Priesthood, Motherhood... Singlehood.

One of my friends shared this article and tagged me to read it. I'm not certain of her motivations. Maybe she just thought I'd find it interesting because it's about Mormonism being feminist. Maybe she wanted my thoughts. Maybe she wanted to throw me a "You're not one of those Priesthood-wanting feminists, are you?" I don't think it's that last one: I've been generally quite cautious about saying "Hey, I think women should have ordination, too" and only hinting at it obliquely.  I'd be a little surprised if anyone had solidly picked up on it up to this point, though my response may have added evidence.

Anyway, I have to say... I'm glad the author considers herself a feminist, I really do think that an eternal balance of male-female is needed (somehow, in some way shape or form, not necessarily tied to biological sex in this life) to activate the fullness of Priesthood power, and I really like the idea of balancing o

ut the purposes for there even to be males and females and balancing events in a way that truly is complementary. But.

But.

I cannot ignore that a worthy single man of 30 can participate in his Priesthood duties, while the very act of participating in biological mothering duties would render a single woman of 30 utterly unworthy, outcast, and likely excommunicated. Likewise, no worthy married man is denied the utilization of any Priesthood he possesses, when a married woman may be physically unable to bear children. Potential equality, symbolic equality, is not the same as actual equality.

My response to her:

Very interesting, well-written article. I really like the symbolic parallels that she draws. I love that she points out that culture often contradicts doctrine. The only (big) issue I have with the Motherhood=Priesthood line of thinking every time I run into it is that it leaves no room anywhere for unmarried-and-childless worthy women. Promises that it will be made up to us in the life to come sound lovely, but for this life it does nothing for us. No such promise is made to unmarried-and-childless worthy men, because it's not needed even though they too are not part of an eternal pairing. They can already otherwise administer and participate in their duties. Single women are the remainder left over when all the power or influence is divided up. Therefore I cannot agree that women and men are implicitly treated as equals, because I, myself, am that remainder and it hurts to go through life that way.
Other than that giant thorn in my side, very nice article and I otherwise really like the symmetry she presents, and I totally agree that Mormonism is the most eternally feminist Christian sect of which I'm aware. :) 

It does hurt.  "People" (the vaporous, vague, vast swath of faceless humanity who think these ways) expect us to get over it, to get married, or just deal.  There is no Prospective Wives class, no Prospective Mothers class available like there is for Prospective Elders.  There is no interview that concludes with "You've done well and faithfully.  You are worthy of and ready for marriage.  We'll seal you to a good man next Sunday after Sacrament meeting."  (Thankfully!)  A boy from the age of 12 begins to exercise authority and perform duties.  A girl from age 12 is being prepared for a marriage and family that may or may not come and taught not to bare her midriff, shoulders, or thighs.  (Also, I like kids, but I do not want to spend eternity in a bioliteral process of producing spirit babies.  Aren't intelligences supposed to be without beginning or end, anyway?)

I could get on board with Motherhood and Priesthood being the true complements if women had the same opportunity based on their biology to fulfill that role as men have the opportunity based on their life choices.  However, I still hold to the belief that women have their own divine Priestesshood that is the complement to male Priesthood and that it is the combination of these powers that results in the eternal power and authority of Godhood.  Or, at the very least, there is a Feminine/Priestess complement to the Masculine/Priest.  Whether that is truly reliant on biologically expressed sex or spiritually expressed gender, or any other configuration of the two, I do not know. And where does that leave intersex individuals?  They do exist, you know, and they are also children of God.  There must be a place and a way for them as well, to my way of thinking.

All these things--and more--come together and lead me to believe that the Ninth Article of Faith is an underappreciated doctrine.  How open are we to new information?  I know I've wondered that before.  After nearly 18 months since launching the Mother Fast, I still wonder.  It's kinda hard to believe it has been that long.  It seems like I just started.  Time does move on, and so far, little has changed beside the age at which women can serve a mission.  The good thing is... that was received with general rapture and enthusiasm.  There is hope for change, still.

Still, other than that... being a single Mormon woman sucks.

Radical love and the spirit of Christmas

Good morning, sisters and brothers.  I hope you’ll forgive the way I sound; I contracted a cold the other day in a last ditch effort to make my Father speak for half an hour by himself, but to no avail.  In all seriousness, though, I am grateful for the opportunity to speak to you today, and I pray that the Spirit will open all of our hearts.

I come to speak to you about Christmas and the spirit of Christmas.  First, I wish to talk about the Nativity story itself.  There is a long-standing tradition among many of Christ’s followers that Mary and Joseph were turned away from every public inn or “hotel” in the little town of Bethlehem, even though she was about to give birth.  Only a very brief knowledge of Middle Eastern culture is needed to see that this is unlikely.

Mary and Joseph were both descendants of David, returning to the City of David; they were royalty without crowns.  They also likely would have had many relatives still in the region.  Even if they could not find place with extended family, customs of hospitality to guests and strangers would have made it easy for them to find a private home to welcome them, rather than begging at the door of the public house and being turned away to a barn or a cave.  No one, especially not a couple born of royal blood who were about to have a child, would not have been turned away to find their own shelter; to do so would have shamed the entire village.  Rather, a deep spirit of generosity would have been extended to them and doors opened.

The Greek words topos and kataluma are used in Luke 2:7.  They are translated in the King James Version as “room” and “inn” respectively, as in “She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”.  A better translation would be “space” and “guest room”.  In fact, kataluma is used later in Luke when Jesus asks to use a guest room to celebrate Passover.  It wasn’t that the local hotels had the No Vacancy sign up, it was that the spare room in a two room home was already full.  Another guest family, or perhaps even the host family, may have occupied the more private second room when Mary and Joseph came into the house.  

In those days, animals were commonly brought in at night and kept in a portion of the house that was slightly lower than the family’s living quarters.  For this purpose there would have been a manger within the walls of the house itself, and with some clean straw, it would have made a safe resting place for a newborn among tight quarters, free from drafts and bustling feet.  And after a birth attended by the women of the house and possibly a midwife or other experienced women from the neighborhood, the announcement of a first born son would have resulted in jubilation and congratulations with music and dancing by the men while mother and child got settled in.  The shepherds would have had little trouble finding the source of the ruckus; the sign of being laid in a manger was intended merely to confirm that this one child was the promised Messiah.  By this understanding of life in First Century Judea, we see that Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were never turned away. They were accepted and taken in and sheltered as honored guests, their hosts possibly even giving up their own space in the house for them, and the birth celebrated by a loving community of family and friends.  Is this not the spirit of Christmas?

Do we likewise recognize not only Christ, but our brothers and sisters on the Earth as being members of a royal lineage and make space for them within the home of our hearts?  Do we honor them by making room and being generous and kind with our substance, rather than pushing them out into the cold?  Do we show love to the weary travelers around us?

Jesus taught and exhibited a radical philosophy of love in his mortal ministry.  (You know?  “Radical dude!”  No?  Sorry.  I mean “radical” in the sense of being very different from the usual or traditional.)  While hospitality was the standard for guests in one’s home, Israel was still culturally ruled by “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” and to forgive a person only to their seventh insult.  Jesus taught that instead we should turn the other cheek, and forgive to seventy times seven.  In the Sermon on the Mount as recorded in Matthew chapter 5, Christ tells us that whoever sues for our coat, we should give them our cloak as well.  Whoever compels us to go a mile with them, go with them two.  Love our enemies and pray for them and do good to them.  Why?  Why would we do that?

