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man and woman in balance is feminism

Woman's duty is to create life, to make beautiful things, and to make things beautiful. She creates what she is. Her duty is to sustain peace, to make order out of chaos, to make resources last a long time, to nurture in various ways, to be a keeper of divine mystery, and to channel sacred energy.

When she is able to do her duties freely, she can do important and specific things for man. She can encourage man, empower man, love man, be a companion to man, give to man, support man, and produce for man.

When man forces woman to do the specific things above, he is abusing her. When he assumes that the specific things above are more important than her duties, he is imbalanced. He automatically fails to fulfill his own duty.

Without man fulfilling his duty, she will do her duty as best she can, but it won’t be optimal. And she will have little space to do those important and specific things for man. Therefore, a man’s duty is extremely crucial to the natural balance of masculine and feminine energy, and to the world.

Man's duty is toward the earth and toward woman. Woman and earth may appear disparate, but really, they are one. What man does to the earth, he also does to woman. Interpersonally, man’s duty is to protect woman, liberate woman, love woman, be a companion to woman, give to woman, support woman, and make way for woman. If he does not do these things, she will do them for herself.

In addition to everything else she does, she will protect herself. She will liberate herself. She will love herself. She will be her own companion. She will give herself what she wants and needs. She will find her own support. She will make her own way.

He should not hate woman for doing for herself what he did not do for her. He should not silence her when she is vocal about what she does for herself. Any resistance to woman doing for herself is actually a resistance to his own nature. Because he did not do it, and he doesn’t want her to do it either.

Man is acting out of integrity when he harms woman, controls woman, hates woman, abandons woman, takes from woman, breaks woman, and makes obstacles for woman. She is not responsible for his ill behavior toward her. Her own abuse is not her fault.

When masculine and feminine are out of balance, man has acted out of integrity. To restore that balance, he must let woman do for herself and observe her. He must consider her fruits and how he can add to them. When he has gathered himself and returned to integrity, he can once again do his duty for woman. When she sees that he is in integrity, she will let him do for her.

Sometimes man thinks he is in integrity, but he is not. He is still abusing woman in subtle ways. Her natural response is to resist. To a man lacking integrity, it may seem that she is fighting him. So he hates her more. But she is only protecting herself, as she should.

Man out of integrity has already caused calamity, war, disease, pollution, disaster and power imbalance. Without her, the civilization would simply collapse. So she must protect herself, even at his expense. Man must return to his inner self, and get himself back into integrity.

When masculine and feminine are balanced, man and woman are happy together. Man does his duty for her with happiness. Woman does her duty for all with joy. Hunger has ended. Slavery is over. Peace is restored. Abundance fills the earth. 

Man’s duty is so important that without it, life is very difficult for many people. Man’s lack of integrity hurts men too, and causes a cycle of imbalance. It gets more difficult with each generation of imbalance. Man’s duty is so vital, that without it, woman cannot do her duty properly. Without woman’s duty, society is chaos.

This is how we are all implicated in the same cycle of erosion. We are interrelated. Society is crippled because of the imbalance of masculine and feminine energy. It has caused a disease that has spread the world over, and has manifested as slavery, animal and earth abuse, inequality, racism and sexual violence. This has been happening for thousands of years.

But society is on the cusp of something different. Woman is waking up to the reality of the situation. She cannot allow imbalance to continue. She is resisting the abuse of non-integrity man. Woman is using her voice. She is saying, “no more!” And this voice, this attempt at fulfilling all the duties and protections for herself and the world is what feminism is.

Wise man is hearing this voice of feminism. He is waking up and realizing his duty. He is here to protect her above all else. He is not here to harm her. And the tables are slowly turning. One by one, man is searching himself for truth and returning to his duty. And with each one, healing takes place, and balance is restored in the kingdom.

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Serve, Love, Give, Purify, Meditate, Realise. Be good, do good, be kind, be compassionate.

Swami Sivananda (via laughing-treees)

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my moon cycle ritual

As I have begun to grow into my spiritual practice, I am coming to terms with the fact that my body is an earthly creature. My mind is increasingly in tune with the changes of the moon, and with the movements of the stars and planets. And so, I figured it’s high time I started a ritual to honor the cycles of my mind and body.

