A note: I am posting extracts from A Woman's Way, Tao of Turning Fifty, sporadically on this site. This entry jumped out at me today, because last Wednesday was Fani's funeral. Beloved Fani, beloved by many, whether patients or friends, whose words still inspire me to be true to myself, spread my wings. This is for you :)

Feb 2, 2005

I am stubborn in believing that my healing and answers will come from inside of me-- like a locked cage or a labyrinth I am lost in seeking the mystery image or sacred word at the center that will free me, or click into place, suddenly turn a light on, or gradually lift the darkness of night in the pinkish gray peace of morning. This morning my daughter points me to the pink puffs in a misty sky at 7 am and although I had been up since 6:20, it had been dark. I thought it was odd that dawn was still happening, I was lost in my newspaper not paying attention to the world outdoors. It is a hazy kind of winter day, soft smothering cloud low on the earth like a damp layer of gauze, holding humidity in the air, making the snow mushy. I felt the cold creeping in, making me sneeze and shiver in my robe. A blast of cold air when I opened the door for the cat – attacked my neck with cold.

Fani believes society has sexualized even young children’s bodies and we can’t go back to innocence. That is so sad. I feel lighter today in my solar plexus, but sore in shoulders and neck. Going for massage later. Need to treat the neck gently-- it is hardened, rigid with fear, crisp with defensiveness, afraid of cracking open the mind-body split. “You are so strong” says Fani. “Yes, woman of steel,” I reply. But the ‘carapace’ is cracking, failing, and it needs to open. My warrior spirit energy is mostly gone – softening. The inner child wants me to honour her feelings. When Fani asked me at the end of our hour if I wanted a hug, and I said not right now, she applauded. I broke into tears. So hard for me to express my feelings, stand firm.

Reading Women’s myths and secrets I was struck by the positive accent on menstrual blood. It has been so demonized, it’s hard to take in the positive spin, making it a holy source of power. Our female power is so lost, so far back. Somewhere in a pre-historic cannibalistic past…can it be reclaimed, made less bloody, more soft and inward? And where is the recognition of the real meaning of breath, the Name of God that is nameless--these are secrets that belong to the human soul, neither male nor female. But our female mysteries of blood into milk, the stages of a woman’s life, bleeding, wedding, conceiving, making one into two, birthing, these, too are holy.