Sovereignty

Like most people, I have often set a New Years resolution, only to break it within days. This year, I am going to start a new tradition: naming a "word for the year." And for 2018, that word is "sovereignty."

In different forums recently, visionary activist Caroline Casey and author Sharon Blackie (in If Women Rose Rooted) have highlighted the Arthurian story of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle. The moral of this story is that women want sovereignty more than anything else in the world, and I woke up today almost on fire with the desire for true sovereignty. We want sole power over our own bodies, life directions, and choices. We wish to "govern" ourselves, first and foremost.

In a recent blog ("Dark Nights"), I referred to the four huge centuries-old traditions that my life seems to have challenged, wondering what I had been thinking! I have been picturing them as four random, unconnected life "jobs." Yet seeing them from the lens of female sovereignty, they suddenly seem focused, understandable and almost manageable. They were all about sovereignty, in the end. I never wanted to lose sovereignty by marrying (at least the wrong person). I want to sing the music I love, and to live where I want to live. I want the power to conceive of the Divine exactly how I see it, not to "import" (to use computer terminology) another "program." And, yes, I want the power to be valued for who I am, and to value (find worth in) what is important to me, not what some external force has determined is "worth money."

Of course, just the way I have written the above signals that I am on a learning journey toward sovereignty over my life. Language is everything, isn't it? How would I phrase these concepts if I were sovereign, and truly felt like one? I'm sure no king or queen in history ever talked about "wanting to do" things. 

1) My sovereignty is not open to question. Any partnership(s) from this point forward will be within the context of both people understanding each other's inherent divine worth and self-empowerment.

2) Somewhere within me is the power to be where I love to be, singing the music I love to sing. If I haven't yet accessed that power, at least I know that it is absolutely part of my sovereignty.

3) My sovereignty allows me to embrace as much of the Divine identity as I can, and to respect each human's effort to do the same. It is safe and natural for all of us to continue to search for a more complete understanding and articulation of Love.

4) My sovereignty allows me to continue to insist that Love (at least no harm to others or the earth) be central to my "currency," and for me to be involved in transitioning to a future love-based economic system, if indeed money ends up being necessary at all.

In 2018, "sovereignty" is my word. And it's sovereignty over my life, not others' lives, of course...What is your word for next year? May 2018 surprise us, and be the best one in years!

Post-Christmas thoughts

A few post-Christmas thoughts.

I love the Christmas story. I really do. I love the carols, the music, the centuries of medieval and Renaissance art, the legends, the imagery. As a feminist, I have to cringe my way through some of the readings and try to re-frame it all, yet it's still there, part of my life, my spiritual DNA, the holy music that surges through my veins.

A few new and old considerations made their way through me the last few days. A new one: really imagining the dirt, pain, mess and grime surrounding an outdoor birth two thousand years ago. Mary's robes couldn't possibly have been jewel tone blue, or her demeanor "meek and mild," as she gave birth under the stars or the dusty roof of a shed or cave. Let's hope the holy couple found a few women willing to boil water and help as midwives. Let's hope someone gave them rags to use for swaddling and diapers. Let's hope that (as the current joke going around the internet puts it) someone brought the equivalent of a hot dish to feed the couple for a few days, and clean water to refresh the exhausted mother and bathe the baby.

The old consideration (and this has been on my mind for decades): is there a parallel universe somewhere, where prophets foretell the birth of a wise girl child? Where her birth and life are celebrated for thousands of years in song, art, myths, peals of bells, and religious liturgies? I look at so many of my wise female friends, and in my heart, the Christmas story extends to them, to me, to all women. Somewhere in the heavens, the angels were singing when we were born, too.

Clarity

Yesterday at noon, the sun was only about two inches above the horizon (well, you know what I mean) and everything was casting oversized shadows. Telephone pole shadows were about a block long, and even inch-high ragged icy footprints in the snow cast foot-long purple-blue memories. The pale white sun on these shortest days of the year creates a unique kind of clarity; a truth so stark that it chills you to the bone, even when the temperatures don't.

Yesterday's vote will cast a long shadow. We see the selfishness, the cruelty, the lack of conscience or process, and walk carefully forward through the snow, stunned but not surprised. Everything is clear in this sharp light.

Dark Nights

Many of you probably know the phenomenon from your own spiritual journeys -- no sooner do you take a step forward in understanding things, then you are thrown backwards with a "thump." Last Friday, I wrote metaphorically about life off the merry-go-round, and by the middle of the night, the reality of feeling bruised, listening to a virtual Greek chorus saying, "What happened to Liz? Is she dead yet?" and watching the proverbial vultures circle above me was almost too much to bear. It was the darkest night of a very dark season in an even darker year for this world. I couldn't see or feel the path forward, magic or otherwise.

What got me through the weekend? Number one, honesty. When people asked me, "How are you?" I didn't give the stock reply. I said, "I'm going through a dark night of the soul." With my peeps, this was all it took to start a meaningful discussion in person, on the phone, or in an email. I wrote truthfully in my journal, and am doing my best to do so now here. Telling the truth somewhere, validating where you are "at," is crucial.