I think, in part, it is this: When we give more to someone who has taken from us, when we do what we can to fill whatever need they have, we remove from them the spiritual wound of being a thief or a beggar or a suer.  When someone asks us to go with them on part of their journey--when they say to us, “I need someone to walk with me for a little while, for company or as a guardian or a guide” and we go that distance and further still, we follow through.  We tell them, ‘I will travel this difficult road with you, and I will still be a friend when you no longer “need” me, because I have come to love you and I will make certain that you get where you’re going as safely as possible.’  When we pray for an enemy, when we serve them and love them, we often gain a friend and an ally.  Differences may remain, but they matter far less when people love each other.  This was a radical idea in Jesus’ day, and sadly, it remains so today.

Loving each other is the ultimate message of Jesus’ teachings.  Loving each other is the spirit of Christmas.  This is not a lop-sided, parasitic love that drains the life from one to feed the other, but a dynamic relationship of mutual understanding, tolerance, and admiration.  If nothing else, it is a recognition of the divinity in every soul.  “As I have loved you, love one another.  By this shall [all] know you are my disciples.”  Jesus put no exceptions on His new commandment.  The quality of love that we give to others is the hallmark of how well we follow Him.  The love of God, the love of  Christ is radical, unconditional, and boundless.  Christ’s love is service and humility and grace.  Our Heavenly Father and Mother love us so radically, that They sent Jesus to suffer and die for us in order to make us at-one with Them.  Christ loves and serves the unloveable and lowly--the lepers, the harlots, the tax collectors, the outcasts--as well as those who are easy to love and mighty.  To me, this is the spirit of Christmas.  Can we strive to do the same, and not limit it to the month of December?

I have talked with and listened to many of our faith who have reduced or left off activity in the Church, even those who have left the Church entirely.  While no reason is universal, overwhelmingly,the primary reason given for staying away is a lack of Christ-like love from those who are meant to be their brothers and sisters, a lack of acceptance or support.  To characterize this as their “choosing to be offended” misses a point of which I think our Savior would have been keenly aware.  I am not here to call you to repentance, because I don’t know the dynamics of your ward.  However, I wish to encourage everyone here to be sensitive, to be kind, to stand up for the downtrodden, and to open the homes of their hearts to those who are different.  Love those who may seem to you to be unfaithful or weak or rebellious or weird.  Love them without agenda, for they have their story and their reasons just like you do.  Mourn with those who mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comfort, for the sake of nothing more than being a better disciple of Jesus yourself and making the world a better place.  We are followers of a carpenter-rabbi-god who began his life in an overcrowded two room house in ancient Palestine, and thirty years later left everything behind to preach love to his people and the world.  It doesn’t get much more different or more humble than that.  May we make room inside ourselves for Him and all our brothers and sisters, year-round, in the spirit of Christmas.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

* For more information on how the Nativity more likely happened, please go tohttp://www.truthortradition.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=1126

And yes, I was wearing pants.

Pants plus Mother Fast

A dear friend of mine reminded me that tomorrow is also the monthly Fast for revelation about Heavenly Mother.  (I'm such a slacker!)  A day when a couple thousand women will dare to have an inseam in the chapel will coincide with a day for a... couple dozen? people to fast for the Goddess.

In light of recent tragedies, we need Mother more than ever.  We need women who are willing to make a difference in the world, even with the small things, more than ever.  I hope you'll join us find and be Our Lady.

#Pantsgate vs. The World

1. Pants are the stupidest thing to be arguing over in 2012.  Those against them need to chill out (at least one death threat was received by the organizers of Wear Pants to Church!  Death threats!  Yeah, Mormons totally respect women until they do something crazy like want to wear pants to church! < /blanketstatement> ) and those for them need to chill out.
2. Then again, it's not about pants.  Not really.  It's about... things that are really big and really complex and that others have talked about more eloquently than I.  Things that are super important to a lot of people and of no import at all to others.  However...
3. In light of today's events, who cares about pants?

May all blessings of solace be upon the victims and families in Connecticut.
May they be granted peace, somehow, in this season and in the year and years to come.

Pants: Still a scandal in 2012.

1 Samantha 16:7
7 But the Lady said unto Samantha, Look not on her appearance, or on the manner of her attire ... for the Lady seeth not as mortals seeth; for mortals looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lady looketh on the heart.

You know, I've seen women wear pants to church numerous times over the years.  It hasn't been often, but it has happened.  When I was young, it always surprised me but I never commented.  The women always looked appropriate and put together.  Granted, I live in a very liberal area of the US that has a reputation for bucking tradition and the ward I grew up in was very loving and open, but the prevailing winds within the Mormon community have still leaned heavily to skirts and dresses.  However, pants were not looked down upon, to the best of my knowledge, beyond a few surprised expressions before everyone got on with their day.  Investigators and new members have generally been given a pass to wear whatever they want or have.

That being said, you wouldn't think this event would cause much of a ruckus, but the Event page on Facebook has been slammed by many orthodox members of the Church (and some random non-member trolls) for being disrespectful, sinful, daring to suggest that women are treated unequally, etc etc etc.  Because once you're in and experienced (and Heaven help you if you're a lifer and you should "know better") your free pass goes away?  God suddenly starts caring so much more about what you're wearing... even though we know that God very specifically does not look at the outside.

It calls to mind the many modesty lessons I've been given over the years in which some variation of this question was posed: Would you be ashamed by your clothes if the Lord came back and you had to bow before him?

No.  No I would not.  Not in a turtleneck.  Not in a V-neck.  Not in a skirt.  Not in pants.  Not naked as the day I was born.  Never unless my heart was out of place, and not even then because I know that is why I have a Savior who loves me enough never to shame me.  Instead, he suffered and died for me, to cover me with His grace and make Him and I at-one.  Where there is God-like love, there is no shame; Where there is shame, there is no God-like love.

Therefore, I'm going to wear pants to church on Sunday and speak as my father's High Council companion about the spirit of Christmas and radical love.

Good

I've pondered two questions for years, long before I ever questioned my faith:

1. What makes a "good person"?
2. What makes a "good Mormon"?

Pirates of the Caribbean brought up the first one, yea so many years ago.  Is he a pirate?  Is he a good man?  Wait, he's BOTH!  (...What?)

Good men wear good hats, Disney says.  

What exactly makes a person good?  What makes Jack Sparrow "good" (besides being wickedly funny and brilliant and mad and mostly loyal to those that are mostly loyal to him)?  Robbery, lying, cheating, sword fights, chases, escapes, murder, revenge, impersonation of a cleric of the Church of England...  I heart Jack Sparrow, but not necessarily because he's any version of "good".  So what is it?  At what point does a person stop being good?  After a dire mistake?  An intentional breach of integrity or contract?  Dishonesty?  Infidelity?  Money laundering for the mob?  Stealing aid money and sticking it in your own pocket?  Leading an expedition that resulted in the enslavement and genocide of thousands (pick a favorite historical example, there's plenty)?  Cheating in high school?

Likewise, when does a Mormon stop being "good"?  When he runs for President and can't seem to say the same thing twice in a row and favors policies that alienate half of humanity and/or his aspired constituents?  (I'm lookin' at you, Mittens.  I personally think you are a sucky Mormon and a sucky human being.  So there.)  After the first sip of alcohol/tea/coffee?  After the first act of pre/extramarital sex?  After not going to church for three months?  After not wearing garments for a week straight?  After stealing?  After not comforting someone in need of comfort?  After being involved in romantic relationships with multiple women at the same time who don't know about each other while you're telling the world you're going to the temple?  After questioning a policy or practice, either out of rebellion or feelings of discord with personal values?  Rebellion itself?

