A Dream, but no Haiku

The other night I had a dream that I think may be quite significant, but I'm still not entirely sure what it means.

I was in a situation that reminded me of the "letters tests" I took when applying for the Letters departments at Time-Life Books and Time Magazine. (In those interviews, I was given sample reader letters and back-up research/reporting for the passages or stories involved, and was asked to write the kind of letter I would send back to the reader.) In the current dream, I was in a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows, but just a large desk. I don't even remember a computer or chair, to be honest. A woman presented me with a hand-written document, but here, it was not a letter to be replied to. I was being asked to rewrite/edit the document using my higher spiritual insight, I guess you could say. My knowledge needed to be folded into the essay or story or whatever it was. I don't remember the whole dream -- when I came and went over a few days, people at the door questioned why I was doing this. The woman who had given me the material was well, but not ostentatiously, dressed, and I was the same. I remember feeling quite confident, as if this job were "right down my alley". And I remember saying to her that, as there was a passage in French, we would need a native French speaker to look it over too. That's all I remember.

All I can think of is that my post-70 "job" must involve translating current thinking into more forward-thinking material, in some way that goes beyond this blog. The dream felt good overall, and my aura of confidence felt good. So I look forward to seeing how it all unfolds!

On a completely different subject, yesterday I was at a certain big box store, waiting for the bus. I was going to have a rather long wait, and unfortunately I had not brought with me the crossword and small notepad I usually keep for these moments. I do have a "new" flip phone, however, that has a "notes" function, so even though I couldn't remember exactly what constituted haiku, I decided to write a few short haiku-like poems. Here they are, in the order written:

Outside the bog box store

smokers' smoke wafting,

no bus

wondering what it all

means

Every aisle

too, too much plastic

an affront to the 

goddess

The bus

must have come early

or i came late

Three crows in a tree

isn't that supposed to

mean something?

Goddess Words 68: More Magic

Two years ago (8/14/24) I wrote about magic. Interestingly, my Goddess list includes "more magic" as well, and I've decided to write without looking back to see what I wrote then.

I handwrote this in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, and it is significant that the definition in my 50-year old Concise Oxford Dictionary (which is always by my side) is exceedingly negative: "the supposed art of influencing course of events by occult control of nature or of spirits, witchcraft." Yikes. Clearly written before the last forty years or so of creative visualization, thinking and growing rich, and the like. A fear-based definition. And the feminist in me cannot help but wonder, when Edison created light (using his specialized knowledge), why was that considered science? In 2026, I am constantly doing things that would have seemed magical in the 70's, from calling up a company and having them already know who I am before I open my mouth, to wondering, "What's the population of Schenectady County?" and simply needing to type the question and then press a button. The line between magic/miracles and the everyday has become very blurry indeed. [I see that newer online definitions are generally a little less subjective.]

Today, the shelves of bookstores are packed with trendy books about spells to create X, and rituals to create Y. They leave me cold, uninterested. It isn't fear, although the "w" word can still instill a little of that. It's just that I have never been drawn -- aside from choral evensong -- to spiritual rituals. The Goddess exists for me in a completely post-duality place (and I realize that this is a paradox in itself!) She is in a place beyond having and not having, beyond something being "wrong" and wanting to make it right by psychic or physical means. I don't know, this is middle-of-the-night rambling, but nowadays, "magic" is letting go of specific desires and aligning with the all-love dimension of life -- and watching what happens. Sure, there are still dozens of things about my life that I wish were different, and yet I've learned from long experience that trying to "change" them from an energy of separation and fear only creates more separation and fear. Focusing without -- wanting to change events, people, or physical conditions -- simply doesn't seem to work for me. Heck, we've all read about this in multiple spiritual books and videos (I can hear Esther Hicks speaking as I write this!) Our "work" is within, to align with love, to align with our highest possible self, to be love and a conduit for love, and then, yes, more magic happens spontaneously in and around us. We attract what's on that love wavelength; people and situations are drawn to us. At moments when it feels like we are stalled, perhaps we are. We've gone as far as our current level of love can create. To get back in the flow, especially now in the Age of Aquarius, we won't get far from any non-love place. We won't get far trying to "use" magic, spells or rituals to "get" things. The river will start flowing again when we expand our ability to love, when we know deep down we are part of the larger love-based universe. We won't use "more magic". We won't receive "more magic". We will be "more magic".

