Fierce Femina

IMG_2787 How to raise up our girls?

She might be small but she's fierce. May she be kind and surefooted. Please tell her, her body is a bridge between the Earth and the stars. Might she grow to honour her connection to the entire universe. When she looks at the moon, might she see her own special place in the heavens. Please make her choose proud over pretty, strong over salacious, clever over compliant.

We bring so much shame into the lives of young girls. So much sanitation in regard to their bodies. So much pressure to stay clean, be quiet, be good. "Hide your power, no one wants to see it." Apparently, at a certain age, it's ok to flaunt your sexuality but please make no mention of menstruation or that fire in your belly. Don't scare the boys away. Men like to be taken care of. Put others first. Fix your hair and smell nice.

Yet it surprises us when our girls fall victim to acts of violence or abuse?

Please God (poetic licence) let my daughter know what she's worth. Not to me but to herself and the entire universe. Let her squarely know that shame doesn't suit her loveliness. Let her know that all men (and women) should honour her and treat her well. Self respect is her unconditional birthright. As is safety, not to mention love.

Please don't think that for one second I'm suggesting that women allow themselves to fall victim to violence. I am not suggesting that they take responsibility for the abhorrent actions of others.

I'm merely trying to understand why we accept sullying the loveliness of young girls with the ugliness of indignity? What does it teach them? Is it possible that they might take that awkward shame inside themselves? That they might own it in a way that prevents them from seeing their perfection?

I don't understand why culturally, when girls reach puberty, we teach them that their bodies are just a little bit unfortunate. We are cursed with menstruation. We roll our eyes at their hormonal outbursts and how difficult they can be. For us. Without a second of remembrance for how it felt to be thirteen years old.

As women, we often contribute to the wounds of the feminine. Unaware and from a place of our own fear and hurt, we damage our daughters. We silence them, we ask them to keep our ridiculous secrets and play our silly games. We stand before them insecure, poking our thighs and staring disapprovingly in the mirror.

All she sees is her lovely mama.

Imagine if we honoured our girls. Imagine if we told them that they bled with the moon, belonged to the Earth and were filled with light? Imagine if we taught them that their sexuality was natural and guided by love. What if we listened to their feelings and asked about their dreams? What if we celebrated menarche with gifts and reverence? What if we delighted in our own ageing bodies and taught her to do the same?

Imagine what titanic creatures might emerge if we taught them to embrace their power.

While we're at it we could also tell them that Justin Bieber is a douche, high heels are torture, Kim Kardashian is 42% actual plastic and it takes a village to prepare for that ridiculous bathroom selfie. In fact, no selfie will ever actually, be a reflection of your true self.

Any man that has a bar fridge next to his couch is a bad idea. Don't date a man that hates his mother and that gorgeous fifteen year old that broke your heart will possibly turn into a portly 35 year old with an overinflated sense of importance. Oreos might be vegan but technically, so is a care tyre.

'Gorgeous'  is heaps of fun for about two weeks, then, you actually have to live with him. Bad shoes are totally unexceptable. As are bad boys. Or girls. No bloody cars with noisy motor-thingies or fluffy dice. Stoners end up stupid. The nice guy winds up being........drumroll.......a nice guy. Who would have guessed?

........I could go on.

The first time I saw you, you took my breath away. Just because you're you.

You are love.

M xx

Planting seeds of perfection

IMG_1612 copyThe other day I was talking to a student of mine who told me she was looking to improve her practice. She wanted to be better at yoga and a better version of herself. She wanted a stronger core and to lose weight. Sincere and sweet, I didn't want to risk offending her by my reaction to what she was saying. My response (in my head) came from a place of love- but to her ears it may have sounded a little like judgement. I made a vow to myself some time ago to be a Truthspeaker but I still struggle at times with the delicate balance of ahimsa (non-harming).

So I went home and spoke it aloud to the trees in my yard. Weird I know. But I really wanted them to pass it onto her somehow. Like some sort of arboreal osmosis, take these words and plant them in her lovely mind. While you're hands are dirty, put these seeds in my daughter's mind too.

