When the 13th day on the month lands on a Friday, the culturally unfavorable attributes of each are multiplied by infinity. Friday, the day of original sin, the day Jesus died, the day of public hangings, in combination with 13, the number of steps on a gallows, the number of coils of rope in a hangman’s noose, the number of the Death card in the tarot deck, is indubitably designated as a day of portent
and doom.
The pitiful suicide note of a window washer that was found with his body in a gas-filled room at his home and quoted in a 1960 issue of the Yorkshire Post, underscores its powerful, popular reputation, "It just needed to rain today — Friday the 13th — for me to make up my mind." Poor sod.
But up until the patriarchal revolution, both Fridays and 13s were held in the very highest esteem. Both the day and the number were associated with the Great Goddesses, and therefore, regarded as the sacred essence of luck and good fortune. Thirteen is certainly the most essentially female number — the average number of menstrual cycles in a year. The approximate number, too of annual cycles of the moon. When Chinese women make offerings of moon cakes, there are sure to be 13 on the platter. Thirteen is the number of blood, fertility and lunar potency. 13 is the lucky number of the Great Goddess.
Held holy in Her honor, Friday was observed as the day of Her special celebrations. Jews around the world still begin the observance of the Sabbath at sunset on Friday evenings when they invite in the Sabbath Bride. Friday is the Sabbath in the Islamic world. Friday is also sacred to Oshun, the Yoruban orisha of opulent sensuality and overwhelming femininity, and Frig the Norse Goddess of love and sex, of fertility and creativity. Her name became the Anglo-Saxon noun for love, and in the sixteenth century, frig came to mean “to copulate.”
Friday the 13th is ultimately the celebration of the lives and loves of Lady Luck. On this, Her doubly-dedicated day, let us consider what fortuitous coincidences constitute our fate. The lucky blend of just the right conditions, chemistries, elements and energies, which comprise our universe. The way it all works. The way we are. That we are at all. That, despite whatever major or minor matters we might think are unlucky, we have somehow managed to remain alive and aware. This Friday the 13th, let us stand in full consciousness of the miraculousness of existence and count our blessings. Knock on wood.
With blessings of nectar and honey,
xxQMD
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: MY BEE CAME BACK TO SAY GOODBY
For years, there has been a certain auspicious day every spring when a bumblebee would fly onto my terrace garden where it would hover contentedly everyday, all day long, throughout the entire summer, until a certain day in autumn when it would fly away.
This ritual visitation took place without fail for more than 15 years until a few years ago when my bee stopped showing up. I say “my bee.” But was it? Could it possibly have been the same bee for a decade and a half? How long to do bees live?
Or did my fuzzy fat friend select a successor who also passed the mantle when her vacation time was up? But whether or not it was the same bee, it was definitely my bee. My buddy. My constant summer companion. My nectar-gathering compatriot.
In Hellenistic Greece, bees were understood to be related to and a manifestation of the muse. My bee was an inspiration to me, as well, and I missed her visits dearly. And so did my flowers.
My bee isn’t the only one who stopped showing up. Millions upon millions of bees all over the world have been abandoning their hives and simply disappearing. Scientists named this mysterious phenomena colony collapse disorder.
If they are dying, they have chosen to do it in private, because large numbers of their corpses have not been found. Last year I found three dead bee bodies on the sidewalk just outside of my building. I saved their remains and added them to my growing collection of dead bumblebees. I keep my beautiful box filled with dead bees on my healing altar, where I pray for their wellbeing.
In some areas over sixty percent of the American honeybee population has died or disappeared during the past ten years, and this trend is continuing around the world. The potential results of this trend are terrifying. After all, one in three bites of all that we consume has been pollinated by bees.
In 1923 Rudolf Steiner predicted the dire state of the honeybee today. He said that within fifty to eighty years, we would see the consequences of mechanizing the forces that had previously operated organically in the beehive — including breeding queen bees artificially.
Well, I could have them that the Queens don’t take interference kindly. And now they are having their royal revenge — a terrible, drastic, exacting retribution, which maybe, just maybe, might force us to rethink our precarious relationship with Mother Nature.
Last week, my bee came back. I was completely delighted, overtaken by the depth and passion of my joy at our reunion. She hovered in front of my face for a moment then landed on my leg. And stayed there for a really long time, our bodies buzzing in unison.
