Too much to take in

There are times when there is simply too much to take in -- occurring on the world stage, the local stage, and within. What I have to do when this happens is, literally, retreat. I hate to think of it like that, but a physical retreat may be necessary, to a place or situation where I can be quiet, be myself, and continue to breathe.

A week ago, I inadvertently found myself at a concert where there was deafeningly loud rock music. It wasn't what I had expected, and I stayed as long as I could but I finally had to leave. I realize that in my whole life, I have almost never exposed my ears to such loud music, and it has taken this whole week to recover, physically and emotionally. It seemed to trigger some kind of trauma response which I don't quite understand. 

Another new thing is that I have been gifted with some regular pre-read copies of the New York Times. There was an era when I couldn't live without the Times...heck, it was part of my job at Time Inc. to read it every morning, cover-to-cover. But for a number of years I haven't had it in my life, and I'm finding it, too, quite overwhelming. National news, international news, business, and even the arts and entertainment; the majority of articles are about conflict. I can barely wait to find the crossword puzzle and cut it out, to do later on. 

And in the midst of all this, after a completely dry summer, northern Minnesota's September has been soaked with rain. While I welcome this opportunity to wash away some of the world's stresses, and I welcome the Goddess wisdom that it is bringing, it's a hard moment for wall-to-wall grey skies. 

I talk a lot about love, and am such a novice at it. But there is one thing I do know as we head into this rather pivotal weekend: I cannot yet love with any genuineness (or even try to love) all the millions of people who seem to approach life differently than I do, and I don't think I will ever be able to "love"/understand conflict, war and violence. I cannot even try to love (or forgive) what I do not love, or closely embrace everything that goes against my grain...in my late sixties, I simply do not have the energy. I do have the energy not to hate. I do have the energy to genuinely love a few things and people in my present. And I do have the energy to appreciate all the things and people I have loved in the past, and to keep that energy of love as close as possible. When the world offers too much to take in, I need to "take in" only love. 

(As a postscript to this, written ten minutes later: soon after finishing this post, I looked out the window to see a pileated woodpecker at work on the tree about five feet from the house. He/she made her signature call before flying off. May I just say, "I love" my recent bird sightings and connections?! Love, love, love. I take these experiences in, literally and gladly!)

Goddess Words 22: Optimism

It is interesting that back in the earlier 2000's, when I wrote my Goddess word list, I included "optimism". It is such a duality-based word, and it seems to verge on being dependent on "luck" or "fortune", events and conditions outside ourselves. Are we optimistic or pessimistic about the future? Do we think that events will turn out for the best or the worst? There is an implication of powerlessness to the word, so I actually don't use it or like it very much.

Yet, there it is, in my handwriting, and I felt drawn to it today. So I guess I need to see why.

I think it may be because, based on everything going on right now, I am ultimately not optimistic about our current paradigm's ultimate success. (Of course, "success" in itself is basically a duality concept!) Our world is so heavily weighted in the direction of conflict, competition and violence, and most of those in leadership positions don't seem to have the tools to transform away from that model. Each day, I am reminded anew about how traumatizing modern life feels to someone like me. There are millions of us out there, and that fact gives me a bit of hope, but we don't seem to have much influence in places of power. So, no, I don't feel very optimistic that humanity's current path is leading inexorably to a better world. 

What makes me optimistic? It won't come as much of a surprise if you have been reading this blog...the belief that a "return of the Goddess" is happening right now, and that these values of the divine feminine (which I am trying so imperfectly to discover and describe!) are absolutely necessary building blocks on the path to the future. Beauty makes me feel optimistic. Love makes me feel optimistic. Harmony and Unity make me feel optimistic. And it is wonderful to get to the point where I don't see these qualities as one side of a conflict divide. For me, they are all that is. At some point in the near or distant future, our world won't be in such pain, so that does make me optimistic!

The Merlin

Since I mentioned my close encounter with a merlin (bird) in my last post, I thought I would tell the whole story.

So, about a week ago, I was in the living room, standing in front of the large front window, but looking down at something. I heard a crash against the window, and felt that sick feeling of knowing a bird must have hit it. When I looked up, the most extraordinary sight met my eyes. There was a bird outside the window, flapping its wings like crazy, and seeming to stare at me. It wasn't a small bird like a wren or chickadee; it was fairly large (maybe 10-12 inches) and looked a little like a small hawk. But I was completely confounded. Had it hit the window and was stunned? I felt a little like a character in a movie, with my eyes agog and mouth gaping open. The bird appeared to be staring directly at me, almost like it was trying to communicate. After about 20 seconds, it flew off, but almost immediately came back and hovered for the same amount of time, staring into the house, then took off and didn't return. 

