Scene # 1 around age 4, in a public restroom. I was in the stall with mother and noticed that there was blood in the toilet when she stood up to flush.
“Did you cut yourself, momma? Are you hurt?” The only response I got was an impatient, “No.” I felt scared and worried and thought I might pee blood, too.
Scene # 2, around age 5 or 6, playing with Karen and Carla Kirkman in the Amarillo neighborhood I grew up in. Sidney Powers, an older boy, came by on his bike and stopped to talk. He asked us if we knew what fucking was. Nope, none of us did. He laid his bike over on the curb and picked up a stick. He drew some stick figures in the dirt and then showed a line going from one of them to the other and said, “And that’s when they fuck.” When he left, I went home for lunch. Momma and Daddy were in the kitchen. As I walked in, I asked them if they knew what fuck meant. Daddy jerked me up and slammed me down onto the clothes dryer in the corner, looked me dead in the eye, inches from my face and sputtered, “Don’t you ever let me hear you saying that word again. You forget that word right this minute.” I was extremely impressed and needless to say, never forgot that word.
There was a big pink book on my parent’s bookshelf, along with the encyclopedias and the National Geographics. I came across it after we moved to the farm from Amarillo, when I was 10 years old. I would sneak into the den late at night, pull it from the shelf and sneak it back to my bedroom. I’d pour over it for several hours and then sneak it back into place. It was called “The First Nine Months,” and was written in the 40’s, I think, and meant to be for first-time mothers. I was fascinated with the pictures that were illustrations of the embryo at each stage of growth, month by month, with descriptions of what the mother should expect to feel at each stage.
As I approached puberty, I showed that book to girlfriends who were spending the night. We’d giggle and try to imagine how a baby could come out, and how one got in there in the first place. In 6th grade during health class one day, it was announced that the boys would be going outside, while the girls watched a film. I felt embarrassed and ashamed, but didn’t know why. They film explained about a girl’s first period. As I remember, there was no mention about potential pregnancy. I remember a girl in the class, Lois Null, who had developed more quickly than the rest of us. When the teacher asked if anyone in the room had had their first period, she raised her hand. Then she asked a question about tampons, which the film had mentioned as one of the choice for ‘sanitary protection.’ “What if the string breaks?” Everybody laughed loud and long, but it sure seemed like a reasonable concern to me.
At home that evening, I kept hanging around the kitchen after supper, wanting to ask mother about this impending event. I wanted to know what it felt like, what it meant. I needed to be reassured and given clear information about what was happening to my body. I knew mother had a problem with blood, and I was curious about how she handled seeing her own.
Finally the dishes were washed, dried and put away. She could tell I wanted something. Finally, I managed to blurt out a question. “How old were you when you had your first period?” She blanched, stared at the floor for a minute and as she turned to leave the kitchen she said, “I just can’t talk to you about that.”
Several days later I found an ad in one of my teen magazines. I clipped it out and put it with a note that I left in mother’s bathroom: “Could you please buy this for me?” Nothing was ever said.
A few weeks later there was a package for me in the middle of my bed when I got home from school. It was an introductory kit, put together, I’m sure, by the people that make kotex. There was a supply of pads, an elastic belt and a booklet with pictures. My education was finally underway.
Written 4/9/03 (c) Jade Beaty
Friday, May 20, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The Evolution of a Sexual Healer
Written for my 50th Birthday Ceremony in Boulder, Colorado, May 4th, 2002
The Evolution of a Sexual Healer
I was born in Amarillo, Texas, on May 8, 1952.
Mother was drugged into the promised land of “painless childbirth,” as Daddy chain-smoked unfiltered Camels in the waiting room down the hall. I landed in this body a short seven years after leaving another one behind in a death camp, Ravensbrook, in January, 1945. A short seven years later, I find myself born a Texan. Oh, Goddess, why have thou dropped me in this desolate place?
I should have rested a bit. Yes, I am a reincarnationist – whatever that means. I know in my DNA that I’ve experienced the horrors of World War II and many other wars over eons of time. Perhaps it is just cellular memory, or perhaps it’s all happening in the big NOW and this present moment just happens to be where my attention is. Maybe anyone can tap into collective consciousness and have an inner awareness of other times and places, as it was experienced by individuals within the collective. I’ve not made my peace with how I think all of this works.
I do believe that I made the quick turnaround back into time/space out of a desire to be here for the 60’s: a time like no other, as all times are, but what an amazing phase of social change, radical rebellion, passionate, justified outrage against war, and the tossing about of words like “love” and “peace” as solutions to our problems. And, like, wow, man, it coincided with that glimmer of time after the pill, and before AIDS, when sexual liberation seemed a possibility – even though we were confusing love with sex – or was that sex with love? What self-respecting radical soul would want to miss all that? Yes, I was a flower child, in a small town, with a bad reputation – me, not the town.
