I greet you with care. It is not too often that I send out a second email unless it feels important. It does and I will tell you why in three parts.
First, we are shifting into a time that is brimming with possibilities and transformative energies. How do I know this?
I feel it within and all around me. Mother Earth is calling.
Waters are raging. Mountains are shaking. Fires are burning. Slugginess is melting. Creative functions are full-on, restructuring us and reframing our view. Songs are being sung. Fewer bodies are being killed at least in Gaza (more on this below). The earth is simmering. Joy is rising. Or at least trying.
This is a time to plant seeds and give ample consideration to your inner nest — to cultivate fortitude.
With that said, I warmly invite you to an upcoming retreat to rekindle your inner fire, receive exquisite rest, and connect deeply with who you are — live — in an intimate dynamic and compassionate curative care community.
The local and East Coast events will be posted after I return from my first Crone retreat and work in Peru.
I began learning, healing, and working in Peru with amazing indigenous mentors fifteen years ago. I have many stories to tell and a heart brimming with appreciation and honor for this healthcare system. Suffice it to say, that the jungle is where I feel most at home.
life is a risk… We are all part of the life, death, birth cycle … the only continuous certainty that we have… is living and dying — portals I find intriguing and love to explore, especially the “muddy middle.’
Let me continue…
I get we are more sensitive, distracted, divided, and overstretched than we wish to be.
Or maybe we’ve been forced, pulled inside — invited to reckon with huge horrendous issues for a reason (not the first time).
Our bandwidth is limited. I know this. I perseverate each time I send an email ‘Will it be one too many? Will I meet your heart? Will my intentions be felt? (Part 3)
It takes courage to speak out, to talk about violence, to have an opinion, to challenge the status quo, to get out of bed when you’d rather pull the covers over your head and hope someone else will take out the trash, do the laundry, change the diapers. Or that nothing is wrong, nothing bad has happened, is happening, and say ‘This too shall pass.’
My favorite is when someone close sees the desperate state you are in and rather than call for help, offer you a warm blanket, an extra hand, or something good to eat, says, “I’ll pray for you,” and walks on.
Or something like “We are bliss incarnate,” Remember, so and so said so, therefore don’t ask questions.
Or “Time to get over it.”
Words filled with good intentions, probably, but bypassing deep feelings isn’t satisfactory until we get under something and traverse the muddy middle, where we’re replenished to move on — changed — but we never forget.
Our scars become banners of honor like our wrinkles.
I often receive notes of appreciation for my newsletter,
“That was exactly what I needed to hear,” “I cried and laughed through it all, thank you!” Or “More of that.”
And of course, I get unsubscribed — it can’t be helped. We can only take in so much.
As my message and work evolve, so does everyone else. I applaud this.
My last news was no exception. The Three Secrets of the Crone centered oddities as gifts to be cherished not pathologized. This was well-received.
Then I opened this, which begs the question “Am I being complicit?
“You may respond in the comments. This is a complicated, scary, and tender topic. Let me have it and remember to shower yourself with kindness before responding.
The subject line read: “Current affairs / currency / white supremacy”
With wonder and bewilderment, I opened it. It was from a white woman.
It said, “No word about genocide(s)?
Whilst thousands of black and brown people’s lives are being snuffed out by imperialist powers using our tax dollars and pounds, we have a duty to speak up and raise awareness. They need our support. They are begging for our help. Staying silent is to be complicit in these heinous acts of violence and domination.
Not even one sentence… 🙁 ”
Long pause. I went into a deep process. I felt happy for the generous probe.
I attempted to respond by video twice but was still in the muddy middle so I didn’t upload it, nor have I climbed out of the mud.
I’ve been in this muddy middle since October 21, 1996.
This is part of what went through my system:
Genocide has been happening for thousands of years in the heinous acts of violence and domination against women and anyone who appears different from the colonized projection of the white human — they become marginalized — pathologized — abnormalized — criminalized — stigmatized — traumatized — brutalized — horrified to live and usually don’t.
It struck a nerve, an all too familiar nerve. As a white female born into a large Irish Catholic family that did not go from rags to riches — I have had and seen my share of patriarchal violence and cultural deprivation.
I thought, okay, does this mean every time a doctor or surgeon who has taken an oath “First Do No Harm” and instead dominates — powers over a woman’s body at birth, and all the stages of her natural life until death do her in — for economic postural gains — as we do nothing, not a peep, silence…
Are we being complicit?
Does this mean that every time a person does not speak up against the industrial medical complex when babies are being ripped out of their mothers’ bodies at a pound or less and handed over to mama in bandages, with tubes, drugs, commercial formulas, and oxygen fixings that mask — pretend the surgery was a success.
And say not even a whisper, are they/we being complicit?
Holy fuck, I cried inside of myself thinking of the times I told our horrific story — the tragedy I wrote about in Edge of Grace, Fierce Awakenings to Love.
About my captivity to the industrial medical complex that decided without my consent — against my instincts — to C-section my babies out of me at one pound each.
Was my midwife, her assistant, their father, or myself being complicit when we didn’t storm the doors and hijack ourselves to safety?
And of course, the people who swarmed around my body with blue masks, gloves, eager eyes, and knives — what about them?
No, my voice and my body were ignored.
We (me, and my three girls) live with the consequences of that heinous act of violence for life, every day, awake or not. Thousands of people have read my book, only a few said to me, “I am sorry that happened to you.”
