The Seven Stages of Women & the "Sista" Web

I was very drawn to collecting different figures of women, I love African art and placed all the figures up on my cupboard. I was doing a meditation one evening and was positioned in front of the cupboard staring at the figures. The seven stages of women - I counted the statues and there they were, seven of them - I looked it up: Maiden, Wife, Mother, Warrior, Crone, Sage and Healer.

You don't have to have been a wife or a mother but certainly most have been a part of being a partner or a mother figure in an archetypal way. At different times of my life I have been supported by and been support to one or the other of the archetypes. 

I looked to my next shelf and sure enough - all girls. The matriarch and the "Gogo", the aunty, niece, sisters, a princess and a queen. 

I had been to a healer for relief soon after landing in Fish Hoek and he told me, amongst other wonderful messages, that my feminine was not even in the picture. Mandy was in survival mode and strongly independent. I realised that to create a bond, I had to be vulnerable to my lady friends.

The concept of a female and the lies that I believed from a very young age. Growing up in an environment in which beauty and sexuality are revered and encouraged. I think about the beauty competitions and the magazines, where women are paraded and judged and encouraged to "beat" each other and break each other down - a catfight. Women are measured for the perfect ratio...

My barbie doll had a perfect ratio.

Softening wasn't something I was drawn to, it made me feel unsafe. Pretty felt like weak and being vulnerable was potential failure.

We break those webs of support. We ignore or essential wisdoms, our healing hands and nurturing gifts. I have done this and have missed so much....I have shone a light on her weakness and exposed her shame. I have laughed at her failure and smirked at her trip. I'm grateful for the seeing of it, so that I can change.

I though about the generational line, Great grandmother, Grandmother, Mother, Daughter, Grand daughter. There are patterns that repeat. Passed down behaviours and concepts of what's acceptable keep us blinded and trapped. Where is the wise matriarch? Where is the woman that applauds you for saying no, encourages you to self care and nudges you to follow your star. 

There is a ceremonial healing modality called "family constellations" and I joined the circle to clear my own feminine generational line. There is no blame, only awareness of how truths get misconstrued and passed down unconsciously. I felt a huge burden lifted and the flow much better.

See a movie 🎬 Another Self (Turkish) a wonderful example of how generational trauma gets filtered down the line and becomes evident generations later.

My grandmother is one of my angels and has at times appeared in my room to encourage me and her presence stays with me for days,  warm full hearted support.

A safety net. 

I was thinking about my web of "sista" friends. Female friends that are psychically connected. The girlfriends that just appear at the right time, that deliver a truth with love and seemed to be tethered at a very deep level. I named them on a page and the net of names expanded very quickly. The page was full. Imagine now that every one of my "sista's" has her own support friends and so that net expands exponentially until we are literally all connected. A fractal expansion happens on each node, each person their own center. If I had to locate each "sista" on the map of  the world then the net will surely cover the globe. A support system like no other linked instantly in spirit. A good thoughts connection.
A phychic prayer with immediate effect. The more I'm aware of this, the more I'm aware of how I "think" or what I visualise of another person, sista or not - that I am aiding or hampering consciousness.

MgMusings

BWRT - Brain Working Recursive Therapy

I had been to see my doctor about my chest and she was chatting to me after and asked a few questions about my anxiety. She could see it, my hypervigilance, my stress and after she asked me one very well directed question, I triggered in her office. I was ranting, shaking and crying and the story of my life poured out. She calmed me down and suggested that I needed to go and see a therapist that dealt with victims of war, gun violence and rape.

Morag watched me quietly making notes as my story poured out. After a few months of Brain Working Recursive therapy which reconditions neural pathways in the brain to reduce unwanted behaviors and emotions and habits associated with stress. I had severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) 'The body keeps the score' by Bessel van der Kolk. See also, 'When the body says no" by Gabor Mate.

My self esteem was rock bottom although I came across as confident I encountered bully after bully and would trigger often. I was hypervigilant and couldn't sleep without aid. As a child I would sleepwalk and have nighmares and wet the bed often. I remember an incident at boarding school in Standard Eight. My last hiding from my dad was in Matric. I wet myself then too.

Whenever I triggered my immediate reaction was to run. As a child I would run and hide, from beatings of which the last was in matric. My overriding emotion was a feeling of abandonment stemming from childhood neglect and not feeling supported. I repeated my trigger pattern as an adult. I ran away and hid from my husband of 25 years and again from Pretoria after 9 years.

The therapy was amazing and lasting.

Die kak sit op my kop

Dit stink hier om my

My hande is te kort om daar te kom

om hom af te haal,

ek is boonop effe bang Hy byt my.

Ek het onlangs besef hys daar.

Hy vang 'n lift al jare lank bo-op my kop

Hy klou soos 'n vokken vlermuis aan die boom, maar ek Hou van vlermuise

Dis 'n leun-duiwel

Die ene wat in my oor vluister

Dat ek Klein moet bly

Dat ek ja moet se as ek nee bedoel

wat met my kop smokkel en vir my se Dat ek niks werd is nie

Of Dat ek net 'n pop moet wees,

vir enige Iemand wat vir my Sal verdra

Ek is niks.

Ek is nie toelaatbaar nie.

Ek is' n pyn in die gat.

Ek Wil net vir jou se Dat sy my gesoen het en dit het nie lekker gevoel nie.

Want ek is vyf jaar oud en ek verstaan nie.

Help my!

Kyk vir my!

Sien tot hoe rooi is my wange! Ek is 'n slet!

Ek is vyf en ek weet, hoe stink ek.

