You Feel Me? Rambling Prose, maybe Rhyme…IDK IDK

Steph—-you will be the only one who grasps each line

When we were little girls we used to sing about sipping cider, now we sip our coffee before the sun

We don’t talk about what’s to come, we talk about the past. Reminiscing on our lessons, on the things that we’ve done

We laugh and we have answers—-but then, we were little girls whose dreams were lost in the patriarchy

We ponder aloud, “Who could we have been? Where could we be?” Because no matter how hard we love, this shit is still bitter tasting

“Did I ever belong to me?” I ask. She says, “No, we never did and oh my God- I was so fucking stupid.”

Don’t say that. Don’t say that; It wasn’t our choice that the system degraded us to nothingness

The only goal then was marry someone and have some children…

On our own, we held no worth

But my beautiful sister, we know now—-we know, we know, we know

We know so deeply its reshaped our bones

You know its not just keeping tabs, its using what we have, to seal up the wounds in the gaps where it stabs

That, or bleed out, bleed out—- I think they’d  rather the latter than to simply sit down and ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh the places you’ll go and the places you’ll see,” I grew up on that shit but its forsaken me

False promises, Seuss. Don’t say that to little girls, it causes them to dream while their under the roof, or glass ceiling really

But——We are who we needed; We are who we needed. And, We have all we need, behind our eye-lids

We let Silence do it’s work and then for our kids—-we sit with it, no teaching-no preaching—just being

Can’t wake the dead with a kiss, maybe we can rouse them with our metaphorical fists

Cause I’m not ever going to stop blasting this shit, if I ever do might as well slit my wrists—-but only with a butter knife 

So as not to cut too deep, I’m not letting go of this world, I don’t need it- but it needs me

I’m rambling on at this point because my coffee is getting cold, and as the warmth leaves my cup, my ideas start to fold

So now its time for me to sit here and think, of all the things that mean nothing and are everything to me

Rambled and Written by: Stacy Johnson (Day 2 Crone, 6-26-19)

