I Am A Woman

Posted on July 16, 2010 by Dauntless| 1 Comment

The following entry is by guest-blogger, Doshia. It’s a powerful manifesto of what Doshia believes it means to be, simply (but no, not simply) A Woman.

I Am A Woman.

I am not a bitch.
I am not a whore.
I am not a slut.
I do not use my genitalia to manipulate or denigrate another human being.

My sexuality is priceless; my sensuality unrivaled, because it is uniquely mine. I would not seek to compare or compete with another. I am me.
I am beautiful.

I love who I am.
I love my body, my shape and my colors. I love the feel of my own skin, the texture of my hair, the changing hues of my eyes. I move like a woman. I dance softly to the music inside of me, in everything I do. I am frail. I am precious. I am easily hurt. I touch my belly, and remember the warm excitement of a tiny body growing there, the indefinable flutter of another heartbeat resting below mine. I exude femininity; I am soft, sweet. But my soul is unconquerable, my commitment to myself unbreachable.

I Am A Woman.
I Am Strong.
I carry the legacy of generations of women who have endured, and conquered, the injustice of a world that has deemed them inferior simply because of their gender. Women who have stood under the violence of angry and frightened men, who have fought back against the machine that would keep them in skirts and kitchens, who have realized the dreams of their mothers and grandmothers. I belong to a quilt comprised of luminous hope; of rainbowed threads of amazing, wonderful, unbreakable women. I have witnessed the struggles, I have heard the cries, I have seen the fragments of who we are. I am reminded of the compassion, I have felt the love of who we continue to be. I will not turn, I will not submit, I will not die. I have stood in the face of mockery, I have smelled the hot breath of spite, I have seen the glare of indecency. I have felt the blows of hatred upon my body. I have protected myself against a world that would rape me, body, mind and soul. And I continue to love. Because I am a woman.

I love my children tenderly. I wake in the night to soothe their dreams, I sing soft songs, I cradle and rock them in gentle arms. I rise at daybreak, to sweep away the shadows of yesterday and breathe prayers of hope for today. I prepare my children for a world outside my care. I bandage their wounds, correct their mistakes, and support them unwaveringly. I shelter them. Fiercely. My presence, strength and love cover them in the heat of an unkind world. My back is unbending. I am their Mother. There is no greater force.

I love my man passionately. I am there to comfort him when his efforts go unrewarded. I stand beside him, silently, to support him when he is strong, and vocally, when his strength is waning. I touch him carefully, to ease his anguish, to fulfill his dreams, to encourage and appreciate him. I am there, always, to please and honor him. I release my longing to him; my desires are received. I celebrate with him, admire him, burst with the pride I have in him. I have held his hand, and I have held his tears. He holds my heart. He builds me up, and creates a strength in me that cannot be defined or diminished by any other being. I am his alone. There is none other. He is my pillar. I am his Woman.

I live in the whispering memory of my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother’s lives. The wind brushing over my face carries with it the scent of lavender and wheat, the warm reminiscence of American summers built on hard work and love. I shoulder the mysteries of women who struggled in fields, barns, desert shacks, dreaming of another life, but accepting the day; women who kissed husbands and sons bound for war goodbye; women who stood bravely in the truth that those husbands and sons may not return. I come from the battles of the Irish, the Scottish, the Italian women who stood in hot rooms, cooking, cleaning, loving each other with stories and songs and memories. I hear the echoes in my mind of women who imagined, women who walked on, women who stamped their feet in the soil of history. I learn integrity, strength and wisdom from the women whose bloodline I travel. I am proud. I am fortunate. I am beautiful. I remember.

I come from the Earth. I will return. While my feet tread the path, I will plant seeds of life, nurture relationships, and reap unforgettable moments. I will speak kind words, offer my hands, carry the weight of another soul too heavy laden. My spirit will pass from here content and free. I have been a woman. I have felt emotions unexplainable to men. I have had the courage to love and say, “I love you.” I have been beaten, broken, sacrificed and forgotten. But I have endured. And I continue to grow. I have sat in circles with women, feeling the drumbeat of our hearts, for a peaceful future, a softer touch, a quiet passing when our time has come. I have promised to be kind. I have promised to hope. I have promised to remember where we have been, how far we have come. I have promised to keep walking.

I am not a bitch.
I am not a whore.
I am not a slut.
I Am A Woman.

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In the Face of Silence

Posted on July 12, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

I wrote this article about my humanitarian assignment, “Project Break the Silence”, a fund-raising and awareness building effort designed to shine a light on the dark sex-trafficking industry on the US-Mexico Borderlands… read more on the LINKS page here at Dauntless Diva.

“In the Face of Silence “

Elisa was 6 months old when I met her in December 2007. She weighed less than 10 lbs and had beautiful, silky black hair that curled slightly around her tiny skull. Her chocolate-colored eyes overwhelmed her baby face with their hugeness. I wanted to hold her, but the nurse, a gentle nun in a colorless dress and black scarf, quietly intonated that it was best if I did not. I could hardly take my eyes off Elisa until Ricardo Gallego entered the room behind me.

“She is a beautiful baby, eh?” he asked in a thick accent leftover from his days as director of the Sonoran government’s Child Protective Services in Sonora.

“Yes,” I said. Then I noticed it: a stiff cast wrapped around Elisa’s tiny midsection.

I gestured toward it. “Poor baby girl. Was she in an accident?”

Ricardo’s face clouded. As his smile faded, he laid a light hand on Elisa’s forehead and tousled her hair gently. She kicked one foot out and I thought maybe she smiled at his touch.

“It is from her birth father,” said Ricardo.

Ricardo Gallego is the young and courageous director of God’s Haven for Children International, a mission in Nogales, Mexico that rescues and cares for abused children.

He began to tell me in fractured English phrases how they had found Elisa in a house where she was being tormented and abused by her own father, resulting in several broken ribs and potentially life-threatening internal damage.

As I listened, the shock of what Ricardo was saying overpowered all my senses and for a moment I felt like I was falling, fainting inside. I gripped the edge of Elisa’s crib to steady myself, my eyes fastened on her tiny broken body.

“We saved her life,” finished Ricardo. “She will be fine.”

He was smiling now. I was not.

Abused by her own Father… a six-month old infant? What demon possessed the man who would commit this vile crime? And what tragic concept of submission and dependency filled the heart of the mother who would allow this to happen to her own baby?

I met many other children that day in Nogales, Mexico. Ranging from ages 6 months to 12 years old, the girls and boys rescued by GHFCI had the appearance of schoolchildren. Everyone was trimly attired and clean, reminding me of the children I had cared for in day care centers and as a nanny. But contrary to the children I had worked with in my youth, every one of the children at GHFCI had been rescued from sexually abusive parents, relatives or other situations.

They lived in the Haven because, for now, they had nowhere else safe to go.

Though cheerful and comfortable, God’s Haven for Children International was little more than a former private residence converted into a children’s home with brightly painted walls covered in paintings and posters. Some of the posters were simply encouraging reminders that the children were loved, by God and by the Haven workers. Others were carefully-drafted admonitions of good behavior, such as the benefits of sharing and the rules to using the library and school room.

