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These stories are real, though some details may be fictionalized, to protect confidentiality and identities, but these are actual accounts of Qadishtu moments. Stories can be told from either the point of view of the priest or priestess or from the perspective of the client/seeker/supplicant. The point is - what do we actually DO? This blog seeks to help answer that through example. What we do is incredibly varied, depending on our individual experience, training, gifts, and inclinations, and that's why this is a group endeavor. We all have gems to contribute to the larger understanding of what it means to be Qadishtu and the significant need for this role in our society today.

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Monday, January 12, 2009

Mom or Qadishti?

Qadishtu is something that I do for others to help them with their lives, to help them with their pain, to help them with their self-image, and to help them with their sexuality. I help seekers: any kind and all kinds of seekers. I help individuals and couples and groups who come to me, or to my co-priest(ess) and myself, wanting help. I help acquaintances or friends or strangers. Sometimes I help dear friends and loved ones.

But something changed the other night. That night I was wearing my ‘Mom’ hat. I was helping my kids with homework and fixing dinner – doing the normal home/Mom stuff. Things were going smoothly all night long. About 10:PM my son says goodnight and heads up for bed. I was sitting at my computer enjoying the unusual quiet and getting some work done.

I hear a whimper and my head jerks up and around. My daughter was standing in the doorway. It was clear that she had cried as her was face wet from tears. I noticed that she was trembling. So I practically dropped my laptop down to the ground and asked her what was wrong.

She moved much faster than I thought possible. She fell into my lap and curled into me as she broke out in full sobs. Since I had been in Mom mode, I continued to quiz her. I asked, ‘what happened?’ I asked, ‘had she heard a strange noise?’ I asked, ‘ had she seen something strange on the computer’? Each question she answered with a shrug. Since I had no idea what she had been doing before she came rushing into see me, I had no idea what direction my questions should follow.

I remember feeling so helpless: I mean what kind of Mom was I when I was unable to get the to speak to anything? I was unable to comfort her. At that point, I just rocked her while I racked my thoughts as to what had possibly caused this melt down.

Then I realized that I had been slowly stroking her from her shoulder, down her arm and across her hip and leg until I was no longer able to reach. It dawned on me that when I reached the end of her leg; my hand would automatically brush off the negativity.

‘Duh!’ I had to remind myself that while I am Mom first, I was also a priestess of Qadishtu. At this point all I needed to change was the ‘hat’ that I wore from the ‘Mom hat’ to my ‘Qadishtu hat’. I realized that my hands and my soul had been telling me what my mind had not heard: different tools were needed. It struck me that my ‘Mom hat’ was getting in the way of my helping my daughter.

So I then took several deep, cleansing breathes. I re-focused my mind. I opened my soul and began pulling out the pain. The wailing strengthened. I hesitated and pulled back. She calmed down a bit. I started pulling pain again and the wailing worsened again. Again I hesitated. Again she calmed. I decided then to just push on again and so I did. After another 10 minutes of wailing her breathing had begun to fluctuate. I continued to pull out the pain. After 20 minutes, she started to blow her nose quietly, but she was still curled in my lap. It became time to heal. I began to push in warmth.

After some time, she sat up and pushed off my lap. I waited to see what she would do next. I watched as she gave herself a whole body shake and rolled her neck as if to shake out the rest of the hurt.

I sat and studied her. I was tempted to say or ask something. Anything. But I let her be alone in her head and pull herself together. It was probably only 5 minutes even though it felt longer in Mom years. Suddenly she turned and began to walk into the other room without saying a word. Startled, I asked, “So can you tell me what just happened?” She said she ‘just needed me.’ With that she just turned and left the room.

Sometimes it is easier to be a Qadishti priestess than a Mom.

1 comment:

David said...

I absolutely think parenting makes us better Qadishti, but I'd never really thought about how being Qadishti makes us more skilled parents.

Excellent story Lyndsay!