Yoga teaches me that I am not the mind, and I am not the body. So, there’s no better way to practice discrimination between the physical, mental, and spiritual than by focusing deeply on each, and observing them with a microscopic lens.

I create these rituals on new and full moons, taking some holy time to honor and reflect on my spiritual and physical journey. The way I understand it, full moons are about releasing. The moment the moon has reached its peak fullness, it immediately begins to wane, until there is nothing left. Then, the moment the moon becomes empty, it immediately begins to fill itself, waxing until it is once again full and ready to release again.

I try to align my intentions with the cycles of the moon. This is taking the path of least resistance. It just seems easier to go with the flow of nature, acknowledging that since everything in this existence is interrelated, most likely my receptiveness to manifest and my ability to release will be heightened during appropriate moon times.

So, on these special days, I observe my whole being in three ways:

• To observe my body and its physical form, I take a spiritual bath complete with 11 herbs traditionally used for ritual cleansing and bathing. I may practice some yoga, lay in the grass at my favorite park, or do whatever my body is inclined to do.

• To observe my mind, I meditate. I also set long periods of time for journaling with a theme of either manifesting something or letting something go. I also reflect on the lesson the previous moon cycle has brought to my attention. Since hunger is part of the energetic body, along with the mind, I incorporate fasting into my moon ritual. Starting after dinner the night before, and ending the morning after the moon day, my fasts typically last about 36 hours.

• To observe Spirit, I’ll sing songs to my ancestors, make an offering, dance, have some magic tea, and burn lots of incense. I usually take time to clear the space with palo santo smoke, ringing of a singing bowl, and sprinkling holy water around.

So far, I have been practicing this ritual for about three moon cycles. I have noticed heightened sensitivity to Spirit, and receptiveness I don’t usually get between moons. For the past two cycles, I’ve awaken after my day of fasting with memories of incredible out-of-body dreams.

I have also learned some of the most difficult lessons in subduing the ego, being more of a servant to others, and getting out of my own way. Most of all, I feel intensely blessed by the ability to be able to take time on moon days, even if they fall on a week day. I am fortunate to be able to change my schedule or plan ahead if need be.

If you’re reading this at the time of release, here’s to a big, beautiful, bright full moon. If you’re reading this and planning to manifest something great, here’s to a deep and dark new moon, full of endless possibilities.

Stay in love, my friends.

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why i practice hoodoo

It is the practice of my ancestors. It is distinct from religion, yet in cahoots with it. As cliche as it sounds, it’s something I feel I was born to do. But it wasn’t always that way.

Two years ago, I met a lover who introduced me to African Traditional Religion. His choice was Afro-Brazilian Candomblé, but through observing him in his practice, and through the beautiful songs and stories he shared with me, I got to know one of my favorite goddesses, Yemaya.

There was something about her story, her songs, her images, that brought me very deep comfort. Before then, I had never thought of god as a woman, much less a black woman. I lived near the beach, and some nights, I would sit in the sand, staring out into the vast ocean under the moonlight. Other times, I would wade into the waves and just feel her surrounding me.

I told my guy at the time that I wanted to give an offering to Yemaya, and I asked for his help in doing it the proper way. I expected some encouragement, and mistakenly, some form of congratulations for converting to his religion. Instead, I received a condescending attitude and a patronizing take-down.

“You can’t just shop around for a religion. You don’t even know anything about it. Make sure you do some research before you rush into worshipping an Orisha.”

I was floored. I had done research. I had read book after book, and he knew it. I had scoured the forums, made friends who were part of the religion, and I even had a cousin who was heavily involved in Santeria. At the time, she and I talked frequently about African spirituality, and we shared some candid feelings about religious journeys. How dare he?

After threatening to do the ritual by myself, my guy’s suspicion of my motives subsided, and he agreed to go to the beach with me. He gave me lots of instructions on what to wear, what do bring, and how to bless the offering the night before. On the special day, we offered white roses and baby’s breath to the ocean goddess. He even took the lead in singing sacred songs to Yemaya. The experience was beautiful.

