Caul Bearer

My Beginnings come from a hallway at Memorial hospital on March 5th, 1965 in the eve. From this point the only witness was an African American janitor who stood shocked with a mop in his hands and was staring at my mother clasping her ankles together to hold me from falling. I sat in my sac for a few moments until a nurse reached me. Thus I was born. My mother retold this story to me all my life as she was shocked I didn’t die which was her wish. My father also hit her on her back (drinker) while she was pregnant with me and as told by my mother she wished me dead so, when I was in the hallway, she hoped I had died and or thought I would because, my mother believed when you are in your sac, you are drowning. From the time I can remember I was told by my brothers and sisters I was adopted which I believed I was a very odd child! I had dreams and visions from my earliest years. They thought I was insane. I read the bible ( I read every book available) which I thought was a very interesting read. I had a sister who would laugh with me while we took showers together and I believed she was my dearest friend (Memorial Day weekend, I am writing this) She died from a drunk driver on Memorial Weekend many years later at the age thirteen, I miss her so! She was my only friend and never thought I was odd. Her name is Elena Maria and she watches over me, with laughter. As the years went on I became pregnant with my first son named Christopher and he was a premature baby. At birth a doctor used forceps and damaged his brain we did not find out until he was twelve. Christopher is a very special man today and became my second friend, who never questioned my dreams, visions and healings. Today he is still a very special child to me. I also had a son named Joseph (his name was given to me at birth) and I was told by my higher helpers that he was named Joseph because, he was a rock! He died two years later as I fried taco shells in the kitchen and in the care of his step -father and he drowned. In the middle of the night I could hear him singing to his older brother and my older son would kick him out of the bed and begged him to stop, he was my third friend in life. With the blink of an eye he left us at the age of two, this began my search. I was inconsolable and I hated the world from this point. After years of child abuse and pain this death made no sense to me and also I wanted to die. Years later I would meditate for others particularly the dead and help them to reunite and move to the next dimension. I never saw my son or loved ones. At one point as I was with my fourth friend April meditating and I saw my son once and he said mommy look up… He was pointing up to the sun. He ran off to play this was my last visitation and only visitation from my dear son. I swore I would never forgive god for this departure. My brother (fourth friend) four years later killed himself thus increasing my urge to leave of free will. I never saw my brother in meditation either and including my sister. I couldn’t believe I had this gift for others but not myself. I left my parents and never looked back but was haunted by their rejection and searched the world for a reason including god. The god I knew in the bible. I searched every religion in hopes of finding myself. Nothing spoke to me! Nothing explained my loss, my pain. I found a young boy who was missing and because of the pain of watching him die over and over again I never wanted to search for a child again. However, a small still voice would deliver songs to me and also words of importance and I thought I was going mad due to my son’s death. Many people at this time would walk by me and say I was a prophetess, gifted and once a blind man who could barely walk, walked past me and laughed and said she will lay hands on the sick and they shall recover! Everyone in that church ran to me and begged for me to lay hands on them. This is when I realized I would be “used” for my abilities including song that seemed to relieve others when I sang them. I also would get messages and could not type fast enough to get all the words it was fast and furious and it would keep my body up all night until I typed the words. So even if I wanted too, I could not escape. My best friend April was my fifth friend and fellow spiritual enthusiast and she always believed in me! Many people resisted our friendship and we felt as though people hated our relationship. They tried very hard to tear up apart. I believe to this day something, anything sent her to keep me alive. She seemed to hold a key to my existence. She saw my CB on television and called me the next day never mentioning what she had seen. The next day I was telling her about my mother and what she told me about my birth and how she wished me dead. April then told me YOU’RE A CAUL BEARER! I didn’t believe her. We researched and sought what this mysterious event meant. April was also the first to find me when I overdosed, she saved my life! When my final sister dropped dead, April contacted me with sympathy knowing I had been involved in many deaths, unexplainable. When she reached out again to me I had just overdosed again and died three times! During my recovery I got a call my final sister Alicia before she had fallen over dead for no apparent reason. Of course my family told me nothing. We searched together again like friends who had never parted about my sister’s death. Again my family lied to me concerning her and many things that had happened and rejected me, However, April having a photo graphic memory reminded me of their cruel intent toward me. After two weeks of recovery I got the call of my sister’s death. I was deeply hurt and wondered why my sister had been calling after thirteen years of separation to tell me of the truths of my family. We spent hours a day as my sister told me the “real’ truth. It devastated me but I knew this was a vital communication because I never really had validation about what occurred as a child. My sister filled in the gaps of the real truth knowing that my mother and father would reject her for communicating with me. My sister could not get the words out and sometimes at night she would message me telling me she wanted to die. I