Trees Turning

This will be very short. Eight years ago, I mentioned that one of the only poems I had ever written had a line about "the first tree to turn into September". I guess this illustrates the change in earth's climate, because it really is now, early October this year, that I am noticing substantial color changes. Of course the timing is different here than it was in Duluth. And there is something unique about the smell of autumn in New England and upstate New York. I am ready for it. And I guess I like the idea of "turning into" October. 

I am loving getting around more, mostly by bus, but it's also somewhat exhausting, with all the waiting for buses and transferring. I understand why people my age hold onto their cars as long as possible. But even if someone handed me a nice new car on a silver platter (think "The Price is Right"!), I don't think I would want it. The roads are so stressful around here, maybe everywhere, and it has been too long since I did extensive driving. At the moment it seems unlikely that I'll get back to it.

On this long weekend, where nothing we do can adequately honor indigenous peoples, may all of us perhaps just spend a few minutes with those bright red and orange trees. I'm going to try to listen to them, maybe touch, not just look and smell. Take care, all.

Two Years

Several years ago, when I was still in Duluth ("Forgiveness" 3/27/24), I asked Schenectady and this region for forgiveness. Out of the blue, I understood that I had been blaming my home town for a host of things that, frankly, weren't its fault.

I guess this isn't entirely uncommon...in literature and song lyrics, people speak of wanting to leave their prosaic place of birth for the lights of the big city, sort of thing. For me, by age six or eight, it wasn't the big city, it was the chapel of King's College Cambridge, wasn't it? My heart and spirit were gone, "outta here". Day-to-day life in upstate New York under the shadow (metaphorically and literally) of the big circular GE logo, was foreign to me. It was a coat that didn't fit, even our anglophile Episcopal church. The music at church had connected me energetically with the music of my lifetimes-long home, and now nothing else around me was right. If you had asked me at 17 (as I was heading off to college), will you be living in Schenectady at 70, the answer would have been a resounding, "No!" (Of course, at that age, I didn't understand that in this yes-based universe, my passionate "no" was essentially a "yes"!)

Over the years, I have periodically come through Schenectady en route elsewhere. It is the perfect pivot point, like an elbow. Trains from the west stop here heading south to New York or north to Lake Champlain and Montreal. It is near where the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers meet, where the Thruway meets the Northway and the Mass Pike. Perhaps at times I needed the reminder that this wasn't where I wanted to be, before following a thread forward to where there were bigger lessons to be learned.

Yet two years ago, I threw up my hands and gave in. No, I never made it permanently to Cambridge (or elsewhere in England), and I didn't have the energy to try again, but I also couldn't start my "old age" in the upper Midwest. I knew instinctively that the spiritual work I needed to do now was with the place I'm quite sure my soul deliberately chose for my birth in this lifetime. So here I have been for just gone two years.

The "happily ever after" movie version would have me firmly rooting here, finally finding the love, purpose, and prosperity I have never experienced elsewhere -- and heck, that could still happen. But something just as valuable has already transpired: today I completely embrace and accept that this is where I am "from" in this lifetime. The chronic resistance that I carried around with me, the inner "ugh" I used to feel at the thought of this place, has just about completely melted.

The other day, I was in the Stockade, and happened upon an unusual vista, which I had to take a picture of: the spire of St. George's, and, half-a-block in front of it, the roof and top floor of the carriage house my grandmother lived in when she first moved to Schenectady. A year or so later, she moved to an apartment a stone's throw away -- but as I snapped the picture I was aware of this almost literal arrow between the church of my baptism and childhood, through -- what? -- 1959 or 1960 and the grandmother I felt the most at home with, to me today in 2026. These things were and are aligned at this moment. While the coat still doesn't really fit, I'm not squirming to throw it off. I'm still alive. I have the privilege of seeing an old place through new eyes. I am soaking that in as best I can, being present as best I can. That's a lot of growth in two years. Thank you, Goddess.

