Hearing the call, what is waiting to be born

This period of confinement due to the corona virus shutdown around the world is a challenging time for some, and a blessing for others.

If you are struggling to make ends meet, going crazy working at home while your children also need attention, I get it. I have the greatest sympathy (having been a writer who worked at home while my children were young).

But if you find yourself with some extra down time, and have managed to meet all your basic needs for shelter, food, safety, love and belonging, perhaps you are feeling the call for finding a deeper meaning and purpose.

Especially during the mid-life transition,  there is often a call to transformation, to reinvention. This is not so much a mid-life crisis involving little red sports cars as it is a sense of dissatisfaction, of wanting something more, of longing to get in touch with a deeper, soulful part of self. Or of finding meaning and being able to give back to the world.

Personally, I felt it most strongly during menopause, where everything I had done from age 30 to 49 began to drift away. I had been writing and publishing poetry, actively involved in the writing community doing readings and volunteering with the League of poets and local writers' organization, when I suddenly lost interest. I had two teens entering puberty at the same time as my hormones were rising, so the hot flash clash was part of this issue.

But I remember going to a week long writers' retreat and discovering over the course of that time that my true interest was not in belonging to a literary group. I wanted to reach out to women like me, mothers who were at home, part-time or full-time and trying to find their creative flow. I was not motivated by literary prizes as much as getting together with a circle of women and exploring our needs, our themes, our angst and our blessings. My women's circle became a sacred space for me to feel seen and heard.

The Creative Circle I was teaching from home sustained and fed me, as well as providing support for other women for about ten years, but then it happened again, I heard the call to reinvent myself. Maybe because I had been giving and supporting others all my life, as a eldest daughter, mother, and teacher, my well was a bit empty. I wondered how I could continue to serve while taking care of myself and feeding my soul. I took a year long course on Rites of Passage and how to create rituals so I could incorporate that on retreats with my circle of women and also celebrate their turning fifty.

But soon I was 60 and menopause long past. I was not an elder yet, nor a grandmother. Who was I now? What did I really want to do with my wild and precious life? I did what I often do when in a period of not knowing, I left for two weeks on a pilgrimage to Ireland visiting various sacred sites of the goddess with a Celtic Shaman. During a drumming ritual and ceremony, she helped remind me that my creative center was calling out for me to nourish it with something just for me. I came back still reluctant to stop leading workshops.

I was, however, keenly interested in my mother's ancestors from Ireland. How had my great grandmother's voices been shut down, and how could I dialogue with their stories of anxiety, depression and other challenges, and learn more about my own? I began writing a memoir, using letters and information from my mother, my maternal aunts, and a memoir written by a great-aunt about her life in the early years of the 20th century. I lost my mother recently, at age 89, and feel a need to get back to that writing and expand it.

All this to say, my life pattern since my mid-forties has been one of frequent reinvention, new projects, studying with teachers and travelling on pilgrimages, but above all, seeking to listen to the inner call and follow my intuition. Honing the feminine side and listening to my intuition may have been the real goal all along, rather than changing my role, giving myself a new job to do, or even a new book to write.

This call to finding our core values or selves, and honour our inner depths, may lead us to leave behind certain roles or aspects of our selves. We may feel disoriented or lost in the maze of choices available to us and not know what we really want. I know many women in my circle have gone through this in their late forties and fifties.

What I have found is that creative process has been so helpful - whether it's by using journal writing, taking a class on fairy tales and myth, using ritual and ceremony, or making collages and using the symbolic language of images, we need to find a way to go beyond our rational selves, and get back in touch with our deeper longing.

This inner voice is often covered over by the outer world of busyness, or by guilt of not being seen as productive - which makes this confinement period a great gift - we may have less structured work time, more silence, more alone time, and more opportunity to reflect, and get a clearer picture of what the elements calling out to us are. If we choose to, of course. There is always the option to pig out on ice cream and chocolate, binge-watch shows on Netflix and zone out, which I also have resorted to over the past two months. Right now my hunger is for something real, something deep and authentic, and perhaps you feel that way too.

What I want to offer you is a path to regain strength and serenity from simple practices that help to tend the soul, listen to your heart, and find where your life is calling you. Sorting and sifting, like Psyche in the underworld sorting peas and beans, is an essential task. Making peace with the past, embracing all the parts of us, the fabulous and the flawed, are also important mid-life tasks.