I don't have the answers to these questions.  I don't know where the lines are drawn in the sand, though I suspect they would be perceived differently by everyone that looks at them regardless of where they were.  People are complex.  Life is complex.  Politics are complex.  There is always a mixture of good and bad, an opposition in all things.  Given that, it seems prudent to follow the admonition of our Lord, and judge not, lest we be judged.

Malala Yousufzai is of good report and praiseworthy

Like another 14 year-old dear to many of my readers, Malala said a lot of things that people around her hated and disagreed with but that she unequivocally believed to be true and in need of being said.  She, too, was shot for her words and actions.  The difference is that Malala spoke out against the Taliban.  And today she's an inspiration to me.

May she and her family and her readers be blessed.

*SPAZSPAZSPAZSPAZSPAZ*

*flaps arms and hands, runs around in crazy circles*

I'M GOING TO THE CLASS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE!!! "HAMPSHIRE" IS A HARD WORD TO KEEP TYPING AS I SPAZ ACROSS THE INTERWEBS!  AHHHHHHHHH!!!!

*faints!*

So excited!!!!!

Finding passion again

I went to Arizona with mixed emotions.  I was glad for an opportunity to advance my knowledge. I was grateful to Providence for dropping the means of coming into my lap by way of a new client buying a package for the exact amount I needed. I was happy to be taking a class I'd been wanting to attend for several years. This was a great thing.

I also came with some feelings of intimidation and trepidation. I've done a lot of things I "wanted to do for years" in recent times, paid for Providentially, followed my old dreams and plans to try to make them work, only to find Beijing would change when I returned home. I'd find some roadblock to stop me, and I felt stagnant and bored and directionless. I felt obliged, though, to take the class since it was paid for with an additional promise of referred clients.  This was all compounded by the fact that this was only a prerequisite course; it was only Self Care and would not allow me to practice on or teach anyone else.  The course required for that was sparsely available and would cost over $2000 to take, plus travel expenses.  For a woman feeling like she was forever destined to poverty unless she pulled off a Lizzie Bennet or Marianne Dashwood, that felt like a nearly insurmountable bit of trouble that may or may not prove to be worthwhile to her professional career.

Something changed that first day of class, though. My flesh caught on fire from the inside out. I felt the Calling in my bones, in my muscles and nerves and skin and hair.  My blood raced and I thought I shone like a candle. It seared away my stagnation. I received purpose and passion again. It was as though I could firewalk out of my skin and up to the doors of Heaven, there to be received and instructed by the hands of God Herself in this healing art.

The drive never left faded, only settled deeper, dampening into my bones, becoming one with my flesh.  I needed to know everything afresh, review material I’d known for years, soak up information I had never before received.  I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, I needed to soar, the step off the dark cliff into the chasm and feel the air rush past my wings.  But how?  How could I possibly manage it?  Already deep in debt, and the next class thousands of dollars...  The next step truly would be one into the dark, into the deep.

I stepped, and found a ledge: a virtual stranger I’ve met once in my life was willing to loan me the money.  Somehow, miraculously, the money was available.  I gave thanks for her kindness and spent a week in contemplation.  Would the feeling go away?  Was this foolish?  It was a lot of money and I don’t have much of my own.  Debt can be dangerous and I don’t have a safety net.  I’m struggling to pay off my credit cards!  This is insane.  That doesn’t change the fact that I need to do it, though, and a way has been provided.

I did back off a little on the loan request, though, opting instead to seek donations from friends and family to help make up the difference.  That will make repayment more manageable for me as I work this new therapy into my spa offerings and coordinate with other care providers for referrals. This should make life a bit more manageable over the coming months. So far, I've been thrilled by the response, and I hope people will keep up the support.  Whatever it takes, though, I will be following this dream, following this path, following this new-kindled passion.

Mother Fast is still going

I've been very lax about posting on the subject of the Fast lately.  Sorry about that, folks!  Anyway, tomorrow is another Fast day--I think this month is on fast forward, no pun intended--and it's the one immediately preceding General Conference.  I've heard murmurs that I find encouraging, rumors that the welfare and place and role of women is of special concern and priority among the highest echelons of Church authority, even higher than LGBTQ issues.  These are second or third-hand rumors, so I can't substantiate them at all, but I can hope that it's true and that perhaps Mother is making Herself known among the Twelve and First Presidency.
So, by way of reminder, let us concentrate our hopes, thoughts, desires, devotions, prayers, and fasting toward  "Something official from the Quorum of the Twelve and/or the First Presidency giving clear, concise, revealed knowledge about the role, powers, duties, nature, and attributes of Goddess, in the form of a declaration, proclamation, or inspired Conference talk(s)."

Happy fasting. :)

Consecrated oil: Not just for men!

Moon tree, red thread from a blessingway, and my new oil vial

I'm not sure why I didn't record it in this post because that's the date recorded on the bottle of oil, but my ward gave a bottle of consecrated oil to every woman in the Relief Society.  That way everyone has their own supply, just in case, and none of the women are dependent on the men having their stuff together if a blessing is needed.

Ah, if only that way of thinking was fully extended.

For now, though, I'm rockin' this awesome little Tree of Life vial.  Thumbs up!  My ward is Of Good Report and Praiseworthy!  (I have said this for ages.)

Every act of defiance against the violence of patriarchy (rape, assault, devaluation, misogeny, etc.) is an act of the Wild Woman.

"Womanhood is personhood" bumper sticker

I liked that phrase from my last post.  It sounded like a perfect bumper sticker.  So I made one!

Womanhood is personhood bumper stickers by MorgansCloset
Browse Woman Bumper Stickers

For the Strength of You've gotta be kidding me

Today was awesome.  Okay, today was a mixed bag, some of which was good and some of which... well.  See title.

First things first: Last night I went to bed on the wings of the most sincere and intentional prayer I've made that wasn't full of blubbering in the past few months.  I decided that, as my 31st birthday gift to myself, I will have someone to snog at midnight on New Year's.  I don't care if it's a good friend (HA!), a random date, a steady boyfriend, or somewhere in between, but there will be someone and I will snog him.  There will be snogging and it will--hopefully-be glorious, and I'm praying and putting out intentions for it to happen.  Snog ahoy!  So that was nice and I felt good when I went to sleep.  Huzzah, prayer!

I got up, got made up, and went to church, fully intending to attend all three hours on purpose.  Part of this was because I'm barely going to be at my YSA ward for the rest of the month since I'll be elsewhere with my siblings pretty much every weekend.  Also, my ward got a new Bishopric, and I wanted to bid farewell to the old guard (but mostly their wives) and welcome the new.  Thirdly, I think I feel ready to return to activity.  I think.  Today kinda pissed me off.  Sacrament was fine, Sunday School was okay, but Relief Society...

Let me preface by saying that I love my Relief Society Presidency.  They're wonderful, smart, intelligent, independent, strong women and they work very hard.  I trust that if there are things they feel they need to emphasize, there's a reason, even if that reason may or may not apply to me all the time.  That being said... Why?  Why are we being given copies of the new For the Strength of Youth pamphlet?  That little book has at least doubled in thickness from the last time I got it in Young Women's over twelve years ago, and while I appreciate most of its content and the purpose it has for teenagers, there is nothing in it that's meant to be appropriate for anyone of an age where college, career, mission and post-mission, serious dating, engagement, marriage, housing, travel, and other concerns of adult life are at hand.  It is made for teenagers, not young adults, not for people who may have degrees and businesses and bills and probably debt.

