Mind-boggling Freedom

A friend shared this amazing quote with me today.

When I became convinced that the Universe is natural--that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood, the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell, the dungeon was flooded with light, and all the bolts, and bars, and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf, or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world--not even in infinite space. I was free--free to think, to express my thoughts--free to live to my own ideal--free to live for myself and those I loved--free to use all my faculties, all my senses--free to spread imagination's wings--free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope--free to judge and determine for myself--free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds, all the "inspired" books that savages have produced, and all the barbarous legends of the past--free from popes and priests--free from all the "called" and "set apart"--free from sanctified mistakes and holy lies--free from the fear of eternal pain--free from the winged monsters of the night--free from devils, ghosts, and gods. For the first time I was free. There were no prohibited places in all the realms of thought--no air, no space, where fancy could not spread her painted wings--no chains for my limbs--no lashes for my back--no fires for my flesh--no master's frown or threat--no following another's steps- -no need to bow, or cringe, or crawl, or utter lying words. I was free. I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously, faced all worlds.

-- Robert G. Ingersoll (1833-1899)

A Dusty Letter

 

This afternoon while Denny and I were rearranging our bedroom a bit, I found a dusty letter on a shelf. I recognized my own handwriting. Well, it’s always interesting to come across notes of a writer tucked away here and there, even if the writer is myself. I’m a curious sort. I dusted it off and read it aloud to Denny. It was addressed to my heavenly father, Yahweh. (And like a good girl I’d written the date on it.)

  

3/16/11

Father, 

Years ago you asked me to lay aside my hurt and pain and forgive my husband. You asked me to lay aside my rights (or what I thought were my rights) and to let you love Bobby through me. I did my best and saw my marriage restored. 

Little did I know you would ask this of me every day thenceforth!

I find myself today with a  hard, guarded heart and a mediocre marriage. I’m not miserable (most of the time), but I’m also far from happy. I know I’m not being the wife I should be (Proverbs 31:12 is the most convicting verse in scripture!) and that I won’t know happiness until I’m fulfilling my proper role. 

It’s so easy to forget that I was created for Bobby… and not the other way around. I focus so much on how neglected I am… how awful it is to have an unappreciative mate who may love, but seems incapable of showing it. Then comes the nauseating realization that he wakes up each day to a controlling, prickly sort of woman who doesn’t show him respect.

It’s tempting to attempt a change in my attitude with a sigh, “Guess I have to go first again,” in hopes of drawing from him the love and affection I need.

A change in my attitude IS needed, but not for that reason—I will always fall short if that is my goal. No, I need to change because I am not walking in my father’s will. 

Father, I feel like there is a huge wall around me, built to keep me safe, but it’s dark and lonely inside. 

There are things Bobby has said and done that hurt me, but I feel that bringing anything up to him will only hurt him, make him feel inadequate, and that a new method is required. I don’t feel up to it, Yahweh. I think I should just let it all go… forgive him silently and respect him unconditionally. 

I have carried a rather low opinion of him for some time, keeping him at arm’s length because he’s not who I think he should be and it’s not right. It’s not even practical. Who can grow into a man under such conditions? And besides, who could live up to my unreasonable standards anyway? 

Help me, Father.

Denny was floored. I sought the comfort of his embrace and had myself a good cry. Just prior to this we had been discussing the book I'm working on, which covers my teen years, my rocky marriage, my religiosity. Timely.

Man... It’s so good to be free.

Bobby and I had been together for just over twelve years when I wrote that. Justin would have been only about six weeks old.

I see so much here that overwhelms me. Naturally there are the memories. There’s not a part of this that I don’t remember and feel keenly, especially when contrasted with my present freedom, joy and wonderfully fulfilling partnership. There’s part of me that continues to occasionally grieve for that young lady, as well as to rejoice. It’s a mix of things. And tiny part of me is angry. Flat-out angry. Mostly with religion, with the Biblical doctrine that says women are created for men and must respect them whether or not they deserve it. Angry with the doctrine that can foster and feed such self-loathing and guilt as is displayed here, and keep someone spending their last ounces of energy trying to bail out a sinking, hole-riddled life boat.

