I'm reading again, for the umpteenth time, When Women Were Birds-Fifty-Four Variations On Voice by Terry Tempest Williams.
There's a brilliant paragraph on page 196: "The sin I have committed is the sin of adoption. I have adopted a different set of beliefs from the beliefs I was raised to obey...I do have other gods before me, many, and none are a white elderly man sitting on a gilded throne in heaven."
I too have committed the sin of adoption. I too have adopted a different set of beliefs from the beliefs I was raised to obey. The 'raised to obey' was without choice.
I committed the sin of adoption.
I committed the sin of choice.
What is your sin of adoption?
Who has tried to kill you with their judgments?
The last year I was beautiful I forgot the rules and walked across the 'Do Not Walk On The Grass' grass.
I started drinking Scotch at dawn and told my mother what I really thought about powdered milk and head lice and removed the bars of soap from all the bathrooms so I could swear.
The last year I was beautiful I stopped pretending I liked tidy drawers and I wore socks that didn't match and underwear with holes so they'd all be shocked when I wrecked my marriage, not my car.
And all the Brother Goodfellows and Sisters Uptight in the Kingdom Hall gasped at my irreverence and slithered away so they could hide under rocks that were the tablets of stone, shattered by Moses.
I laughed out loud at funerals to celebrate the all of life and danced naked on the graves of the should and should not and the have and have not and it all began and ended the moment I stuck a pin in the illusion and let the hot air escape with a hiss and a backward movement, out of control around the room that had been drawn with lines I had already colored outside of.
Crazy: Unsound. Unbalanced. Cracked or flawed. Insane.
Craze: Crack, break, crackle or shatter.
Craze and crazy are words with origins in Middle English/Old Norse. Crasen. It means literally to crack, break or shatter.
Julia Cameron makes the statement in her book, The Artist's Way: Going sane looks like going crazy.
You know the feeling. You're trying to shatter the illusions, break down the walls, crack open the shell to find yourself and set yourself free.
Maybe you've been living in a glass jar or behind glass. You could see out but didn't realize you were trapped inside or behind and were living life as an observer but not being able to feel or touch.
For a long time I have quoted the above saying, going sane looks like going crazy, but lately it just didn't feel right, didn't feel accurate somehow. So I did what I always do, I asked the question, why?
What does the word sane really mean?
It's origins are Latin, sanus, healthy.
Showing or having reason.
Sound judgment or good sense.
Free from mental derangement.
Sensible, practical, realistic, rational.
Level headed, balanced, NORMAL.
Wow and whoa.
With a list of words like that defining sane and sanity, my next question was,
Do I really want to go sane?
Aren't these the very things that create the illusions, the walls, the barriers, the glass that keep me from being my amazing, unique, irreverent self?
I WANT TO GO CRAZY SO I CAN GO REAL AND AUTHENTIC. I DON'T WANT TO GO SANE!
What about you?
Ingrid the Rune Woman
Wise and Irreverent
Awaken Your Hunger
Powdered Milk and Head Lice
The last day I was beautiful
I forgot the rules and walked across the grass with the 'do not walk' sign
Reflecting light so bright I couldn't see
The last year I was beautiful
I started smoking cigarettes at dawn and told my mother what I really thought
About powdered milk and head lice and removed the bars of soap
From all the bathrooms so I could swear
The last time I was beautiful
I stopped pretending that I liked
Tidy drawers and I wore socks instead
That didn’t match and underwear with holes
So they’d all be shocked when I wrecked my marriage
Instead of my car
And all the holy congregation of Brothers Righteous and Sisters Uptight
Gasped and gossiped and crawled away from me like slugs
Hiding themselves under rocks that were the shattered Ten Commandments
I laughed out loud at my own funeral to celebrate my death
I danced naked on my grave of should and shouldn’t
And sinful and imperfect
The last time I was beautiful ended and began with the moment
I stuck a pin in the illusion and released the hot air
Which escaped with a hiss and a backward movement
Out of control around the room that was made
With lines I’d already colored outside of
Ingrid Kincaid / August 2014
I wrote this to honor the courage it took for me to leave, the religion, the marriage, the lie.
Well who am I and who are you?