Work

This morning, I am mulling over work. Hard work, hard physical labor. 

Returning to the world of city bus travel has made me aware of a whole world of work that at times I have remained distanced from. Hearing other riders' conversations, seeing their fast food uniforms -- it is clear that many people are commuting to jobs that are physical and extraordinarily taxing. And there is the hard work of young mothers stepping onto the bus with one baby in a stroller, and one or two other children in tow. Never having had children of my own and being the age that I am, I am so exhausted by thinking of the work of parenthood that I nearly swoon. The hard work of the bus drivers...yikes! I don't know what is more challenging, the conditions on the road or inside the bus. At the store, seeing employees stocking shelves. At a sandwich shop, watching a single employee deal with multiple customers at once. Watching road crews and truck drivers doing their work. I am increasingly aware of the physical labor that keeps our current paradigm going.

My life fell between the cracks of so many work realities. I never quite fit in anywhere. Attending private school and college in the sixties and early seventies, I rode the final wave of girls and young women being educated simply for the sake of being educated -- and for the likely outcome of eventually marrying and being the intelligent wife of a successful man. In that scenario, there would have been little hard labor after the birth of children -- American automobiles and appliances (Schenectady being the home of GE), plus outside help with childcare and housework, would have left me free, say, to be a part-time organist or art teacher, had I wanted to do that. Jobs between college and marriage tended to involve the work of the mind -- teaching at a private school, say, or publishing.

Publishing was the route I took, briefly, before heading to Britain to use my brain in a more intensive way, pursuing a master's in chant/historical musicology. There is probably nothing more esoteric than Aquitanian neumes! The work I did on my thesis was grueling but almost entirely mental/intellectual. (Having said that, typing up 90 pages on a manual typewriter was "something else"!) For better or for worse, when you have an IQ well into the genius range, academia is the realm of work best suited to your skills. I mean, I hadn't stumbled upon quite the right academic discipline for me, but at that moment (1980), if I had been male and/or in the right academic discipline, I have no doubt that my future would have unfolded in that milieu.

But...instead...deep in college loan debt, I returned to the US and the publishing world. I considered the law, more brain work which (as the granddaughter of a pioneering Canadian woman lawyer) I would have excelled at, but I couldn't bear it being conflict-based. I suppose that is when things started to unravel, work-wise, as I tried to use art and spirituality talents, and support them with harder physical work (waitressing, retail, public school special ed). During the spell when I was an adjunct professor at a community college, I was closest to being in my work element, but my long automobile commute (involving ferry rides!) added hours on the road, and this was already an exceptionally low-paying job with no benefits. I simply could not get ahead.

In one post, I cannot possibly assess my lifetime relationship to work. Not losing heart or giving up was the "work". Living on little money, moving from place to place to try to find a better fit, even trying to put a spiritual spin on this odyssey -- that was the "work". I lifted relatively few boxes, paved no roads, drove no trucks, and built no bridges. My work created no children, property, investments, career accomplishments, or fame. Just some paintings, this blog, a rich life experience, and the most precious possession of all -- a measure of inner peace and wisdom. To the extent to which I know I owe my bare human survival to countless other people who physically labored far harder than I ever have, I honor them today. We've all tried our best to "be the best we can be", haven't we?

Goddess Word 67: Astonishment

I've looked over the list of Goddess words I've already explored in this blog, and I am -- yes -- astonished to find that I have yet to tackle "astonishment". Before considering what I might have meant about the word 20 years ago, what are my first impressions this morning?