En daar het' n Engel voor my gestaan,

Wie se arms Langer en sterke was as myne,

En sy lig daai kak van my kop af

En sy bere hom nie net saam met my nie,

Sy 'nuke' hom letterlik todat hy die kleinste kakpresentjie is wat niks werd is nie.

Klein en droog in die plastic.

Die doring in my vlees.

Die fokkertjie wat my lewe verwoes het,

my hart gebreek het,

my moed verpletter het.

Ek is verevig dankbaar Dat jy my glo.

Ek is verevig dankbaar Dat jy my gesien het.

Dat jy daai kakspul op my kop geruik het en hom uitgesoek het....

It was a biggie today, Thank you! Hooray! 

SEE LINK:

https://thelifeofmgm.blogspot.com/2022/02/mandy-gwen-masculine-and-feminine-and.html

The Orphanage

"Come along, Come along". The grey coat of a nun with a funny hat, sho's us up against the grey shiney wall. (Easy to wipe down) Three little beings standing to attention. I was snivelling and terrified. Little steel grey beds with rough grey blankets tightly tucked. My mom had a funny hat and gloves and a short dress. My dad very reverend in his black suit with the plastic round collar at his throat. Smiling broadly they nodded at the grey coat and turned away.
Down to the other end of the room full of beds they walked away toward the passage. They turned into the passage but never looked back. They never said goodbye, they never looked back. I felt faint and the air around me wasn't enough. That homesick feeling stayed with me all my life. 

After the fact I found out that it was favour of the orphanage to babysit the clergy's kids on the odd occasion. A perk for the Reverend and his wife. Fifty years later that orphanage was my first stop in Cape Town. I made inquiries and asked them to check their records to find my name. Would I possibly find something that I had lost? 

Born Guilty

Born to be guilty and full of sin, the bible tells me so
Uncomfortable under my stubborn gaze
He beat me to tears and silenced me with fear
She lit her gaslight smile and made us a nice cup of tea
A glowing stepford object
I hid my Gwen inside me and we began to fight
Conflict raged within
Who am I?

On occasion before dad got home mom would get us to march up and down and lead us in song:

"I'm a brave brave mouse, I go walking through the house and I'm not afraid of anything
For danger I'm prepared and I'm never never scared, no I'm not afraid of anything....
What about a cat? OOOOo a cat! Well except for a cat, Im not afraid of anything."

LOST

You lost me in the long grass in front of the house
next door to the blue light, a police station
The grass was taller than I was, I looked up at the sun
I called for the dog and she came, and we lay down in the grass

My sister emerged in a rustle, "you think you're the queen of Sheba"
She sat down with a scowl and stroked the fur with a little hand
Loud screaming from the Patio scared our tiny ears
While Sheba licked away the tears

MgMusings (Lindhurst)

You are Divine

The sheepdogs of fear herd us to compliance.

We are encouraged, to become puppets

in the play-gue of the power hungry.

They divide and conquer.

We are easy pickings.

Stand strong in your truth.

The gateway to everlasting health is a misnomer my friend.

We are mortal here in this dimension,

no matter who, no matter what.

Come to terms with death, before you're forced to hold it's hand,

as it will be part of your journey.

Don't sell your soul to save the body and loose an everlasting gift of freedom.

Stand victoriously on the shoulders of wisdom.

Be still and know that you are divine,

and part of God - the source of all,

the true everlasting source of love and peace.

We believe that we will be tested -

this is it my friend, this is it.

MgM (C)

I look in the mirror and what do I see? A reflection , of me, in thee (MgMusings)

Everything is perceived, one way for me, something else for another. All perception.
Preconceived ideas, Historical stories, Institutionalised lies and stuck thought patterns.
Nothing is right - No pride
Nothing is wrong - No guilt
Judge nothing, there's no condemnation
Rise above the noise to where the silence abides.
Sit in a field of pure bliss, sweet smelling love.

I am here now, at last.

Consciousness Download

We are all Masters, when I realise that consciousness is available to us all. If you can become still enough to listen with your heart to what message source has for you. Be ready to receive a download so profound that it's difficult to describe. A concept that you understand in it's entirety immediately drops like a miracle into your being. Convert the concept into words so that others can learn, until they also believe just how loved they are.
Love IS God.

One of the movies I watched often as a child and cried for hours every time was 'Oliver', the orphan boy who dared to ask for more. In the food Hall was a sign - GOD IS LOVE. My concept of God was that I was lacking, I would never be enough, I could never have enough. God had a pointing finger at me and I would never be enough.

LOVE = GOD

Mandy & Gwen - the masculine and the feminine and the merging

I love a sound journey and was prompted to go to a gong session in Muizenberg. I was very depressed and felt stuck. Sandi, who is now a close friend facilitated the amazing vibrations that reach right into your soul. After the session I told her, "I feel so dark and want to end it all. I'm tired and can't seem to work out all the emotions. Trying to survive and protect oneself is exhausting. I feel uncomfortable in my skin and at odds with myself.

Sandi asked, "what is your other name?" I lifted my head and looked at her and said Gwen!
Her next question......"Where is Gwen?"

This conversation brought to mind a scene from when I was five or thereabouts. There had been a misunderstanding between my mom and dad about the pickup point after her weekly cooking lesson. All three children were with them in the little beetle and as soon as we got home were put to bed. I couldn't ignore the shouting and screaming and crept along the wall and lay on my tummy peeping into the lounge. He had her over his legs and was hitting her with a belt, over and over again. I backed away very slowly. I had seen my mom some pills for a headache and I went to the medicine cupboard in the bathroom and took down the box.....Disprin! I peeled the silver paper off and put all of them into a little glass, mixed water and swallowed the lot. My dad was a minister in the Presbyterian church and we were told that we loved Jesus and Jesus would always help us, tell us what to do and save us. I hid under my bed, tight against the wall. I heard his shout when he found the scene in the bathroom and he stormed into the room and when he saw that I wasn't in the bed, he reached under and pulled me out from my hiding place, lifting me up by my wrist. I got a good beating, the worst of which was that he always screamed, "I'm going to kill this child!" as he hit with a flat hand on your bum.

