Sovereignty means to rule over a kingdom. Exclusively. And as I am my own ‘kingdom’ I claim sovereignty over me. And oh what a Pandora’s box of worms I release when I make that claim. The barrage of condemnation is inevitable.
For when I claim sovereignty, I choose me, over all else. Over family, over marriage, over medical authority, the church, the government, education hierarchy, and cultural standards. Over big marketers, twitter feeds, face book norms, fashion dictators, flat belly spruikers, and my mother.
To my own self be true. So, what does Deirdre’s Deirdre want?
This stand has caused me angst over the years. I have been called ‘selfish, arrogant, judgemental, annoying, frustrating, strong willed, mad and just plain wrong’. Simply because I stand my ground when it comes to making choices that deeply affect my life and those of my children when they were young.
I choose what works for me. From a deep internal place. From a private place where only I can hear the voice. It’s not from my will, it’s from my heart and belly. Literally. For making choices from there will affect the liberty of the whole. For we are all connected.
There really is no such thing as compromise. Really. For if we all choose from that deep place, then we’ll all choose as part of the Divine Plan, a universal order that appears chaotic, yet on closer look, is simple. Just listen to that internal voice, and follow it. Yes, the quiet one that whispers under the cacophony of messages scrambling our brains.
No one really has authority over you. And if you give it to them, you take away your freedom. Yes, you.
I have stood my ground against the norm for years. I don’t have a doctor, I believe butter kicks margarine’s butt any day, I didn’t vaccinate our children twenty years ago, in spite of being almost spat on by a female doctor, and I refused to let my son watch violence on TV. We didn’t go to Maccas, didn’t let my son play rugby at age eight, didn’t buy him a gun, and didn’t let my daughter wear next to nothing when she left the house as a teenager. I don’t party, and I don’t get drunk. I won’t to be told by some skin care company that I’m in need of help, nor some fat blaster that I am less as my belly has a wobble. And I don’t colour my hair.
And I won’t bow to common business practices of competition, he who has the most money wins, he who has the most letters after his name leads, and she who wears the most expensive suit rules.
Holding sovereignty is a practice of holding presence. Of being steadfastly and potently vulnerable, open to the truth, when the world screams ‘Defend’!
And be prepared to be alone. For turning your back on the matrix, can be a solitary call.
But there is a rumble. There is a growing tide. And I’m on the edge of joining the swelling ranks of fellow truth seekers whose sovereignty shines bright like beacons the night. I’m not the weirdo any more!
So turn off your phone. Put Facebook away. Stop being a sheep.
Dig your toes deep in the ground. Connect with your heart, feel with your belly and close your eyes now. Now take a big deep breath.
It’s your sovereignty. Go and claim it now.