Year's End

The very end of the year can be hard for me, even more than the "holiday season". I think it is because, like most people, I look back to assess what these twelve months were all about, and most years it's hard to see any major changes in how the world is operating. If anything, the wall of conflict seems to be more impenetrable than ever. I no longer even understand the fighting impulse. Trying to function as a post-duality person in a duality-driven world doesn't, ahem, get any easier...

Last week, I heard a chipper young woman recommending ways to fight climate change in the New Year. Sort of resolution-style. I cringed. Oh dear, dear people, everything we fight gets bigger! I truly don't believe there is an exception to that. To "address" climate change, homelessness, addiction, illness, mental illness, poverty, prejudice...we can only work on ourselves. We have to look beyond generations of conflict and create unified, harmonic constructs within our own lives and let the ripples move out from there. If conflict ever worked, historically, it will do so less and less going forward. Fighting gives the impression of acting powerfully, but all it does is extend the fighting. It's a closed, hopeless circle. 

I'm actually glad that the fighting construct falls down when it comes to the weather. I mean, nothing Buffalo's citizens could have done would have stopped the blizzard last week, or led to "victory over" the storm. Nothing our government, industries, or people can do will completely "stop" hurricanes, tornados, and the extreme weather phenomena that we will all experience in the near future. The three days before Christmas were actually terrifying here in Duluth -- the temperatures were below zero, and the winds were wailing from the northwest, making for wind chill temps of -40 F and worse. For the most part, we didn't receive new snow, but the old snow was blowing around and one was constantly conscious that any moment, we could experience a power outage. Freezing to death is always an under-the-surface fear in the winter here. Thankfully, our power held, but it is only through positive action (power companies and local officials trying to work proactively) that we are spared the worst. It's not like some kind of huge screen can be built to prevent the wind from hitting us! 

I mentioned a few blogs ago that my 2023 resolution is to speak ever-more-honestly and powerfully here in this blog. To do a better job of speaking for the Goddess, I guess you could say. I have, on the best of days, only a handful of readers, and a case could be made for stopping this endeavor entirely. As I have said before, it's a consideration almost every day. But this is all I have to offer right now, my golden thread gift to the world, and I just have to hope that even if no one is reading, the energetic vibrations are birthing a little tiny bit of new life. 

 

The Gaping Hole

I guess it stands to reason that, having made the decision not to listen to Lessons and Carols from Kings on Saturday, that some more pieces would fall into place (or out of it, depending on your perspective!) 

First of all, that Christmas Eve hour-and-a-half was truly a gaping hole. I think -- although I am not sure about this -- that this was the first Christmas where I actively boycotted the service, and it was a hard, empty period of time. Over the years, I have listened to the broadcast from the darnedest places, or around the edges of driving around doing last minute shopping, or helping friends prepare Christmas meals, or -- as I've recounted here -- sitting in my car watching Lake Superior steam up and freeze over, sobbing with homesickness for England. I think a few years ago, I almost boycotted it on the issue of the all-male choir, but at the last minute chickened out and listened. If nothing else has "been" Christmas for me, this service stood firm.

But because this year, I was reacting to the Adam and Eve story (not the superficiality of who was singing the carols), it brought me to the core theological issues that have dogged me since childhood. At the age of eight, in the choir loft at St. George's, Schenectady, I wondered why God hadn't chosen to have a special daughter, or a son and a daughter. As hard as I have tried to let my objections go, or just place the religion in historical perspective, feeling left out has never fully gone away. This year, I had to be honest with myself. The Christmas story -- true, largely told through familiar carols -- makes me angry. I always try hard to walk through anger as quickly as possible, but this is big and has been simmering my whole life. I'm angry at all the references to the little boy savior, the new-born king, the son who will reign for ever and ever. Where is the daughter? 