could not handle this information. So many had died. I listened to her and she continually told me she was dying. I did not believe her. I could see her sitting with me on a porch in the south drinking sweet tea. She literally killed me by telling me the missing puzzle pieces. However after her truth telling she died. She died April 16, 2013. My truth teller revealed so many revelations I was shocked and scared. I could see rivers of blood. Connected to a catholic priest with alcohol on his breath and a lamb crying. I realized this was repressed memory and tragic. This was my childhood. My father hung our favorite little lamb by his neck and this river of blood caused my overdose. I could no longer live with this in my soul. I could hear him crying morning, noon and night. I thought I was going mad. The river became my memories of my experience my sister relayed to me but I refused to see it. Today I am a caul bearer with all this that has occurred and I wish I could say it never happened. I see myself standing at my mother and fathers house in peaceful protest. To stand for all those that died. For all those that were deeply hurt by their actions in my life. I must have a voice! I will return to Thatcher Arizona and stand up for them all including, myself. I also am in the middle of the grieving process and have to perform a memorial (separate from my family ) I see hundreds of candles (300 to be exact) around my fifth friend and I in the center near an ocean edge. I do not live near an ocean. I see aster flowers of purple and pink. I will accomplish this near June 17th. I feel relieved to know that my sister has released her pain. Yes, it hurt me however, I will memorialize her properly as she deserves. My family would love to just shove her aside as they did many times. I feel I must face this death as the one I did with honor, pride and respect. After all these deaths and rejection I need to have a voice. I also speak my truth on you tube as a remembrance to my family who departed. . I have two brothers left. I am the last female child. I am also a CB and must not be afraid to me be. I must embrace who and what I truly am even though I was told different. I hear vibrations, small still voices, I see dead people who are always happy, I see children who are in pain, I can channel energies through many dimensions, I am considered a light worker, I hear music that’s unexplainable and constantly seek their meanings as they speak of beauty, loveliness of people, faith in the future. I also see a vision that I have seen since I can remember of many people who walk in the thousands with infirmities and walking toward a split between two mountains, a valley, I stand to their left with who seems to appear as Christ, I see many infirmities that are all different, The reach the valley and a higher power has an edge like a fence around the bottom of the mountain and speaks to the people. This vision has followed me and a higher power tells me that these are not physical illnesses but rather spiritual sickness and he intends to help them. He speaks quietly and softly no matter how vial the vision is. I also volunteered in Biloxi Mississippi at Katrina disaster and I have felt so free. I helped prostitutes, drug addicted, poor, sick and all wanted to hug me which I did. To this very day I can smell the dead as though I shall never forget. The people threw me out of the stadium when I fed people. I did not give up I began to drive through Biloxi against their wishes and found the “real” truth of the Katrina disaster. People were hungry, scared, and outright in shock. I just held them as they cried and late at night I drove through the damaged streets and flashed my flashlight to check on them while they slept and if I didn’t see a return light I ran to their tent, cement slab and whatever else they lie upon. They took a picture of me and said I want you to see yourself like I did, we did, they did. This changed my life. I returned home devastated that I had left my friends without food, water and someone to love them in their pain. I had been there five months and lost 45 pounds running through the streets of Biloxi trying to find a pot to cook in or a belt for a man to put in his loops. I love the people of the south. I spent thousands of dollars and didn’t care. I remember the Christian ministers asking me of my experiences when I would drive around (I was the only one who left the camp) Biloxi. I shared with them so I could have a place to sleep in their camp. I watched along the ocean edges and would cry looking across what was no longer a bridge to people waving white flags. I wanted to walk on water to give them a morsel. This is my calling to help the desperate and poor. I also see myself helping children who hide at night not to die in Sudan, Africa and many friends want to join me. I will go! And help them hide in the dark against the militia who seek to kill the little children who escape at night to sleep somewhere safe. I have no fear at all. I know something watches over me, I shall also learn to shoot a machine gun (I am against guns!) as it is necessary and highly dangerous. We have to sneak them out to orphanages. They burn the orphanages. My husband and a man (a mormon, I know go figure) Wish to join me. This will be a very hard journey but I know I must go to save children and play with them and also to hug them. This is my calling. Also, finding water is vital to the people of Sudan, Africa. I will go and hopefully share all my pictures of the kind faces I will find. Do not be surprised if you see me carrying a machine gun! I will not harm one of their little lives. I will protect them with all my might. God will travel with me and my friends. Thank you listening as I can feel that my voice is rising. I know many speak of a bucket list, I do not think or feel I need one. I am everyday as I see with different eyes. This was vital to me to share my life and know that I can rise. We can rise! I know I shall meet my fellow Caul Bearers as we all ride with each other and pray for this meeting someday. Thank you giving me a home finally. God rest my soul and give me the strength and courage to fight for those that do not have a voice.