Yet for all this positive energy, the strange, irregular behavior and severe physical injuries evident in new rescues, was enough to keep me aware of the size of the giant the Haven was seeking to slay. Ricardo was indeed a young David, determined to do the work of a hundred men because he had the vision to see that if he did not stand forward and take up this cause, none other would. And his Goliath? The thriving, deadly virus of child sexual abuse in the Borderlands region.

In Nogales, MX, a city that hides no less than fifty (50) houses of child prostitution and pornography, Ricardo and his staff work day and night to bring hope and healing into the lives of the children they rescue. Various international sponsors and religious organizations provide the primary funding for the Haven. Their support makes sure the children always have several solid meals a day, clean clothes and a warm bed at night. However, with a work force including two psychiatrists, rotating caretakers for the children, menial laborers, a lawyer and office staff on payroll, Ricardo sometimes finds the funds running thin at the end of each month.

“We need several thousand dollars a month to run the Haven – minimum,” he told me toward the end of my visit.

At first, the money bowled me over. But as I was driving home, it dawned on me that I, as a single individual with no children to care for, no house to maintain and no staff to pay, require on average $2,000 a month to live on. And here Ricardo was feeding, clothing and providing for not just 14 children, but a full-time staff of no less than ten adults and their families on an income just roughly six times mine! His pleas for funding rapidly became clear to me after I ran these numbers and realized how very little he was really asking for, and how much each dollar was actually doing for the children.

During a television interview for Project Break the Silence, I focused heavily on a statistic that stated that one child in Arizona is abused every hour.

However, in Nogales, MX, Ricardo told me, over 200 boys and girls are sexually abused in their own homes and neighborhoods every day.

That’s nearly ten times the stateside average, and unfortunately on the Mexico side of our borderlands region, the problem gets far less public attention. Not for lack of trying by those who have a heart to change this, however.

After he spoke out against the sex-trafficking of girls in Nogales, Ricardo received death threats on the phone. Still, he persisted, believing that his work with the Haven was not enough and that many more children needed his voice. But sex-trafficking is a multi-billion dollar industry, and according to the Oprah Winfrey Show, which recently ran a special on sex-trafficking featuring advocate Ricky Martin, human sex trafficking is the second-largest organized crime in the world.

With powerful men standing against him, Ricardo would have been well within his bounds to give up in his work and focus just on the Haven and the children the Sonoran government sent his way. But his hope was to bring light into the darkest corners of borderland society and expose the criminals in their dens.

So though the death threats continued, Ricardo was not easily silenced…

Until … the day he was driving his wife and child through the streets of Nogales on a shopping trip. As they pulled up to a stop sign, an untraced assailant fired on the van from across the street. The terrifying whir and splinter of the bullets as they passed by his open window and struck a pole behind the van shook Ricardo to the core. Miraculously, no one in the vehicle was injured and Ricardo was able to get his family home to safety.

This sex-trafficking monster is too big for me to fight alone, he realized.

Against his will, Ricardo was forced to keep silent about the sex-trafficking industry in Nogales and instead focus his boundless energies on the work at the Haven and the children under his care.

Today, the faces of the children at the Haven still drift through my mind at times. I find myself dreaming of tiny Fabian and his drooling, toothless grin… the 2 month old girl who fastened her strong baby hand around my fingers and stared silently up at me from her pink blanket…and Gabby, who when asked how old she was, held up three brown fingers and flashed me a starry smile from under dark bangs. These children are the reason people like Ricardo risk their lives every day, and if our nation could only recognize how deeply our own futures are affected by the children of the Borderlands, perhaps more people would join this cause. But until more people do stand forward, Ricardo, his staff, and myself will continue to speak and work for the hope and healing of the next generation.

As we drove away from the Haven that sunny winter afternoon, Ricardo Gallego turned to me from the driver’s seat of his van and said, “Don’t forget to tell people our sign: Cambiamos lagrimas por sonrisas…we turn tears into smiles!”

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Curing the Incurable: #3…Righteous Anger!

Posted on July 1, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

Where Is The Diva in Her Journey Today?

In April 2010, I relocated operations to the sunny coast of Southern California, where I discovered a warm and welcoming community full of like-minded individuals. It’s been an enriching experience.

Since being assaulted in March 2010, I have begun consciously employing various healing modalities in clearing my past of the 24 years of sexual, physical and emotional abuse that preceded my recent joyous discovery.

I can both create power in my Present, and eliminate the blockages from my Past permanently. Do you yet know that the same is true for you? Do you accept that the same is true for you? The only difference between knowing and accepting, is your choice to move from one to the other…

Two Tools the Author Uses to Feel Like a Diva

  • 100% Raw Vegan diet with an emphasis on Green Smoothies and Green Juices (as of mid-June)… Why so many Greens? In my experience, fresh, organic, home-prepared greens are grounding, aid in detoxification, and are high in mineral content which is crucial in my continued physical healing journey as well as my emotional healing journey!
  • Intentional Gratitude… creating lists at least a few days a week (though daily is much more effective) of no less than ten things I am grateful for each day. I sometimes post these lists in public places, which is not necessary but I have found often keeps me encouraged to continue writing and appreciating my day-to-day experiences. The power of gratitude has been written about by countless best-selling authors and earth-shakers down through the generations… affirm that power in your own life by giving the practice a one-week trial. I recommend creating a free profile at Bodacious Living or Raw Food Talk and joining the folks who write Daily Appreciations in the forums.
  • And the third tool……………..?

#3: Righteous Anger!

Since creating this site in October 2009, I have intentionally been an open book about my life, my health and my healing journey. I share my life openly with you because I believe that by speaking clarity and truth about both the painful AND the joyful, I empower YOU to do the same in your life. Sometimes, simply feeling “free” to speak your truth is the key to your own healing.

Over the last few months, I have received numerous letters from women and men who experienced abuse in the past and are opening up their own lives, writing their own stories down, and telling their families things they have kept hidden for years.

In one instance, a young woman who has feared repercussions from her parents since her early childhood finally began speaking out – publicly in print – about the abuse she suffered at the hands of her parents’ friends. Her bravery has cost her those relationships, but has opened her heart to deep healing. (I would argue that relationships with family or friends who do not support your desire to speak truth, openly, and heal from your past are NOT healthy relationships in the first place. Losing those who drag you down is no loss, at all! And she agreed.)

Breaking the silence is how we break the patterns that we often feel have locked us down… and breaking those patterns is how we free ourselves to create new experiences, new relationships, and new visions that enable us to live healthy, nourishing, joy-filled lives brimming with richness of all kinds.

And there’s one other tool that may actually be imperative if you want to clear the old fatty deposits of your past experiences PERMANENTLY so you have room to create a new and better life.

That tool is Righteous Anger!

*crash BOOM Smash!!!*

I know what you’re thinking. You’re remembering Vacation Bible School and images of a (generally Caucasian, white-bearded) angry God hovering over earth on a cloud (Heaven), pounding his fists and glaring beet-faced down at you and I as we hapless minions huddle together in terror at his feet (Earth).