I'm sure there aren't too many men who spend time literally identifying themselves as the messiah, but the fact is, they could if they wanted to. Or they can place themselves in the shoes of the kings, or the shepherds, or Joseph. But for women, there is a gaping hole in the story. Who can we identify with? Mary? I don't know any woman who quite "gets" the notion of the virgin birth, but whether we are single and have no children, or married with five children, it's hard to relate to her situation or condition. It is literally too unreal. It was wise men, not women, who were sent to visit the child. There may have been women among the shepherds, although it's not specified. Angels are sometimes seen as female (as a two-year old, I played an angel in a pageant) but there, again, I can't place myself in their proverbial shoes. It's the core, holy story of the religion of my upbringing, one that is supposed to bring joy, and yet there's no part for me to play. There is no place for me. From Christmas to Easter, someone who looks like me will never be the star of the show.

The only thing that I can do today is find a way to tell a story where I exist. Maybe, at least for starters, I can imagine that over Schenectady, a star was shining bright. Maybe I can imagine that heavenly beings were gathering to celebrate my birth -- and that they do that for every girl baby born on this planet!! Maybe as prosaic as the real story is, of my dad bar-hopping for hours in the middle of a winter's night, and my mom enduring a long labor in a sterile 1950's-era hospital, there were angelic beings on the scene. If you had listened carefully, some heavenly music might have been audible. 

This Christmas weekend -- amidst the impossibly strong winds and low wind chill temperatures -- was a seismic shift for me. Through decades of being single and childless, having little spending money for presents, never having a permanent home, and becoming increasingly "post-Christian", I could still at least enjoy Christmas carols. I knew all of their verses by heart, and sang with gusto. At other times of the year in the future, I suspect I'll still be able to attend choral evensong services, although it will be interesting to see how I react when I have that opportunity. But not Christmas or Easter. No matter how beautiful and glorious the music is, I think the door has closed on the major holy days. And that is a gaping hole.

Decembrrr...

Back in 2016, I wrote a post called "Brr..." with only two r's. This is definitely a three r "Decembrrr" day! The wind chills are going to be off the charts today and tomorrow, -40 or lower. This weather, for once, is affecting a large portion of the US, throwing people's holiday travel and shopping plans into turmoil, and making it literally unsafe to go out.

Yesterday, I did eventually venture out to the grocery store I'm within walking distance of, before the winds picked up. It was an adventure containing three minor miracles. I dropped one of my mittens in the store, and someone figured out it was mine and gave it back to me. Then, upon leaving the store, I realized that there was already a bus at the bus stop (with heavy bags, I need to take the bus back to my cross street). I was sure I had missed it and would have to wait 20 or 30 minutes. But, bless her heart, the driver saw me coming, recognized me (and the fact that I am a regular), and waited for me...and then, she told me rides were free because of the cold! Lastly, I walked safely down the hill, in the middle of the road. (Generally during and after storms, there is street plowing well before there is sidewalk shoveling.) I'm learning a new level of pedestrian intuition. It's reasonably safe to set foot on white (all snow). It's reasonably safe to walk on brown (where the plows have left a mixture of salt and dirt). What is unsafe, even with ice grippers on your boots, is grey or silver in color, ice covered by a fine layer of snow. 'Nuff said!

Two comments on the news coverage of this latest storm, close on the heels of another one a week ago that affected a large part of the country. First of all, at this moment in history, I would ditch that "once-in-a-generation" label! It may reassure people right this second, but we will be having more and more similar events, and it simply will become inaccurate, if it is not already.

Secondly, I still keep hearing those derogatory comments about Mother Nature, that she has it in for us, or that she is "disrupting" our holiday plans. Oh gosh, where does one start? Nature (no matter what gender you may ascribe to it, if any) is not singling out any one person, country, or area of any country. This isn't payback, or anger, or a force to be fought. Nature is simply doing what it needs to do to keep this planet reasonably livable. She has adapted and adapted and adapted, and is still doing so. There is another option for us humans at this frigid, dark time of year, and that is to stay home, stop fighting, and celebrate it with whoever is near. Take some baked goods to your neighbor, or hibernate. We can honor earth and her storms by simply being grateful for whatever warmth and safety we have. Take Mother Nature into consideration before making complex travel plans, not after the storms arrive. Nature is far more powerful than we are, and in many parts of the country, Decembrrr is easier to deal with when we adapt from the get-go, when we graciously acknowledge Nature's wisdom and sovereignty. 