Life is a process of growth and change. Little by little, we find new versions of ourselves waking up, or older versions and dreams we had forgotten being revealed. Paying attention to our lives requires we grow out of the limited awareness of ourselves as merely the 'roles' we play.  Learning that our struggles and challenges are great teachers, and that we have hidden allies on our side, will help us discover our dreams, our loves and fears and bring new self-awareness, as Bud Harris, the author of Sacred Selfishness says. SoulCollage(R) and journaling have both helped me redefine who I am, embrace all the parts of myself, the fabulous and the flawed with greater self-compassion.

I hope to offer an on-line class coming soon which will help us remember What Wants to be Born in You. It is never too late to dig deep and hear the call.

See my website for more information about what I offer and sign up for my newsletter so you can find out when this class will begin.  online classes can be followed by zoom from the comfort of your living room or bedroom; a circle of support created with you in mind.

www.jenniferboire.com

Journaling into my space

leap in mid-air

Six summers ago, I spent a week at the Writer's Spa in Taos with Jennifer Louden www.jenniferlouden.com, an experience that changed my life (although it took me a while to realize this).

Jennifer had us do different things to get us into the right space to write in, since that's what we were there for. She asked us to do stuff we don't normally do - to get out of avoidance habits, and surprise ourself by showing up for writing whether we feel like it or not. Letting food prep, cleaning and random projects that need doing fall by the wayside to clear some space for the writing. It was a precious opportunity to focus on the writer self for one whole week, with a little yoga and spa time as well, and the incredible company of twenty five other women.

I came across my journal from that time today, and it's fascinating to find that the seeds for the project that is coming to fruition today at my book launch of The Tao of Turning Fifty were planted in the desert and mountainous region of Taos, New Mexico in 2006.

One of the things I tried that was 'different' was writing in a different physical environment. Usually I set up my laptop on my desk and start from there. Why not write downstairs in living room by the picture window? Or outside in the pergola? In Taos, I had a cozy room with a small door to a balcony, which was not really a balcony but a part of the adobe roof, where I could nestle into a corner underneath a large tree and watch the sacred mountain on the pueblo land just over the fence from the Mabel Dodge Luhan house (click here for a picture - it's a great retreat space). http://www.mabeldodgeluhan.com/ (Natalie Goldberg also holds writing workshops there). I wrote some great poems there, watching the clouds darken the mountain.

One afternoon I sat in the nude and wrote, feeling very naked and vulnerable even though I was alone in my room. It's interesting to see where the writing takes you when you come out of your comfort zone! My favourite spot to write (with clothes on) was on a bench in front of a pond surrounded by flowers and gardens - I saw an orange dragonfly which was very special and magical. I gave myself permission to leave the little room more often and explore the space around me.

Gradually, from the tight, fearful, small space I arrived at Taos in, unsure of myself as a writer, unsure of which project to work on, unsure of my gifts to the world, slowly slowly I began to crawl out of the hedge and look, come out from my cramped, hidden and safe invisibility to openness and blue sky where people could see me and hear me. I wrote: Need to Move out - Open to Sky - Space will hold me - Unwinding Spirit Flight up there in Sky There are no Limits. Crawling is for Worms!

It takes a certain amount of courage to find your own space - to crawl out of the small but comfortable zone and spread your wings into a larger project, whether that be to journal every day instead of once a month, or tackle a book project.  Give yourself permission to stretch your habits a little, to do something out of the ordinary habits that leave no room for growth.  Ask yourself, can I take up more space?  Can I be visible, and grounded, yet touch the sky?

The image I had was of a Jack in the Box, bulky and squished down into a tight space, cranky in my little box, finally being opened and springing out to find I am still rooted, yet much more open and joyful exploring this new Open space.

Try this: write about something you are most afraid of, stretch that box a little bigger. Climb out of the comfort zone into the Blue Sky zone. Can you believe that anything is possible?

Jenn/Musemother
www.jenniferboire.com

The Body Never Lies

Who is the girl hiding behind the rock? and why are my shoulders hurting so much?

The girl was left in charge of seven younger siblings. She was maybe ten or elevent at most, her mother had left the house before supper (where was the father?), probably to cross the street for a drink with Doroth and Al, the couple who were also kind enough to let the girl play dress up and give her real grown-up tea, and who she helped out by stacking logs for their fireplace in winter.

She was a good girl. She got lots of praise for helping others. It made her feel important and loved. But that night, her sister was fighting her, pulling her hair, scratching her cheek, her brothers were wrestling, the house was in chaos, seemingly out of control.

