The Queen of My Self

The Queen of My Self

Hot & Horny – PART 1

posted by Donna Henes

It is summer, hot and horny. We are surrounded, immersed, inundated by brilliantly bright light, pervasively palpable heat; pure and potent solar intensity — the very nerve and verve of life itself. We bask and steep in the positive, primal power of the sun, as well as our own. The passionate strength of the life force surges in our cells, flooding all of our senses with waves of lascivious longing and naked desire. We open ourselves to the experience, the energy, the ecstasy.

The steady heat of Summer helps to relax our muscles, making our bodies more fluid and flexible. Our overactive brains and busy minds, too, give way to the seductive power of the season of the sun. The constant stress of our hectic lives boils away and our worries and tightly held tensions completely dissolve, evaporate in the relentless fire of the cosmic cooker. We are limp and loose as spaghetti. All we want to do is lay about, revel and laze in the warm embrace of long, slow days and balmy nights.

Our inhibitions melt, leaving us steaming with all manner of desire. We are overcome with the pure, unadulterated pleasure and appreciation of our own enhanced sensuality. We feel as hot as the sun, salty as the sea, sticky sweet as nectar on an inviting flower. We are as fluttery as bees, pulsating, vibrating with an intensely felt urge to merge, an unapologetic sexual verve. Our passion becomes our purpose. The heat fuels our lust and creates in us a fervor for life and living. We are at one with the world. And all is well.

If the seasons of the year were a plant, the summer would be the flowers — lovely, lush and vaguely lewd. Fully realized blossoms — blatant and blowzy, lavishly colored and shamelessly, intoxicatingly scented like the blooming sexual organs that they are.

Like the sun and the sap, the libido also rises in summer. Out of its basket it surges, the charmed and sinuous serpentine call of the wild. No sissy spring fever, this. But full‑fledged, full‑bodied, full-of-pluck, magenta plush lust. Robust and randy. Raring, willing and completely able. The season pounding in our pulse, people, like flowers, are now quite perfectly primed. Vigorous, vital, and vivacious, we are fragrant and perfect and ready to pick.

If the sun is at its zenith in the sky, so, too, is nature here on Earth at the summit of its sumptuousness, the height of fertile power of the sun and the fecundity of the plants and animals that feed us. “As above, so below,” so the Talmud tells us. The sap has risen. The plants are in their prime. First fruits and flowers, grasses and game offer themselves for the taking. Trees are resplendent in their rich garments of verdure. The landscape is lush with life.

Next week PART 2…

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Donna Henes is the author of The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife. She offers counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity. Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE™

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to thequeenofmyself@aol.com.

Blessed Bees

posted by Donna Henes

For years, there has been a certain auspicious day every spring when a bumblebee would fly onto my terrace garden where it would hover contentedly everyday, all day long, throughout the entire summer, until a certain day in autumn when it would fly away.

This ritual visitation took place without fail for more than 15 years until a few years ago when my bee stopped showing up. I say “my bee.” But was it? Could it possibly have been the same bee for a decade and a half? How long to do bees live?

Or did my fuzzy fat friend select a successor who also passed the mantle when her vacation time was up? But whether or not it was the same bee, it was definitely my bee. My buddy. My constant summer companion. My nectar-gathering compatriot.

In Hellenistic Greece, bees were understood to be related to and a manifestation of the muse. My bee was an certainly inspiration to me, as well, and I missed her visits dearly. And so did my flowers.

“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.”

-Emily Dickinson

My bee isn’t the only one who stopped showing up. Millions upon millions of bees all over the world have been abandoning their hives and simply disappearing. Scientists named this mysterious phenomena colony collapse disorder.

If they are dying, they have chosen to do it in private, because large numbers of their corpses have not been found. Last year I found three dead bee bodies on the sidewalk just outside of my building. I saved their remains and added them to my growing collection of dead bumblebees. I keep my beautiful box filled with dead bees on my healing altar, where I pray for their wellbeing.

In some areas over sixty percent of the American honeybee population has died or disappeared during the past ten years, and this trend is continuing around the world. The potential results of this trend are terrifying. After all, one in three bites of all that we consume has been pollinated by bees.