I am by birth, Janis Dalene Beaty. That’s Janis, spelled like Joplin spelled her name, which turned out to be a cool thing in the 60’s. When I was brought home from the hospital, my father, Donald D. Beaty, placed me in the arms of my maternal grandmother, Mamo. I was given my family name by her exclamation of, “Why this is just a little Don D.” That was before they broke the news that I was a girl. They were all disappointed – had not, in fact, even considered the possibility that I could be a girl. They were so certain I was the heir apparent.
Apparently not. Thus, I was, to everyone who knew me, Dondee. This was who I knew myself to be until third grade when we had an assignment to look at our birth certificates. I was appalled that I had a name I’d never heard of. I immediately insisted that my ‘real’ name be used and henceforth was known as Janis to all but my family, who refused to change. Various relatives have also called me Dondee Doodle, Tex, and I had a trampoline teacher who could not remember “Dondee” but could remember “Dandy.” I suspect he drank a lot. What I really wanted my name to be when I was 8 years old was Tammy. So for a long time, whenever anyone asked my name I’d reply, Janis Dalene Dondee Doodle Dandy Tex Tammy Beaty. No wonder I seemed to exhibit several personalities at times.
I did next best thing to being a boy. I was a tomboy. Mother’s will met mine over petticoats, patent leather shoes and puffy, lacy sleeves with elastic that left deep indentions in my arms. I usually won, but the battles gave us a foundation of struggle that lasted many years.
In spite of that, I have come to adore the fact that I am the daughter of Fannie Bernafae Dale Beaty, known to all as Cootie “A baby girl was born, sold 3 dozen eggs, 2 gallons of milk,” was written in Mamo’s calendar the day my mother, her last of six, spread over 21 years, was born. Mamo was a strong, stubborn, independent woman. I am a lot like her, and proud of that. It’s probably why I’ve survived.
Mamo. Fannie Beatrice Boudro Dale. “Bea” to her friends, lived on the flat plains of Oklahoma, divorced in the 1930’s and “ran a boarding house for railroad men.” I believe, now, that she was a horse whisperer and instilled in me my fascination for anything that wore or sat on a saddle. I slept with horseshoes under my pillow and stick horses lined up in bed with me, dreaming of sitting around a campfire with Roy and Dale. As I got older, I eliminated Dale from the fantasy. The day I got that first horse, I thought my life would be better forever. Mamo is with me now, anytime I’m around horses. Her spirit relates to them through me, and I am in deep peace.
My father’s mother is Mary Sally Bean Beaty, known as Ma, of Ma and Dado. She had this red hair (not quite THIS red hair, but close) and I was her only offspring in 2 generations to have it. She never learned to drive, had to be coaxed into her first pair of women’s ‘slacks’ in the 1970’s and wore nothing but shades of blue – usually navy blue. She loved me, the one that shares the red hair gene, fiercely, as only a grandmother who has had nothing but family in her life can love.
I am the mother of Crimson Dawnivee Holland, my love child, the light of my life, born on Valentine’s Day, 1970. She was also the cause of my first marriage and imposed abrupt maturity. It didn’t last – the marriage or the maturity. She is infinitely patient, sometimes proud, sometimes embarrassed of her wild, windblown momma.
I am Grandmother of Maya Angelynn Jimenez, age two, who felt close enough to her Granny Jade to honor me this spring with a fit of rage, such as has never been witnessed. Her mother is infinitely patient. I was horrified and amused at the same time. I was spanked until I got off the floor. Maya gets her anger validated, but also is learning what the Rolling Stones told us, “You can’t always get what you want…”
My teens were a miserable wasteland except for the bright spots of horses and books. My twenties were spent trying to do myself in. My thirties brought a state of grace that began with my understanding that my mother and her mother and all mothers were always doing the best that they possibly could, in any given moment, considering circumstances and their own conditioning. My forties have been about the illusion of loss, the grief that ensued, and the absolute knowing, by swimming in that grief, that we just change form, change roles and keep on longing for each other, for our Beloved. Nobody ever goes anywhere. We all contain each other within heart space.
In 1996, with a waking dream that began an awakening into the dream of self-realization, I was initiated and given the name, Jade. It was the beginning of my emergence as healer, counselor and compassionate, caring catalyst to all that arrive at my door, for as long as we can stand it.
I now offer myself for continued service to humanity and to the world. I claim the full blessings of my maturity, the value of my experience to now share in faith and inspiration with those who seek my counsel. I am sister to the world.
VISION:
Right now, as I write this, I inwardly invite and acknowledge the light of one candle, to represent the illumination of peace and love that we can now choose to bring to the world with all actions and all relations.
