Taking a Step Back

At times we pass through life with a skewed perspective. The other day, I was in a shoppe and the calendar on the wall displayed a photograph of a man scaling a cliff, a photograph I took little notice of. What caught my eye was the caption: Pestilence.

"How true," I thought to myself. Then blinking I considered that it was an odd caption for a calendar.

I blinked, and looked again. In fact it said "Persistence." I had walked into the shoppe in a foul mood that had been pervasive for several days. My mood had coloured my ability to read. I saw the P and the "ence" on the end. My mind on autopilot filled in the rest.

Witch Hunts

We have found a witch...may we burn her?
(burn her burn her burn her)

How do you know she is a witch?

She looks like one
(yeah, yeah, yeah)

bring her forward

i'm not a witch, im NOT a witch

but you are dressed as one

THEY dressed me up like this
(bah, no we didnt, no we didnt)

this isnt my nose, its a false one

well?

well, we did do the nose

the nose?

and the hat...but SHE'S A WITCH
(yeah, burn her, burn her)

did you dress her up like this?

NO, NO, No, yes, yes, a bit...she has got a wart

what makes you think she is a witch

whuh, she turned me into a newt

a newt?

(pause) i got better
(BURN HER ANYWAYS, BURN HER BURN HER)

quiet, quiet, QUIET...there are ways of telling if she is a witch...





are there? what are they? tell us, tell us

tell me, what do you do with witches?

BURN BURN BURN BURN

and what do you burn apart from witches?

MORE WITCHES!!
(ssssh)

Wood. so, why do witches burn?

(long, lengthy pause) uh...because they're made of wood

gooooood...so how do we tell if she is made of wood?

build a bridge out of her!!

ahhh...but can you not also make bridges out of stone?

oh yeah, yeah sure

does wood sink in water?

no, no, no, it floats, it floats!! throw her into the pond!!

what also floats in water?

bread. apples. very small rocks. cider. great gravy. cherries. mud. churches. lead...

A DUCK!
(whooooooaaaa)

ex....actly!

so...logically...

if she...weighs the same...as a duck...she's made of wood.

and therefore?

(pause..) A WITCH!!!!

-Monty Python & the Holy Grail

The other day as I was visiting with a friend and she mentioned to me that she'd made a tincture of juniper from her yard combined with vodka for the purpose of banishing mold from her home, it struck me: a few hundred years ago most of my friends and I would very well be considered witches. Except of course, that none of us weighs the same as a duck.

The word witch has the same linguistic roots as the words "wisdom" "wit" "wise" etc. Originally, a witch was a wise woman. This was considered a threat to the security of the Vatican and male dominated offshoot religions that had subjugated women as seductresses & sinners who inherited their evil nature from Mother Eve. (As opposed to primitive Christianity which revered Mother Eve and her choice to embrace mortality as a purposeful and wise choice.) So, along with slavery and various other movements to oppress that have enforced their control by enforced ignorance, women were strongly encouraged (under penalty of death) to be submissive, silent, and less-than intelligent.

As a disclaimer this is not intended to be inflammatory toward the Catholic or Protestant sects, certainly no one would argue that the Vatican has not always been under the control of righteous men and there were mistakes and misconceptions made throughout the history of churches in the middle ages-this being one of them; without doubt hundreds of innocent women were slaughtered in the name of religion.

Fast forward to today. I am surrounded by animals as my familiars. My home smells of "potions" or as I call them essential oils diffused into the air for their healing properties. I practice kinesiology to diagnose and treat my family's ailments. I'm starting to consider my houseplants as beings with personality and as part of my devout faith in God, I sense a deep spiritual and physical connection to the earth, the moon and its cycles, and I can sometimes sense when things are going to happen. I don't consider myself psychic. I certainly don't practice Wicca or define myself as a witch. Most certainly though 300-600 years ago I would have been considered one.

