Carolyn, sisterhood and love

It’s been 17 years since she transitioned and the lesson of love that my sister-in-law left me is especially profound today, the anniversary of her transition. Carolyn and I shared a special relationship that afforded each of us the chance to love, err as humans, learn from our missteps, forgive and move on. 

I loved her deeply, in a way that was therapeutic, nurturing and taught me more, in retrospect, than any other relationship has. With Carolyn, an unseen force seemed to guide me. Despite my shyness, I was more open with her, more vulnerable, more willing to speak my truth and obsessed with expressing gratitude.

I remember that one of our many deep talks caught her off guard because she thought that I wanted to discuss something “serious;” when what I wanted to do, needed to do actually, was apologize for not having thanked her properly for one of her many acts of spontaneous generosity.

“So you wanted to talk to me,” she asked slowly, “to thank me,” her tone full of skepticism mixed with pleasant surprise. Another deep talk happened when she pulled me aside to warn me about the “out of character” cynicism creeping into my demeanor. 

Hindsight shows me clearly that the space in which we had each one of these special conversations was so sacred; full of a not-of-this-world love that neither of us could articulate at the time. 

I sensed the same in a recent post by one of Sharonda Singleton’s close friends that spoke of the four women’s competition to “out love” each other. Her words resonated deeply; touched that space in my heart where my earthly relationship with Carolyn once existed. The post oozed a sacred, not-of-this-world love interspersed with profound grief at losing their dear friend to Dylann Roof's despicable terrorism. Theirs was a consecrated, unbounded sisterhood.

  

Although we did not label it; did not know to, truthfully, Carolyn and I engaged in a similar competition.

The journey to her diagnosis with lupus was scary for Carolyn. The unpredictable symptoms brought many hospital stays. One visit included a phone call from her that woke me at about 2:30 a.m. Calls at that hour almost always mean death or some other family emergency. Thankfully, the ringing phone awoke only me and strangely, did not produce the feeling of dread in my belly that similar calls had in the past.

Carolyn reminded me that I’d told her to call me anytime. I was thankful that she listened. She told me that she was afraid and frustrated at the doctors’ inability to determine what ailed her. That she was tired of being poked and prodded. The call did not last long and I did more listening than talking. I don’t remember what I said and whether it, or her ability to vent, made her feel better, but something did because before hanging up, she told me so. 

I remember crying after we hung up; so glad that she called when she did, in the middle of the night while feeling the fear and frustration; and not later, at a more "decent" hour when she could only tell me how she'd felt, past tense.

Our relationship had its ups and downs, yet, to be honest, I cannot recall the reasons for the downs. The ups included being in each other's weddings, being pregnant at the same time and dressing our toddler daughters alike, sometimes intentionally and frequently not. Sending her a bouquet of yellow tulips on her first day of work for a job that she didn’t expect to get. Laughing as she described the dread she felt at being called to the office on her first day, only to discover her floral delivery.

Dancing up a storm at Stardom and Strawberry’s. Chilling together at the pool, fruity, umbrella adorned drinks in hand during the Omega retreats in Marco Island.

Random greeting cards sent just because I thought she might need a boost and her confirming that they’d arrived at just the right time. 

Hearing her squeal when I asked her to be my second daughter’s godmother; and wondering if she had ESP each time she arrived at my house unexpectedly, diapers in tow just as I was about to run out.

One of the ups that we’d shared happened during one of our downs, when, out of the blue, Carolyn said, “Michelle, I know that you love me.” I don’t recall what happened that prompted her declaration. I don’t know whether she sensed that her death was near. I don’t know what made her say it, but I’m so glad that she did. 

Because it was true.

Shout Out to the Caterpillar!

Like many women, I have a fascination with the butterfly. I’m drawn to the unique colors and artistic displays splattered on its angelic wings. I’m drawn to its majestic, delicate beauty and the freedom that oozes from its existence as it flutters about, landing when and where it desires. I can be lulled into a meditative trance as I watch the little winged wonder execute what appears to be a random landing atop a leaf that welcomed its arrival.

As much as I admire the butterfly, I am in deep and profound awe of its predecessor, the lowly caterpillar. If not for its decision to remain immersed in an internal process that requires its isolation from external stimuli and influences, the butterfly could not exist.

The caterpillar is the butterfly’s unsung hero. And although they appear to be two separate entities, they really are one in the same. The caterpillar instinctively knows its potential. Becoming a butterfly is in its DNA; it is born to soar.

As are women.

Women who intend to soar like butterflies must be willing to endure a similar, caterpillar-like existence prior to stepping into their potential; which is living the life that has their name on it.

The soaring of which I speak is not the pseudo-success that is heavy on material possession but light on healthy minds and bodies, lasting joy and harmonious relationships.

The soaring of which I speak includes a bounty of sacred material possessions and healthy minds and bodies, lasting joy, harmonious relationships and work that feels like play because it is our passion and purpose. This soaring has courage as its foundation and an unapologetic desire to find and cherish the only voice that knows and speaks our truth – our own.  