For us all:
I envision a time of great healing; A time when value will be placed on people, no longer on things or the accumulation of symbols of wealth; A time when we create safe containers for ALL the blessed emotions inherent in being human, that are toxic only when they are repressed; A time of returning to the conscious respect and love for our beloved Mother Earth, all mothers, and the divine feminine force of God: Goddess. How could any of us have been sleeping when one mother’s child dies in her arms of hunger?
I see before us the ending of war on this planet, as each one of us comes into our inherent, balanced masculine/feminine energy. New ways of being in relationship as men and women, as lovers, as parents to all children, are emerging. I vow to assist in clearing ancient confusion and oppression as we bring forward this healing. I see the empowered masculine essence emerging in all my beloved brothers, and vow to honor and treasure their desire to protect, defend and preserve so that everyone may live in peace.
I see a time when all people are honored for the unique gifts they bring, at any age; a time when all children, everywhere, are, of course, safe, well-fed and happy. We are all those children, treasured by our Mother/Father God beyond our capacity to understand. Each of us came here for a purpose and the mission is about love. May we, today, find our voice and our stance to take to end all oppression of everyone, everywhere all the time.
For myself:
I love this belly, no matter its size, that carried my precious daughter, and was never flat again, as I was programmed to think that it should be. I honor this body as a temple and vow to treat it as a devoted, admiring caretaker. I am a mature woman of beauty, wisdom and grace. I know my value. I choose to heal the ways that I do not see the deeper beauty of my sisters, and myself as our precious containers age. I bring the awareness of the power of the feminine, the healing presence of nature, and the brilliant, compassionate hearts of all women into these times so that this precious planet, in her most desperate hour of need can be healed and restored.
This is my vision for our world and for myself. I hope it has inspired you. We are the ones we have been waiting for.
Jade Beaty
@ May 2002 All Rights Reserved
The Evolution of a Sexual Healer
I was born in Amarillo, Texas, on May 8, 1952.
Mother was drugged into the promised land of “painless childbirth,” as Daddy chain-smoked unfiltered Camels in the waiting room down the hall. I landed in this body a short seven years after leaving another one behind in a death camp, Ravensbrook, in January, 1945. A short seven years later, I find myself born a Texan. Oh, Goddess, why have thou dropped me in this desolate place?
I should have rested a bit. Yes, I am a reincarnationist – whatever that means. I know in my DNA that I’ve experienced the horrors of World War II and many other wars over eons of time. Perhaps it is just cellular memory, or perhaps it’s all happening in the big NOW and this present moment just happens to be where my attention is. Maybe anyone can tap into collective consciousness and have an inner awareness of other times and places, as it was experienced by individuals within the collective. I’ve not made my peace with how I think all of this works.
I do believe that I made the quick turnaround back into time/space out of a desire to be here for the 60’s: a time like no other, as all times are, but what an amazing phase of social change, radical rebellion, passionate, justified outrage against war, and the tossing about of words like “love” and “peace” as solutions to our problems. And, like, wow, man, it coincided with that glimmer of time after the pill, and before AIDS, when sexual liberation seemed a possibility – even though we were confusing love with sex – or was that sex with love? What self-respecting radical soul would want to miss all that? Yes, I was a flower child, in a small town, with a bad reputation – me, not the town.
I am by birth, Janis Dalene Beaty. That’s Janis, spelled like Joplin spelled her name, which turned out to be a cool thing in the 60’s. When I was brought home from the hospital, my father, Donald D. Beaty, placed me in the arms of my maternal grandmother, Mamo. I was given my family name by her exclamation of, “Why this is just a little Don D.” That was before they broke the news that I was a girl. They were all disappointed – had not, in fact, even considered the possibility that I could be a girl. They were so certain I was the heir apparent.
Apparently not. Thus, I was, to everyone who knew me, Dondee. This was who I knew myself to be until third grade when we had an assignment to look at our birth certificates. I was appalled that I had a name I’d never heard of. I immediately insisted that my ‘real’ name be used and henceforth was known as Janis to all but my family, who refused to change. Various relatives have also called me Dondee Doodle, Tex, and I had a trampoline teacher who could not remember “Dondee” but could remember “Dandy.” I suspect he drank a lot. What I really wanted my name to be when I was 8 years old was Tammy. So for a long time, whenever anyone asked my name I’d reply, Janis Dalene Dondee Doodle Dandy Tex Tammy Beaty. No wonder I seemed to exhibit several personalities at times.
I did next best thing to being a boy. I was a tomboy. Mother’s will met mine over petticoats, patent leather shoes and puffy, lacy sleeves with elastic that left deep indentions in my arms. I usually won, but the battles gave us a foundation of struggle that lasted many years.
In spite of that, I have come to adore the fact that I am the daughter of Fannie Bernafae Dale Beaty, known to all as Cootie “A baby girl was born, sold 3 dozen eggs, 2 gallons of milk,” was written in Mamo’s calendar the day my mother, her last of six, spread over 21 years, was born. Mamo was a strong, stubborn, independent woman. I am a lot like her, and proud of that. It’s probably why I’ve survived.
