When exactly was the moment I became authentic?
Was it when I awoke after being comatose for several months with viral pneumonia?
Was it when I wore the same green linen A-line dress every single day of my last year of high school? Was it when I bought my first pair of Bean’s boots and my last pair of high heels? Was it when I not only burned, but banned, my bra?
Was it when I insisted on breast feeding my daughter despite the doctor’s belief that babies could not live on breast milk alone and that I was endangering my child with my choice? Was it when I helped my sister give birth to her baby girl in the woods in British Columbia? Was it when I nearly bled to death (and wound up in the hospital on IV antibiotics due to blood poisoning) because abortion was illegal?
Was it when I awoke in my isolated home in the country with the cop’s gun pressed to my head? Was it when I successfully fought off the gang of thugs intent on tearing my clothes off? Was it when I kissed the second woman? Was it when I opened my eyes to the Goddess in every woman, even myself?
Was it when, riding home after swimming at the Dallas Y, I looked at the dour, unhappy faces of the people on the bus and swore that I would never let whatever was eating them eat me? Was it when I finally stood up for myself in my abusive relationship even though it meant the end of my world? Was it when I resigned from the role of “wife”? Was it when the college where I taught refused to rehire me because I was living in my hand-built house, which did not have a telephone (or electricity or even running water)? Was it when Ousley said: “Take this.” and I did?
Was it when I decided to produce as much of my daily sustenance as possible? (And began a continuing love affair with goats and gardens.) Was it when Elda Mor, the elder goddess, healed my strep throat and set me on the path of herbalism? Was it when I heard the plants laughing at me and vowed to teach everyone how to hear the wise words of the plants?
Was it when I awoke to find a woman named Vera sitting on my bed? (She said she was the spirit of truth, sent to be with me until I learned to always tell the truth.) Was it when Artemis shot her arrow into my heart and awakened my wild heart? Was it when I took on the voice of Baba Yaga, the fearsome old witch?
Yes. And no. Being authentic, being soul-propelled, is a moment-by-moment choice. It is the decision to forgo resentment, to relinquish grudges, to believe in bliss. It is the awareness of every step as a blessing. It is my consciousness in each breath, reminding me that I am connected to the plants, and through them, to all of life. Accepting it all -- the mess, the chaos, the pain, the insults, the senseless waste, the good deeds gone bad, the sheer beauty, the awesome power, the amazing perseverance, the stunning fecundity, the breath-taking coincidences – embracing it all, and loving it all, even within my self, is my path of authenticity, the real woman I wish the women of the world to know.
I am a woman grown old: fearsome, strange, wise beyond words, cunning, potent, orgasmic, steadfast, gray-haired, wrinkled, gap-toothed, cackling. Come closer dear and listen. “It’s your life, not a popularity contest.”
Green blessings.
Susun Weed
Was it when I awoke after being comatose for several months with viral pneumonia?
Was it when I wore the same green linen A-line dress every single day of my last year of high school? Was it when I bought my first pair of Bean’s boots and my last pair of high heels? Was it when I not only burned, but banned, my bra?
Was it when I insisted on breast feeding my daughter despite the doctor’s belief that babies could not live on breast milk alone and that I was endangering my child with my choice? Was it when I helped my sister give birth to her baby girl in the woods in British Columbia? Was it when I nearly bled to death (and wound up in the hospital on IV antibiotics due to blood poisoning) because abortion was illegal?
Was it when I awoke in my isolated home in the country with the cop’s gun pressed to my head? Was it when I successfully fought off the gang of thugs intent on tearing my clothes off? Was it when I kissed the second woman? Was it when I opened my eyes to the Goddess in every woman, even myself?
Was it when, riding home after swimming at the Dallas Y, I looked at the dour, unhappy faces of the people on the bus and swore that I would never let whatever was eating them eat me? Was it when I finally stood up for myself in my abusive relationship even though it meant the end of my world? Was it when I resigned from the role of “wife”? Was it when the college where I taught refused to rehire me because I was living in my hand-built house, which did not have a telephone (or electricity or even running water)? Was it when Ousley said: “Take this.” and I did?
Was it when I decided to produce as much of my daily sustenance as possible? (And began a continuing love affair with goats and gardens.) Was it when Elda Mor, the elder goddess, healed my strep throat and set me on the path of herbalism? Was it when I heard the plants laughing at me and vowed to teach everyone how to hear the wise words of the plants?
Was it when I awoke to find a woman named Vera sitting on my bed? (She said she was the spirit of truth, sent to be with me until I learned to always tell the truth.) Was it when Artemis shot her arrow into my heart and awakened my wild heart? Was it when I took on the voice of Baba Yaga, the fearsome old witch?
Yes. And no. Being authentic, being soul-propelled, is a moment-by-moment choice. It is the decision to forgo resentment, to relinquish grudges, to believe in bliss. It is the awareness of every step as a blessing. It is my consciousness in each breath, reminding me that I am connected to the plants, and through them, to all of life. Accepting it all -- the mess, the chaos, the pain, the insults, the senseless waste, the good deeds gone bad, the sheer beauty, the awesome power, the amazing perseverance, the stunning fecundity, the breath-taking coincidences – embracing it all, and loving it all, even within my self, is my path of authenticity, the real woman I wish the women of the world to know.
I am a woman grown old: fearsome, strange, wise beyond words, cunning, potent, orgasmic, steadfast, gray-haired, wrinkled, gap-toothed, cackling. Come closer dear and listen. “It’s your life, not a popularity contest.”
Green blessings.
Susun Weed
Susun Weed is the voice of the Wise Woman Tradition, where healing comes from nourishment. She is known internationally as an extraordinary teacher with a joyous spirit, a powerful presence, and an encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and health. Ms. Weed restores herbs as common medicine, and empowers us all to care for ourselves. Susun Weed is the author of the Wise Woman Herbal Series - recommended by expert herbalists and well-known physicians and are used and cherished by millions around the world - including five titles: Down There: Sexual and Reproductive Health the Wise Woman Way, New Menopausal Years, Breast Cancer? Breast Health!, The Childbearing Year, and Healing Wise. Visit Susun at her website, blog, Facebook page or at her bookshop.
What a powerful post! Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteI smiled all the way through this post! Blessings!
ReplyDeleteSusun, this is such a powerful post. I am so inspired by who you are.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! Your work and words continue to inspire me... what an honor to sit in this circle with you! A thousand thank yous for all that you've done and been, with eager anticipation for the green growth that emerges. All my love : )
ReplyDeleteLove it! I have come to you to learn about herbs, but I must say I love it when you share more than that. I have heard you share or speak wisdom on subjects other then herbs a few times and I have expanded and learned something each time. Thank-you! Teresa wilcox
ReplyDeleteSusan Weed is a woman after my own heart. Love everything about her and the story of her journey in authenticity here.
ReplyDeleteBras are from hell. Back in the hippie days it was cool to lose the bra. I must be authentic too because at my age who cares ;-) They are nothing but booby traps! The only time I’ve worn one in the past few decades was when nursing my babies and needed the pads to catch leaking or spurting milk in public. But mostly the traps were down.
I was thinking all the way through that being "authentic" is a journey as with everything else in life. I am of a similar age, of course our journeys are vastly different, I believe we have ended up in a similar place. When one opens ones heart without reservation, then transferring from Maiden to Mother to Crone (wise woman)is inevitable. I am finding that I love and am proud of my crone status. It is one experience after another both good and bad. And I Never like the ides of being popular, seem very confining and shallow. Thanks Kay
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