The only thing we can change as individuals is our behaviour. 

So much hate dressed up in garments of religiosity and ideology. [MC]

Less than 24-hours after the attack, when a heavily armed, white supremacist, stormed into two Christchurch mosques killing 50 Muslim worshipers, I wrote how I felt powerless to effect any change. I don’t have a political platform or a public voice. My voice is barely a whisper among the finger-pointing cacophony of public opinion surrounding the attack. The only place left to go is within. Try to understand the ‘tilt’, and process the disquiet that has been slowly building. To be honest, it’s been a little uncomfortable.

The ‘tilt’ is not an entirely unfamiliar feeling. The first time my world tilted on its axis was when my sister woke me late at night to tell me she could hear my parents having an argument. We tiptoed down the hallway to listen. As a ten-year-old I had never heard my parents argue. And it rocked me. I was worried and scared. Something shifted inside me. I went back to bed with my fear and never talked about it again. But since the terror attack, I find myself thinking about this incident. When I try to process recent events, I am reminded of this past event. As though in some way they are linked.

And in their own way, they are linked. In both these situations my worldview shifted. I now understand my parents were only human, and not superhuman, as seen, and expected, through my eyes. It is only in hindsight I understand the lesson of this event. However, the lessons from the March 15 attack have been a little more confronting.

The most uncomfortable truth has been my worldview of Islam and of being Muslim.  Since 911 we have been bombarded with images and comments that talk about Islam, Terror, Muslim and Radical, as if the words were joined together at the seam. As though one could not exist without the other. All or nothing. I believed it.

Most of all I feel cross with myself because I did not question. Nothing is what it seems – and this is exactly why we should question everything we think, see and are told. Wasn’t it Albert Einstein who said, “The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing?”

I did not question what I was seeing and hearing. Did not do my own research – trusted everything I read and watched. And my left-over crumbs of ‘religiosity’ sealed the deal nicely. I saw only what I wanted to see instead of investigating to see what there was really to see. I became judge and jury according to any narrative dished out by so-called experts. I am deeply sorry for this, humbled by the grace, love and dignity shown by the New Zealand Muslim community.

Since writing this piece there has been another attack. This time in Sri Lanka when suicide bombers struck three Christian churches and four luxury hotels killing over 300 people. At face value it seems hypocritical, ridiculous even, to talk about God as Love when we are surrounded by all this hate ‘in the name of God’. So much hate dressed up in garments of religiosity and ideology. God has suffered a great injustice at the hands of those who claim to be the closest to God.  God is not responsible for this hate. Religion is not responsible for this hate. It is the people who use religion and God to hate and control who are responsible for these attacks.

Author, Speaker and Educator, Ruby Usman says we forget that humans are only humans.
“And it is the weak humans who use religion to exact power upon other people. It is not Islam; it is always the person who is using this power to control people in their lives.”
It is these people, Ruby says, who need to be called to account. Not God. Not religion.

Yes, my world tilted, my worldview was challenged, and my soul feels uprooted. What a lesson on Love Our Muslim community has given us. I feel like I have been both reprimanded and given a gift. Been asleep and just woken up. Reminded that no religion or belief system has a monopoly on God.  That I cannot contain God in a box of my own making. Love is the goal and we all have access to this Love. The Muslim community reminded me of this. Thank you.

 

Yesterday, when hate was unleashed, we lost our innocence.

No one can learn to love by following a manual. (MC)

I am just an ordinary person trying to grapple with a hate crime.

Normality amid tragic circumstances is bizarre. Today, I walked the dog, chatted to a neighbour, watched a large peloton of bike rider’s speed by, and did the weekly shopping. A normal life of a very ordinary person.

Turn me inside out though, and it’s a different story. Shock, grief, sorrow, helplessness and sympathy smother my ‘ordinary’.  We woke this morning in New Zealand feeling different. Less than 24 hours ago our peaceful country was infiltrated by hate, violence, and ignorance. An act of terrorism. A country in mourning after a deadly massacre at two Christchurch mosques. As of today, 49 have been confirmed dead with more than 30 people hospitalised, some critical. We are a small county, sitting at the bottom of the world map. We believed we lived in a safe and peaceful country. Yesterday, when hate was unleashed, we lost our innocence.