To be in a state of astonishment is to be shocked, surprised, or in a state of wonder or awe. Thus it can have both negative or positive connotations. This morning, having just listened to the news on public radio (yes, I still do this!), I am associating astonishment with my negative reaction to many of the news items. Yes, for years, news events have reflected a complete toxic inhumanity that just simply never fails to astonish me. Day after day, it seems to get worse, at times sending me into a deeper black hole of shock and dismay. I've long since passed the event horizon where I could stay in some kind of journalistic, artistic, or academic objectivity. Most news events reflect values that couldn't be further from my own. Am I a masochist, choosing to listen to this daily source of pain? Do I wish to fight these trends? No. But twenty years from now if I am still alive, the historian in me would like to be able to help people understand all the steps in the transition we experienced in the 2020's and 2030's. On my best days, I see these current horrors in the larger context of the emerging new reality, thankfully.

Having said that, it is my belief that the Goddess would want all of us now to turn our primary gazes away from these sources of negative astonishment to the new paradigm, which will be astonishing in its own right, in a glorious way.

What do I mean by that? I'm still not clear exactly how the 5D next paradigm will manifest physically; I can only sense and guess. And I learn by physical experience. The other day was a day of astonishing good fortune, and I don't think it was a fluke. I think it was a case of, I fell into the zone, and allowed myself to stay in it! Buses came along (whether running late or early) when I needed them. At a store, I found exactly what I was looking for in a wire-box-type "dresser" -- and it came in a box that wasn't too heavy to carry back on the bus! (It was easy to assemble as well.) There was an easy resolution to two issues that I had lost sleep over. I heard from several friends unexpectedly, and then two people (one a friend, one a stranger) offered to buy things for me. You get the idea. By following my instincts and walking a little more openheartedly into the world than perhaps I usually do, I magnetized over and over and over. At each step, I said, "Thank you Goddess, I love this!"

These kinds of days will stop being astonishing as they become normal. As we go through the collapse of the old paradigm, and ease our way into the new lane, we will see wonders emerging from the ashes. New species. The unearthing of old mysteries and relics, leading to new understandings of the arc of human experience. Old foes will lay down their weapons because they simply cannot tolerate war any more. We will find new psychic forms of communication, travel, and the manifestation of necessities. There will be amazing, paradoxical mixes of old and new technologies. Mother Earth Herself will transform, and we will too. Everything will look different, and be different, and as hard as it may seem, we need to be open to it! It is this kind of 'astonishment' that I think I was intuiting when I added the word to my list...and all it takes is somehow moving through the negative astonishment to a loving place of, "I wonder what is emerging from this..." From the perspective of where we have been, this new paradigm will be a source of joyful astonishment. 

The Sick Day

Back when I worked at my first job (at Time-Life Books in the late 70's), my boss told the story of her early working days, which were in Manhattan in the 1950's and 60's. When she simply needed a day off (what I suppose would more recently be called a "mental health day"), she would call up her boss, and in a wavery, hoarse voice, she'd say, "The way I'm feeling, I cannot possibly come to work today." Thus she never lied and said she was sick with X, Y or Z -- she just implied that she was doing very poorly. And I guess this "worked"! Now, why she essentially taught her young charges to do the same thing, I cannot imagine! And I don't think I ever tried this trick on her, or on any other boss over the years. 

But this past Sunday, I essentially took a "sick day" at my new apartment, even though I wasn't sick. I just needed to not run around with my new-found city bus freedom, not obsess about furnishing a still-almost-empty apartment, not wonder about the deep spiritual meaning of the fall equinox, or ponder the odd dreams I have been having. I needed to sleep, eat only what was already in the fridge, listen to classical music on the radio, read, and listen to the rain falling outside. I needed to get used to the sounds of the place (refrigerator, hot water heater, church bells at noon and 6 pm, other tenants) and look at the view out the window. I needed to confront the beauty -- and loneliness -- of being in my own space, and having committed to a path that at least for some time to come will keep me from traveling to the place in the world that has always really felt like home. 

