Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause

 

Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause 

or the Adventures of a Baby Crone

An enchanting collection of midlife musings, moon magic, and meditations for mindful menopause. Over the last few years, menopause has brought me to my knees. In this humbled position, I offer anecdotes, potential antidotes, and some not-so-common advice.

According to the Mayo Clinic, menopause is experienced by over 3 million women a year in the United States alone. What makes this book different is viewing menopause as a time of incredible spiritual growth and creativity, rather than just a physical experience that needs a special diet or more exercise.

The book offers concrete tools such as guided visualizations, meditations, and rituals to honor this significant passage in a woman's life. Rather than a dry reference book, it includes humorous stories, inspiring poetry, and juicy practices to experience mindful menopause. 

3, 2, 1 Meditation

 

Thoughts on Mindfulness 

One of the beauties of mindfulness is that you don’t need to sign up for a class, buy special pants, or chunk out hours in your day. It can start by inviting yourself to be more aware, more present, and live with more intention. Mindfulness starts with awareness, and choosing to focus and simplify. Despite our current tendencies for multitasking, the brain really only likes to be occupied with one thing at a time. Here is a focusing meditation that is super simple and easy to learn. Notice what comes up for you. Allow yourself to enjoy this state for as long as you like. This narrowing of focus while engaging the senses is extremely useful in creating periods of relaxed, focused concentration. It makes for a great walking meditation or game to play while waiting in a restaurant. 

3, 2, 1 Meditation 

•  Begin with the Simple Self Hypnosis Technique from chapter 1, or by simply taking some deep breaths. This meditation can be done with your eyes open or closed. 

• Focusing on 3 things that you can see while taking 3 deep breaths. This can mean either right before you if your eyes are open; patterns of light if your eyes are closed; or anything that you can see in your minds eye. Feel free to use your imagination. 

• Become aware of 3 sounds while taking 3 breaths - in the environment, in your body, or in your inner monologue. As you turn more inward, try to hear your breath or heartbeat. 

• Next, switch to 3 physical sensations with the 3 breaths. Often we begin by noticing what is uncomfortable - an itchy nose, ache in the back. Bring your awareness to pleasant or simply neutral sensations - the weight of a shirt, a breeze on the cheek. 

• Now, repeat the same exercise, this time focus only on: 

• 2 sights with 2 breaths 

• 2 sounds with 2 breaths 

• 2 sensations with 2 breaths 

• Last, go down to: 

• 1 sight with 1 breath 

• 1 sound with 1 breath 

• 1 sensation with 1 breath 

First published in Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause

It Took Me a Few Times

It Took Me a Few Times

To curl my tongue

Around your name

Encrypt

My minds script

Saying I meditate

Is like

saying I exercise

What form

How often

What does it bring you

We sorted

Plastic macro

Charismatic fauna

Into acrylic bins

I don't usually

Blurt out my story

But when I saw your

Pearlescent fingernail polish

I knew

I was safe

Changing Woman: Poems 2007 - 2016

Changing Woman: Poems 2007 - 2016

Kayla used to be a priestess of Aphrodite, but she was such a bitch - all those lessons in love, including jealousy, heartache, misery, and despair. Now she is the Priestess of Laphrodite, Goddess of the Belly laugh. Laughter is the best medicine, but as far as Kayla was concerned, it's also the best lube. Reflecting a time of questing and questioning for our Baby Crone, she changes careers, discovers online dating, and fuels her passion for blogging.  

Writer’s Talisman

Go out when the Harvest moon is full,

Cut yourself a slender switch by

Pruning the plum runners

 - Those suckers of energy -

Remember to ask permission first.

Strip the tender green leaves,

Gently bend into a circle,

Weaving in, out, in, out.

Let it dry in the morning sun for a few weeks,

Until the New Moon is as thin

As a newborn’s fingernail clipping.

Now, begin braiding in your tales.

Dreamcatcher, pentacle, God's eye,

Or simply a spider's web.

Find your tin sewing box that's

Full of needles, embroidery threads.

Take the time to untangle

Silver, gold strings,

Satin ribbons, bits of knobby yarns,

Projects once begun, not necessarily done.

Measure out your silk cords,

Cut them like one of the Fates.

