Archives for posts with tag: Mother Mary

“You Fill Up My Senses”

-John Denver


Last week’s post was slow to arrive; neither ideas, feelings or thoughts would flow. I wrote all of it in bed, sneezing and coughing. I felt forlorn and dispirited, and questioned the value of my Blog. I had an ugly warty troll under my bridge, frightening me with his threats to devour me if I dare cross to the new experience on the other side. And just as in the Norwegian Fairy Tale, “Three Billy Goats Gruff”, I had to muster up my strong, confident self, and knock my troll/fear into submission, allowing me to cross and see what lay before me to discover.

Fearing the Troll beneath the Bridge

The first glimmer of the new, came from a snippet in a dream image. I love the directives I receive from out and beyond my perceivable world, from the magnificence of the Unified Field. In this image, I glimpsed a sensual me, wearing a flowing, beautifully textured dress in hues of subdued yet vibrant colour. I scoffed when I awoke(troll still present) saying this will never be me…I will never find The Otherness of my Femininity, the mysterious, the sensual. I will always wear pants and shades of black. Over the next days the image would not leave my mind, so I began to turn towards it, giving it permission to surface from my unconscious. This process of letting a repressed feeling up is always patience ( I was planning to write the word painful, but today my writing is being interrupted by events beyond my control and I was asking for patience as I was writing…Freudian Slips as I write) Repressed feelings, as they are allowed to surface, create pain. Understandably, I will avoid pain if I can, but I have had enough examples to believe that under the pain, lies an authentic but repressed aspect of myself. So some days later, I had the urge to create a collage. I chose my most soulful piece of music and began to cut out images and words that attracted me.

Below is the music I listened to… Pablo Casals playing “El Cant Dels Ocells” , the “Bird Song”

This is the collage I created. I called it Duets-Touch Women Touch Men

Duets-Touch Women Touch Men

Clearly a shift in my sensibility. No residue of Mother Mary in this collage. No sense of a woman contained. And what else? The presence of men! I am thrilled at this shift, and can’t help but wonder why I would ever repress such power and passion. Today, I have no clear understanding, but I am glad that I took the plunge into the abyss of the unconscious.

After completing this collage I went for a walk along the shoreline near my home. In the cacophony of bird song, I took 2 photos. The first half of my walk, I was shadowed by a pair of Trumpeter Swans, who swam throughout the harbour side by side, eating plants while ‘talking’ to each other…a breathtaking scene as I contemplated the power of my collage.

Blissful Love

After 30 minutes of watching these love birds, while imagining myself in such a perfect pairing, I was startled out of my reverie by another bird, a Canadian Goose. This bird was alone and seemingly in distress. It took some time for me to realize, in horror, the cruelty of her injury.

Injured Canada Goose

An arrow through her foot. I vacillated between feeling useless and feeling enraged. There was nothing I could do to alleviate the pain inflicted on her by some mindless human. I called Mountainaire Avian Rescue, but do not know the goose’s fate.

Emotional swings and roundabouts…both bird species are loyal mates…first a reverie of true love…then an abrupt and rude awakening…this poor goose brought to a screeching standstill by an arrow through her foot…with her beloved no more. Symbolically, the tragedy of the pierced Canada Goose, brings to mind the ‘not so beautiful’ aspects of a loving relationship…the misuse or disuse of love…the dereliction of loyalty or devotion…the psychological warts, inadequacies and misunderstandings…every relationship has some less than lovely attributes.

Bringing to mind Hamlet’s famous soliloquy:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them?—To die,—to sleep

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to,

To be, in my mind, echoes all the proponents of  “living in the moment’. Not to be, is slipping into unconsciousness, through alcohol, food, or British Mystery Series. So I can avoid love and instead fill my life with distractions, or I can choose love, expecting to encounter from time to time, love’s not-so-beautiful aspects.



Not only did I wake up singing Thursday morning, I was singing ‘Annie’s Song’, by John Denver.  

You fill up my senses

Like a night in a forest

Like the mountains in springtime

Like a walk in the rain

Like a storm in the desert

Like a sleepy blue ocean

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again

 And then I remembered…D. I had seen him the previous evening. Zowie! When I closed my eyes to focus on this rich sensation, the intensity created a bit of a swoon…

During my visit though, I felt an inward shift from Mary Magdalene to Mother Mary when his daughter appeared. Not only is this my most comfortable essence, I felt this appropriate. The problem was that I could not shift out of nurturing Mother. Then in driving to a nearby restaurant, I shifted into BORING WIFE. ARRRRRGH. At the time I was not aware of what had happened, just that I felt as though someone had taken a remote device and hit mute… anesthetizing my emotions. I wasn’t even Between2Marys…I had descended into the benumbing hell of a passionless existence.

So for Week 21 of 52 I will remember that my lipstick is red…reminding me to allow the intensity of emotions to thrive within me, rather than impeding their expression… leaving me in a safe but hellishly sterile stupor.