With all my peculiarities and my beliefs in Karma (which I define as something controlled by God with traditional scriptural references to back up my belief), I can walk down the street or even talk about these things without the bat of a passerby's eye. Nearly everyone has experimented with alternative medicines, accupuncture, homeopathy, midwifery to some degree, its not unusual. I have friends who have studied under Reiki masters to learn energy healing. They talk about it openly and its not shocking or shunned as Eastern ideas about energy and health become more widespread.

I see this as an indicator that we as women are on the right track. Yes things often seem far-gone, with the American Psychological Association issuing a severe warning about the over-sexualization of girls in our culture and the harmful effects, we certainly still have work to do. But, that feminine concepts such as intangible energies are being widely accepted is a sign that things are getting better. So, while I continue to explore the power of God, (or nature, or energy--whatever you choose to call it) I hope my explorations will lead to more empowerment and greater freedom to birth our ideas from within rather than from the framework of a male-oriented power model. After all, our true power is the power we hold within ourselves: an inheritance if you will.

The Body I Earned

Mom-O-Matic blogged a month or so ago about shame & blame and how she knows she will not drop the extra pounds until she comes to term with being shamed publicly.

Then last night I found myself scrutinizing pictures of "Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong" on the covers of various tabloids. I watched a piece on Discovery channel about airbrushing, photography, and how none of the celebs and models look like that in person.

We have a cultural dichotomy between what is real and what is not in terms of bodies. Thousands of men and women nationwide are fighting the shame and blame games from both embarrassing past experiences and just the flat fact that they are fat in a society that worships thinness.

Having grown up in close promixity to professional dancers, and spending the better part of my teenage years watching them rehearse in studio (and wishing I had a body like that) I learned young that 500 situps a day does not give an already uuber-fit person the tummy texture we call six-pack abs--surgery does. A close friend growing up ditched a career as a professional gymnast because she refused to eat the required maximum lunch of half an apple, and the required maximum breakfast of a piece of toast and a tsp of jelly. I've seen dancers lose jobs over 8 ounces of extra weight, and not get auditions because of their weight on their printed resume be listed as 2 lbs above the cut-regardless of bone structure, or talent. They are told to skip more meals and come back when they aren't so fat. Jobs in chorus lines are given to girls who match down to height, weight, bone structure, and lipstick color. Once they match your physique, only then do they consider your talent.

I am not fat by any means. I weigh 2 pounds more than I did when my oldest child was conceived and 10 lbs more than my all-time-low adult weight. I eat whatever I want and as much as I want. I've retired from feeling that my goodness and wholeness as a person is contingent on being a size 2. I can tell you truthfully that in the dance world I would be considered a good 30 lbs overweight and my arms are too short, my torso too long, and my shapely legs are way too white to parade on stage.

Yesterday I saw a woman that in earlier months I would have compared myself to and felt the burn of shame at my body. I would have envied her long, tanned legs, tiny waist, large breasts and small circumference of her rib cage. But I don't envy her at all. From spending time around extremely thin and fit people as a teenager who worship their bodies and what they can do, I know she isn't real. She bought her body-her breasts, her rippled abs, hair extensions, and even her suntan.

I earned my shapely breasts that remained buxom after pregnancy and breastfeeding. Sure they aren't as perky as they could be with a little silicone, but they are beautiful and a hospital nurse deemed them "perfectly shaped" for latching on a hungry infant. My torso is textured, not with liposuction induced ripples with but zebra like stretch marks where my daughter liked to poke out her bottom, and the place where my son's feet liked to press-my stomach markings are badges of honor. Her arms are long and very thin, my biceps are large and strong from hoisting toddlers and grocery bags. I doubt she could drag a 400 lb dresser to the other side of the room without assistance like I did yesterday. I can't wear high heels, and this woman wears nothing but; however, I have a college degree and a promising career track-one that regards my looks with a grain of salt but considers the aptitude of my mind and abilities foremost.