Number two, standing up and getting out. In this case, to an oasis in the wilderness, an unexpectedly good concert of medieval English and European music, with people in their 60's through 80's singing, playing crumhorns and viols and generally being exceptional musicians. They aren't dead yet, and neither am I. This "MMus in historical musicology from the University of London" perked way up, validated in another way.

Lastly (and this is where being an Aquarian mystic comes in handy), the bigger picture. I've had kind of a joke with myself for a while, that back in 1955, the Divine One (God/Goddess/Universe/Source) sat me down and said, "Have we got a job for you!" I was to break ground in areas that were unthinkable in the 1950's, being a woman who would never marry, live with a man or have any significant other, never have children, or even become a nun. I would explore the post-monotheistic world, live much of the time in a post-capitalist dimension, and of course, be an American woman trying to sing English church music. There must have been a really exceptional ethereal gin-and-tonic involved, because I thought this would be jolly good fun, and signed on the dotted line. Fast forward about 63 years to the other night, exhausted, battered and down again to my last $10, and I just couldn't see what I was thinking when I said "yes" to this laundry list of impossibilities. And yet...the world has shifted in all these areas, not due just to me but to hundreds, maybe thousands of people doing the impossible jobs they signed up for. Somewhere deep in my being, I can feel a heavenly "retirement" party starting to get into gear, because, darn it, I did my job and did it well! 10% of the time it was glorious, and about 90% if the time it was entirely too hard, but I'm not dead yet!

The cool thing is that I think I can take the lead on my post-retirement contract, and negotiate some new goals. Will that guarantee no future dark nights? No. But if I can hold onto friends, music, and the notion that I have already successfully accomplished the primary "jobs" I signed up to do in this lifetime, then the dark nights should be manageable. I dearly hope yours are too. 

Winter magic

I told someone the other day -- and this is true -- that as a child, I didn't much like fairy tales, fantasy, anything about magic or make-believe. I was having enough trouble trying to figure out the realities around me. So stories about children going through the back of wardrobes and entering magical lands, or riding animals through the sky, or swinging on a swing high up above the trees into another dimension just didn't grab me then.

It's hitting me, at this most unreal time of an unreal year, that magic may be about the only thing left that I do believe in right now. I mean, I have been off the proverbial merry-go-round for decades. For the longest time, I kept thinking maybe one day I'd make my way back on, but it's pretty clear that if anything, the gap between me and it is only growing.

So "magic" may not only be a survival tool, it may be who I am on some level that I never understood; my extensive schooling and my desire to make logical sense of the chaotic world around me almost quashed the wonder-filled little girl, but not quite. In a month or so, I will "retire": from what? From walking around in circles trying to make my way backwards, not forwards. From ignoring my intuition. From trying to get back on the merry-go-round, rather than exploring a serendipity-filled path to the future. During this dark month or so, I'm starting anew, releasing myself into wonder: What if I could fly up to the stars? What if I could walk through a snowy woods and find a foreign land on the other side? What if reading one paragraph in one book could change my life? What if there are, indeed, millions of invisible potential realities to choose from at every fork in the road? What if, what if, what if? Wouldn't it be wonder-ful?!

Metaphors

It continues to be a bit challenging to stay on top of the potential metaphors to use when speaking of the intensive process I am going through. Yes, I've referred to everything from new stretches of river, to coming about in a sailboat, to pregnancy and rebirth (did I tell you that I recently had a dream in which I was literally pregnant, the first one I ever remember?) 

This morning, a new and very apt one literally greeted me as I turned on my computer. You know how it is some evenings when you go to turn your computer off, and it says it's installing updates, then it turns itself off, and when you turn it on the next morning, it is installing yet more updates? It tells you "this may take some time," or words to that effect. Well, that seems to be my metaphor du jour. In keeping with the Advent theme of waiting, I have a feeling that a rumble of updates is going on under my surface, under the level of my conscious awareness, and that my job right now is to wait for them to completely load, at which point the "computer" that is Liz will restart. I won't have a new computer, just one capable of more complex and up-to-date thinking and acting. I will be more aligned with my own future. This waiting isn't passive, although in an action-oriented culture we are so often encouraged to think that it is. I can only imagine that at a workplace, a ten or fifteen minute wait for updates may be utterly infuriating. For a mystic, a time of limbo is just fine and dandy. But I also can't completely fall asleep, because when "I" restart, there will be a new action calling me.

Baking required

I've done quite a lot of baking this fall. I don't quite know why, except that with things so chaotic in the world, and not having kids and grandkids, I've felt the need to do something that connects me with women past, present and future. Mixing, kneading, rolling pie crusts -- when you do it, you can almost feel your hands aligned with those of millions of other women over time.

There seem to be two things I am "known for." My pies, thanks to a very simple, straightforward crust recipe given to me years ago that always comes out flaky. I don't do anything fancy, just fill the bottom crust with thinly cut up apples, a little orange or lemon juice, a little flour and about 3/4 cups of sugar mixed with a small amount of cinnamon, and several pats of butter. Then I put on the top crust and crimp the edges, poke with some holes, and it's ready to bake. These pies aren't camera-worthy -- they generally look ragtag and patched up, like something from the 1700s. But they taste delicious. Then there are my chocolate chip cookies, from an old Joy of Cooking recipe which I often adapt with some oatmeal or other cereal, or raisins or butterscotch bits rather than chocolate chips. In both cases, I no longer need to look at the recipes, and can do them by heart ("One cup and two tablespoons flour...")