Begin to add the ephemera collected,

The spiritual smegma of the past:

Broken charm bracelets, lone earrings,

A tiny Aladdin's lamp, a tinier key,

Hummingbird skulls, raven feathers,

Your mother's beads, grandmother's pearls,

Antique buttons from your mother-in-law.

The helping hand milagra,

Other tokens of luck, affections past.

Maybe add in a wisdom tooth or 

That first baby tooth your child lost, 

You know you have it somewhere,

Take the time to find it.

Purest white seashells with holes, 

Palest sea glass jaded by time.

A lachrymal filled to the brim with

The dried salt from an ocean of tears.

Use glue for butterfly wings, other things,

Of course, add some glitter - 

Really, make it yours.

Don’t tie on the wishbone,

Remember, you have a backbone.

Choose instead snake vertebrae,

Relics of coyote found in the desert.

Keys that have been lost in the junk drawer-

They still unlock your imagination.

A crystal to reflect all your facets.

Don’t worry if it’s chipped,

It will cast more rainbows that way.

Honor all the elements.

As you work, remember:

Every bead, every breath, 

Every knot is a prayer.

Tie everything three times while chanting:

In the name of the maiden, 

The mother, the crone,

I'm here by myself, but never alone.

When it feels almost complete,

Or at least good enough,

Hang it above your desk,

In the window, the tree outside.

As the wind ruffles the feathers,

Makes the beads clink, bells tinkle,

Take in their essence, 

Let them come out as stories...

Sit now, here in this sacred space,

The corner of the kitchen table, 

Cats meowing for attention.

Write down in your women’s notebook, 

Ubiquitous journal, book of shadows,

Every memory, every symbol.

Because, you know, as they say...

Witches 

Spell 

It 

Out.

The Beautiful Unknown: Retreat Poems and Prose 2009 - 2020

 

The Beautiful Unknown: Retreat Poems and Prose 2009 - 2020

During this time, our Baby Crone discovers the joy of silence and solitude by taking sojourns along the California coast. These poems, prayers, meditations, and love spells were woven at various silent writer’s retreats, including Mission San Antonio, St. Columba’s Retreat in Point Reyes, and The New Calmodese Hermitage in Big Sur.

Empty Place

Right now, besides for a few tatters of gray mist,

The sky is empty, gently sun-kissed,

Streak of salmon in the west,

Peaceful blues paint in the rest.

Even the red-tailed hawks and gulls are gone,

Not a spout or a sail out on the horizon,

The ocean seems empty, flat, glassine,

Teeming with life only in the depths unseen.

The field below is quiet and clear,

Except for the scuttling of rabbits, quail, and deer,

Buzzing bees, ravens, the squawking of jays,

Hummingbirds coming to visit the velvety sage.

There's just a circle of chairs in the chapter room,

Filled with a scent of Easter lilies in bloom,

Deep red roses, white daisies and baby's breath,

In the center is the altar honoring life and death.

My cup is dried, bowl washed and put away,

Floor is swept, the bed has been made,

Nothing to do, but enjoy this sacred space,

Think I'll call it, "My empty place."

Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause

 

Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause 

or the Adventures of a Baby Crone

An enchanting collection of midlife musings, moon magic, and meditations for mindful menopause. Over the last three years, menopause has brought me to my knees. In this humbled position, I offer anecdotes, potential antidotes, and some not-so-common advice.

According to the Mayo Clinic, menopause is experienced by over 3 million women a year in the United States alone. What makes this book different is viewing menopause as a time of incredible spiritual growth and creativity, rather than just a physical experience that needs a special diet or more exercise.

The book offers concrete tools such as guided visualizations, meditations, and rituals to honor this significant passage in a woman's life. Rather than a dry reference book, it includes humorous stories, inspiring poetry, and juicy practices to experience mindful menopause. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this book! I love the artwork and how it goes along with the readings. It was empowering, and beautiful, giving an honest portrayal of the fem experience. Highly recommend! - Kaileigh Otsuka

Random Advice

• Compliment people- be sincere. See something you like - a piece of jewelry, the color of a shirt and say something. People love it.
• Say thank you- send note cards by snail mail, have a stack of little gifts like painted rocks and bookmarks to give to clients- I hand out  a lot of hematite, rose quartz, and magnets (law of attraction) and gratitude
• Take time for yourself- be intentional, don't fight just to get some space. Nor do you have to be sick or cranky. Make it organic.
• Listen to music- turn on the radio, play CDs in the car, sing in the shower, notice that earworms in your head. Find the lyrics, watch the videos, and dance to them.
• Love your pets. They are amazing. Enough said.
• Don't listen to advice that does not resonate with you.

