Universal Fury

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The mouth in the clouds opens

into a universal scream

because there is no space

for a dream

-ing of future, places, tense for little girls;

Ripped from the bosom of the Mother

then forced unto a Father whose

hellfire and damnation

damned the father to disconnect

from all that is truly holy and

created a new hell.

The African Queen roars

for the pain of her pride,

ripped from the ground and the head of the vessel

that brings the birth of the next generations

shatter

-ing the chalice and creation of pleasure

for the pursuit of power

structures that inhibit growth

beyond the perpetual pregnancy

of what freedom might feel like.

Morrigan speaks her pain

and power and self into being through

a mortal man

who would like to remain mere

-ly quiet, in his soft bubble of

self and softness

while injustice reigns.

La Madre

is honored for false virginity but

isn’t for the power of her presence

and presents of peace–her daughters’

virginity transformed into whore

by greed and with gusto.

We cry “Save the Mother”

theatrically

but conspire to keep her children

in the depths of torment upon the

first forced parting of their thighs…

saying, “Shhhhhh…..”

Selling them shortened lives and

into chains of bondage and fear

Now, though, Wakiyan are called to walk

with Pratyangira,

angels and devas dive into the

world of the eagle embodied

bringing together iron and thunder

trident and truth.

The Silk Lady’s red ribbon

drips and twists from heart to

heat,

stoking the fire of

the Furies

and, where it meets her feet,

Aphrodite is reforged.

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How a Non-Deist Dances (or does the dishes) with God

When I was in the sixth grade, I saw an angel. At least, that’s what I called it. It was in the sky, it was alive, and not a bird or a plane or Superman. Not even a super-something else. It just was. And pretty as it just was. I told my mother who commemorated the experience with a poor concrete facsimile that confused me to no end. Because that wasn’t it and it wasn’t quite right in my adolescent mind. I don’t know if I ever thought again of that beautiful being I saw until we were reintroduced to each other in August 2015.

I never did see God, though. As an atheist it made complete sense. Out of mind, out of sight.

Until. Until one day in the spring of 2007 while I was washing dishes, I felt it. IT. The thing that other folks have described as God. This coalescing of something bigger than me but not definable, fully there and not-exactly-finite at the same time. Big, but fitting into the kitchen with me. I put down the salmon pan, walked to my then-husband in the living room, said out loud, “I just met God”, and walked back to the sink. Because, apparently God and other invisibles don’t do dishes. No other word was said. None needed to be. It was neither disturbing nor interesting. I didn’t ask any questions because none needed asking. I didn’t tell anyone else until years later.

I also didn’t tell anyone when God came back. I mean, what or who else could that big, infinite, yet finite beingness at the kitchen sink–again–possibly be?  This time, again while my hands were in the suds, it said one thing: “How will you define yourself?” That’s it. No winning lottery numbers. No “Here, I’ll dry”. Just “How will you define yourself?”

Neither of these experiences were met with a response more than nonplussed curiosity. Nothing more than a measured, ‘huh’. Although at one point in my non-religious evolution I was taught that God was fearsome and to be feared, I didn’t believe he existed at all, especially in that way. In fact, I never believed in him as his existence was explained by anyone. Except when that it-that-can-be-nothing-else arrived, I knew. Just knew.

In that moment, I just knew that fear was unnecessary, that worship was unnecessary, reverence was unnecessary, and there was no room for confusion or revelation. It just was. Not from ‘above’ but not from within. Not from somewhere ‘else’ but certainly something else, something other than my mind’s capacity for imaginings or desire for a holy dishwashing experience. In fact, there was nothing particularly holy in the whole thing. The clouds didn’t part, angels didn’t sing and I didn’t zing with the energies I often feel while with things of the ecstatic nature. I didn’t drop to my knees as I’ve done in grief and gratitude; I just heard him. There was no reassurance, demand for obedience or plea for belief; just one simple question.

While I was as unconfused and unawed as the first encounter, the second annoyed me. I knew the who of it and the what of if but, A) I still had to dry the dishes and, B) I’ve got other shit going on so what the hell kind of question is that for God to ask someone like me?