I appreciate the Presidency's desire to "get back to basics", to remind people of the simple principles of the Gospel.  That's wonderful!  I back that up entirely.  But, shockingly, my hemlines and hairstyle are not in that category.  That's right, we talked through "Dress and Appearance".  And "Sexual Purity".  Of course.  Of freakin' course.  It's not a proper flashback to Young Women's without them!  We were even introduced to the Head-Shoulders-Kness-and-Toes of Modesty:  Touch your head to make sure your midriff doesn't show, be sure your shoulders are covered and your hemline is to or near your knees, and touch your toes to make sure your cleavage doesn't pop out.  Yes, we reverted to Preschool as adult women in order to measure how covered we are.  There were a few comments made about men's inferiority in the realms of thought/desire control, and one girl who apparently gets pissed at other women for dressing immodestly when they're in proximity to her fiance because they're tempting him and making him think bad things.  I had a very hard time staying in my seat and in the room.  I was not disappointed in my prediction that someone would pull out this gem...

Sister: (paraphrase)  With the rise and prevalence of pornography in the world, we have to realize that when we dress immodestly or inappropriately, we basically become porn for the boys.
Me: *And there it is.  Hand up*
Teacher:  *thoughtful murmur* That's true.  Jena?
Me: [At this point I feel like I entered an altered state of mind/reality.  My brain does not usually jump in so quickly or forcefully, I don't typically raise my voice in church or stare daggers at teachers, and I rarely feel like I'm about to firewalk out of my body...]  No, it's not true!  Pornography is a product.  We cannot be pornography because women are people not products.  [I wish that I had continued with someone along the lines of how it's sexist to think that men are less capable or desirous of controlling themselves than women and that we ought to expect them to pull their own weight instead of heaping the burden upon women, etc. but the teacher looked startled and I felt like I was about to burst into flames, so I sat back and let her move on to someone else's comment.]

I may have just outed myself as a radical.  Oh noes.  The idea is a little freeing; I can gradually quit pretending I'm normal.  Sigh, I'm going to be one of those "crazy Mormons" who's really only crazy to other Mormons.  What a lovely introduction to me for my new Bishop's wife!

I love my ward family and my Church family.  I love the Gospel and often I even love the institution of the Church.  Nevertheless, sometimes I look around and think, "This place is totally insane and we are all nuts."  Mostly it's just people doing their level best, but sometimes level best is weird or age inappropriate.  Trying to improve that is one of the primary reasons I remain these days.  Someday, I want to help rewrite the way we talk and think about these things.  I hope that I made a small difference in the mindset of someone in that room today by declaring that womanhood is personhood.

My underwear is none of your business.

Some years back, before I went through the temple, I had a discussion with a non-LDS friend of mine about garments.  She, of course, thought they were extremely weird and a sign of oppression and why would anyone wear them, etc.  My main thoughts were that a) all things considered, yes they do limit some fashion choices, but at least it's not throat-to-wrist-to-feet coverings 24/7 like some faiths, and there are exceptions for circumstances and activities, and b)it's someone's underwear and how on earth is that ever anyone else's business?  Lay off!

Only later after wearing the garment myself did I realize that the same question must then be posed to members of the Church.  How is it anyone else's business whether an individual is wearing their garments on a given day or not?  Or at all or not?  It's not, but I'll tell you, it's impossible not to feel conspicuous about going out in public where other Mormons might see you and know/think you're not wearing them.

Example: I was recently at a friend's house for a get-together involving her mother on a day when I had run low on clean garments, so it was just me and regular heathen underwear.  This mother can occasionally be a bit of a busy-body, and at one point when I was standing next to her, I'm fairly certain I felt the edge of my shirt lifted and then lowered.  I was busy doing something so I can't absolutely confirm that this happened, and she made no comments, but I wouldn't put it past her from my experiences being around her.  If this indeed happened, not only did she invade my personal space without permission--and I have very specific issues with people messing with my clothes, especially when I'm wearing them--but... what business is it of hers or anyone's?  None.  Absolutely none.

If I'm wearing my garments, it doesn't matter.

If I'm not wearing my garments, it doesn't matter.

My underwear is none of your business.  Ever.

Joanna Brook and Jon Stewart are of good report

...and praiseworthy.  It made me smile on a day when I needed smiles.

The Self-Esteem Sandwich

Body image is on my mind, in case you couldn't tell.

I was on the phone with a man the other day--one that I greatly admire and think is more or less made of awesome and I-wish-I-were-more-like-you--and we've had some great phone conversations before, but that one just felt a little... flat.  Maybe my fault, maybe his, maybe both, maybe neither, maybe I interrupted him doing something (in which case, I'm glad he took the amount of time he did out of what he was doing), maybe he was distracted... doesn't matter.  It was shortish and inconclusive in the realm of "Hey, so when do you want to get together?" and I felt like a complete doofus who can't communicate with the Y-chromosome portion of the species to save my life after we hung up.  Not my finest moment.  (Then I got to whine about it to a friend afterwards to distract her from her own man-woes, so that worked out okay.)  And, as so very often happens, it got me thinking.  There might've been a nudge/shove from Dryad involved, too.

Anyway, I was finally able to verbalize something I've known about myself for a while but hadn't found the right visual for it.  Usually, I think of self-esteem as one whole entity.

Kinda like one of these. (Buy a tree here)

There's seeds of doubt or confidence at the core of it, and then the flesh is either good or bad, juicy or dry, healthy or rotten.  That model never really satisfied me, though, and I finally figured out why.  My personal self-esteem looks something more like this.

On top we find a fine, strong, lovely layer of good feelings about self and healthy attitudes.  This is my smile, my laugh, my kindness to others, my encouragement, my Feminista, my "I am a good person to be around and know"ness.

On the bottom, we find a fine, strong, lovely layer of "I am a daughter of God and Goddess", divine nature, individual worth, core values, and a relative confidence that I have a right to be in the world, that I have a purpose, gifts, things to share and contribute to humanity: my "I am a good person to have exist."

And in the middle is a thick, brown, sticky layer of "What are you, why are you here, and why would anyone want you?" that leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

This is echoed in the conscious realization that the physical traits for which I do get complimented are all peripheral: hair, eyes, face, hands, feet... eyebrows.  (Seriously, people love my eyebrows.)  I have never, ever, ever been told by a reliable, male source that my body is beautiful.  I've been called sexy by guys on dating sites, and at that point it doesn't feel like a compliment.  I am unable to take it as a compliment;  it feels objectifying because they don't know me.  I can't or won't trust it, and I'm automatically suspicious of any man that says it.

Hell of a rock and a hard place situation, isn't it?  I know I'm awesome, but I only know that on the top and bottom.  The mush in the middle is hard to swallow, and there's precious little Mother's Milk with which to wash it down and tell me I'm good all the way through.

Busy Biz-y Buzz Buzz

I haven't forgotten you, darlings, I'm just trying to open a new business and pray my grandparents don't die.  I am a bucket o' sunshine this year, aren't I?  (There might be several episodes of Doctor Who involved, as well.  Just sayin'.)

However, in lieu of recording my woes and insecurities about timing, staying, going, living, and dying, I'm just going to tell you all to go here and read some hilarious, often-profane, and insightful posts about what it's like to be a Mid-Single.  I wanna make that woman my newest best friend.