Most feel a complex mixture of emotions: anger, inspiration, courage, and tickles from bubbles of humor.
How do you respond when faced with a horrific story of violence?
Usually, we find a way to numb ourselves from the outright shock of it all. (consciously or unconsciously)
Maybe that is why it is so hard for people to submit their reviews about our story.
We don’t want to believe these things happen to women and babies in hospitals every day all over the world. Like me, we believe it will never happen to us until it does.
Does it require forming an opinion/speaking up?
We’re not trained to have difficult conversations, to ask critical questions, to storm the predatorial corridors of life to halt bad behavior.
Yet, we’re here and we’re prey and our learning requires more than ‘pray.’
And we can halt the inner predator.
We have a ways to go.
Take for example Marianne Williamson who is putting her heart and soul out once again for president of the US, and meeting all sorts of violence. A woman attuned to her heart, tax dollars, guns and violence, and what it feels like to be a woman striving to do the right thing for a world on fire.
I could have filed a lawsuit and went to battle with a stack of Stanford lawyers.
Would I have won anything?
Would I have been able to bring my babies to play at the beach?
Would I have been able to stitch my babies back into my womb so they could continue their uncomplicated journey before interventions?
Would we be like “normal’ people?
Would it have been better to fight for a life I was never going to get back?
I chose to focus on being a ‘good enough’ mother to my children.
Of course, it destroyed my hopes and dreams for them and our family for life.
Do I wish for something different?
Of course, I do.
But I have what I have and I decided to nurture what I have and not to pathologize my children and feed the medical industry by accepting their prognosis — drugs — coma-inducing trances of control.
I’m feeding my inner life. No one can take this from you or me. Guaranteed!
KNOW THEIR NAMES:
Elizabeth Joy (Libby) 1.4 pounds at birth, came home in a coma.
Abigayle Rose (Abby), 1.2 pounds at birth.
Abby had eight surgeries at one pound and defied all prognoses. She learned to walk at age six. She’s a dancer, artist and brilliant.
I am a proud mama.
They are small and mighty!
And they tickle me with delight every day. They remind me how precious, tender and exquisite life is, and not to waste one bit of it telling people what they should or should not be doing until you walk a mile in their shoes or roll around a mile in their wheelchair in an abled body world.
If you are new to my work or my newsletters, I want to remind you that I care about many things and have the bandwidth to focus on a few.
Third part: The motivation for anything I share in my news is not solely the wish for each of us to be creatively inspired to live rich soulful happy lives. My longing is that each of us feels — roots home — within ourselves — enough to have ease and power to feed the children — inner and outer. As there are always children in need, many strutting around in adult bodies armed with toys of destruction.
I’m passionate about exploring how we mend ourselves enough to trust our instinctive heart— soul— body — to sense, listen and have the courage and confidence to do the next best thing.
I like to explore listening deep beneath the noise — enough — to gather enough resources to consider the great suffering of others and the fragile state of the world — our great Earth Mother.
As we root out our destructive habits, we are simultaneously shifting our collective consciousness — our Earth Body. Awakening is not a one-way ticket, a box you check off, a one-size meal, or a final destination; it is inherently interwoven with an awakening planet.
Awakening is cyclical and begins with us shedding attitudes, behaviors, projections, and belief systems that shadow the mighty song in our hearts and deaden our souls, and the wombs that birthed us. Life has given all of us a good rumble, for some it is a fierce roar that is a force that moves mountains. For others, it is a whisper that nudges us to rest and nourish our inner nest.
And everything in between, along the way, here and there, and now.
I’m no longer driven to perfection, transcendence, or anything else that deflects from the duty that is directly in front of me. I had my half-awake, half-asleep journey through stagnant transcendent male-dominated spiritual cults. I’ve extricated myself from patriarchal dogmas that at one time seemed attractive, maybe even convenient but don’t feed the children. I’ve accepted that I am enough — doing enough — is enough of a — good sister, citizen, mother, crone.
No apologies, my friend. I earned my medicine. I see best in the dark.
And I’m not done reflecting, maturing, integrating, and growing my heart — soul — badass muscles. If you’re reading this blog, you may be a bit like me — scanning, tracking, and prowling from the muddy middle, never going along for the ride with windows and doors shut. We are protectors and we are prey. Our eyes are wide open, and it’s a bit scary to look at devastation head-on. And we must as this is how we contain the predator with nourishment other than his appetite for children.
Life is alive and brimming over with possibilities for our attention — our one precious life. I know you did not wake up yesterday.
Cease—fire, cease—interventions, cease—needles, cease—control, cease—abandoning your inner nest—cease—believing that destructive forces will end if your inner life is barren.
Life matters and it begins with how we birth life — in ourselves — each other, and attend to our dear Earth Mother.
A mentor and good friend of mine Adyashanti used to say something to the effect of — rather than be disappointed, look where you are pointing and turn that finger back to the pointer — appoint yourself. And remember we’re all in this together — together we are stronger.
Thank you for showing up here. I appreciate you!
Learn More About Prajna’s Life-Giving Retreats Here.
Additional good reads:
Edge of Grace, Fierce Awakenings to Love. by yours truly, Prajna O’Hara
The Soul of A Woman by Isabel Allende.
Good and Mad, The Revolutionary Power of Anger by Rebecca Traister.
Please support your local bookstores.