The Danger of A Single Story

http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

Let's generate some dialogue around this presentation by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I choose not suggest a model for dialogue. Just come forth with what emanates from you! Obviously, I am impressed with our African sister! More coming from me and soon!

I Am That I Am

I Am that I Am
I Am the hope that lives within
The hope that transcends all of my experiences

I Am what I know from the depths within
That I Am too great
I experience my heritage

I Am that which catapults me
For now I reach heights
I once could not fathom and frightened me

I Am the flame I carry within
The light never goes out
It only flickers and dims

I Am transformed
I Am truly set free
For the I Am I seek
Has always been seeking Us

The "I Am" is a powerful voice that speaks from within each of us. So interesting that we each say " I Am". Could it be the oneness that we all have in common. The voice of  Source from which we each emanate. From my experience "I Am" represents divinity, the divine essence of Truth, that speaks like a wellspring over flowing. I am reminded as we say, "I am this and I am that and I am going to do this or say that or be this or that, someone said to me once because of the power in our words to manifest what we say, that I am should be followed by a positive thought or expression. That we should allow that "I Am" place to surface and penetrate our being and just be what it is. A line from Marianne Williamson's poem says, "... we are more powerful than we know..." as we are one with this awesome powerful force of God, the Law of life, the "I Am" is hallowed in daily life on Mother Earth and so are we.

My journey of menopause awakened me to the Truth of this "I Am" principle. Menopause, a valued spiritual experience delivered me into a new day dawning in understanding myself and my Truth as God-Essence.

Please share with us your inspirations around "I Am", your experiences, and your knowings.

Chinua Achebe ~ Refugee Mother and Her Child

No madonna and child could touch
that picture of a mother's tenderness
for a son she soon would have to forget.

The air was heavy with odours
of diarrhoaea of unwashed children
with washed-out ribs and dried-up
bottoms struggling in laboured
steps behind blown empty bellies. Most
mothers there had long ceased
to care but not this one; she held
a ghost smile between her teeth
and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's
pride as she combed the rust-colored
hair left on his skull and then -
singing in her eyes - began carefully
to part it...In another life this
must have been a little daily
act of no consequence before his
breakfast and school; now she
did it like putting flowers
on a tiny grave.

Achebe writes this poem so graphically as if we are looking through the lens of his camera. Of course, these are images we have often seen flashed across the television screen, in magazines, and on posters with a call for financial action. In this poem, the devotion of this mother is so incredibly stunning and striking as she douses her child with daily tender care and dotes as if he were a newborn infant. Achebe notes that other mothers had long ceased to care. Yet, this one gives undying care in the face of inevitable death of her child and she seems oblivious to her own impending death.

As I have read this poem on several occasions, I not only see the literal message, I also see a metaphysical message. During my menopausal passage, I felt forced to examine my roles in relationships as a mother, a daughter, a friend, a wife and a member of many organizations. I see myself as I see other women devotees to our relationships with the same level of passion for whatever we believe in. My mother was my first example of passionate devotion which she gave to investing in family and a home. Secondly, I saw women in the baptist church where I was raised giving tirelessly to organizations to keep church programs vibrant. While bringing babies and children with them, other women also shared in this caring. Now I see my daughter an erudite student committed to being an expert in her field. Women in recent years are creating sister circles for intimacy and centers of wellness to refresh the feminine spirit. We give and give tirelessly, it seems, as an investment in the greater good. And oh, let me not omit grandmothers who are again serving mothering roles to their grandchildren, whether out of need or desire.

I am influenced by this poetic art to look more deeply at the term 'refugee'. Also by beginning the poem with madonna and child, I am inspired to consider the slight similarity between this mother and Mary (mother of Jesus/Yeshua) who also had a son who suffered through a dying state.

Of course, this poem can also be viewed from the perspective of poetry and the basic structural elements of this art such as theme, metaphor, meter, rhyme, free verse, symbolism, meter, image, irony, tone, alliteration, simile among others. What impresses me the most is imagery. He clearly paints the picture using all the senses of sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. Secondly, the last line a simile; it also feels like a metaphor.

As you interpret this poem, what are your memories and experiences? What personal insights do you glean from this poem? Does the poem bring to mind not only experiences also other writings or poems with a similar message? Have you had any circumstances or situations that influenced you to take a look at your roles in serving others? What do you believe to be the most poignant line and why? Other commentary is also welcome.

Dancing With God ~ Essence

I have chosen and I'm almost sure why
to shout my life story from the mountain top
I saw it in a vision here I stood alone
atop a high precipice with fear gripping my soul
I heard a voice that seemed to be distant beckon me to fly
I said, "Oh, don't be silly, you know I have no wings to stay on high
It said, "Come, be one with me, and soon you will see
you'll soar like a bird eternally

As I stepped forward my eyes cast down
I saw a deep dark abysmal hell that seemed to rise from the ground
all around me was darkness and low hanging clouds
fear was the only ally I found
a true and constant companion the best friend I've known
for years it's kept me safe in my sheltered home
what am I doing here my constant feeble cry
please help me change this misery for I have no wings to fly

The voice said, "Put on these gliders courage for the next step
to take you a higher level to a deeper consciousness
as I stepped forward and to my surprise
I ascended from the precipice and I began to fly
soaring higher and higher like a bird in the sky
I cast my eyes downward to observe the abysmal hell
I began to descend the voice took me in,
"Look up, not down,
your focus always determines the height of your soar
I cried, "I'm afraid and soon found myself again
upon that high precipice and feeling scared within

what am I doing here my constant feeble cry
please help me change this misery for I have no wings to fly

This is the first stanza of a three stanza epic poem that emanates from a dream. (The other two will be published soon.) The dream occurred over a period of about 2-3 years, approximately 1993-95. Normally, I don't remember my dreams, however, the fear I felt was so invasive it awakened me. It seemed so real. With each episode the plot would develop and take on new depth. It was not until much later about 1995-96 that I realized this was a reoccurring experience; and even later than that I began to realize the magnitude of the dream as a current reality. It was my life story. Retrospectively, the dream, from my best recollection, was rooted in my perimenopausal experience; analogous to the physical signs of puberty such as budding breast and pubic hair, menopause presented an authentic metamorphosis like a metaphor as I dreamed memorable dreams and birth poetry. I knew one day I would put the dream into metrical structure or verse or free form.

From this post, what surfaces for you through thought, intuition, sensing, feeling or other. We are open to your sharing for the evolution of our budding authentic nature.

Menopause Poem

I took the journey of menopause
I had to go it alone
my spirit was seeking too
for now it was time to be grown
a journey a mystery a loss of my life
as it was familiar to me
I seemed to have abandoned everything and everyone dear to me
my life was most unusual others homes became my abode
my children ever so dear to me were scattered outside my throne
there were days when I cried and felt empty inside
and I asked God what has happened to me
and then there were days when joy was all I knew as I struggled and lived my life

menopause your timing seemed not the best for advancing the state of my God
however, I've learned on this road that I trod to know a greater God-dess inside
menopause I celebrate you and I honor our simultaneity for you've taught me love as appreciation for myself and others on the journey with me
menopause I applaud you for you've given new definition to my God
now my life is so rich and ever so full indeed
I have more gifts inside to unfold

This poem represents my experience with menopause. What's your story? Of course, if you choose to share, it doesn't have to be in poetic form. That just happens to be my way of best expression. I'd like to hear from you.

Here are a few suggestive thoughts: Where are you on your menopausal journey? What's happening in your life as a result of menopause? How do you feel about the experience? What do you think about the experience? What benefits have you birthed? Feel free to express yourself as you wish.