Through context, you can probably guess that it didn’t work out between he and I. It was a bitter goodbye, but it wasn’t religion that drove us apart. And it wasn’t our parting that pulled me away from Yemaya. Long after I had left that man, I still prayed to her. I still believed in her.

What I didn’t believe in was the tradition surrounding her. I had been in contact with a few people in the religion, and I often lurked in online discourse of the practices. It wasn’t long before I realized that even though it was a tradition that had preserved its African roots, it was still riddled with the same strife as Christianity. It was incredibly dogmatic. It was rife with charlatanry, backbiting and abuse.

As a vegetarian and a person deeply concerned with animal rights, I couldn’t condone the practice of animal sacrifice. Even on the basis of karma, many people in Orisha-based traditions fiercely rejected the notion of being part of it, and not participating in animal sacrifice.

“No Orisha, no blood,” they said.

I know there are plenty of good people who venerate Orishas, and who believe whole-heartedly in the realness of them. The Orishas are real, just as any other being in this Universe. However, I question whether or not any higher being truly requires humans to shed animal blood.

Would it have been totally possible for me to cling to Yemaya, despite rejecting the tradition that surrounds her? Sure. Anything is possible. But in a Euro-centric world that constantly waters down and makes a mockery of indigenous religions, I could not justify being a grey voice of “modernization.” I could not separate Yemaya from the millions of African and Diaspora people that perform sincere and authentic rituals as they have been done for hundreds, even thousands of years.

And so, as much as I love her, I let her go.

What I gained instead was a knowledge of a different tradition that did feed my soul. I would not have searched for it so intently had I not let go of Orishas. Letting go of those African deities sent me on a quest to find something that was right for me. I wanted to pay homage to my roots. I wanted to immerse myself in a tradition that was mine–that was free of red tape, initiation and overzealous secrecy.

A lot of people confuse Hoodoo with Voodoo, and they mistakenly interchange it with African religions. But real Hoodoo is a collection of magical practices, down-home herbal uses, and old-time beliefs that reflect African, Native American, and European heritages. It is an American practice, born of slaves who had been converted to Christianity, but still managed to hold on to the ways of the conjurer.

“Laying tricks” was their way of fighting back against centuries of oppression in the United States. It was how rural blacks cured themselves of sickness, with the help of prayer and Native American herbal remedies. It was how they held onto Africa yet embraced this new, ill-fitted world.

Hoodoo is strange, absent of moral judgement, and free flowing in power. There is no structure, but there are parameters. I learn from others who have practiced and researched longer than I have. I read their books, and I follow their blogs. I spend hours pouring over traditional herbal legends, and mixing up my own concoctions.

Hoodoo brings out the curious girl in me. It helps me get closer to the earth. It keeps me grounded and connected to my ancestors. It helps me remember the joy in the simple things in life: a bunch of charms sewn into a flannel bag. A jar of citrous oils that can wash away devils.

It’s a pile of graveyard dust to remember where I came from, and a deck of cards and spells to know where I’m going.

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reishi, the god of fungi

Ever since I laid eyes on reishi mushrooms in my favorite herbal shop, my curiosity has been piqued. This shop has floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with glass jars of practically every medicinal substance known to man. Right near the door, on the bottom shelf, were two options for reishi: a fine powder or dried slices. Before I made the purchase, I immersed myself in forums and blogs about the health and spiritual benefits of it, and every single source raved about the calmness and peace it brings. Being the alchemist that I am, I decided to give it a try this new moon.

So, I headed back to the herbal shop to buy. First and foremost, it’s probably useful to outline the health benefits I discovered. Apparently, reishi is called the “god of fungi” for good reason. Known by the Chinese for thousands of years as “Ling Zhi,“ reishi has been said to aid in these areas:

• Anti-aging • Cancer-fighting • Anti-depressant • Anti-inflammatory • Immune-boosting • Energy and mood-boosting • Increased concentration • Increased spiritual energy (Chi, Prana)

I have been dealing with relatively low energy for the majority of my adult life, with cyclical waves of depression revolving around my moon cycle. So, right away, those benefits stuck out to me. As an aspirant, I am always seeking for ways to tune into my inner silence, and for opportunities to realize Self. I’ll also add that I read on several yoga blogs and psychonaut forums that regular doses of reishi brought about “uplifted moods,” “increased concentration,” and “meditative states.”

