A Stark Portal

On my dresser, I have an image of Stonehenge.  The focus of the picture is one of the archways...two vertical stones topped by a lintel. And this image has become my meditation focus in recent days. Well, to be truthful, I don't meditate for long, but I guess it is more accurate to say I check in with this portal every morning. I've used the word portal a number of times in this blog, and the one I am standing in right now seems particularly important, perhaps the crucial one in this lifetime. 

Behind me is the "landscape" of war, fear, conflict, division, competition, flashy superficiality, duality...you name it. Our world as it currently is. It is a landscape I've been spectacularly inept at navigating. This winter's twin quarantines of COVID and frigid cold became an almost literal portal; in the relative safety of the archway, I've deeply felt decades of trauma, confusion, disappointment, fear. When you have time to think, it is quite overwhelming how much violence we are all immersed in every moment of every day...and even putting actual violence aside, I've become more and more aware of how we older women are pushed away and left for dead, be it in society generally, in war zones or on television (I don't know what I hate worse, the bedridden older women with incontinence problems, or the weapon-wielding younger superwomen!) On the bus the other day, the lady across from me was clearly completely homeless. She tried to catch my eye, and I am ashamed to say I looked away, not because I wanted to pretend she wasn't there but because she was me, essentially, and it was terrifying. Similar things happen on the bus all the time, but I was particularly fragile that day and, thus, particularly closed-hearted. In my own way, I, too, am holding on for dear life and it was hard to look in the mirror. I hope to see her again someday soon, because I would like to apologize or at least exchange greetings with her. Acknowledge that of the Goddess within her.

Ahead of the portal where I am standing is the contrasting landscape I keep talking about and trying to define, a landscape I am ready to experience -- one that values the divine feminine and the earth, as well as love, beauty, harmony, and peace. One where each step comes easily, almost miraculously. One where love is the only "currency" and the only "current". One where, if you are capable of love, you are at home. At almost-68, the time has come. As I step beyond the portal into this beautiful new landscape, I really cannot import any of my past disappointments, or "Plan B" thinking, or referencing of male history or power, or waffling, or uncertainty. Both feet must come with me into the new (metaphorical) landscape, or movement forward simply won't happen. I must completely, completely trust the Goddess, my own process, and my own intuition. Not (necessarily) so that I won't become the lady on the bus, but so that I will finally become the fullest possible manifestation of all my divine gifts.

What a difference...

...a day makes. On Sunday, I eked out two short, cold walks around the block. Yesterday, about thirty degrees warmer, I could walk to the bus stop and wait comfortably, with no risk of frostbite. And, true to the notion of climate chaos, the next week or so will be unusually warm, not cold. This winter to date, Duluth has had about one third its average snowfall, and one fifth last year's total. It would seem that the last eight days was more of an exception to the new norm than a return to an old one.

As is often the case, I seem to have been slow to pick up on a new term: doomers. Ie: people who are extremely pessimistic in the face of climate change, artificial intelligence, the threat of war, etc. I'm a "boomer" of course, and I guess I would be a "boomer doomer" if the only reality I could see was our male-dominated, conflict-driven one. Yes, the only way such a construct can end is, ahem, "poorly", so pessimism about it is warranted. But I believe we are seeing the emergence of a more feminine, loving energy in our midst, and in that context I have hope. 

Perhaps it could be said there is extreme narcissism even in the belief that humanity has the power to completely destroy planet Earth. Yes, we may have it in us to destroy it as a place to live for many generations to come. But cause it no longer to exist? Somehow I doubt it. And we certainly cannot destroy the entire universe. If Nature's only creative power is Love, then I suspect there will be unexpected beauty, new growth and tenacity emerging from the ashes of whatever we thoughtlessly destroy. I don't think Nature "thinks" scientifically, as we do, so probably emerging life forms and processes will be invisible unless you look through the eyes of love and harmony. The old "eyes" will stop working, and most of the old non-love-based assumptions and institutions. The primary "work" of this time is in the heart, the brain, and the senses.

And along the way, errands like going to the post office and library...staying grounded.

And on a Saturday...

The cold was to have eased by now, but it hasn't. It was crazy windy in the night, and it isn't too bad at the moment, but it must be about -2 F. I hope to do some food shopping later with a car-owning friend, for the first time in eight days. Funny how, when my pantry is running low, I don't crave fresh vegetables, fruit and brown rice. I crave pizza and soda and chips and dip and cookies. I hope and trust that most of my readers are far more sensible!

A few weeks ago, the scariest part of having COVID wasn't "having COVID" -- it was getting laryngitis for the first time in my life. And the scariest part of that wasn't not being able to speak, it was not being able to sing. At all! I could whistle, oddly enough, but not sing. The singer at the heart of me was terrified that I might never be able to sing again, so I was relieved about a week ago to find that my singing voice was returning.