People tell me I should work in a bakery. Well, I literally couldn't stand the heat. And I'm a little embarrassed to say that in a "Downton Abbey" test, I would be the Dowager Countess of Grantham, not Mrs. Patmore. But life circumstances and the time of year come together in the fall and winter, and more so this year. Much more so this year. Baking required.

Mirrors

In my two-plus years writing a blog, I don't think I have ever had as much trouble writing the next one as now. Yes, I have to respond to the astonishing tax bill. It is utterly woeful in its priorities and in the process that brought it across the finish line. Yet I am so, so tired of draining all my life energy in inner and outer protest to the way life "is," the way other people "are" or have been. Protesting people operating in an old paradigm is less important to me now than trying to survive long enough to see the birth of a new paradigm.

As someone who doesn't even understand why we humans use money at all, I guess I am not qualified to respond to the tax bill as a financial document or future financial reality. I respond to it as a mirror. It is a brilliant mirror, really, of the priorities and beliefs of a small handful of people. Yet those people don't "look" like me, and don't look like the vast majority of Americans. Their lives and access to power aren't shared by most Americans, or people worldwide. They forget that their actions were meant to mirror the bigger community. They are only allowing us to see them clearly, and that is such a gift, providing us with a creative moment of our own. What do we want to look like when we look in the glass? What do we want our society to mirror back?

It's complicated. All of us have different ideals. This is what I would like to think would be reflected if I were involved in creating a community, or even an "economy" -- its currency would be love, and that would be the measure of people and groups of people. These questions would shape the image in the mirror: how much does my life exude love and beauty? Have I been willing to do the hard spiritual work to become more aligned with my divine source? Do I do what I love, where I love, and with people I love? Have I earnestly sought to identify my highest talents and gifts, and does my community encourage me to use them? Do I honor the inherent worth of all people? Are wise people valued in my community? Are women's perspectives and contributions valued as much as men's? Are Mother Earth's resources used sparingly, reverently, and wisely? Are beauty and all kinds of artistic and personal creativity valued? Is each individual supported with access to at least basic housing, food, and healing? Do "technologies" and "industries" consistently help people and the planet? Do leaders understand the temporary, shared, representative nature of their positions? Is joy encouraged by this community? Is fear seen as a warning sign that love is missing? As people and societies, do we simply bless and release those who we are potentially in conflict with, knowing that actual conflict is pointless? (It's just an energy mismatch, after all.)

I bless these lawmakers, and I release my focus on the image in their mirror. It doesn't seem to me to reflect love and beauty. And I guess, for today, it's as simple as that. 

Weird

I had essentially written the below before learning the shameful news from late last night. Thoughts on that will no doubt be part of a blog next week.

I just discovered the most wonderful phrase: to "dree our weird." I guess it is Scottish, and basically means to align with our fate or our destiny, although some of the listings I saw were a little more along the lines of "put up with your lot." I prefer the former, of course. I never knew that "weird" could be a noun, but it is. 

Thinking back, when did I part with my weird? It was pretty deliberate and pretty well timed, if astrologers are right that most of us experience our first Saturn return at around age 27. That's when I said, only men and boys' choirs sing the music I love, mostly in England, so I'm going to deep six both of them immediately and completely. To use the sailboat analogy that I have used before, it's like I pushed the tiller sharply away from me, came about on a dime, and headed in the opposite direction. I wasn't a bad skipper. I paid close attention to new stretches of water and the landscapes on shore, and at least early on, easily survived being becalmed as well as being buffeted by gales. I enjoyed friendly fish and birds, and I stayed afloat, learning numerous new skills and meeting new people. I covered a heck of a lot of territory. But "anything but the thing(s) you love" is not a destination. It's not a strategy. For a while it may protect the heart, but eventually it breaks your heart. And while it may play a role in a really interesting "weird," it is not itself the destiny. One day a few years ago, probably around the time of my second Saturn return, I finally caught a glimpse of my guiding star, and came sharply about again. Trying to follow it and get back to an older woman's version of the original path has been outrageously challenging as my readers know. My boat is battered, holding the tiller straight in strong winds has taken all my strength, sea monsters and mirages have beset me, and mists have periodically clouded my star. Despite it all, I'm getting there. I'm weirder (and closer to my weird) than I've ever been, and I'm really proud of that.

I've been revisiting Sharon Blackie's If Women Rose Rooted, and she notes that "...this long, arduous Journey requires endurance, stamina and focus...The path will vanish behind you: there's no way back now." (page 154) That is so, so true. To use my sailboat metaphor, I couldn't at this point go back and retrace the steps of my long detour even if I wanted to, although like many old salts, do I have tales to tell! But this skipper is only sailing in one direction now -- forward, aligned with my weird.