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It takes courage to love yourself

To love yourself you must know your real self, not your relative, conditioned self. (Deepak Chopra)

I have spent much of my life travelling on journey’s that were not mine to travel. Blind to my self-worth, unbelieving of my intuition, and deaf to my own inner voice. And, sadly, my parenting reflected this.  If there is one piece of advice, I wish I could go back and build into my daughters’ lives, it would be that self-love is the most important of all love’s.  That the most prized of all relationships they will ever experience, will be the relationship they have with themselves.

Once again, I’ve been catapulted into the space of the ‘unknown’.  My profound awakening of my feminine soul is taking all sorts of twists and turns, none of which I envisaged. I blurred the lines of freeing my feminine soul, with that of being a feminist. I imagined myself fighting the good fight for women’s rights. Being a Naomi Woolf for women’s souls. A noisy, unfettered, unapologetic roaring feminist. I couldn’t have been more wrong. That may well be the end-product, but for now, I have entered a space which quite frankly terrifies me. The discovery of my feminine soul has spiralled into a journey of self-love.

In my journal entry from a few weeks ago, I wrote,

“I feel really nervous. I can see there is a real danger when the feminine soul is released from captivity. I don’t know what to do with what is happening. I’m worried I’ll go astray with this. Oh, my feminine soul, help me. Lead me to the next step…pleeeease’.

And that’s all the soul needs – permission to lead. And as it turns out I have much to learn before reaching ‘activist’ status.

Author Sue Monk Kidd says the real issue is that women have to come to understand themselves as ‘central’, not ‘peripheral’. Before anything can happen, she says, women have to depend on themselves.

“This cannot be done against men, and that’s the real problem. It cannot be woman against man, it has to be woman finding her true self, with or without man, but not against man”.

Depend? What do you mean? True self? Everything about this statement rocked my world. I do not know how to depend on my true self. I have not done this since …. well… forever. Just thinking about it sent me into a panic.

One afternoon I decided to visit my panic. I turned my focus inwards to the place in my chest where I literally feel the anxiety. I saw a couple of knots. As one of the knots loosened a baby girl appeared. She was snuggled in a womb, wearing a white bonnet and covered in a white blanket. I knew I was that baby. I held the baby’s face in my hands and covered her with little kisses, told her how beautiful and precious she was.  Me, telling me, how cherished and loved I was.  I visited other areas of my injured soul. Again, and again, I uttered words of love into those situations. This is a shortened version, blog version, of what happened, but overriding it all, was this awareness’ I wasn’t alone – I was with someone. This was my feminine soul doing Her work and how beautiful it was – absolutely liberating.

We spend a lot of time searching for love. We search for it everywhere, through other people, power, wealth, beauty and status. But the full alchemy of love is inside you not outside. Anything else is just a relative, a sanitised version of your true self. True love can only come out of you, it cannot come into you.

The aching for love and acceptance is a strand of yearning that links us all. We cannot fully serve the truth or follow in Love’s footsteps without self-love. To be a bold and unshakable voice for the soul we must also be unshakable. It takes courage to love yourself.

I’m wondering where my feminine soul is going to lead me next. All I know, at this point in time, is that without self-love, all other relationships, will be fractured versions of what is possible in love.

We are never ‘there’ on the spiritual journey

The spiritual journey must be experienced, not Googled. [MC]

How is my spiritual journey going? I feel it’s not going well at all, but I have a sneaky suspicion I’m right where I’m meant to be.

Sometimes I remind myself of that kid in the car who continuously asks: ‘Are we there yet?’
We live in an era where we have instant access to knowledge, so embarking on a journey is relatively simple these days. With a push of a button, GPS tools can quickly guide us to our destination, even pointing out the obstacles along the way.  But when it comes to the spiritual journey the dynamic changes. There is no road map, no GPS, and, as frustrating as it is, there is no instant answer matters of the soul. The spiritual journey must be experienced, not Googled.