In 1923 Rudolf Steiner predicted the dire state of the honeybee today. He said that within fifty to eighty years, we would see the consequences of mechanizing the forces that had previously operated organically in the beehive — including breeding queen bees artificially.

Well, I could have told them that The Queens don’t take interference kindly. And now they are having their royal revenge — a terrible, drastic, exacting retribution, which maybe, just maybe, might force us to rethink our precarious relationship with Mother Nature.

“We’re all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey day and night, aren’t we honey?”
-Bette Davis

Last week, my bee came back. I was completely delighted, overtaken by the depth and passion of my joy at our reunion. She hovered in front of my face for a moment then landed on my leg. And stayed there for a really long time, our bodies buzzing in unison.

Soon I noticed that she was uncharacteristically lethargic. Oh, no! Did she come back to die on me? I began to stroke her back ever so softly. I whispered prayers and gave her reiki. Then, because I had to leave, I placed her on the dirt of one of my flowering plants. If she was going to die, I wanted it to be in nature.

When I returned home a few hours later, the first thing I did was rush out to check on the bee, half expecting to see her lying on her back with her legs sticking up in the air.

But she was gone. Just gone.

“Like the bees from which this exhibition has drawn its name, we are individuals, yet we are, most surely, like the bees, a group, and as a group we have, over the millennia, built ourselves a hive, our home. We would be foolish, to say the least, to turn our backs on this carefully and beautifully constructed home especially now, in these uncertain and unsettling times.”

-The Museum of Jurassic Technology, Venice , CA

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Donna Henes is the author of The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife. She offers counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity. Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE™

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to thequeenofmyself@aol.com.

 

The Meaning of Our Memories

posted by Donna Henes

by Sister Joan Chittister

Memory is one of the most powerful functions of the human mind. It is also one of life’s most determining ones. What goes on in memory has a great deal to do with what goes on in us all our lives. Memory is a wild horse, unbridled, riderless, maverick. It takes us often where we would not go, or takes us back over and over again to where we cannot stay, however much we wish we could. So, it leaves us always in one state or the other, one place or the other, leaves us either pining or confused, leaves us in either case in a world unfinished in us.

It is the unfinishedness that is the price we pay for growing always older.

The young hear memory in the voice of their elders and, delighted by these voices from the past or bored by them, too often miss the content behind the content. Memory is not about what went on in the past. It is about what is going on inside of us right this moment. It is never idle. It never lets us alone. It is made up of the stuff of life in the process of becoming the grist of the soul.

There is an energy in memory that is deceiving. The assumption is that since a thing is past, it has no present meaning for us. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Whatever is still in memory is exactly what has most meaning for us. It is the indicator of the unfinished in life. It gives sure sign of what still has emotional significance for us. It refuses to allow us to overlook what must yet be acknowledged if we are ever to be fully honest with ourselves. Most of all, memory and the way we deal with it is the only thing we have that makes us authentic teachers of the young. It tells us what we did that now we miss doing, and it reminds us of what we didn’t do that now we wish we had. And such things live in memory forever.

But memory is not meant to cement us in times past. It is meant to enable us to do better now that which we did not do as well before. It is the greatest teacher of them all. The task is to come to the point where we can trust our memories to guide us out of the past into a better future.

There is nothing in conscious memory that is unimportant. To sit and listen to a person wander through the storied fragments of their lives is to come to know what worries them, what delights them, what love did to them, what rejection dampened in them, and what is left to deal with now if  the press of past failures, the loss of past loves are ever to be stitched into a healthy whole in the here and now.

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Donna Henes is the author of The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife. She offers counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity. Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE™

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to thequeenofmyself@aol.com.

How to Survive a Midlife Crisis

posted by Donna Henes

by Carol Howard Merritt

I was in the midst of that crisis of middle life. The one that made my eyes roll when I read of white women who felt they had no meaning. It always sounded like they inhabited a fog of luxury-malaise. They had to create drama because they didn’t have enough challenge in their day. So they began dieting, exercising, shopping, and sleeping with friends. Most of them could get away with it easily, thanks to the cluelessness of their husbands who spent most of their time watching sports.

What a cliché.

I wasn’t on the floor of the bathroom with Elizabeth Gilbert. I couldn’t eat or love my way out of this. My depression was much more boring than that. In fact, when I began to tell people about it, their eyes would glaze over, and they would change the subject. They would mindlessly look down at their phone and start reading their Twitter feed.

