Me, God, and the Moon.

“At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door and open the love-window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.” – Rumi

When I was four, I would sit in my bed and gaze up at the moon and feel God see me.

It is said the sun sees our body, but the moon sees our soul. When I was that very small girl, the light of the moon woke me up to the fact I had a soul, and it could be seen and known, by me, and by God.

And it, and I, and God, were good.

All my life, my spirituality has had its source in the silent, joyous conversations I had with God as a tiny child under the light of the full moon. I never doubted the conversations were real, nor doubted God was. I did not grow up in a believing or church-going family. I was not churched, nor did I know how to pray. But I knew how to believe, and so I did. Believing God was, and that I was loved and seen, right through to my little white bones was as natural as breathing.

Spiritual searching and yearnings of my heart and a need to belong led me in search of God-people. I had many years, most very happy, amongst those tribes. But then, to my surprise, I was led behind the safety and security of the tribes into the wilds, a place I’d never know, a place I feared God would not follow me.

But the moon, ever my brother, mother and teacher, taught me a precious truth. Just as the constant moon in the night sky can be found ever at my shoulder, no matter where I turn, so is my God in my sojourn through with wilds.

And just as I do not despair on moonless nights, so I don’t despair in seemingly Godless ones. For like the moon, God never truly disappears or leaves us. God is simply out of our sight for a time. If we are patient, and prepared to sit with a little darkness, God appears to us once more, and ever after.

No one can make me believe there is no God. Don’t try. I was convinced of God before I knew the earth was round, that I needed oxygen to live, before I could read, and way before I knew there was such a thing as the Bible or shame or heaven or hell.

God saw me when I was but a few days along the road in my spiritual journey, and said, little Small and Pure, you are Very Good.

I am, still. Always was. Always will be. So are you. We are born good, and God always sees us this way.

When I see the full moon, it reminds me the spiritual journey is all about believing that with all of our heart again.

Selah, my friends.
Jo xxx

Come home to your body.

The body conversation.

Self-acceptance or other-acceptance?

Self-acceptance is the one kind you don’t have to bargain for.

The body conversation which is asks, “Why do consumers only want *those* kinds of bodies? Why can’t they want my body too?” is a misguided conversation.

It doesn’t matter if “they” like or accept or love or want your body.

It only matters if you do.

The better conversation about bodies is the one where we address exactly who it is we imagine has to approve of, desire, view and dictate to us about our bodies. It’s the conversation about body consumption, not body image or appearance.

If you put your “real” woman’s body out on show, next to the “other” woman’s body, and argue about perfection, ideals and who is the real woman, you’ve taken the side of those who see bodies as a commodity. You’ve taken a side against other women and their bodies. You’ve become the viewer of your body, rather than the owner and inhabitant.

Don’t let the market and the marketeers dictate the body conversation.

We with women’s bodies dictate it.

You dictate that conversation.

Don’t take your beautiful, strong, fragile, perfect body out on the battleground or the marketplace and allow it to be hustled, argued over, scorned, or lauded as if it were you.

Your body is a temple. Make it a place of serenity, respect and contemplation. Make it a place of joy, not war.

Your body is a sacred space, a place of peace. It is not to be bought or sold. It is not for judging or fighting over. It’s the place on earth where the eternal makes its home.

Your body is not your brave, not your cause, not your weapon. It’s your safe place. Your home.

You don’t worship the temple. You worship in the temple.

Come home to your body. It waits for you to come home.