In my last blog I wrote enthusiastically about being awakened to my feminine soul. It was a beautiful moment of awakening and, for a few days, I was ‘fist-pumping’ with euphoria and enthusiasm. I instantly became, or so I misguidedly thought, a voice for feminist spirituality. I had finally shed my spiritual confusion and found purpose. I was ‘there’!  And it felt wonderful! But I began to feel unsettled. The more I read about feminine spirituality, the more I realised what little I knew. I didn’t know what I was doing or how to get ‘there’.  Everything I tried went nowhere. There was no doubt I had been awakened, but what the heck, I did not know what to do.  As it turned out, I needed a few basic lessons on the spiritual journey, and I want to share these with you.

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The fight for my feminine soul

I need to rethink my life as a ‘man-made’ woman. To take back my soul. [Sue Monk Kidd].

Did you notice my new blog category? Feminist Spirituality.  Just writing the words, and I’m shaking my head not quite believing what I see.

Feminism – it’s not a term I thought I would ever use in conjunction with spirituality or God. Never in a million years.  I’m a bit of a coward. A closet sympathiser. A secret fist pumper. Cautious about attaching myself to the word ‘feminist’ in any sense, let alone place it side by side with spirituality.  I’m scared of the backlash and outrage that occurs when old, or new ways, are challenged or questioned. A hostile response and I’m easily silenced. But no more.  I’ve been silent far too long. Hopefully, in the future, I’ll be able to change the words ‘Feminist Spirituality’ to ‘Feminine Spirituality’, but at this stage. I am just at the start of my fight – the fight to get back what has always been mine – my feminine soul.

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What matters most … is a matter for the heart

Love cannot come in to you, it can only come out of you. [MC]

The last day of the year and, like every other year, the endless wandering of my soul ‘ups the ante’.  When my yearning and longing reach their crescendo. It’s noisy, creative, anticipative and full of fire in the belly.  It also dumps with it, a bunch of melancholy. A restlessness. An ache. Of something I cannot quite see or grasp. It’s like waiting for that bus you know should come, but never comes, but you keep waiting for it.   I feel a bit like a ping pong ball – pinging and ponging my way between the fire in my belly and the stormy blues of melancholy. But today, round one, goes to the fire in my belly – the ignition point at the heart of my yearning and longing … love.

We spend a lifetime searching for love and acceptance.  A friend of mine sums this up beautifully. She says most of us are limping along in this life with deeply buried inner pain, facades of confidence, with no idea how to make it right. Love has always been at the core of my search.  The chasing of futile dreams in fantasy places, happiness in external pleasure, love in religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that has plagued me. The irony is, the only place I ever needed to search was within. How fabulous is that!

Most of us journey a long way to find what is near.  People carry such wrong notions about love. We look everywhere for our perceptions of love. But love cannot be found through external influence. Not in people, power, wealth, beauty, legislation or status. Love is not about performance or doing or going anywhere.  No-one can learn to love by following a manual. Love does not force its will on anybody. We cannot control it.  And contrary to how the world portrays love, love has no economic value, it is impossible to measure. You can’t love to order – love’s steps are experienced not constituted. Author Mitch Albom says,
“Love is not revenge. It can’t be thrown like a rock. And you can’t create it to fix your problems. Forcing love is like picking a flower, then insisting that it grow.”

I have talked in previous blogs about the way the truth hits you – both hard and gentle at the same time. How it punches you in the stomach as it puts a loving arm around your shoulder. [Anne Ursu].  A few years ago, at a time when I was mentally at my ugliest, I had one of those moments of truth.  I love to run. I find the action of putting one foot in front the other calming when life is in a turmoil. On this particular run, when my thoughts were anything but calm – full of self-pity, anger and confusion, I heard the words, ‘Margaret, love cannot come in to you, it can only come out of you.’ Wham!  It still sends shivers down my spine. I literally stopped dead in my tracks and looked around me to see if anyone else had heard anything. What a truth!  ‘Love can only come out of you.’ Those words of love literally changed and saved my life.