In the midst of the bad, I see good things here. Though the trait of selflessness was out of balance in my life, I still am rather glad I developed that way of thinking for it’s helped me to be a better mother than I would have been. And wife; it wasn’t appreciated then, but it is now. (I still have to be careful now to take care of myself, to not give so much of myself that I wither. Balance in all things.) My tenacity is also appreciated by Denny, my determination and thoughtfulness, my desperation to sort things out and have healthy relationships. I have carried these things into my new marriage and friendships; they are valued highly and reciprocated.

Yes, these are good traits, but abused by some, especially the religious. It’s sobering. 

I feel like I’ve come so far, so fast. If you’ve read Free to Be you’ve gained some idea of how quickly my paradigms shifted and how my happiness grew just in the first year. I’m coming up on the 2nd anniversary of laying the Bible down and I don’t regret a single step of the way. Much of it just sort of happened, but I made some important decisions in there, too. I am so very, very happy.

I’ve said it before and will say it again: if there is a god, he’s treated me far better since I rejected him than he ever did when I served him.

Free to Be--Free Download!

Oh yes, here we go again!  Spread the word.  =)

Click here to download from Amazon
Click here to purchase an autographed copy

This is not a book about how to get out of religion or how to prove there is no God or how to become a humanist.  This book is a collection of one woman’s thoughts over the course of one year as her life changed and her freedom evolved, as she worked her way out of religious bondage, as she decided there probably is no God and considered why mankind wants one (or two or three), as she explored her freedoms, her past, her future, her culture and her universe.  Her religion permeated every aspect of her life and therefore the removal of it also deeply affected every aspect.

From her small home in rural Missouri Kaleesha invites you into the innermost areas of her life with warm, personal style.  Bits of wit, sadness, beauty and sarcasm abound as she examines the nuances of creating a new life for herself free from the expectations of God.  Surrounded by children, goats, chickens, friends and family she sorts through her relationships and perceptions of herself, her fellow creatures and the cosmos.  This book is an engaging exploration of life, teeming with thoughtful and honest questions about what it means to be human.  

What people are saying

5.0 out of 5 stars A painfully honest personal journey that tells a wider story June 24, 2014

By T J Brown
Format:Kindle Edition

Kaleesha Williams’s self-portrait of a wife, mother and questioning individual is as personal as it is more widely illustrative. It could so easily have been one person’s view of the death of a marriage, a blame-riddled take on events from a single perspective, but Williams manages to use her own experiences as a lens, her thought processes laid bare in often painful detail. Covering a year, the story is seen through journal entries, a period in which the author fights a war on two fronts, struggling to hold together a large young family while she come to terms with an unfolding rejection of religious dogma, an orthodoxy that had done much to drive this fiercely intelligent woman into the shallows.

Thoughtful, analytical and endlessly questioning, Williams is determined to take nothing for granted. There is nothing here that has not been rigorously tested and appraised before it can be trusted or embraced, whether it is from her traditional religious upbringing or from the newer reasoning platform that emerges as the story unfolds. If only more of us did that.

This analysis is very well handled, never drifting into hyperbole, waffle and obsession – quite an art in itself. Williams never portrays herself as a tragic heroine, commendably, and there is no spin in her favour. She is as touchingly forgiving to her protagonists as she is suspicious of the natural temptation to sail under new flags.

I think she could write first-class fiction given that her emotional scenarios are portrayed with such a lean and flowing clarity. Her descriptions of the day-to-day minutiae on the farm are also both charming and informative.

Being such a personal journey you are left hoping for the best for the author, not to mention all the other personalities involved. Good things come from the worst of times – hopefully in this case it will be more writing from a highly accomplished scribe.

5.0 out of 5 stars What a gift... March 14, 2014

By Lisa

Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

Honest and real and unapologetic. Something we can all learn from even if the details are different. The quest to finding our true selves is universal and I have enjoyed following kaleesha's path as I gain awareness into my own.

5.0 out of 5 stars Such a strong woman! May 17, 2014

By Tasha

Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

As the description says, this is not a book about whether or not God exists. It is a year out of the author's life while she comes into her own. It is inspiring, touching, amusing, and thought provoking. Kaleesha Williams is an amazing woman, and I'm glad she chose to share her story with us.

