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  • I tried to explain the South, and societal expectations placed on me, to Huelo.
    My growing up was fear based. It wasn't until my twentieth birthday that I dedicated myself to living an open life, as a human, a woman, an artist, and a sentient being. My only role models were found in literature. I knew I would have to suffer in order to become a real person, and I willingly embraced that, conceptually.

    My insistence on being “Me” under the scrutiny of my home town resulted in hard core rejection. I was a pariah. Many felt threatened; If I could be alright living with the freedom of my choices, it somehow negated their choices, it was explained to me.

    The women in sororities, Service League and the Country Club spoke disparagingly of yoga and my Center for the Healing Arts. Of my divorcee status. Of my macrobiotic children who didn’t know what a pork chop was.

    The Presbyterian church minister to whom I had donated shiatsu sessions informed me that I’d been removed from the church records. This punitive severance, and communal judgment felt harsh.
    Clarity grew out of the inevitable sadness and pain I encountered, once I voted with my heart to not accept the way of life I had been groomed for. My new way of seeing became its own little sat com equipment in my brain, charting wave shifts and changes.
    I discovered a place inside me with exquisite instrumentation, like a delicate recording needle etching lines on special oceanographer paper under glass. It guided me on my voyage.

    Don’t seek it out, but when it comes (suffering,) open wide the door and pull it in like a long lost lover. It is going to happen anyway so you might as well accept it, without blinders or cotton batting. In order to best extract the lesson.

    The mirrors are clear,

    shadows are past,

    the wandering heart

    is homeless at last. (Leonard Cohen)

    by Christine Maynard
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