We are all looking for that place where love has hidden itself away. The aching for love and acceptance links us all. To truly understand love, we need divine help. People don’t like to hear this, because we tend to want to be in control of love, dictate love on our own terms, but we won’t get there without God, because God is love – nothing more, nothing less. To seek love is to seek God. And that is a matter for the heart.

I want to finish the year with a quote I used at the beginning of my blog journey. I’m hoping you may take this into the New Year with you.  It’s by the 13th-century Persian Sunni Muslim poet, Rumi, he says,

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

The greatest weapon we have is love.  And love starts with you, from the inside-out. You must be the love. It’s what you feel in your chest.  Your heart knows the way so run in that direction. The alchemy of love can only come from inside you. Oh yes, what matters most is most definitely a matter for the heart. Happy New Year.

A miracle happened to me last week

Photo of a pohutukawa flower

Miracles happen every day, change your perception of what a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.  [Jon Bon Jovi]

Miracles do happen – they really do. Let me tell you about mine. Last Friday, in an act of sheer rock-bottom desperation, I got on my knees and literally begged whoever was listening for help – God, Jesus, my deceased parents, my ancestors, the universe, the angels – everything and everyone I could think of. “Please help me!  I don’t know what to do. Please keep her safe.” Over and over again. To be honest, the silence that followed was expected, but the agonising noise of aloneness at that moment, I think, will stay with me forever.

Afterwards, for want of something to do, I sat at my computer and keyed in the words ‘help for homeless kiwi women living in Australia’. Hoping for anything that could take me to my next step of doing … well just doing ‘something’. For those who don’t know ‘Kiwi’ is the nickname used for people from New Zealand. The name derives from the kiwi, a native flightless bird, which is a national symbol of New Zealand.

Google search results gave me nothing to smile about. Numerous articles and stories about the more than 3000 homeless New Zealanders in Australia filled the search results. Sadly, this figure also includes my Melbourne based thirty-nine-year-old daughter.  Here in New Zealand we often refer to Australia as our Trans-Tasman relations (relations across the Tasman Sea). We are geographically and culturally close, both countries share a British colonial heritage, and our bond made even more special by the ANZAC’s who fought side-by-side on the battlefields of WW1 and WW2. Australia is also one of the first place New Zealanders head to for a ‘change of scenery’, whether it be to work, live, or holiday. My daughter has been living there for 15-20 years.

As I scrolled aimlessly down the depressing search results, I intermittently clicked on charities I felt could offer help.  I clicked links and sent messages telling my story.  I wrote about my daughter who has been living on the streets, on and off for years. Of how she was mentally unwell, a consequence of addiction issues, and certainly not well enough, mentally or physically, to hold down a job. She was not eligible for any assistance in Australia and she had finally reached out and said “I want to come home. I want to heal.” A charity paid her fare back to New Zealand, but because of unpaid child support, and several reneged plans to pay it back, she had been denied permission to leave the country. So last Friday she returned back to the city from the airport, and continued her life wandering around the city, begging, and sleeping on park benches.

“I don’t know what to do, and I am desperate”, I wrote.

And then the miracle. The following morning, from across the Tasman, 2693km away, a message in my inbox. One single response to my previous night’s pleas. A group called Tautoko Whanau Help Australia, offers to assist in finding accommodation for my daughter and help navigate the processes and systems that would enable her to get back to New Zealand. I cannot begin to describe what it meant to see the words ‘we can help’.  From hopelessness to hope – that loving arm around my shoulder I spoke about in a previous blog, Perceptions of God. Someone listened, someone heard my prayer, and someone felt the pain of an anguished mother battling for the life of her daughter. My prayer was heard. That was my miracle.

I learned a valuable lesson about miracles last Friday.  Miracles don’t happen by waving a magic wand. They are not a sprinkling of foo-foo dust, nor a spell or a potion for an instant fix. In my daughters’ case, we are only at the beginning of a long winding road with several twists and turns.

No, miracles are the doors that open. People selflessly working together. Communities reaching out to those in need, time and time again. Taking the hand of someone and saying, ‘I am listening.’ ‘I care.’ ‘I can help you.’ Miracles occur when people love and care for one another.  It’s as simple as that. Read more

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