She probably turns heads with her shape and heavy eyeliner. I'm sure she has a lot of sexual attention from men. I know her well enough to know that that is what she's all about. With or without a man in my life I know I would be OK, I'm not so sure she would. So no, I'm not ashamed of the body I earned, I'm proud of it.

Resolution

If you have never stood, holding a razor blade to your wrist begging yourself to slice, if you have never considered pulling the wheel too hard around the bend in the hopes your car would slide, if you have never honestly wondered if your children would be better off without you in their lives--then you have never felt the incredible absence of feeling that is Depression.

If you have never been so empty that tears will no longer come, if you have never been so alone that it doesn't matter if you rise from your bed, if you have never known you are even below the very rock at the bottom--then you have never entered the abyss that is Depression.

If you have never awoken more exhausted than when you lay down, if your bones have never have hurt without your being injured, if your very skin has never writhed away in pain from loving human touch--then you have never endured the tearing sensitivity that is Depression.

If you have never turned from the ant-like, superficial lives of those around you with cynicism, if you have never known the gnawing circle of disgust in your center, if you have never endured apprehension of impending doom...and pained more that it doesn't come--then you have never seen through the twisted eyes that are Depression.

If you have never looked into another person's eyes and started at the recognition of seeing their grief, if you have never held another body wracked with sobs and known no comments are adequate, if you have never wept for her tears that would not flow--then you have never been humbled to know you have survived Depression.


Depression Facts and Stats

Depressive disorders affect approximately 18.8 million American adults or about 9.5% of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year.

Everyone, will at some time in their life be affected by depression -- their own or someone else's.

Pre-schoolers are the fastest-growing market for antidepressants. At least four percent of preschoolers -- over a million -- are clinically depressed.

The rate of increase of depression among children is an astounding 23% p.a.

54% of people believe depression is a personal weakness.

41% of depressed women are too embarrassed to seek help.

80% of depressed people are not currently having any treatment.

15% of depressed people will commit suicide.

Depression will be the second largest killer after heart disease by 2020 -- and studies show depression is a contributory factor to fatal coronary disease.


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Vehicles of Patriarchy

High heels, I loathe you. Oh sure, you are pretty. You make my calves and booty look so voluptuous, yet you make my toes and arches ache and blister. Who decided that open toed sandals should be made of shiny leather which will rub, rub, rub the skin off my feet? You can't wear socks or hose with them, you can't even put on a bandaid for padding without it showing through. Who was that man, I'd like to punch him in the face. And you know it was a him. You know a woman would have considered toe friction and bunion avoidance. She also would have considered arch support and a surface to balance on wider than a pencil. She also would have considered that if your right leg is 1/32nd of an inch longer than your left, this manifests in incredible pressure on your right big-toe joint in high heels. The male designer of course, never got past the idea of calves and booties.

I can't get away with wearing my Columbia hiking shoes except on casual Fridays anymore, people are starting to talk. My flat oxfords don't cut it with summery skirts and capris, so I bought some lovely, bone colored open toed dress shoes for work. They were beautiful, feminine shoes that would have done Minnie Mouse proud. I envisioned the women at work saying "great shoes!" I thought about how I empowering it would be to be two inches taller. I put on the shoes and they felt decent at the store. When I got dressed this morning I realized that there was going to be some serious pain by the end of the day. By breaking out the bandaids I was able to spare my pinky toes. I thought the joint by my big toe would be OK, but as the day wore holes into my feet, I came to rue the day I found them on display at Shoe Pavillion.

Of course today was also one of those wild goose chase days at work. I couldn't just sit at my desk and slide the shoes off except for when I walk down the hall to the vending machines for bottled water. No, of course I had meetings outside the office. I had to walk up and down the stairs six times, carrying my 30 lb briefcase with me. Chivalry is dead, none of the office guys so much as glanced at my case let alone offered to carry it, but high heels survived the feminist movement to curse us into our graves. And of course, my meetings were no shows so I had to back and forth it up and down the stairs all day long. You can't walk quickly in them because its too painful. Walking slowly means more steps with the inane rubbing with each step. Hans Christian Anderson was prophetic of high heels when the Witch told the Little Mermaid her every step would feel like knives slicing her skin. I think she would have thought twice about becoming human had she realized it was not an exaggeration.