The other night, I went online to find videos of some of my favorite Renaissance polyphony. As some of you probably know, you can find choral pieces accompanied by scores to sing along with, which I haven't done in several years because it can make me homesick to attend or sing choral evensong. And it's like potato chips...you can't "eat" just one! Over the course of about an hour, I sang the alto part of Victoria's "O Magnum Mysterium", Byrd's "Great Service Magnificat", Tallis, Gibbons...even the Smith "Responses". Overall, it went pretty well, given that I so rarely sing at all. I struggled a bit with the Byrd, since I didn't know it as well and I was sight-reading, and I was weaker in the higher (soprano 2) registers, but my alto 2 was totally in place (!) I am not sure what this hour taught me, except that this kind of music remains my passion, despite having moved -- spiritually -- so decisively into a new Goddess realm. 

Here's a complete non sequitur...in the midst of all this, I am looking out with astonishment and horror at all the rising world tensions. And yet in the end, it doesn't surprise me. Paradigms based on conflict and competition don't really want true peace, or even the absence of war. They need conflict the way people like me need music and art and beauty. And, unfortunately, throughout world history, people like me have rarely had any power. As futile as it sometimes feels, I choose to focus on loving harmony in my thinking, writing, as well as in the obvious place, music. It will probably be the only light-filled path through what is trying to become a very dark passageway. 

The Cold Continues

I started this yesterday, but needed to leave it unfinished for a day. Today is equally cold, and will be through Friday. Warmer weather returns Saturday.

It originally looked like this cold "snap" would last only two or three days, but we are well into day four, and I think it will last at least another two. My line in the sand is -20 degrees F -- if the air temperature or wind chill is below that, since I don't have a car, I don't go further than about a block from where I live. And I'm still hearing the words "minus twenty-five" and "minus thirty" on the radio, so forget about it. If a friend offers me a ride somewhere, I'll take it, but I cannot risk a ten minute walk to the bus stop then waiting for a bus, unless I have no other choice.

For years, I have been one of the most fortunate essentially "homeless" people on the planet, and in this weather, I am in an almost constant state of gratitude. Most people without secure housing risk their lives almost every day, no matter how many shelters or warm places (libraries, buses, malls) there are, particularly in this climate. Yes, there are as many "reasons" for homelessness as there are people (in my case, it is philosophical), but in the end, I see it as an inevitable outcome of a conflict-driven, "kill or be killed" system. Since we've all been satisfied to live in such a construct, we have created homelessness, poverty and loss. We have made these conditions inevitable. I guess the only good thing about increased climate chaos is that more and more people will experience homelessness "through no fault of their own" (or at least that may be their perception), and perhaps they will then yearn to create a fairer and more loving overall system.

I know one thing about a more Goddess-inspired culture: it will never be necessary to "earn" a living, or a warm roof over one's head. It will never be necessary to prove one's worthiness to come in out of the cold.

Real Winter

Back in the early 1990's, when I first moved to Duluth, I thought a lot about my Canadian forbears at this time of year. Early on, I frostbit my feet by buying winter boots that were too tight (you need enough space around your foot for warmth to collect). And then, during a frigid spell when I couldn't get my car started, I had to wait for the bus, and my glasses didn't get steamed up -- about a half inch of ice coated the lenses, so I couldn't see through them, or around the edges. I arrived at my job in tears, asking everyone, why in the Sam Hill do you live here? (forgetting for a moment, perhaps, that I was living here too!) I used to think, Duluth is nearly 400 miles to the southeast of Winnipeg. My great-grandparents were among that city's earliest European settlers...how on earth did they survive winters that were cold beyond belief? My grandmother, their youngest daughter, was the province's first woman lawyer, and would briefly work in both London and Paris at the end of WWI  before settling with my American grandfather in New York City and its suburbs. My journey had gone backwards, from London and New York City out to Duluth. This unwinding wasn't intentional, but I've still often thought that some imprint had made its mark on me, suggesting paths forward, upward, or -- perhaps? -- homeward. I still don't feel completely at home here, but this weekend's frigid cold at least doesn't freak me out any more.

I'll let the scientists decide whether this "real" winter spell of wind chills between -20 and -40 degrees F is the result of climate chaos, or simply a return to the norm. Practically, what it means for me as a non-car owner is a few short forays to take out the trash, or errands within two blocks or so. It may mean keeping my glasses off when I am outside (in a glasses case), and covering my face almost completely. And, it means being very grateful to be old enough not to have to get to a job, or work outside -- I'm super appreciative of those who do. But a lot comes to a stop in this weather. Hibernation is the best idea of all. You start resonating with bears...

