misplaced mama

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I love chamomile.  The whimsy softness of it.  The flirty innocense.  The long, dancing body and perky, sweet head.  She is my friend; the one I soak in when I ache or get burned.  The one I feed my chidren when their fire is a bit too strong.  She is who eases my headaches, puts me to sleep, and keeps the wrinkles around my eyes under somewhat control.  

She is where I go when I just want to feel happy.  I know, call me silly simple, but sitting by chamomile, smelling that apply-scent, the scent of peace and ease, watching these flowers swing and dance in the breeze, just makes me happy.  Fine, I will admit it.  I talk to chamomile.  SOme folks talk to God, I talk to herbs.  Call me crazy. I talk to chamomile like she is a wise little fairy, a party girl with a good head on her shoulders, taking her job as healer and wind dancer very seriously.  She is fragile in looks yet big in spirit. Wild at heart, but peace at the center.  I tell chamomile how lovely she really it. Splendid.  How much she means in my little human life, so British and refined yet fulfilling me in the gritty Southwest USA.  I into her energy field and remember to tell her how thankful I am for the perfection of it all, and I try to envision there being chamomile growing forever on this earth, thriving, spreading.

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My garden is bursting with chamomile and I can’t even express how grateful I am.  A few seeds thrown in the dirt of our raised beds 3 seasons ago produced a crop so large, I would drown with the amount of tea it could all yield.  I just savored it’s blossoming existence for a few weeks, laughing when Mia would run out to grab a handful of flowers and pop them in her mouth and tell me, "I need to mellow out, Mama.  I think it’s too much sugar," taking joy when Sula would stand on tippy-toes just to get a better glance at it’s roots and say, "Mint.  Sula wanna Mint" (this week she has learned that it is indeed chamomile and the mint is the one that tastes like gum).  I let the flowers just do there thing, not wanting to disrupt the perfect little life they were creating for themselves and the eco-system; the dirt, the sun, the bugs, me.  But the other day I couldn’t hold myself back.  I had to utilize this herbal allie that it indeed is.  So we made a batch of tincture.

First the girls and I had a blast playing in the mini-field of wildness and yellow spirits.  Mia saw some fairies buzz around I hear her singing some songs to them, something about little fairy doors that open and shit, open and shut, and our favorite hummingbird was close by amused at my 1/2 naked girls stomping about in the deserts way of growing greenery; 3 feet above the earths surface in very large wooden boxes.  I showed the girls how to carefully pop off the flower tops and gather them in our basket, while I used scissors to sever the plant in the right place so they will continue to bloom.  I swear the girls ate a cup of flowers each (Mia passed out at 6pm last night.  Sula not until 9.  That second girl needs a stronger opiate for slumber) while we gathered enough to make ourselves plus some friends a great supply of tincture.  A drop of that stuff here and there and many a tantrum be gone.  I swear.  It works. 

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My man found me a couple bottles of high-end, high proof vodka back in the cabinet from the days when I thought Lemon Drops would be a good way to get through a Phoenix Summer. At first I hesitated to make it with booze, since I would be giving it to the girls, but Billy assured me that small drops would not hurt them, Bach’s did it with Rescue Remedy. Still, I felt like I was making mini-chamo-cocktails.  We put all our chamomile in a canning jar, filled it up with the vodka, put the lid back on Mia sent it lots of love and thanks and we said, "goodnight chamomile, thank you for turning into good medicine for us!" and we put it in the cupboard.  6-8 weeks from now we’ll have a nice little relaxant/sedative that cost us pretty much nothing.  Beats buying jars of it every couple months from the market at ten dollars a pop.

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 Fabulous gifts that chamomile gives us admirers in need…

-Gentle enough to give any child to calm nerves, sedate, ease belly aches and to see fairies:-)
-Helps ease period cramps
-relieves insomnia
-helps diminish depression
-Lighten and brightens hair                                                                                                                                             -Reduces puffy eyes
-Reduces risk of cranky mama who throws dirty socks at her spouse.
-Aids in ridding addictions to caffeine, alcohol, tobacco.
-Gets rid of puffy, bags around eye from late nights staring at a computer screen and/or debauchery.
-Relieves migraines

-Bring a silly sense of joy into ones lives; a wild, free-spirited joy.

It’s really easy to grow, and fresh herbs work best for tinctures, otherwise you can make tinctures, infused oils, teas, rubs, and poultices out of the dried flower which can be found at most natural markets or even online (mountainroseherbs.com is my favorite).

Some more shots of us making friends with our chamomile…

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 (Next we’ll infuse a ton in oil, probably almond which we’ll apply straight on the skin and then maybe whip up some in a base of shea butter for a thicker spread. Then dry a bunch for tea. Or maybe we’ll just let them dance in the dirt.  Who knows.)

I just saw the most beautiful photo of birth today here. I think it may be a still from a a documentary Called The Business of Birth produced by Ricki Lake.  Regardless, it sent chills up my spine! It made me giggle! Cry! Sigh! Sing!  I looked at it with some sort of desire and need and aching want.  And then I realized!  I had that! I had that photo in real life, at Sula’s birth.  I have never posted any of her photos from birth.  They are the most intimate, treasured, cherished images I possess.  But today I have to share because if the above photo brought me so much joy, I am assuming a couple of my photos can do the same for others.

