Rebirth and the New Eve

Mary nesting doll

Sept. 8, 2019

Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin

I do not believe that the mother of Jesus, Mary, a woman declared “immaculate” by the Catholic Church, was spotless or non-condemnable by the standards with which men, particularly high ranking religious clerics, have traditionally judged women.

I believe this highly evolved woman’s spotlessness rested in her fearless trust in God, and unique lack of self loathing.

In other words, Mary was never subject to brainwashing by anyone, including those in “authority” over her, even as a young child. I believe she never believed the lie that so many of us do, that she was somehow separate from God, by nature. She accepted an angel’s directive that she would bear God himself in her body precisely because she recognized the Divine already within, and the Divine Person from Whom she herself must have originated, because she was aware her own image was a reflection of that Divine.

Capabilities for self awareness have been shown to be associated with the frontal lobe in the human brain, which is also associated in some spiritual languages with the All Seeing Eye, and a heightened state of evolved consciousness.  Mary has been equated with wisdom, pondering, and knowing since antiquity,  which makes her depiction in highly symbolic iconic imagery with a broad forehead, and strong, broad shoulders very appropriate. 

I believe that the biblical Mary was actually the prototype of brilliant, strong women that later in church history would be burnt at the stake for Knowing – for knowing –  in effect “too much”, that is, their own self worth. They knew that God never intended “worth” to be limited to the physical act of reproduction, or the supporting roles women play for male “leaders”, or even sacrificing for their own children. This made these highly spiritual and enlightened women, like Joan of Arc, dangerously powerful, in fact the only thing, sometimes, that corrupt, brute men (who would abuse them and their children) seemed to also intuit, could destroy them.

And with good reason.

In scripture, Mary is depicted as the Woman in Revelation, conquering multi headed beasts, creatures that could be said to represent these ever divisive, mutually corrupted Powers of Man.

In one of the last books of the Bible, you find this woman protecting the child of God in her arms from earthly fraud and deception, fleeing with him from unjust powers, material empires and institutions of mankind, to a place that symbolizes a safe state of enlightenment, where God it seems, will provide for all of his children directly.

And it only makes sense that Mary’s soul was this perfect pattern type of the wisdom and maternal, protective “Nature” of God.

It only makes sense that her Son’s soul represented God’s Expression, or “Word”.

It only makes sense that the Maternal Nature of Divinity would recognize each of us also as a universal Christ, especially when and where, through no fault of our own or their own, our own self doubting, error and fear ridden parents fail us.

As the story goes, once upon Jesus’ incarnation, he took on all of his physical, material or human nature from a woman, who outside of time, was the very incarnated, Nature of God, that Wisdom that danced and played like beautiful music, alongside heaven’s riverbanks.

Of course for most of us “mere” mortals, who are susceptible to brainwashing by the dark fog and confusion of earth, it is really hard to comprehend these beautiful mysteries, deeper understandings of Genesis, and parable-like stories of human incarnation and evolution, let alone capture the infinitely wise and loving Nature of God “in a Word”.

For me it was difficult enough just to roll out of bed this morning, let alone charge up my laptop, and wire myself with enough caffeine to translate inspiration into expression, and record what I felt God had inspired me to write during the night.  I have certainly come to believe it is the greatest challenge of my own spiritual evolution to “reunite” this notion of love, insight, knowledge, wisdom and will – with power, expression, action and word.

It is now past midnight.

Yes, we mortals, both men and women (except for The Woman not subject to brainwashing, and Jesus) seem to have swallowed the lie that we are “mere”, meant to stay “mere”, and can’t possibly really be anything “more”. Most of us are merely existing, while working only to stay in a state out of crisis in which we are barely alive, because to live more fully is too scary, at best.

The earthly realm gives us the false impression that strength and empathy are necessarily separate, as well as power and gentleness, vulnerability and fearlessness, and compassion and victory.

The systems of the world have divided us, creating countless apocalyptic monsters, or multi headed serpents that are very convincing, and appear as if real.  I count among them the notion of “good” people and “bad” people, opposite, but equally wrong extremes – and false dichotomies like left versus right. Women suffer under men who behave heartless, misogynist, and egotistical or quickly lose respect for the man who appears too apathetic to defend anyone, including himself. Many men at first may think they want the submissive, subservient type woman, who thinks this is grace, and won’t allow herself, to even think for herself. Other men will spend their lives arguing with the woman who uses her often superior intelligence and insight – to manipulate and control him.