The clerk at the herbal shop told me that a standard daily dose is about half a teaspoon of powdered shroom. I wanted to be sure I was getting the most for my money, so I asked her the difference between powdered and dried forms. She told me that the dried slices were more versatile because they could be used to make a tincture, and that the powder was not water soluble. That was a no-brainer for me. I wanted my reishi experience to be enjoyable and as practical as possible, so I purchased an ounce of the dried slices.

Half a teaspoon of reishi translated to about 2-ish grams of the dried stuff. I wanted to quadruple the effect with my first dose, so I cold-steeped 10 grams of dried reishi in 8 ounces of water for four days. On the new moon, I poured the brownish, clear liquid into a ceramic saucepan and brought it to a boil. Then, I turned it down low and let it steep for 6-8 hours. When I was ready to drink it, the tea was dark-brown and opaque. Hmmm!

Before I describe my experience, it should be noted that I had been fasting for almost 24 hours. Also remember that I quadrupled the dose, so my experience with the mushroom is more than likely heightened beyond the regular dose.

First off, the tea was incredibly bitter. But, it had a warm and savory undertone which I actually enjoyed. I did notice that the tea was easier to swallow when warm. Once the tea got cold, I struggled to gulp it down.

As far as bodily sensations, I felt a bit tingly in the hands after 20 minutes, and I also felt some light headedness. However, one could easily point to my fasted state as the culprit for the sensations. Mentally, I did feel a lot more clarity. My concentration became razor-sharp for the next four hours. At the time, I was trying to figure out a CSS code for my Tumblr page, and I could think of nothing else until I accomplished my goal.

I also felt like my attitude shifted to a more positive disposition. I knew I would find the code I was looking for if I just kept searching. When I failed over and over, I did not become frustrated. I only kept trying with resolution and calmness. I know if this had been under any other circumstances, especially on an empty stomach, I would have chucked my laptop out the window.

Given my experience, I do see the power of reishi. All hail, god of fungi. Its long-term benefits would probably do wonders to my journey as a yogi, and in general as a human being that deals with daily stress. If reishi does all they say it does, I would definitely incorporate this into my daily routine.

In the future, I may steep it for a few hours without the cold-steep, and drink it as a mid-day tea break. I also may try to create my own reishi tincture, though I read that it’s a very complex process involving high-proof alcohol.

So, cheers to reishi, and to achieving lots of health and mental clarity. And cheers to future adventures in harnessing its power in new ways.

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what yoga is and isn’t for me

Nearly three years ago, my life changed forever. It was a time when I had become atheist because of how much I feared the devil. It was a time when the spirit world intrigued me so much that I had to pretend it didn’t exist, just so I could sleep at night. My mind was more at ease without religion and all the stories that scared me.

But, I missed something. I missed a sense of tradition. I missed camaraderie. I missed a community that centered around my belief system. But now that my beliefs had changed, what was there? I thought if I could find a religion that wasn’t really a religion, I would be alright…if only that religion could be free of supernatural beings and eternal places of torment.

I did some research and quickly realized that Buddhism could be the place for me. It didn’t require blind faith in a sadistic, godlike being���check. It had a thriving community surrounded by others who shared in the same beliefs…check. It had a rich culture and sense of tradition dating back thousands of years…check!

I did not know Buddhism wouldn’t be my last stop. But, I did know that I had to find other Buddhists. When I found a small sangha of Thich Nhat Hanh followers, I became introduced to an entirely different way of thinking.

This new ideology taught me that everything and every person is connected through a form of “inter-being.” I learned that letting go of resentment, pain, and fear could heal both me and others in my life–but most importantly, me. Everything that happened to me was for my growth. For my understanding. And I had the power to look deeply at my suffering, to listen to it, and in the midst of it, to find peace.

