on spiritual accounting, resistance + boundaries

​I usually tune out during commercials, but when I heard Iyanla drop this gem in a teaser for her new season of Fix My Life, I woke the hell up!

I know what resistance looks, sounds, and feels like (thank the goddess I’ve learned to own mine). And, as an empath, I’ve been admittedly agitated by recent encounters with folks harboring energies of delusion, denial, dissatisfaction and the inability to practice accountability about things that are within their sphere of influence. all of these qualities are manifestations of our resistance to spiritual growth.

If we are truly willing to do the work, then we can develop, expand and strengthen our capacity to change our perceptions — even though we may not have the power to (immediately) change our conditions or circumstances.

Spiritual accounting calls for an honest and loving look inward to:

  • discern the unresolved areas that are causing disparities between our thoughts, words, and deeds.
  • see our habit energies and patterns of behavior that keep us stuck in grooves that cause suffering.
  • tend to our wounds and move toward wholeness and healing.

I’m blessed with a circle of beloveds who hold each other down, lift each other up, and trust each other to lovingly say, “Hey, sis, your shadow is showing!

What we won’t do is co-sign one another’s craziness!

It’s okay to not be ready, to have doubts ans fears. Where I’ve learned to draw firm boundaries is with those who wear the armor of unwillingness and who are committed to their stuckness. With them, I call on the tough-love wisdom I grew up hearing: “I can’t want [your wellness/healing/wholeness] more for you than you want it for yourself.”

Uninitiated healers often spend way too much time trying to minister to wounds that aren’t theirs to heal and guide those who aren’t theirs to teach. On this, I speak from hard-won experience.

So I’ll conserve my energy, guard my intuitive spirit, filter out the lesson from the agitation, and step waaay the hell back before the connection becomes toxic.

dirt + dharma | healing through transformation

a tree in transformation.

some may see it as a premature sign of fall and lament the coming season of harvest.

but this here is actually a sign of distress and, most importantly, of its inherent capacity for self-preservation by inducing its transformation in order to heal! its profound cellular wisdom illuminates the beauty in the process of surrendering to rebirth.

a lesson for those of us who seek, cultivate and advocate/facilitate transformative healing:

the healing of wounds happens in stages and at a pace that is determined by the quality of our attention and care as well as the conditions we create to optimize our healing.

it begins with developing the capacity to discern the source of our suffering and committing to the heartwork of lovingly tending to our wounds. and, because some scars never go away, recognizing that our healing continues beyond the restoration of wound to new tissue.

rather, we invite a complete transformation that — like the tree ridding itself of invasive pests that are feeding off it — involves shedding, releasing, eliminating, purging and, ultimately, being renewed. in body, heart, mind and spirit.

healing through transformation is a willingness to be changed by the process of healing!

“Many biologists believe that an early color change is an attempt of a tree to rid itself of insect pests, especially those that feed on the juices in the cells. These insects have evolved with these trees and shrubs, and understand that when the chemical process behind the leaves changing color begins, their meal ticket ends. Rather than feeding on other leaves, many will move on in search of a better food source…

In essence, leaves changing color too early is a defensive mechanism that allows the stressed out shrub or tree to eliminate at least one source of trouble.” ~ Kristi Waterworth

[from Gardening Know How: Early Color Change Of Foliage: What To Do For Tree Leaves Turning Early]

woman horizontal | ich bin mary

Today I honor the memory of my great-great grandmother, Mary Roth Rhodes, who was born on this day in 1863 in Würtemberg, Germany, the daughter of Dora + Gottlieb Roth.


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▪▪▪

14 years ago, in July 2003, she became a beacon, a catalyst and a guide for me on a pathway of reclamation, transformation and healing. Not only from the trauma of living in Brooklyn through 9/11 and numbing out in the aftermath. But for examining, understanding, compiling, and righting/re-writing a family’s history where men don’t survive and women carry on, in spite of profound loss and because of profound love for those left behind. For seeing clearly generational patterns that created heart aches and breaks, too many what-ifs and if-onlys. For parsing hope, bravery, fortitude and tenderness from this seemingly meager inheritance. For committing to build a new legacy upon her foundation of mother-wisdom.

With help from my sister Tamara, who followed the leads I’d dug up in NYC libraries and picked up those threads in the National Archives in D.C., we learned of her journey from her native country to NYC, with a friend, at the age of 17 and eventually on to Hamilton, Ontario where she would marry my great-great grandfather Wesley, a former slave and Civil War veteran.

Because of her, I decided to leave New York after 9 years. My only vision: to begin anew as she had the courage to do, to live simply and to be engaged in community. Because of her, I returned home. Because of her, I eventually decided to stay. (Not necessarily an easy or simple choice after living away from home since the age of 14.) Because of her, I recognized that the true gift and power of researching our past was in the opportunity to rebuild and nurture connections bolstered by this new understanding of all the stuff we were made of — in blood and spirit.