The Temple of Me

~~~~~~~~A poem about where I’m at as a newly-turned 35 year old!!~~~~~~~~

THE TEMPLE OF ME

Looking across my body, a mosaic of sea glass tops my skin,
And I ask you now to sit with me and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

My eyes are still that vibrant green, holding sparkling light within.
No, those aren’t crows feet, that’s where Sophia left Her print.
Can you handle who I am now and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

There’s this thinking crease across my forehead, and it makes me share a grin,
Cause once I thought I knew it all and you loved the woman in me then, but can you make more room to love the woman I’m becomin’?
Won’t you come and sit with me and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

My smile still lights the blazes, of your direct attention, and those laugh lines now make their way up, to my dancing eyes within.
And I ask you to always make me laugh and
Drink me in,
Drink me in
Drink me in

Have you noticed my shoulders and arms are stronger, then they’ve ever been? Because I learned to carry the wounds of my sisters, of my fellow women.
Can you spare a minute to listen and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

When You see my my bare breasts fireside, do you breathe praise for the flow they’ve given, how my very own body was the tree of life for our youngest children- take a moment and honor the sacred and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

Now I have a softened tummy, rounded hips, and marked up skin, Call me your Goddess Persephone, I nourished your seed and brought about its blossomin’,
Can you sit and worship me for me and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

And I’ve always had those legs you loved, they are strong but not thick or thin, and now they’ve carried 5 human lives, can you grasp the magnitude of my body’s benevolence?
Can you come and help me carry on and
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me

And I’ve manifested this rounded ass in my womanhood transfiguration, yes-she is bouncier now, than my teenage version. And you just cannot help but touch, you say she demands your concentration.
Will you always speak with adoration and
Drink me in
Drink me in
Drink me in

And when we’re in the shadows and you gaze upon my 35 year old skin, your eyes light up like candles and I think that’s my personal heaven. I am a divine being, made of earth-water-fire-and wind, and I deserve to be on your altar as you
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

Most of all, more than anything—-you’ve watched my mind and heart expand, and you listen attentively about my evolution that was completely unplanned.
But you don’t run off fearfully, you pour your cup, listen, and grin, and as you sip your coffee, you
Drink me in,
Drink me in,
Drink me in

By: Stacy Johnson, June 6-8, 2019
(Mother, cycle day 12-14)

Your child is not a Christian

Recently while listening to Richard Dawkins’, “The God Delusion,” I had to pause and let some of his words wash over me—they were cleansing, if you will.

I won’t quote him directly, but here’s the jist:

**There can be indoctrinated children, and there can be children of Christian parents, but there are zero Christian children.**

Obviously, a few years ago I would have wanted to battle back and proclaim that MY children were believers and students of the Holy book. I would’ve scrambled to find the flaw in his statement—- but deep in my noggin, I would’ve been arguing, not with Dawkins, but with my own indoctrination.

As much as I would’ve wanted to believe my kids WERE Christian kids, the truth was—every belief they possessed came directly from me or the Bible stories I’d allowed them to learn. Sure they knew scripture, but how did they learn it? –Me, a curriculum I’d chosen, a class I’d taken them to… Sure they knew the prayers, but how did they know who to pray to and the format of recitation? Me! These weren’t things they would’ve ever approached on their own. They were simply babies who wanted to PLAY! But my kids were my echo chambers, they were simply regurgitating by beliefs right back out at me. It’s scary to think how deeply I had sculpted their entire world view and reality. Shits terrifying, man. Wheeeew. Breathe. Even scarier is the way some folks never realize what they are doing….

Fortunately for me now, as a deconstructed exvangelical, when I read Dawkins’ words, I was in complete and total agreement. It was actually freeing to hear someone else saying what I knew from my own childhood and in raising my kids.

Every single attempt at raising Godly kids is a form of indoctrination. From reciting scripture, creeds, and prayers at young ages, to attending weekly services, to routines of the home. Every time a parent intentionally places their belief system into the mind of their child, they are indoctrinating that child. Every time a child declares they are saved or that they’ve had a God experience, it is simply a replication of what they’ve witnessed from adults around them or is a fictitious response to hormones released in emotional situations. Again, a fabrication of that child’s reality set up by someone else.