Anyway, I'll be back again.  I'm looking for something happy to talk about.  There must be things of good report in this world, so I shall seek after them then return and report.

Black magic

I have seen black magic.
You have, too, if you know the signs,
The dark marks of a modern cursing
Born in loathsome mutters across the airwaves.

For you see, the black magic that poisons us is not transacted with
Chicken blood or
Eye of newt.

No, the incantations of black magic today
Tell us that we are ugly
That the shape of our bodies is wrong
That we eat, drink, sleep, dress, and play
Wrong.

It drains our pockets and our hearts
In the pursuit of an unattainable lie.
It promises glory with one more lipstick
A two-in-one mascara
A stream-lined car
And rock-hard abs.

The belly is meant to be soft,
Home to vitals and bowels,
Breath and blood and digestion,
A place of comfort and warmth,
The womb.
Black magic casts it with shame and demands that it and all other soft and warm and lovely things be sacrificed
upon an altar of stone and steel.

This is the black magic of our times,
The incantations that coax and coerce and cajole and convince
That we are not divine.
We are not already in the image of God or Goddess.
It isn't okay to be a little overgrown, a little lush, a little wild and untamed.
Black magic says that.

Celebrating my feminista

I got asked tonight if I'm a feminist.


Best question ever. :D


So just in case anyone missed the memo: Yes, I am a feminist.

• I believe absolutely in the equal rights of men and women.
• I believe the genitalia and/or DNA any person possesses should neither entitle nor disenfranchise.
• I believe in respecting those who are different and protecting and uplifting those who are downtrodden.
• I do not hate men nor do I want to be exactly like one; I glory in my personal female identity.
• I work toward the day when femaleness and maleness are regarded with identical amounts of respect because of humanness.

Additionally...

• I believe absolutely in the right of anyone to be different.
• I believe that biological sex and expressed gender are spectra; everyone is a mix of male and female traits, genes, and tissues.
• I believe that what diminishes one, diminishes all.  What uplifts one, uplifts all.

And you should check out this link: Snopes--Red Hot Mamas (The truth about "bra-burning" feminists.)

Believing "Inactivity"

I've gone briefly "inactive" twice in my life.  Both periods lasted for about six to eight weeks.  That's hardly anything to some people and it really didn't feel very long at all to me, but both times it was enough to get me on the radar.  I guess that speaks to people caring about me.  How many people drop off the radar and no one says a peep?  I'm deeply gratified  and glad that people care about and want me.  I know not everyone feels so blessed when their attendance wanes or stops altogether.

The past three months have been difficult.  I've been to my singles ward all of three times since Mom died, including today.  I only stayed for Sacrament meeting today because I had an engagement party to attend for an old friend who asked me to be her bridesmaid.  I went to my sister's Ward last week, halfway across the state, to surprise her and her husband when they gave talks.  I've been sort of attending church all along, though my strictitude in doing so has diminished considerably.

That doesn't mean I don't believe, though.  I do.

I believe very strongly, even when I'm railing against patriarchy.  I believe very strongly, even when I see malls built on the interest from investments made in part with my tithing money.*  I believe very strongly, even when I feel like I can't get up in testimony meeting and proclaim my love for my Heavenly Mother and talk about how someday I believe women will see their power and authority recognized once again.  I believe very strongly, even when I contemplate whether the institutional Church has lost its way, if Correlation is a form of apostasy and spiritual dictatorship, and if I really want to give my silent stamp of approval on "all of that" by continuing to show up.  I believe very strongly, even when I feel disinclined toward being married in the temple, and contemplate how that meshes with elements of my Patriarchal Blessing.  (Sealed? Yes.  Married?  That's a whole other post.)

For any and all of my weird, fringe-y diversions from what's scripted as "the Mormon norm", I still believe.  It's not just my religion, it's my personal cosmology to believe that there's more than just this life, that there's something beyond death, and that an afterlife without progression is... pointless.  It's my personal ethics and morality to "believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and in doing good to all" people.  I see what we generally call "Mormonism" as something bigger than and encompassing Mormonism, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Paganism, preJudaism... -ism -ism -ism... preMosiac law... prePatriarchy, back to and beyond any literal or figurative Adam and Eve.  Mormonism is just a title that got slapped on it in modern times, under modern circumstances by people that hate(d) those that believe in it.  What's a better term for it?  Saintism?  Elohimity?  What can one call this tapestry that stretches back through unknown generations of exalted mortals, and spreads forward through countless more where--upon the great glowing pattern--the thread of Divine Grace spells "Love One Another"?


 I don't know.  I don't know what it is, but it is what I believe.  That's what I hope I'll always believe, whether I sit in nature or a pew.



----------
*At least that's the source of City Creek's finances that I've heard.  I could be wrong, and I welcome correction if I am.  I do want to have my facts straight.

Breakdown

The past few weeks have kind of been hell for me.  I thought they were going to be fantastic and exciting.  Instead, they peaked last night with a normally non-violent person clobbering the ever-loving crap out of her car visor and shattering the mirror she forgot existed.

I moved my business this week from the location I had been in for nearly three years.  The new place is a huge blessing and I'm grateful, but this has stirred up a serious shitpile in my head and in my heart.  From mis/lack-of-communication with my new business partner to stupid people at my part-time other job to change.... change, change, everywhere.  Tattoos.  Business moving and adjusting.  I could use a new phone and I'm not eligible for another 5 months.  Becoming a fill-in bridesmaid. 


I have never done massage for another person one day in the past eight years... now I'm an independent contractor in a  place I don't own, and that's weird.


And I miss Mom.  I miss Mom so badly it burns.  I had a slow meltdown although yesterday during work.  Luckily it was at my part-time job and not during massage.  The past few weeks, I've been drifting in this weird space of dormant spirituality, spiritual numbness.  I didn't talk to Mom.  I barely acknowledged Father and Mother outside of "Hi" and "Thank you."  I felt virtually nothing coming back.  All I have felt was a growing ambivalence about all things perky-happy-Mormon-y.  Things I used to enjoy a couple years ago.  Now there's just ambivalence and distance and anger and sorrow and pain.  I even started to question my sexuality as I found myself yearning for female closeness and feeling disgruntled and disenfranchised by maleness in general.  I even noticed that my recent blog posts have been overwhelmingly pissy.  Then yesterday, a simple question that shouldn't have sent me reeling like a drunkard tipped me into a downward spiral and left me barely getting through my work day without wanting to rip a customer's head off.  I wasn't really very safe to be behind the wheel getting home, either... I probably should not have been driving.  Only by the grade of God did I get home in one piece without hurting anyone else.


It's kinda good in a way, though.  I've been wondering why I wasn't mourning.  Why wasn't I having to excuse my behavior because I missed my Mom?  I'm a person with depressive tendencies, but I was generally happy as a clam and chugging toward a new phase of life.  I guess I was just waiting for a catalyst to tip me over.  It'll be interesting to see where things go from here... I might even blog about some happier things eventually.  Hopefully we can all hang in there together.


Oh yeah.  Mother Fast is this weekend.  Go forth and fast and pray for Mother.  I feel like I'll actually want to this month, finally.

Philosophies of Men

"Beware the philosophies of men for Satan has inspired many of them." -paraphrased line from my Patriarchal Blessing

"There will be many willing to preach to you the philosophies of men... mingled with scripture." -Lucifer, temple video*

"She should know better than to dress like that.  She was practically asking for it." -way, way too many people.

"I wore a tank top and shorts today and not a single man raped me. I'm so disappointed!  I was totally asking for it." - No. Woman. Ever.