While this image may have terrified you as a child and may cause you to smile a little today, it’s not exactly what I have in mind when I’m discussing Righteous Anger… rather: Righteous Anger as defined in the Diva’s Dictionary of Dauntless Terms v.2010, is an adjective describing “The process of allowing oneself to fully experience and expressively release the inner rage that one may have allowed to build up inside throughout a lifetime of negative experiences.”

Wait a Minute, Isn’t Anger Unhealthy…?

Today, my therapist, a gentle and encouraging woman I will call Jane, told me something that was mind-blowing to this old-fashioned-past, strictly-raised, heavily-disciplined young woman… she said, “Don’t discount the value of allowing yourself to be angry about what has happened to you in your life.”

Think about that for a minute. Then run down the following list and ask yourself if you identify with these points:

  1. Each one of us had things happen to us in our lives that we perceived as “negative”, whether it was the loss of someone we thought we couldn’t live without or something as simple as a red light at the wrong time of the commute.
  2. Many of us have chosen to express the feelings that follow such “negative” experiences by locking them up, pretending to forget about them (and even succeeding for a time)…. or, lashing out at others or ourselves in anger at “God and the world” for what you perceive to have been another dark act in a stormy plot against your happiness.
  3. Most of us regret the anger later, and wonder why it is we feel angry, and by questioning the validity of our anger, we make ourselves MORE angry AT ourselves, until it becomes a self-perpetuating cycle of self-condemnation and angry outbursts.
  4. Most of us have been taught as children to consider expressions of anger to be an improper display, unhealthy, and/or deserving of punishment.
  5. Some of us, deep down, aren’t sure that Point #4 is really all that accurate anymore.

If you’re a human being reading this, chances are you are very familiar with Anger! Chances are you identify with not just one, but most of the five points listed above.

In the book, You Can Heal Your Life by best-selling author and teacher Louise L. Hay, Louise describes her childhood and the years of abuse and emotional torment she suffered at the hands of her step-father and others. She tells how she developed Cancer, and learned that it was her resentment and pent-up anger from her earliest years that had caused the dis-eased cells to form in her body.

She then provides a beautiful, succinct description of the healing power of Righteous Anger:

  • “I knew I had to clear the patterns of resentment I had been holding since childhood. It was imperative for me to let go of the blame. Yes, I had had a very difficult childhood with a lot of abuse – mental, physical, and sexual. But that was many years ago, and it was no excuse for the way I was treating myself now. I was literally eating my body with cancerous growth because I had not forgiven.. With the help of a good therapist, I expressed all the old, bottled-up anger by beating pillows and howling with rage. This made me feel cleaner.”

(Excerpt from: You Can Heal Your Life, Louise L. Hay, ed. 1999, p238)

So there you have it. The Diva’s third tool of choice. Whether it’s pounding pillows… writing fiery streaks of old feelings, intentions, and memories across pages of my journal… crying in the shower or crying behind the wheel of the car… singing songs that express the past and make room for the future… working with a therapist or counselor you can trust… or occasionally screaming at walls… or some other safe, guided, and serious method you choose to release the locked-inside emotions from your earliest years to today — I recommend you give Righteous Anger a go.

This Diva chooses to remember the past, accept the past, embrace the past, and release the past — and occasionally, throwing an intentional fit is how it’s done!

All text copyright Martine Eros 2010 except for the quoted excerpt from You Can Heal Your Life, copyright 1999 Louise L. Hay and Hay House publishing company. Permission required before reprinting the content of this article. Email dauntlessdiva@gmail.com for more information.

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Beating My Fists Against the Walls of Heaven

Posted on June 23, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

A glimpse into the NEW Life of the Dauntless Diva… and an invitation to YOU! Click on the image below to read the latest from the Diva’s pen…


You Can Heal Your Life… and it IS time, now.

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The Diva Dream — or, Summer of Success

Posted on June 22, 2010 by Dauntless| 1 Comment

Dive into the stream-of-consciousness fun behind the Diva curtain… enjoy some short story goodness and humor, and learn a little about how the Diva became… a Diva.


*            *              *              *          *             *

I spent the summer of 2009 under the instruction of CA, a professional coloratura Opera singer who, and I quote one of the most famous music directors on the Eastern Seaboard, has, “The most perfect singing technique on the East Coast.”

Ironically, CA now lives in Arizona - where, according to Hamlet 2, “dreams go to die”. And up until this Summer, it was indeed where MY dreams had all met their end! In fact, before I was introduced to CA by my voice coach, the young champion baritone – SK (remember his name because he will be famous in 3 years) – I was a demoralized, defeated University student in the BA of Vocal Performance program, trying and failing repeatedly to earn admission into the BM of Voice Major.

I’m a dramatic actress, mind you, and a little diva in personality – so repeated failure to accomplish my goals put me in a major slump. I had actually begun to believe I could/would never go anywhere with my voice, that I was destined to be the Could’ve-been-who-should’ve-never-been.

And yet, I still had this amazing natural ability to soar around in the whistle register with nary a care in the world, and I knew… I just knew… there was something special about a soprano who could nail F6 over and over, and still walk away smiling.

August 2009 was the telling point. After two months studying with CA, I had begun to unlock the key to placing my voice safely for those high notes, and drawing out the richness of the lower notes… in fact, I had begun to feel like I had unlocked LA VOCE completely for the first time since I had first sung opera at age 17!

I had also worked hard all summer to avoid anything which might affect my vocal chords negatively due to my rampant allergies, including pecans, furry dogs, men’s cologne, dairy products, carpet, and all the other good and wonderful things in life!

Which is why I was devastated when on the Monday before CA’s end of term studio Master Class, I accidentally snorted Comet + Bleach.

I’ll leave the “Exactly how does one snort Comet?” to your imagination. Just picture me whirling around a kitchen, clutching my burned throat, gasping for breathe, my Betty Boops eyes bugging out of my head…. realising that I had quite possibly just undone all my hard work of the summer – less than two weeks before my final 2009 Audition for the BM Program!

I spent the next two days bashing my head against a (padded) bedroom wall and repeating in a drooling monotone, “You are stupid, you suck, you are stupid, you suck.”

Then Thursday came – and I went to CA’s Master Class where I sat in silent, burning awe (the burning part being literal) as young diva after young diva ranging in age from -200 to +19 years, stood up, performed a perfectly choreographed, vocalised piece of music, and sat down to be mobbed by all the other divas in wild support.

Then it was my turn. I stood up and warbled a faint reendition of “Ah, non credea…” and then collapsed down in my chair. I was not mobbed in wild support, but I did see CA’s large eyes flutter in wonderment and I recall her saying generously something like, “Well, that is certainly NOT Martine’s normal voice, ladies!” Not only were my vocal chords scorched, my MORALE was ashes.

I managed to get through the rest of the Master Class, even performing a half-hearted version of “Ah, non giunge…” before calling it quits for the day. That night, I cried myself to sleep. I realised that my entire summer of hard work had been jeapordized, and I considered slashing my name off the audition sign-up sheet.