No one would listen to her. It was dark outside. She was trying to instill order but it felt hopeless, no use. So she decided to run away. She took a bag of cookies and some slices of bread in a paper bag, and left a short note for her mother, sticking it in her sheared lamb's wool coat pocket, where it hung in the vestibule. She ran outside, up the hill behind the house through the trees, and found a big rock, solid and house-like to sit behind, waiting for the car headlights to come up the long winding driveway below.

After a while (was it only 15 minutes?) she began to feel cold. She didn't like being outside in the woods in the dark. She had stopped crying and sniffling, and decided to go back down inside. She sheepishly removed the note from her mother's coat pocket. She hadn't eaten the cookies or bread so left them in the kitchen. Her mother does not remember leaving her alone with a one-year-old, a two year old, a three or four year old, a five year old and a six and seven year old. Oh and one eight year old. How could she have done that, even for an hour? "I must have just stepped out for ten minutes to go to the store," she said, trying to recall.

But the girl, now a woman, remembers feeling time slipping by slowly like an eternity. It was too much to handle. It was too long. It was a feeling of abnadonment and of betrayal of trust. It was too much responsiblity for one small girl trying to be good. Who had no choice and could not speak up or say no, I am too young. Don't leave me alone with them. She had tried to leave but the world was too big, too scary, she had no where else to go to, no other adult or friend of the family, or aunts and uncles to ask for help. They had no one to help them. Isolated and alone, with the overwhelmed mother and absent, hardworking father.

I found this in my journal, written a few weeks ago, and I think I know who the little girl is, and why my shoulders have been so sore.

The body never lies.

The battle within

For anyone interested in the creative arts, whether writing, drawing, music, dance, theatre, there is always the dilemna between doing what's easy and makes money, and doing what one loves, even if it doesn't come without a struggle,or demands too much of our time.

For me, I decided to not write poetry for a while, and stopped even opening my journal for a long time. People ask me what I do, and I tell them I lead retreats. But recently, I realized my heart is entwined around a love affair with poems, not really a love affair, but a passionate embrace that won't let go. And it surprised me becuase I thought I had let go of it, of feeding that passion, that it had died.

I read this on a blog post from Meredith Winn, that my friend and photographer Suzy sent me a link for, and it absolutely brought tears to my eyes to see this struggle defined. She begins with talking about Elizabeth Gilbert (of EAT PRAY LOVE fame http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/) and hearing her talk about writer's block, and how doing something else for a while can be the answer, not forcing oneself to write, but gardening for example, until the Muse graces your path again. For Meredith, the other thing is photography.

" i thought i had to juggle. to hold both parts of what i am (what i’ve become most surprisingly) and figure out how to make them get along without competition. figure out how to give them both time when they dance awkwardly together (and strangely do not compliment each other as one should think they would). they fight over time. they fight over energy and emotion and brain space and blood sugar and sunlight.

"photography is easy. easy in the sense of instant gratification. easy in the sense of aesthetically pleasing. easy in the sense that it actually pays me money. it is lighthearted and beautiful and easy to be around. photography is everyone’s best friend. i have fallen quite surprisingly into this role of photographer because it comes easily.

"all the while my mind, this other side of me, the wicked darkness whispers ‘traitor’ and ‘fake’! because i know that at my most inner core, i am a writer.

"writing is not easy. it has never paid me, nor have i asked it to. it is painful and exhausting and requires so much of my time that i have been suppressing it, kicking it away with disregard. i love it and yet it itches me, mocks me, drives me forward, and is all my soul wants to do simply for the process of doing it. yet here i am, i’ve been denying it water in hopes that it just shuts the hell up and withers away. (this thing i love! this thing that is deeply a part of me. how could i be so cruel?!) i don’t want it to wither entirely. but just for now, please, because life is too full, too emotional, too much, too much. there are words i want to say, but i deny myself them. because photography is easy. and writing is not, it is something that makes me human. and most often feeling human (for me) is a momentarily painful experience." by Meredith Winn at http://meredithwinn.wordpress.com/

There is much wisdom here for me to digest. Writing is painful for me, in that, there is always a certain amount of rewriting, once the project is done, or you think it's done, then you have to go back and kill your darlings, the most precious things you've said that are just redundant, or don't fit anywhere and bog the thing down. I am working on a final draft of The Tao of Turning Fifty, and dreading cutting anymore. Dreading finding the right voice, the common tone, the unique individual 'way' of saying things that will define the book - cause it is fragmented right now, a bunch of blog posts and meandering thoughts culled together.