25 july 2017

woman horizontal | the sound of him

he wakes whistling, thrilled by the zipping wind
he conjures and reshapes into sharps and flats

snaps a crisp unpatterned rhythm
with supple-skinned thumb and middle finger
(wiped dry between refrains)
flickering his wrist for triumphant emphasis

3jewels.allmannerofsound

mutters a play-by-play commentary
to an imagined audience of rapt gamers
punctuated with shrieks, chides, wails and groans

jigs an exuberant popiscle-sugared dance
wagging his pineapple-cherry coated tongue
shuffling feet,
flexing knees,
scuttling erratically to a giggle-inflected beat
oh! mustn’t leave out the slapping bum finale and encore

drills up and down 14 stairs,
thunderous heel-stomping laps
and cushioned drop-and-rolls,
parkouring over and around the furniture
a streak of joy unleashed

bumps and bangs precede whimpers and squealed tears
beckoning empathetic triage,
strokes of comfort and mild caution to remember,
in all this play, that his body is growing and does not yet know
the new dimensions marking where it ends and external objects begin

hides, hushed and stockstill in a closet
awkwardly wedged behind the vacuum and laundry basket
clamping back unruly titters, lodged between throat and strained cheeks
crackling with anticipation to jumpscare an absent parent now returned

tucks into the curve of torso reserved
for bedtime storytelling and goodnight prayer songs
mommy-kissed lids and curled lashes
shelter sleep-craved eyes,
burning from the effort to see through
one minute more of the darkening day
a puff of minted air,
humming ‘love you too’
before sliding into blessed dreams

manifestoes on love

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i’m celebrating my 40th year today — reflecting on the journey of the past decade and more recent season of discernment that have beckoned me to live into the deep and urgent call to be an instrument of love and reconciliation.

as many of you land on my site today, i invite you to amplify the good and spread love wherever you see/feel its lack in your circle of connections.

birthday wish: for those near and far — support my efforts to cultivate and abide in the energy of compassion, skillful understanding, and connection by following, sharing, and joining the 3 Jewels Yoga community.


woman horizontal | unburdening

y’all finished or y’all done?

his guttery trill, gum-soled and sticky with wizened contempt
is instantly corroded by the viral ozone of tropospheric memes
earwormed into polyphonic cackles
relentlessly pursuing you — tubing through folded gray matter —
until the voice of God, remixed as a call for intercession,
beseeches:

is you finished or is you done?

you pitch a prayer for completion
petition mightily for all ordained wonders to be finished
from spark generated to diligence sustained

make a way out of no way,
leaving behind tattered limp-tired tropes
overused and out-of-season ideas
scratch-deep grooves committed to sameness, repeating the repeats

a good and proper farewell to stuck and fused people
prolapsed yet yanked back by histories tangled and cursed

But [then] the Lord says,
“Forget the things that happened in the past.
Do not keep on thinking about them.
I am about to do something new.
It is beginning to happen even now.
Don’t you see it coming?
I am going to make a way for you to go through the desert.
I will make streams of water in the dry and empty land.”*

in the etheric gap you become unapologetically i and make…
a (re)formation
fueled on and centered by love, the emboldened claim to lift up:

what i value
what i wish to protect
what i wish to lead with

this way ’round, loudly and assuredly
a discerning heart supple-strong, free, open and clear

*Isaiah 43:18-19 NIVR

woman horizontal | how naked the heart

how naked the heart3jewels.hownakedtheheart.jpg
when anointed for communion

transparent as skeleton leaf

veins quaking sepia-tinged curiosity
flexed impulse relaxing between Whys and Whats and Who Do Yous

where it embraces all and becomes tethered by the long gaze,
unwavering and tender

held there, ambient love soaks through gossamer-laced capillaries
and this aesthete,
quickening with meaty delight,
is transmuted into a vaporous contagion

oxgenated, metabolized,
pumped outward then upward,
to be inhaled anew

now sipped in and seeping
stripping bare the armor
to the raw once more

infecting it with the blood wet
murmuring of the proud and unafraid

 

woman horizontal | exhuming the empath

inspired by the indigenous navajo creatix spiderwoman, woman horizontal is a close-to-the-heart project that has held different shapes over many years. still an emerging work-in-process, below is one piece from my “pilgrimage of verse, image, and sound.”

 



in sanctuary, in pulp woven + pressed then printed, i found her waiting for me

she sang me in to the fourth world,
skimming the spiraling thread
between timeless times, liminal horizons, + the veils of imagined realities

cradled to her heart, stretched out + spun, belly up
laid to rest upon a loamy bed of earth

i see
i hear
i smell
i taste
i touch
i know

no beginning to nature, no end to me

the boggy creak of a frog camouflaging its bilge water song

that scampering chitter of black squirrels and petite chipmunks scaling trees fallen + splintered

a trio of lithe deer silently lunching in the marsh
flickering tails catch my eye
fawny brown smattering against thickets of green

damsel flies + redwing blackbirds
fluttering things, buzzing beings
alighting, pausing, taking flight toward perches high and low

cumulonimbus clouds thick as riverbanks
yield to an estuary of marbled blue sky wending through the atmosphere

a waking dream

a revelation of the universe within

i am absorbed,

arms fold me in and in

to the womb-depths of fertile soil

(six feet, a mere starting point an underdwelling to pause before the long journey back)

deeper still

to seed, to cell, to atom, to spark, to notion, to curiosity

i am at rest

stretched out + spun, belly up

surrendering to legacy

inheriting death

the completion

a void, vacuum, vanishing point

a vortex of matter

(before) reanimating

no end to me, no beginning to nature
knowtouchtastesmellhearsee

curiosity begats notion begats spark begats atom begats cell begats seed

a bare kernel

rising layer by layer

upward trailing through horizons of bedrock, clay, silt, sand, soil, humus

musky with the life scent of burrowing things, many-legged crawl-creeping things

clawing and boring tunnels around and through

a littering of decay and dis(re)membered things

exoskeletons, crushed stone, deep-buried hollowed bones of those forgotten things

digging up, up, up toward surface

exhumed by faith-magic and love