Finally I cried

The title of this post will make sense in a minute. Thanks for bearing with me...

So, I had a big moment about a month ago, in early December, which I am pretty sure got lost in the shuffle. I looked in the mirror one morning, and for perhaps the first time in my life, I fully accepted myself. I thought I was beautiful, and I loved myself. And somehow, in that moment, I also realized it was the first time in my life that I was looking at myself 100% through the eyes of the Goddess. There was a completely different energy to the experience. Feminist art historians talk about the "male gaze" in so much painting and sculpture; how much of that is present when all women look in the mirror? I think in the past, my mirror reflected dissatisfaction, judgment, ugliness, even complete invisibility. 

Interestingly enough, within the week, I was coming down with COVID. I don't know that I even looked in the mirror, knowing I felt miserable and probably looked the same way. I didn't have the energy for two weeks to do much more (as you know from what I wrote!) than listen to classical music radio and read (yes!) my regency romance novels by Mary Balogh, most of which I have read multiple times. 

Several times as I read, I broke down and cried. The most common thread involved orphan children. In the first passage, a woman said that all children need to know that someone in the world cares about them above all else. This triggered tears because I simply don't think it has happened to me in this lifetime, starting in my childhood. (And the truth is, I am not sure I have felt the same about anyone else...) The second plot involves a young woman who starts caring for an orphaned newborn baby...I cried because I love babies, but in this lifetime, I have only held small babies for a few minutes, perhaps half-a-dozen times. I cannot believe that it has taken me this long in either case -- a lifetime of suppressed sadness -- but finally I cried. I won't go so far as to say that upper respiratory illness is "just" that, but if I were a doctor, I would certainly add "going home and having a good cry" to the prescription!

There is more to say about all this, I know, but I guess I'll stop here for today. There is a connection between the three events -- opening up my heart to loving myself, getting royally sick, and crying decades of unshed tears. As rocky as this journey continues to be, I am so very thankful to the Goddess for excuses to delve deeper and feel more.

Newness

Looking out at the world the last few days, there didn't seem to be much that was "new" and good on the surface of world news. In fact, I would be hard pressed to remember (in my lifetime) a less encouraging beginning of the year. Added to that, as often happens when I reach a higher measure of inner peace or understanding, as I did to a small degree late last year, I've subsequently had some very wobbly days indeed. I've wanted to cry to release the last remnants of my congestion, but simply could not. So...I move ahead. Maybe I'll cry later today.

I thought I would start the year trying to do a better job of describing what I've been calling "post-duality". I know that religious people from various traditions have other -- surely better -- terminology for this state, and it dissatisfies me to use the word "duality" at all in the name. I mean, I am a product of duality as is everyone on earth, and it's true that I am evolving out of it. But in the spirit of newness and trying to take the focus off separation, I will start calling it "harmony thinking".

We are surrounded by opposites: light and dark, warm and cool, male and female, war and peace, "good" and "evil", hard and soft, etc. etc. etc. It's not like I look out and don't see these polarities (what Abraham-Hicks calls "contrast"). Many of them have helped create both our natural and manmade worlds, and probably will for generations to come. But what I have finally come to understand about myself is that I am constitutionally unable to see or act on these contrasts as the tipping point for violence or conflict -- even peaceful activism. When a "versus" enters the picture, I am incapable of taking one side and fighting the other. I am incapable of fighting for or against. (This may look from the outside like complete indifference, which couldn't be further from the truth.)

The two modern careers that might have been best suited to my intellect are the law and academia. And yet I couldn't take the "fighting" inherent in either of them, or in most of our other constructs. Of course, this is my bad luck. When you aren't even capable of fighting for your own survival, you end up at the bottom of the barrel, by our current standards.

Still, I look out at a world gone mad, and know that the impulse to fight has led us to the brink of disaster. My models are always the worlds of music and the visual arts: in a choir, the altos and basses don't fight each other to the death. They practice until they can create beauty and harmony out of their disparate sounds. In painting, colors opposite each other on the color wheel are considered "complementary", not "the enemy". A painter works to bring visual opposites into beautiful balance and harmony. Although I'm still not sure if Goddess thinking and harmony thinking completely overlap, it is hard for me to imagine the Goddess/Mother Nature being able to tolerate many more years of human conflict. She must be yearning for us to evolve beyond where we are now.

Perhaps it is my own wishful thinking, my belief that we are entering a "newness" phase of history that is more harmonic and love-filled. And I guess I can live with that, if it keeps me from feeling hopeless as I head toward my 70's!