There is a wonderful anthem by C. Hubert H. Parry called, "My Soul, there is a country." OK, for me it may not measure up to "I was glad" and a handful of other glorious Victorian and Edwardian anthems -- and its full lyrics aren't (ahem!) quite aligned with where I am at, beliefs-wise. But all week, these title words have been with me. Kind of, "Don't worry about how homeless and rootless you have always been and felt. Your soul has an inner home, and you are there."
I guess I should have understood sooner that, particularly as a mystic, the physical locus of "home" would always be secondary to inner rootedness. When my astrologer told me (at least fifteen years ago) that I was a 12th-house Aquarian mystic, it rang absolutely true, but I had no idea what to do about it. It's not like there is a guidebook out there, a "Becoming a Mystic for Dummies" kind of thing. And because I wasn't ever really a Christian in this lifetime, reading works by the mystics of the faith didn't appeal. My journey has been my guidebook: a rocky, at times terrifying, disengagement from "the way the world is", leading to increased focus on "the way I am" -- and, I hope, the way of the Goddess. This way of being may be shared by hundreds or many thousands of women around the world (and hopefully a few men!) but in our lifetimes, there may never be a literal "country" for us, or even a city. If we are unified, it is only by fragile threads both visible and invisible. We are brought closer together as we individually begin to operate from our passions for complete "nonviolence", Love, Beauty, Truth, and the essential oneness of all life -- and if we should meet serendipitously, so much the better! In other words, I believe I do have a tribe, even if I don't know them.
This is kind of silly and metaphorical, but I have decided to pretend that I am "packing" to move to this inner country. Over the next few weeks, I am going to buy a few decent items of clothing. (When you live in a city with 6 months of winter, you are always covered by a big parka, and the notion of being stylish falls completely by the wayside. My current wardrobe is a threadbare disaster. I'm not in a position to buy more than a few things, but I want to collect items I know I'll look good in.) Ditto, some nightwear, a toilet kit, and possibly a new, better working roller bag. I already know which four books I must take with me: Sharon Blackie's If Women Rose Rooted, Nor Hall's The Moon and The Virgin, The Great Shift (ed. Martine Vallee), and lastly the remarkable 1982 book by my fellow Smith College graduate, Elizabeth Dodson Gray, Patriarchy as a Conceptual Trap. By July 4 (Independence Day), I should be ready for whatever is coming next on this path, whether I stay "rooted" here in Duluth or move again, whether I move upwards or outwards, or both.
Lastly, an experience that still has me chuckling. Yesterday, my inner New Yorker was craving a bagel, so I bought a six-pack. When I got back, and was putting them in the freezer, I noticed the most bizarre thing! There is a bagel hanging on the apple tree outside the dining room window! Literally, hooked on a small branch. Well, turns out that squirrels in this neighborhood do this, bring food high to the treetops to save for later! I didn't completely believe it, but this morning, I watched, astounded, as a squirrel crossed the street with a big heel piece of bread in his mouth. He went to the base of a shrub, and climbed to the uppermost branch, and has wedged the bread there. Never, ever, in 67 years have I seen that, or known that it happens! It's amazing what you keep learning if you can somehow hang in there!