When he was done, mom was the one to come in and stoke my forehead and tell me not to worry and all will be better in the morning.

The next day we had visitors and luckily my dad was busy with them on the patio. We ate mielies, which he loved and my bottom milk tooth had been loose and came out at the first bite, there was red on the mielie. I was very anxious, keeping an eye on where my dad was at all times. I got all the little chairs around a table and positioned some of my dolls on the chairs and made a pot of tea. This after any traumatic experience was the norm - lets have a nice cup of tea!

I had a problem and couldn't ask Jesus to help me as I was taught because my dad was very friendly with him and.......I felt unsafe and needed help. I invited the devil, who in my mind was a real and very naughty character but had to have some power if everyone was scared of him. I told him my problem and asked him to keep me safe.

I realise that from that point onward, I was in angry survival mode. I was still hit and punished for tiny infringements and the physical abuse never changed but I did. I pushed all the soft feelings down, I became sullen and stubborn. When I realised that I was seen to be pretty, I utilised that and became attention seeking and precocious when it was safe enough. I was sexualised as a young child and fell under the eyes of the babysitter who enjoyed her job, unchecked by my parents.

Gwen the feminine, gentle soft, pretty and forgiving, had been split off and put in a cage in my heart/psychi. If I wanted to survive I had to be hard, so I became aloof.  I had to watch so became hypervigilant, I had nightmares and walked in my sleep looking always for somewhere to hide. When needed I was attention seeking and disruptive - Mandy, the masculine energy. I was very wary of authority figures and at school I could see my body sitting in the chair from the corner of the room right at the top where the wall meets the ceiling. I couldn't hear very well from that far up (I was in high school) I would play the piano for hours and when it came to being on stage at an eisteddfod, I would shake so hard that it was difficult to keep my fingers on the keys and I felt like I was in a jar of honey. I got a bad mark on a Math test and knew that I would get a beating. My arm started to tingle, my vision blurred, my tongue went numb and I couldn't think at all. My parents were called and I was taken to the doctor and he just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Every time after that, when I was too stressed out I would get this debilitating migraine. 

A week or so after the mind blowing realisation of Gwen, I came face to face with her.

My guides alerted me that I was to be present. (the room goes totally silent and I'm called to attention)

I sat in silence at my bed waiting. A holograph of a beautiful smiling women of about 60 standing in front of me became evident. A pretty lady with long grey hair. She was in white, a very pretty long dress
and a gentle demenour. I realised that this was Gwen. My whole body was in agreement. I thought Gwen was five years old and she said no, I have been aging along with you. You owe me an apology. I understood in a second the full ramefecations of what I'd done. It hit me like a ton of love, that I wasn't ready to accept at that moment. I saw how many people I had hurt, how many boyfriends I had emotionally cut. How I pushed love away, how hard I had become, resentful and deeply suspicious. Independent, physically strong, cycling, swimming, gyming and always aware that I had shoes that I could run in. When I was triggered, I ran and hid.

Gwen took a step towards me with open arms. She hugged me that my legs were like jelly and my heart was bursting. I felt so beautiful. I felt soft and pretty and wise and warm. We had merged. It took a while to get used to this feeling. I had to remind myself every day that every action was a new action blended with a softer reaction after a space of time. I went to see Sandi but soon after one day she looked at me and said, I see Gwen. 

I feel so blessed - this is when I realised how real the journey is. These things happen to help us cope. I have since watched so many children of trauma being given tools to 'protect' themselves.

https://thelifeofmgm.blogspot.com/2023/02/bwrt-brain-working-recursive-therapy.html

Haiku

 Prawns hide under rock
Pelican carries a full crop
A flash in the pan
∞

(A Field of Wheat)
Rich, a full harvest
Hot wind drying the kernels
Fire waits in the wings
∞

Dinner time at home
Hiding under the table
Legs with loud voices
∞

There's rain a cumin'
Dust quivers in anticipation,
Clouds grumble gently
∞

Dishonest honey
Tug on a man's heart strings
Sickly sweet smile
∞

The cold creeps closer,
stalking the warmth of the fire.
Melt my heart, you thug.
∞

(Shaming)
Preaching from on high
He shames us into silence,
tight lipped smiles, we stare.
∞

(Pride)
Stable door opens
revealing a squeaky hinge.
Vulnerability sucks.

∞

The builders Mistake
When cornice becomes cornish
Revert to context
∞

Birds on a wire
The catwalk benches are full
Bobbing grey heads chat

MgM 🕉️

The Twilight Zone - Bowls in Fish Hoek

That's a good Jack', says Pete, there's a mat at her feet
and they've all gathered around on the green.
With hands on her hips and grimacing lips she sighs.
'No, left! ', 'No, right!", '....and a little bit more', and 'that's perfect', they all decide. 
Everyone nods and up comes number one, and the skip looks on from the side. 

'Nice line', he says and scratches his head as Ruby come up off one knee. 

We all stretch our necks and shout 'curl, curl, curl', as the guys hope it lands in the furrow. 

Now it's you, number two, with a delicate shuffle Gill checks her wood for the bias. 

A collective sigh as her hand leaves her thigh, 'it's good! Keep it up, we've got this! '

Laurie is up as Peter looks down and shows him just how wide. 