Once I could move again, I thought I should run outside and make sure the bird had been able to fly away, and hadn't dropped onto the sidewalk or street, but when I opened the front door, I realized that there was a dying robin on the porch! At that point, I burst into tears...I knew it was suffering, and I wasn't sure I had it in me to do what was necessary to put it out of that suffering. Long story short, thankfully, a friend was able to help the robin to a respectful end, and, still kind of stunned and tearful, I looked through my book of Minnesota birds and found my hovering bird -- a merlin! I have since heard from friends that they can be rather common here. The book said that they are less likely to swoop down and hover than other falcons, but I guess in this case, it definitely hovered (which in my ignorance, I thought only hummingbirds did!) 

Reasoning it out, I realize that the merlin must have been chasing the robin, and the robin hit the window, but the merlin stopped short and hovered. And it is likely that it was transfixed more by seeing itself in the window's reflection than by me (although there was enough late afternoon light in the room that I might also have been visible). But the feeling that I had this encounter for a reason -- that it was giving me a message -- continues to linger. Hawks and falcons have a number of spiritual meanings, including "messenger", and the merlin's intense black eyes may never leave me. It's also not lost on me that one of the key figures in the British Arthurian legend is the wise man, "Merlin"...hmm...

Doing our Best

This has been a strange few days, with a merlin at my window, a sick dog, a trip out of state (20 minutes by city bus to nearby Wisconsin), and, of course, attention to the news, especially as it relates to climate and earth changes.

It is probable that every person on this planet is doing his or her best with the qualities they were born with, and given the qualities of the culture into which they were born. For those who believe that the climate is undergoing rapid re-formation, it is natural to ask, "What can I do? What can we do? What should our institutions do?" The urge to "do something" is almost overwhelming.

And yet here is where I get stuck. It feels like, that's the problem. Over thousands of years, we have "done" too much, most of it without, in effect, asking Nature's permission. I spoke of this a bit a few weeks ago...I mean, when did we ever ask Nature whether it was wise to dig under earth's surface, or send chemicals into the air/water/our bodies, or build skyscrapers, or use finite resources to travel, heat and cool? It makes sense to communicate with/express concerns to various present-day institutions, and yet few of these institutions would even exist if humanity had considered our earth home worthy of tender care in the first place. Our approach to virtually every aspect of human society would have been completely different starting many generations ago.

I guess that is why my "best" right now looks, as usual, as if I am doing nothing (!) All I can "do" is welcome, as wholeheartedly as I can, the fact that the Goddess is doing whatever She needs to keep earth viable for life. This is Her time. About all I can do is quietly and rootedly open my arms in gratitude, and let Nature use Her advanced wisdom to set things on an eventual right path, no matter what that may mean to our short-term human plans. It may mean getting out of the way, or if I am in the way, to release control of outcome. This is a time when "doing my best"/"doing our best" will probably be more about not-doing than doing.

The Creatress and Her Blank Canvases

A little over two years ago, I wrote a post called "The Blank Canvas", and this isn't really a follow-up to that, but after nearly 800 posts, it can be challenging not to repeat my titles!

Anyway, the point being...on Monday, I wrote a post that I left in draft form because it wasn't ready, or I wasn't ready, or the timing was wrong, or whatever. And this morning, without even reading it again, I deleted it. I can't explain why this gave me such pleasure...I had worked hard on it, and there was, I am sure, much in it that was worthy or pertinent. But it was too wordy, and I knew I just had to let it go. I started this morning with, if you will, a blank canvas.

I think I told the story several years ago (although I cannot find it) of one of my painting classes at Parsons School of Design. We spent three hours working on a piece, and all of us assumed we were meant to take it home and finish it. However, when we got to the door at the end of class, the teacher told us to toss our work in the trash! It was extremely hard to do this! She told us it was a life lesson in not taking ourselves (or our work) too seriously/letting go and, as you can see, I have never forgotten it. When I was painting in oils, I sometimes reached a point in a painting where I knew it had gone off track, and wasn't what I had intended. So I would take the turpenoid or mineral spirits, soak a rag, and completely wipe the canvas clean of paint. Of course, once the canvas dried, there was usually a ghost image still remaining, and it often informed the new painting, kind of a spiritual underpinning. But I never tried to actually replicate the original. Somehow, between my brain and my heart and my brush, there must have been a dialogue about, what (from the old painting) do I want to recreate, and what isn't working. The new painting was nearly always better, but would an observer have "seen" the old one peeking through? Unlikely. Yet it was energetically present.

