The bread rises

Well, true to the new normal, things are bouncing from one extreme to another, weather-wise. Where a week ago this area was completely in drought, in the last few days we have been inundated with rain, which will turn to snow in a day or two, just in time for Thanksgiving. 

I feel almost soggy -- with new insights and (I hope) wisdom. It's like I have been a sponge in recent months, soaking in all the new observations and understandings of a new level of being human, and I have absorbed as much as I can and am now absolutely saturated. In addition to that, the sudden movement has been, at times, stressful and painful. I suspect this means that for the near future, it is more a time of healing and incorporating these new "aha"s, and less a time of forced outward or upward expansion. It is a plateau, a plateau where I have the privilege of a roof overhead and warm inside temperatures. There is a cozy kitchen where I can bake. (Hallelujah! It took half-a-page, but I have finally arrived at the right metaphor!)

I suspect that many, many people are undergoing a similar kind of inner spiritual rising. We're like loaves of bread in the greased bowl covered by a kitchen towel, sitting near the radiator. We cannot help but "prove" at this moment in history. We cannot help but slowly expand, and become bread for the world. We cannot help but quietly grow into people more beautiful, nurturing, love-filled, and joy-filled than ever before. While it does matter that there are people outside the bowl who represent (for us, anyway) something ugly and inedible, it's OK to keep that old towel on top and to continue to focus on our rising. And there is nothing sharp, or painful, or harmful about the bread we are becoming. It won't kill. It will create, and nurture lives. It will be warm, healthful, homey, and representative of women's values and traditions all through time. 

Bake some bread or pie or cookies or apple crumble for your Thanksgiving feast -- from scratch -- and see if it changes the people who eat it, just a bit! See if you can see the walls around their hearts starting to fall. See if they smile! Happy Thanksgiving!

One Small Step

There's a moment in a journey when you just have to accept that you are simply not being given the advantage of a clear vision of your longterm destination. I mean, this has happened a number of times over the years, and yet usually I still had the "trying to get back to England" goal as my larger impetus. And as much as I would ideally like to be there, I'm only open to it now if I'm invited. Very WASP of me, I know! But this knocking down of doors to other people's hearts and other countries' hearts has proved futile. At my age, I just haven't got the energy to do it anymore. This is the moment when age becomes an asset. Either I will eventually magnetize an easy way over there, or I will not. Ultimately, the "home" I seek is within, that sacred place within, the cathedral within, the soaring hills within, the rich, flowing fountain of love within.

So, I cannot see very far down the road, and I can only perform one step, and that is to finally put in a change of address. While it doesn't commit me to where I am now "forever", or I suppose at all, it does remove one major consideration, which is going backward. I love Duluth, and all it has been for me on and off since 1990. But I have circled back around to where this lifetime started, and it's impossible to imagine the last phase of my life in the American midwest. I simply am not a midwesterner. I've continued to keep it as a remote possibility the last few weeks, but no longer. The shores of Lake Superior served me well. I am so grateful. I will miss my friends there, and try to stay in touch with them as best I can in these turbulent times.

Other than this, what do I know about the future? I am more convinced than ever that the energy of the Goddess is in the ascendant. It seems crazy, as each successive news item seems more nightmarish, painful and surreal, but it comes against a backdrop of knowing (and seeing evidence of) increasing numbers of people gaining spiritual wisdom and increasing numbers of women coming out of the shadows. Seeing what is happening in the world makes it all the more crucial that we women become more visible, more evolved, and more audible in our own ways. All the world's imbalances stem from a single source, in my mind, humanity having forgotten the Goddess and the divinity of the feminine. Those of us who can re-member Her, or whose ancient memories of Her are rising up, are literally sewing the pieces of Her back together for the world to see. What also heartens me is my belief that nothing happening in the world that is not "of love" will survive. The manifestations of "not love" are hideous and shocking, but will not be super long-lasting in the larger scheme of things.

Yes, it's frustrating, only taking one small step when you want to race to a destination. When after 35 tumultuous years, you wish to see a cozy permanent home directly in front of you and just get there already. To stop and breathe and be patient is hard. But that is my calling for this holiday period. 

Goddess Words 34: Earthy

Two times ago, I wrote about the word "heavenly" -- I guess it makes sense that I turn to its arguable opposite, "earthy", with its several meanings. When I wrote my list all those years ago, I think I had in mind unashamedly being of the earth, being rooted in the soil and on this planet. A spirituality of being physical, with all its pain and beauty, odors and beautiful vistas, animal instincts and poetic stirrings. In other words, the spirituality of finding moments of heaven here, not waiting for a great future moment of transcendence. 