Children are born religion free. Again, when a baby is born, their brain has zero knowledge of any religion. Yet, they are divine. They come to us with an awe-struck curiosity for the mystical experiences of nature. They are bright eyed and eager to explore, they worship in the form of wonder. Wouldn’t it be grand to approach guiding them, with that same joy of learning that they implore. When THEY ask about God, faith, sins, the devil, as parents we show excitement and present them with timelines of all the major world religions, allowing them to see for themselves the bigger picture. There is NO indoctrination in that method. And, there is no right answer, therefore no pressure to conform out of fear.

I remember the fear that being a Christian places within parents. The “their blood is on your hands,” approach to training up children. Hell, I pulled my kids from school so I COULD INDOCTRINATE them to think like me.

I remember feeling afraid when they “sinned.” I remember crying out to God that he would guard their hearts. I spent literal nights awake trying to envision a way to best teach them so they’d know God’s Love….

But now I see, if you look at your child as a fallen being to be saved, you’ve lost the chance at letting the magic of life teach them. Their own Life is their best teacher. You are cutting them off from their own flow when you’ve set the default state of being as a religious one. They have very little chance at growing beyond that default setting, and for many Christians that is their hope.

How sad. But that’s what you get when generation after generation sits in the church pew and never does the work of thinking. You get uneducated worldviews, partnered with indoctrinated beliefs, sculpted into little robotic beings, passing off their ideals as the ONLY right way, all the way into their adulthood, and this then repeats itself with their children. And it’s ALL misinformation, but they live from default because it’s safe and requires no conscious effort to learn new ways and new information.  It’s frankly, an irresponsible way to live.

For me and for my children, I did the work of reprogramming my default settings. They will not have to deconstruct, they will not have to “go astray” or “leave the fold.” Together, we are free to let Wonder, Curiosity, and Life be our teachers. Please join me in ending the brain-washing of our youth-they deserve better. They deserve to be the joyful explorers that they were literally born being. Let us, as adults, give our children the space they need to be here, free from your default settings.

Thanks for reading! XO

Dear Patriarchy

Dear Patriarchy,

I was placed into your grasp as a little girl. I ate the crumbs from your gnarled and mangled hands. I watched you work the system and create a breed of subservient little female beings. You chewed us up and spit us out and told us our purpose was to simply be present to help You. You needed our fertility, open our legs for your pleasure and your cum. Carry your babies so you don’t fade away into oblivion. We sit here now foaming at the mouth ready to rip your fucking throats out, and you tell us to smile, keep quiet, be a lady. Meanwhile, you’re lusting for the blossoms in the church pew, with your pious and godly wife sitting right there beside you. But she doesn’t know how to be the Slut you need. The Sacred Whore within, she’s never unleashed. You did that to her. You, Patriarchy! You told her to be good, but with everything you are, you like em bad. So so bad. You told us to be honest, but you’ve got your secrets. You snicker, and you smile, and you keep things under the table. Your army, your squad, your “good ol boys”—- they uphold you as the Man among men, and while your wife may be fooled cause she’s a product of her raising, just know-your daughter won’t bow down to ANY SYSTEM that’s degrading, she’s not just the winds of change-she’s a fucking tornado. She is tearing this shit down and you don’t know what to do. You hang on to your faith cause it ALWAYS WORKS FOR YOU. Cling to your traditions, the empire built by men for men, but your daughter yells, “No!” She’s watched and she’s listened to every command made on her mother and her sisters, she’s thirsty for the blood of every person whose ever said, “A woman’s place is in the kitchen.” She is harsh and bold and she is ready to hurt your feelings. She yells, “Fuck you and fuck your religion! You pieces of shit-stealing the minds of the innocent, and they can’t even think critically enough to harbor resentment.” Your daughters are coming for you, Patriarchy, are you shaking in your work boots? We are coming for you, right after we untie your shoes.

Written by: Stacy Johnson

Glorious Girl, a poem

So you’re turning 14

That’s a big number to mommy

You’re turning 14

I didn’t know it’d be this hard on me

See, when I was 14, I let my divinity go…

I cut my beautiful hair, I traded in lion king panties for lacy underwear

I went from having never been kissed to loving someone deeply, and being completely dismissed

At 14, my first heartbreak left me different but not totally broken