Women who soar like butterflies have spent time, like the caterpillar, doing the internal work that makes soaring possible.

Women who soar like butterflies are not bogged down by their past because their inner work includes forgiveness.

Women who soar like butterflies constantly attract more goodness to them because they live from a state of gratitude.

Women who soar like butterflies understand the power of their thoughts and how to use them as the magnets that they are.

Women who soar like butterflies don’t just fantasize about the life of their dreams; they bring their fantasy to life by learning to visualize it clearly first and to then take action on it.

Women’s fascination with the butterfly is not limited to its physical beauty. Our fascination is also to the powerful analogy between its journey and our own. We know instinctively that we are born to soar. We also know, like the caterpillar, that it takes internal work.

Unlike the caterpillar, our soaring requires a choice. 

To soar or not to soar? That is the question.  

If you’re ready to soar, go to www.michellehollinger.com today to register for The Butterfly Excursion. Register today and take advantage of the introductory price of $7.00. (No, that’s not a typo!)  

 

The Butterfly Excursion

A naive caterpillar views butterflies soaring above with disdain; oblivious to the truth that becoming a butterfly is also her destiny. A discerning caterpillar relishes incubation and is intently focused on absorbing the wisdom, soaking up the divine guidance, storing up the sacred courage that is activated and kicked into high gear when convinced that the inner splendor in its midst has been given permission to soar.                                                          

- Michelle Hollinger

When women submit to a tattoo artist’s ink, a butterfly is frequently the preferred image; and with good reason: the life of a butterfly holds remarkable parallels to a woman’s evolution.

The caterpillar’s emergence from its cocoon, where internally, significant work takes place in preparation for its ascent into the winged life of the majestic butterfly, is a powerful metaphor for the woman who understands the adage, “as within, so without.”

The butterfly parallel resonates because it is steeped in our innate longing to emerge as the woman we are here to become. It intrigues because life is about evolving and we assume that our ascension to the level where our best self hangs out is a given; that we will begin to click on all cylinders – fully immersed in our calling, enjoying the abundance that flows easily from sharing our passion, engaging in harmonious relationships with parents, children and with a soul mate also living their truth; standing serenely in our authenticity – our “yeses” meaning yes and our “nos” no; owning our voice, speaking up courageously, demonstrating to others how we are to be treated by loving ourselves deeply and honoring ourselves unapologetically.

The mere passage of time does not ensure ascension. What happens during the passage of time determines whether we decide, once and for all, to grab that elusive aspiration because we deserve to know, in this lifetime, what it feels like to finally achieve a cherished goal, like releasing the stubborn excess weight, ditching the paycheck to paycheck merry-go-round, or peacefully exiting the outgrown relationship.

If the passage of time involves shutting off the external noise and listening to our own voice, we could arrive at the unmistakable truth that it’s up to us and only us to transition from what feels safe to what is true.

If the passage of time includes getting to know who we really are, then we’ll invest time enough with our inner splendor to know that allowing it to linger in what is essentially confined space can kill us because it doesn’t belong there – it’s supposed to be expressed, its wings are meant to expand.

If the passage of time involves connecting with the goddess within, even the pristine among us may passionately whisper, mostly to ourselves, “fuck the comfort zone,” it’s time to step boldly into MY zone – the zone that has my name on it and frees me to dance for no reason and sing on key or off as though no one is listening.

If the passage of time involves deep, inner excursions, comparisons will end as the delicious uniqueness of our path reaches up and clutches our heart, refusing to let go until we surrender to its beauty; and we not only refuse to covet someone else’s journey, we finally comprehend that everything – every single thing - our childhood experiences,  our families of origin and choice; our detours and joys and passions and flaws and assets are parts of OUR unique puzzle that fit perfectly when we embrace them as divine fuel for manifesting OUR authentic life. 

If, after passage of its cocooned time, a caterpillar has completed the internal work and is ready to emerge, but doesn’t, it will cease to exist because it did not ascend to its reason for existing. It dies a natural death and is eaten by other insects and small animals in the great circle of life. 

If, during her passage of time, a woman does not engage her inner splendor, if she does not become an archeologist in her own life, if she doesn’t use her time to turn inward to the innate courage and power poised to leap with her into her reason for existence, she, too, dies a natural death.

Although the date of her burial may be in the distant future – she is essentially among the walking dead; those people who continue to move and breathe but no longer exist because stepping fully into their existence took a back seat to fear, others’ opinions,  an addiction to  "coulda, woulda, shouldas" and a flat out refusal to soar. 

Your Thoughts Are Calling!

Chaos and confrontation have become celebrated forms of entertainment. Spreading gossip under the guise of celebrity reporting is an accepted part of our daily existence, and the more ratchet the reality show, the higher the ratings.

Social media’s benign seduction lulls people into devoting exorbitant amounts of time to posting, sharing, liking and tweeting; providing a false sense of connection and pseudo-validation to folk genuinely craving something more.