It's Winter, Thankfully

...OK, I guess not officially until tomorrow. But here in Northern Minnesota, we've entered what will be a week or so of unusually bitter temperatures, at least for December. It's about 1 above zero, Fahrenheit, and won't get much warmer. Then we're in for several days of 0 degree highs, plus high winds and snow. I remember from the 1990s, how hard these multi-day stretches are. Putting aside whether you are outside or have the privilege of being indoors, your body almost goes into hibernation mode. The minute it goes above 0, you can tell, and it almost feels warm. I try not to go out for any period of time when the real temperature or windchill reach -20, but even in -30 windchills, I'll need to help shovel when we get snow Wednesday through Friday. I'll be thankful literally every minute that I am indoors!

There's another thing to be thankful for. I had a near-accident yesterday which ultimately amounted to "nothing". But you may have experienced this...a car comes wailing around a corner and almost hits you. You grab a railing just in time to prevent a fall or trip. Or these days, you are in a crowd of people and still somehow manage not to get sick from the pandemic, the flu or other ailments...and for 24 to 48 hours, you live in this strange netherworld, where part of you experienced the accident and part of you didn't. I feel such gratitude and thankfulness, and found (upon searching) that none of my sets of oracle cards have "thankfulness" or "gratitude" cards...the best I could come up with was "Protection" and "Beloved". After Christmas, I may have to search for a new deck. But I'm not wandering around in this weather. I think I have enough food for a week. 

Lastly, and this may not seem "a propos"...I am so thankful that I seem to have finally aligned with a unified, post-duality core self. It is making all the Christmas carol references to sin and salvation/being redeemed quite painful to listen to -- more so than I ever remember. I have to believe that such concepts don't exist in a Goddess-inspired paradigm. Over these next few days, I'll just have to focus on the musical melodies and harmonies (not the words!), the colors in the sky, the beauty of the fluffy new snow, and the relative silence once I turn the radio off. I'll focus on gratitude that I've made it this far. Thankfully.

The Long-forgotten Voice

This has been, even by Duluth standards, an exceptionally snowy and challenging winter week. Starting Wednesday, we've had almost nonstop snow. Actually, it started out that day -- near the lake -- as slushy rain, as temperatures remained around 32 degrees. But up the hill, even a quarter of a mile, what fell was almost all snow, and in the end the two-day snowfall was among the top ten on record -- nearly two feet. It has been impossible, heavy, cement-like snow. Radio and TV weather people were advising us older folks not to even attempt to shovel, but I had to do a little bit. Events were canceled, and for several days there was little traffic on the streets. Yesterday, walking to the supermarket, I did something I've hoped never to do, which is use a cane with an ice gripper. It helped, but I hate the visuals of it! Not that anyone noticed -- heck, everyone was struggling to walk over the huge, solid snowbanks at each corner. As we speak, it is still snowing lightly. Four or five more inches fell overnight. And as the next seven days are due to get colder and colder, we will certainly have a white Christmas.

What, exactly, does this have to do with today's title? Well, nothing, really! But this phrase came to me in my personal, hand-written journal, and I just had to use it. What I was referring to was the voice of the Goddess, the voice of the divine feminine, the voice of the land. That all along, for centuries -- underneath the roar of furnaces, the pounding of jackhammers, the loud scrape of plows and snowplows, the sometimes earsplitting noises of "manmade" progress -- there has been a quiet voice under the surface, trying to make itself heard. I've reached the point where, even when snow doesn't muffle other sounds, it is almost all that I hear. The Goddess saying, listen to me, hear what I have to say.