Soon I noticed that she was uncharacteristically lethargic. Oh, no! Did she come back to die on me? I began to stroke her back ever so softly. I whispered prayers and gave her reiki. Then, because I had to leave, I placed her on the dirt of one of my flowering plants. If she was going to die, I wanted it to be in nature.
When I returned home a few hours later, the first thing I did was rush out to check on the bee, half expecting to see her lying on her back with her legs sticking up in the air.
But she was gone. Just gone.
“Like the bees from which this exhibition has drawn its name, we are individuals, yet we are, most surely, like the bees, a group, and as a group we have, over the millennia, built ourselves a hive, our home. We would be foolish, to say the least, to turn our backs on this carefully and beautifully constructed home especially now, in these uncertain and unsettling times.”
-The Museum of Jurassic Technology, Venice , CA
With blessings of nectar and honey,
xxQMD
This ritual visitation took place without fail for more than 15 years until a few years ago when my bee stopped showing up. I say “my bee.” But was it? Could it possibly have been the same bee for a decade and a half? How long to do bees live?
Or did my fuzzy fat friend select a successor who also passed the mantle when her vacation time was up? But whether or not it was the same bee, it was definitely my bee. My buddy. My constant summer companion. My nectar-gathering compatriot.
In Hellenistic Greece, bees were understood to be related to and a manifestation of the muse. My bee was an inspiration to me, as well, and I missed her visits dearly. And so did my flowers.
My bee isn’t the only one who stopped showing up. Millions upon millions of bees all over the world have been abandoning their hives and simply disappearing. Scientists named this mysterious phenomena colony collapse disorder.
If they are dying, they have chosen to do it in private, because large numbers of their corpses have not been found. Last year I found three dead bee bodies on the sidewalk just outside of my building. I saved their remains and added them to my growing collection of dead bumblebees. I keep my beautiful box filled with dead bees on my healing altar, where I pray for their wellbeing.
In some areas over sixty percent of the American honeybee population has died or disappeared during the past ten years, and this trend is continuing around the world. The potential results of this trend are terrifying. After all, one in three bites of all that we consume has been pollinated by bees.
In 1923 Rudolf Steiner predicted the dire state of the honeybee today. He said that within fifty to eighty years, we would see the consequences of mechanizing the forces that had previously operated organically in the beehive — including breeding queen bees artificially.
Well, I could have them that the Queens don’t take interference kindly. And now they are having their royal revenge — a terrible, drastic, exacting retribution, which maybe, just maybe, might force us to rethink our precarious relationship with Mother Nature.
Last week, my bee came back. I was completely delighted, overtaken by the depth and passion of my joy at our reunion. She hovered in front of my face for a moment then landed on my leg. And stayed there for a really long time, our bodies buzzing in unison.
Soon I noticed that she was uncharacteristically lethargic. Oh, no! Did she come back to die on me? I began to stroke her back ever so softly. I whispered prayers and gave her reiki. Then, because I had to leave, I placed her on the dirt of one of my flowering plants. If she was going to die, I wanted it to be in nature.
When I returned home a few hours later, the first thing I did was rush out to check on the bee, half expecting to see her lying on her back with her legs sticking up in the air.
But she was gone. Just gone.
“Like the bees from which this exhibition has drawn its name, we are individuals, yet we are, most surely, like the bees, a group, and as a group we have, over the millennia, built ourselves a hive, our home. We would be foolish, to say the least, to turn our backs on this carefully and beautifully constructed home especially now, in these uncertain and unsettling times.”
-The Museum of Jurassic Technology, Venice , CA
With blessings of nectar and honey,
xxQMD
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: TIME TO PLANT TREES
Lately I’ve seen several outrageous television commercials that blithely extol the benefits of throwaway dust rags and floor mops and disposable baby bibs, of all things. Apparently the landfills are not yet filled to over-flowing capacity with pampers as I had assumed. As it is, every American uses an average of 4-6 trees a year on paper goods, wood products, and newsprint.
Knowing myself to be a concerned citizen and certified Queen of Reducing, Re-using and Recycling, I feel morally indignant in the face of such crass waste. The mere sight of The New York Sunday Times stacked in high piles at the newsstand fills me with queasy guilt. Heaven forbid I should buy one. I take my own bags to the grocery. I use cloth napkins and hankies and refuse to use paper towels. I’m the one who used the same paper bag for 65 days worth of coffees-to-go.