with threads of insecurity, my heart was stitched up but gaps were still open

At 14, I watched on confused as the light of innocence left me

Hell was coming, no matter how hard I prayed, no matter how much they preached grace, I still knew my place

After every sin, I knew I’d need to repent again,

and so this game of guilt and shame was one I could not win

At 14, I understood fear to be the driving force, behind every single of one my life’s choices

It wasn’t about following my heart, it wasn’t about using my smarts, I’d only be okay if I learned early to play it safe, stay inside the boundaries so I’d be covered by grace

At 14, deep longings for more, resounded in my spirit, but because of indoctrination the flow of life couldn’t heal it. My divinity whispered for me to draw near, but I simply could not hear it.

See, I didn’t know I was still perfectly precious, I didn’t know I was still totally infectious, Being a sinner is what I let define me, not the amazing woman who was hiding inside me

So, Baby girl I just have to share, you carry a warrior’s glare and you have a mighty stare,

Your wear your armor daily with your strands of gold and copper hair

YOU know your truth and with YOUR hands you build your empire, and don’t forget like a dragoness, my girl you can breathe fire,

Your veins hold the pulsing of women

who fought so hard to be here, hold up your hands and cup their courage should you ever find yourself in need, dear

You have fierce wisdom of Athena

And great beauty of Aphrodite

Put them together and channel that strength, it’s beyond almighty

In your mind you carry the intuition of Dione and you hold wilderness of Artemis, listen to the call from within, she won’t leave you mistaken

Baby girl, at 14, you can begin to manifest your dreams, you can leave people behind if they don’t align, don’t feel guilty and deep down just know, that’s how you grow

And don’t you for one second think a mess-up is reflective of who you are, when wounded be proud of your scars, and deep down in the marrow of your bones, know your beauty, your truth, and your worth.

And baby girl at 14, when insecurity creeps in, acknowledge her presence but don’t let her win, make her an acquaintance but not a close friend,

Remember you earned your place on this earth, you get to be here for this moment in time, and though you’re only 14, you’re able to see, that this in itself is truly divine

When mommy set out to write this for you, I let my mind go back in time, I don’t know why but I started to cry and so I stayed there for awhile.

That girl was beautiful with a heart of gold and smile she could not hide, but oh the sadness, such sadness were hiding in those green eyes.

I saw the Universe in those eyes, and I heard a whisper in the wind, you, JUST you, you are enough, so I let that voice rage from within,

I placed my arm around that girl sitting to my side, I said- chin up sister, it’s a matter of time, you’re gonna be just fine,

I gave her a hug and left her there

because 14 year old me, could not see it, much less try to live out and be it…

My baby girl now, I’m calling you out, I see your glory, your beauty, your grandeur….and at 14, if there’s only one thing you let engulf you and fill you up, please let it be that warrior raging within, “I KNOW I AM more than enough.”

Written by-Stacy Johnson, April 13, 2018

I wrote this last year on the eve of my daughter’s 14th birthday. I needed to channel the energy I was feeling into something positive, as 14 was a tricky year for me…

MY GLORIOUS GIRL:

******Today, I watched that 14 year old, stand before 150 high school band students and play a solo. A 3 minute piece that captured the magical essence that is my daughter. You see, my girl had only picked up a saxophone 9 months ago. Her teacher didn’t believe her when she told him she’d be first chair by Christmas, but SHE believed in herself, and that’s all she’ll ever need. She is not only first chair, but was was chosen to do that solo, I couldn’t have been prouder to watch her play up there. I witnessed the anxiety ridden tears throughout the week, but SHE GOT UP THERE AND NAILED IT. She cupped that courage and it paid off. I cried. And I’m giddy. She’s brave.

Thank you to:

My sister over at The Irresponsible Blogger, she reminded me that today was International Women’s Day and this poem goes right along with celebrating women, healing women, and empowerment of women. Thank you for reading, Friends!

My BEST GIRLS and Me (plus one sleeping lil guy):

Paper Clip Castle, a poem

You left your coffee mug on the counter,  I saw your Adidas on the floor. I breathed heavy  down the hallway and saw your jacket hung on the closet door. 

I walked passed the recliner, it’s a newly empty seat, for 14 days it will not be the place you prop your feet.

I journey to our bedroom, then replay our moments in the quiet. Tears swell, I let them fall,  cause your side of the bed will be silent. 

I miss you for these moments, I wipe  the sadness from my tired eyes, I walk to our kids’ bedrooms and declare, “It’s an  Uno game kind of night!”

