One ongoing dialogue we women have with one another is the gentle reminder to be open to receiving support from others, that we are worth it and as much as we give, we too, need to be given to.  We marvel at how this simple act proves to be so difficult when one is stuck in the “give and support” role.  Receiving feels awkward and, for some reason, not entirely real or deserved. Plus, we have this uncanny illusion of “debt” that will keep us from receiving as long as we don’t “owe” anyone else.  Not receiving is a selfish act.  We forget how good we feel when we give to others when we are faced with accepting another’s gift.  Allowing others to give is a crucial act we as mothers must do.  It is how we teach others to be giving, (not just by example). We have to allow others to practice this cycle in order to create a healthy community.

The other conversation we have with each other is giving ourselves permission.  Permission to say no, permission to rest or indulge.  Why this is also so difficult for us always leaves us pondering.  “Its not that hard, I know I can do it, I should do it… Ok, I give myself permission to……”

Putting two and two together:

Our permission to ourselves is a gift from ourselves!!  We can give permission all day long, but if we can’t receive, our generous act of allowing ourselves isn’t manifested in our hearts, the place where it needs to be real.  It stays stuck in our heads, at a logical, rational level, and there it will stay until we learn to lovingly accept support from OURSELVES.  We need to participate in the cycle of giving/receiving  in order to have a healthy internal community.  As we create the cycle without, so too, we can create the cycle within.

One morning I woke to a beautiful sunny day.  My body and my mind had instantaneous contradicting ideas.  My body said, “I’m still tired, stay home today, rest, it will be good. Let’s make soup.”  My mind retorted with much scorn, “How lazy!  Its a beautiful day and you know “The Law”, if its nice out, you must go out and enjoy and experience it!  Whether you want to or not!”   I decided I wanted to listen to my body: I gave myself permission to stay home, but I still had that nagging voice telling me I was being lazy and doing something wrong.

After an hour of going over and over it, “I gave myself permission… I gave myself permission….. why do I still feel so frustrated!”  I realized………..

“I wholly accept the gift of my permission, with loving gratitude.”  I had completed the cycle.  And since I had fully received my gift of permission, I fully experienced a restful, recuperative day with myself: I healed.  Now that’s productive!

My lovely walk to see the beautiful colors!

Beautiful park!