All well and good, but what have I done lately? What did I do today?
This is an important distinction: what did I do versus what did I not do. The issue is not how many trees did I save, but how many trees did I plant? I am 62-years old. That means that I should have planted 250-350 trees by now to replace those that I have used. While I have conducted quite a few tree-planting ceremonies over the years, I still owe the earth a new orchard, at least.
Maybe it is self-defeating to think that we should be giving up comforts and luxuries in order to be more environmentally correct and connected. Such negative terminology doesn’t make acting conscientiously seem like a very attractive prospect, but rather like some sort of deprivation that would appeal only to martyrs. That’s just bad psychology. Unproductive. The medicine does not have to taste bad in order to work well.
Perhaps it is more fruitful to think not of giving something up, but of giving something back. It is the most elemental and universal rule of etiquette that if you take something, you put it back; if you use something, you replace it — plus some. While saving and conserving are admirable virtues to be commended and encouraged, being generous and proactively responsive is equally crucial to our survival, body and soul. Take less. Give more.
It is pay back time. So I pledge to plant trees this Spring. As many as I can. Won’t you join me?
Let’s plant trees everywhere. In our gardens, inside our houses, throughout our parks and school-yards. Even those of us who live in the most crowded cement cities can join a community garden or participate in a park clean-up and planting day.
We can “buy” acres of rain forest to give as gifts or have trees planted in honor of all the special occasions celebrated by friends and family. We could adopt a neighborhood or a stretch of highway and help take care of it. Like a brigade of Green Guerilla Queens, we could spread out and scatter wildflower seeds in every vacant lot, strip, mall and avenue median. Just like Queen Lady Bird did.
With best vernal blessings,
xxQMD
Knowing myself to be a concerned citizen and certified Queen of Reducing, Re-using and Recycling, I feel morally indignant in the face of such crass waste. The mere sight of The New York Sunday Times stacked in high piles at the newsstand fills me with queasy guilt. Heaven forbid I should buy one. I take my own bags to the grocery. I use cloth napkins and hankies and refuse to use paper towels. I’m the one who used the same paper bag for 65 days worth of coffees-to-go.
All well and good, but what have I done lately? What did I do today?
This is an important distinction: what did I do versus what did I not do. The issue is not how many trees did I save, but how many trees did I plant? I am 62-years old. That means that I should have planted 250-350 trees by now to replace those that I have used. While I have conducted quite a few tree-planting ceremonies over the years, I still owe the earth a new orchard, at least.
Maybe it is self-defeating to think that we should be giving up comforts and luxuries in order to be more environmentally correct and connected. Such negative terminology doesn’t make acting conscientiously seem like a very attractive prospect, but rather like some sort of deprivation that would appeal only to martyrs. That’s just bad psychology. Unproductive. The medicine does not have to taste bad in order to work well.
Perhaps it is more fruitful to think not of giving something up, but of giving something back. It is the most elemental and universal rule of etiquette that if you take something, you put it back; if you use something, you replace it — plus some. While saving and conserving are admirable virtues to be commended and encouraged, being generous and proactively responsive is equally crucial to our survival, body and soul. Take less. Give more.
It is pay back time. So I pledge to plant trees this Spring. As many as I can. Won’t you join me?
Let’s plant trees everywhere. In our gardens, inside our houses, throughout our parks and school-yards. Even those of us who live in the most crowded cement cities can join a community garden or participate in a park clean-up and planting day.
We can “buy” acres of rain forest to give as gifts or have trees planted in honor of all the special occasions celebrated by friends and family. We could adopt a neighborhood or a stretch of highway and help take care of it. Like a brigade of Green Guerilla Queens, we could spread out and scatter wildflower seeds in every vacant lot, strip, mall and avenue median. Just like Queen Lady Bird did.
With best vernal blessings,
xxQMD
Saturday, May 10, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: TO ALL WHO HAVE BEEN BORN OF MOTHERS
Mother's Day was originally started after the Civil War,
as a protest to the carnage of that war, by women who
had lost their sons.
The following is the original Mother's Day Proclamation
written by Julia Ward Howe in Boston, 1870:
"Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have heart,
whether our baptism be that of water or tears!
Say firmly:
'We will not have our great questions decided by irrelevant
agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with
carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken
from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of
charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be
too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be
trained to injure theirs.'
