No fear

The other day, I said something about how going on retreat has made me ever more sensitive to the fears being foisted on us. And I thought I would talk a little more about that.

Most people aren't going to follow my lead and try to live outside the world's fear-based paradigms. It is (as I have found out) nearly impossible to survive on the margins and seriously, I don't recommend it. But perhaps simply being conscious of whether something represents love or fear is a first step. If I cannot see "love" in a phenomenon, and I am conscious that I only wish to engage with loving people and situations, the hook of fear may be less likely to take hold. 

For the moment, I'm not talking about the biggest fearful things, such as that our leaders will send us down the rabbit hole, or that gunmen will open fire on us, or that climate change will make earth unlivable. I am thinking about the smaller but more widespread way that fear is used to promote the spending of money, and to influence our larger attitudes. There are so many examples, but what has been particularly striking to me this past week is the marketing of prescription drugs. Despite the fact that these ads routinely show smiling, happy people, the undercurrent is clearly fear, the fear that if you do not take this medication, you will get sicker or die. Of course, most of the advertising also (comically) trumpets the possibility that taking this particular pill could lead to death. Lawyers are fearful, so long, copious lists of caveats are intoned. We are trained to fear being seriously behind the technology curve, to fear attacks to our computers or our homes, to fear living without the right clothing or labels or investments. We are trained to fear high numbers. We are trained to fear low numbers. We are trained to fear everything from romaine lettuce to missing out on the best deals. Truly, I don't know that I have ever seen advertising based in a genuine love of people and their well-being.

"Once we buy 'x' we will be OK" is the larger belief being peddled here. But the right pill, or the right bite of food, the right politician, the right weapon, or the right lifestyle -- they are all outside us. The truth will never be popular with advertisers, right? The notion that peace and love and health and security can only come from within won't ever be popular with merchandisers. The notion that "life is eternal and ever-blossoming so there is nothing to fear" won't ever be popular with most powers-that-be.

I have largely transcended many of these smaller fears, and even the huge ones, because when you've survived as much day-to-day uncertainty as I have, you know that you'll survive not eating a particular hamburger or taking a particular pill. If there are still fears and frustrations within me, they have more to do with how on earth to be powerful on the margins, outside the mainstream. And that, too, can only come from within. I need to feel my power and own it enthusiastically. I need to remind myself that other peoples' fears do not have to be mine. I need to smile, even laugh, at the most ludicrous fear-mongering coming from outside me, and face it with a strong, easygoing shrug of the shoulders. Somewhere in her talks, Abraham-Hicks says this great thing about how being diagnosed with cancer should be approximately the equivalent of finding out you have a spot of mustard on your shirt. Having no fear, you would face virtually any challenge that way. Shrug, smile, wipe off the mustard, and move on. 

Remarkable

There is so much that is remarkable, worthy of attention, right now. Why my little life should matter in the midst of it all, I don't really know, but I think it does.

My Thanksgiving retreat was your basic "mystic-goes-on-retreat," plus some. It certainly pushed all my buttons to be entirely alone in a big old house eating a microwaved frozen turkey dinner when most of the country was feasting with friends and family. Of course, that's the point. Perhaps there were millions of other people on their own. (Our image of what that day should be may be outdated in so many ways, and totally irrelevant in others. How we have segued from connectedness and giving thanks to football and shopping boggles my mind.)

Putting aside all the ways in which my situation is unique, the fact is that more and more women are staying single, and more and more of us are not having children. Some people might say, well, if you don't have a family, or you are no longer connected with your family-of-origin, that's your own darned fault, but I think the whole notion of family is undergoing a serious shift, and some of us are simply on the cutting edge. I won't say it isn't terrifying. It is. Every single day. I'm proud of myself that I did not try to push the loneliness aside. I waded into the wave with both feet.

Fortunately I have the capacity to get above it all (most of the time) and celebrate some bigger meaning. For I was with family over the weekend, my personal sense of the divine. I think I finally reached that point of recognizing that the only "person" to whom I need look for support, for a reflection of who I am, and for validation of my worldview, is that loving divine energy that, at the moment at least, I can only see as feminine. I am at home in her and in myself, and in relationship with her, and with myself. When I take a deep breath and don't panic, that's essentially all I need.

