Home and Away

I feel like I have been away for ages.

Away from my body that is. Away from my psyche and spirit. From my heart.

And away from this blog.

I return to this blog to begin a sort of chronicle of my life in recovery from illness. The healing path can be a difficult one but also has its rewards.

"Home and Away" is a book I am writing about my personal healing journey. Its about being a woman and not only rediscovering my power but also accepting that I am a "delicate flower" as my friend and ex-acupuncturist Michael called me. Not delicate in "I let people walk all over me" but delicate in "I am sensitive to the energies of the Universe" and thus I need to begin to take care where I put my energy, how I use my energy, who I share my energy with, and what energy I take in.

I hope my weekly stories help all women who are on the healing path to rediscover their own faith in the process, and to rediscover their bodies, psyches, spirits, hearts....

Thanks for listening and reading.

Leah

Taking Back My Body. Taking Back My Life.

My guess is that every woman on this planet has dealt with sexual harassment in one form or another.

The American Heritage Dictionary: Third Edition (1992) defines it as:

n. Unwanted and offensive sexual advances or sexually derogatory remarks.

My guess is also that most women don't realize they are being sexually harassed until after its happened. This may seem an odd statement coming from a progressive woman in her 40's....so let me explain.

When I was a teenager, I was shy and uncomfortable with myself. My self esteem was entwined with wanting to be good and wanting everyone to like me. I had no idea what an incredible "being" I was. I was convinced that i was not enough which included being unintelligent, unattractive and unable. As a 40 year old I find that this condition, although it is not as prominent as before, still persists.

Someone once told me that the Dalai Lama does not understand the Western dis-ease of self hatred. In fact it perplexes him. The first time he was taught the concept of self esteem , he could not understand it because unconditional self love and care was a given. It (unconditional love and care of the self) did not have an opposite, so therefore the word "self-esteem" simply did not exist.

As a teenager that suffered with this western dis-ease, I allowed myself to fall into bizarre relationships with boys and men who had no interest in my heart, soul and general welfare. I became a target for their anger, sadness and loneliness, which ultimately was expressed through both subtle and non-subtle sexual harassment.

1. Here's an example of subtle: A male teacher asked me to be his assistant in one of his freshman English classes. Instead of paying attention to his students, during the class he'd pass notes to me which he had torn into individual words. It was my job to find the order of the words, and once I discovered their order, it was my job to respond in the way he desired: by blushing and smiling shyly. What did these torn pieces of paper spell out? I can't remember exactly, but I do recall that they always spoke about my beauty. Being who I was at the time and being a girl, I accepted these small torn puzzles as flattery and thought them to be honorable. I visited him during class breaks and he gave me a small children's book he had written with a very sweet and personal message written in it (just for me). Eventually, because I forgot to get him a birthday card, the male teacher moved onto to harassing other teenage girls.

2. Here's an example of not so subtle: At a sleepover party at the reform synagogue I attended I was engaged in seeking attention from some boys. One of them decided that he would grab one of my breasts. After he did this he declared that it was about the size of an orange.

3. Here's a more recent example of not so subtle: On a recent Friday night I went to an art opening to support a friend in his endevour to show his art. All kinds of people flowed through. At one point a man came in with his friend and we all chatted about my friend's artwork. They left the room and I continued to chat with people flowing in and out of the space. About ten minutes later the man came back and asked if I wanted to dance. Since I did not want to stand around all night I figured I'd dance. We made our way down a hallway to the room where the music was playing. As I walked across the room to an open spot I realized how uncomfortable I was feeling. Before I could assess my discomfort, this man had decided he wanted to slow dance with me. Without my permission, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me towards him. After this incident, we talked. The entire conversation was coated in sexual innuendo. He commented on my body several times, and after telling him about my art, he figured I must be coming on to him. Now, don't get me wrong. This man had a few intelligent things to say. He was not an idiot. In fact he even mentioned that he was ready for the Feminine Archetype to take back its power in our overly Patriarchal culture. But instead of conversing with me intelligently he continued his sexual commentary. At one point he even suggested I take my sweater off because "wasn't it hot in here?" 

A couple of days ago I was on facebook floating around and looking at photos posted by an old high school friend. As I was perusing, I came upon one particular photo from my high school yearbook. It was a photo of the Culver High School Newspaper Staff. I recognized most of the people including the teacher who ran the paper. This teacher was the harasser I mentioned in the first example above. Then I proceeded to read the comments my old high school friends had made in regards to the photo. After a few sentences commenting on their clothing and hairdos (it was the 80's after all), they began to refer to the teacher as "perv" and commented on how he seemed to harass the entire female population at Culver High. Upon reading this, something clicked inside of me. It was as if years of feeling a sort of unease and confusion lifted and suddenly there was an opening. I had been the victim of harassment, and over 30 years after the incident I was coming to terms with it.