5.0 out of 5 stars Honest soul-searching May 16, 2014

By loadergoddess

Format:Kindle Edition

An honest, open account of one woman's spiritual quest. She has had the courage to ask herself the tough questions and seek her own truths and invites the reader to do the same, if they dare. One of my favorite quotes from the book (and I have many) is, "Unanswered questions are opportunities to learn and grow." If you have unanswered questions, and are willing to look for your own truths, this is a great book to help you explore them.

5.0 out of 5 stars Wonderful writing about a moving, engaging, and interesting story. July 29, 2014

By Joshua Stuempges

Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

Wonderful writing about a moving, engaging, and interesting story. I don't have time to write a lengthy review, but I do want to express that it was a great read, one I found terribly interesting, and that I have a lot of respect for the author by the time I got to the end of it. Check out her blog for more of the same, it's like having extra chapters of the book in a sense :)

5.0 out of 5 stars So real May 7, 2014

By Jennifer McJunkin

Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

Reading this book is like reaching into your innermost being, when we dare challenge ourselves to answer the questions in our own lives. I love how she shares her true self even when it is painful to realize hurtful realities. Incredibly thoughtful and introspective, as well as inspiring. May we all find the courage to live life happily and to its fullest.

5.0 out of 5 stars It is a gripping and heartwarming story of an intelligent woman extracting herself from the quagmire of religious dogma ..., August 8, 2014

By 

Ullrich Fischer (Canada)

This book gives me hope for America and Humanity. It is a gripping and heartwarming story of an intelligent woman extracting herself from the quagmire of religious dogma in which she was raised. It is also the story of the redemption of a life which was seriously off the rails. From a miserable life with a miss-matched mate to true love. I highly recommend this book to anyone who has ever had to put up with "God works in mysterious ways" as a non-answer to any of the many obvious questions which examining a religion based life bring up. Kudos to the author. This is the kind of book where you really connect with the story and can't wait to find out what comes next.

Beautiful Mess

beautiful, messy human being
life’s not what it seems
you climbed down from the trees
you grew, developed conscience

but there is no rhyme or reason
you are made of star stuff
the product of a hundred billion chances
beautiful, messy human being

the pressure you feel is imaginary
you can be what you want to be
the only one holding you back is you
the only one pushing you forward is you

in the theater of the universe
in the play of organic life
in the act that is humanity
you will sparkle only for a moment

let it go
live it
let it go
enjoy it
you’ve got this
you beautiful, messy woman

Five Star Thumbs Up -- The Quest For Reviews

(Read through to the end for a special deal just for reviewers!)

When I first began considering publishing a book, I did not anticipate the work I would put into the post-publication side of things.  If I'd read much about independent publishing, I'd have known, but it wouldn't have stopped me.  I was sort of in a blind rush to just do it, get it out there, and would later wake up and proclaim, "Holy pasta,  what have I done?!  What do you mean I now have to sell myself like a painted tart?"

I have since learned that reviews are the key.  Reviews are the lifeblood for an indie-published book. Reviews are what we are after, the fuel that keeps our fires going.  For those of us going the Amazon route, we check our reports daily:  how many sales, borrows and reviews have I received since I checked 23 minutes ago?

We will do anything to garner honest reviews.  I have given

My good friend, T.J. Brown, author of the
delightful novel, The Unhappy Medium,
receives his copy of Free to Be in the post

away 2300+ copies of my book.  I will give away thousands more to stir up reviews and sales.  Slow going, though.  Free to Be is hovering at 15 reviews.  Most shoppers look at book reviews and write off the first 10-15 assuming they are from family and friends and are therefore biased.  In my case, few of my family and friends have read my book, let alone left reviews.  Lessee... yes, four acquaintances reviewed it.  I love them for it.  (Okay, I love them anyway.)  The other eleven reviews were written by complete strangers.  (I've had only one out-right bad review, and I've been through rigorous training to teach me to pull something positive from it.)

Reviews are quite humbling, good or bad.  I deeply appreciate the fact that anyone takes the time to read my book to begin with, and but it's even more significant when they go the next step and tell the world what they thought of it.  This is what your review does, you see.  It tells the world whether or not it's worth their time.  It's the whole word-of-mouth thing, internet style.  Grass-roots.  A variety of reviews offer an overview of what folks can expect when they pick it up.  The more reviews, the more variety, the better.  (Even the bad ones!)  You know this, right?  You've learned to read and weigh reviews when shopping for a new product.  Well, what a privilege to be able to add your voice!

