Justice Bartlett : Woman Feed Yourself

Woman, Feed Yourself.

I came across a woman’s post about fasting last night.

She was talking about how ‘the body gets cluttered up when we get overwhelmed and the antenna needs clearing.’ She was planning on doing a fast and cited a couple of traditions (masculine-oriented) as points of reference.

She then invited other people to share in the comments what benefits they have gotten from fasting.

As I read through the comments from other women all of them praising ‘being emptied, clear receivers of truth’ one thought struck me: “They all feel so disembodied.”

I was a little hesitant to leave my reply amongst all the other’s that were glorifying the clarity and purification of fasting, but what the fuck. I did so anyway and this is what I said:

“I don’t fast.

My body still bleeds so it purges regularly about 4 days a month. This is a natural cleansing process for women, especially when engaged with consciously. Rigorous rituals, like fasting and vision quest, were designed for men because they don’t have an obvious initiation (into adulthood) like women do, nor do they have a monthly purgatory cycle. So though I intermittently fast most days, as that is the process that best serves my digestion and metabolism—I will never fast for spiritual purposes.”

I felt a little cringe as I hit enter and went on my way, but the woman (the original poster) replied under my own comment:

“I’m glad you said this. I actually feel like it kind of messed me up a little and I didn’t get my questions answered.”

I responded with: “Im glad it’s beneficial! Red Tent is our way!”

Women’s bodies are not designed for deprivation.

We—women—are designed to host and feed life.

Rituals (such as fasting), that are perfectly compatible with (some) male bodies, do not open us up to spirit in the same way. We are already open. We are living portals for life. Our blood is our ritual and when our menstrual cycle has finished, we become containers for an even deeper wisdom—that of the Crone.

Fasting, especially this time of year as we wind towards darker days, is counter-intuitive and counter-instinctive. Everything in us—instinctively—is saying: Slow down. Rest. Prepare for the lean months, conserve energy.

Now is the time for us to gather in our Harvest. Take count of what we have accomplished this year and gently release what is ready to be shed.

Now is the time for making pies, sipping steaming mugs of tea, and snuggling under nubby blankets. For putting onions, garlic, and potatoes in the ground. For brining the seeds from the summer flower’s blooms.

The Ancient Grandmothers beckon to our bodies over steaming cauldrons of soups and stew. And granny only ever has one thing to say to us.

“Eat.”

~Justice Bartlett

Image: Artem Mastev

Bedhead Mystic

bedheadmystic #autumn #equinox #instinctrepair #thewayofwomb

Margret Mead : Be Civilized

Unfortunately I had lessons of detachment with regards to my health and well being . He wasn’t interested …. and when the psychiatric RX began their varied ” side effects ” he withdrew deeply. That was a devastating experience that flared up hugely the last 5 years and was imprinted upon our 3 sons .

I was responsible for not doing my job ; totally disregarding how toxicity in medicine and the disregard of my health let me know my place in his cold black heart .

Sadly his health deteriorates Sadly he ignore the truth

Sadly he stays in a rut

Sad for anything he he influences as he cycles through his Father/Child persona ; his personal war … puked on those he ” loves”

I failed him

I deserve nothing

I should get a job

I live in the past

I am ungrateful in his eyes and heart ❤️

This is his opinion. I have been his target for 4.5 decades

Using our sons in retaliatory abuse served him well

He ignores the ” side effects ” of our sons abuse .

I’m not responsible for his actions or passive aggressive behavior as he has determined I should not live 👁, long ago . He is very determined to end my life ; to shut me up .

“Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones.

But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal.

A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said.”

We are at our best when we serve others. Be civilized.

Matriarch

Maker

She who creates

She who forms worlds

Matriarch

Leader

She who knows

She who paves the way

Matriarch

Harvester

She who reaps

She who gathers

Matriarch

Sovereign

She who is empowered

She who knows herself

Matriarch

Queen

She who reigns

She who has triumphed

Matriarch

Survivor

She who has passed through the fire

She who rises from the flames

~ Rebekah Myers, Matriarch

Art: Maartje Van Dokkum aka Mary Feywood

Mary Feywood

#SacredSistersFullMoonCircle #Spirituality #WomensWisdom #WomensEmpowerment #RedTent #Goddess #GoddessStudies #GoddessCircle #SacredFeminine #CyclicalLiving #WheeloftheYear #Mythology #Magick #Folklore #FolkTradition #Matriarch #SeasonoftheMatriarch

Bloodlines

A few years ago, one of my DRT friends walked into a meeting wearing the most interesting necklace. A thin gold necklace with names linked one to the other. The names began with hers, then her mother’s, her grandmother’s, her great grandmother’s name, and on going back until her maternal line ended meeting her name once again: so special. Most genealogists have a difficult time following women as so often they are lost in the “Mrs.” In the Spanish tradition, women have their father’s name followed by a “y” meaning “and” with their Mother’s name- maternal family names don’t get lost. However you may trace your maternal line, I always think of my friend’s necklace: the names of her female ancestors encircling her neck.

