The Eruption of the Divine Female

the eruption of the divine female; art therapy workshop, 2011

our vaginas are just as beautiful

wow, is she erupting!!!! beautiful!!! spring you are an amazing goddess.

the view from my bedroom window; flowers, the jewelry that i make and my stones

So, things aren't that bad. The fact that marijuana helps makes me hopeful. It makes no sense that medical marijuana is illegal in mass. I think that this is idiotic and detrimental to pain-sufferers. To think that there is something that we can grow ourselves to help us get control over the pain and over our lives makes me feel good. I am not completely dependent on the medical 'system' and on health-care for my survival. I can grow my life together too!  

I just uploaded some of my drawings from the art therapy workshop. And I uploaded some of the pictures from my neighbor's garden that i took yesterday. She has some very beautiful flowers and so many different sorts. Lovely.

Whoever is reading this. I cannot stress this enough. try some pot. we need as many soldiers as we can get in our army. or as many flowers as we can get in our garden.

love,

atara


           

Oh yeah, and then the time that I cried and cried and cried. And my mother hugged me and asked me why i was crying. And i told her that i was crying because I was worthless. And she said "How could you be worthless." And she said "Don't you see how valuable you are to us."

Today when I spoke to my father i asked him "doesn't our love mean something to you?"

Shouldn't love be stronger then pain and depression.

Sometimes it isn't. It just isn't.

Until you smoke a joint and remember all the happy and shiny people.


My father said that he would like to smoke a joint with me. He was too good a boy to ever smoke a joint. So, even 70 year olds suffering from clinical depression  have reasons to be alive.

My dad will be 70 next month. I plan to make him a surprise party. Just cuz i wanna see him smile and laugh. I really miss seeing him smile and laugh. When he smiles and laughs his eyes and his mouth get so close to each other. Just thinking about it makes me smile. It is kind-of hard to see my father's face smiling and to not smile too. There is sweetness and playfulness and love and kindness and understanding. And you can see it all so clearly when he smiles.

So, i have something to look forward to also. Maybe a little joint in an envelope will be his birthday present.

Hey friend from Cape Cod, thanks for calling. You stopped my tears.

Love,

Atara



Feeling worthless, valueless.

I have lost my hands

I have lost my eyes

I have two teeth left

I am feeling useless.

I am in the corner.

What can I do?

I am in the dark.

What can I do?

You can smoke a joint and remember.

So, as you see, I have begun writing poems about Marawana.
This might mean that the transformation may have already taken place.

How do you know when you have crossed the line between smoking pot and becoming a pot-head?

For me it was when I was in Cape Town smoking pot every day and reading only books that were about pot.

Now i know that i have crossed the line because i am writing poetry about pot.

Oh, boy i like this.

This is good man.

why did it take so long for the medicine woman to give it to me???

a very smart doctor informed me that marawana works for pain.

That is a good doctor!

Cute too. And black. I have always had a very soft spot for black men. They come even before the long-haired men.

A good-looking young black doctor. I asked him if he was a nurse. He just looked too sweet to be a doctor. And a little too opened minded.

My last pain-doctor just did not get it. He diagnosed me with pudendal neuralgia. I ideolized him. He undermedicated me to a very dangerous degree.

They don't get it. It is like the pain-scale they have in their office that makes me want to scream.
It is dangerous when pain-doctors don't get it.

My pain-doctor today gets pain. She gets it. Not that she can just heal it. But she doesn't waste any time. She has suggestions and options.

My x-pain doctor just told me and my family that one day i will just live with the pain and that within a year i will just be back into life.

He didn't understand that I was going to end my life because the pain was unbearable.

He was stubborn too, refused to let me try a narcotic. He said that narcotics are a dark alleyway and that he was not gonna put me on that road.

Dood,

dood, you cannot send someone who is dying from pain  DYING FROM PAIN ,,,, you can die from pain...

to a room with a very sweet and kind occupational therapist who talks to me about what things i would like to do more of in my life.

 I am bawling from the pain,

bawling because i cannot do the things that i want to do

not because i don't want to,  not because my foot has to get taught how to walk again

but because i am IN SO MUCH PAIN!!!!!!!

the lack of understanding of pain makes us feel only more hopeless

we walk around from doctor to doctor only to get quizzical looks

What, do you think that i am making this up?

You think that i am crazy?

That i am fantasizing the pain??

Damn it,

It has to come from us

We have to make it be heard

Why?

Don't waste your time asking why

cuz you are not going to get an answer

Part of it is the fact that sex was considered shameful, the meaning of the word PUDENDAL is SHAME. So sex is shameful and if we enjoy it we are going to got to hell and Lord knows what else. Part of it is that we internalized this shame and were unable to talk about our vaginas. Part of it is that if we talked about our vaginas we were probably considered....

Part of it is clearly the opression of women, and the control that men had and to this day have over the female body. Look at female circumsicion, look at rape, look at domestic violence, incest... wherever you want to, if you really want to, you will see it.... it is everywhere, it is rampant, it is the norm, it is more then average. India, Africa, the Arab countries and yes, all over the modern world.

Here it is a bit more hidden. It is a bit more controlled.

Here we can talk about vaginas. We can enjoy sex. Our sexual organs aren't torn out of our bodies by our own mothers. Here we arent exchanged for cattle or sold to marriage at the age of 12, or sold to prostitution at the age of 8.

I think that it is time

I think that it is our responsibility

I think that we are the ones that know

And it is true, it is hard to fight when you are sick

But there are ways, we can help eachother, slowly,

I believe cuz if i did not believe then i would not be alive today

And S/he just aint ready to take me yet.

S/he wants to visit my garden.