Some of my third-stage feminist friends claim makeup is a vehicle of patriarchy, a snare set by men to keep us subservient and superficial. No, I love Estee Lauder and Mary Kay. They have never prematurely aged me. They have protected me from melanoma and give me some color on days when I feel like the walking dead after a long night with a sick toddler. They let me experiment with a new look for a $14.95 tube of lipstick instead of $90 cut and highlights and they are completely reversible. Men of the metrosexual persuasion are even catching on to the benefits of tea-tree oil and concealer for the occasional unsightly blemish.

High heels however, have given me nothing back. They have sent me to the choiropractors office for an adjustment and a $120/hour sacro-cranial massage to relieve the headaches that travelled up my sciatic nerve to my skull. They slow me down to the pace of a tortoise forcing me to do my work twice as fast to make up the time. And when I walk in the door and I see my husbands eye travel up me from ankle to shoulder I kick the infernal things off in disgust. Not on your life after the day I've had with these blasted shoes. Please pass the ibuprofen, and honey, next time you catch me glance at the spring shoe display at Macy's please steer me toward Sephora instead. You'll thank me later, I promise.

I Vote for Plan B

Scientists at Johns-Hopkins University have developed a genetically modified mosquito that is better able to survive than mosquitoes in the wild. The plan is to release the mutant mosquitoes who are hardier and through natural selection, they will eventually take over and other mosquitoes will die out. They believe this is a good idea, because the genetically modified mosquitoes are immune to malaria.

I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here: it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

While 300 million people contract malaria each year, and 1 million die from it, this could potentially avert the malaria problem. Except that the malaria the genetically superior mosquitoes do not spread is a form that makes mice sick, but not people.

Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm Jurassic Park.

Does anyone really think its a fabulous idea to release genetically mutated super-bugs into the environment? I don't know of anyone who personally enjoys being bitten by mosquitoes, having mosquito bites, or being infected with encephalitis or West Nile virus. Malaria is one of our concerns, but malaria in people, not in rats!

It's almost as if they think that having more mosquitoes will make things better. I've never had mosquitoes take all my blood before, I suspect the population of Africa (where Malaria is most rampant) could supply more blood to the mosquito population than they are currently. So is the idea that with only half the mosquitoes now spreading disease, we will feel better about that-and somehow not notice we are getting twice as many mosquito bites? (I don't think that reduces the odds of contracting Malaria much.)

What is so great about discovery? It is a violent, penetrative act that scars what it explores. What you call discovery, I call the rape of the natural world.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

Um-kay, maybe rape is a little extreme, but there has to be a better solution than the introduction of genetically engineered micro-vampires into the food chain. It's only a matter of time before the little devils mutate to become invincible, organize and take over the world-right after we all die of some undiscovered prion that the genetically modified mosquitoes do carry, but the scientists did not notice when they concocted their little scheme.

Enter Plan B: Scientists at Hebrew University have annihilated their mosquito population by spraying a sugar based pesticide on acacia trees. Female mosquitoes need blood to reproduce, but they need sugar for energy. Mosquitoes are picky about what they eat, so its been discovered that we can selectively spray only the flowers and plants they find attractive-not the ones that are part of our food supply.

Call me crazy, but the idea of a mosquito-less world is very appealing to me. No more choosing between wearing eau deu Deep Woods and dying of West Nile Virus...no more paying $150 every three months on Canine Advantix for my dogs.

I don't think the John's Hopkins research has gone to waste, maybe they could generalize their research to creating genetically modified honeybees that have no stingers, but who also create more honey. Its a win-win situation for Winnie the Pooh, and for those of us who have to carry an Epi-Pen in the spring and summer.