An observation I've read in various sources over the years is that man has historically sought to transcend the physical and earthy. That would certainly help to explain all sorts of things, from cathedrals to skyscrapers to space flight to complex legal, religious, and economic systems, to suburban sprawl. There has been a bias against the earth and earthiness, all that natural dirtiness, wildness, and power. Several definitions of the word slide toward disrespect for Nature, the earth, and women: someone may be said to have an "earthy" sense of humor when their focus is on sex, bodily functions, etc.  We women have also been caught up in the aversion toward the physical, learning to hide natural processes like our periods, breastfeeding, and menopause. It's also interesting that we've been blamed for humanity's downfall, for the "sin" of eating the beautiful, lush, delicious, healthy fruit of a tree. In any other context, this would be seen as valid enjoyment of Nature's bounty...

I am one of the least earthy women on the planet (Yes, I am sure I have said this before!) Wilderness isn't my natural habitat. I'm more drawn to seeing Nature than being in it or putting my hands in the dirt. I have tended to be far more comfortable in carefully cultivated gardens than in fields of wildflowers, more comfortable with Hudson River School painters' depictions of mountains than the mountains themselves, watching a wildly wavy Great Lake from a shoreside window rather than standing where the water soaks me. I am more comfortable in a cathedral where the fan vaulted ceiling reminds me of trees, than under the trees themselves.

But Nature is increasingly moving me. Eagle sightings (fairly frequent right now) thrill me. The full moon thrills me. Interesting patterns and shapes on dying leaves thrill me. I am looking out at a bone-dry landscape, autumn's earthy hues on steroids: tans, browns, dark greens and a little bit of rust red. It has been too dry to smell the normally moist fallen leaves and the pre-winter soil. Rain (and perhaps snow) is due tonight. Winter tends to sap the earthiness out of the landscape, once it is too cold to smell the dirt, so I'm glad to have been reminded of my potential earthiness before that thick frozen ground cover returns. I'm glad that I'm slowly starting to feel that I belong to the Earth more than I do to a civilization. Perhaps in that way, I am slowly starting to be genuinely "earthy".

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I guess many of you know by now (in fact, may have known well before I did) that the Archbishop of Canterbury has resigned. (Given my intense connection to the world of English church music, you might have thought that I would have heard rumblings sooner, but I just didn't.) Knowing the shock wave that this represents for the C of E, the cathedrals, and Britain generally, close on the heels of the death of Queen Elizabeth, it is stunning, and I am saddened and concerned for the place and milieu I feel so attached to. 

But of course anger has bubbled up as well, due to the nature of the underlying issue that was repeatedly covered up, an issue that continues to be downplayed or even flaunted in a host of other non-church contexts as well: physical and sexual abuse. My personal pain stems from a completely different place, the level of condescension and rejection I experienced when I realized how much I loved the music of the men-and-boys' choir tradition and felt called to sing it. There must have been scores of other girls and women in the 1960's, 70's and 80's in the same boat, excellent people/excellent musicians prevented from serving the church simply because of our gender. The fact that abusive men were apparently welcome in any capacity is unthinkable. Absurd. Abuse victims have been through a hell I cannot even imagine; the unusual, rootless tailspin that has become the rest of my life seems minor by comparison. And yet both sides of this loveless coin cause immense lifelong repercussions, confusion, and pain.

Ultimately, there isn't much more that I ought to say, except that paradigms allowing abuse simply may not be salvageable. It's not just that I don't think the Goddess, in Her re-emergence, will stand for it. It's that Goddess-friendly societies would be unlikely to generate such extremes of power and powerlessness in the first place. 

Life and Death

Two things are funny. One, that I've never in nine years used this exact title before. Two, the way that my brain filled in a fourth word, "Struggle", even though I'm too post-duality to be talking about that any more! But it is a measure of how often we hear the term "life and death struggle" in our world. There are far too many of them going on.

In recent weeks, I have read a book and, now, seen a movie about 30-somethings in a life and death struggle with cancer. And while I personally would be unlikely to look at cancer as something to "fight", and while thankfully it isn't a disease which shows up often in my family, still, these accounts were moving, sobering, and bittersweetly beautiful in their own ways. Most of all, they were a shocking reminder (along with international news) of how often people die well before they reach the age of 68. I was suddenly and unexpectedly swamped by gratitude that I have been privileged enough to live this long! I experienced a tiny bit of survivor guilt as well -- it doesn't seem fair that people (real or fictional) would die when they are just starting a family or career, and that I (with neither) am still here. 

It helps to keep "life" and "death" in mind as I look at paths leading from this moment. What path would lead to the greatest measure of personal life/joy/love/beauty/harmony/fulfillment (even as the world seems intent on destruction)? What path or paths might lead to a complete personal spiritual shut down, physical limitation, or even bodily "death"? I may not believe that death is a real thing in the bigger picture, but I know that some paths aren't very spiritually efficient, and some lead immediately to another dimension or realm. As blind and stymied as I'm feeling right now, I am fiercely committed to staying alive (in this time, on this planet) as this important Transition unfolds. I need to keep speaking.