Anthology Plan

I have selected my theme to be " The Tea Sipper's Journey". I have chosen this "tea sipper's journey" theme to help all women to remember that "excellent" cup of tea when, they stopped the busyness of their hectic lives and woke up the stillness inside themselves. That stillness is the part of all humanity that needs a nudge. When we stop and pour that first cup, all women know instinctively that she can create that stillness and take in all she desires. In that moment I hope she chooses great literature from around the world. Not just the simple poem that pleases us all , but all who dare to write the words of their hearts and bare their souls. I believe this journey, to open ourselves up to literature, is a choice for people to make. But especially for the women of this world, who so desperately need these moments of awakenning.

I hope this particular set of poems and excerpt's can awaken a part of you , you might have left behind. Possibly you might even find solace in these pieces of great literature women have even risked their lives for. I know the reader's of this particular anthology can find the mysteries of their hearts and souls, as I have. This is not exclusive to females but men have been selected because they crossed the lines of gender. That in itself is a mystery. From Anna Akmatova to Ani Di Franco, there is something there for all to take in and breathe deep.

As you journey I hope this writing has proven itself tried and true. Deep, mysterious and lovely as all people are. As you sip these powerful words of tradegy, hope and incredible strength finds you comforted. In all these words whether a poem or an excerpt, you find all that makes us humans and frail. These words can transcend all conditions of our lives and take you to new highs and perhaps even lows. Tho, not alone. You will come to love these words as I have. With a warm cup of tea and peace. One sip at a time.

Instead of a preface

Anna Akhmatova born in 1889, under Soviet rule, suffered many imprisonments of her son Lev that the Stalin government encouraged, due to her writings. Her writings were confiscated and her friends had even testified against Anna. Anna is one of my favorite writers and she will be posted more then once here. Not a soul writes about the "pain " of watching everyday hourlessly,mercilessly, and patiently waiting for families to come from beyond those walls, as well as Anna Akhmatova. I begin with Anna's courage , to give you the courage to write what you really see. Called "half nun,half harlot" by the government she was also heavily censored and for her son's release wrote for the Stalin governement , to no avail. She later asked that these writing's be removed.

In the awful days of the Yezhovschina I passed seventeen months in the outer waiting line of the prison visitors of Leningrad. Once, somebody "identified " me there. Then a woman, standing behind me in the line, which of course, never heard my name, waked up from the torpor, typical for us all there, and asked me , whispering in my ear ( all spoke only in a whisper there)
" And can you describe this?"
And I answered:
"Yes, I can."
Then the weak similarity glided over that, what had once been her face.
April 1, 1957; Leningrad
http://http//www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/akhmatova/akhmatova_ind.html

After reading this for my first time I believe that Maya belongs in this second position...freedom...We all begin our journey and find there are rocks and stones. Maya Angelou is my bird of freedom and air. Maya Angelou is a woman of many talents including awards for acting, directing and the arts as a whole. She has even travelled and worked in the Middle East. Her voice is like no other I have heard with ...empowerment. For all. We rise!
http://http//www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/maya_angelou/biography



Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you 'beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I got oil wells,
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Do you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders bowing down like teardrops.
Weakenned by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I got gold mines
Diggin' my own backyard
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still , like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past thats rooted in pain
I rise
Im a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak thats wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestor's gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

Walt Whitman

There are so many words of Walt Whitman and I can say so many. But I shall keep this brief. He did not see as other men do. He did not breathe as other men do. He was made for a day and age, so ahead of time but perfectly arranged. At first glance I thought him to be " heady , full of himself" then I took another gander and found the beauty of humanity. I cant believe this man published his own leaflets and shared them so boldly. I am happy Walt Whitman was born to show me no judgement in another. We are equal. We are alive!...gratitude.

Song of Myself

Walk Whitman

The Norton Anthology of American Literature

Verse 21

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,

The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,

The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride,

We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,

I show that size is only development

Have you outscript the rest? Are you the president?

It is a trifle, they will more then arrive there every one, and still pass on.