'A good one, it's close', as the exhausted wood, slows down and lies on its side. 

Who will win, we cannot say 'cause Daugie has yet to bowl. 

We bite our lips, 'it hasn't got legs'

but Pete says, 'we'll have to measure'. 

See

 The sea is green and the clouds are blue,
the sea birds are eating muffins,
and the children are sniffing glue.

Waves washed up papers from across the bay.
Remember the bluebottles of yesterday?

There's still a beauty all things aside,
The wind is still free and see, so is the tide.

Julia's Wisdom

Your words lingered around my ears

long after they left you.

In a dark and tossing slumber those spontaneous syllables

became fireflies gently hovering around my ears

looking for a way in, long enough to wake me gently,

eager to illuminate.

On the Catwalk

Strung like pearls on a waxed thread,

we sit in order of attendance,

soaking up the sun.

Come and dive at Daugie's spot,

the favorite high-tide rock

and Louise will always be there.

Net-swimmers don gear for speed -

we watch the daily ritual.

Spit on goggles, rubber caps slap,

not scared of big white's trap.

Quiz and question testing tension,

wisdom comes with age.

Gather 'round the elders sound,

this is where it happens.

On the catwalk.

Middernag Vraag

Somige dae praat ek kak

Dan gaan sit ek dit nog op facebook
Dit gaan gewoonlik oor twee dinge

Een is
Dat ek nie iemand het wat my lief het nie,

en die ander
is dat ek dalk dit gevind het….
Iemand wat my kan lief he
…en toe is dit nie so nie

Dan gaan vra ek die spieel
vir ‘n antwoordt
met ‘n sker in my hand
en kap aan my hare

The Heart of the Moon

A supreme queen, this grand matriarch of the sky
casts her net of luminous love over her spherical charge.
Trillions of webbed filaments held by her rapt attention,
commanding the vibrant water spirits as they strain and leap ahead,
she draws them back patiently time and again,
disciplining the tides.

When we see her in her fullness, we gasp at her beauty –
She holds nothing back, unconditional, she encourages us to do the same.
Her face beams down at us through our brittle panes, vigilant, as we sleep.
Precious maidens, initiated to new status, hale her and join hands in a circular dance
celebrating fertility, ripe as summer fruit -
Virile men howl with upturned faces an unexplained emotion.

As a waning shadow passes across her face
she blushes and hints a playful peek-a-boo while waltzing with grandfather sun.
There’s a hard edge to it – turning her attention to the other side.
The cusp stays sharp, but soon we see the smile,
which reminds us that she’ll be back
- and then she’s gone – and taken our night light!

These new, dark nights, invoke introspection.
Opening our mouths we take deep gulping breaths of cold hard clarity.
In her generous wisdom our teacher leaves us with a blank canvas.
Appreciating the chance to start again, we throw our sins into a dark tied back sea.
We scrub and clean and count our blessings
until she waxes in the night sky, as dependable as a mother’s promise.

MgM ©

Breast Cancer 2019

I arrived in Fish Hoek in June 2017 after the 4 month road trip from Pretoria. I found a small studio apartment close to the beach and started working at a retirement village. I had a small pea sized lump in my left breast which had grown slowly for about six years. I had had a biopsy in Pretoria which was benign and although my friends encouraged me to have it checked again I just tried not to think about it.
One morning I looked in the mirror and the nipple had inverted and an inch of skin had been drawn into the side of my breast. I knew it was time. Money was tight and I called to find out how much a mammogram cost. Apparently I had a free breast check every two years with the hospital plan. The radiologist was horrified and wanted a CT scan as soon as possible. I definitely couldn't afford a CT scan and told her so. She assured me that if it was cancer the funds would be available, so she took it on herself to call me personally as soon as the result of the biopsy was available. 

The Mammogram

I take off the gown

and watch her eyes

flit across my chest.

I have my answer already.

She has seen it all before.

A little widening of the lids,

a deep breath

and as her lips pucker to speak

I put her out of her misery

and say, It’s ok, I think I know.

I probably should have come sooner?

but, I had not the courage then.

Please don’t judge me.

I am here now.

 MgM ©

Toxic Breast

My boob has turned against me

and split on the team.

There’s mutiny on the mothership

And now it holds me ransom.

Do I cut it loose

Lest it poison the host?

Or can I live symbiotically

With a toxic part of me?

A backstabbing potential traitor,

a sponge of stored up regret

and heartache.

Have I infected myself?

MgM©

The Last Weekend

On this the last weekend with my breasts,

I think I’ll take them for a walk.

Feeling how they move with every step.

I’ll take them for a last swim in the tidal pool,

nipples gasping in the cold water.

Breasts float when you lie on your back in the bath,

and they fill to fit in a lovers’ hand.

The last weekend with my breasts

will be a sad one, a saying goodbye one.

Once proud and ripe they fed my babies.

I’ve enjoyed my breasts, these life-giving miracles.

Orbs of warmth and glory, Soft and nurturing.

They know their power to entice or to disarm.

Where will that power go? when I lose them.

MgM ©

Reality Check

The reality stalks me in the middle of the night.

I’m sick to my stomach with a sense of loss.

I sit on the edge of my bed, doubled over.

I’m on a cliff, looking down into a blackened ravine,

rocking there for a while.

I lift my face to the large grey moon and howl.

From deep within I howl.

Deep and long the cries express my fearful heart.

Deep and long I howl.

It’s nearly time, and how will “after” be?

Let’s get it over with.

To amputate these much loved bits of me.