And yet, I see the necessity of this portal, about it being about as few outside references as possible, just my apartment and me. Sunday, I was able to set a baseline tone for the place. What energies, objects, and rhythms are consistent with the Goddess in me? What will be beautiful enough, spacious enough, and light enough? It's funny that I was remembering the above memory from almost 50 years ago, because my current apartment is so low-tech, it's almost exactly like the one I had when I was working at Time-Life Books! (I can almost visualize the rotary phone on the wall!) Back then I was a completely different "girl". And yet, exactly the same, now in a higher iteration -- a reading-, music-, spirituality- and art-loving mystic. Having a space of my own to fit the older version of that person is a powerful and beautiful new beginning, and I am so thankful.

It's as Simple as That

All this hoopla these last few weeks about a certain form of intelligence, and why are we surprised?

I've said this here a few times; when the powers-that-be decided years ago to skip over women's intelligence (or more generally, right brain, spontaneous, creative ways of knowing) in favor of the "artificial", the end result was just about guaranteed. The values entered into the system appear to be only left brain, logical, competitive, dualistic and power-over-based, so that is the outcome you are getting. 

On top of that, this is a "yes"-based universe, so when you tell people (or machines) what not to do, they will inevitably (seeing forbidden fruit) say, "Yes, I want to do that!" Lordy, all these billions spent, and poor little old me could have told them this a decade or two ago.

Am I afraid? Basically, no. This is the hyped-up drama of the end of one paradigm meeting the calm, alive, unified love and joy energy of the new paradigm. Whatever happens, the new paradigm is already in place and whatever is an energetic match with its beautiful, positive values will move forward. It's as simple as that.

A New "Minute"?

Referring to my last post, I have not been able to write a new paradigm "Story of a Minute"...and I think this is the problem.

Here are four assumptions I have for the new paradigm.

• All women will be respected for their wisdom and self-sovereignty
• Love will be the "currency"
• The land will not be "owned" by humans -- earth is the body of Gaia, and people will understand this
• We will be "post-duality", so there literally will be little conflict. Indeed, it will energetically not be possible to fight in our current sense of the word

So, current concepts of good literature, great literature, and great entertainment of all kinds, simply won't exist. It has been too based in us vs. them understandings that are evaporating. I think I've mulled this over in one or two past posts -- how will entertainment as we have thought of it up until now even exist? Well, it probably won't. There will be huge challenges dealing with climate and spiritual transformation, and new kinds of literature may rise up around that, but the human-to-human (or human-to-alien) conflicts will fizzle away and certainly won't seem entertaining. 

I feel extremely low energy/coldy (too many new things to deal with!), so over the weekend I'll take better care of myself. If any deep thoughts on this come to me, I'll let you know next week. Meanwhile, take care of yourselves!

The Story of a Minute

Many of you have probably read "The Story of an Hour", the remarkable story by Kate Chopin (and if you haven't, do go find it!). It is about a wealthy woman in 19th century New Orleans who is informed of her husband's death in a train accident. Upon hearing the news, she goes to her room wishing not to be disturbed. At first, she goes through shock and grief. But within a short time, her inner horizon has opened up to the reality that she is now completely free in a way she has never been before (and that few women of that era or any other era have been). Because she is well off, she will be completely independent and able to make her own decisions. Of course, there's a surprise ending to this feminist classic, widening her gamut of emotions.

The other day, I was reading a fictional story in which an 18th century young woman has a serious discussion with her father. Turns out he wishes to give her some property, to deed it over to her because he is concerned for her welfare as an unmarried woman.

The second I read this, I started on my own inner journey. My very first thought was self-pitying, sort of, "Why didn't I ever hear these words? Even in the fictional 1700's, a father had the capacity to care about a daughter's future, and provide for her. At least some women (fictional or otherwise) must experience this kind of love!" And yet reading the next page (which probably took me a minute or two to read), I joined this fictional character in coming step-by-step to the shattering realization that this "gift" was contingent on her marrying a certain man and -- this being two hundred-plus years ago --- the second that happened, the property would revert to her husband. It was all effectively a dishonest lure into a trap that would only enrich the men in her life. 