But then something strange happened. Even with this knowledge and this "opening", two days later I went to the art gathering, mentioned above in the third example, and let it happen again. In fact, as it was happening I had a dialogue going on in my head that went something like this: "I am really uncomfortable and this guy is pushy and controlling and inappropriate and I really don't like him and I really should just walk away....but jeeze he seems smart and interesting and he dances and is educated and has passion but I am really really uncomfortable and really need to walk away, etc. etc. etc."

This leads me to question what I believe about myself. 

Do I....
inherently believe that the only way to get love is to allow men to harass me?

Do I...

inherently believe that if I say that I am uncomfortable and do not want to engage in such sexual advances that I will be rejected?

Do I...

inherently believe that if I am true to myself and walk away from harassment that I will considered a BITCH and unlovable, unlikable and hyster-ical?

Do I...

inherently believe that I must make my body available to men whether I want to or not?

As I write these questions down I wonder why it is so difficult to be the powerful woman that I know and feel I am.

Perhaps it is because I am untangling years of social and cultural constructs. I was trained well by western culture...and so undoing that misguided education may take another 40 years.

Imagine that...an 80 year old woman sitting on her porch rocking and knitting and finally feeling free...

I don't think it will take another 40 years...in fact I think that perhaps I am closer - to taking back my body and my life  - than I think.

In fact all of the words and thoughts above are testament to it.

Thanks for listening.

Leah

Slowing Down

It is late...and i should be sleeping but instead I am eating, crying...feeling sweaty and gross from a very emotional weekend.

I will spare you the details.

Simply put, I am way in over my head trying to hold down a job, be an artist, live in a crazy part of downtown Seattle, have friends and a boyfriend...while trying to handle and remedy the dis-ease in my body. I am very very stressed out to the point that I am dizzy most of the time...and now headed to more doctors to get things checked out to make sure they are not hazardous to my health.

List of things to let go of that stress me out and do not make me feel good: staying up late, eating wheat, dairy and sugar, making art for exhibition, building websites, worrying about my career, parties with junk food, parties with too many people, loud events, worrying about my current living situation, worrying about anything and everything....

List of things to add to my life that make me feel good: good nourishing food and herbal infusions, sleep, hot baths, yoga, long walks, sunshine, slowing down, hot tea, fun playful sex, easy funny movies, cooking, nature, leisurely bike rides, breathing deeply, naps, tending to my green friends (plants :), talking to my green friends, spending sweet time singing with my boyfriend, sunsets on the sound, good sweet acoustic music, reading poetry, painting with color, laughing, clowning...

I was going to say goodbye to this blog but instead plan on using it as an outlet for really sharing my healing journey...at least for now and until it becomes a stressor in my life....

I am going to retire my website...its time to let the monster that's never finished go....and to focus on other more pleasant things like growing herbs on my balcony...

also, I am letting go of wombanproductions.com for a bit....tucking it under my pillow until i have the strength to take it out again....

if I am going to transform the world...I must find my own strength and health....

Recently a woman singer song writer wrote that she was finally taking a break to take care of herself....

She has inspired me to do the same.

I am completely exhausted with trying so darn hard....

so letting go into emptiness and silence and peace...

Loving Womyn

I love womyn and it is my path to help guide them through various stages of their lives...ones which provide the challenges of loving and rediscovering their bodies, creating connections between the heart and womb, and re-enlivening their spirits.

Tonight I met a womyn who does yoga for fertility. I told her that I was a creative midwife and was just beginning to formulate ideas on working with womyn. She suggested yet another population of womyn to work with - those who have had miscarriages.

I sighed a long sigh and said YES.

Whether its literal or symbolic, our bodies, our lives deserve the time to nurture and massage the metaphors and stories that shape us. We need time to heal so that we can continue to love and nurture the world around us.

I am introducing my organization "Womban Productions" at the end of this year and in the beginning of the new lunar year....

Womban Productions will offer nurturing services including workshops and one-on-one sessions, healing foods (including herbs) cooking classes and womyn created products.

Stay tuned....

Chutzpah

I went out for a walk on this very hot evening in Seattle and immediately sensed that my neighborhood was especially crazy. Its not the full moon...in fact its quite the opposite. Tonight a cop said that perhaps "a bad batch of dope" was circulating.

Yes, I spoke with a cop tonight because I was harassed and accosted by a white male. He didn't get very far in his "accosting" because I saw it coming. I recognized him from just an hour or so earlier where, from my balcony, I saw him messing with a man on the corner of 4th and Washington. So I knew it was my turn as soon as I saw him. as soon as I saw his body from 15 feet away move me towards the wall of windows along the building I call home. By that time I had my key pointed towards him like a weapon and I screamed "Get the fuck away from me" over and over again. He managed to touch my arm but got the picture that I meant business.

I proceeded to call 911, the cops came, then they gave me choices....I decided to id him if they found him...and they did. They called me down the street one block and from a distance of 50 feet I said "yes, that's him". Then they gave me more choices. Send him to jail tonight and go to court...or press charges and leave it to a prosecutor to decide whether or not to send him to court. I decided to press charges. I left with a business card with the officers name and the incident number and the possibility of having to go to court to defend myself and to mark this man as an oppressor. The officer kept asking me whether or not I wanted to file as a "victim".