Ani Di Franco

There are many poems and many songs,but this is my favorite song for every girl who ever lived, breathed and said it proudly. Ani has created her own label ( Righteous Babe) and never sold out once in her career. Her guitar work is like no other. Shes hard, brash and downright vulnerable for all to hear. She is hugely successful undergrond. She likes it that way and I feel this is her best. For all who have been turned away and got back up....It should be said that when we raise form the ash we should have many supporters..Ani sang it for me and you hopefully.

http://http//www.bing.com/music/songs/search?q=ani+di+franco+lyrics+for+thirty+two+flavors&FORM=DTPMUA&qpvt=ani+di+franco+lyrics+for+thirty+two+flavors

Thirty Two Flavors

Ani Di Franco

Squint your eyes and look closer

I'm not between you and your ambition

I am a poster girl with no poster

I am thirty- two flavors and then some

and I'm beyond your peripheal vision

So you might wanna turn your head

Cause someday your going to get hungry

and eat most of the words you just said

Both my parents have taught me about good will

and I have done well by their names

Just the kindness I've lavished on strangers

is more then I can explain

There are many who have turned out their porch lights

so I would think they were not home

and hid in the dark of their windows

til I passed and left them alone

God help you if you are an ugly girl

course too pretty is also your doom

Cause everyone harbors a secret hatred

For the prettiest girl in the room

And god help you if you are a phoenix

And you dare to rise up from the ash

A thousand eyes will smolder in jealousy

While you are just flying past

I'm not trying to give my life meaning

by demeaning you

And I would like to state for the record

I did everything that I could do

I'm not saying that I am a saint

I just dont want to live that way

No, I will never be a saint

but I will always say

Squint your eyes and look closer

Im not between you and your ambition

Im a poster girl with no poster

I am thirty- two flavors and then some

and Im beyond your peripherel vision

So you might want to turn you head

Cause someday you might find your starving

and eating all the words you just said

Mother Teresa

When Katrina hit many summers ago, I wanted to go. I was a selfish hairdresser that never volunteered for anything , but the south called to me. Katrina moved me in a way that cant be described. I wanted to hand out water but instead when I arrived two days later , I was given the only make shift hospital. I hate nursing but proved I could be a pretty great one. Laura Bush came to Biloxi, Mississippi that summer and I remember stinking so bad and she looked like an angel and smelled like one too.
Mother Teresa was a woman who gave her life to the church and I am not a religious person but when I needed the courage to go face Katrina that summer this is the quote that got me there, kept me there and got me home , safe.

Quote

Mother Teresa

http://http//www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/m/mother_teresa.html

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to eachother"

My Prospective thus far......

Today I see a common thread happenning in my blog posts. The women and men I have selected have views that are strong, clear and sensitive. Though they are from different times in history, they seem to be saying the same words. Rising above and having their identities challenged. They all are saying they have a voice and it should be somewhere in history. All of the writer's whether poems or songs, have a strong voice. The flow is better than I expected. Though, the selections are in wrong order, I can feel the flow. I wanted variety and Im glad it is there for me. I hope my audience can clearly see this. The metaphors are not as hard to understand as I anticipated and im happy about this. There is a solid sensitive voice here and that is also my goal. I feel that Akhmatova is a good strong beginning. Leningrad was a huge awakenning to me, and I feel this is a good place to begin , though, its quite heavy. To ask someone to read with an open mind is too difficult for me so I began with a heavy tone. Sorrow is also present and I feel all women and men have sorrow. Specifically, I wanted women to approach this piece with the reassurance they could survive anything in life, together. At least leave with an understanding of a sense of togetherness. The men in this piece have respect and I will not put in any pieces of anger from men. This is definately a place of peace in knowing we are not alone and that theme to me , is wonderful. The sadness is there also and im happy about that because we can never understand if we dont open up to that sadness. The truth is inside these pieces also but if you are not open to the idea of truth? well...then you are without it.