Why do humans assume we cannot escape double binds? I say we must first realize the double bind (like the perceived inequality, or perceived unworthiness of God) is not real. It’s one of those lies strewn into our perceptions of reality, so subtly, so cleverly,  that we often mistake it for a benign and nutritious apple, dangling from a tree, that will keep us alive if we just take a bite.

We have forgotten Heaven, our wholeness there, and how this is mysteriously linked to our “fall” into a subterranean land, the separation of mankind into two genders, then the birth of a woman, born “spotless” and free.  We don’t remember that we are the very children of God, because we now see only that which we assume to be true (often what we fear) and subsequently perceive.

I think the key to realizing once again our spiritual wholeness and freedom  (and I am not speaking here about the reunion in peace of men with women, but the reunion of each person with their true soul self)  lies in this concept of painstakingly undoing our own indoctrinations, “errors”, assumptions and fears, things that can create purgatory or even hell for ourselves and others on earth.

Yin was never meant to be separate from yang, not in a woman, and neither in a man.

For if God the Father could be compared to a mother hen with a brood of chicks, a woman brilliant with the sun could exist – feminine, fearless, assertive and bold – and this woman could give birth to the paradox of a miracle-working male human child , who conquers death itself with his own vulnerability and crucifixion on a cross, why then can’t there be men, strong, brave and courageous enough to embrace emotions like love and human empathy, rather than suppressing them, and women who with their bold intelligence, insight and intuitive abilities lead in strength and achieve victory as well?

For this return to Eden I pray, and that every day be a New Eve, or “New Eve’s Birthday”.

For this, I believe, is the true future and evolution of mankind.


Sanctuary Places & Secret Spaces

cottage 7

There’s something special about old houses, whether it’s the nooks and crannies hidden beneath the stairs, the familiar sound of one’s tread on the floor, or a gigantic, flowering lilac bush, encroaching upon a porch with a swing where you sit in the summer time, drinking iced tea from a tumbler.

But the first old house I lived in was in West Point, NY, when I was a little girl, and my fondest memories of it are in winter.

Often I’d be curled up with a favorite book (I re-read the Chronicles of Narnia so many times, the books to my set cracked apart into separate chunks) and looking out the giant expanse of windows in the “sun” room, praying for snow.

Yes, I loved snow, and I prayed for it, because we lived in a valley often neglected for the peaks of the mountains in which it sat, peaks frequently graced and made resplendent in white.

But sometimes God complied with a little girl’s wish, and granted not just the black mountain bear or fox but me as well, some snow in which to play.

icicles off windowbox

I haven’t thought of that old house as much, or been reminded of it as much as I have been since I’ve moved into my own little cottage, which is over a hundred years old.

Yes, it will be the oddest thing, not just the colonial structure of the current home, which reminds me of the one in my childhood, but the heaviness of a door, or the unusual twist in a cellar passage way. And it won’t be so much the public history, but the remembered, intuited, or imagined stories, that will kind of belong to a place, which has become a sacred sanctuary – set apart from the rest of the world.

So the other day at the cottage, after a snow storm in the present, I was walking my dogs, and the way the snow had accumulated upon the large evergreen bushes running alongside the house, had created a fluffy, white stretch of roof top (with meandering open spaces and tunnels beneath) which the dogs wanted to explore. This gave me a familiar, excited feeling, as if I was a child again.

snow tunnel 3

It’s always the simplest things – the beauty of nature, the noticed patterns and symbolism that take me back home, or make me realize, with a spirit of gratitude, that I am home.

Suddenly I recalled playing with a childhood friend that I may not have remembered much, or even ever again, if not for this sudden rush of nostalgia, and the reminder of snow tunnels beneath shrubbery, having explored similar ones with this playmate, outside that old house I used to call home at West Point, NY.

Those were days of great joy, and I don’t recall wondering once, if my all-providing father fretted over the inevitable problems that must have been associated with older homes, of which this military housing consisted.

Back then, I didn’t see the elongated windows of the sunroom through which I manifested snow as “drafty”, and outside I didn’t see overgrown shrubbery, needing to be cut down come spring,  to regimented standard.

I just saw marvelous long, drippy icicles, bedecking windows and rooflines like garland, and mysterious igloo-type tunnels in which I could hide, beneath gnarled, ancient shrubbery so old – it created a sense of mystery. I saw outside-rooms created out of nature in which we could play house, or secret passage way, or create a story of our own making to which mother nature had already provided the fodder.