The next morning after a particularly potent Green Smoothie tonic, I re-determined that giving up was NOT an option, a la Winston Churchill, and that burned vocal chords or NOT, I was going to go into that Audition and giving them everything I had to give.

August 20, 2009

Throat somewhat healed after a week of partial voice rest and warm water gargling sessions in the shower, I warmed up my vocal chords singing some rather stunning notes at CA’s house, played around with the whistle register, and shopped for an “Opera Dress” with my friend, SU. I felt ready – but more importantly, I had decided that my goal for this Audition was no longer to be admitted into the BM Program, but simply to do my absolute best, kick butt, and have FUN!

So there I stood in the hallway of Room 162, waiting for my turn to go up, when one of the Programme leaders came out and said with furrowed brow, “What are you doing here?”

Oh boy… I looked at the list of singers for the day, and yes… you’ve got it. I WAS NOT on the list! I had warmed up and dressed up on the WRONG day! Brief moment of panic, followed by quick thinking response to the Goodly Professor, who shall heretofore be referred with no gender implication whatsoever as the Dark Lord, “Well, I have to work tomorrow and you only have a couple people today – would it be okay if I sang for you today, instead?”

*stoney silence from the Dark Lord*

Followed by, “I’ll ask the others.”

The Dark Lord disappears behind the doors of Rm 162, emerges a moment later and says with a stony expression that might be perceived as disappointment with the cohorts’ conclusion: “They said go ahead.” Vanishes again.

*chills*

So I sat there (and paced, occasionally) for the next 40 minutes, waiting to be admitted for my jury. And I prayed, and softly vocalized, and re-read my sheet music for the nine millionth time, and prayed some more.

By the end of the 40 minutes, when the Dark Lord emerged from the shadows for the final time to summon me into the misty (musty) Chamber of Doom, I was ready. My knees were no longer knocking, my throat felt open and alive, and I was READY! I had decided I simply DID NOT CARE what they thought anymore and I was going to sing for ME.

I sang… but I didn’t just sing. I laughed! I flirted! I was reckless and absolute, focused but aloof. I had FUN!!! Me!? FUN in an AUDITION! And when I reached the ending of my little song and soared up to the F6, suspended there for a few seconds, then glided down to a cheerful Bb, I ENJOYED it!

And when it was finally over, I laughed and bowed twice to the Faculty. The looks on their faces were priceless. I could see my coach, SK, beaming from his chair, and the leading Doctor looked truly surprised – pleasantly surprised, dare I hope?

Then the Dark Lord moved, leaned over in his chair, and said in a half-hushed voice to his colleague, “Do we even HAVE another soprano in the School who can sing that high note?”

I went outside while they deliberated, and SK came out to hug me and tell me that I had made him proud. I hugged him back and relished the moment – because I knew without a shadow of doubt that I had given my 100%, conquered my fears of the Dark Lord and the rest of the Horde, er, Faculty – and I didn’t care at ALL what they thought of me from now on – because I knew I rocked!!!

Then the Dark Lord emerged, whipped his robe behind him, handed me a sheet of paper and mumbled something about my being put into 185V and they were disappointed in me for only singing one song, could I please bring a more varied repertoire in December.

A brief flash of disappointment crossed my mind, but I laughed it off – no! I had given my best and had a blast doing it! I stuffed the paper in my purse and went bounding out to my car, elated in the knowledge that, even though I failed to get into the BM Program, I was STILL amazing! And, I had already determined that I was better off staying in the BA anyway, so I could graduate sooner, so… who cares!?
THE END

Not quite…

Part II

(Or…What Doesn’t Make You Laugh, Makes You Scream)

So, it’s 9:20pm at my house when I finally take the time to examine the sheet of paper the Dark Lord had handed to me after the audition. At this point, I’ve already told all my family and friends that I put on a great show, but was not admitted into the BM.

That’s when I notice that the sheet of paper has me in 185V voice class, at 4 units. I am instantly upset, figuring this means they’re DROPPING me in voice class level, and still doubling the number of songs I have to memorize!!! So, I call SK, my everlastingly long-suffering voice coach.

And he quietly tells me that, no, they are NOT dropping me in voice level. “Why would a BM student take lower level voice classes, anyway?” asks SK.

It takes fourteen clicks of the old brain for me to grasp what he just said. “BM what?” I whisper in disbelieving awe.

“Dauntless,” says SK in a patient tone, “You are in the BM Program now.”

That’s when I died, went to Heaven, and then was kicked out because, and I quote St. Peter, “We only allow smart people in Heaven.”

THE REAL END

Epilogue ————— After careful deliberation of at least five minutes, Dauntless decided to accept the generous offer of the Dark Lord and his followers and join their battle against the forces of Sanity. Arizona… where dreams go to die, burn to ashes, and resurrect like the glorious Phoenix. Bring it on, Dry Desert Devoid of Deciduous Declamation (…uh… trees)!!! I’ve got your number.

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“Raw Success” – A Review

Posted on June 22, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

Are you interested in cleaning up your diet and lifestyle, pursuing a long, healthful existence, and sticking to a 100% live-food vegan diet for more than just a “cleanse”…

— but you have no idea where to begin?

In 2007, Matt Monarch – a young Raw pioneer known for his popular TV show, The Raw Food World – wrote a guide for those seeking to transform their diets (and lives) to balanced health and longevity.

The book, Raw Success, outlines a handful of simple concepts to aid the reader in creating a sustainable 100% Raw Vegan lifestyle. Much of Monarch’s research was based off his educational relationship with Dr. Fred Bisci, a clinical nutritionist, researcher and 40-year Raw Vegan.

Raw Success seeks to answer some of the pressing questions facing raw vegans today, including…

Why aren’t Raw Food Eaters living decades longer than cooked food eaters?

Why are many Raw Foodies experiencing mineral deficiencies?

….and…

WHY do so many Raw Foodies have dental health issues?

Throughout the pages of the book, Monarch scatters a few mainstream concepts for maintaining health and avoiding some of these issues, including:

  • Green Juicing (i.e., making fresh, live green vegetable juices in your home… combining ingredients strategically to gain specific effects… and drinking immediately for the best health benefits, as per Dr. Norman Walker’s juicing manuals)
  • Colon cleansing (i.e., regular colonics… at home or done by a professional)
  • Enzyme therapy (i.e., because we live in an era of depleted soils, we need a little help to maintain our internal enzyme balance and reduce enzyme depletion, which contributes to aging and illness)

But the area in which Raw Success separates itself from many other health, wellness and raw food books is the centerfold, a section entitled “The Science Behind It All“.

In this section, Matt uses a series of graphically-delightful images and a reader-friendly exploration of the cellular science behind why some Raw Foodies succeed in achieving optimal health… and many don’t.

Curious about Matt’s theory and Dr. Bisci’s research? Looking for ways to boost your raw vitality, increase your longevity, and enjoy better health now? Wondering what all this 100% Raw business is about, anyway?

We recommend you purchase a copy of Raw Success through the Diva’s store— then add your thoughts to the discussion in the Comments thread below.

