Oester weekend

It seems that mainstream Christians forget that Yeshua wasn’t a Christian. He was of the Hebrew faith. (Pretty sure he never referred to himself as a “Jew”.)

Because Yeshua’s Sabbath began on Friday evening and lasted through Saturday, it’s safe to say that Yeshua was not hanging on a cross until Sunday. If the stories we are told about being up there until the Sabbath are to be believed.

Now, there’s a lot of difference between Jesus and Yeshua, so mainstream Christians are free to do what they want. They haven’t taken vows of poverty, like one would expect from a Yeshua follower, but we have to remember… they don’t actually follow Yeshua.

Modern Christianity is, at best, the following of Paul, a reformed mass murderer.

Easter has been coopted from pre-Abrahamic religions. As has Christmas. I find it funny that Easter/Christmas Christians go to church on the most “pagan” holy-days. But then, the entire religion was coopted from ancient African belief systems, so I guess coopting old European belief systems, too, isn’t that big a deal.

Yeshua would likely be appalled to see what’s been done in his name through the ages. But, I’d just remind him that it hasn’t really been in his name. It’s been done in Jesus’s name.

I wonder if that would make a difference to him.

Happy Oester!

not my story

All my life, I thought I was living my own story. But…

What happens when I realize I’m actually living God’s story?

A few realizations come out of this Great Realization. First of all, I finally accept that none of this is mine to hold.

This weight I’ve been carrying around? It’s not even mine! I can give it to whom it truly belongs. Now, I’m free. This isn’t even my story.

This guilt, this envy, this misunderstanding? I can put it all down. It’s not even mine, because… this isn’t even my story.

This story I call myself living belongs to no one but The Most High. I’m simply the vessel, the temple, the one sitting in the throne.

People often misunderstand what thrones are. They think thrones are the seat of power, but thrones ARE the power. This comes from a long history of worship of The Feminine Divine, actually.

She was the throne, and who ever sat in Her was in power because Her power now coursed through them. This is how the concept of kings came about. The men wanted to possess the power that had previously only belonged to women.

We see the remnants of this in the Hebrew faith and we see a reclaiming of this in Yeshua’s life. So much attention is given to His presumably male disciples, but he was taken care of (monetarily, spiritually, physically, etc.) by the women. It was the women who made His ministry possible and He acknowledged them and blessed them continuously.

When I think of my life, how do I fit into that story?

One reason I do not claim to be Christian is because I don’t claim the limitations of Christianity. I follow The Way, not Christianity. The Way is the story of God; Christianity is the story of men. (Problematic men, if we’re honest. )

My story could be the story of men, too. But, when I awaken from a dream and God tells me to “rise”, I know there is more to my story than that of men. My story is of The Creator, not the creation.

So, what men have done must not be my story.

The love, passion, and freedom I embody when I realize this life is not my story is incredible. I encourage you to try it yourself. Acknowledge that this isn’t your story and see what happens.

Acknowledge that you aren’t writing this story. Acknowledge that you aren’t in control of your life. Acknowledge that you aren’t the origin of your life.

And get to know Who is.

This is The Way. The only way.

Ase.

Dance for your God

Religion. It’s a full sentence, and I mean that in a couple ways.

I am descended from deeply spiritual people who were forced into a bad version of Christianity. I don’t think most people with certain Indigenous or African roots realize how deeply spiritual their ancestors were.

Sometimes, when I pray, my ancestors push into me and I start dancing and chanting and it never wants to end. Never.

I know my ancestors spent hours upon hours in reverent dancing and chanting… real worship. When it pushes into me, I can see them dancing. Dancing with the trees, dancing with one another.

The women. Do you know how much endurance they had?

If you’ve studied American slavery, you must have some idea. What other peoples, than African peoples, could have endured that level of torture and still built families and cultures?

None. This is a fact, not a desire to glorify those who were vilified by European Americans.

Africans weren’t the first attempt at American slavery. My Indigenous Cherokee ancestors were used beforehand. They died, they ran off, they rescued their people. This was their home and the trees were thick and on their side. And, they could not keep up with that level of monstrosity. They could not endure.

Bringing Africans here and using them was strategic. They knew the plants, they were physically larger and stronger, they were masters of so many skills. Entire civilizations of the type admired by Europeans had been built by them. European knowledge had come from them. Africa just worked better as the foundation for a new country.

Who else has that level of strength, power, and endurance?