I guess I put that out there today, in the context of so many people losing homes and belongings, and the earth's maps literally being redrawn. Can we find a way to look at these times as "painting a new painting"? Can we find a way to welcome the blank canvas?

 

Opening More Boxes, Finding Self, Celebrating Her

This is one of those days when there are so many potential topics, I don't know where to start. So I'll start with me. 

This week, two more of my stored boxes reached me. I still think this is miraculous. Taken in the context of a world where increasing numbers of people's possessions are burning up in wildfires or floating away in floods, the fact that after all my many moves, I still have these items available to me seems just remarkable. I am grateful to  friends and total strangers (the delivery-people strong enough to carry them to the porch!) 

I've only opened one of the boxes, but it was extremely emotional to do so. I guess you could say that the contents are evidence of my serious lifelong effort to use all my skills productively: my master's thesis and accompanying course papers, notebooks full of slides of artwork and advertising for art workshops I led, course syllabi that I created when I taught at the Community College of Vermont, and even some stationery and draft letters from when I worked at Time Magazine Letters. 

The most poignant is my work for my master's. I don't believe anyone thought I would get through that year successfully, since "early Christian chant" was pretty far off the mark from my real passion, the English cathedral choir tradition. And because of my American liberal arts degree, by the standards of the day I was teetering close to the edge of unqualified. But I worked harder than I ever have in my life before or since, and passed. Could I speak for more than about two seconds today about Aquitanian neumes and "my" specific piece of 12th century chant? No. But that year at Royal Holloway/University of London used every ounce of my left-brain intelligence, my intuitive and design skills (creating a modern transcription of ancient notation), and my musical skills (singing daily morning choral services). I was in fertile soil that year, and blossomed, doing all this in addition to travel, many new friendships, and -- of course -- loving England. I was "fully me" in a way I truly have never been since.

But when I returned to the U.S., my parents distractedly asked me if I had had a "good time", and then essentially elbowed me out the door. I had big student loans which I had to start repaying within about two months, so all I could think of was to go to New York City and start job hunting. My packet of degree materials (including the 75-page thesis typed on a manual typewriter, a 25-page hand-written chant transcription, and a number of - yes! - hand-written papers for the related classes I took at Holloway and in London) was packed up in a box, and has only surfaced a handful of times since then. I, literally, put it away. I ended up in living situations and workplaces where this work was essentially irrelevant, and, having never been really asked about that year, I didn't tell the story. Several people have told me over the years that I have done "nothing worthwhile" with my life, and it hurt but I semi-believed them and swallowed it, even joking about my master's degree myself. In turn, having an intimidating-looking foreign degree on my resume worked against me in the U.S., especially as I began to struggle even to find restaurant and retail jobs. 

So I wept when I gathered these materials up in my arms. I begged the forgiveness of the Goddess for my having played a role in downplaying my own intelligence. Yes, I studied for the degree within the most patriarchal of constructs, and perhaps it all would have turned out differently if I hadn't already begun to un-tether myself from that world. But it's like, I had to see these papers again to remember how intelligent I am, which is a gift from the Goddess. It's a homecoming of its own, a return to my real self. Imagine the brilliant women of the past who were denied an education at all. Imagine those women, worldwide, today! It is such a ridiculous tragedy.

I haven't begun to make a dent in this topic. But all I can say is, if any of you have degree work or diplomas packed away where no one will see them (including you), bring them out into the light. As I am trying to do today, love that part of you that was "too smart". Celebrate Her.

My Mother's Sewing Box

As I mentioned a few posts ago, I am slowly having most of my remaining boxes of belongings sent to me from out east. I'm probably not in a permanent home, but at least it is permanent enough for me to finally deal with these things, many of which have been packed up for decades. People in the emergency room have to do "triage" -- and triage is the story of a life like mine! You are constantly going through boxes from a new perspective, and as you go up the spiral, you can "feel" what no longer resonates or remains useful. Symbolic things start to mean a lot -- it just is no longer acceptable for me to have half my boxes with me, and half halfway across the country. They may only add up to a small closet's worth, but they are all I own, and those I choose to keep need to be re-knitted into the fabric of my life.