MgM ©

A general surgeon was recommended and off I went. He couldn't save the skin and nipple on the left side so it all had to come off. To say that a woman needs time to think about what she wants to do, the options, should this happen, wasn't true for me. I knew that I wanted to take both breasts off to be rid of all the breast tissue. I also wanted him to take all the skin and cut as close to the pecks as possible. He was worried that I was being a bit rash. He asked me to see a Breast Surgeon and get all the options. I already knew about the lat flap option and had been offered breast implants by a family member. I wasn't interested at all. He was very worried that I would look "hard" and I assured him that I needed a flat surface for a beautiful chest tattoo. The next few night were very dark. I just couldn't get my head around it......will my femininity be affected? Will my personality change. How painful will it be? I had panic attacks and my anxiety was through the roof. I asked the surgeon if I could get my breasts in a bottle, like they gave me my tonsils. He said no, they keep them for research. I just smiled. I knew he realised that I wasn't serious but they're mine! I felt a pull, I wanted to hold on.
Just before the op, we stopped in at the Nuclear Lab to have the colour injection that will show the lymph involvement. She lifted my breast holding onto my nipple......I couldn't resist, I said dryly, "You know that you'll be the last person to hold my nipple". She looked at me with a blank face and brought the needle closer.

Breast Burial

Where will my breasts go

when they are severed?

Is there a tit pile?

or a small cemetery

where breast angels,

mismatched toxic throwaways,

pair up and dance?

My two warm breasts

in a cold kidney dish,

already in breast heaven.

They probably bin them.

Human waste.

How long can I grieve?

MgM©

Ready, Steady, GO!

A supportive slumber with my daughter’s warm body in my bed, quietly aware.

When the alarm sounds, I am relieved.

Last zip and shoes, a studious checking of taps and plugs.

Where to find my will – I left it on top – just in case.

A quiet drive to the nuclear lab, for a jab, on the slab.

This nurse will be the last one to ever hold my nipple between her fingers – I tell her so.

She smiles and lifts the blue syringe. Next stop, the chop-shop.

My passwords – write them down – just in case.

The bed, the blue gown, little tv and little cupboard.

As my daughter unzips the bag, a ripple of panic crashes over my head.

I’ll walk out of here very fast, then run until I’m far away.

So hold onto to me while I cry.

Tell the boys I love them – just in case.

We lie side by side on the bed watching a silent screen.

A tall dark and broadly smiling porter steps around the curtain to fetch me.

It must be black Tuesday he says, 2 for the price of 1.

A smooth ride on trolley wheels. The surgeon smiles and draws on me with a blue koki.

We look into each other’s eyes and we nod, tears streaming,

Stay close by, I say – just in case.

                                                                            Post Op                                                                           

I wake under a warm thick blanket.

I remember before, so this, must be “after” -

My daughter Danny says, Hi Mom.

I pour my relief into her eyes.

There is no pain.

I feel strangely liberated, expansive and everything looks so clear!

Maybe that’s why they call it “high”?

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed.

As my feet touch the floor there’s a tug on my ribs.

Two soft pink orbs just larger than eggs drop between my thighs.

I look down and smile at the irony of it all

With a grin, I turned to my daughter, I start giggling

‘Will you hold my balls while I pee?”.

My Firstborn William says

I shouldn’t share these under the belt jokes with my surgeon.

Ok, I say with a wild grin.

'Dr. Dr., What did the one boob say to the other?

Yeah you’re right – nothing!'

I think it’s funny. He wasn’t so sure, bless him.

I went through a very tight and dark tunnel

and burst out the other side,

into the bright side of life where it seems you don’t need them.

My son Joseph says, that’s how life works sometimes.

Flowers

Operation over

my room is full of flowers

I am in stitches

Changed

I think it’s safe to say I’ll never be the same again

You can’t call me your bosom buddy now

When you hug me, I’ll be closer than ever before.

I can truly say, “I laughed my tits off”

but would I be able to go topless on the beach?

When there’s nothing to see, people look all the harder

to find what should be there.

I could say I’m transitioning but I’d hate to insult those who are,

and the truth is evident in my soft round bum and dimpled thighs

– my pink nail polish.

Franki says that after 50 the wheels start falling off

- I just lost my headlights - nothing is guaranteed.

I don’t feel diminished which is a surprise.

Liberation comes only after oppression.

No man will look at my cleavage and proposition me again

but when dealing with a lovely guy, I still get a glint in my eye.

Not fitting into one of the boxes could be an interesting space to explore

when transitioning, some things say goodbye...

The whole lymph tree under my left arm had to be removed, so my left side felt numb and strange.
No drumming for me, this was a huge loss and I grieved deeply for this loss. Injuring the left arm has to be avoided to prevent Lymphedema. No injections or blood pressure cuffs o the left arm. When I read the report I saw that not all of the lymph cells removed where intact, so I kept that to myself.
I stayed at my moms place for a weeks convalescence after the op, with my son visiting from Jhb.
As soon as I got home I threw out all of my bras and clothes that I knew wouldn't work anymore.

The weekend before the first Chemo session (three weeks after the op) was my daughters wedding in Stellenbosch. I found a beautiful black beaded dress and felt very beautiful in my new shape.

Chemotherapy lasted about six months and then I had 25 radiation sessions.
I refused the tamoxifen pill that was recommended for the next 5 years that draws from bone density.

After the first chemo session I decided that I would drive myself there and back. The chemo room in Rondebosch medical center is amazing and the staff so kind and caring. I just wanted to be quiet. I wanted to drive there in silence, arrive and smile, present my arm, close my eyes and drift into a meditative peaceful place. Afterwards, I would wait until I felt stable and take a slow drive back home.

