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don Miguel Ruiz
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Musings of an Awakening Spirit |
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Stories, poetry & general musings of Rebecca Haywood, a modern-day Shaman with a penchant for bringing the divine into the human experience. |
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Today would have been the 111th Birthday of my beloved teacher and abuelita, Madre Sarita. So I want to honor her by sharing with you her phenomenal story:rebeccahaywood.com/about/mother-sarita
Starting today, I will also be featuring various old blogs that display the touch of her medicine and how it has blossomed within me over the years— from the memoirs of my preparation and training, to my teaching journals and all the personal evolution throughout. This week's listing features a...
Truly, there is only ONE condition we put on Love: that Love is not what we are. This is what leads us to experience Love as something that we give or get, that we earn or learn, and that we must guard for fear of depletion, contamination, or the condemnation of that broken heart.
All other conditions are just a variation of this outsourced, finite “Love”— different names and places in which we...
This simple equation is the key to communication that adds up to communion…
While I prefer to leave love undefined, mathematics (and our mind) calls us to define our variables. That’s the first problem in our problem. Love is not a variable nor is it a derivative that peaks and plunges with respect to another— to another’s opinions, another’s feelings, another’s “love”. Love is a constant, and we must set it as so. ...
Chime the winds Dangled with treasures— Glass gems, sunken love-letters. Now sing, these wings Plucked from the sea, And fly their dreams through me,
Through Dawn’s break —kissed awake— Blushing her refrain, Through heartbeats And city streets Slicked with rain, Through sidewalk stories —the faded glories— Of shipwrecked men.
Angels fallen Falling Into me.
-------Not sure this poem is done but I felt like sharing it anyway. It began with an entirely different intent....
Most secrets become your keeper in the end. Though this certainly applies to what you guard from outside eyes, it is the secrets you are unwilling to confess to yourself that condemn your voice and your choice.
What lies beneath? Before you crafted this heist of your happiness? Before your denial stepped in and constructed these prison walls? Before you embezzled your self-worth and conned your tomorrow with an “I can’t”? Who is...
It’s a free country, are you? Are you truly acting as a sovereign being? Or do you negotiate your boundaries, soften your terms, and guard your ‘nation’s’ secrets with your life? Keeping the peace, are we? But what about your peace, and your piece of life?
Yes, the cost is high for the perpetual diplomat. She may avoid the foreign invasion but her own soils are wrought with an ongoing conflict that produces...
It’s Tatyana's 69th birthday!! Hence the title (Ha, Gotcha!) and our topic— true reciprocity and the secret to Taty’s va-va-vitality… feasting on life!
Here’s the not so skinny, skinny: Hunger, it leads with a conviction misled. I’m not talking need; I’m talking want unrequited, desire denied, the yearn that begs to earn its redemption. I’m talking about the ache in the starved heart that reaches for life in tomorrows and for love in all...
This depth, This Ocean, It knows not Of end, Of time’s Beating heart.
It bleeds for me.
It reaches across This table I set, This story I claim, This name. It spills my cup And runs up— Wards discharged Words unarmed— Defenseless.
And yet
Gravity’s pull, The roll Of this wave, Bows and bends To find its way— The hollowed cave, The swallowed grave Of swirling tides Beseeched.
I reach
To the moon’s...
We have all imagined monsters under our bed as children, but what of the manifestations lurking within our adult mind? Who do we bring to the altar of our bed— to our lovemaking, our dream weaving?
Who is watching you? Do you gaze upon your world with your own eyes? Or have they been hijacked by visitors cloaked; by views pointed and tied with their fingers?
From where do your words arise? Are...
RememberingLove’s communionThe breath unseenOf ancestors mournedNew lineages adornedA father at peaceA son rebornMothers’ medicine wovenInto dreams to be wornAnd raised on the trillOf a little girl’s delight“Happy Birthday!”The blessing took flightAnd from eyes in witnessOf two into oneSealed with a kissTheir walk long begunFar from the shallowNow
So much love on this wedding day of my dear sister, Melissa, and newfound brother, Chris. This was the fourth wedding I have had the honor of...