Rediscovering my mother's sewing box was surprisingly poignant (and symbolic, given what I just said!!!) Here's a box that probably dates to the mid-50's, around the time I was born. It's about 10 in. x 12 in., and 6 in. high. The cover is a quilted flower fabric, and the top had been covered with clear plastic. But as I took it out of the box, this "ancient" plastic completely disintegrated in my hands! So the bottom fabric is dingy and tan, the hinged top clean and new looking. I am hard on plastic (at this moment, rightfully so, I think) but in this situation it had certainly served its protective purpose.

Opening the box up, it is just like I last used it, at least a dozen years ago, and for that matter, the last time my mom must have used it, maybe 25 years ago. There's a top "shelf" specifically for spools of thread, which has been broken ever since I can remember, so it doesn't hang properly from the side. No matter. Most of the spools are wooden, of the pre-70's era, and some I suspect made their way from my grandmother's early-20th century collection. Some of them are priced at 15 cents! Coats & Clark's, Belding Corticelli, Talon...names both familiar and not familiar.

Underneath, chaos. My grandmother's ancient pinking shears. Several measuring tapes. A small pink plastic box of size 17 "brass silk pins" at 39 cents. Two darning eggs. A small, early 20th century sewing scissor. A round box of extra buttons. A roll of tapes with my name on, which my mother sewed into my clothes for several years. Lots of little papers wound with extra wool, for mending sweaters and socks. A thimble. Some plaid fabric that my mother paid someone to make napkins from. And yes, several packets of sewing needles. Inside the top of the box is a pocket containing yet more wool for darning. I think almost every wool sweater came with these packets of extra wool, back in the day.

So, the amusing thing about this is that, with the exception of perhaps two or three occasions when mom sewed a button back on, I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of her using the contents of this box. She did not own a sewing machine. Her mother had been a seamstress, so she went out of her way not to be one. It is a box into which a lot has been tossed, but very little ever used. In fact, I suspect that in the early 2000's, after mom passed away, I used its enclosed needles and thread far more than she ever had. I'm not much of a seamstress either, but I've had to mend things to prolong their usefulness.

A friend somewhat cheekily asked me, if your mom didn't sew, why on earth did she own a sewing box? Well, it is what a newly-married woman in the early 1950's was expected to own. Perhaps it was a gift from her mother or one of her female friends. I'm proud of the many ways in which she quietly bucked the expectations of the era, but also extremely glad to have this connection to my female lineage back in my own hands, at least for now.

It's Surreal

We're heading into a very hot weekend in northern Minnesota, the hottest of the year. It's pretty rare, apparently, to experience the hottest stretch of summer in the month of September. But the again, a lot of rare things have started to happen, right? A lot of bizarre, even surreal things.

"Surreal". I mean, my whole life has been surreal. It used to be that I thought it stemmed from being an American girl (then woman) wanting to sing English church music. That's surreal enough in itself. Then, for decades, it seemed to be about looking out at an economic/political/social landscape that made no sense to me, and having to hang on for dear life to my physical health, sanity, and sense of humor. But in the last few years, I realize that the core issue has been that I was operating from a Goddess-centered "place" in a non-Goddess-centered world. You're moving ahead side-by-side with other people, but on a completely different track that has no institutions or solid road signs. Your life is parallel to everyone else's "real", but completely different.

Take this morning. The news items ranged from the beginnings of "the recovery" from  the fires on Maui and hurricane in Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas, projections about good employment numbers, people buying one-time-only outfits to wear to pop concerts, and -- of course -- politics. I listen to all this and just feel lightheaded. To me, there is only one "issue", one "item". It is the health of our earth home. And my perspective isn't, how do we address it by building more stress-proof houses, or creating a "green" economy, or studying species loss. It isn't about fighting what's happening. It is simply recognizing that for centuries, virtually all our major thought processes discounted the value of the earth itself, and now, inevitably, that boomerang is coming back to hit us. Even if all eight billion of us were to start to think and act differently tomorrow, I doubt that it would change the trajectory of the transformation that is at our doorstep. And that transformation will probably include spiritual growth elements that we have no control over anyway. 

Having somehow hung on to what's "real" to me (beauty, music, art, harmony, love, and the wisdom of the divine feminine), that's my only path forward. Believing, knowing, that the eventual outcome will be centered on those qualities -- whether or not I will be around to see how it all turns out -- keeps me calmer than I might be otherwise. In this blog, I've tried not to tell people what to do (!). So I won't start now...but to those of you who have walked some variation on this path, thank you for being out there too. Surviving this long has been a gift to the world. We've been a preview of the future. I "really" mean it!