My hair started to fall out quite quickly and after it started coming off in my hands in handfuls, I shaved it all off one night in my bathroom. I cried and at the same time felt totally liberated. I decided not to wear a wig and it felt wonderfully free.

At the start of the next chemo medication when the red devil infusions were done, I was told to call if I felt "funny". After seven minutes I felt as if I was going to explode but couldn't open my mouth to call out. Luckily the nurse was watching me and let out a yell. The doctor stared into my eyes, breathe, breathe, breathe, while the sister yanked out the drip from my hand and stabbed me with an adrenalin injection in my shoulder. They were quick and stood around me till I had recovered. Some patients have an anaphylactic reaction. I was given a double dose of the anti histamines and told to wait thirty minutes before trying again. I was nervous to say the least but to totally submit and stay calm is the only option.

 I was called to fit my prosthetic breasts - the bra with boobs attached. I refused and the lady was very confused and quite shocked that I wasn't going to want to live the rest of my life with weights strapped to my chest to maintain a look acceptable to society.

I found a flat closure group on Facebook, mostly Americans and had no clue that there is a huge movement there to include the flat option as a recognised and acceptable option that the surgeons provide. In some cases I've heard that the lady first have a phsyc evaluation. I found amazing support here and felt even more confident with my choice.

Eighteen months after the op I found a tattoo artist in Johannesburg and we designed a chest piece. I flew in for the weekend. I lay on the chair for seven hours and left feeling like I was tripping. It was official. I am a flattie and I felt so beautiful and very feminine. I started slowly to expose my bare chest to the sun and sat on a quiet section of the beach for short periods of time. Slowly I became braver and people came up to me, asked me about the tattoo and what had happened. I spoke to couple who had wondered what they would do should breast cancer happen to them. I spoke to girls who were interested. One little girl asked, "Are you a man or a lady?" We had a long chat and she stayed at my side for the rest of the morning telling me stories about her family. Some ask, "are you not embarrassed?" Well, it's a little awkward in the beginning, but embarrassed no, not if I think of what my chest provokes in people. They look, they stare and I smile and think that this is fine.......they look and see that there's nothing there and I hope that as they walk past or away they think about why there's no cure for cancer, how many women on the beach have cancer or a mastectomy and we wouldn't know.

Someone asked me if I'd ever been reported for being on the beach topless. Another said, people don't like to see mutilation. If I want to make a difference by making people at least think - I have to be prepared to step out of what's normal. 

The one thing that stands out is that no-one can decide for you. The options, the treatment, the medication and everything that comes after. I had to decide what felt right for me and be able to stand my ground and often to explain my decisions, but never to justify them.

The butterfly spirit animal is one of the most symbolic animals that's associated with personal transformation

Magnolias symbolized dignity and nobility. In ancient China, magnolias were thought to be the perfect symbols of womanly beauty and gentleness.

Mandala is a spiritual and ritual symbol in Hinduism and Buddhism, representing the universe. The circular designs symbolizes the idea that life is never ending and everything is connected. The mandala also represents spiritual journey within the individual viewer.

A hummingbird flying reminds us to enjoy life and simple pleasures. Like the tiny bird seeking the flowers' nectar, we should be looking at what's good in life. ... This is why the hummingbird symbol is associated with endurance and perseverance.

MgM (c)

Thank you Cancer - Metamorphosis

Only when my body is stripped of me do I realise that
I don't need my hair to define me.
My breasts don't make me MORE of a woman
Aching for the loss of my drum between my knees
my heart now beats loudly in its place

Scabs of my old identity fall away
as I break through the old skin
Emerging raw and newly liberated

There are revelations that can only be found in the darkness of a cave. 
Go in, the gems are in the far end,
they shine there in the darkest place.

MgMusings 

Sea Bath

I watched as he dug deep
into his rugsack
to fetch his bottle
and soap his dry body
before walking toward the sea
with a sticky head
he scrubbed and washed
in the icy waves
long before dawn
to escape the scorn
of many a lot luckier than he
they who come clean
to frolick in the sea

My life is a pond

My life is a pond.

A seemingly unruffled surface
the prettiness of lilies atop,
with open sunbathing smiles
which respond to a welcome sun.

They hide the roots that anchor in the rocks
and rotten leaves, that lie sodden and sullen,
waiting to become food for fish.
Memories of yesterdays tree.

An ever changing cycle,
at night the flowers close and sleep
as stars take their turn to shine.

I lie on the life giving bed of fermentation
under water, looking up through my hopes and fears
that distort a miraculous sky.

I wonder at their purpose - surely not only to dance and shine?

and as the night-shift bids me well and the stars wave me goodbye,
I realise that they gave me hope while the sun was busy elsewhere.

MgM ©

The Yarn

A tight knit family,
A presentable façade.
The beautiful garment
held together by secrets
and social norms,
starts to unravel
from a broken place,
until the structure lies
at ones feet
in a heap,
of tangled memories.
It lies there
until you can grasp
the end of it,
which becomes
a new beginning.
Weaving
a new blanky,
to cover
your exposed knees,
using the same
old yarn.