Thoughts on Beginner’s Mind

Thoughts on Beginner’s Mind

If the angel deigns to come it will be because you have convinced her not by tears. But by your humble resolve to be always beginning to be a beginner- Rainier Marie Rilke

Beginnings, successes, and failures. I chose to be a beginner when I signed up for the children's illustration class at Cabrillo College. I know my artistic talent needs to be developed so I enrolled in watercolor classes as well as online drawing classes. 

The online classes were complete flunk. I read the essays and watched the videos, but never did the homework. What a difference it makes being in an actual classroom with an actual teacher. I remember taking the nude portrait class at the Corcoran in Washington DC, my senior year of high school. We laughed as the model did a headstand and we had to draw his danger dangling straight down his belly. 

I felt so inept then, still do when confronted by some charcoal or pastels. I completely fail in realism, something my art lacks unless a photograph. My art feels childish more than cartoonish, immature rather than anime, and I comfort myself by saying at least it's mine. At least I'm willing to put it out there. 

Still my inner critics says it's no good, has no value, and in my dad's voice, it will never make any money. Maybe my art is primitive. It certainly is inconsistent. What is consistent is my pattern of doing something  a hundred times, then stopping, just like the batik silk scarves I made to earn money for the Global Walk.

Or the Herland crafts that I would make after hours -  stained glass boxes in the shape of pink and black triangles; decoupage cigar boxes lined in burgundy velvet repurposed from the thrift store; simply scanning objects and adding a pithy quote to create mugs, bookmarks posters. Magnets and more, who knew what you could do with a laminator and a pair of good scissors. 

Some sold and did make money but there was always a feeling of falseness. It wasn't real art, especially any collage work, using somebody else's images, cut from magazines and old calendars as opposed to just doing a google search and downloading an image. Although in this day and age of AI scrapings, whether mixing music or images, who’s to say what is art? 

These days I struggle with colored pencils, I’ve used up all the pastels, I muddy up the watercolors too often. I’m going back to painting with acrylic. Wonder if I do better with oils. We'll see after the next hundred little canvases bloom...

I choose to be a beginner. Not quite the perpetual student, but certainly willing to flip from medium to medium. Never mastering any modality fully, but least feel comfortable getting my hands dirty. The page and the coffee table now splattered as I spray liquid confetti from the ends of an old toothbrush across the page.

Clothes Lines

God is in the details. Yesterday, I gave one of my clients a fistful of dried rose petals from the Coretta Scott King rose bush. It's in the backyard. planted between reputation and love/union/marriage, according to Tibetan Black Hat Feng Shui. This uses the front door as the key alignment instead of the traditional north-south compass.

As she continued her story, I laid my hands on her shoulder blades, sending Reiki along her spine, her angel wings. She was using the blue, pink, and purple sharpies on the clipboard paper to outline her letting go.

In therapy we say you know you're “over it” when you can speak about ”it” in a normal tone of voice. Or I think about Marianne Williamson forgiveness does not mean what happened was okay. It means it no longer affects you.

So I forgive myself for not following up on the health insurance today, or watering the backyard, let alone mowing. Since at least the laundry’s in the washer, not quite ready for the dryer, I give myself permission to write down these few lines. Closing lines. Clothes lines.

Apology

I'm sorry for being so tired.

Sorry for being uninspired. 

Sorry to not be motivated, 

I simply feel inundated.

 You have to see, please understand,

This is completely out of my hands,

Not enough time. Not enough rhyme,

Sometimes I just don't feel fine.

And what do I do with all of this writing?

Post it online, cause more fighting?

Will I be accepted? Be heard, my fear,

 Am I dissed for being pagan or too queer?

 There's too many dishes, too much mess,

All of this just adds to my stress.

So no more excuses. I know my place,

 I take a deep breath. I wash my face,

 Set my intentions, what I've been hoping,

 And I crack my journal wide open...