Pig sh*t: ambrosia for those willing to swallow the philosophies of men without any mingling at all. (Rant here)

When I was working toward admitting my feminism, I went through a long period of worrying that the line from my Blessing referenced above was talking about it and other equality-promoting philosophies.  I obviously got over that.  Today, as I was running through some of the recent things I've read about modesty and rape, it came to me that rape culture--especially in a religious context--is very literally the philosophies of men (males, not humanity), often mingled/justified with scripture.

I think that pretty much speaks for itself.  Rape culture is a philosophy of men mingled with scripture.  Look for messengers from your Heavenly Parents instead.

Disgruntled thoughts upon getting dressed in the morning

I am going to complain about my garments.  Stand back, dear readers, there could be lightning involved.

I'm not the only person who has ever said, "I'm not sure they ever actually fit these to a human being when they design the pattern."  In fact, I'm pretty sure someone said it on Daughters of Mormonism.  It is a widespread gripe among those who have been through the temple that garments are ill-fitting and unattractive to the point of being borderline--or straight up--impractical for everyday wear.  Nevertheless we wear them because we have covenanted to do so and we are held accountable for that covenant in order to return to the temple.  Any damage to self-esteem or spousal arousal be damned.

If there was a secular company that said, "You can only purchase your underwear from us.  You may no longer make them yourselves--even from our patterns--or alter the design, even if it makes you itch.  You have to build your entire wardrobe in order to accommodate our line, no matter how poorly it actually fits your body, and no you may not try things on before purchase to see whether you like it or not," it would go out of business.  (Never mind that people have been defecting from activity/membership in the Church in droves over the past several years................)

When Heather started the Green Garment Campaign, one of the complaints people made about it on the event page was that if the Church were to invest in more sustainable fabrics, it would drive the price of garments up from a whopping $2.20-5.10 per piece, which would put a strain on the poor and/or lead to classism between those who could or could not afford certain fabrics.

So, yes, changing styles and improving the available fabrics would cost money.  I totally understand that.  However.

The Church just spent approximately $2 Billion building the City Creek Center mall, and an additional $3 billion on downtown revitalization for Salt Lake.  (That's a whole other rant.)  I think it can safely divert some of its vast holdings toward bolstering up Beehive Clothing in the name of subsidizing that extra cost.  Seriously.  I'm not an economist or anything, so I'll admit that I could be wrong, but it seems like it should be feasible.  If Heather's guesstimate of two million active garment-wearers is anywhere close to accurate, the subsidies would have to swallow $1000 per wearer to approach what was spent on the mall.

Most people I know only buy about 7-10 days worth of tops and bottoms every year or two.  (I have to hand it to Beehive: garments do tend to be sturdy and long lasting.)  That's maybe $100 per year at current prices, tops.  With better designs and sustainable fabrics, let's be super generous and say that rises to $200 per year.  (I do not think that's a realistic estimate at all, by the way.)  Yes, that would be a problem for the poor and that would be wrong, but why can't the Church subsidize that for those who cannot pay?  It wouldn't be everyone.  It wouldn't be every year.

I'm ready to step down from my soapbox, I just got rather annoyed as I got dressed this morning because the underwear I'm obligated to wear throughout my life does not fit me well, and I have no other options without going and breaking a bunch of rules that I'm not sure how anyone would enforce them, anyway.  I dislike the corporatism of it and I think the Church would do well to invest in revamping the garments so they're more practical, so the form of them doesn't suck, and so this outward expression reflects both our inner commitment and and the beauty thereof.

Line art

As mentioned a couple posts ago, I am getting a tattoo.  I got the line art only done today due to unforeseen time and money constraints.  Let me tell you, I'm glad I stopped when I did, because I just had to pick a ridiculously intense spot: the sternum.  Ouch.

Stings like a...
(Not me.)

Why the sternum?  A number of reasons.

1. I can see it.  My motif is of a poppy (for California), an apple blossom (for my hometown) and forget-me-nots (for my mother, my Mother, and probably President Uchtdorf.  [Love that man... in a totally appropriate, respectful, and non-creepy-fangirl way.]  Or for myself.  I have to remember to forget-Me-not, too.)  I chose these flowers as symbols of where I came from and what my roots are.
2. It's pretty much hidden from public view.  Very few of my tops are a threat to its visibility.  It ride just above my bra neckline and just below my garments.  Hopefully this will keep it from being seen by anyone for long enough to be able to say (once it's spotted) "oh, I've had that for a long while."
3. It's bony enough that when my weight fluctuates, my skin (HOPEFULLY) won't distort too badly

So, why did I get a tattoo?  Because I did.  I've never been supremely interested in them; I thought the idea was kind of interesting before President Hinckley advised against it back in the mid/late-1990s, but that was enough to make me ignore the option for about 15 years.  I've been thinking about it for approximately a year now, but I wasn't drawn to the idea very strongly.  I was more interested in additional ear piercings because they seemed like less commitment.  When Mom died, and I started thinking about moving on from my hometown, I found myself wanting something bigger, a more detailed reminder of where I'm from as I get where I'm going.

So now I have the beginnings of that reminder.  It's rather surreal after so many years of being told that it was bad and wrong or unwise.  I didn't do it to be a rebel, but it is a rebellious act.  It's very strange, but I'm really kind of in love with it.

On that note, good night!

Optional reading: My experience of the tattooing itself.

One reason why patriarchy is evil

Trigger warning: Rape.
"...by their fruits ye shall know them."  From the mouth of the Son of God himself.

I was reading my book-with-the-socially-unacceptable-title a few days back.  The author spends a particular amount of time on the subject of rape--her mother's story that instigated the book, why it happens, the repercussions in women's lives, etc--and I started thinking about the why, thus to come to this conclusion:  Rape is a a fruit of patriarchy, malevolent and benevolent both.  Malevolent patriarchy simply doesn't give a crap; it loves rape as a tool of war and it doesn't care when else it happens, because hey... it's just a woman.  (Or a homosexual.  Or a child.  Or an old person.  Or a prisoner.  For my purposes, I will focus on male-female rape.)

Benevolent patriarchy is hardly better; it still makes women inferior to men, no matter that we're good and sweet and worthy to be lifted up on a pedestal... but we are not to be leaders or choosers or counselors or acters.  Not really.  Also, benevolent patriarchy doesn't often say that rape is a bad thing to do; in my experience, it's spoken almost universally as something to be prevented by potential victims, not an act to be responsibly avoided by potential perpetrators.

"Women are the guardians of virtue."
"You should know better than to walk alone at night."
"Any woman that's dressed like that is pretty much asking for it."  (My own father said these words to my face.)
"Men can't help themselves when they see the female form.  They're more visual than women."
"Dear girls,
Dressing immodestly is like rolling in the mud.  You'll get attention, but mostly from pigs.
Sincerely,
Real Men"

Thank you, Real Men, for admitting that you are so shallow that you no longer care about the worth of a woman's soul or honor the validity of her thoughts, feelings, opinions, or life experiences if she's wearing a tank top instead of a t-shirt, and for abandoning all those immodest trollops to the attentions of pigs and/or rapists.  Your honesty and moral integrity is refreshing.  You are an inspiration to us all, Real Men!

It is easier for patriarchy to focus on on the outward issues of getting women not to dress in a way that "can get them raped", victim blaming if they do get raped, and absolving the perpetrators of rape (No, really, men are practically incapable of controling their thoughts if there's a boob in the vicinity!) than for it to turn the lens inward and focus on rooting out its own inner corruption.  Rape is a fruit of patriarchy.