In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask
that a general congress of women without limits of nationality
may be appointed and held at some place deemed most
convenient and at the earliest period consider with its objects
to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the
amicable settlement of international questions, the great and
general interests of peace."
Let us take her eloquent plea for peace to heart. In the name
of all the mothers all through time beginning with the creatrix
Mother Goddesses and in the interest of our precious Mother Earth,
let us lend our voice, our time, our money, our energy and our
passion to the cause of peace on the planet.
xxYour Mama Donna
as a protest to the carnage of that war, by women who
had lost their sons.
The following is the original Mother's Day Proclamation
written by Julia Ward Howe in Boston, 1870:
"Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have heart,
whether our baptism be that of water or tears!
Say firmly:
'We will not have our great questions decided by irrelevant
agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with
carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken
from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of
charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be
too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be
trained to injure theirs.'
In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask
that a general congress of women without limits of nationality
may be appointed and held at some place deemed most
convenient and at the earliest period consider with its objects
to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the
amicable settlement of international questions, the great and
general interests of peace."
Let us take her eloquent plea for peace to heart. In the name
of all the mothers all through time beginning with the creatrix
Mother Goddesses and in the interest of our precious Mother Earth,
let us lend our voice, our time, our money, our energy and our
passion to the cause of peace on the planet.
xxYour Mama Donna
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: TIME FLIES
I can’t believe that I didn't post at all last month. Where did April go? The weeks and months, it seems, just melted into each other. But each day seemed endless.
Last week I bumped into my neighbors Time and Andrea as I was out walking Poppy in the morning and they were leaving for work. We stood around talking for a few minutes, and then we each proceeded with our day. It was a long and tiring day — for me, at least. Filled with work and play, spirit and pleasure.
Late that same evening, I was out with the dog and once again saw Tim and Andrea as they were getting home from work, dinner, and a couple of sets at a music club. Again, we hung around and chatted. I said something like, “When I saw you guys last week…” And Tim said, “that was this morning!”
How could that be? It seemed like forever ago. Time is such a slippery scoundrel. It is impossible to pin it down long enough to grab hold of it. It just keeps slithering away.
Time is a paradox, at once temporary and permanent, external and internal, objective and subjective. And it is so confusing. Days that are weeks long and filled with 10,000 things. Weeks, which seem like seconds, fleeting and ephemeral.
"When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, it seems like two minutes. When you sit on a hot stove for two minutes, it seems like two hours that's relativity."
-Albert Einstein
Time flies and time stands still. Time passes, but is forever. Time creates. Time maintains. Time destroys. I save time, I waste time, I keep time, I lose time, I kill time, I make time, I take time out.
Time is a sneak thief, hell bent on racing toward my mortality, so I will do all I can to outsmart it by savoring every precious moment, by being conscious, focused, and conscientious in each second. By being here now.
Blessings of eternity,
xxMama Donna
Last week I bumped into my neighbors Time and Andrea as I was out walking Poppy in the morning and they were leaving for work. We stood around talking for a few minutes, and then we each proceeded with our day. It was a long and tiring day — for me, at least. Filled with work and play, spirit and pleasure.
Late that same evening, I was out with the dog and once again saw Tim and Andrea as they were getting home from work, dinner, and a couple of sets at a music club. Again, we hung around and chatted. I said something like, “When I saw you guys last week…” And Tim said, “that was this morning!”
How could that be? It seemed like forever ago. Time is such a slippery scoundrel. It is impossible to pin it down long enough to grab hold of it. It just keeps slithering away.
Time is a paradox, at once temporary and permanent, external and internal, objective and subjective. And it is so confusing. Days that are weeks long and filled with 10,000 things. Weeks, which seem like seconds, fleeting and ephemeral.
"When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, it seems like two minutes. When you sit on a hot stove for two minutes, it seems like two hours that's relativity."
-Albert Einstein
Time flies and time stands still. Time passes, but is forever. Time creates. Time maintains. Time destroys. I save time, I waste time, I keep time, I lose time, I kill time, I make time, I take time out.
Time is a sneak thief, hell bent on racing toward my mortality, so I will do all I can to outsmart it by savoring every precious moment, by being conscious, focused, and conscientious in each second. By being here now.
Blessings of eternity,
xxMama Donna
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: SPRING HAS SPRUNG AND SO HAVE I
Well, I am fine. Out and about and as good as new. Whew ! That was a long haul. But now I am finally finding my way back to my body again and doesn’t it feel fabulous.