Don’t attempt more in 2020, tempt it...
Seduce itwith your desire,woo itwith your love,entice itwith offerings…
...not with promisesor contracts avowed.Break them,break out!of your solutionsand resolutions endowed.Lay them down.Lay yourself downand become the offering.Become the spaceit begs to inhabit.Become the more…
Unpromised,unchecked,unkept,unkempt! enlisted only in more— 360 degrees of you,of now,of always,in all ways—round n' round without stop.Crescendo without peak,alight unbroken— only wax to waneand scattered to stardust again…
Become the more, darling.It...
We yearn for the communion. We ache for it with a hunger that denies its tongue. Strangers in our own land, seeking home. Waves cresting, restlessly reaching— devoted to the chase but lost to the shore. But getting lost is the aim—to lose one’s self, to dissolve our edges and widen our gaze—and yet we chase the landing, the finding, and the being found.
We rattle the cage—this body, this human—and seek to...
I catch the moments.I fall upon themAnd let them fall into me.
Beyond my gazeOn the familiar,The expected,The sight fixed on my day,There they are—Imprints of Life,Kissing my Soul.
What’s for dessert? How about ALL of it—from the desire to the delight and the yearn to return again, AND all that led up to it... including the tantalizing mystery once held in the untouched innocence of our Virgin palate.
Yes, the meal isn’t over with Virginity plated and served. The promise that brought us to the table is suspended between each bite—tasting and tasted for the first time, every time. As Tatyana...
Puberty and virginity-- modern society doesn’t offer these passages much reverence but does worship them as a loss of innocence never to be regained. Though the distinction unveiled by puberty can feel like a disconnect from the universal self, it isn’t the separation that our “loss” laments; it is a calling to experience ourselves as MORE— a woman blossomed, a man forged, a sexual self realized. And when we bring this point of...
I want your lips on meThe way you do
Like you mean itSweetly reachingDeeply takingMe
Like I am yoursRavenousRavishedAnd back againAgain and againAnd all at once
Like it is yoursThis momentArching its backInto forever
WakingBreakingTime surrenderedMine surrenderedInto yours
Your lipsWanting meThe way I do
Like I mean itLike you are mineLike it is mine
ForeverAnd neverAgain
This is the poem I read on last week’s Shameless Feminine Speaks: “Gelded, Gilded, Guilted, & Jilted”....
The masculine has not escaped the trappings of sexual shame. Though his “Virgin” may be less revered and his “Slut” less condemned, his manhood is nonetheless gelded, gilded, guilted, and jilted. In the reflection of the wounded feminine, the masculine is either castrated by guilt or abandoned as the motherless child. As a result, most men, especially the spiritual ones, walk through life with their masculine marginalized and their power diluted in deference...
The Virgin and The Slut... I have been branded as both and equally shamed and revered in each— sometimes in the same night, the same outfit, and by the same mouth that begged to bed me. The iron has been held by women just as much as men. It has been wielded by preachers and gurus, and used to prod me into their chosen corral of what was “holy” or “free”, “divinely feminine”...
This weekend, as I was honoring my grandmother and teacher, Madre Sarita, for Dia de los Muertos, she came through me with such force. It is still working on me and thus I don't yet have the words. But I wanted to at least share this with you.
It is the original opening to my chapter for "Shamanism in the New Millennium". I was planning on sharing it last month for the book's one-year...
The Day of the Dead (which is actually several days) honors death in a most beautiful way. It is believed that the veil between the worlds of spirit and life is lifted, and the souls of the dead can revisit their loved ones. In colorful altars, laden with ofrendas (offerings), we invite the dead to feast, dance and sing with us. Death is an honored guest, and life is the celebration.
For me,...