"Woman and Family: The Dust Bowl"

http://http//www.english.illinois.edu/maps/depression/dustbowl.htm

I had the honor of seeing this beautiful picture of a woman and her children last semester and my English teacher discussed this picture in class, I was forever changed. I had never seen this picture my life. The great depression affected many.Her pain, desperation and despair are so apparent and I felt this belonged in my war section. Too completely different periods of time, though somehow similiar. I say "beautiful" because I am selfish I did not realize what other women have suffered and endured. Her face says it all. I can feel the dirt and griminess. I am thirsty. I am hungry, seeing her sitting there contemplating, her situation in the "Dust Bowl"

As John Steinbeck wrote in his 1939 novel The Grapes of Wrath: "And then the dispossessed were drawn west- from Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico; from Nevada and Arkansas, families, tribes, dusted out, tractored out. Car-loads, caravans, homeless and hungry; twenty thousand and fifty thousand and a hundred thousand and two hundred thousand. They streamed over the mountains, hungry and restless - restless as ants, scurrying to find work to do - to lift, to push, to pull, to pick, to cut - anything, any burden to bear, for food. The kids are hungry. We got no place to live. Like ants scurrying for work, for food, and most of all for land."

http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/depression/dustbowl.htmhttp://

Life At War

There is a method to this madness! This is a picture of Kim Phuc specifically, who wrote a beautiful book about this moment and many others. But, as I read Denise Levertov, I felt it described this particular picture more deeply. I will return to Kim's words however as I feel, she has something to say also. Im trying to mesh two peoples sensitivities....But in actuality ...There are no WORDS!

http://http//www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=181968

Life at War

by Denise Levertov

The disasters numb within us

caught in the chest, rolling

in the brain like pebbles. The feeling

resembles lumps of raw dough

weighing down a child’s stomach on baking day.

Or Rilke said it, ‘My heart. . .

Could I say of it, it overflows

with bitterness . . . but no, as though

its contents were simply balled into

formless lumps, thus

do I carry it about.’

The same war

continues.

We have breathed the grits of it in, all our lives,

our lungs are pocked with it,

the mucous membrane of our dreams

coated with it, the imagination

filmed over with the gray filth of it:

the knowledge that humankind,

delicate Man, whose flesh

responds to a caress, whose eyes

are flowers that perceive the stars,

whose music excels the music of birds,

whose laughter matches the laughter of dogs,

whose understanding manifests designs

fairer than the spider’s most intricate web,

still turns without surprise, with mere regret

to the scheduled breaking open of breasts whose milk

runs out over the entrails of still-alive babies,

transformation of witnessing eyes to pulp-fragments,

implosion of skinned penises into carcass-gulleys.

We are the humans, men who can make;

whose language imagines mercy,

lovingkindness we have believed one another

mirrored forms of a God we felt as good—

who do these acts, who convince ourselves

it is necessary; these acts are done

to our own flesh; burned human flesh

is smelling in Vietnam as I write.

Yes, this is the knowledge that jostles for space

in our bodies along with all we

go on knowing of joy, of love;

our nerve filaments twitch with its presence

day and night,

nothing we say has not the husky phlegm of it in the saying,

nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness,

the deep intelligence living at peace would have.

Spoken by an acclaimed actress, Miss Fontenelle

A woman born in the 1700's who was considered charming and cultured. Performing at the Theatre Royal Louisa gave this address.She died of yellow fever in 1799. This address was acknowledged and loved. I feel the journey leads us to womens rights. This personally speaks to womens rights and the boldness that existed, long ago. http://http//www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/robert_burns/poems/5013 An Occasional Address. Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, November 26, 1792. Written By Robert Burns.

When Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, 5 The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the Sexes’ intermix’d connection, One sacred Right of Woman is, protection.— The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, 10 Sunk on the earth, defac’d its lovely form, Unless your shelter ward th’ impending storm. Our second Right—but needless here is caution, To keep that right inviolate’s the fashion; Each man of sense has it so full before him, 15 He’d die before he’d wrong it—’tis decorum.— There was, indeed, in far less polish’d days, A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways, Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, Nay even thus invade a Lady’s quiet. 20 Now, thank our stars! those Gothic times are fled; Now, well-bred men—and you are all well-bred— Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 25 That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest; Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration, Most humbly own—’tis dear, dear admiration! In that blest sphere alone we live and move; There taste that life of life—immortal love. 30 Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs; ’Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares, When awful Beauty joins with all her charms— Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 35 With bloody armaments and revolutions; Let Majesty your first attention summon, Ah! ça ira! THE MAJESTY OF WOMAN!

"What do women want?"

This poem seemed perfect for this particular place. Kim Addonizio lives in San Francisco and has many writings. I believe she says what we all wanted to say but could not. Perhaps, many women dont feel this way at all. BUT after 25 years of doing hair for women , I heard this poem over and over, Kim finally said it!

http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/725http://

"What Do Women Want?"

by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what's underneath. I want to walk down the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. I want to walk like I'm the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment from its hanger like I'm choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I'll wear it like bones, like skin, it'll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.