This may relate to another phenomenon, a metaphor that I've been thinking about. And that is the notion of a life being almost like a play on the stage. That we are all heroines/heroes of our own plays, and that over time certain people and situations walk out on stage with us, fellow "cast members" who are crucial to the drama, and yet who may eventually walk off, no longer necessary to the energy of the story. I feel like I am in Act Three, and that suddenly, I am alone on stage. Other people from earlier stages of my life have dropped away. I am listening to that long-forgotten voice, and am about to recite a soliloquy. And the finale of my play may be based on who hears the soliloquy, and how they respond. Will my final scene be solitary or in community? It remains to be seen. It seems to me that quite a few of my 65-plus friends are in a similar place, whether or not they see it that way. Many of us are out on a limb or in a place of reckoning because of deaths of parents, illnesses of self, spouses or other family, retirement, the pandemic, and other life role changes. The stage is ours, and it is a vulnerable place.

I'm grateful that I can hear the long-forgotten voice. In 2023, may I release my tendency to be too tactful or "diplomatic", while retaining beauty of expression. These seven years blogging have been practice; if I have held anything back, Goddess give me the courage to speak ever more powerfully, directly, and lovingly. 

Goddess Words 14: Passion

First of all, this appears to be my 700th post. Goodness. Over seven years, I have averaged around eight posts per month, although it is skewed somewhat because during the height of COVID I didn't write at all, not owning a computer at that time, and the library being closed. I am immensely proud of this achievement, and of the quality of most of my writing over time. I am thankful to those who either sporadically or regularly drop by and have a read. I rarely skim the surface of life, so I know my deep thoughts are not for everyone, and neither is my writing! Anyway, thanks to all of you who are literally part of my path.

It's time I return to my list of Goddess words. I hadn't forgotten about it, but somehow the dark of winter has brought on other topics. Over the last week, I have "blindly" picked my "Wild Woman" oracle card three or four times, despite much shuffling and cutting of the deck, so clearly that aspect of the Goddess is trying to get my attention! Interestingly enough, the word "wild" (or "wilderness" or "wildness") didn't show up on my original list. I'll probably include it later on, but today I think I'll look at passion, which is at the top of the list.

This is another one of those words that has a number of meanings, from strong emotions (both positive and negative), to sexual expression, to the last hours in the life of Jesus. As always, I won't try to cover all the bases. 

My oracle card depicted a wild woman with long shimmering hair, caught perhaps in mid-dance, wearing brilliant colors and possibly tattoos...it's hard to see for sure because she is in motion. Anyway, a wild woman or passionate woman is probably the polar opposite of the kind of woman I was brought up to be. Indeed, even today, people who know me would be hard-pressed to describe me in those terms, except that I have lived "unconventionally". Someone who loves the controlled sound and choreography of a choral evensong service and who has little interest in roaming in the out of doors might be seen as extremely civilized and unexpressive. And because sex hasn't played a very big role in my life, I'm hesitant to talk about passion in that context, although I know I am capable of it.

And, of course, in the construct all of us grew up in, women have been largely consigned to one or the other polar opposite: virginal, pure, and holy, or a s___. I cannot even write the word. To profess to having a passion for anything, as a woman, can still be quite suspect. Indeed, I think one of my biggest mistakes over the years was referring to my "passion for English church music". It suggests something uncontrolled, inappropriate, possibly even dirty, and I suspect it terrified the very people I was trying to connect with. Passion doesn't have a "stiff upper lip", let's put it that way.

And yet, looking at my Goddess list, a good fifth of the words on it have meanings that, like passion, can be seen as sexual, or at least down-to-earth in a way that might put off some people, and inappropriately titillate others. There is still so little room in our society for the earthy, the passionate, the overtly feminine. And yet so many basic creative acts are earthy: lovemaking, sculpture, oil painting, singing, planting seeds, baking, building stone walls, blowing glass. It has only been with the invention of the computer and everything that has come from that that we have "created" such non-physical, virtual lifeforms. Perhaps my lack of enthusiasm for the high-tech stems from my need for something physical to hold onto...

There is a wild, passionate woman within me, and perhaps in you, too. When passion is twinned with love, I suspect it can move easily through all obstacles. That is probably why we women have been discouraged at every turn from allowing our genuine passions to flow. When it is dammed up, however, we get sick or depressed...I'm going to try to find something uncharacteristically passionate to do today, as gratitude for this vibrant life energy that ties us to the stars! And I'll report on it in my next post.