Let these photos inspire you on your birthing journey.  Did I feel as good as I looked?  Yes.  Was this moment the most healing, magical, intimate, ecstatic moment of my life?  Yes. Yes. Yes.  Did I get this gift because I was lucky?  No. I received this gift because I made a connection with my body, a deal.  That deal was I would honor what it needed to do to bring my child to me.  And I would invite only those on the pregnancy and birthing journey with me who also honored the intricate and perfect birthing system my body owns.  I would not allow doubt or fear into our circle.  I would not allow an energy that did not fully trust the divine process that was unfolding like a powerful universe in itself.  And at some point I even agreed to accept that I may not be birthing at home, the way my dreams had intended. And I prepared, for a moment, that I must be ready for anything this journey offered me. I agreed to let birth come to me.  I was ready, waiting and open.  I let this birth happen.  Because really, that is what birth does, it happens.

Almost two years later I can still call these moments the most joyful and profound in my life.  They make me want to try it again.  This time only with the hands and hearts of my man and my children surrounding me.  Yes.  I do mean unassisted birth, because that is truly freedom to me.  But that is a story for another time.  For now, just notice it’s my strong hands reaching down to catch life.  And then the look on face when I bring my Sula Pearl to me. Ahhh. I am trying to remember how I felt and I think the best way to describe it for  that moment, besides unhindered love is: perfection. I felt that everything, absolutely everything was utterly perfect.  I so wish that all babies come into the world to mamas with this type of look on their face and surrounded with trusting,  respectful energy.  I do so believe birth matters.  It matters.  It matters.  It matters. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.

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Some heavy writings for the near future of this blog; I am so close to unraveling these heart stings and passing out a key to a peepshow of my emotions.  I need to use these words as a vehicle to navigate through life’s richest and deepest experiences, the ones that ain’t too pretty; the ones that question my ability to love, guide and be a better parent. 

But for now, let’s just have some fun and celebrate Rebecca.

Rebecca Love has been my friend since I was 19 years old.  Both upstate New York Gals (you know what they say about upstate gals, and it’s true). We both share the same best friend, and as time rolled on our friendship status expanded and mutated from both being Leigh’s best friend, to owning this incredible bond in our own right that I utterly cherish. We both shared the same bootlicious desire to shake it all night long and have done so often together.  We both are utter fire.  We both have been blessed with extreme wanderlust and when we can’t go by foot we do so in our minds. We both of have impeccable taste in shoes, bags and jeans. We posses an uncanny resemblance to one another, (except her breasts are fabulous and full and her legs go on forever). People often assume we are sisters (the kind who share the same mama) when we link arms and take on the night together.

Rebecca can be considered Diva Of My Day for a basket full of reasons; her vitality, her zen-like strut as she maneuvers through life, her refined psychic and intuitive abilities, her knowledge of the planets and the stars, her soft, smushy, kind heart mixed with her fearless howl when she sees fit to vocalize herself.  Her love for her friends is selfless. The way she mothers and loves my children is effortless and natural; even though she is not yet a mother, I am just in awe of how perfectly patient she is with my kids and how she communicates with them; with respect and love always allowing her wise innermama to emerge. I look forward to borrowing more from her when I get to watch her become a mother herself someday.  She is also on her way to becoming heavily involved in philanthropy, so if you have money to give away, ask her where to give it away to.

But none of these reasons qualified her as my diva.  All my friends are utterly fabulous.  But not all of my friends keep a little pocket rocket in their glove box so that when the traffic on the 10 Freeway going across L.A. gets thick and pretty much stops, pleasure can be found.

"You what?  You get-off with a vibrator when your stuck in traffic?" 

"Hell yeah.  I just realized one day that if I rolled up my tinted windows, stuck it down my pants,  I could scream as LOUD as I wanted and nobody would give a damn. Beats sitting in traffic."

"Wow.  You are my hero."

It’s that simple.  My diva’s use their time very, very wisely. 

Isn’t a place to party with your friends.

That’s the first sentence that caught my eye after being hand delivered an invitation for redemption.  A stranger approaches me in my driveway the other night while i am taking Sula out of the car.  "Hello ma’am." I am about to tell him we don’t need any tree maintenance, that my husband will do it someday himself.  But instead he tells me he personally invites me to join him in in the wonder of salvation.  I smile.  I am exhausted and cranky and to smile is the only way I can relieve my desire to not to say something totally rude.   I glance at the paper and see the above sentence.  Hell is not a place to party with your friends.  I look at him and say, "Everywhere is a place to party with my friends." He opens his mouth ready to deliver words but  I just giggle, nuzzle Sula in her glorious neck, feel utterly saved by her sweet smelling flesh, and I walk into my house.

 I settle down with a cup of tea and read this flyer he passed on, printrd in blood red ink.

WEEPING WAILING GNASHING OF TEETH  will TORMENT ME FOREVER if I don’t accept Jesus as my Savior.  I dunno, is it just me or does that sound like a threat?