Now that I know the significance, I leave reviews for just about everything I read.  Well, if it has a over 200 reviews I don't always bother, unless I have something very particular to say about it.  In my free time I go back and review books I've read in the past.  It can be quite fun, actually.  The more I write, the more I appreciate the things I read and the more detailed reviews I'm able to write.  Not surprisingly, some of the most rewarding feedback has been from other authors.  Unexpectedly, I've connected with a lot of amazing people, even becoming good friends with some of them (and better friends with others--note the adorable goofball above).  I must say, that's been the best part of the whole thing.

So... Have you read Free to Be? Would you consider taking a moment to write a review and rate it?  You may do so here at Amazon.  For those of you on Goodreads, you can also leave a review here.

I'm going to throw in a little something to sweeten the deal.  Many readers have expressed a desire for more from me; more writing in general and more about what my life was like as a christian and how I got out.  I'm currently working on an autobiographical fiction with just such details.  If you leave me a review on Amazon, pop back here and let me know in the comments or email me, message me on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads, or send a signing telegram or pigeon.  Then, if you would like, I'll email you a PDF of the first draft of the first chapter of my next book.  If you have already left a review and would like the PDF, just let me know and I'll get it right to you.

Perfect Motherhood, Perfect Body

I remember sitting one time, about three years ago, in a homeschool group meeting. A mom had brought some clothes to give away and the other ladies were sorting through the bag, discussing sizes, making jokes about how they'd never fit into a size 12 again and so forth. For no particular reason, one of the older moms began talking about her oldest daughter, whom most of us had never met.

"She has the perfect figure," she said. "Big on top, tiny in the middle, big on the bottom." She made an hourglass shape in the air with her hands. My blood boiled a little. Perfect, she says. Big tits, tiny waist, curvaceous ass. By whose standards?  Are we buying into what the media tells us is perfect? Are these our own ideas and preferences?  I looked down at my body.  Know what I saw?  I saw an infant, only a couple months old, cradled in my arms.  He was discreetly latched onto my "imperfect," small right breast, greedily sucking and gulping down life-sustaining fluid produced by my "imperfect" body.  I thought of my soft and baggy midsection striped with stretch marks.   I thought about the fact that seven of the most amazing people I know have lived there.  My body has grown, brought forth and nourished seven other lives!   My body is fucking amazing.  I smiled to myself.  My nursing infant had not one complaint about my body.

Neither has Denny.  He thinks I'm beautiful.  He touches me like he thinks I'm beautiful.  He has occasionally expressed awe at my body and touched it reverently, knowing it has produced life.  I think this is as it should be.  Early on he told me he thought that me being a mother was sexy.

Interesting perceptions we humans have.

Semi-Charmed Slice of Life

August 1st.  Only one light, short-lived rain in the last few weeks.  It hasn’t been hot; actually it’s been deliciously cool

and I think we only turned the air conditioning on once in July.  Hot enough to enjoy swimming during the day, if we make it to the river down the road or fill up the big stock tank for the kids (our creek has dried to a trickle), but cool enough at night to want a jacket if you’re going to be out.  But the dryness is beginning to show.  I walked up to the hill to the shut-ins this afternoon and the grass and wildflowers crunched under my feet.  Crispy, brown.  The sun beat down on me, on the ground, on everything, crossing that fine line between deliciously warm and frighteningly intense.  Yep, August ground.  Can’t complain, that line is usually crossed in June.

I have a troublesome young goat who has been jumping out of the goat yard.  She’s not the sweet kid she was and not the sweet momma and milk provider she will one day be.  Rebellious teenage goat.  I’ve tried the tricks I’ve learned over my seven years of goat-ownership, but she still gets out.  We’re trying to sell her, but no one is interested at the moment.  It’s not just that she’s troublesome; I realized I just don’t need a third goat to milk.  We get just the right amount for our family and a  bit besides to sell; perfect.  She’ll make someone a great milker next year, but in the meantime I have to tie her out in the yard.  The corkscrew tether that I use won’t go in the ground; ground’s too hard, too dry.  I tie her to trees and she gets herself completely tangled, with only inches of slack, within two hours.  She knocks over her water bucket so we have to refill it when we untangle her.  I like my goats, but this is too much.  There are other things I’d rather be doing with my time.  (I only advertise the “good milk goat” part.  You understand.)