Who notices the most important things, adults or children, I wonder?

white feather in house
And when we find ourselves noticing odd or shall I say – pausing for beautifully mysterious things – in adulthood, or noticing how the present can be like a teaching echo of the past, is it then that we have really come of age, and read the patterns of our life correctly?

For I do not think it just coincidence that in a time when I am more healed or at peace, having given my own need for home and sanctuary precedence, that I recall a time in my childhood in which I had a father who took care of draft and danger, leaving me free to explore and create, while never leaving the perimeters of a safe haven.

For is God not a God who does just the same, as my father did then?

And is this world not just like a very old house?

Designed to make us recall, our even more permanent, and infinitely magical, home in heaven?


Our Lady of Perpetual Help, after fire

I know the woman who rests her bare feet on the moon and the stars, while holding their creator, like every child that comes into time.

She clears a path through fiery conflagration, she opens locked doors, and shelters the small.

In the desert they will find refuge, while the guilty get lost in a maze, a trail of their own destruction.

She is the woman of the apocalypse, the heart of mankind, and the very nature of God.

Searching for Oz



 A book review.

Sometimes in an author we recognize a voice, startlingly familiar, as if angels have guided their pen to page… tap, tap. I find myself engrossed in Adele’s book, feeling honored that  she would “share” her inner thoughts with me.  I want to take her words in slowly and ponder them all, for I was meant to read this. Adele’s style of writing is one in which the flow of words, although seemingly random, form beautiful, rhythmic patterns, like the movement of water in a stream.

This smacks familiar to me.

It is a voice through channels unexpected, that reminds me of home.

And thy own soul a sword shall pierce, that, out of many hearts, thoughts may be revealed. Luke 2:35

My Sweet Lord told me

I cannot be without you

HE is in me

I was drinking black and white water

they gave me, so as not to get caught

I cried

They held a gun to my head

My father would rather be better off dead

than kill me by destruction

The mass is in tatters

Its remnants remain

like shattered victims

on the floor

Open the door

and let them out of My house

where (and when) they are being


I will see and feed them

in the hills

(Oh, my Sweet Jesus, how I love you!)

make amends with the sinners

after they have fallen from My Grace,

and give them drink

from Celestial waters

It’s important you understand the plan

(not yours, not mine)

As it was in the beginning

Is now

And ever shall be

The plan of My Father

In Heaven

For random valleys

hurt the meadows

that they grow in

and towns and cities

cannot be built on ice

Flowers grow (and blossom)

where they are planted

The shores will eat them up

if left alone

The mountains are high

close to My Heart

Wild and Free

Like the back of my hand

Which would not harm

Its servants


Your hour is here


Raymond’s Song



Help of the helpless

My dear family

This is my deathbed

Fear not, abide with me

The dark shadows lesson

God’s means and ways made clear

Oh my sweet family

Awake, abide with me

For my dear Lord Jesus

Bearing gifts

He calls to me

Like Christmas morning

Rejoice, abide with me

This is no false vision

In Heaven I’ll awake

For no actions I have taken

For false or pity sake

Hear my Last Word 
and Testament

Heaven’s story I will tell

Trust is not forbidden there

False charity is hell

God does not abandon us

Or withdraw His Father’s Love

When we cannot do His will

As injured sparrow, lamb or dove

Renovate God’s mansions

Like flowers in the Son

Tether not the captives

The misfits that you shun

Long I loved you in life

No false attempt to charm

Ne’er false words spoken

To no gentle brother harm

Help of the helpless

Lean close  dear family

Abide with me forever

Lean close and hear and see

I have loved this life too dearly

Vultures pass not where I lie

I have loved this death too gladly

To speak error while I die

The motive of  intention

Will remain forever clear

Do not reward with slavery

Intervention do not fear

For at birth we are delivered

Through His Image all made same

But through death we are delivered

Wild and free God calls by Name

You are not the help of helpless

Nor the spouse to marry me

You are not celestial virgin

Infant born beneath my tree

Let us build the City of God

Make haste abide with me

Mother’s house is in the after

Abusers’ kingdoms will not be


Sunday Edition Criminal Chase

Remember down at Shady Acres

Where the grass was over grown

Ring Ring Ring went the sound

Of a rotary dial

It’s your Daddy on the phone

I asked you to take care of them

My children and my wife

You ate instead the bread I gave them

Took my very life

Little Nate he understands

He’s doing very well

Though he bears the marks your sins have given

In the blood in which he fell

The incorrectly ordered man

Is deadly to himself

And my daughter writes in place of me

That book upon a shelf