Rape--the utter desecration and defilement of the most sacred of human rights: bodily and sexual autonomy, choice, respect, and safety--is a fruit of a system that inherently diminishes the Feminine simply for the lack of a penis.

And that, my friends, is just one horrible and excellent reason why patriarchy is evil.

P.S.:  I am very aware that there are scads of men out there who--while perhaps otherwise patriarchal--would never in a million years commit, condone, tolerate, or excuse rape, a fact for which I am grateful.   I give a virtual high-five to any man who feels the seething rage that rape deserves.  In this post I am not addressing the facts of individual men, but rather the culture of patriarchy--the reign of men/fathers--as a whole, and its systemic tolerance of rape and rape culture.

Courage vs. no fear

DANGER: Shockingness ahead.

What's so important, mousey?  Just wonderin'...

Were more true words ever spoken?  Maybe, maybe not.

To live a courageous life is indeed a wonderful and inspiring thing.  To pass through fear and come out victorious on the other side is the stuff of legends.

If courage is, then, the stuff of legends, is it pretentious to say that I want to live without fear?  I want to live, someday, without a fear through which to step.  This means I must either pluck up my courage now and experience what that fear is and overcome it... or give myself permission to let the fear go entirely.

What prompted this?  A lot of things.  For one, I'm getting a tattoo in a week.  That's right, I'm going to permanently spray paint on the temple!  I'll write about that later, though, only the fact of it is what matters here, and the sheer amount of trepidation I've experienced as I've come to this decision and have been working through my fears.  I fear the stigma, reproach, disapproval, but I'm going to do it anyway.  I'm going to admit that tattoos can be gorgeous artwork, and I envy people that sport gorgeous artwork.  I'm going to admit that my trepidation is wise, given its permanence, and admit that at the same time, a lot of that trepidation, that fear, was conditioned into me because I desire approval and love and this will not earn either from the majority of people that matter to me the most.

Secondly, I've been reading a fabulous, amazing book with a shocking, offensive title; arguably, its title is the most shocking and offensive word in the English language, so consider yourself warned of that before you click this link... or get over it.  I have.  This book is changing my life and the way I view my womanness.

Thirdly, I have carried a LOT of fear around with me throughout my entire life, and that shit's gotta stop.  It's gotta stop, and I am going to make it stop.  I want to live a life of no fear and I have a lot more control over that happening than I've been led to believe, either by my culture, my family, or my own damn self.

Fourthly, pursuant to the third item, I was reading the book in the second item, and thinking "I claim to be Like Unto Eve, whose archetype is all about the pursuit of knowledge and progression in spite of reprimand or fear.  I should blog more about this journey.  I'll need a new tag.  Hmm... 'fearless pursuit of knowledge'? 'Courageous pursuit of...'  What's the difference?  Courage is not the absence of fear, but... I want the absence of fear.  ... I should blog about this."

And so it comes full circle.  Welcome to my brain!  I'm back!

My first day back

Oh, where to start.  Last week, I guess I'll start with last week.  No, March.  Back in March, just after we found out that the cancer had returned, I told my Bishop that I'd be basically ducking out of my Ward, that I wasn't ready to move back to my family Ward, that I needed the ties to my peer group.  So, with the exception of the Sunday just after Mom died, I really hadn't been to church in about two and a half months.  Last week, during the third hour, Ward members teamed up and went out to visit people who had been designated inactive or less active.

Guess who got visited!  I almost went to church that day, too.  I was awake in time to get up and go, but I decided to sleep instead.  I'd been working my doula magic at a birth Saturday morning, 90 miles away, and over Friday and Saturday I was awake close to 40 hours.  I got in enough dozing to make it safe to drive home, but not enough to count as rest.  Sleep and food took priority that day over Fast and Testimony meetings, and so I got a visit from two dear friends and a guy I recognized but to whom I had never said more than three words.  And a plate of cookies.

For those not familiar with the nature of a YSA Ward in a college town, turn over is super high.  Around here, there's a core of people who grew up in the area, but the membership generally changes every 3-5 months, so not having seen someone in that time is decent reason to consider them "inactive".  Coupling that with my notification to the Bishop, I don't blame them for coming to see me.  Plus, making sure people are doing okay is kind of important.

After all of that, I felt I should probably make the effort and go to church.  I got up, got myself there just in time to catch the sacramental bread out in the foyer, went in and sat down in all readiness to hear a good message... and the first speaker opened his talk with a recounting of his recent diagnosis of and surgery for malignant melanoma.

Welcome back!  Let's trigger a panic attack!

I ran out of the room, hyperventilating and found myself sobbing on the foyer couch, covering my face and unable to stop.  I don't blame the investigator standing out there for not approaching me, but I was a little dismayed by the (presumably) seasoned married couple whose feet I saw through my fingers, strolling past me in silence.  Thanks for checking on the clearly distraught sister sobbing right in front of you, folks!  Have a great Sabbath!  The Sister missionaries came and checked on me, as did the EQP and one of the other girls in the Ward, so I wasn't alone, and I did calm down enough after a few minutes to go to the restroom and clean myself up... only to find myself sobbing uncontrollably and taking refuge in the Mother's Room so my wailing wouldn't echo throughout the whole building.  I was in there for the remainder of the hour, finally feeling all right to emerge for Sunday School.

I sort of wished I hadn't.  We were studying the end of Mosiah and the start of Alma in the Book of Mormon, which is the section where the Nephites are setting up their representative-democratic-theocracy.  This is an understandably popular form of government for a lot of American Mormons, especially of a right-leaning philosophy, because it's similar enough to our own government, plus the piety of being based on God's laws.  Huzzah!  Therefore, political comments were ripe for the plucking and the soap boxes were occupied.  Not Huzzah.  At one point, I couldn't shut up any longer and I steered the rhetoric straight to, "we need to love, serve, and see people the way Jesus would."  I can't stand political commentary in church anymore.  It makes me want to tear out my hair.  By the way, has anyone noticed that we always study the Book of Mormon during Presidential election years?

Relief Society was fairly innocuous, just a lesson on studying the scriptures.  I did feel that I should make a better effort with my lately-lax scripture study, but I tuned out most of the lesson while I tried to download the manual from Amazon to my Kindle.  (Don't do it.  Wrong book.  $10.41 wasted.  Yay for refunds.)   Afterward, I stayed to practice a choir song I won't be in church on the 24th to perform.  However, it was fun and it felt good.

All in all.... a difficult day.  Welcome back, Jena.  Things have changed!

Eternal perspectives

I have two things to talk about: My Mom, and men.

Mom

The way I miss her isn't the way I thought I'd miss her.  I went to visit her grave tonight for the first time since her memorial............. has it only been three weeks?  Damn.  It feels... longer.  Much longer.  And that's the thing.  It's like I've entered a new life since her death.  Rather than living a singular life in which there is now this gaping, unfilled hole left left behind in the mortal absence of my mother, another lifetime began in which she simply isn't physically present.

It's a little like moving away from home.  The memories of home are still with you when you move away, you still love it, it's still the root of everything you do and everything you are and ever will be; but you are in another place now, and in effect, another time.  You have another purpose, and while you will always and forever love your home, this new space you're in is the right space to be.  There's a feeling of being homesick, of thinking back on the life that was, but being present in the life that is.

I think that's why I haven't been feeling as devastated as I had anticipated.  As a family, we released Mom, because it was the right thing to do and the right time for her to go.  We told her it was okay.  There's no sense of unfinished business: nothing left unsaid, nothing left undone, no injustice in her passing.  She completed her purpose on this Earth, and it was okay.