Mamo. Fannie Beatrice Boudro Dale. “Bea” to her friends, lived on the flat plains of Oklahoma, divorced in the 1930’s and “ran a boarding house for railroad men.” I believe, now, that she was a horse whisperer and instilled in me my fascination for anything that wore or sat on a saddle. I slept with horseshoes under my pillow and stick horses lined up in bed with me, dreaming of sitting around a campfire with Roy and Dale. As I got older, I eliminated Dale from the fantasy. The day I got that first horse, I thought my life would be better forever. Mamo is with me now, anytime I’m around horses. Her spirit relates to them through me, and I am in deep peace.
My father’s mother is Mary Sally Bean Beaty, known as Ma, of Ma and Dado. She had this red hair (not quite THIS red hair, but close) and I was her only offspring in 2 generations to have it. She never learned to drive, had to be coaxed into her first pair of women’s ‘slacks’ in the 1970’s and wore nothing but shades of blue – usually navy blue. She loved me, the one that shares the red hair gene, fiercely, as only a grandmother who has had nothing but family in her life can love.
I am the mother of Crimson Dawnivee Holland, my love child, the light of my life, born on Valentine’s Day, 1970. She was also the cause of my first marriage and imposed abrupt maturity. It didn’t last – the marriage or the maturity. She is infinitely patient, sometimes proud, sometimes embarrassed of her wild, windblown momma.
I am Grandmother of Maya Angelynn Jimenez, age two, who felt close enough to her Granny Jade to honor me this spring with a fit of rage, such as has never been witnessed. Her mother is infinitely patient. I was horrified and amused at the same time. I was spanked until I got off the floor. Maya gets her anger validated, but also is learning what the Rolling Stones told us, “You can’t always get what you want…”
My teens were a miserable wasteland except for the bright spots of horses and books. My twenties were spent trying to do myself in. My thirties brought a state of grace that began with my understanding that my mother and her mother and all mothers were always doing the best that they possibly could, in any given moment, considering circumstances and their own conditioning. My forties have been about the illusion of loss, the grief that ensued, and the absolute knowing, by swimming in that grief, that we just change form, change roles and keep on longing for each other, for our Beloved. Nobody ever goes anywhere. We all contain each other within heart space.
In 1996, with a waking dream that began an awakening into the dream of self-realization, I was initiated and given the name, Jade. It was the beginning of my emergence as healer, counselor and compassionate, caring catalyst to all that arrive at my door, for as long as we can stand it.
I now offer myself for continued service to humanity and to the world. I claim the full blessings of my maturity, the value of my experience to now share in faith and inspiration with those who seek my counsel. I am sister to the world.
VISION:
Right now, as I write this, I inwardly invite and acknowledge the light of one candle, to represent the illumination of peace and love that we can now choose to bring to the world with all actions and all relations.
For us all:
I envision a time of great healing; A time when value will be placed on people, no longer on things or the accumulation of symbols of wealth; A time when we create safe containers for ALL the blessed emotions inherent in being human, that are toxic only when they are repressed; A time of returning to the conscious respect and love for our beloved Mother Earth, all mothers, and the divine feminine force of God: Goddess. How could any of us have been sleeping when one mother’s child dies in her arms of hunger?
I see before us the ending of war on this planet, as each one of us comes into our inherent, balanced masculine/feminine energy. New ways of being in relationship as men and women, as lovers, as parents to all children, are emerging. I vow to assist in clearing ancient confusion and oppression as we bring forward this healing. I see the empowered masculine essence emerging in all my beloved brothers, and vow to honor and treasure their desire to protect, defend and preserve so that everyone may live in peace.
I see a time when all people are honored for the unique gifts they bring, at any age; a time when all children, everywhere, are, of course, safe, well-fed and happy. We are all those children, treasured by our Mother/Father God beyond our capacity to understand. Each of us came here for a purpose and the mission is about love. May we, today, find our voice and our stance to take to end all oppression of everyone, everywhere all the time.
For myself:
I love this belly, no matter its size, that carried my precious daughter, and was never flat again, as I was programmed to think that it should be. I honor this body as a temple and vow to treat it as a devoted, admiring caretaker. I am a mature woman of beauty, wisdom and grace. I know my value. I choose to heal the ways that I do not see the deeper beauty of my sisters, and myself as our precious containers age. I bring the awareness of the power of the feminine, the healing presence of nature, and the brilliant, compassionate hearts of all women into these times so that this precious planet, in her most desperate hour of need can be healed and restored.
This is my vision for our world and for myself. I hope it has inspired you. We are the ones we have been waiting for.
Jade Beaty
@ May 2002 All Rights Reserved
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