Before my famous fall I had started to wear a pedometer with the goal of walking at least 10,000 steps a day, which is recommended for optimum fitness. When I first crawled out of my convalescent bed I put the pedometer back on and measured my first attempts at hobbling about. I could only handle around 400 steps a day.
Now, a month later, I am doing 10-11,000 steps every other day. I walk every morning — in the park if I possibly can. Starting the day in nature, walking through the woods and along streams sets me up for the entire day. It is more nourishing than breakfast.
In a couple of weeks I will get back to my water aerobics class. It is still too cold. Even though the pool is indoors and the gym is quite warm and everyone else in the class (all of whom are older than me) manages to get there rain or shine or snow, I just can’t seem to be able to rouse myself from my flannel sheets to go jump in the water.
But my excuses are almost over. As soon as the weather warms up to the 50’s I’ll be there. The water movement will be great for strengthening and stretching my weakened and stiff muscles. Besides, it is fun and I love it. And I can have a sauna afterward.
Yoga is another story. I am craving the forward bends and stretches and sometimes stop in the middle of working to bend down to my toes and just hang out, as it were, for a minute or so. It releases tension and feels like a mini vacation.
But it really hurts to stand on my knees for any of the table positions or the child pose. Even so, I will start to do some of my yoga tapes and skip the parts I can’t do.
Last week I went to a belly dance extravaganza. The music is so mesmerizing and invigorating and the dancers were so sensual and lithe, it made me want to take lessons. My friend Suzanne said that she would take them with me, which is great because without her I would be the only chubby middle aged woman among all the young sprites. Now we will be two Queen goddesses!
I have never, NEVER been an active, athletic person, but something about having been injured and immobile for so long has lit a fire under me. And for the first time in my life I have wanted to exercise, move, groove. What fun!
Before my famous fall I had started to wear a pedometer with the goal of walking at least 10,000 steps a day, which is recommended for optimum fitness. When I first crawled out of my convalescent bed I put the pedometer back on and measured my first attempts at hobbling about. I could only handle around 400 steps a day.
Now, a month later, I am doing 10-11,000 steps every other day. I walk every morning — in the park if I possibly can. Starting the day in nature, walking through the woods and along streams sets me up for the entire day. It is more nourishing than breakfast.
In a couple of weeks I will get back to my water aerobics class. It is still too cold. Even though the pool is indoors and the gym is quite warm and everyone else in the class (all of whom are older than me) manages to get there rain or shine or snow, I just can’t seem to be able to rouse myself from my flannel sheets to go jump in the water.
But my excuses are almost over. As soon as the weather warms up to the 50’s I’ll be there. The water movement will be great for strengthening and stretching my weakened and stiff muscles. Besides, it is fun and I love it. And I can have a sauna afterward.
Yoga is another story. I am craving the forward bends and stretches and sometimes stop in the middle of working to bend down to my toes and just hang out, as it were, for a minute or so. It releases tension and feels like a mini vacation.
But it really hurts to stand on my knees for any of the table positions or the child pose. Even so, I will start to do some of my yoga tapes and skip the parts I can’t do.
Last week I went to a belly dance extravaganza. The music is so mesmerizing and invigorating and the dancers were so sensual and lithe, it made me want to take lessons. My friend Suzanne said that she would take them with me, which is great because without her I would be the only chubby middle aged woman among all the young sprites. Now we will be two Queen goddesses!
I have never, NEVER been an active, athletic person, but something about having been injured and immobile for so long has lit a fire under me. And for the first time in my life I have wanted to exercise, move, groove. What fun!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: MORE LESSONS OF THE FALL
just when the power of positive thinking
had me thinking i had some control
i got knocked to my knees by a hot dog wagon.
not flattened not thrown not knowing what hit me
just knocked to my knees and forced to bow down.
—DH 1974
This is the 10th week after the fall and I am pretty much back together again. While I was fortunate not to have had a more serious injury from my December fall, my convalescence has been quite slow, nonetheless. Shocking, really, just how slow. This winter has been a long and leisurely one during which I completely hibernated. I concentrated on healing myself and also worked to understand and integrate the many-layered lessons of the fall.