The few vegetables I have growing in my garden this year, the beans and cucumbers, the tomatoes, peppers and tomatoes, are all heavily mulched so, combined with decent rainfall through spring and early summer, they haven’t needed me to water them up until now.  Today I soaked everything well.  It’s pleasant to be out in the late morning sunshine, before the heat sets in, playing in the water, relaxing while performing the very simple job of tending plants.  Water, pull a few weeds, cut off the “suckers” on the tomatoes (prune), look for hornworms to feed to the chickens.

This morning was even better because my oldest child, Farra, joined me.  She generally doesn’t like to be out in the heat because she’s allergic to it (took us two years to figure out why she was breaking out in hives), so the fact that she was following me around in the dreaded sunshine, just to visit with me, was sweet indeed.  We had a wonderful chat.  Unlike my rebellious teenage goat, Farra is a pleasure.  So far our relationship flies in the face of the many people who looked at my sweet wee ones and said, “Just wait until they’re teenagers,” taking some obscene delight in the idea that all the fun I seemed to be having parenting would turn to misery as my children balked and fought their way to adulthood and freedom.  Not counting chicks here, just sayin’ so far, so good.

We talked about the fun company we’d had over the evening before and about writing.  At nearly fifteen, Farra is coming into her own; her own interests, her own hobbies, her own desires, her own ideas.  I’m interested, but do not pry.  I’m pleased when she shares with me and try to respect her privacy.  She spent the month of July involved with an online writer’s group, encouraging and being encouraged by other young people writing stories, poems and screenplays.  She noticed that only three or four of the dozen people in her group actively engaged, that the encouragement was limited and there was little constructive criticism. I couldn’t help but smile as she told me how she is observing and learning to communicate and connect with people, to encourage and help people.  Thinking carefully about the stories that she read, she was able to offer insight, explain what she thought the author and story’s strong points were, offer the smallest bits of advice, and encourage the author to take it to the next level.  It sounds like she was very kind and sincere, thoughtful.

This girl is bloody amazing.  I am beyond privileged to be a part of her life.

I spent a couple hours this afternoon chatting online with a dear friend while sitting out on the porch with humming birds humming angrily above my head, fighting each other for a turn at the nearby feeder.  My friend and I told stories, practiced our wit, and encouraged and inspired each other as writers and human beings.  It floors me that it’s possible to connect so completely, though oceans may separate us.  What a marvel.  What a joy.

Probably because I watered the garden this morning, late this afternoon the sky darkened with clouds.  Thunder rumbled to the northwest.  Murphy, our old Pyrenees dog, trembled and wagged his tail pathetically, begging to be let onto the deck and away from danger.  Determined sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated portions of the yard as the first raindrops began to fall.  I didn’t spot a rainbow, but it was worth looking.  I stood on the deck and watched the rain fall heavier, pounding on the metal roof above my head, the wetness darkening the green of the yard and garden and forest.  There’s little more I love than a gentle summer storm after weeks of dryness.  

The children helped me open the windows of the house, closed all day to keep the previous night’s coolness in.  We listened to the rain as we rolled out pizza dough and cut up the basketful of heirloom tomatoes we’d brought in from the garden.  We took our time making our Friday night pizza.  When you’re handling garden fresh produce, surrounded by your children, enjoying the sound and smell of a summer rain, you take your time.  This is one of those moments.  Justin helped Atira peel and crush the garlic, mixing it with a little olive oil and spreading it on the crust.  Royal and Little helped me spread out the sliced tomatoes and sprinkle them with chopped basil and oregano, salt, pepper and cheese.  Into the oven for fourteen minutes then topped with a little parmesan; hands down the absolute best pizza ever.  

The fresh tomato bit is seasonal, the pizza is on Fridays, but the semi-charmed life is pretty much an every day occurrence.  If you ever, for any odd reason, find yourself in or near Fredericktown, Missouri we’d love to share a slice of life with you, whoever you are.