It is going to be a very hot August weekend, with little to no wind. Nevertheless, I am going to follow through with a little ritual I have been promising myself ever since I decided to return to Lake Superior. Of course, as regular readers know who came with me as I metaphorically spent much of the winter on a sandy beach, it makes sense that I go to the lakeshore to do this.
Part one of the ritual will simply be to give thanks to the "stream of love" that I referred to the other day. God, Goddess, Source, Universe, Great Spirit -- I'll use whatever words come out of my mouth as I stare at that expanse of lake. I am still alive against a whole lot of odds, and I am thankful for that more, literally, than words can express.
Then I'll look up and down the shoreline to make sure there are no people around. At the next convenient moment that will not bring people running to save me, I will let out a wail. I'm not sure whether it will last thirty seconds or thirty minutes. But this wail will express every pain I've ever pushed down, every disrespect I have swallowed, every "no" I have accepted as fact. It will also express my solidarity with every person out there who hasn't yet reached their full potential. Such frustrations are not what a creative maker has in mind for any human being. I've been stiff upper lip for far too long. It's the new moon, so I'll howl. I'll wail, for me, for you, for all of us.
The last part of this ritual (and as you can see, I am using this word in the loosest possible sense) is still a little bit of a work in process. I know from reading and from life that 60-something is a moment when a lot of us start to accept outside limitations in a way we wouldn't have, say, in our thirties. Past decisions, illnesses, commitments start to close in more. So many people are so graceful and classy at accepting these limitations, and I'm sorry to say that I'm not quite there yet. Sure, there are a few things I may metaphorically throw into the lake. No, I'll never give birth to a child in this lifetime. I'm not sure I ever quite accepted that, so now's the time to do that. And no, I'll never have a "normal" first world life. I can tell that this just simply isn't going to happen. Then there's the whole England/church music thing, which I am sure many of my friends and readers would love for me to get to the other side of. Can I throw it in the lake and let it go? No. For me, this isn't an outside limitation, or even a dream. It is who I am, and it's been the catalyst for my whole journey. I fully accept that at this moment in history, any limitations about it are really within me. I am still sure that there is some way to spend even three to six months (if not longer) in a comfortable living situation with access to multiple choices for daily evensong. Now, I have certainly modified my goals over the last few years; I don't have the energy to sing daily cathedral services even in the few places that this might be an option; I am not going to be the first woman conductor at King's College Cambridge; and I am not going to receive much acclaim for my Herbert Howells research. Those sticks I can throw into the lake. But something about all this is still very much alive, and I'm not willing to take part, as I was in the past, in killing off something that is so core to who I am. I remain, as a friend of mine puts it, "curious" about what role it will play in a life increasingly focused on the Divine Feminine. It's certainly a mystery.
Early next week I'll let you know how this all went. If you hear some wailing on the wind early on Saturday or Sunday morning, though, it just may be me. Feel free to join in.