I inevitably had to take another look at the father-daughter interaction I wrote about a few days ago ("The Black Hole with No White Dress", August 26). Because my father's finances were a disaster in the late '70's, rather than declare that I should never marry, why didn't Dad push me to marry a rich entitled WASP prince, what in ensuing decades would be called a "Master of the Universe"? He would have benefitted far more around the edges of that scenario than in my wandering mystic one! (This is where I sense the possibility that he actually understood me deep, deep, deep down...)

Oh dear. I guess you can only laugh...the strange angels on your path, eh? Human, animal, fictional, and otherwise.

Years ago, I tried to write a futuristic novel. Perhaps today's activity, just for fun, is to write my "Story of a Minute" with the fulfilling and respectful ending I want, on behalf of all of us!!!!

Moving

I guess so far, the takeaway from my latest move is how utterly exhausting it has been. It is a combination of many different things, from having lived so many places over the last two decades, to being over 70, to the physical exertion needed to pick up even limited numbers of boxes. But in my case, there is much, much more. It's like walking backward into the old paradigm at a moment when I can almost physically feel the energies of the new paradigm surging forward. It's returning to owning more things (including heavy things like furniture) when for years most of my belongings have been packed in boxes. It's opening purchases packed in plastic, and being more part of a consumer model that I find hard on so many levels. 

And yet...(and this is important)...I need to live alone right now. For so many reasons, the most important of which is so that I can align with the Goddess to the greatest extent possible. The current situation is the best way to do that for the moment. I may face loneliness, boredom, and other aspects of the Void far more acutely than I have done in years, and whether I take up good habits or bad ones remains to be seen. There may be changes to my diet, but whether that means becoming a vegetarian, or eating nothing but junk food, I don't know. Some days it may be easier to get exercise in my new setting, and I will be on a bus line so I'll have more freedom to be spontaneous. That is good.

Overall, this change is "moving". It will change me somehow, I'm not sure how. It will move me somehow. In an era when so many people have less housing security, I am very, very thankful for some of it right now, especially heading into winter. Today is the last push toward getting my belongings in one place. I couldn't sleep last night, so I suspect a lot of sleeping will be part of my immediate future! For the time being, my writing schedule may be somewhat erratic, so bear with me. Thanks!

Acquiring Things

There is no question about it: the most challenging thing right now will be acquiring things. Putting aside every other consideration in my life, the fact is that I have never been comfortable in acquisition mode. This is at least part of why I have not earned money easily, or wanted to own property, or enthusiastically taken part in the structures and institutions that most people take for granted. I truly am wired differently, immune to the siren call of ownership. In addition to that, I am going to want to seriously limit the amount of plastic that I have in my space. Having said that, the two items that I won't be able to put off very long are a small circular area rug for my main room, and a toaster oven. (I am calling it my main room, not "living room", just to free myself from needing it to look like a conventional living room. It may be more like an office or studio, actually. A space in which to write, and further move ahead spiritually.)

Yes, many strange aspects to all this, including the fact I'm convinced that in the not-too-distant future, I'll meet my soulmate! How beautiful it is to be offered space in which to do the final work on getting to know myself. And in order to do that, anything I "acquire" needs to be beautiful to me, on some level.

Maybe if I think of it as "acquiring beautiful things", that will filter out "stuff" -- and it is possible to find beautiful things that aren't expensive. So as my contemporaries pare down their belongings, I'm going just a few footsteps in the other direction. I guess it's OK, as long as I don't become too attached. Life is so paradoxical and wondrous sometimes, isn't it?

A Space of My Own

Over the last four days, I have transitioned from almost 20 years of being a wandering mystic -- virtually always sharing other peoples' spaces, living in an intentional community, or house-or-cat-sitting -- to having a space of my own.