The other remarkable realization that came from the weekend is an ever more immediate sensitivity to every factor in our world that tries to spread fear. Getting away for a few days, you "return" and sense fear everywhere, in almost every television advertisement, news item, institution, you name it. The dualities feel ever more painful, but also increasingly dispensable. Everyone else may want to "fight" fear-filled things, but I cannot fight and at the same time be in the flow of unity and love, so given the choice, you know what I'll pick! Some of us are fighters, and some of us aren't. In this remarkable time, we must, must, must be authentically who we are.

A Voice

I guess I have mentioned before that for a variety of reasons, my life right now really boils down to learning, from scratch, how to love and be loved. It truly is a case of starting from nursery school. And some of it involves "watching and learning."

For several years I have enjoyed the TV show, "The Voice." Early on in any given season, I enjoy the silly interplay between the coaches, the spontaneity of the blind auditions, and the element of surprise. As the season progresses and the contestants (and their performances) become more polished, it isn't as appealing to watch, for me, except for one variable: most (not all, but most) of them have what I suppose you could call a cheering squad, friends and/or family who cheer them on, and have believed in them their whole lives. I'm sure some of this is played up for the sake of the show, yet even in this exaggerated form, I watch this in wonder. Imagine having a cheering section all your life! Imagine people believing in you and wanting you to succeed to your highest level! Imagine speaking or singing and being met with spirited, consistent encouragement and love! As with several other recent posts, this isn't about self-pity, it truly is a matter of wonder. What would that be like, being loved and encouraged at every turn? I am trying to access the feeling sensation of this.

Last night after that program, I happened upon the PBS special where Julia Louis-Dreyfus was about to be presented with the Mark Twain Award for American Humor. Again, I found myself thinking, "Imagine that! An entire audience gathering to honor you." It just takes my breath away.

The odd thing is that I can imagine it, it's just that in reference to my life thus far with all its pushbacks, I have only experienced in conversations with a few women friends. But somewhere way down in me is a spiritual core that can "hear" the emcee saying: "We honor your survival of a most unusual childhood; your passion for English church music and desire to sing it; your passion for that country; your integrity to your values; your bravery in speaking out and willingness to experience chronic discomfort for the sake of paving new potentially rich life paths for women. Thank you for going out on so many limbs. We love you." At the moment, the only "people" I can see in the audience are the Goddess and a handful of my female friends. They are my cheering squad! And recently, I have been privileged to attend events in town where friends were singing, playing, or speaking, and I clapped and cheered as much as was seemly in these cold northern climes (!)

Women of all generations have had their voices silenced. One hundred years after achieving the right to vote, we still struggle to be heard or taken seriously. That's why I cheer especially loudly for the young women contestants on the show, for Louis-Dreyfus, and for all my friends when they speak or sing. I love their courage and I love them. I hope maybe in this regard I'm making progress.

For the next five days, I'll be on retreat and I do not plan to write. So expect me back next Monday or Tuesday. To my handful of readers, please know that, this Thanksgiving, I give thanks for you!

The Day the Truth Flowed

Yesterday turned out to be a remarkable day, one of those days which feels like it contains a lifetime of experience. I knew early that it would be special, because the sunrise that flowed across the sky at 7:30 AM was so sweet. Not "Hallelujah Chorus" beautiful, but subtly, with layers of pastel orange, pink, apricot, lavender, and blue. That's the type of day it would end up being.

I went to the public library. Goddess bless public libraries. I was looking for the kind fiction you might expect of me (set in England and/or about English history and/or on the theme of women's spirituality). The librarian kept making good suggestions long after I had chosen more books than I could possibly carry around town in my tote bag. As the day progressed, I met some new friends, and visited an old friend who is recovering from surgery. In the evening, I attended a heartwarming multicultural music/storytelling event. A woman of about my age sat nearby accompanied by a much younger woman in a wheelchair, perhaps her daughter. In a flash, I knew that their every life choice for decades had been defined by that wheelchair. What remarkable people. What a journey they have had.