I had no idea then that the me I was would shortly no longer be. I had no context for the question and no understanding that there was anything beyond a definition of “I’m just Ingrid.”

Ten years into thisness, I’m well into not-just-Ingrid and I still don’t know how to define myself. And, I still don’t define that God-thing the way others do.  I thought if I’d define myself in my own way or the way I’ve been asked to the last year by those ones of Creation that got me into this mess, I’d know how to be this whatever-I-am. Notsomuch. God hasn’t come back to ‘splain all that, either. Or help with the dishes.

“I never knew I was cherished. Until now.”

-1383January 02, 2005

I never hungered for food as a child. I starved, though, for the love of my mother–something beyond the loneliness in the emotional sea between us and the actual fear of her ferocity. I thought it’d be in the cupboard of good grades, good behavior (and the occasional hope the connection would be found in the bad as well), diligence and, perhaps, talent.

As an I’ve grown into thisness, though, the opposite has become true. I’m often physically hungry but live steeped in the kind of love that exists beyond a mother’s capacity–that thing of the larger universe that binds us through those perceived seas between us.

There is no longer an attachment to those feelings held as a young child and young adult. They helped mold me and guide me to this place and the beings I am and work with but no longer exist as they used to.  My brain and body no longer hold them but I am reminded each time I touch another whose path has been similar to mine.

When the cells and selves that have held the fear of fist, abandonment and invasion of safety and sex zones, are ready to be opened into the light of mercy, what happens is the thing of dreams. That love that I’m steeped in and of, is felt for, often the first time, in the entirety of another.

To be with someone who, for the first time, can know they are cherished and treasured by all that is holy is magnificent.  When inner strength formerly girded by insecurities opens into love and begins the process of angelic unfolding, I’m reminded of our glory, our potential and the hope that each of us brings the rest of us.

To know–and to feel within every fiber of our being– that we are cherished–without exception, without expectation–is our birthright.

I love you.

Experiencing Christ

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What does it mean when people see you as Jesus or have an experience with Jesus when with you?

There is more than one answer to this question so I’ll begin with the first. I appear as Jesus to many because he is part of who I am. In addition, when people chose to embark on the interaction with me as part of their spiritual journey, who and what they most connect with tend to be the first to appear before them. Some of that is connected to how they define themselves, their own journey, and who they perceive to be their guides into their own unfolding. For some, that is Jesus. For others it may be angels, family, or a particular animal.

The experience of Jesus while in my presence comes in several forms and, although not dependent upon definitions of self or connection to faith, is an indication of where many people are in their life. For instance, some people re-experience crucifixion. And in this, they feel their own emotions connected to physically nailed to the cross,  tenderly loved when brought down from it. For some in this group, it is an expression of surrendering into trusting something other than themselves. Many describe the effect as one of knowing they are transitioning from self-sabotage, suffering, or perceptions of figurative crucifixion by peers or family into a space of self-love or into the loving arms of a mother-figure they’ve never had.

Others have had distinct experiences of the resurrection where the stone is rolled away and light can be seen; where they can see beyond their suffering and that of others.  They see themselves rise, feel weightless, connected to God or angels or particular totems they identify with. Particularly for women, there is the simultaneous feeling of hips separating as if they are giving birth to themselves again.. Each of those have particular meaning to the individual I am with.

Some have more explicit experiences that require no interpretation. One of my favorite stories is from a few years ago when a man I was working with shared this:

I saw and felt him where you are, or as you, and he seemed to reach into someplace both within him but outside himself–like he and the universe were one–and he took his heart and placed it into mine.

Most people who do have the experience of Christ with me  see or feel him as a larger group of Beloveds, guides, sages and such who work in concert with me. They do often perceive that his hands feel differently than mine or others present. And, not everybody has experiences or visions with Jesus while working with me. In fact, those who come expecting it are often disappointed because they believe he or I should appear in a particular way. And, this just doesn’t work like that.