I can see a distant train track from the window, and a little while ago, as I was writing in my journal about all this, I saw a rare sight -- one train going one direction, and another passing it going the opposite direction. It seemed an apt metaphor, as in, which direction am I headed? Spiraling up, or back? Up and forward I hope, at least for now, yet in a manner that is grounded. I'm unbelievably thankful for the gift of life. Indeed, I feel more existential gratitude on this point than I ever remember feeling before. I gently choose "life", knowing that "death" is walking with all of us, but it doesn't have to be a constant struggle between the two. Just a subtle tipping in the "life" direction, a slightly clearer signal of intent. 

 

Anchoress for the Goddess

On a few occasions, I've spoken of my resonance with the life of an anchoress. On April 4, 2016, I wrote about this, having just visited the small reconstructed "cell" of the mystic Julian, in Norwich, England. It surprised even me -- I walked into her room, and sank on my knees to the floor. It may have been a past life memory, or simply a very powerful metaphor for who I am in this lifetime: but the notion of being rooted in place where one could attend the religious services of one's choice, but also pivot and have access to a door or window to facilitate contact with the outside world, seemed both familiar and relevant to who I am in this lifetime. Even eight years ago, I knew that my personal spirituality was unlikely to make me a good fit at any of the English cathedrals (although I would gladly attend choral evensong services virtually every day), so I knew the literal idea of being bricked into a room attached to a cathedral was not, and still is not, an option. Metaphorically, though, this identity is such a close fit. I cannot get it out of my mind.

I've played a lot with this, especially now, as I am in a strange limbo that doesn't fit me a whole lot better than the reality I have been in for a number of years in the midwest. Here's the "catch", I guess you would say. From what I have read about this phenomenon, the religious person (whether an actual member of an order or not) had to have the full support of the Church. The cell would be generally be built onto a church building, something you couldn't just go ahead and do yourself! Not only that...the anchoress (or anchorite) would have food delivered to them daily, and the -- ahem -- waste would be removed. On some level or other, the Church must have felt it benefitted enough from having a holy person in their midst that they were willing to "support" that person for the rest of their lives. I have always had many issues with the Church, but one thing I respect, historically, is that some extraordinary women could find a place and achieve a small amount of power. Sometimes, like Julian or Hildegard of Bingen, they were actually listened to.

No matter how often in the rest of this lifetime I have the privilege of attending evensong in England, the fact remains that I am not a Christian. I am an anchoress for the Goddess. The missing piece is, because there is no organized "religion" to attach myself to, who wants an anchoress for the Goddess? What community can I anchor myself in, attach myself to? Where is such a person wanted, in this crazy world running off the rails? I guess my musings on "the hills within" the other day brought me right back to my true nature, but my logical brain still cannot figure out where my place is, going forward. Perhaps continuing to anchor myself -- or at least doing my best to envision rooting -- will bring more clarity.

The Hills Within

Over these last few months, I have felt more abandoned by the Goddess than I have at any other time in years. I mean, I think abandonment is my main painful trigger in this lifetime, and this recent transition has brought it to the surface big time. Fortunately, it hasn't left me completely panicked because I know that this happens to mystics. A divine "radio station" may get static-y from time to time. When you are faced with moving from a rather stable situation, packing and getting boxes into storage, buying travel tickets, etc., your attention is forced outward in a way you aren't used to. Where am I going? Will it work out? I search the horizon for directional signs, and the skies for messenger hawks. And arriving at this new (although very old) destination, I have had to relearn the lay of the physical landscape, remember which roads are which, and try to discern if this is, indeed, my final destination, or just a stopping point. 

I suddenly realized this morning that to a large extent, I have fallen back on a more traditional male god model, visualizing the Goddess being outside of me, praying to Her, asking Her for guidance, etc. Just yesterday, I all but begged Her to help me see the right path forward. This morning, my oracle card was "Mountain/strength", and my brain immediately defaulted to Psalm 95, where the strength of the hills is "his also". And of course, from Psalm 121, "I will lift mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help." The concept that we need to look outside us for help is so very ingrained, isn't it? That our "salvation" (religious, political, economic, or other) is an outside factor, high above us, which we may not always be able to control. I think intellectually, I've understood for years that the Goddess is within me (not floating on a cloud in the sky), and yet my Anglican roots are still strong. Those psalms (sung to Anglican chant) flow through my bloodstream, like sap through a mother tree. And that is OK. I would be a very different representative of the Goddess without that unique factor. It is what makes me, me.