The word victim brings up all sorts of stuff for me. I've spent my life a victim to circumstance and people....and have only just begun to peel off that heavy dark coat.

The one thought that kept circling in my brain was "but what if in pressing charges, he comes after me again?"

I want to protect myself, my neighbors, all women and men, and children from this man...but does taking action mean that I am and will always be a victim?

As a woman with a small frame and injuries that disable me in some ways (e.g. I can't run), I feel vulnerable. This vulnerability is something that I like most of the time because I think it is true for every living thing. We are fragile. Life is precious. And out of this delicate nature we birth beautiful things and appreciate the sacredness of life. But in the culture and society we live in today...it is also something that makes me more of a target.

I am in the process of getting my body back to a stronger more stable and balanced place but this process is frustratingly slow. And what if I am always a delicate flower? How then to protect myself from other harassers?

So where does this leave me?

One thing I know is that I will be purchasing a mace key chain to take with me wherever I go....and another thing is that I am signing up for a self defense course...long, long overdue....

I can blame this incident on my crazy neighborhood but only last year in a neighborhood considered "nice" a woman was stabbed to death by a vagrant....So, the universe does not always make sense....its not so black and white.

So, I will take this incident as a sign to proceed with the necessary steps to protect myself, to take time to ponder, question, discuss and write about why women still feel threatened when they leave their homes, to think about other neighborhoods (with less harassment possibilities) to live in...

And....to celebrate my chutzpah and strength, which I believe kept the harasser at bay.

May we all find our power and strength...and may we use it for the good of this universe.

On the Road #2: Om

It is 5:30am and I am too sleepy to go into details about my travels...they will come later after some time to let the whole experience of friends, family, sun and returning to a place I called "home" for over 12 years simmer in my pot.

I am still on the road, or rather I am on the last leg of my travels.....(funny, I just spelled the word "on" this way :"Om")....

The misspelling that led me to "Om" seems appropriate here considering the complex path I have traversed over the last 7 days.

It feels like a month has passed by...

I can't say I passed the family test with flying colors. In fact, earlier this week I told a friend that I had earned about a C- in that category. But, after experiencing and participating in the wedding of my younger brother yesterday, I think I may have moved up to at least a B.

I am off to join Patty (a family member on the Bride's side) for a ride to the Oakland airport...and then to Seattle.

Stay tuned for a introspective and detailed travel log.

On The Road #1: Away and Not Away from Home

I am on the road. 

Left my current "home" for my old "home" to visit old friends, luxuriate in California hot springs, and witness my brother's marriage.

Travelling always shifts things for me.  I enter a space that reminds me that I can create my life continually minute by minute. The freedom from work and the daily errands at "home" allows me to reenter a more liminal or ethereal space. the space inside myself. the space outside of what we call time. the space outside of how we organize our lives around the material world.

Within the first few hours my friend Hank took me into his community's beautiful garden to show me the bee hives. He coaxed me over to one in particular and pointed to just underneath the hive. I bent my knees and practically sat underneath it and there it was - a clear plexiglass wall allowing me to view the inside of the hive.

Just a few years ago I began my journey with honeybees, collecting dead one's from Hank's windowsills. One of my performances at school included rubbing fresh honey on a gallery wall, throwing dead honeybees into the honey, and watching the honey and bees slowly drip down the wall.  As I stood there, in the nude, and watched the golden and dense fluid carry their bodies, I discovered that what I was looking at was the inside of my Womb.  I had begun this performance with the idea that I would be giving new life to the bees but also with a sense of mystery around my compulsion to do so. I ended up with a mirror into my Being.

Now here I was 6 or 7 years later, again at Hank's home... again staring into the belly of the Womb. This time however, I was witnessing the actual occurrence as opposed to only experiencing their symbolic powers, imagining what occurred inside the darkness of the hive.  

The image: hundreds of dusty black and yellow bodies layered upon each other vibrating to keep the hive warm. bees carrying their dead out of the hive. a subtle hummmmmm. 

Reflecting back to this moment I am curious and amazed at the influence of these bees on my life. I am also delighted by how my friend Hank has both provided the opportunity to begin my journey with honeybees, and witnessed the development of my personal symbolic relationship with them.

I am still sitting with this new Hive experience, allowing it to settle in, inform me and also resuscitate the part of me that thrives on the invisible, ethereal, sensual and symbolic.

I am sitting with the irony that when I leave the Body of my loft in Seattle, WA - my "home" - I rediscover "home" inside of my Body. When I am on the road, out of my regular environment and routine, I encounter multiple opportunities to return to my Body and to the realization that everything outside of it is simply a reflection of my insides. 

My Body is my Home.

It is Monday and I am at the beginning of my travels, wandering towards the marriage of my only sibling. 

As I move closer to this new union, this family celebration, I carry my Body, my Womb, these bees and their vibrations, their life and their death, with me. 

I carry all that has made me, all that I am, and all that continues to sculpt me into this physical existence.