 

A Blessed Mystery

As sort of a tie-in to my previous post, many people I know agonize over what greeting to use at this time of year. "Merry Christmas" may have been appropriate in a less diverse world. But I basically stopped saying it forty years ago, when I first moved to New York City's Upper West Side. "Happy" Passover or Solstice or Kwanzaa cannot really be said unless you know that someone celebrates the holiday. "Happy Holidays" and "Seasons Greetings", preferable in being more all-inclusive, are just so terribly bland. I mean, they sound, and are, superficial and greeting card-y. The fact is, December (at least in the northern hemisphere) is a "deep" month on so many levels. There is deep darkness, often deep snow. For many people it is a deeply depressing month, or one that triggers hard memories. People miss lost friends and loved ones, and pandemic uncertainty continues to drag us down. And if the calendar year hasn't lived up to expectations, December may be a month of reckoning. Perhaps part of the problem is that wishing people "merry" or "happy" in the depths of winter just may be too jarring or inappropriate, unless you have some sense of what someone is experiencing in their life.

The other day, an alternative possibility came to me, and I'll throw it out there. If December is nothing else, it is a time of mystery. It is a time of year that may encourage introspection even in people not usually prone to it. For someone like me, whose middle name should be "introspection", this time of year is like a deep velvet blue bowl; I want to sink into it, then look at the stars above, and just wonder; What is life all about? Who are we? Are we alone in the Universe? How did Life start? Where are we headed? Will "the light" eventually come back?

Even the bare bones outline of the Christmas story has meaning for me, if I get away from theology and focus on a solitary couple traveling under a starry sky, finding a warm barn, giving birth in the night, and sages traveling, themselves, under the stars, to visit the child. Angelic choirs, simple shepherds...Did these things really happen? It is a mystery, but a beautiful and blessed one. Other traditions' December celebrations weave in and out of mystery too...I was thinking of possibilities like, "A Blessed Mystery to You",  or "May You have a Beautiful Season of Mystery". Most of the year, it is natural to try to find answers; maybe this is the one season when we can live more comfortably in the questions, waiting for answers to come in the new year. Maybe this is the time when it is OK to say, "I don't know the answers, it's all a mystery." A Blessed Mystery to you all.

Christmas Music

Christmas music becomes a stickier wicket with every passing year. When you have a master's degree in historical musicology (Early Christian Chant), and a passion for English church music, people assume that you must be a Christian, or at least that you have made your peace with the theology behind most of this music. But I haven't. Although the lyrics to most Christmas carols are a little more palatable in a cathedral setting (than, say, at the mall), the fact is, I now almost literally cringe at the mention of the "newborn king" and "the savior reigning" and so forth. I don't believe in saviors, and it's increasingly painful to move back into a male, patriarchal image of God. Years ago, I wrote an essay where I basically said, until people around the world can at least imagine ringing bells and singing carols to welcome the birth of a divine female figure, our world will remain hopelessly out of balance. The essay remains unpublished...

And this year, I may do something I never thought I would do -- skip the live service of "Lessons and Carols from King's". I love the sound of the men and boys' choir at King's Chapel, and since other prominent choir programs now include girls and women, I can live with this choir remaining all-male. In recent annual services, women have been more frequently chosen to read the lessons, and music by women composers has been featured. So, that isn't my problem. My problem is getting over the early hurdle of listening to a choirboy read the first lesson, about Adam and Eve in the Garden. I've always found this reading extremely troubling, rightly or wrongly interpreting that I, as a woman, am being blamed for humanity's downfall. That a male savior is only necessary because of how sinful I am. It's overly simplistic, but that's how it feels to hear that reading. And hearing it read by a young boy makes it even harder. For a few years, I've considered writing to the powers-that-be at King's, to beg them to find a new first lesson. Yet I know that in a sense, the arc of the lessons in the service does what it purports to do: to present, theologically, what led up to the birth of Jesus, and how Christians came to see him as the savior. I assume that this reading needs to be there for the whole wider story to make sense -- which is even more depressing. So, this year, I think the radio will stay off on Christmas Eve morning. 