Rating: * * *

In conclusion, the Diva gives Matt Monarch’s book Raw Success a rating of 3 out of 5 stars… Though it occasionally lacks cohesion in some chapters and parts of the introduction follow rabbit trails, all in all Monarch and the inspirational contributions of his predecessors, Dr. Fred Bisci and Dr. Norman Walker, succeed in presenting a series of methodically-tried and holistically-true plans for creating true Raw Success in our lives.

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Raw Diva

Posted on June 18, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off
Since 2006, Martine, The Dauntless Diva, has pursued a raw foods lifestyle with dramatic inconsistency… her longest 100% raw vegan stint thus far without interruption was the last 9 months, and she is continually seeking ways to improve her consciousness and her intuitive responses to her body’s needs to develop, eventually, into a life-long Raw Vegan healthy dish of Diva-bomb raw hotness and brilliance… do read more to find out WHY.

100% Raw Vegan Dinner: Jicama Garlic Mashed Taters, Marinated Greens, Cranberry Sauce and dehydrated Nut & Seed Loaf with Cashew Creme Cheeze… there’s no reason to suffer, my friends. ;)

How It All Happened…

I was introduced to Raw Foods by a dear friend several years ago. We sat down in the living room of our shared-house and watched Alissa Cohen’s colorful, fun-filled DVD, and my life was forever changed. I literally went raw that day, as soon as the DVD finished playing!

My first 6-month 100% Raw Vegan stint in 2006 was brilliant and inspiring, except I did everything wrong and eventually caved to the whim of a boyfriend and will of a Doctor (and my own lack of education and conviction about my Vegan health) and started eating meat again “for the protein”.

When I finally came around after a few months off the path, entirely, and went on 100% raw foods a second time in early 2008, I was underweight and malnourished after a 6-month battle with overwhelming Stress and Depression. I was also broken out, tired all the time, unable to sleep consistently for more than a day or two, and battling aches and pains that ought to be reserved for the Frightfully Old (or the eaters of SAD: Standard American Diet) and not rising Divas.

This time, however, I intently read up on The Basics , then I began gulping down green smoothies, nut pâtés, seed crackers, raw cheesecakes, sprouted who-knows-what, and fistfuls of strange, oddly-shaped fruits with unpronounceable names. I was totally vegan, and LOVIN’ it!

The photographer's favorite food - APPLES.... image copyright John Annesley 2009.

Over a period of about 3 months, my health blossomed – I gained a few lbs. and began looking less like a prepubescent boy and more like a woman. My hair got silky and glossy. My skin cleared and began to glow – in fact I was continually asked what makeup I used (the answer? NONE!). Best of all, my headaches began to dissipate and glide away, and my lifelong struggle to maintain a stable blood sugar became as easy as this simple credo: Listen to your Body!

I was in Bliss, and as my journey progressed and over a year I put together more and more pieces to this pretty puzzle called Health, I was inspired to share this incredibly simple discovery with my friends! Of course, the first question out of everyone’s mouths was:

where do you get your protein

So, since I know YOU are probably thinking the same thing right now, I encourage you to read this charming, very short, enlightening blog post written on Alissa Cohen‘s blogroll! It really sums up how I often answer so many of those types of questions!

Going to the Next Level…

Shortly after going public with this website, I also began my own personal 90-Day 100% Raw Vegan Challenge. As I’ve progressed along this Journey, I’ve began to notice many preconceptions I had about Vegan diets and lifestyles have begun to change… my health is improving at a noticeable rate.

Consistency was the Missing Link from all my past Raw Vegan eating trials…

The OTHER Missing Link…

When I first went RAW in 2006, one of the issues I struggled with was satisfying my fast metabolism and perpetually hungry body on 100% Raw Foods… and I didn’t learn why this was such a struggle until 2008, when I discovered GREEN SMOOTHIES.

A simple combination of Greens + Fruit + Water in my blender quickly resulted in the most nourishing, delicious, natural, CHEAP and easy nutritional/protein “shakes” in the world… better yet, the GREEN SMOOTHIE was bio-available – my body was instantly rejuvenated by even just an 8. oz glass!

GREEN SMOOTHIES.... the drink that balanced it all. Image Copyright Dauntless Diva 2009

Throughout 2008, I stayed High Raw (75-90% of my daily diet was Raw and Living Vegan foods) almost subconsciously. I knew my body demanded total health, wellness and healing, and that the issues I was dealing with (Endometriosis, anorexia, migraines, acne, dehydration, arthritis-like joint pain constantly, etc.) would be healed by eating the right Foods. And when I began to also add Green Smoothies into that mix, my health sky-rocketed.

I am so inspired by Green Smoothies that I have already led FIVE successful 30-Day Green Smoothie Challenges for groups of SAD (Standard American Diet) Eaters! Most of the participants were not even Vegan or Vegetarian… they simply wanted to Lose Weight, Sleep Better and Improve their Health. And they did!!!

Today Is Where I Live…

As of Summer 2010, I am High Raw after 9 months of 100% Raw Vegan that resulted in a huge healing miracle… I LOVE my primary diet and I love the raw lifestyle, and I mean it honestly when I say, I am learning to delight in EVERY SINGLE DAY of this incredible journey called LIFE!

Raw Vegan Tacos - image and recipe copyright Dauntless Diva 2009.


Life is good, friends.


“Relax. Eat RAW. And Live.”

~ Alissa Cohen




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Curing the Incurable: When Trauma Becomes Triumph

Posted on April 8, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

Disclaimer: the following true account details a sexual assault. Though told as gently as possible, I feel that I can not edit the story further without failing to convey the true intent of my recent experiences. Please read this true account with this disclaimer in mind.


April 2010

The pain is back. Searing through my abdomen, leaving burning streaks of isolated desolation inside my deepest, most protected region… the part of me that makes me Woman, creates my inner goddess, leaves me empty, burns my spirit. I’m slumped over the edge of my seat, my friend standing over me, his eyes full of anxiety, tension, loss. He knows only that I’m in pain, and that the pain is far from physical, alone.

Cast down, but not destroyed, I keep murmuring to myself. When I fall, I shall arise.

I thought I was winning. Each day more I invest my mind, body, spirit in 100% raw and living healing and life-force infused foods and mindsets, I believed I was growing by leaps, bounds… from the earliest days of the year 2010, I embraced abundance, excited about all that was waiting for me as time danced forward. I am healed, I am whole, became my daily mantra – and my favorite Facebook status. This thing, the grip of Endometriosis and all the other weakening forces of dis-ease and illness in my life, was faltering… so I mightily believed.

Then came the “setback”. An event that they tell me is traumatic, the kind of thing they say is so horrible, you’re allowed to reel, fall a little, fall a lot, when it happens to you.

And it had happened to me… again…


March 2010

“So, I’m going to Los Angeles,” began my operatic tenor friend, F.D., as we chatted over the phone about our Spring Break plans. I hadn’t made any trip goals, yet. The budget was low and bleeding out steadily as I invested in the remaining details of my home remodel, and I was so swamped with music to learn, textbooks to study and roles to prep that I felt like leaving Tucson for even a day would be counterproductive to my success.

But the more my friend chattered on about southern California, and the more I thought about the feeling of a toasty sun on my face and all those wonderful raw food restaurants to be found in the LA metro area, the less resolved I felt about staying in Tucson hitting the books.