Loved & Loved : She is Home 🏠

“When you look deep within

Beyond the surface pale

And the lined eyes,

Through the skein

Of fine lines that

Travel like tributaries

To your soul,

You might find

The wayward girl

you once knew…

The young girl lost

To the antics of living

Who bore you no ill will

But who couldn’t yet grasp

The magnitude of

Incremental action

Upon action

Which creates the

Ultimate direction of

A troubled life.

You might find her,

Beneath the greeting

And the greying hair,

Beyond the freckled

Hands

And you might beckon

Her with forgiving heart

And loving arms

To welcome her into

The quiet, gorgeous room

With flowers and pink blossoms

With perfume and pretty things

With standing vases of

Bright poppies

And tulips –

Yes tulips –

And you will let her know

That finally, with you…

She is lived and loved

And she is home.”

Camilla Slater 2022.

(Love to all women with a spark in their eyes and a wayward past.🌷)

Image Credit: Painting by Louis Treserras, 1958.

Silence

As a target of weaponized silence I am aware when anyone uses this against me .

As such I’m aware of the distortion within the heart mind and soul of such an individual whose actions do not keep pace with their words . Or these words are omitted thus a feeling of correctness for not having truth within and challenged resort to covert acts .

youtube.com/watch

Motherhood Reality

“They tell us how to grow a baby. What to eat.

What not to eat. What vitamins to take and what bras to buy. Allll the prenatal yoga moves to do.

But they forget to tell us how to put ourselves back together once that baby is born.

They forget to tell us how we might feel like we’re drifting.

Afloat. Alone. On a life raft with leaky breasts and sore stitches and a tiny little being dependent upon us for survival.

They forget to tell us how weird and wild it feels to have loose organs shifting about inside of us. How there will be so much softness still.

I get it. You don’t want to startle us. You don’t want us to be scared about what’s ahead.

But….a little heads up would be helpful

We’re brave enough for the truth.

And those things you find so scary- loose skin and leaky breasts and big feelings- we might just be bold enough to welcome them.

To see the beauty there.

So here’s the truth mama-

Your pelvic floor will probably need work and attention. You’ll have to put in some effort to regain that muscle strength, no matter how gentle your birth. Your breasts and belly will probably never be the same. Love them anyway. Love than more than before!! Celebrate them! Buy bras that make you feel sexy. Then move on.

Your identity and sense of self will change radically. Buckle up for the ride. You’ve got this. Your partnership and friendships and general relationship with the outside world might feel foreign for awhile. Or forever. Those relationships might crack and break under the weight of new parenthood. Live your truth. Leave the rest behind. In love.

The whole world might feel shaken up.

You’ll probably feel shaky and raw

That’s normal (they just forgot to tell you.)

You’re new here. In this skin. In this role. In this love. You’ll find your way. You’ll find your rhythm. It will all fall into place- with time.

Until then- breathe.

As deeply as you can.

Drink your tea before it gets cold.

If you can.

Rest –

whenever you can.

And love on your new self.

As deeply as you can.”

#repost @spiritysol ❤️

They did not warn about being single mothers within a marriage ; single wives …..

Bohemian Spirit : Warning

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

~ Jenny Joseph ~

Choosing a Woman

lf you choose a working woman, you have to accept that it’s impossible for her to also manage the house full time.

If you choose a housewife who takes care of and manages the household completely, you need to accept that she will not make much money.

lf you choose a submissive woman, you must accept that she depends on you- she must be taken care of.

If you choose to be with a brave woman, you must accept that she is stubborn and has her own thoughts.

If you choose a beautiful woman, you have to accept the expenses & the jealousy as well.

lf you choose to be with a strong woman, you must also accept that she is hard and firm.

No woman is perfect.

Each woman has her own “good thing” that defines who she is and makes her unique.

Stop and think 😉…

Without Mother

“IF YOU ARE A WOMAN WITHOUT HER MOTHER

There will never be a day you don’t miss her.

Never a day, where you don’t wish you could hear her voice or ask for her advice just one more time.

There will never be a moment that you don’t regret all the times you screened her call, or missed a visit, simply because life was just too busy.

And now you realise busy is fake, it isn’t real.

She was real and she is gone.

And you are alone.

And the feeling of abandonment and loneliness is huge. Mind-blowing, no matter how loved or surrounded by family you may be.

None of it is her.

When the woman who brought you into this world is no longer here, it is a lonely place.

And you are now she.

You are now the one expected to guide, to discipline, to love, to handle everything, for everyone. And that is a shock.

But you got this.

Because she taught you well.

She made you right and she made you strong and she filled you with enough love to share around, even after she was gone.

So go on.

And make her proud.

And remember, look out for the little girl who still lives inside you somewhere, she misses her Mama very much.

Be kind.”

Words: Donna Ashworth

Art: Noelle Mirabella Photography