Traveling around this sprawling upstate NY urban/suburban area, you almost always see hills and mountains in the distance (the foothills of four mountain ranges, the Adirondacks, the Catskills, the Green Mountains, and the Berkshires). For the first time in my life, I'm finding that I love the sight. Right now, I think it may be a good thing for me not to be living near a vast body of water like Lake Superior or Lake Champlain. Those experiences deeply nurtured my soul at certain moments, but may have prevented grounding. The text to my "mountain" card basically speaks of being the mountain. It is a moment to re-acknowledge the strength within me, and the Goddess within me. I am the Goddess. I am the mountain. I am a being of strength and wisdom. The "hills" are within. My feet touch the ground, and my head is in the clouds! Listening within, I will hear Her when She speaks. Looking within, I will "find" Her, although She never left. I was called on this pilgrimage, and can trust Her timing and knowledge of the bigger picture of how it is all meant to work out. And as I get ever more aligned, it will become more a case of not needing to actively listen or look at all! Guidance will be so automatic that there's barely a time or space lag involved.

What Can One Say?

Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning, I woke up in the dark, of course wondering what was happening with the election, but not wishing to turn on a radio or computer or television to find out. So sort of "for fun", I drew from one of my oracle decks and got "Tsunami". The fun came to a screeching halt. I had a sick feeling I knew what that meant -- and I would find out five or six hours later what happened. I was stunned by the margin of victory, the wavelike decisiveness of it all. It was an almost identical kick in the stomach to eight years ago...but worse, because now, two completely different brilliant, qualified women have been beaten by the same presidential candidate. As a woman, I feel plowed under, for the millionth time in my life. What can one say?

Many are saying quite a lot. For that reason, and because the winner doesn't deserve the honor of my attention, I'm not going to join the chorus. Indeed, I don't resonate with any construct involving winners and losers. This is, almost literally, not my world.

So there is only one thing to do -- to continue to be me. There is one thing to say -- my truth. Recently, someone told me that what I write about is not really of any use to anyone in the world as it is. That my perspective may only become helpful to folks at some future time if things "go south"...well, if that is the case, then I'm honored to be helping to lay the early groundwork of a love-based society. I grieve widespread hatred and violence, but my primary focus will continue to be on the only things that really exist, positive energies like love, beauty, and harmony. I will continue to venerate (though not "worship") the Goddess/our Earth Mother. I will resist the temptation to fight an old paradigm which is losing steam of its own accord. I will put all my energies into that future time, and it is not so very far off now.

Saintly Days

On several occasions in the past, I have written posts on November 1 or 2 about the Christian commemorations, All Saints Day and All Souls Day. So I will try not to repeat myself. But there are a few new factors this year. One of them is that, in addition to as ever remembering the hymn "For All the Saints" (with its, for me, highly problematical words), I suddenly also remembered a descant to the hymn, sung by the sopranos in my childhood Episcopal church choir. That such an obscure tune, possibly written by our organist and not in the hymnal, would survive in my head for nearly 60 years is remarkable.

The second factor was finding that I have a really negative response toward a term that is evidently used of saints in the Catholic church, "heroic virtue." At first glance, bravery (in the face of attack or death or challenges to one's faith) would not seem to be a bad thing -- especially when the saintly person is trying to help others. I guess the notion is that heroism comes easily to saints, and that it is second nature tor them to put others before themselves. No surprises there.

And yet...once you find yourself perched outside of the duality umbrella, this notion of sainthood can't help but rankle. It takes for granted conflict, two sides set up in opposition to one another, people being forced to fight (for their own faith or others') -- all that "A vs. B" stuff that I just don't seem to resonate with any more. Somehow, saintliness in a violence context just doesn't seem as holy to me any more.

"My" saint (Valeria) -- to whom the chant piece I analyzed for my master's degree was dedicated -- was supposedly killed by her fiance, and went to heaven in a ball of flame. Her insistence on converting to Christianity outraged her future husband...there's an awfully fine line between her being honored for her faith (while alive) and for her martyrdom/death. Many traditionally religious people might see no difference. But for me, there is entirely too much violence in this whole construct...Heck, that particular 9th century incident sounds horrifyingly like present-day domestic violence. And the whole "martyr" thing is a hard model for me too, as a modern woman. Even in the 21st century, women too seldom get to live their own lives, aligned solely with their own values and inclinations. 

Perhaps, then, this is the last year that these two Christian holy days will resonate at all with me. Any "saintliness" I aspired to as a child certainly never happened within that religious construct (!) From this moment forward, I hope my eyes will see evidence of the Goddess in the world every day; people aligning with Her values for the sheer joy (and logic) of doing so, not as a counterpoint to "evil" or attack, or with the goal of "saving others". It would be lovely to see people regularly manifesting beauty, love and harmony simply because it is the only viable path forward, simply because those are the only qualities they have within them.