And she wants to teach me how to play with stones.

And she wants to smoke pot (I am telling you, i am becoming a pot-head.)

And she, me , the goddess, the marawana, whatever you wanna call it wants to live

But Damn, it is hard to live with pain


(Hey Allie, thanks for telling me that you like the stream-of consciousness blogs the most. Kind-of like the chain/earing?? that you liked.)

Some people like it clean. They like it simple. They want it real.
Man, that is the kind-of woman that i want in my army.

Goodnight girls

Marijuana

Marijuana works for the pain. I was crying today and in bed, feeling the pain very intensely. Marijuana helped me through today.
It it isn't the miracle drug. I still feel the pain but it is less in the fore-front. Other things get more focus. It kind-of over-rides the pain a bit. But it only lasts for a few hours. Truthfully, my joint is almost finished and i am eager for more.

So, i don't know

I do love sun-flowers and long-hair and men with long hair, ...

And I do love being in less pain. Cuz then I am just a bit more in life. And sometimes that is exactly what i need to get me through the day.

For now it is a yes.

I recommend it.

I guess i will be a pot-head for a while. I will keep you up-dated as to where it takes me.



Well, I can't stop writing without saying thank you to my friends. Cuz it is their love that got me through this till today.


I wish that one day i could help many people that are in pain get out of pain, or at least learn how to live with it well. I wish that I could learn how to carry my pain with love.

I think that i do, but i cry a lot and feel that i lost so much of my life and i feel scared a lot.

Goodnight friends

My neighbor helped me plant a lot of plants in my garden today. My garden makes me smile.

Love,
Atara

A guest!!!!!

Guest blogger: Allie

Allie: This is a piece from the Art Therapy Workshop Atara led along with a description. I'm honored to be asked to be a 'guest blogger' and I hope whoever reads this finds this meaningful and inspiring. I'm dedicated to the cause of helping women cope with pelvic pain conditions and I welcome your feedback.

When I wake up each morning, I look over the mound of my husband (or the pulled back sheets he left
after wakening) at the clock on his bedside table. If it’s early, and I can’t get back to sleep, that means
more hours of the day in pain. If it’s later, I’m relieved that I will have less hours in pain, especially since I usually have at least two drinks at night, so even if I stay up late, the alcohol has numbed my nervous system, and therefore my pain, to a tolerable level.

Art therapy workshop, 2011
Allie's drawing

My pain varies daily, hourly. Most of the time it is a stinging, shooting pain that radiates over my entire vulvar region. In this depiction of my pain, my vulva is red and irritated. The black tendrils represent  the stinging, radiating pain – a pain that is evil and menacing, and seems to exist outside of my body. The blue surrounding the vulva is meant to be a cooling liquid or force, which represents the varieties of treatment – psychological, medical, and homeopathic – I am employing to combat the pain. But regardless of the large amount of healing energy represented by the blue background, the black tendrils overpower it. The flower that covers the vaginal opening has multiple meanings. First, and the most obvious, it is in reference to the vulva’s flower-like nature. Second, the fact that the flower covers the vaginal opening means that it is not accessible right now, because I am unable to have intercourse. It’s a barrier to pleasure. Thirdly, it represents a gag, an inability in the medical community and society/culture at large to speak about this devastating condition, which is not particularly rare. So the symbolism of the flower is ironic – it both represents the cultural idea of femininity but also silences the feminine voice. It exposes the rampant sexism that continues to pervade Western culture and medicine.

Flowers

As you can see from the pictures that I post here, I love flowers.

Today I ordered A LOT of bulbs, mostly tulip-bulbs. They will be sent to me in late Sept and that is when I will plant them.  And I will dream about them until next spring. Then I will take pictures of them and post them here for you! I am a flower addict. I love love love flowers. I think that they, along with butterflies and dragonflies are very courageous to live and express their beauty in such a  world. Last year I wanted to plant flowers for my mother around the big tree in the middle of our front yard. This year I did it!!!  I am determined to surround us with many flowers. They will be our fortress. They help us keep faith. They remind us to take a deep breath.

And tulips- they remind me of the sweet old man who lived down my street ... One moment my seven year old hands were tugging at tulips, the next moment i was staring into the eyes of a full-grown male human being. I froze, my head tilted upwards to meet my bad fate.  My little hands clenched my stolen treasure as i waited for my scolding. I just hoped that it would be quick and that i could run home before the tears came.

The tulip-man asked me softly if  I liked his garden. I nodded yes. My little ears registered curiosity and kindness in his voice. I looked into the tulip man's eyes and my eyes confirmed what my ears had heard. There was no anger in his eyes.

Yes, I nodded again. Indeed, I liked his garden very much, so much as to have to talk myself out of picking its flowers every day on my way to and back from school. Today I  could no longer control what felt like an impulse.

The tulip man asked only a few questions and then politely invited me to continue picking flowers. It seemed as though he had no desire to disturb me in my business.

I thanked the tulip man very much and walked a few houses down to present my mom with her gift.

I never picked flowers again from the tulip-man's garden. I knew full well that here was a man that had earned every flower that grew in his garden.

The tulip-man has moved away or died. The treasure that he gave me has not.


Soft eyes of Love

Soft eyes of Love
With tender patience
and faithful trust
light green eyes; i bathe in their gentle expanse
and
find self and spirit
resting

Your voice,  your trust in me, your loyalty tap through distance and time
and reach me

You show me
and
guide me to the place, the in between spaces where spirit inhabits

Through you i can reach into those treasures that lie within me

You see
You see
You see





I wrote this little poem for a friend, a real good friend
no wonder it came up here with the tulip-man
some souls simply belong together