What if today you were perfect?
With no air-brushing, no modification, no transformation at all. What if everybody, in every room, exploded into applause when you entered and smiled when you left?
What if you stopped searching and found everything?
What if when you looked in the mirror today, you saw what your mum sees?
Or your child, or your best friend?
What if you could see yourself with a heart full of love? What if you saw the truth? What if your yoga was enough? What if you were enough?
Imagine if you decided to stop worrying about everything and just walked in the light and accepted grace.
Imagine if, just for today, you nourished your body with food from the earth. Filled up with art and music and soulful gifts. Made a new friend. Did stuff that made you whole and happy.
What if you gave thanks to your body and mind for it's brilliance?
What if you found gratitude?
What if I told you that all that hurt you've been carrying is a choice you made? Would you put it down? Would you choose a different way?
If everything could be forgiven could you let it all go?
What if, in a moment of quiet, the universe spoke only to you?
What if she whispered of your divine magnificence?
Would you listen to the truth?

Namaste

Mxx

Raising Warriors

IMG_1954 He is simply magical.

Perceptible and kind, he is wise beyond his years. Although lately I sense a change in this child. He retreats to his cave, gets angry and righteous, he feels the pain of others keenly. He is emotional and sometimes withdrawn, a rocking-roller-coaster boy.

The term 'indigo child' was thrown around when he was younger. He saw the world differently and tethered himself to his mama, lest he lost his way. He was an old soul in a rapidly changing world. Now, he is becoming more of himself each day, no longer so tied to me. I pray he makes choices that honour his spirit.

I believe that humans are evolving. Our children are changing and having to find their own way in a world that is different to the one we entered. This doesn't mean however that we are raising a gentle generation of little buddhas. Quite the contrary. These children are warriors, agitators, tornadoes. It is our job to guide them on a peaceful path.

Children are not supposed to be easy. Certainly not the children born with vision and a fire in their belly. Many times I have sat with a heart-hurt mama while she wonders why her child is difficult or so determined. I've been that woman! I get it. I often ask if she was an easy  little girl? Were you not born with a head full of stars and a lit fuse??

.....uh? Oh yeah, I remember.

Raising warriors is a call to centre. It's a request for calm and steady and a will towards finding the mountain within. The Mama Mountain. Which is really just a big 'ol rock for those little ones to cling to in the storm of adolescence (or terrible twos, or threes, eights). For us, it's a whole lot of deep breathing and light loving and patience.

The kids will be ok. We'll be so much wiser when they're through with us. So much better for having been whipped into shape by the wind at their back. We will grow, while they are busy coming home to consciousness in order to change the whole world.

I will honour my children as my greatest teachers and be thankful for the learning.

 

Martyr to magician....mama needs a minute.

IMG_1784 My twelve year old son told me I was doing a good job yesterday. High praise indeed from one so poised to straddle the great conversational divide of his teen years. "You always put us first."

"What a load of rubbish!" says I, laughing as I kiss him on the cheek. "You wish."

I'm no martyr. I may be all about slow food goodness and taking good care of my flock, but I'm not chained to the sink or about to put any 'mums taxi' stickers on my car. I love my children, which is why I'm devoted to being the very best version of myself. I have become a magician of sorts. I can make time appear before my very eyes....

It's really very simple. Everyday, no matter how busy we are, I put the kettle on and conjure up 15 mins. Sometimes I do it twice a day. I will do what I have to do to make this happen. I've been known to silently handover an iPad or leave a plate of cookies outside. I use the TV, barbie dolls or books, every child has their price! Then, I walk away.

I shut the door.

I hide in the sunshine and put my bare feet on the grass.

IMG_0007

In yoga, we would call this observing brahmacharya, which broadly means to conserve oneself. To just take a little time and refill your cup. I need to remind myself, if you give it all away, you'll lose yourself in these gorgeous humans. So great is my love for them.

I am best when I've found a moment, to carry me through to my next moment. That way I can give to them with devotional grace, free from feeling like the sacrificial wellspring of constant giving. To repeat my favourite phrase, which has become my mantra of sorts...

"We must gather before we scatter."

Michelle xx