“Let’s take my car,” I blurted to F.D., and he looked at me, surprised, then grinned. Carpooling! Sharing gas costs! It’s a starving artists’ dream vacation!

We hit the road late on a Sunday afternoon, planning to spend a few days in LA area visiting separate clusters of friends. As we pulled into China Town late that night, F.D. swept off to a bar with old cronies and I crashed on a motel bed, snuggling my head into a too-large pillow and breathing in the carpet-fiber-filled motel air… ah, vacation! It was bliss already.

The next few days passed in a flurry of fun. I managed to get lost repeatedly around the LA area, especially while searching for raw treasure troves like the raw gourmet spot, Cru. I met the tiny but mighty Revvell Revati in person, sharing a tantalizing lunch and drooling over dessert together. I bounced around downtown LA in a floppy hat and heels, kicking up the smog with my sheer raw joy over Life. And I discovered a new passion… jazz, avec l’amour.

I ate more, drove more, laughed more and made love more than I had in many months previous.

For five days, life was beautiful beyond description.

On Saturday, I picked up F.D. from downtown. He was tired, stressed and intent on getting to Phoenix by sundown to meet with a friend. The energy of the trip shifted. I didn’t want to leave. The night before, curled up against my new lover’s strong chest, I had cried for an hour before my spirit submerged in a wasteland of dark dreams. Something felt wrong about the energy around me, inside me.

Leaving didn’t feel right, even though returning to my education and new raw life in Tucson seemed like the only answer. But my mind kept flickering back to a conversation I had had with Revvell. I had told her how my heart was more and more tending towards the Girls, the rescue work, less and less towards the once-prominent dream of becoming an Operatic starlette.

Revvell had told me to consider what I wanted from my education, and whether I were still really on the right path. She warned me about the Law of Diminished Returns, the concept that continuing to invest one’s resources into a direction one no longer finds profitable or productive, can actually cause more damage in the long run than simply stepping off that path and readjusting one’s energies elsewhere.

In other words, maybe getting my Opera degree – once an all-consuming passion – was actually not right for me anymore… I had long been suspecting that this was so, despite years of struggling and working impossibly hard, long hours in school and outside of school to make this dream a reality.

Revvell’s words stayed with me as I drove towards Phoenix, with F.D. alternating between keeping his impatient gaze glued to the screen of his I-phone and gossiping half-heartedly about performances and friends with me. Neither of us were feeling it. Our collective energy was low but for vastly different reasons. I was feeling apprehensive about returning to Tucson, F.D. was impatient to leave California.

Around 7pm, we pulled into the parking lot of a downtown Phoenix restaurant where F.D. planned to meet with his friend. I had called my own best friend, a man I’ve known for years and long trusted as one of my best confidantes. Years before, we’d briefly been lovers, then dismissed the sensual for a more intellectual friendship. He’d been married and divorced in the interim, and I had courted monogamous intentions of the beautiful Photographer steadily with only my recent glorious sunny Californian affair since.

Though my Phoenix friend had recently asked me to consider seeing him again as a potential romance, I’d declined and asked that we consider staying friends. If romance were to spark again between us, it ought to be a natural effusion, I insisted, not a calculated return.

He agreed. We would grab a quick dinner, see a movie or go dancing, nothing more. He had photos of his son to share, I had stories of my gallant new California lover to ask his advice on. In fact, I had fallen head over heels in love with California trees, shores, raw fare, and a man. I wanted to know what my friend, my confidante, thought of it all.

We took a drive, chatting, me nagging him about his most recent failed girlfriend experiencing, he teasing me about my new lover. We enjoyed the time, the energy was what it had always been between us – steady, reliable, comfortable, like old marrieds with too much time on their hands. I drifted into a state of ease, releasing the tension of the long drive that day.

Back at my friend’s house, he unpacked the cooler while I freshened up in his son’s bathroom. He had paperwork to finish up, he insisted, before we could head out for a night of fun on the town. I desperately needed the distraction – California’s charms were beckoning me back, and my mind was tortured with the dread of returning to the routine of School, though I missed my little home and friends.

On one hand, my path seemed clear: return to Tucson, plow through two years more of my education, graduate with my degree and start a career. On the other hand, the whisper of possibilities elsewhere was in my soul’s ear, and I was inclined to listen, if only a little.

I finished washing my face, feeling a little more comfortable with my appearance, and strapped on my favorite heels. I was ready, whenever my friend was ready, to go out and let loose a little. He appeared in the hallway, smiling at me, an old familiar smile.

It was good to see me again, did I know how good, he said. I looked great, thinner and healthier than ever, he said. Did I care for a tour of the house?

I laughed. The house was a mess! Between his bachelor, single-father ways and the recent hasty move out of his ex-girlfriend’s home, he hadn’t had much time to tidy up. Sure, why not, I said. Let’s tour this mess. He laughed back.

The tour ended in his room, and so did the laughter. Without warning, without a single scent of changed energy, without a signal of what lurked in his mind, my friend, my trusted friend, turned into my enemy. And what followed, what came out of him, turned me into a numb semblance of the fearless diva I had thought I had become.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been assaulted, sexually or otherwise.

The first time, I don’t remember, because I was a very young child. Because the memories have been quashed deep down inside of me and to this day, I have not drawn them up again. The last time, I do remember. I was 20 years old, living with friends in a 2-bedroom apartment with a moldy basement and collapsing roof. I was happy, carefree, naive and a virgin in mind and body. I had been shoved onto a “friend’s” couch and forced to kiss him while he groped me, pinned me down, covered my mouth with first his hand, then his lips. I had fought, but the whole while, the programming of my childhood replayed in my mind and I surrendered, because I was taught that I deserved whatever came my way, and that what men wanted, men got.

A month later, that “friend” watched while I was thrown on another “friend’s” bed as he forced his fat body on top of me, crushing me down into his blankets, laughing drunkenly in my face, cussing and swearing he’d make me “his girl” if it was the last thing he did. It wasn’t the last thing he did. The last thing he did as I heard it, before he was thrown in jail, was kidnap a sixteen year-old girl and take her across the border.

And here I was again, me, the Dauntless Diva, crushed under the weight of a trusted friend-turned-attacker, his hand thick about my throat, choking me as I gasped for breath and none came, his voice harsh in my ears. How could I do this to him? Choose some stranger for my lover over him, my faithful friend? My lungs burned, my throat on fire, my head aching from the rush of fear, the lack of oxygen.

Oh faithful friend, my mind screamed, what manner of love is this that you would lay your hands on me this way?

But I had no words for him, no tears, no pleas. Having been here before, my best defense was to surrender. It isn’t my recommendation.

At one point, after throwing me against a wall, he froze in front of me and cried out that my eyes were burning him. Perhaps they were. Innocence, a light Spirit, has a way of frightening the devil out of people in such self-inflicted pain…

It went on for quite awhile, though at the time I retreated within myself and separated my Spirit from my Body. I didn’t remember all the details until I was sitting in a chair facing an officer days later, ironing out the story chronologically for the police report, choked with tears that felt unfounded, guilt that felt revolting, and a dispossessed Spirit still wafting above me, waiting for me to invite myself back in.