 

Walking Between

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 Weaving Past & Present with the Ancients

There a several aspects of the work I do. One I hold most dear is what I call ‘the weaving’. The weaving we do is a three-stage process, much like the creation of a hand-loomed rug. It starts with the gathering of materials. Here, though, the weaver is a partnership of Old Ones outside the boundaries of my skin and those within the skin.

The mystical relationship with these invisibles and the purpose behind it requires a unique focus, trust in all things and beings, a release of all preconceived definitions and explanation of things, and the capacity to pivot and flow as the hearted-wind takes us.

In How Do You Know Where You’re Going, I shared that the direction I go is given in visions, dreams, knowings beyond knowing, the call of spirit saying  “Come home’ and the literal call of the telephone or email.

The Old Ones who are my partners in these travels are the ones who provide the requests & direction. Some of them history has recorded–albeit inaccurately in many cases–but each carried, in his time  (yes, most that I’ve identified are male) ‘big medicine’. They were leaders and warrior-healers whose interactions with their people and with those who attempted to confine or destroy them left a lasting impact. Some were those humans who inspired the creation stories of their respective cultures.  Others, like my self-appointed go-fer of things spirit and succor, an Old Missouria-Choctaw named James Eaglefeather, were never written about, though there may be songs of him I’ve not yet encountered.

In this first stage, those to whom the Old Ones connect me  are their kin, those of our generation and younger, who also carry ‘big medicine’. Some of these people have an awareness of their very gifted nature; others do not. Few of those who do, fear making the choice to use it and most are afraid of the judgment of others if they were to fully engage it. Most also share the common thread of not knowing what exactly that gift is or how to use it in the modern context and most can trace their indigenous roots very clearly even though they do not identify as such.  While many are connected to North American ancestry, some have a familial connection to what is now modern Europe, Australia, Asia, Indonesia, Central & South America.

Many still live in communities that were isolated when they could not be eradicated but we are so intimately connected  through our distinct universal thread that when I arrive as a foreigner, we recognize each other as family.

Those that have entrusted me with this sacred work and these relationships have done so for a larger purpose. I may never know why this white woman of no particular indigenous origin or belief system was chosen but that is no longer of import. I do know that it was for a reason greater than my mind can understand but that my heart knows all too well. Each who has come before me has done this work in their place and time. I continue it through this first phase of finding individuals who are here to shape the world in a particular, gifted way.

And so I go where I’m called and requested.

Because if not now, when? If not we, who?

Because our time is now.

Those I work with in this context are people who cannot pay for my services, nor do I expect them (or anyone) to when spirit has led me to them. Some live in the poorest, most ignored places in our country–banished yet still exploited.

I appreciate any help in doing this work, this first stage of weaving the hoop . My only income is through those who support this work or pay for their own. Any donations go to support me and those families with whom I have contact who are in need. If you would be interested in doing either, please go to www.ingridoliphant.com or donate through Paypal via ingrdo@yahoo.com.

Ahéhee’.

 

 

 

Ring Settings of Wisdom

the angels were certain powers of that form
which the folk call the great human

the angels were to it
Like the spiritual and perceptual powers in the human nature

but each power is veiled in itself
and sees nothing that is better than it

for the angels claim kinship
to every high station and exalted rank before allah
to divine consciousness

whether it pertain to the divine aspect

or the aspect of
the reality of realities

or, in the nature contains all these attributes,
To what is required by
universal nature

which encompasses the vessels of the world, high and low

and this no mind knows by rational speculation

but only by that art of apprehension
that originates in divine unveiling
~ Ibn ‘Arabi

The New Rule

Rumi, not Maher

It’s the old rule that drunks have to argue

and get into fights.

The lover is just as bad: He falls into a hold.

But down in that hole he finds something shining,

worth more than any amount of money or power.

Last night the moon cam dropping it’s clothes in the street.

I took it as a sign to start singing,

falling up int the bowl of the sky.

The bowl breaks. Everywhere is falling everywhere.

Nothing else to do.

 

Here’s the new rule: Break the wineglass,

and fall

toward the glassblower’s breath.