Gratitude, first and foremost, was Lesson Number One. While normally I am quite conscious of my appreciation for my life and living, everyone’s attitude of gratitude can stand a periodic upgrading.
I fell at home in my own office, rather than somewhere out on the road during all my travels of the past three years. Cookie was there and helped me instantly. I was nursed and massaged and reikied and shiatsued and reflexed, accupunctured and blessed, and materially supported in every possible generous manner.
Grateful hardly expresses how I felt. I celebrated every tiny victory of movement and mobility as a dramatic miracle. I was ever so thankful for each small pleasure. The first time I could roll over in bed! Hurray! The first time I could bend my leg! The first time I could put on my own sock! The first time I left the walker and used a cane! The first time I took the dog out! The first time I walked around the block! And this morning when I left the house for the first time without my cane! Life is such a miracle. I am eternally grateful to be part of it.
Miracles seem to rest, not so much upon
faces or voices or healing power coming
suddenly near to us from far off, but upon
our perceptions being made finer so that
for a moment our eyes can see and our ears
can hear that which is about us always.
—Willa Cather
Beyond the parameters of this particular incident, I was reminded of how much I love this world — life, nature, creatures, comforts, beauty. Just how precious and tenuous it all is. In light of September 11th and this horrible war, we are all struggling to keep that crucial 911 emergency lesson foremost in our minds at all times. How important it is to raise and praise the universal spirit at every turn. Be Here Now. Live Life. Be Great and Full. Thank All Goodness.
When I first landed on the floor, I thought that I would just sit there for a few seconds, catch my breath and then continue with my packed agenda. I would shoulder through, like always. But within minutes of the fall it became painfully — excruciatingly — obvious that there was no way that I could possibly carry on as normal. I had fallen down on the job, as it were, and my only option was to sit still.
Letting Go, Lesson Number Two, was an insistent, obstinate, merciless task-mistress who would accept nothing less than total vulnerability, absolute humility, and hopefully at the end of the day, some measure of grace.
I do not understand the mystery of grace —
only that it meets us where we are, but
does not leave us where it found us.
—Anne LaMott
Asking for Help, Lesson Number Three, always a hard one for me, became much easier after I allowed myself to let go of all those macho martyr assumptions that I perpetrate upon myself. Such as thinking I can be a bottomless source of never-ending energy without ever having to replenish my own reserves. Such as feeling — like so many caregivers, healers, and light workers do — that everyone else’s needs must be dealt with before my own, me being in the line of service, after all. Such as resisting well meant offers of assistance.
Before the fall, if someone volunteered to give me a massage, I would invariably demure. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it, but that’s O.K.” Meaning what? That I didn’t need anything? That I didn’t deserve anything? Now, during my winter of healing, I was becoming able to over-ride my ego and say, “Yes, please, I do need help. I am in trouble here. Thank you so much. I am so grateful”
Learning How to Attend to My Own Requirements and Boundaries and how to take as loving good care of myself as I do of others is Lesson Number Four. I have been struggling to learn this lesson for decades. It is clearly my Life Lesson. I keep thinking that I have learned it. But then something comes along to remind me how much more I have to improve. I have managed quite well over the years to sustain myself spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. It is on the material and physical plane that I tend to fall down, as it were. As the I Ching, the Chinese Book of Changes has reminded me time and time again over the past thirty years, “Feed the cow.” How else can the poor dear give milk, after all?
So, the lessons contemplated and understood, if not yet completely integrated, I emerge from my accident determined to heal myself for once and for all. It is time. I cannot continue to push myself beyond the max. I definitely can’t keep falling.
I acknowledge that though I am most definitely a Queen, I am not omnipotent. That I do need help from time to time. That I do have needs and that I need to honor and enforce them. That in addition to being Mama Donna to the world, I need to be mother to myself, as well.
I promise myself to respect my limitations of strength, energy, time, and resources. I promise to continue to be grateful for each breath that allows me to live this precious life and to value it in its entirety. And most important of all, I pledge to allow myself to sit down occasionally, to lie down, even, so that I don’t have to fall down to get some rest.
L’Chaim,
xxQueen Mama Donna
had me thinking i had some control
i got knocked to my knees by a hot dog wagon.
not flattened not thrown not knowing what hit me
just knocked to my knees and forced to bow down.