Statue of a Galician woman

Vedra: Galicia, Spain October 26, 2013

The night before last, I went with some people I just met to see a concert of modern Galician music, it was fantastic and I enjoyed it immensely. I guess we were all still buzzing from this or it is just the way in Galicia, but the very next night I was told about a “Wine Party” in a near by pueblo and I decided to go.
My friend Roquel, the only one of this group that is comfortable speaking English with me as she is from Boston, decided at the last minute not to go. I showed up at the spot to meet everyone and quickly realized I was gonna pull this one off, in a certain way, alone. I got into the car with people I hardly know, but enjoy their company nonetheless, and set off into the rolling hills of rural Galicia. I must say, at first I was battling with some uncomfortable feelings. I didn’t know the language, the people or the place and I also noticed that I was over dressed for whatever it was we were going to do.
We drove, they in rapid Spanish, me in rapt silence. We met a second car, Las Anas, they are called, as they are both named Ana, and then we set out to our destination. We began to enter small barrios that were clearly family-owned vineyards. Even now, at the end of the growing season, everything was so beautiful, green and had a sense of permanence that lent to a feeling of ease and solidarity. I notice more and more, how different the new land of Hawaii creates emotion than this ancient land does. Both are powerful and sensational, each provoking unique experiences.
We turn a bend in the very narrow road into the center of the town of Vedra. Before we can arrive at the large tarps erected in the center of the square, we must go through a mill that processes huge logs of pine. The clean, astringent smell on the crisp breeze catches me when I get out of the car.
So the woman I know best, Inez, tells me in Spanish that we must go up to the counter inside the tarp-covered area and pay ten euros. This way we will be able to walk from home to home within this barrio and try each of their first-pressed wines of the year. She tells me that there will also be tapas at each house. When we paid, we received a brown clay mug on a string. I looked around and noticed that these were to be worn around the neck and used for the wine tasting.
To add to my awkwardness, within 2 minutes my string slips undone and my mug shatters on the pavement of the drive. Fortunately we were close to a second vendor and I asked for another mug. He made a funny joke I only half understood that “I better guard that one with my life”. After making sure my new mug was secure, we began walking towards the first home.
I will probably reiterate this many times through out this story, but all my senses were very pleasantly filled to overflowing. The vista of the first house, with the backdrop of the rolling green hills of farmland and grapevines was truly spectacular. At this same moment of beholding this view, my ears were captivated by the sound of bagpipes, drums, tambourines and voices raised in song. We walked down the driveway into a throng of tightly packed people all with their mugs in their hands and smiles on their faces. My new friends said that this place was too crowded and we should continue on to the next.
As we got closer to the next house, the sound of the music from the first merged and melted into the music of the next, as did the smells, a lovely mixture of green earth, goat droppings and mown grass all of which added to the overall sense of comfortable groundedness of the place. The air was perfect and the sun was still in the sky, but continued to set, though reluctantly, as too enjoy the scene as I was.
As we were walking along the streets, the lichen and vine covered granite stone walls parted and we entered the next front “yard” . I tried a red wine, an amazingly fresh red wine. Everyone else I was with chose the white. I also had a white bean stew with local smoked pork. Very tasty, warm and hearty. The woman serving the stew had a huge ladle that she dipped inside the biggest metal make-shift pot of a barrel I have ever seen. As the music played, we drank and ate. My comfort was growing, and it never stopped as we went from house to house.
After my third (small) cup of red wine, I found out why the others didn’t drink it. They told me that everyone can tell who drinks the red wine by the vivid purple color their lips and teeth turn!!!! Needless to say, after a good laugh, I switched to white!
As we walked around, I began to put things together. There are signs with each family’s name to let you know which vineyard you are in. In addition, each of the bands that play have their own signs that they hold up high, representing their family and the traditional songs and style that they bring to the community. I noticed that the bands, and their families each had matching shirts, in different colors, with their name or a Galician phrase on the front.
Of course, there was the element that made it a complete experience of joy: children. They were everywhere. Dancing, running, asking for money. They matched their adult counterparts as they too had a cup on a string around their necks, though theirs were small and plastic and held Coke or juice. Most of the houses had activities for the children (and adults too!) Jump rope, string games and a giant set of wooden pick-up-sticks were just a few of the activities that kept the kids entertained and the atmosphere light and playful.
One home had an unusual and quite awesome activity occurring. There was a professional photographer set up in one corner taking pictures of people holding signs. We drew closer and were immediately given a piece of paper to fill out. It was written in Gallego, so I could not read it. Inez explained to me that we fill out our names and email addresses, pick out a sign to hold (there were about 20) and then they will take a picture of us holding the signs to put on these people’s Facebook page. It will also be emailed it to us. Well, it ended up being for an organization which is dedicated to not only maintaining the indigenous language, but promoting it’s use in all areas of life and the world. So I picked a sign from the 20 signs that I could not read, and stood in front of the camera with Inez as we claimed our support for the effort. The sign I chose, I was told, said “I wish Gallego freedom in all things”. I can’t explain the overwhelming happiness I felt by being caught up in this event; the utter lack of control and understanding I felt only seemed to add to my contentment.
At another home, within their compound, they had booths of instruments, drums and tambourines as well as handmade drum sticks and noise makers. There was also leather work: wallets and jewelry. I met a Señora selling her leather bracelets and I tried many of them on. I have a very small wrist and all the the bracelets were too big for me. She then said that it was no trouble for her to make my favorite bracelet shorter as to fit me perfectly. I said YES! and she told me to come back later and it will be ready for me. She didn’t ask me to pay for it first, I told her I would buy it and that was enough.
At each house, they let everyone see inside their wine making areas. Beautiful stone shops, all of them over 200 yrs old. They all had the marriage of ancient stone mills who quietly and steadfastly stood beside their new, stainless steel partners.
The sun at last set and small street lamps lit the way to continue on. I don’t know what time it was, but it was something understood, because all at once we all converged in the road where each of the houses met. The bands also came together, playing the same wonderful rhythm and melody. Then, as one, we became a river in the darkness, slowly winding our way back to the town center, and as we walked, bats swooped around us, catching the bugs made curious by the goings on.
At this point, I must admit, my feet within my nice leather high-heeled boots were aching, but I pressed on, thoroughly enjoying myself and feeling very privileged to be here at this moment. I can honesty say with a high level of certainly that I was the only one there that was from the outside, the only one who didn’t speak the indigenous language, Gallego. I thanked the Goddess for this gift. I was open to it all.
When we arrived at the erected pavilion, we smelled chestnuts roasting and saw the players of the mightiest drums form a circle and begin to beat out sounds that put my heart into trance. We soon spotted a “bleacher area”, actually, it was gigantic shelves carved of granite, and we made our way to sit down. We sat up on one of the higher places and it was then that I spotted the town’s mausoleum. The awareness settled on me: these people live, work, celebrate, wed and die all RIGHT HERE. It is all visible and real. There is also a old stone church here, with the cross held high. I had noticed it when we first arrived and now I looked upon it again, this time in the rapidly fading light. Wow, I said to myself, no wonder this is such a joyous, amazing party, these people have worked all season to make this wine and now it was done. There are no party-ers like farmers, no one who elevates their soul so high as the one who’s toils are over for the moment. And, I think even farther, that there is no party-er like that of a catholic farmer, who works long and hard in the shadow of that imposing cross everyday. But that same cross, every now and then, instead falls INTO shadow in the coming of night, and everyone’s free spirit becomes untethered, playing joyous music and indulging in the fruits of their labor. I had a really good time…