But I do believe there are millions of women who will thank me for it, if they can get to read it!

Onwards and upwards, my soul. Courage to retreat, and listen inwards for inspiration. The blocks are moved only inches at a time, one breath at a time, one word, one sentence, one paragraph.....courage to continue.

jenn/musemother







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Compassionate Breath

Be still my heart, wherever I am, I am at home with you.
Zulu Chant

Kuan Yin is a buddhist goddess, whose name means She-Who Hearkens to the Cries of the World. As you practice this breath, think of yourself as the embodiment of Compassion.

Begin by sitting on a chair or cushion on the floor with your eyes closed.

Inhale deepy and sigh Ahh as you exhale. Do this 2 more times.

Place your hands over your heart, one on top of the other.

Feel the drumbeat of your pulse and let yourself become absorbed in its rhythm.

Connect to the energy of your heart and imagine it spreading thorugh your body, your arms, legs, torso, head.

Imagine this loving heart energy filling up every cell. Each time you inhale, gather loving heart energy into your heart and palsm.

With every exhalation, spread the energy to all your cells.

Inhaling, collect this healing gift in your heart.

Exhaling, radiate it out to surround yur body with its protection power.

Feel it encompass your whole being, all the way down to your sitting bones.

On the exhale, let the energy flood any parts of your body that feel uncomfortable or tight.

Send your Compassion-infused breath to all parts of you.

From a deep inner smile, let a slight smile light your face.

When you feel complete, return your hands back in your lap.

Notice the connection between your hands and loving heart een when they aren't touching.

Inhale and exhale with a sigh 3 more times.

Now, notice how you feel. Allow your eyes to open very slowly.


Enjoy the day,
nameste
Musemother

ps this exercise is adapted from Yoga for your Spiritual Muscles by Rachel Schaeffer

Mothering Your Self on Mother's Day

Dear woman reading this blog,

We can all celebrate Mother's Day this weekend, whether we are daughters or mothers. Whether you have physically birthed children or not, you probably mother others in some way. Maybe it's fellow employees at work, bringing them tea or coffee and a muffin. Maybe you give someone a shoulder massage when they're tense and uptight. Maybe you take the elderly woman next door a quart of milk and some eggs when you do your grocery shopping. Maybe you send someone's child home from school when they have a fever. Maybe you have three kids of your own, and need a sabbatical from mothering.

We all mother others in different ways. But this weekend, this day, how can you mother yourself?

This morning after the kids left, I made myself a one-hour mini-retreat with that theme in mind. I had a hot bath with lavender oil. I meditated, then lay on the floor and did some leg stretches, moved into downward dog, then rolled into happy baby pose down on the carpet. I stretched and yawned, feeling myself held and caressed by a loving presence. I wrote in my journal for two pages. Then I put on some Indian tabla and flute music and danced a little happy prayer of thanks dance.

You can make up your own self-care ritual; it doesn't have to be elaborate. It might involve doing something you hardly ever give yourself time for, like a mineral foot soak, or a special hair treatment. It might involve making yourself a healthy dinner with fresh green vegetables that your kids hate (asparagus, artichokes, green beans). Or lying on the floor in happy baby pose, rocking on your back and remembering that the universe is holding you up, you can trust in the power of love.

Whatever makes you remember that cherished, loved feeling, of I deserve love, do that.

Or follow the simple instructions below to practice the compassionate breath. Start by sitting, and inhale deeply. As you exhale, sigh out Aah. Take several long soothing breaths. Then with your hands one on top of the other over your heart, feel the drumbeat. Let youself become absorbed in the rhythm of its pulse.

As you connect to the energy of your heart, imagine it spreading across your arms, legs, torso and into your head.

Imagine the loving heart energy filling up every cell. As you inhale, gather loving heart energy into your heart and palms. With every exhale, let the energy spread to each and every cell.

Inhaling, collect this healing gift in your heart, As you exhale, allow it to radiate out and surround your body with its protective power. Feel it encompass your entire being, encircling your head, face, and neck all the way down to your sit bones.

Let it flood any part of your body that might feel uncomfortable, achy, tight .

From a deep inner smile, let a slight smile light your face.

When you feel complete return your hands to your lap. Notice the connection between yoour hands and loving heart even when they are not touching.

Inhale, exhale with a sigh, Aah. Repeat three more times.

Notice how you feel at this moment. Allow your eyes to open very slowly.

(taken from Yoga for your spiritual muscles, by Rachel Schaeffer )

Happy Mother's Day weekend,

Jennifer