Sticks and Stones

Magnetic Blue Monkey Core Day 10.1.17

Azizeh looks at Bibi, her dark brown curls bouncing, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing while from her ruby lips words bubble out in a hot torrent.

“Bibi she makes me feel suffocated! When I was a little girl I had no choice but to live with her. All I’d hear was you can do what you want and live how you want when you’re grown up and have your own house. A lie, a filthy half truth! Now I have my own house and live how I choose but she brings all of what I’ve walked away from and constantly blah blah blah and blee blee blee’s it into my house! She knows yet she negates my choices by choosing to behave blind toward them, deaf to them, disregarding them. I can’t stand our relationship Bibi, it’s futile futile futile. Feels pushy and aggressive and intrusive, and she keeps coming, worse than ever. Beastly old nag, beastly old hag, how is one to have a relationship with someone who seeks always to bully and conquer? How does one walk away when they come hobbling behind wherever you go, clinging and holding on so tight, it makes one feel crazy?! What is this shit Bibi, fight flee surrender it’s all the same with this old dame, shudder whack bladder blick watch out for my crazy stick . . . this is one old dame who I won’t name, you know her they’re all the same, on account that they won’t change, ever, never, forever stuck, what the fuck, then they want you to bash your blessings squash your luck and be as blind and in a bind with them!?! They’re as tough as nails and itchy like a tiny flea, get under your skin won’t let you be even when you let yourself be let from them, hungry bloodsuckers!! Bibi there must be a solution yes??”

Bibi gets up slowly, picks up her staff and begins circling the fire they had built together earlier in the evening. She bends and feeds it sticks from the bundle of twigs to the side, then she straightens and shuts her eyes, begins chanting:

“I shake my stick at those who lie
I shake my stick when they deny
I shake my stick at the devious eye
Begone Begone now fie fie fie!

Loosen lips come speak what’s true
Spit it out what’s inside you
Show your face the one that lurks
Sneaky sly the one that shirks.

Danger danger comes your way
When empty lies are what you say
Your nose will grow five inches long
Each time you sing a hollow song!

I shake my stick at those who bind
I shake my stick at deaf and blind
I shake my stick at the fear filled mind
Begone Begone back to your kind!

My power is not yours to take
It’s mine to give and mine to make
My power is not for abuse
It’s mine to put to what I choose.

The deaf and blind who seek out healing
With them I share the work of peeling
Back their bindings and their fear
They have a purpose to them dear.

You who fumble, grope and lurch
You who are without a search
I’ll shake my stick at you and say
Begone Begone with you away!

I shake my stick at those who bind
I shake my stick at deaf and blind
I shake my stick at the fear filled mind
Begone Begone I’ll not be kind!

I shake my stick at those who lie
I shake my stick when they deny
I shake my stick at the devious eye
Begone Begone now fie fie fie!”

Azizeh listens intently, watching Bibi. She feels a flickering in her belly, rising higher into her chest, warming her, circulating through her body. She feels lighter and she realizes she’d been cloudy and muddled by her train of thought, now she feels clear. She knows what to do and she has to come to it from inside out. She has to find her own words, a song that’s given meaning and empowered from within, and move them out. She shifts her gaze to the flickering flames that leap and dance with the chant, then settle when it’s done. Bibi places three big sticks, a tripod over the crackling fire, and sits down next to her.

“Now, you have seen a solution Azizeh. What you choose to do, it must come from you to be of use, to be alive and with meaning. You must purpose your choice from inside to birth it out. I have shown you something, but do not copy what I did and use my words; it does not work that way for that is lip service only, hollow. Go deep. Find inside yourself the place that you Are, the seat of You, and in there is where you will find what you need to ignite, the spark, the tinder, the kindling, and fuel; shape it from there and give it voice in words of your own. There are some songs that are for singing alone: songs meant to be sung, spun, and in the singing released and forgotten. This is one of those songs. There are many songs. Begin singing and you’ll discover the songs as you do, some will come to you, some you will call out of you. Some are meant to be shared, like that one you shared with me, the one your friends taught you to sing in circle together before a meal, hands joined and raised up high, exalting.”

Bibi sings, “Thank you for this food this food this glorious glorious food, and the animals, and the vegetables, and the minerals that make it possible.”

“That one is a song to be shared, purposed for sharing. Know you the difference. That is all,” she pauses, “No, there is more I will share with you.
It is to give thanks for the opportunity the ‘nasty’ ones give you for digging inside yourself and touching the core of who you are, for it is through the buttons they push that you begin to uncover what these are, as well as what you are capable of, what your edge is, where you must strengthen to expand and grow, where you must draw lines for your own well being, where you are limited; they are in some ways your mirrors and in other ways not . . . . remember mirrors show not absolutes or truths but reflections only of what is before them and sometimes the reflection is distorted like in the hall of mirrors that pull and bend and smear figures into hilarious shapes surreal!
But, in being thankful and keeping with gratitude, do not allow yourself to become servile and subservient. For it is you who initiates the dialogue; from recognition, to delving, to diving deep, to uncovering veils, it is you who is doing the work, the labor, putting in the sweat and effort into the process . .. like with birth you may have midwives and helpers but at the reckoning moment of crowning, you alone sing into and with the baby, bring that new creation to bear and be born into the world.
And remember, it is not to them that the thanks and gratitude are given::allways always give these to Spirit. Keep with Spirit, for it is Spirit who sends you blessings and these opportunities, be it in the form of people who frustrate you or suffocate you, people who enliven you or encourage you or in the form of snakes that eat chicken eggs and chickens that eat peaches then lay eggs, butterflies that sit on your forehead::everything that comes your way is coming from Spirit. The people themselves may be unaware of being tools of Spirit; thus be compassionate to them while at the same time singing your song, dancing along.
Align with Spirit, not with people and things and objects. I know it is slightly paradoxical to shake your stick at those who may be unaware of themselves and how they are serving, easily dismissed as ignorant fools, which while it may be true does not matter. Ignorant or wise, we are all in this together and at some time or the other you and I may have been one of those very tools ourselves. Solution, resolution . . . live from the throne place my Azizeh, the place that seeks not to make conquests of others, nor lusts for power for the sake of being power full and wants to show it imposing and posturing, live from the place that tempers itself, learning from experiences and knowledge and implementing wisdom gained, simply living, being, align with the seat of your soul, come from that place and hum in unison, I. Am. Hmm.”

Bibi reaches over and brushes her knobbly fingers over Azizeh’s brow.

“Thank you Spirit for sending me my Bibi. I was murky and muddled with sentiment and sediment and now it’s settled I feel fresh and clear again,” Azizeh says, smiling at Bibi.