Sometimes, I imagine what America would look like if those of us who descend from African ancestors threw off the yoke of Abrahamic religion.

I see a lot of dancing.

This world praises us for dancing and singing in the name of capitalism. Imagine if we did it only in the name of Source.

I dance and chant and hear the drumming.

I’ve heard true drumming in California, but mainly in my bedroom. The ancestral drumming that entrances you and keeps you moving. The drumming that shapes your body’s movements, so that the energy released by the drum finds companionship in your legs, hips, arms, and legs. They are in harmony.

This kind of drumming and dancing helps you understand a basic truth about life: though the energy manifests in different methods, it is the same energy.

With my ancestors, males come through as well as females. I know what it means to say we are all one.

And, yet, the variety in our representation… this is beautiful and extremely significant.

Just as Source is multifaceted, so are we. Of course. Because we are merely (and significantly) representations of Source.

1.
3 persons in 1.
99 names.
1000s of names.

All represent the same energy. And people get so caught up in their beliefs, the face they’ve given Source, that they miss that they are surrounded by all the other faces of Source.

Yeshua said to love your neighbor as yourself because your neighbor is yourself. To think you can separate the colors the prism creates just because you have a preference for certain colors is not only ignorant, but dangerous.

I often wonder how many religious people know how dangerous and inherently violent they are, simply because of the beliefs they embody.

Your beliefs can turn you into a sword. And because your belief system is so messed up, you’ll convince yourself it’s good to be a sword.

This is the inherent danger of religion.

But when the dance takes over…

Salaam.

may I call you Harriet?

Have you ever known someone who has been in therapy for many years and still seems stuck on the same pain?

I have found that the desire to hold onto pain is often much greater than the desire to relinquish it. This is often due to fear. Who am I without this thought? How will I keep myself safe if I don’t behave this way? This is often due to confusion. I want to change, but I really don’t understand what you mean when you say I don’t have to live this way. This is often due to a true inability to move beyond what happened. I have to remain vigilant or it will happen, again. When you talk to me like that, I feel it all over, again.

The number one roadblock to healing is the way we have set up society.

When people have to worry about where their next meal is coming from or how they can keep a roof over their heads, it’s challenging to really dig into the work of healing. Luckily, I get little reminders of that sometimes. I will be happily trucking along and I slam up against communal rage and pain. I’ll forget to keep myself in my protective bubble and I’ll start taking on the dominant feelings around me. Lately, those feelings have been rage and depression and deep, deep grief.

When the world cries, I cry with her.

The other day, I was lost to despair and I felt annoyed by it. I used to be happy. What had happened to me?

Connection had happened to me. I am connected to all of us and so many of us are in pain. Who am I to remove myself? We are all one, whether we realize it or not.

One day, as I sat asking myself what was truly happening within me, I realized that this grief and depression that felt so heavy and real was not even mine. In my moment of deep questioning and close observation, I was able to shake free of the glum feelings that had overtaken me. I remembered who I really was.

Sometimes, I find myself pondering how I would be different if I had never known grief. Would I be able to do this work? Can someone who has never suffered assist someone else as they feel around in the darkness of their mind? Someone who has never experienced tragedy cannot know what to do to move beyond it and stay there. This is probably why so many people who have experienced deep sorrow and trauma become therapists and healers.

The trouble comes when someone who has not also known bliss is trying to guide someone out of their personal darkness. If you have not genuinely experienced the light, if you have not found it from a variety of littered paths, how do you know you’re actually helping the other person?

In 2011, I renewed my vow to be of service to humanity, because I knew that it’s easier for people to take your hand when they know you are with them. This is a tricky tendency among the wounded: they rarely trust those who have healed. They can’t relate. Even if they say they want a guru, they will find the one with the most troublesome past to overlook, the most nebulous life to look into.

We fall in love with who we are in others. No matter how that looks.

I am no stranger to the abyss and I am thankful for the occasional reminders of just how deep and dark it is, lest I begin to romanticize healing.

But once you know the way out, you only go there to help others find their way out. We each become Harriet Tubman on the Underground Railroad to our personal freedoms, returning many times to help all those who also realize they are ensnared.

May it always be so.

self

It’s funny how the things that happen to us shape us. Whether we want them to or not, the things that happen to us form us into ourselves. We can never be separate from those situations and events. We carry them in our cells, in our thinking patterns, in our postures, in our relationships.

All humans are are the combinations of situations and bodies bumping up against the situation-body combo of each other.

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