I found meditation, and with it came an openness to ideas and lessons in new forms. I even become more receptive to the spiritual world. As I experienced the vibrant landscape that resided in my own mind, the things I found there became less scary. Spirit became more familiar.

At that point, I looked at my very plain life. I worked a regular 9-5 which I dreaded every day. I had a very limited sense of potential. I had only the four walls of my one-bedroom apartment. I had my daily routine. My things. My same things. I had very little of the electrifying love in my life that inspires a soul to grow. I thought, “this can’t be all that there is.” I knew something had to change. I had to expand in some way, and it had to be an overhaul of life as I knew it.

I had begun following a few yoga practitioners on Instagram, and I had even begun to try the moves myself. It was a very physical way to exert my need to grow. I felt the idea of yoga propelling me forward. But how could yoga create the life-changing experience I craved?

I attended a few workshops, and I went to a few classes. At the time, I thought that what I was doing was working. But, something was missing from my yoga practice. I knew I was at least drifting down the right path. Maybe becoming a yoga teacher was the answer.

I asked one of the leaders of my sangha about it. He told me about Lorrie and Lal, who were founders of a yoga school he had practiced with for many years. He highly recommended it. I remember the first time I attended a class at Vastu School of Yoga, on the back patio of a small Florida house, right near a still-water canal.

The patio was grounded by a large Hindu altar, and a dancing Nataraja at its center. There were gods and goddess everywhere. But given where I had come from, I was strangely comfortable with their presence. I had no idea how they would change my life.

I remember the day I asked Lal about the idols that surrounded me. He told me that they were representations of what is happening inside. This made sense to me, and it provided the stepping stone I needed to bridge the gap between my grudge-driven atheism and an intense awe of deities. His explanation gave me permission to worship freely. From my heart.

Around that time, the fear of devils came back to haunt me. What if what the Bible said was true? What if I was deceived by Satan in practicing yoga and devoting myself to Hindu gods? What if Jesus turned his back on me at the pearly gates? Demons closed in on me, and they doused my open heart with fear.

I found myself back in the place where I started. Afraid to sleep at night. Feeling the presence of some sinister entity, hovering in the upper corners of my room. Watching me. Breathing me. Waiting to take my soul to the underworld.

Then I met a man named Alexis. To this day, I have never met another man like him. When he spoke, I could feel it in my chest. His eyes pierced my soul, and I knew that what he said to me was the truth. I knew that he could see the real me. I told him about the demons.

In his thick, Belgium accent, he said, “If you are so afraid of demons, why don’t you invite a demon to speak with you?”

The idea of that struck me with fear. But then the fear dissipated. I honestly tried to imagine it. A demon, sitting across from me, speaking to me. The fantasy faded into ether. It wasn’t real. The fear of demons…it was nothing more than a fear of myself.

“If a demon appears to you, it is just an opportunity to address your own darkness,” said Alexis.

The next day, I had a follow-up conversation on the topic with Lorrie. We had finished our lessons for the day, and we stood in the front yard of the Florida house, under a great big tree. As the springtime sun shone in my eyes, Lorrie said rather matter-of-factly, “Sweetie, there is nothing outside of yourself.”

And just like that, I again received permission to grow.

I practiced yoga under the guidance of Lorrie and Lal for a year and a half. Typically, a 200-hour yoga teacher training will last three weeks. But mine lasted an eternity. I am grateful for every minute of it. The patient instruction, sweet songs, laughter, and knowledge that were passed to me during the time of my training will never leave me.

Today, I am fearless. I am at peace. I am free. I have found the steadiness of my breath. My breath is a refuge from the tossing and turning of emotions, fleeting happiness, and jilted desires.

Yoga is the path to realization. It is not a collection of poses and pretzel-contortions. Yoga is a teacher of patience, surrender, and devotion. It is not a certification to be hung on a wall. Yoga is the road to liberation. It is freedom from fear, and from suffering of the soul. It is not a dangerous or fanatic religion. Yoga is how to walk, how to breathe, how to love, how to surrender, how to live, and how to die. It is not how to do a handstand.

Finally, and probably most important to my journey right now, yoga is the relinquishing of the ego. It is not the gathering of it.