MgM (c)

LIFE (According to me)

Each of us is a spiritual being

given a body to inhabit through life
In the beginning it’s new and we get to grips
With the gears and controls of balance and speed.
Depending on what attributes we have been given
We steer our way accordingly through education and sport,
Winning and losing, laughing and crying, we learn how to cope or not to.
We are taught to win and to get ahead and set a higher goal.
Bigger is better and faster is fine, and media coverage certainly makes you shine.
Some do it alone and others find partners and even add kids to the team
On and on we go, with our lives in tow and the pile on the wagon grows
The cycle continues as the dependants leave and each has a family of their own
Twenty-four thousand days is the time allotted to gather as much as you can
The very next day you get to stop doing what you’ve known for 65 years,
“Lucky you” they say, “you have arrived”. You get to stay home and potter.
As long as we’ve remembered that spirit is key and the importance of loving ‘me’
Then we’ll be kind to those around us, ’cause we know we’re all the same
The spirit is strong and will finally rise when the flesh is too weak and it falls
So be slow to judge the failing flesh or the look of the lavishly pampered
look deep into another’s eyes to the heart, deep in the depths of the soul
that’s where the roots of a smile are buried
that’s where the treasure lies

MgMusings ©

Ayahuasca weekend BK

I finally have found what I was looking for.

Starting off the journey in February, I was driven by the need to find my authentic self. I could feel myself being depleted and dying in my soul. I knew that my higher self was not this. I knew that my intentions were to live in love and in service to my fellow beings.

I was driven by what seemed to be automatic actions that hurt people. I wanted them to see that I knew stuff and wanted to compete, and win.

The need to stand out, to make sure people took notice of me was an integral part of who Mandy was. One could put this down to Confidence (which it was not), cheek and personality of a rebellious nature and to parade in front of the crowd as the most beautiful or even outrageous. It entangled me in the need to apologise every time I interrupted, pushed in or made an intrusion into another’s space. I could see what I was doing but couldn’t control the urges to disrupt.

This all was part of a dark energy that drove me to compulsive and impulsive deeds. When I felt unworthy I would go into the bathroom and chop my hair with a pair of scissors, even up to here at Bodhi Khaya in the last 2 weeks. When I felt out of the conversation I would interrupt or distract. When I needed assurance I would get a boyfriend and soothe the feminine wounded part of me. Only to know that it was temporary each time. I would demand attention in slight and/or obvious ways. I would become obsessed or addicted to something, anything to distract from the pain.  I always  berated and punished myself afterwards and over and over again the cycle would continue as I tried to gain control of the demon.

I’m so sorry if I have hurt you by acting out.

I honour you as my mother and a woman with immense strength.

I’m so sorry that I haven’t up to now honoured your path, the one you have chosen for yourself, as we all are allowed to choose without judgement of each other.

I’m sorry that I embarrassed you at your Ordination in Bloemfontein on your personal victory day when I should have been proud of your struggle to get there.

I honour you now, and apologise if it has come so late.

I bow to your amazing patience as caregiver to dad, knowing the pain you suffered at his hand.

I’m so sorry that I felt entitled that you help me and have me in your home, just because I felt you owed it to me. I cringe now even as I write it.

I understand now that you don’t owe me and that it is me that should honour your space and me that should be grateful for your generosity.

Thank you for being gracious despite this. Thank you for opening your space to me regardless.

 I’m so sorry for hurting you.

This is what transpired.

As I arrived at BK for Sunday lunch I was stunned to see the sign “Flower Valley” and knew it was part of a bigger picture. (Remember my vision I told you about for these next years was the Valley of flowers!)

The owner of BK was at lunch and after having a chat she asked me to stay there instead of going to Hermanus backpackers where I had booked in. She wanted Pilates lessons every day and gave me the time for free. My reason for being in Hermanus was that my Jhb Healer and another very powerful healer were in SA from the Amazon and would be doing a healing plant medicine ceremony. I found out that they were doing the ceremony weekend at BK! How amazing is that Mom, right in my lap! I gardened with Enoch and ate with the staff, 3 meals a day. I stayed in a beautiful  little room and a fireplace in the lounge. I read and walked and sat on the deck at the dam. I started my diet for the ceremony and ate less and less in preparation for the medicine a week before.

Setting my intention for the healing was easy “who am I”. Who is the real authentic Mandy. What is this “thing” in me that drives this behaviour and keeps me feeling anxious and obsessed?

Where should I be? Why am I rudderless and going around in circles?

On Friday, when all the people arrived, around 27 people I was already getting an unravelling feeling. A jittery feeling knowing that I am moving closer to the answer.

When I packed my things for the ceremony, which were a blanket, bedroll, bucket to purge into, loo paper for snot and tears and a pillow. I saw the little doll that I bought in McGregor.  Apparently it was a doll given to traumatised children in the Breede river project. The little doll had a long pixie hat on. The lady I stayed with there told me that it had saved the life of many abused children. She never could have imagined the impact that doll would have. I had been walking around with it since then, and often squeezing it in my hand.  I was told to take it with me into the Ceremony. Oh my word, then I knew that it was something I hadn’t dealt with yet and started shaking like something at the end of it’s battery life. 

Friday night healing....7pm-2.30am

After medicine, one asks the questions in prayer with the devine covering of the healers singing Icaros, which are Sacred songs of love for God and incantations and blessings for the process of healing for every one of us in the room. It is silent and dark but for them singing.

I snuggled under all of my blankets ready for the journey.

Q...Where should I be?...................A...right here, now.

Q....NO Aya I mean, where should I be now?.......A.....right here, in this moment.

Q....Ok then, What should I be doing in my life?........A....this, this that you are doing now is correct, this is exactly where you should be

Q.....Why is my rudder gone I cant see the direction?......A....I got a vision of myself with my thumb tacked to the floor and I couldn’t go anywhere but around in circles.

Q......What is holding me down?.......A.....I will show you

Q.......I am struggling with finding the release of this “thing”.........A....trust in God, first allow the medicine to heal your physical body.

I could feel the medicine slowly running down my body from my head to my toes and relaxed in the knowledge that I had the whole weekend to get to the point of seeing the truth but probably needed my body to be ready.