I pretend that I’m not broken, I pretend I’m strong enough, I act like I’m not waiting on my savior in his silver Ford Truck.

I do all the laundry, give the baths, then sweep the floors, I do ANYTHING to busy the thought that you’re not walking through that door.

I embrace your hoodie for a moment, take in the dirt and work and sweat. Hold it close before I wash it, so your scent I don’t forget.

I cheer on all our babies, I give kisses and hugs goodnight. I try to be everything to them, but as Dad, I’m just not right…

I play podcast after podcast, listen to lectures on repeat, I blast my mind with so much noise to distract from my reality. 

I praise you for your willingness to make a living such as this, I know you let your tears fall down, driving opposite of your waving kids.

But then it is your go time, down to strictly business, and in the meantime I hold down the fort with thumb tacks and paper clips…

(written by Stacy Johnson 3/6/19)

Momma whooped dat Uno booty tonight!

“Virginity”


It’s been 20 years to the day, since my first encounter with sex. And first of all, let’s get this out there—- 

Virginity is not a real thing——— The most accurate words I’ve heard expressed about it (though I can’t recall who to credit?) is, “Virginity is a social construct created by arrogant men who thought their penises were SO powerful that they could actually change a woman.” 

Bitch, please! My bicycle seat did more damage to my hymen then sex ever did.

Did I walk a little broader for a couple hours afterwards, maybe? Was there an ever so slight red splotch in my panties that evening? Sure… but I’m not certain it had anything to do with virginity? It may have simply been that I was an unprepared and completely inexperienced fourteen year old, dry as a bone, with an inexperienced, gentle yet ambitious 14 year old partner,  wearing a rubber who was simply ready  to do the damn thing. I can’t say the experience was good or bad. No absolutes. It is what it is. Two horny teenagers who’d been fooling around for a good 6 months prior. It was simply the next step in our “relationship.”

I giggle as I type the word “relationship.” Ain’t no relationship happening, we were two kids, who’d always hung out with the older crowd, so naturally we chose one another for things like such: make-out sessions, escorting one another to class, I sat in the stands as the  little blonde cheering him on, we dropped each other letters through the day that had zero substance. This guy had always found me attractive and I appreciated that to a fault. I’d known him forever, and had known forever that one day, he’d get me in trouble. 

I recall sitting proper as a 5 year old little lady in the church pew. He was, a few people down, on the floor playing with small cars. I’d lean forward and peek down the aisle, his excited little eyes would brighten and smile back, happy I had noticed him, this tiny tot flirting would continue, and even at 5, I knew I’m in trouble with this one. 

Fast forward 9 short years, with countless welcomed smooch-fests and fondlings, and there we were, me flat on my back in his bed, panties down, legs tense-so tense, him putting on the rubber and us, trying to figure the shit out. There was the putting it  in, is this going to fit? There was the trying to maintain a rhythm, while hoping to be romantic with continued kissing…..We tried, God knows, we tried! We tried  to get all the parts running together. 

>>>>All of these things, we’d later laugh about in our adulthood when he chose to give a quick apology for having literally destroyed my soul after breaking up with me like less than a month after this first sexual encounter. 

Yes, bull shit- I know.  But he was “just a boy”—and deep down I  knew this  was simply about getting the deed done. It was kinda like, “Sweet, high five, buddy, we did it, team work.” I was glad to no longer be carrying that neon light “V-Card,” and rising from his bed there wasn’t an immediate guilt or shame, but the reality that I was expected to feel guilt and shame, and he wasn’t. This realization caused heart-ache to come on strong….For him, it was hell yeah——Nods of approval from bro to bro down the hall, and then emotional unattachment. But for me, it was a different story….

Unfortunately for romanticized me, he strung me along for a couple weeks afterward and blew me off. How could this be? I’d allowed myself to love fully. Was I not good enough? 

……Not good enough… I still battle that thought today…..

I can say this boy did me one favor. I asked one morning after our sexual experience and multiple realizations waving over me, “Hey. When is the first time you think about me during the day?” He was honest and replied, “Right now, when I see you in this hallway at school.”

His honesty cut deep, “I should’ve asked that question before I laid in that bed,” my intuition whispered. In an instant, I knew I’d given a part of me away that was unhealable. I moseyed down the hall holding back tears. He had been my waking thought for nearly a year…

You were always enough, and you’re going to go on to do the work necessary to know that

