…

I enter a house, the one with all the doors, all the rooms, the one I can never find my way out. I’ve been in the house many times. Always my extended family is there and there is always much chaos. But this time I am not frustrated but move through the house with ease. Just watching, seeing their light, smiling at the comedy, holding the energy.

I find my way to the back deck. For the first time, I am outside the house! Below is a creek and I yearn to get in it. So I climb down from the wooden deck and skip down the grassy hillside to the edge of the babbling creek. Then I just lay down in midair and float on the water. It’s glorious! The creek sings to me, gently carrying me through the forest.

I am enchanted. The view is amazing. Bright topaz sky, brilliant green leaves, rich brown earth kissing the clear water. The energy is palpable. Soon the creek becomes a river wide and rushing. There are people in and out of the water. Most are hanging onto the banks. Some are constructing rafts. They seem so anxious. Children play joyously in the shallows. I float on.

Through the rushing river, past rocks, and over waterfalls. Never do I encounter any obstacles. Although many others get banged up in the rapids. The river spills into a swamp and I lie taking in the serenity of still waters.

Then past a bog, the current picks up faster and faster until over a waterfall, I spill into the…ocean! I am submerged, surrounded by sea life in the jewel green waters. When I float to the surface, I find chaos—people all around, shipwrecks, airplanes bombing, screaming, crying, and—teens surfing with dolphins, children romping in the surf, sandcastles rising.

I emerge from the ocean, like Aphrodite, dressed in goddess white, the sun drying my garments as my feet cross the sand. And there I meet my Higher Self. The golden one with amethyst wings. Her arms open welcoming me home. “Again!” I cry delighted, “I want to do it again!” And she escorts me back to float in the river of consciousness.

Life is a river. Didn’t Garth Brooks sing that tune? Funny while I am not a fan of any particular music, I am attracted to soulful lyrics and Mr. Brooks, among a few other artists, sings to my heart. He sings of a vessel that tries to stay between the shores of the river. I believe, this body is our vessel. And the river is consciousness. It wasn’t until after I wrote LoveDance that I understood how we float through life. Some struggle to stay afloat, some build rafts to forge the tide, some just enjoy the water. Now after much soul growth, I gratefully find myself

Flowing with the river of consciousness, open to the energies, accepting the sweet ripe fruits as they hang lusciously over the waters of life.

Excerpt from My LoveDance. Available on Amazon