Most of the day's travel had taken place on the city bus, with all the extra time it takes to walk to bus stops, make transfers, wait at the bus terminal. As I have mentioned before for the sake of readers overseas, American city buses (except, say, in Manhattan) tend to be used mostly by riders who aren't affluent. Some days, this Smithie finds it hard to embrace a sense of community with the other riders; old snobberies and impatience surface. But yesterday was one of those good days when my heart literally went out to all of us. In the end, we are all just people, trying to get from Point A to Point B without a car.

The day ended watching a TV news piece on the horrible conditions faced by the refugees from the Northern California fire. So much for my impression of ever-warm California -- the daytime highs at this refugee "camp" aren't much better than Duluth, maybe 40 degrees F. People in parkas mill around look shell-shocked. Speaking of cars, all they may have is a car and a wallet, having thrown themselves and family members or pets into a vehicle with minutes to spare, outracing the flames. No more belongings, no more homes, no more neighborhoods, no more places of employment, no more nothing. For very different reasons, I know this impasse, and my heart unfolded yet again to embrace their bafflement, their incredulity, their terror at the empty slate ahead. 

So November 15 was a tour through the truth of the human condition. We are all just trying to step forward, to get to tomorrow, to achieve safety and security (if such a thing is possible), to have a home and to achieve our dreams. We are all simply hoping that the stream of love will flow us where we need to go. I was thankful to have caught the wave and successfully navigated the stream, at least on this one day, the day the truth flowed.

Love, Again

Back sooner than usual. That's the thing about nearing 63 (augh!) is that you realize it's now or never. If it's on my mind, I'm signing in and writing. Whether I have two tomorrows or thirty-two tomorrows is anyone's guess, so there's no reason to put things off. Today, I'm going to completely finish the collage I have been working on, on the same principle. 

Monday's blog got me thinking. What kept me going all these years, long after I realized I didn't believe in any of our institutions and couldn't function within them? What kept me going once I realized I was "new paradigm/new paradigm" and was so hopelessly untethered to the old paradigm? What kept me going when I saw (or sensed) the deep fear basis of the construct around me and I knew I didn't want to be part of it? I mean, it sure as heck would have been a lot easier to throw myself into the frigid lake, or fall into addiction, or just compromise for the sake of having security. But I didn't. I remember back in the 90's, being in tears on the floor of my new but empty apartment just feet from Lake Superior, trying to imagine how I could keep going. And even then, I knew I wasn't doing it for me, I was doing it for the sake of women in the future who might try to self-actualize outside the mostly male construct, and try to create a new one. Yet I've always believed in a world that reflects both male and female powers (what Riane Eisler calls "partnership"). I don't want to turn everything on its head and erase men's input. It's just that it has been hard to even identify my own instincts, except as an 180 degree contrast to what is out there. 

Someone from my background may be the last person to be qualified to speak about what love is, but if I've learned nothing else in 62 years, it is what love "isn't." It isn't war, terrorism, hatred, wealth extremes, borders, limitations...you get the picture. As to what it "is," I think that's the thing. None of us, myself included, can even imagine the complete joy, acceptance, beauty, and unconditionality of divine love. We cannot imagine being loved to our core. We cannot imagine every being on the planet being loved to their core. It is so powerful, it is terrifying. So we keep falling back into the old fear paradigm. Yeah, I do too, every other second. In a sense, it is far easier than believing we may be truly worthy of love.

So, what is keeping me going now, heading into 63? Sure, partly the hope that my life experience will help someone else carve out the future. But partly, purely selfishly, the hope that I will finally find my tribe, my home, my love-based platform. It's the belief that I didn't get this far just to fizzle out. It's the belief that the only path forward, today, is doing something I love, and that little iota of love will spread out exponentially. It's the belief that what I love, matters. It's the tiny little baby step toward loving myself as I believe I am loved on the divine plane.