There’s a twisted type of irony at play when parents post pictures of themselves at dinner with their children and then spend half the dinner responding to strangers who praise them for spending time with their children. Families’ already tenuous connections have fallen prey to social media’s lure.

Also, the rampant preoccupation with seeking others’ approval and staying atop trending topics means that the inward focus necessary for bringing our own dreams and goals to reality is knocked off course.  

Viewing faithfully and posting incessantly feels harmless, but these are not victimless spectator sports. The biggest victim is the person who cannot hear the call of her own thoughts because they are drowned out by the thoughts of others. 

And while watching occasionally could be considered a "guilty pleasure," the danger arrives when the pleasure becomes guilty of subtly distracting women from becoming who they are here to become and doing what they are here to do. 

Here’s the thing, the noisier our external world becomes, the more imperative it is to embrace inward silence. Personal growth, spiritual development and moving forward along our uniquely defined paths are all aspects of an inside-out process. 

Meditation, the practice of sitting alone quietly, going within and connecting with that part of us that reveals to us who we are, what we’re here to do and how to make it happen, is an extremely powerful, increasingly important part of a well-lived life. 

Interested in learning to meditate? Join Michelle Hollinger, host of The Sisterhood Exchange radio show, which airs Wednesdays at 8:30pm, for The Butterfly Excursion - a 6-week journey that will teach you to meditate in a way that suits your personality, show you how to dissolve the fear that is blocking your progress, guide you on how to create a vision board to expedite the achievement of your goals; and so much more. 

Mango Season

 

The sprouting buds on mango trees are an indication that when summer rolls around, the sweet, juicy tropical fruit will be available in abundant supply. 

As a mango lover, I am ecstatic. A mango purist, I'll indulge in a tasty mango shake or mango a la mode with good vanilla ice-cream; however, nothing compares to a firm, yellow, not too ripe mango sliced thickly, but not too thick, eaten sans accompaniments of any kind. Etiquette does not apply here - sticky fingers and a mango-stained face only enhance the enjoyment factor. Better to dig in as a solo excursion or with others similarly inclined to indulge in mango messiness.

In addition to its unrivaled deliciousness and ability to engage all five senses, the mango buds tell an even deeper story that the metaphysical student in me also savors. The buds that appear in early spring will manifest into beautiful, fully formed fruit come summer, but the sprouting buds did not arrive overnight. 

Their presence is evidence of inner work; of the invisible being made visible; of that whole "as within so without" masterpiece that divine energy orchestrates through each of its inhabitants.

The mango tree has no say in its blooming process, but being created to fulfill a predetermined purpose has its benefits. The mango tree doesn't have to decide whether to produce oranges or apples or coconuts. Its lack of free will notwithstanding, the mango tree stands as a powerful metaphor for humanity's sole possessor of free will: human beings

It stands as evidence of spiritual law; which is irrefutable and precise - the inner determines the outer. In the case of humans, the inner refers to our thoughts. What we think about, we bring about; as a man/woman thinketh, so he/she is, etc. 

Today's life circumstances are the manifestation of past thoughts. Future experiences are being crafted now, with today's thoughts.

When the harvest for your current thoughts comes to bloom, will you welcome your creation, or will you need another mango season?

Pin Pricks

Acupuncture is an ancient Eastern medical practice that balances the body's energy or Chi. It is an effective way to alleviate pain, discomfort and to help optimize the body's functioning and self-healing abilities. 

The painless procedure involves the practitioner placing super tiny needles into the patient's body. If a particular ailment is being remedied, the needles will be placed in and near the area of the ailment in order to facilitate the flow of beautiful healing energy. 

I used it years ago as a part of a prevention regime to keep me balanced. Now that I've hit 50, I plan to resume acupuncture as a part of my wellness routine so that my mind, body and soul behave like fine wine - we get better with time. 

My intention to reintroduce acupuncture into my life got me to wondering about other possible benefits of the ancient practice. What if the insertion of the needles also serves a deeper, more spiritual purpose?

What if each pin prick serves as an outlet through which our inner splendor can escape? 

What if by activating the beautiful energy within us we also activate strength, courage and wisdom; the strength, courage and wisdom necessary to write the book, launch the small business, obtain the degree, show up for the audition, leave the toxic relationship?

What if the authentic power that we need to create the life that we've only allowed ourselves to fantasize about can be unleashed - one super tiny pin prick at a time?

What if the inner splendor could be released whether we used acupuncture or not? What if?

Michelle Hollinger is the author of The Sisterhood Exchange. Purchase a copy at michellehollinger.com.

The Sisterhood Exchange

I see her on the screen,
on the job,
on the street;
Head held high, 
her eyes smile and see clearly through the bright light she casts.

She has danced with many partners;
fear,
rejection,
And at least one of the "isms;"
They now follow her lead.

I return her glance with smiling eyes,
whisper a brief thanks to Him for her,
silently transmit a warm 'you go girl,'
and bask in the glow of our mutual lights,
each strengthening the other through the energy exchange called sisterhood.

Michelle Hollinger is the author of The Sisterhood Exchange. Purchase a copy at michellehollinger.com.