It's the endless question begging to be answered on these web sites and blogs and networking platforms., like a job interview or a personal ad or a resume, where we must look for and find the list, the endless lineup of credentials, all the letters and titles after our names.
Credential has it root in the word creed and creed at its root means belief in or acceptance that something is true.
So who are the credentials for, really?
The reader, the seeker?
Or do I/we need the credentials to believe in ourselves?
Just what is it that makes me or anyone else belief-worthy?
Is it the school or university that someone graduated from that lends credibility?
Is someone belief-worthy because they're certified or approved and if so, by whom?
And then how does someone determine the credibility of the institution or the certification upon which the credentials are based?
Is it by personal experience or is it anecdotal?
Is trust in someone based upon popular belief in the credibility of their credentials?
There are unscrupulous lawyers and dangerous doctors with credentials from prestigious universities.
And certified financial planners whose finances are a disaster.
If we always look for the credentials does it somehow discourage us from trusting our intuition or override our inner sense of knowing?
Are we discouraged from trusting our own sense of knowing?
Have we been convinced that we're not capable of knowing what is true and who to trust?
When we put our trust only in the credentials do we step away from personal accountability and responsibility for the choices we make about the credibility of the individual?
Who am I? Do I have any credentials? Can you believe in me? Can I believe in myself?
Who are you? What makes you believable?
What are you hungry for?
Ingrid, the Rune Woman
Wise and Irreverent
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Yesterday I spent several hours working on a project that was technical, troublesome and tedious and when I finally completed it, I found myself with the inner and outer dialogue of how hard it was and how much time I'd spent or wasted and how it kept me from doing all the other important things I needed to be doing, should have been doing.
So this morning as I was writing my Morning Pages, (thank you Julia Cameron), I asked myself: What if I would stop the thoughts that what I had spent so much time doing was wasted or stressful or wrong somehow and look at it instead as having done the thing that was being called to be done at that moment? And if something else was needed, I would have done that. This line of thinking presented a very different perspective, a shift. I could change my story from 'there was something more important or better that I should have been doing' and state the fact that it was just what I did.
No matter what we do in life, it is our experience and experience adds to what we know and knowledge and experience affect the decisions and choices we make in the future.
I'm not fond of expressions like 'I learned a lesson' or 'I was working out my karma'. The thread I have just spun and woven into the great loom of the Wyrd will affect the pattern of my life as an individual as well as the pattern of the whole. Some people will be more affected than others by my threads, depending on where and how often their own threads cross mine. At the same time, what I spin and weave can only come from what has been before and can only be woven into the web that was already laid in place by the Norns.
So nothing is a waste of time. There was nothing else I should have been doing. Life just is.
A client of mine told me she didn't want to do a writing exercise I'd recommend because she didn't think it would work. She didn't like to write.
It's a simple yet powerful exercise called: If I Really Tell The Truth.*
It involves setting aside some quiet, uninterrupted time and taking pen to paper and writing out the prompt 'If I really tell the truth....' and then just allowing yourself to write whatever comes out the end of the pen. You do this over and over again, at least 25 times and it allows you to get to the root of things you are dealing with pretty quickly.
I asked her why she believed that she didn't like to write and she rattled off a list. "I always procrastinate when I need to write something. I hate answering emails. I don't have anything interesting to say and who would want to read it anyway?"
So, I said, give me an example.
"Well, I recently found out that a relative of mine has cancer and had an operation. I bought a card but just couldn't get around to writing it and sending it and then finally I did because I felt guilty."
When she had finished I said, I don't believe that you don't like to write; my sense is there's something else going on here. Let's use the exercise. Finish the sentence, If I really tell the truth....
"I don't even like this relative", she blurted out rather quickly. " I haven't had any connection with her in years and besides I 'm angry by the way the news was handled. No one ever called me or sent an email. I found out about it on Facebook."
How quickly the writing exercise worked, even though we weren't writing.
It's not unusual to say we don't like something, when there's actually something else lurking at a deeper level, something perhaps that's more truthful.
What are you hungry for?
The Irreverent Wise Woman
*If you'd like to learn more about the process "If I Really Tell The Truth" and how to use it, send me an email.