I am five and a half feet tall but weigh just over a hundred pounds, and I am not physically strong despite the Yoga and Raw foods. It was easy for him to do what he did, looming over me at 6′ and 200 pounds, and easier still because for years… I had trusted him, trusted him with my life. Pepper spray, self-defense mechanisms… these aren’t things you prepare when you’re going to the house of an old friend to chat about life and love over tea and apples.

But what shocked me most, was the internal reaction of my Spirit that followed, the  behavior of my Mind – two vehicles of feeling and thought that I had believed were both strengthened over the past few months of intentional healing work – as I went through the standard stages of trauma.

My feelings were normal, said the kindly therapist. My reactions, mundane, advised the gentle psychiatrist. Therapy, a must, stated the patient doctor.

But what struck me deepest – deeper even than the anger and betrayal that flooded my mind every time I thought of my once-close friend and what he had done in his pitiable, jealous rage – was the sensation of determined resolution to take this experience for what it was: a break from the choke-hold Traumas of my Past, an outlet to light-infused Hope for my Future.

“There are layers of trauma you have buried for years,” said my psychiatrist as I sat in her office after telling her a fraction of my story, my head in my hands, about a week ago, listening to her pen scratch as she wrote down that I was in need of an official medical withdrawal from school.

I couldn’t focus and the stress of trying to release the trauma while hanging onto my grades, my goals, was eating me alive. It was certainly true – sitting in classes surrounded by friends all wondering why I was bursting into tears or snapping in their faces alternately, was an unpleasant experience at best, unnavigable at worst. I lasted only two days back in classes before snapping and running away for a week. When I returned, it was clear that School was not in the cards for awhile.

“It’s time for you to focus on healing, and to accept that to be well is your right,” she added, handing me the note, my ticket to temporary physical freedom. As her hand brushed mine, I felt a jolt of healing energy shoot off her fingertips. Here was a person whose sole focus in life was to help women like me, “damaged goods”, find our lives again and heal. She smiled into my eyes, and I felt myself smile back.

“Thank you… for what you do,” I whispered, and she nodded.

Today

In the past few months, as I’ve embraced a healing journey to cure myself of the incurable condition, Endometriosis, I have faced again and again opportunities to recognize that my spiritual house was also in need of a damn good cleaning. Cluttered to the point of being unaware of just how obscured it had become, I have in the last 24 years of living collected a mountain of traumatic experiences. Beginning with a childhood of being raised in a cult environment where child molestation was the sport of choice, to my early adulthood’s wobbly beginnings with physically and sexually abusive “friends”, I had early on set a pattern of attracting abuse and despite my recent healing attempts, maintained that pattern quite dandily.

Humans very often use trauma to change rather than recognizing their capacity to change before it comes to that, a holistic mental health professional had told me in a recent article I wrote for the Green Times.

But in March 2010, barely a few months into my self-declared Year of Abundance, having the old pattern resurface in an especially ugly, apparent way, was so daunting, so horrible that for weeks now I’ve teetered on the edge. Some mornings I wake up scratching at my wrists and screaming only to have my lover or a friend close in on me with hugs and loving words. Harming myself is impossible, helping myself heal, imperative… Other mornings I wake up numb from the nightmares, flashbacks to the past years ago, or the past weeks ago, though gratefully now the nightmares are so vague, it’s as if they’re beginning to lose their hold.

But many more mornings, I wake up smiling, laughing, remembering that the world holds many possibilities, as many chances for pleasure and purity, as for pain.

As I close in on six months 0f success with 100% raw vegan eating and healing, I now begin another phase of my healing journey… which it has taken me this long to realise is no longer limited to only one facet, but rather: Mind, Body, Spirit: the Trifecta of Total Health!

Body is gaining ground rapidly. Every month, the Endometriosis flares are weaker and weaker than ever before. Today, for instance, the pain from the flare only lasted a few minutes before fading almost entirely, and even as I type this account, the tears and the pain remain gently gliding within me, but not erupting out of me in a volcano of self-induced fervor. In other words, I am doing alright.

Spirit, is generally undaunted, and always discovering new depths of strength, and new levels of healing waiting to be embraced.

Mind… has only just begun to discover Her limitless potential for health, happiness, abundance… and liberation from the patterns of the weighted past.

Thus for me, trauma is becoming triumph, hurt becoming healing, tears becoming joy. Revvell’s words are not lost, either. My goals are transforming, though for now my focus is less on regathering my energies into work, and more on healing my own Life before I dive completely back into helping you (you? or someone you know?) heal yours.

I am infused with Hope as I write this account. It’s empowering to get my recent experiences onto paper, at last. It’s taken me a few weeks to get up the courage to write this. Honor my intentions only by reading, and by knowing that in sharing this story with you, I hope to bring YOU Hope, wherever you are, that n0 experience is ever too dark that a sliver of light can’t diminish its grip on your life… for you are as I am, a Spirit powerful, full of potential, and a diva undaunted. We are healed, we are whole. We are Life itself.

Blessings and bliss,

let the journey continue,

The Diva



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The Story of a Bird

Posted on March 9, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

My yard sale got rained out.

On Saturday, I was up by 7am and immediately raking in $20′s and $5′s on my temporary new line of clothing, shoes, lop-sided bookshelves and ragged couches. By 2pm, I had nearly $300 cash stuffed into every available pocket of my jeans, and I still had a yard full of junk waiting to be turned into some other man’s “treasure”.

But not today. Today, I am scurrying from yard to door, door to yard, throwing things inside and rushing out again to grab still more, and cursing the rain and cursing the cold and cursing myself for waking up at 7am again, expecting to rake in another $300 and ignoring the sunken gray sky and thick bitter taste of city rain in the air.

Last thing thrown inside, last box toted, last purse tossed, last couch dragged. Nothing ruined – I hope.

And I’m standing on my front porch now, being angry with the world for forcing me to hold the yard sale a second day, and getting up early a second day, and dragging couches until my back went out a second day, when all I made was two dollars and fifty cents in change… and then got rained out!

THUD!

And suddenly my eyes are riveted on the road, where the noise came from.

Everything rushes by in a blur and my brain is rewinding and fast-forwarding in hyper-speed, trying to piece together what just happened.

Rain. Grey truck. Rain. Speeding truck. Feathers. More feathers. And rain.

“Why feathers?”

The sound of flapping jolts me alive again, flapping wings, flapping… now fluttering… now silent.

A bird. The bastard hit a bird.

The bird has landed, almost at my feet, after flying in a crazy arch across the road, leaving a heap of its soft feather drifting around on the road, drifting down to the pavement, soaked in rain.

I stoop over, still in shock. Horrified at the spectre of pain now twisted at my feet, the pile of feathers with wings splayed, head cocked sideways at an impossible angle, beak cracked open slightly, eyes rolled back in its head… it’s alive – barely – and breathing ragged spurts out through its beak. It’s whole body shudders, hiccoughs, with every breath.