A lady started singing the most beautiful song and I saw tendrils on a vine of flowers coming from her mouth and flowing over us all, each in their own silent quest for healing. It soothed and calmed me and made me feel so safe.

The didgeridoo player came to the one end of the hall and played with the dig. Touching  the floor. It seemed to resonate through my body and he walked slowly through the middle of the hall with the healing vibration resonating love and compassion. He stopped opposite my mat and as he blew I saw spiders and flowers and coloured shapes coming from the tube.

We prayed and received blessings until 2.30am when we closed and went to sleep.

I felt frustrated and anxious to get answers.

In the room I took as many blankets to cover me and wore 3 layers of clothes. I couldn’t get warm enough.

Saturday eve.....6pm -2.30

After taking the healing medicine I focused hard on the intention

Who am I?

I feel so desperate that I just wanted to die. I am so tired of searching for relief, this is my last chance.

It was freezing and I lay under 4 blankets with a pixie cap and gloves.

I saw Mandy,  the little chubby girl with the wild head of hair and right there the lady with the healing voice started to sing. The vines of flowers and curly tendrils smoothed out of her mouth bringing calm relief and soothing the soul.

 I felt a dark presence coming down over me like the underbelly of a large ugly insect with long tendrils. I was crying because I knew that I was close but scared to know how it would present.

 I blew my nose quietly and as I put the tissue in the bucket my sleeve caught the plastic packet and I ruined the moment, interrupting the beautiful song and jolting everyone out of their reverie. There was a disappointed gasp from 24 people....I felt embarrassed and humbled but immediately was shown that this is exactly the unintentionally disruptive behaviour that was at the root of my “thing”.

 The lady thankfully started to sing again.  I was shown visuals from that interruption, and then   every interruption and disruption and attention seeking thing all the way down 55 years until I got to my delivery with You and Dad and sister Kirstein. I experienced a horror and a tightening of the baby blanket, so tight that I couldn’t breathe and experienced shame over my hairy body and my genitals. Actually I saw that I was very ugly and looked more like a little baboon or hairy fat tarantula. Over the next few months I experienced a deep need for attention and the more I felt ignored the more I cried and the more I was an interruption and a disruption of the young couples life, having 2 tiny children, felt unseen and ignored. Some incidents followed that are too sensitive to discuss but which connected me to my parents as a sort of threesome in spirit. I also understood why I kept interrupting sexual contact between my parents. How did I always know.....I felt left out.

As the heaviness descended I remember the healer saying, no matter what happens, Stay very calm. Explaining that all the healing was spiritual and our physical bodies will be fine. I knew that but everything felt so real. I asked for another drop of the medicine so that I could be brave enough to face the demon and be rid of  this “thing”.

I went back, lay down and said, “right, I’m ready, prepared to die to self, I’m done suffering.

Mother Aya said, open your mouth and I did.......I had a little burp and experienced an agonising death of a very ugly and angry cockroach thing as it was dispelled from me. I had a wrenching in my body as if a tree was being uprooted and the tendrils pulling out of me with the same sound and feeling when you pull a big weed out of the ground. My body sort of deflated and felt very raw and empty. I started shaking and Mother Aya said that it was taken from me and that it had been so part of me that I couldn’t see it. Entangled with my pure essence was the trauma of the birthing day and the strengthening feeling of rejection.

I then understood why I insisted on “See me”, “see me”.

I was shown the times when I was obnoxious, showy-offy and attention seeking. I cried for that fat little tot and was humbled deep deep into my soul.

It was so awful to see how many people I had bullied and hurt. I wanted the pictures to stop.  I was shown the enormity of the hurt I had caused to get the satisfaction I needed.

Aya showed me that all the signs were there, calling out for healing. The little trauma baby had a long pixie hat and I was shown the fact that I had crocheted 3 such hats in the last week. I was astounded.

Aya also showed me why the wrong  people who  were drawn to me, were tantalised by the “thing”.

Deeply humbled and drained, I lay crying until the closing blessings. 

The ground started to undulate under me and I relaxed on a bed of vibrating concrete.

We were asked to sit up during the protective blessings and benediction.

 I vomited nasty stuff into my bucket. It was done.........purged.

I was freezing and again I piled on as many blankets as I could. The skinny woman in my room slept with the duvet only and didn’t seem to feel the cold.

I didn’t sleep very well as the pictures and the lessons continued. It was painful but I was so grateful that I was finally me, the authentic original Mandy.

At breakfast I felt so open and vulnerable. I felt like my body was open and in pain.

I was so cold.

My intention for the third evening was that Mother Aya stitch me back together again and fill the huge hole with love.

Sunday 6pm-3.30am

During this ceremony I relaxed into the healing knowing that what I had come for had been attained.

I snuggled under the blankets, ready for journey work.

Mother Aya told me to contain my energy. To hold things and not dissipate energy by watching nonsense and violence which drains energy away, to stay with the spirit, to be in the moment, and walk and talk with care.

We all lay under the Icaros melodies and listened as Aya administered healing and knowledge into our hearts and bodies.

The evening was reverent and sacred......a deep soft and quiet respect for the divine energy and the journeys we had already had.

I saw one of my spirit guides, an Apache chief on a horse at the far end of the room.

He had appeared in a reiki session before regarding abandonment. I was grateful for his confirming presence.

I had a deep sense of connection and was filled with a gentle love for myself and had a wonderful conversation regarding life and the lessons I had learned were confirmed for me by Aya.

My hands were getting itchy and my body grew warm. I threw off the blankets and felt the reality in my body of quiet powerful energy.

Lifting my hands into the air, I asked Mother Aya if she could bless me with healing.

I asked what I should do next.