THERE IS NO CHANCE OF EVER GETTING OUT—ETERNAL PUNISHMENT! Now that’s commitment.

Did I know I was the GREATEST DANGER that exists in the universe?  No shit? Little old me when there is a big old war going on? 

WARNING:YOU will be thrown in this ETERNAL FIRE! AND YOU WILL BURN! Ouch.  But hey, I’ve lived through 3 Phoenix summers.

The invite conveniently listed who "I" was; the person being invited to walk the Jesus road:The sexually immoral, practicing magical arts, a drunkard, a homo, a follower of evil, a murderer, greedy, deceived by the "new age movement", worshiper of idols.  Um, well, okay.  Sure.  Maybe a few.

Did I know that Hell IS NOT JUST FOR HITLER AND CHARLES MANSON, BUT FOR….ME.  Seriously? 

Did I know that the bible is THE FINAL AUTHORITY and that NO OTHER BOOK, such as the Koran, Book of Mormon, Bhagavad-Gita will save me?  Did I know I CANNOT be saved through Mother Mary, The 10 Commandments, or being a "good person" that there is no redemption for being kind if you do not FORSAKE SINS and TRUST CHRIST 100%?  Did I know there was only ONE PATH to ETERNAL LIFE and that was through JESUS to the FATHER?  I don’t claim to know a damn thing.

The flyer came designed with a lovely illustration of hell, people all naked, and screaming, and crying and and burning up in flames. Don’t let this happen to you! It warned.

Looks like I am a peace train to hell. 

 I was brought of Christian.  Roman Catholic.  But I was nursed my whole life with the belief that Christ was Love.  That God was Love. Granted, Catholicism is heavy in the idea that their organized religion was the only way into "Heaven", but in my house, there was no talk about the pits of Hell.  I was taught to be kind, nonjudgmental and loving; those were the roots my mother used and those stuck. I don’t buy into any dogma what so ever. As a matter of fact, my goal is to destroy all dogma.  Completely be gone with it.  Dogma that surrounds birth, life and death should be wiped away from minds and hearts.  Love needs no dogma.  Love brings freedom; and true love and passion for oneself spreads to each person we encounter.  True love heals.  Dogma separates.

My own personal vision of Christ was that of an avatar of love, if he was anything at all.  A teacher of the mystical ways, a guide for the teachings love; Unity, Compassion, Selflessness, Transcendence.  I remember being taught that in love the means and the ends are one in the same; we only get their by loving.  Not hating.  This is highly treaded ground here, but I will be another to say it: this bullshit is not Christ Consciousness.  It can’t be.  Jesus would not hand out fliers like that. 

This flyer, which part of me wishes I could scan and post here, because I know a lot of people who would get a good laugh and some a good cry and some will judge me for critiquing this method of missioning, but I already put it under flame in my backyard and watched it transform to nothing but ash.    Before I burned it I really listened to why I was given it.  Was I meant to be angered?  To convert? I actually saw that flyer as a blessing, reminding me of who I truly am.  I live and bring my children up on the faith of spontaneous happiness and joy. This invitation to "freedom and salvation" did it’s job for me;  it makes me want to smile bigger, open my heart wider, and rise above this particular Christian manifestation of Hell on Earth, because that is where hell dwells; this place right here in front of us, inside us; it’s where we hate, judge, and abuse.  It’s where we limit our love.  But it can be Heaven too, if we want it to be.  This harsh and at best, ridiculious message, is a tool to swing my pendulum more closely towards acceptance and co-existence. Because I am forced to look at that man with compassion.  Regardless of what he is doing (invading my privacy with hogwash) I don’t invite him to walk my path.  I don’t wish hell upon him for believing in a dogma that I see as simply destructive.   Back in the day, if I were to receive something like this I most likely would have cursed the guy out, getting into an heated argument about what hypocrisy there is in the Christian movement.  I would have debated paganism until I was blue in the face.  Or I would have dressed in black, draped myself in my red velvet cloak for kicks and passed out some of my own hand-made literature to the folks at The Good Shepard Church (the particular establishment which created these fliers).  But not now.  I mean is anything worth forcing down someone’s throat?  I don’t know what I believe, except that I believe in Love. And I believe listening for love is more powerful than talking about it.

I spent some time pressing my heart closer to my "enemy", the circle of energy that believes in threats and fear to draw people to a faith. I truly sending this entity love, acceptance, and light.  I am doing it right now, actually seeing life force enter me through all sides, feeling it’s positive power and then sending it back outside of me.  I send it towards space which seems dark and empty, lonely.  II pass it through  energy blocks formed by self-loathing and anger.  That man thought I needed to be saved, and as he extended this literature to me, he did his job.  I grow stronger and larger and lighter in my body and work on becoming a  pure vessel of energy.  A person who longs to never push dogma into someones hand, but just lend a hand.  I am on a long road and I have tons to learn, but this man was a teacher for me.  A spark to remind me what my purpose here on Earth is.  So I thank that man.  I love him. I hope that someday we can party in heaven together.

Blessed be!