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.