"It"

I don't know whether it's the All Saints/All Souls effect, the Lake Superior effect, the lake effect snow effect, or the tragedies unfolding across our country effect. But for a few days last week it was overwhelming to realize (again! Sorry, folks, more tsunamis!) that absolutely every major aspect of my life has been the utter opposite of what I would have wanted. I would have wanted a warm, loving, supportive family-of-origin, and that wasn't the reality. I would have wanted to sing English church music all my life, and that wasn't the reality. I would have wanted to live over there, and so far, that isn't the reality. I would have wanted marriage and children, and that wasn't the reality. I would have wanted work or a career that was fulfilling, suited to me, and earned me appropriate recognition and income, and that wasn't the reality. I would have wanted a solid, rooted, home, and that hasn't yet been the reality. 

This isn't a "pity party," although I've been on the verge of tears a lot. At 62, though, whatever "it" is in your life washes over you until you resolve it. In my case, "it" isn't each of these aspects of life individually, as hard as they have been. It's the whole package, the enormity of trying so very hard in so many areas only to "achieve" nothing that even begins to look or feel like success (or even stability) by anyone's standards. For someone who believes in the law of attraction, this path has been nearly devastating at times. Why can't I "attract" these things? I am trying like heck to figure out what the life lesson is in it all, because the life lesson may be the only achievement.

That's where a memory comes in. Back in the mid-90's, I met an extraordinary woman. To this day, she may be the wisest human being I've ever encountered. She was an Aquarian mystic, like me, and at that point had, herself, been wandering for at least twenty years. She was at that time about the age I am now, and at that point, I had been wandering only a few years; I remember thinking, "Lordy, if I am still in this position in twenty years, I won't be able to stand it." (How true!) But she made a comment that stuck with me. She made the point that the people who are "new paradigm" in their thinking but can tolerate operating day-to-day in an "old paradigm" manner are the people most likely to be comfortable, if not rich, at this transitional moment. (I think this is still true -- look at computer and IT millionaires.) She reckoned that those of us who are completely new paradigm have no choice but to literally forge a path in the wilderness. 

Remembering her observation helped me to calm down. In the end, every single one of the institutions I wanted to be part of are "old paradigm." Whatever tune my body and soul are singing, it isn't on the same radio station as the culture at large. I am ultimately "new paradigm" through and through, which is why I simply haven't attracted "old paradigm" experiences. The reason life has been, at times, hellish is that I have measured myself to standards that simply will never fit who I am. Spiritual paths aren't linear, but still, backward movement doesn't work. Holding yourself back from who you really are doesn't work.

I'm close to finishing the collage self-portrait that I started a few weeks ago. It is extremely powerful. In fact, I can only work on it in small snatches because the image is so intense. The woman looking out from the two-dimensional page is so real and so powerful, I myself can hardly bear to look at her, much less be her. Yet "being her" is literally my only option going forward. I don't know where my old friend is, whether on the human or on the divine plane, but I feel she is with me. She gets "it." She lived "it."

Yet Again

In England, much is being made of Remembrance Sunday (this year, the 100th anniversary of the end of World War One.) Both my grandfathers served in Europe, and while they survived, both were at the receiving end of poison gas. There are no words to express what a hellish conflict it was, a ghastly prelude to the "modern era," and if it was meant to be the "war to end all wars," it wasn't, as we all know now.

In America, remembrance days seem to be coming almost every week. It is hard to look back a century when senseless killings are happening all the time right around us, in real time. Yet again, yet again, yet again. People ask "why?" I think the answer must be relatively simple, that a greater number of people are attracted to extreme violence than not. The other day, I scrolled through some TV channels trying to make my way to the program I wanted to see on public television, and briefly caught sight of two explosions and one dead body. Virtually all of our popular movies and TV shows involve killing, at times spectacular ones, and that doesn't even count video games which (I understand but have never watched) are even more violent. The mere fact that I am willing to even turn on a television under these circumstances shows that I have grown at least a tiny bit tolerant or numb to it all. I must take responsibility for having myself chosen the experience of violence, even for a second or two here and there.