Live in Creativity-let passion soar



This morning my plan had been to write as soon as I woke up. But first, like most writers, I cleaned a fairly clean room and then I sorted some drawers and files…then I procrastinated some more by reading quotes about procrastination.

“As a writer, I need an enormous amount of time alone. Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It’s a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write.” ― Paul Rudnick

After reading this, I gave into the mood 100% and descended into time waster’s hell…British Mystery Series. In my attempt to download Blue Murder from a ‘legal’ site, my computer froze on a pornography pop-up. This has never happened in the countless times I have used to watch British Mysteries(a fabulous life sucking, soul shrivelling site that will not be named).

Incredulous Me

In the 45 minutes it took me to wrestle my computer out of the hands of this Porn Industry computer hacker, I had a transformative experience with the naked young girl posing on my screen. Here she was, the other woman, entering my life, uninvited yet again!  My first reaction was anger and judgement after a furtive glance at her body. I mentally chastised her for luring men away from decent women. And I think I am enlightened and compassionate. I took a deep cleansing breath, and worked my way off my self righteous pedestal. I looked at her again, searching her eyes, to see her for the person she is…to stop my objectification of her. I then experienced a transformative shift. I felt a surge of compassion well up in my heart for this sad-eyed, young girl who believed that this job was her only option. That her only talent was her willingness to let others use her for their gratification.

Once again, fate intervened and my post was jettisoned in a surprising direction. The most uncomfortable of subjects…sex… Argh. Too personal, too confusing… I think I’ll get me to a Nunnery…But before I go, I will try to unravel some of the complexity around women and sexuality…the whore/madonna complex.

If I intend to be embody The Other Woman, I must attempt to end my androgynous persona. I am comfortable now, having men only as friends. I cannot imagine flirting, kissing and God forbid, anyone but me and my doctor, seeing me naked.

When I was single, immersed in the dance of finding boyfriends and husbands, emphasizing my sexuality was expected and condoned. I felt comfortable in this role and like most women, I was never more attractive (or thinner) than on my wedding day(s). I enjoyed being pursued and desired. But the feeling of desirability is long gone, a distant memory. Mothering and sensuality seemed antithetical. Mothers are meant to be available – perpetually opened armed with a ready lap: soothing, encouraging, nurturing…the antithesis of alluring. 

How am I ever going to find the other woman inside of me? I’m not a mother of young children any longer but neither am I The Other Woman! I’m definitely Between 2 Marys, in some androgynous zone of ambiguity. Perhaps the extreme duality of the whore/madonna can be tempered, even though centuries of history seem to indicate otherwise. In 16th Century Venice for example, this Italian city was founded in the myth of Venus rising from the sea. Two iconic yet disparate images of the goddess Venus reflected the mores of Venice; one goddess image is the pure and inviolate virgin, the other, its antithesis, the licentious goddess…seeker of pleasure and love. In viewing paintings of the disparate goddesses, the virgin is in white, alone or with angelic children, while the libidinous goddess is with a man, half-clothed,  the colour red prevalent!

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 Venetian women with a sizeable dowery, could marry a rich man. As his wife, the woman was a cloistered creature, without education or financial independence, her life being devoted entirely to home and family. Women without fortune chose to enter the convent  or to become a courtesan. But Venetian courtesans, unlike the wives, could mingle freely with the rich and famous and acquire an education and wealth of their own. They could  participate in literary, political and intellectual circles, publish any works, and importantly, all the sensual pleasures were available at her beckoning. Although the 16th Century Venetian courtesan lived a somewhat enviable lifestyle, this did not last. Religious zealots blamed the plague and war on the courtesans’ debauchery, and ended the delicate balance that allowed both sets of women to coexist.

 The polarity between the virtuous and the licentious became intensified. 500 years later and this tension still exists. Can a woman be compassionate and nurturing in ‘kick-ass’ high heels? Can a woman who enjoys a sensual life, have the respect of her society?



Where to start on this? How to move out of my comfort zone of intellectualizing The Other Woman, and become her? As this Blog is an open forum, ideas are welcome!

I will share one step I have made…I purchased  a beautiful, deep pink lipstick…and I am wearing it! This colour is more bold than any I have worn in years… if I wore lipstick at all. I feel good applying it to my lips. It certainly makes me more visible.

But most importantly, I must once again, see men as more than friends…I can barely type I am so nervous. I’m afraid of what I might commit to in my zeal to finish this post. I am driving back to BC and am scrambling to pack and schlep my stuff down the 3 flights of stairs.(not complaining too loudly dear daughter who has taken her Mother in).

See how quickly I can avoid the subject at hand!

Here goes…for Week 15 of 52 in my desire to move from the Mother Mary to Mary Magdalene, I will create a profile of myself and post it on a singles dating website. ARGHHH…

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