Granted, I am loudly sobbing and crying my eyes out as I'm typing this, but I'm also laughing at myself a little because I am typing while I'm wailing loud enough to make me glad my nearest neighbors are a few hundred yards away.  It's just release.  I'm super practical when it comes to letting it out, and even though I likely sound to the world like I'm an emotional mess, it's mostly physical.  Inside, I'm pretty peaceful.  And now I'm done crying.  It just needed to get out.

(Tangent: Mom's buried next to a guy that was in my class in high school who died in a car accident between our Junior and Senior years.  Always wear your seat belts.  Just saying.)

Men


A large part of my reason for being a feminist is a strong belief and hope for equality.  When I find this running up against the strong cultural dogma of male superiority in Mormonism  (however benevolent its stewardship may supposed to be) it puts me in some dismay about the eternal order of things as we're presented with them.

I have a really big, freaking problem thinking that two equally worthy, covenant-making-and-keeping people, bound together for eternity would be bound to being anything but equivalent to each other for eternity.  If it's not so, I have to look forward to eternity as Second in Command, instead of Co-Captain.  Eternity.  Forever.  Without end.  Never, ever, ever ending second citizenship.


How is that just?  How is that good?  How can that be acceptable and justifiable based upon the relative femininity or masculinity of an individual if all are alike unto God and God is no respecter of persons?  How can being (a beloved and cherished) Second for the rest of all out-of-time be okay?  It cannot.  It cannot be okay.  A man wouldn't stand for that being his lot, yet it's an implied expectation from the women.  Such a concept deeply, deeply disturbs me, to think that I could bust my butt through this super critical mortal probation we're all in, perhaps even out-righteous my Hypothetical Husband, and still end up as the Silent Partner, the Heavenly Mother that never talks to Her children and whom Her children are discouraged from addressing.  I find that idea incredibly unappealing, and it puts me in a position to wonder whether the effort is worthwhile if I have no guarantee of autonomy and personal worth outside the man I'm married to, forever.  This a big scary question for a woman who has been pretty dang invested in aiming for goddesshood her entire life.  So I have to think that we really just don't have the whole picture yet, that there's more, that the equality of the sexes will be seen as a central point of eternal doctrine at some time in the future, may Heaven make it soon.

But what if... what if I'm wrong.  What if God moves in (to me) truly mind-boggling and seemingly hypocritical, unjust, mysterious ways and eternity is sexist?  What if being more feminine than masculine lands you a spot just behind the shoulder of your more masculine eternal companion, to be protected and shielded and effectively silenced because you're somehow more sacred than anything else?  It's an idea that sickens me to my stomach, and the only way I can conceive of it being a tolerable system is if I could find a man who would not treat me as anything but an equal.  Where any "head"ship would be in token only, and irrelevant in practice.  If he must have the title, he can have the title, but that's all I could tolerate.  If I had to. If that's really the eternal order of things.

I don't think it is, though.  It just doesn't make sense.

Waxing poetic.

Just a couple apples falling from the brain tree this evening...

Chivalry is dead--so let it lie.

And let male feminists arise.

~ ~ ~

Goddess give me the strength not to socialize my daughters to be "nice".  Strong, kind, fair-minded, responsible, compassionate, and just, yes; but never "nice".  Nice makes you a doormat, even when you're being wronged.  Nice doesn't make a fuss when a fuss needs to be made.  Nice makes you doubt your better judgment and squash your intuition because others might be inconvenienced by your truth.  Nice does not a heroine make.

Mother's Day

sigh

Well, I did say I wanted to get it all done with at once.  Everything.  Death, memorial, Mother's Day...  That should make next year easier.  It also makes this year really, really hard.  Finally, it's beginning to sink in that she's beyond the veil, that life is different, that it's just Dad and I at home and that while she might be around in spirit.... she's not there in body.  At least it's really starting to hurt.  Today is really going to suck.

So I have two Mothers beyond the veil whose presence I can know no more of than to feel, if I'm lucky.  I might have three, if my birth mother hasn't survived this long, but I don't know much of anything about her, so I can't really feel attached, there.  How do I honor these women this day?

Well, for one, today I am only saying my prayers to Heavenly Mother.  Father can listen in, but I'm talking to my Mom.  I will take any opportunity to speak about Her.  I would be wearing goddess earrings and my tree and/or labyrinth pendants if I had them with me, but Dad and I are with my sister's family out of town.  I will cuddle my niece and hug my sister.  I will listen to and hum or sing women's songs.  I will treat my father kindly and sit beside him and scratch his back the way Mom used to do.  I will honor my sisters who are mothers and console, commiserate, or celebrate with my sisters who are not.  I will hold space with those also missing their mothers today, and mothers missing their babies.

And I will mourn honestly and openly and in whatever way I damn well please, be it weeping or donuts or seclusion or walking out of Sacrament meeting if I hear the phrase "We/You are all mothers" and it upsets me because I'm sick of that platitude and it's insulting and patronizing.  I will be grumpy if I feel like it because I miss my Mom.  And I'll be happy if I feel like it because I had my Mom.  I'll be and do whatever gets me through this day.

Peaceful Mother's Day to you all.

I'm coming back, I promise

It's been a rough few weeks, all told.  I'm floating in this very surreal soup of "life is normal" and "life will never be the same again" and "I feel okay" and "My Mom's gone...... what?"  It takes a lot of mental energy and even though I want to record every event and the chronology of everything from her last mortal week up to now before it fades, I just can't seem to find the time or energy to write it.  Maybe I'll voice record it instead so it's at least somewhere.

Anyway.  I expect I'll soon be back to blogging about Feminism and Mormonism and MoFemism and Morganism and Eve and whatever else crosses my mind.  Until then, peace.

She is in her glory now.

That's about all I can say right now.  I'll edit later.

Milk after meat

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. 
At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms
....
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
--William Shakespeare


I wanted this to be a super smart post contrasting two observations; the first being that after a long life of eating "meat", my Mom now survives on a primarily liquid diet of Ensure, jello, water, and milk, and never very much of any; the second being that many times, after a long life of living on spiritual "meat", we all still need the milk at times, that sometimes we need rest from being bogged down in the "thick of thin things" of culture and society and practice vs doctrine..

I wanted it to be, but I have to leave it at that for now and trust my readers to make their own contemplations on the matter.  Time is too short now to do much that I don't feel like doing, and I don't feel like a long post today.  The confusion has set in.  She's hardly eating.  She spends the majority of her time in bed.  She surfaces sometimes, but other times, she doesn't understand what's going on, why there's so many cards and flowers and visitors.  She wonders who's sick and what people aren't telling her.


We celebrated Mother's Day yesterday (Earth Day = Love Your Mother = We do, but she might not be here for the official Mother's Day) and she got to talk to all of her kids.  My sister was in town this weekend, and my brother and his husband came to visit yesterday, and our other brother called in and will be here next weekend.


Today, we had to tell her that she (and her brother, who was visiting when she last asked) are sick with cancer and that it's taking over her body.  She still didn't understand, and wanted to know what we were leaving out.  I had to tell her she was going to go see her mother and father soon.  She looked at me with a little surprise, but she understood.  She knew that meant the time wouldn't be long.  Then she observed, "This is totally strange."


It is.  It must be, to realize that you're quickly coming to the end of your journey, and you're having to say goodbye to everyone you love.

suckitude...