All of life is a mirror. Current events around us reflect the dominant energy our culture is putting out there. And it's a chain of why's that go back to this one: why is killing of other humans considered acceptable in any context? Any context? Why is it that we think violence is appealing and necessary in our entertainment, then are surprised to find it in real life? These are the questions that baffle me. The starting point is each individual heart, and the hard inner work involved in aligning to divine love. Wars, legislation, uprisings, and vitriol will never "end all war," or all violence. Indeed, it may never end. But those of us who are awake must scan our own lives yet again, and see whether we have chosen to "enjoy" any form of violence. It's hard to find non-violent books and entertainment, even among the classics. It's hard to sit quietly, knitting or listening to Mozart when we have all become addicted to frenzy, crisis and stress. I've reached the point, however, where I know that even the mildest of murder mysteries adds to the world's tolerance of violence. If I make the choice to read or watch such fare, I need to own the energetic consequences.

Election

For readers in the US, please vote before even thinking of reading this blog. This is an important election. I voted; it is still the best system we have for universal participation in our communities and countries.

Having said that, speaking as a post-duality mystic, the polarization/"us vs. them" nature of all of humankind's current systems is painful. Really. I could tell you what I envision in the not-too-distant future, but it is so out there that I don't think it is particularly helpful today. But clearly as notions of Side A vs. Side B start to break down, as things start being defined less in reference to contrast to the other, and more from within our own souls, our community participation will take on a whole new energy. To say I'm personally looking forward to that day is an understatement! Will I live to see it? As my mom used to say, "we shall see."

On this grey, rainy November day with snow threatening, what do I elect to do? I elect to experience beauty. Today, rather than Howells, I chose William Byrd. I elect to do more work on my collage. I elect to hold this rather battered country in the light. I elect to continue to go within for my answers, not to expect miracles from politicians or outside experts. I elect to let go of expectations. I elect to remember that the human story has a long way to go, and tomorrow is another day. 

Saints and Souls

Happy All Saints Day. Actually, I really don't distinguish between All Saints and All Souls, since in my view, the majority of people on this planet are souls doing their very best, which makes them "saints" or "angels" to me. The remaining people who don't seem to have any connection whatsoever to divine love, those who are monsters acting monstrously, aren't doing the best they can, and wouldn't know how to even if they tried. They are not held in my heart at this time of year, or ever. At this moment in my own healing process, I cannot forgive or love them; all I can do is acknowledge that they exist, and note with the deepest sadness their horrible tendency to turn on their fellow humans.

Yes, I am struggling with how to respond to everything that is happening. Moving beyond a duality model forces one to try to get beyond even notions of victimizer and victim; I celebrate the lives of the brave, beautiful people in Pittsburgh, and the countless others across the country and the world; that we are experiencing such a Niagara Falls of violence and terror is breaking my heart, and it isn't over. But I personally continue to search for a way of acting that is not a "reaction" to the choices made by monsters. There appears to be intense narcissism in their literally "calling the shots"; I don't want to be disempowered by constantly having to react to their lead. Yet to be completely non-referential to others' violent impulses is extremely difficult in a violent world. It's hard to carve out a new path in a duality construct without being seen to be doing nothing. 

My blog has so few readers right now, literally a handful, and it has been so tempting just to call it a day, and hang up my proverbial pen. I kept thinking it would take off, and so far it hasn't. However, this week I "acted as if." I have needed some kind of contact card to hand to people, and when I made my order, I identified myself as "Mystic." Whoa. That's the only title that begins to cover all the facets of who I am, and my constant quest to make sense of everything. As I said to a friend, at this point I'd rather be a bad mystic than to continue not identifying myself as such. I can hear the guffaws of family and some friends, the "ho, ho, she'll never make a living as that!" Well, I've never made a living from anything I've done, and besides, I am not a business. I am who I am, that's all. It was somewhat humorous to imagine an anonymous typesetter somewhere going, "Mystic, what the heck is that?" I had this vision of every woman in the country ordering so-called business cards identifying themselves as: Goddess, Seer, Prophetess, Loving Eternal Soul, Artist, Healer, Anchoress, Planter, Gaia, Truth-teller, Singer, Wisdom Personified, Peacemaker, Poet, Lover-of-all-that-is, Yoga Master, you name it! I had this image of women blanketing the world with new notions of "career" and really owning those deep sides of ourselves that we've been afraid people would laugh at. I had this image of taking the focus back off the monsters and onto what will keep us alive in the long term, love.

That's it for today. That's all I can do. Yours in sainthood and soulhood, Liz