heart reading … Day 7
I woke again (daily) in the 3 o’clock hour — the witching hour — and as I tried different techniques to fall back asleep a new song, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine” started playing (in addition to the one that has been running through my head incessantly for a week now).
There are a few things going on here: firstly, I love the rising feminine energy throughout the world and I am hopeful that it is strong enough, skillful and talented enough, persistent and resilient enough, and well coordinated enough to combat and defeat the willful ignorance of the chronically installed patriarchy attempting to extinguish life — the collective heart and soul — on this planet. So to reframe my nightly sleep disturbance in light of the extinguishable spirit of truth that women were drowned and burned at the stake for being able to: (1) hear, (2) understand and respect, (3) embody, and (4) translate, curate, and act upon on behalf of humanity despite the evil done to them — is to invite and welcome so much good energy into my body and mind. It’s enough to not only heal my ruminating brain, but to also fill me with joy.
I’m seeing a pattern here.
To complement this love-ly, witchy sentiment, the song on my internal radio was adapted as “this little heart of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,“ in continuation of the sentiment from Day 6. And if all that wasn’t enough to put and keep a big smile on my face, I did some serious unpacking of patriarchal impertinence in advance of the meeting I’m expecting with my new boss who is logging everything I say in a way that feels hyper-critical and unsafe. This unpacking has distilled my perspective about the very real, very painful “dynamic“ trauma wrought by the toxic and sticky patriarchal fog of oppression, clouding every unexamined human mind worldwide. This fine distillation — securely rooted within me, so much so that I can TRUST it will be available when I need it, present and ready for duty — will allow me to confidently and gently convey the truth of my experience triggered by this seemingly disproportionate intense level of scrutiny of my work, while acknowledging my belief that they do have my best interests at heart.
It all comes back to the heart.
And if all of that weren’t enough beauty flooding my senses like a fire hose of unexpected spiritual nourishment —
Which is presently
How like a tree
I can be —
I had, prior to the song-of-my-soul choosing to play, been holding my arms across my chest in a posture of self-preservation as I did the unpacking work. As I reflected on the many experiences of unjust and recriminating scrutiny that have knitted themselves pretty tightly in spaces, both well-trodden and unexplored, within me I realized that I could re-interpret this posture as being not defensive (as in blocking others away from me) but being nurturing (as in I am holding — cradling — myself in my own two arms).
These arms are made for hugging.
Such arms are decidedly and most definitely not for profit.
(Because you need to pick up what I’m putting down I need to spell this out: I am saying NO to gun violence and saying YES to every single thing that is born in the heart, full of love and anti-violence).