I stand, still in shock. And as I stand, the shock drains from my skull and pulses like hot blood through my body and floods out of my hands, my kneecaps, my pores.

“Oh, God!” I exclaim, but it’s not a prayer.

A spit of rain slaps my face from an insolent cloud. I run to the heap of crappy clothes I had just a few minutes earlier been selling for 25 cents, and I grab a red shirt, my fiance’s shirt, and run back to the bird.

It gazes at me, heaving more now, breathing less now, hurting more now… and I hold the red shirt over it, stooping down to protect it from the rain, and crying.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I keep saying to it, holding its yellow-eyed, frantic gaze and watching it die.

I wonder if it has always been a bird, if souls are limited, if this bird is not a human trapped in feathers, if I’m doing it any service by stooping over it, whispering “It’s okay… it’s okay…. I’m so sorry” over and over helplessly.

And then I realise. We are none of us immortal. We are all of us locked in a desperate downward grip with the fates, and we are all of us doomed – to die.

I begin to cry inside, tears welling up in my soul. But my eyes are dry.

Oh God, please…. it’s in pain…. just let it go.

That is all I pray. And just as quickly, the bird’s head lolls slowly to the side, it’s wing slowly relaxes, it’s beak slowly closes, it’s eyelid slowly flutters down and it dies.

I don’t cry. My soul is empty of tears. The heap of feathers is empty of life.

I gently wrap it in the red shirt. My goodbye is said. The bird I had only just met, is gone for good.

We are none of us immortal.

So

live now and live well,

lest you die

while still awake

and the years you hold as limitless,

end

while your back is turned.

Story Copyright Dauntless Diva 2008

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The Nature-Nurture Connection

Posted on February 16, 2010 by Dauntless| Comments Off

Nature versus nurture is a phrase I’ve heard used often when friends are discussing what factors mold us to become our present selves. I thought it would be rather amusing to flip that phrase on its head and use it in a different context:

Nature Nurture… the act of embracing the nurturing power of nature and the natural in your life; pursuing natural healing, restoring natural wholeness, and achieving natural happiness in your Life.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident…”

Nature is by its very nature, nurturing. I challenge you to spend 15 minutes basking in the glimmer of sunlight that might appear over the rooftops of your apartment dwelling or to walk alongside the swift flowing creek behind your home. Find the Nature in your surroundings today, and give it 15 minutes of your day. Your day and you won’t regret it.

What is Natural, enriches… what is Synthetic, counteracts the natural processes and even destroys them. (FYI, I’m not directly referring to something obvious such as holistic medicine vs. prescription drugs, although it could apply.)

A rather far-fetched but humorous image that might help you visualize my meaning behind this, is a slightly fictionalized Tale of Two Children:

The first child subsists on a diet of pre-packaged School Meals made of ingredients equivalent to salted cardboard, Hamburger Helper dinners at home and Sprite for liquid sustenance. This child is raised to believe that a salad is two pieces of iceburg lettuce topped with grilled chicken, dehydrated-and-re-hydrated cheese flakes, and fourteen cups of ranch dressing. Heaven forbid anything green and still living encounter this precious child’s fair lips. He might get e coli, after all. This child is also fed a steady diet of Television in the evening after his cardboard dinner, and is on prescription drugs to ‘stabilize his moods’. He sleeps somewhat poorly and when his parent(s) attempt to get reciprocation out of him on some family-related topic, they are met with the disinterested stare of a “typical teenager”. In other words, the first child is your standard American youngster in 2010.

The second child is eats more carrots than rice crispies, and plays actively both outdoors and indoors, generally twice as long a day as he spends watching National Geographic movies. His eyes are alive, and rather than dousing his creativity with prescription drugs, his parent(s) recognize his active (exhausting) brain for what it is and invest extra time in equipping him with the tools to use his abilities for the good of himself, his family, and the future in which he will most definitely play a role. When his parent(s) speak to him, this child responds intelligently, because he has been given the tools to communicate fluidly with adults and his peers. He wears jeans, loves contemporary music, plays sports… he is normal, but he’s better than normal, because he’s “normal supercharged“… healthy, stable, active and always in development. Equipped, rather than restricted!

The natural leanings of his mind are fostered by his parent(s) and others.

The natural world fills his Life and covers his breakfast Table. He is nurtured by the food he eats, the programs he watches, the books he reads, and the people he calls friends.

The first child will have much to overcome should he ever develop the gumption to overcome his upbringing.

The second child will shake the earth and move its foundations, from the doorways of his neighborhood to the Nation he calls Home.

I said my example was far-fetched, didn’t I? It may surprise you but I based my description of the two children on myself and my peers growing up. I was the second child, and today I am an empowered, earth-shaker-in-development.

I was surrounded by the natural as a child, and Nature and the natural became my strongest influences, my Nurture.

Today, on Raw Food Talk, a curious newcomer posted a brief rant about what a struggle eating Raw is for her. I posted the following response, and since it dovetails with this article, I’m sharing it with you now:

Givin’ it all you have implies struggle. It’s only a struggle if you want it to be and if you somehow subconsciously thrive on internal chaos. (I used to!!! And boy, nothing in life was working…. not Raw, not College, not Relationships, NOTHING…)


Release your grip on “struggling”…. it’s much more pleasant and just plain FUN to be alive when you do!

Allow me to elaborate briefly, then I will retreat into the shadows of exam preparations from whence I came…. I live a double life, you see. Raw Vegan gadabout by day, Opera Singer by night. 

Relax... raw is natural for your Body. There will be so many who will argue this, trying to convince you (as they are convinced to their detriment) that raw and living foods will somehow harm you. Ignore them, or just smile and wave as you pass them by.  And there will be many in the Raw Foods family who will try to project their own fears and insecurities about life/their diet on you, as well. The “smile and wave” approach works pretty well there, too.

Eat RAW... surround yourself with vibrant beautiful LIVING foods and give into the temptation to eat THEM whensoever it strikes. Eat LOTS of food, eat OFTEN, and ENJOY what you eat! If you don’t enjoy something, don’t eat it. This is part of how you transition successfully.

Live… life encompasses much more than just your diet. For starters, get off your chair/couch/desk and MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!! Exercise is NOT a dirty word… it’s a life-infused action of self-preservation and motivation. Your Body relies on YOU to get up and move her!!! So do it.  I don’t enjoy sweaty, smelly gyms, so I do Yoga at home every evening. This is a new development! I avoided exercise like the plague until recently…. now, my life is richly enhanced by daily MOVEMENT.

Surround yourself with life-enriching People, Books, Ideas, Music, Activities, Foods, Animals, Sunlight, etc.… what goes in must come out – that applies for your Body, your Mind, your Spirit and everything in-between!

REMEMBER: what you THINK is what you ARE.

It really IS that simple… but don’t let that frighten you, because your THOUGHTS are in YOUR HANDS…. change them to reflect who you desire to become/be and what you want to experience/have/give in your Life, and you will attract to you those things, experiences, people, and “things” that create your new Life.

It works. I’m living it. I’m far from alone. This is not “hippy dippy nonsense”. This is solid wisdom.

Blessings,

The Diva

Namaste.

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