—DH 1974
This is the 10th week after the fall and I am pretty much back together again. While I was fortunate not to have had a more serious injury from my December fall, my convalescence has been quite slow, nonetheless. Shocking, really, just how slow. This winter has been a long and leisurely one during which I completely hibernated. I concentrated on healing myself and also worked to understand and integrate the many-layered lessons of the fall.
Gratitude, first and foremost, was Lesson Number One. While normally I am quite conscious of my appreciation for my life and living, everyone’s attitude of gratitude can stand a periodic upgrading.
I fell at home in my own office, rather than somewhere out on the road during all my travels of the past three years. Cookie was there and helped me instantly. I was nursed and massaged and reikied and shiatsued and reflexed, accupunctured and blessed, and materially supported in every possible generous manner.
Grateful hardly expresses how I felt. I celebrated every tiny victory of movement and mobility as a dramatic miracle. I was ever so thankful for each small pleasure. The first time I could roll over in bed! Hurray! The first time I could bend my leg! The first time I could put on my own sock! The first time I left the walker and used a cane! The first time I took the dog out! The first time I walked around the block! And this morning when I left the house for the first time without my cane! Life is such a miracle. I am eternally grateful to be part of it.
Miracles seem to rest, not so much upon
faces or voices or healing power coming
suddenly near to us from far off, but upon
our perceptions being made finer so that
for a moment our eyes can see and our ears
can hear that which is about us always.
—Willa Cather
Beyond the parameters of this particular incident, I was reminded of how much I love this world — life, nature, creatures, comforts, beauty. Just how precious and tenuous it all is. In light of September 11th and this horrible war, we are all struggling to keep that crucial 911 emergency lesson foremost in our minds at all times. How important it is to raise and praise the universal spirit at every turn. Be Here Now. Live Life. Be Great and Full. Thank All Goodness.
When I first landed on the floor, I thought that I would just sit there for a few seconds, catch my breath and then continue with my packed agenda. I would shoulder through, like always. But within minutes of the fall it became painfully — excruciatingly — obvious that there was no way that I could possibly carry on as normal. I had fallen down on the job, as it were, and my only option was to sit still.
Letting Go, Lesson Number Two, was an insistent, obstinate, merciless task-mistress who would accept nothing less than total vulnerability, absolute humility, and hopefully at the end of the day, some measure of grace.
I do not understand the mystery of grace —
only that it meets us where we are, but
does not leave us where it found us.
—Anne LaMott
Asking for Help, Lesson Number Three, always a hard one for me, became much easier after I allowed myself to let go of all those macho martyr assumptions that I perpetrate upon myself. Such as thinking I can be a bottomless source of never-ending energy without ever having to replenish my own reserves. Such as feeling — like so many caregivers, healers, and light workers do — that everyone else’s needs must be dealt with before my own, me being in the line of service, after all. Such as resisting well meant offers of assistance.
Before the fall, if someone volunteered to give me a massage, I would invariably demure. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it, but that’s O.K.” Meaning what? That I didn’t need anything? That I didn’t deserve anything? Now, during my winter of healing, I was becoming able to over-ride my ego and say, “Yes, please, I do need help. I am in trouble here. Thank you so much. I am so grateful”
Learning How to Attend to My Own Requirements and Boundaries and how to take as loving good care of myself as I do of others is Lesson Number Four. I have been struggling to learn this lesson for decades. It is clearly my Life Lesson. I keep thinking that I have learned it. But then something comes along to remind me how much more I have to improve. I have managed quite well over the years to sustain myself spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. It is on the material and physical plane that I tend to fall down, as it were. As the I Ching, the Chinese Book of Changes has reminded me time and time again over the past thirty years, “Feed the cow.” How else can the poor dear give milk, after all?
So, the lessons contemplated and understood, if not yet completely integrated, I emerge from my accident determined to heal myself for once and for all. It is time. I cannot continue to push myself beyond the max. I definitely can’t keep falling.
I acknowledge that though I am most definitely a Queen, I am not omnipotent. That I do need help from time to time. That I do have needs and that I need to honor and enforce them. That in addition to being Mama Donna to the world, I need to be mother to myself, as well.
I promise myself to respect my limitations of strength, energy, time, and resources. I promise to continue to be grateful for each breath that allows me to live this precious life and to value it in its entirety. And most important of all, I pledge to allow myself to sit down occasionally, to lie down, even, so that I don’t have to fall down to get some rest.
L’Chaim,
xxQueen Mama Donna
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