So I went to a therapist. He fell asleep on me. He literally nodded off in the middle of my sentence.

I got so much more depressed when I realized that I couldn’t even pay someone to be interested in my problems.

I wasn’t sleeping with anyone but my husband. I had dedicated my life to a life of meaning. And yet, I was still falling in that fear of insignificance. I started to struggle with getting out of bed. I didn’t want to take a shower.

Then, I remembered the words of Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones. She was instructing her readers on how to compile a gratitude list. And she said that if we had nothing to be thankful for, then we should be thankful for the ground.

So I looked down. The earth would bear me, even when I felt like I had no support. The air would sustain me, even when I was not feeling nurtured. The theologian Paul Tillich talked about God as the “Ground of all Being.” It was a rich metaphor. God was not above, removed, or distant. God was earthy and integrated.

The air would sustain me. I breathed. Then I went on a walk, and I wondered, “What would the ground tell me, if I listened? I mean, if I really listened? In the midst of my free fall, could I find some grounding?”

The air was damp. It wasn’t that greedy moisture when the air hoards the water into an oppressive blanket of humidity. It was the sort of damp that came from the relief of rain. Cooling everything. I had been walking for years, but it had become a time to make phone calls, listen to new music, take pictures, or finish up an audio book. But in this moment, I hungered to hear the wisdom of the ground.

I kept my house locked up. Sealed tight so that I could conserve energy. I couldn’t command the weather, but I had figured out how to make our home climate controlled. And so I had double-paned windows and lots of insulation guarding us from the elements.

I rarely thought about it, but when I walked outside, I realize that the world was singing. Birds, cicadas, dogs–it was like entering a murmuring crowd of people. I had to intentionally listen to the distinct voices. Trying to distinguish them, I heard the steady beauty of percussionists who repeat the same notes. How did they fit together so well, in their various syncopations and songs? Then I heard the rhythm of my feet on the ground.

The earth was reminding me that I am connected to the song, somehow.

It was  great folly of modernity. We thought that when we closed ourselves up, had control, then we would achieve comfort in our singularity. When we were alone, when we no longer had the nagging needs pulling at us, we would find relief. Yet being human means contributing to that chorus–the singing, barking, and the cries. What we do affects one another. And it was through my ability to hear and our vulnerability to each creature and that somehow made my crisis subside.

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Donna Henes is the author of The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife. She offers counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity. Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE™

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to thequeenofmyself@aol.com.

 

Previous Posts

Hot & Horny – PART 1
It is summer, hot and horny. We are surrounded, immersed, inundated by brilliantly bright light, pervasively palpable heat; pure and potent solar intensity — the very nerve and verve of life itself. We bask and steep in the positive, primal power of the sun, as well as our own. The passionate stre

posted 6:00:47am Jul. 25, 2014 | read full post »

Blessed Bees
For years, there has been a certain auspicious day every spring when a bumblebee would fly onto my terrace garden where it would hover contentedly everyday, all day long, throughout the entire summer, until a certain day in autumn when it would fly away. This ritual visitation took place without

posted 6:00:16am Jul. 23, 2014 | read full post »

The Meaning of Our Memories
by Sister Joan Chittister Memory is one of the most powerful functions of the human mind. It is also one of life’s most determining ones. What goes on in memory has a great deal to do with what goes on in us all our lives. Memory is a wild horse, unbridled, riderless, maverick. It takes us ofte

posted 6:00:55am Jul. 21, 2014 | read full post »

How to Survive a Midlife Crisis
by Carol Howard Merritt I was in the midst of that crisis of middle life. The one that made my eyes roll when I read of white women who felt they had no meaning. It always sounded like they inhabited a fog of luxury-malaise. They had to create drama because they didn’t have enough challenge in

posted 6:00:20am Jul. 18, 2014 | read full post »

Creating a Sacred Space in your Castle
The more conscious and respectful we become of the abiding presence and guiding force of our Selves, the more we feel inclined to spend time alone in Her excellent company. One way to honor these healing times of communion, of seclusion, and reflection with that deep part of us that is the source of

posted 6:00:28am Jul. 16, 2014 | read full post »


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