So how did all this come to be my fate on that Super Bowl Sunday, 1999? Let me set this up for you:

My parents were the cutest and *still are lovey dovey high school sweethearts that set the bar. My sister and I both, were led to believe by our own inexperience with other places and stories, that our future husbands were right there walking the halls of our very high school. In our minds it would be a tragedy to not have the love story our parents had.

Partner this fantastical view of high school love with a deeply indoctrinated belief that women should please their men, be submissive, and have a man lead them…..

Then sprinkle that misinformed point of view with a little,  “Don’t do it” 

“SEX IS BAD—- DIRTY EVEN! But it  can be so good with the right person….”

>>>>Every High School Girl believes her current boyfriend IS THE RIGHT PERSON. 

Mix this all up with parents who trusted me and a dousing of teenage hormones and you’ve got a recipe for a good old-fashioned sexcapade.

Hear me: REPRESSION LEADS TO OBSESSION 

Need it again: REPRESSION LEADS TO OBSESSION

Purity Culture is TOXIC right along with fundamentalist Christianity.  Telling a teenager not to explore, not to touch themselves, and to abstain AT ALL COSTS is like writing an omen over your child that they WILL partake in teen sex on the regular. And probably not under the best circumstances. This is just the simple truth. It is what it is. Sexuality is as much a part of adolescence as the use of our arms or legs, denying that is detrimental.

If I could go back and summon the Divine Feminine to speak over that 14 year old baby with big green eyes,  I’d hope she’d have shown up in the form of a Sister rather than a Mother. In this  instance of hormonal neediness, a mother figure would want to protect as she knows the outcome, but my mind was made up, I was going to have sex….An older sister however, would speak sassy truth and that’s the voice I needed. 

I can hear this Divine Sister  now, “Listen, this won’t be like you’ve seen in the movies, this will not be some spiritual practice in emotional soul bonding. If you want to do this, do it, but know, this is going to be purely physical. This won’t make you closer to your partner. It’s kinda like your first time with anything, this is merely trial and error, practice… You’re going walk outta that room as the same girl you were before. Nothing has changed. You’ll have simply experienced a rite of passage that nearly all the humans telling you not to do this, did themselves.  Everything good and beautiful and holy will still reside within you. Do it, then let it go, don’t attach yourself to the idea of having lost something or attach yourself to this boy, you’ll have lost nothing but a label. Do not trade the label “virgin” for the label “guilt” or  the label “shame.” You are you— you are you—-you are YOURS. This is your label to give away if you really want to, do this if you must, but walk out of that room-pop your collar, blow on some imaginary dice. Confidence, baby girl—Stand tall, this is like any other first, excitement/ no regrets. Be certain.” 

My Divine Feminine voice is always saucy! 

…………………………….If every girl was raised in a sex positive, equal opportunity environment, girls could live empowered rather than defeated. If this had been my inner voice, instead of “you lost something you can’t get back,” I could’ve avoided the depths of heart-ache of not being good enough. We set girls up to fail and to remain in bad situations because they’re so tied to labels. 

If we could be honest about the toxicity of religion and purity culture than this double standard about sex could  be minimized—— you know what I’m talking about, the dirty looks and awful words used for the girls who have sex, and the hope they’ll feel guilt and shame, versus the pats on the back and locker room praise for the boys.

I find it not coincidental, that two weeks after I began having sex, the only 40 year old virgin woman in our church begins, “righteously” training us to maintain our purity, as our virginity is our gift to our future husbands… Our sexuality was always about the man, the goal was guilting and shaming us into compliance in order to support patriarchal constructs. A woman in touch with herself, is a powerful woman, and that is scary in fundamentalist religion.

If  girls knew they could explore themselves and embrace their cycles and urges without the help of a man at all, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to “need” a partner. 

I have a 14 year old daughter. She knows my story wholly. She doesn’t want the same experience. Honesty is almost as good a  teacher as experience. Tell your kids your stories, the good, the bad, the beauty, and the heartache. We can change the internal voices of our daughters and inherently teach our sons how to be good partners… Join me and let’s change the conversation from maintaining “virginity,” to remaining true to Self and holding ourselves in the love of compassion.

You don’t have to carry that sadness in your eyes…

January 31st, 1999, the Denver Broncos won the Super Bowl….. and I lost a label…. I lost nothing more than a label.