But I have kept it on a lot recently; it's the only time of the year when classical radio stations play a lot of choral music, and this year, I am hearing a lot of "traditional" carols sung in new musical settings. There was a version of "Once in Royal David's City", played by cellos in, I think, parallel open fourths. A very intriguing, unusual sound. There was also an amazing, almost surreal version of "The Huron Carol"...composers and arrangers are doing interesting things with atonality, harmonization, and instrument choices (and the texture, tempo and mood of these songs), catching you a little off-guard. It seems appropriate in this unsettled "post"-pandemic time...I know I am not the only woman way out in the post-Christian wilderness -- such reboots come closer to reflecting the place I'm at. 

A Cold Wind...

I have to assume that there isn't a good city for being homeless on the streets in the northern tier of U.S. states; surely, Duluth must be one of the hardest. It is frigid here most of the winter (and winter started earlier this year than, say, last year). Today's high will be about 10 above zero Fahrenheit, with a wind chill well below zero. The season can last fully six or seven months, with brutal winds, steep hills, a freezing lake, and a smaller infrastructure than bigger cities like Minneapolis, Chicago, Green Bay, etc. While I am essentially homeless (in the sense of never having had a permanent home, and not living in the country that feels like home), I currently have a roof over my head, for which I am profoundly thankful. Most days, however, I use the bus system, and it appears to me, from being on the buses and changing buses at the Transit Center, that this is going to be a particularly hard winter for many people here. The situation elicits a complicated set of feelings...It's hard for me to feel spontaneous love for strangers under the best of circumstances, and I don't seem to be able to go down the road of "feeling sorry for" people carrying all their belongings with them. Perhaps it is a casualty of my family background, or of it being too close to my own reality...yet I definitely don't blame them or feel repelled. I'm only inches away from where they are, even if for somewhat different superficial reasons. So the level on which I can deal with it at the moment is my old standby, my intellect. What all of us have in common is not having been able to function within America's "system". In that way, I feel in complete community with the homeless. Perhaps in time I will grow, spiritually, into a fuller, warmer, more engaged sense of connection. And, of course, ultimately "they" are not "them", they are me. They are all of us.

Actually, the most traumatizing part of a bus ride is looking out the window. It's looking at the ways in which, post-pandemic (if indeed we are "post"-pandemic), our city is trying to do what the U.S. always does, push forward, grow, profit, expand. There's a neighborhood in west Duluth that is rapidly moving from stalled and downmarket to trendy and gentrified. To whatever extent such tony shops and eateries used to feel comfortable for me (during my Time Inc. days, perhaps), they are mostly out of my price range now, and, certainly, out of many peoples' price range. Up near the mall, it's the construction of ever more big box stores and their neighboring coffee shops, auto dealerships, and franchises representing all sorts of national brands. (Many of them cannot be reached by bus, or, once dropped off, you have a long and potentially unsafe walk.) And taking the bus east from the transit hub takes you next to a hospital's huge new expansion -- two buildings that are, from what I can see, almost completely encased in glass. What is the wisdom of this design decision in a city with such blustery winds and frigid outside temperatures much of the year? It is imposing and beautiful in its own way, but for someone who has largely lived without health insurance or health care, it's like something from another planet. The extremes of what I see over the course of a half an hour can be almost unbearable. These economic steps forward leave me spiritually as cold as the wind.

I guess I just don't understand. Are those of us at the lower end of the spectrum expected to see these wonders and want to be part of it all? If that's the case, it has never worked for me. With every passing year, I feel less of a stake in our culture's values, and more alienated. I try to intuit where the Goddess is in this picture, and I see Her in the lake itself, in the eagles and hawks floating on the strong winds, in the beautiful people serving the poor, and in the touching gestures you happen to see and hear, like two homeless men greeting each other with a big bear hug, or hearing the tail end of a cell phone conversation where someone says, "I love you." Sometimes I envy my friends who own cars and are somewhat insulated from what's happening on the streets, but these unexpected, beautifully poignant moments help to tip the scale back to the center.