To say that this is freaky would be an understatement. A few pieces of furniture have been donated by friends (a bed, two tiny dressers, and a small table and two chairs) but otherwise the space is quite empty.  Conceptually, I've loved sharing things like vacuums, appliances, etc., and at this moment in history to actually have to purchase a few of these things feels very peculiar. So in order not to stress out, I am going very slowly, and trying to think of this empty space as the womb of my new timeline, a void that I do not need to fill up willy-nilly. As of now, no TV, just an FM radio.

That's all I can say today, but, with a lot of help, I did it! I am so thankful. I think this will be a rich time.

Today...

Today, if I could be a tarot card, I would be "The Fool". That's the major arcana card where the life journey starts, the young person with a tiny sack of belongings on a stick, about to leap off a cliff. In some decks, the child is beset on all sides by challenges, yet has a smile on their face as they take the leap. This starting point is emblematic of the place of total emptiness, total "not knowing". I guess this is the perfect card or persona for the day of a lunar eclipse!

I had hoped to go outside around midnight and see if I could see the eclipse, but unfortunately we were having a series of rolling thunderstorms that kept waking me up. I finally accepted that there would be nothing to see, and fell back asleep. However, this morning, I experienced the strangest feeling of emptiness combined with total acceptance, even lightness and total joy. I mean, even though I rarely use those traditional cards, I immediately thought of the Fool image, and saw it as a self-portrait. I spoke last time about being hollowed out, and there is one benefit to that state right now as we are undergoing this ascension process...weightlessness. I feel like I am about to leap off a cliff, and yet instead of falling "down", I will waft along on the wind. I will, in effect, "fly" for the first time in my life. While none of the events scheduled in upcoming weeks would seem to have that energy, I believe that they are part of my new timeline, leading to a form of soaring that has been rare so far.

Speaking of flying, the other day, I saw the third monarch butterfly of the summer. I just about burst into tears and called him "sweetheart". He actually showed up in the same spot about an hour later, but when I tried to pull out my phone to take a picture, he flew away. It was reassuring nonetheless. And I saw three wrens this morning and a robin yesterday. Again, the wildlife picture is entirely too empty, but I just have to hope that they are ascending too!

The Black Hole with No White Dress

If this next phase of my life is to eventually involve a life partner -- a spiritual-, soul-, and journey-mate -- I need to record some old gunk that surfaced yesterday. If I have told this story before, forgive the repetition, but clearly this hurt has still not gone away. 

I had come home from college at either Christmas or Easter of my senior year. ("Home" was our family summer cabin in the Adirondacks, barely winterized.) Mom asked me about some of my friends' plans after graduation, and I reported what I could about teaching jobs, graduate school, even upcoming weddings. Dad said, "I hope you are never planning to get married, because your mother and I will never be able to afford the wedding."  At this, Mom turned and left the room. They were in a dire financial situation that I didn't understand, yet I still turned to Dad expecting to see some kind of twinkle in his eye to indicate that this was a self-deprecatory little joke on his part. But there was no sparkle, no smile. Nothing was added along the lines of, "We love you, honey, and hope you'll find a wonderful guy eventually, but as of now, you'll need to elope!" Nope. "Don't get married." That was it. I must have mumbled some sort of reply like, "Uh, OK", and that was that.

But of course, it wasn't. Because in the ensuing 50 years, very few days have gone by without my being reminded -- not so much of how I'd been told not to get married, or how I wasn't worth the money to marry me off, but of the realization that my father was probably 98% incapable of any kind of genuine love toward me or anyone. What continues to shock is his stunning lack of love or caring, his complete unawareness of how a 21-year old young woman (even in the 1970's) might have romantic dreams and hope to have her dad walk her proudly down the aisle. Well into my fifties, when I still didn't fully understand his unfortunate true nature, I still hoped for that triumphal procession. Heck, last night, watching the old "West Wing" episode where President Bartlet walks his daughter down the aisle, I found myself caught up in a weird time warp where it was me in the white dress, and my handsome WASP-y dad walking me down the aisle to "give me away". For a disconcerting few seconds, I was sure that this was somehow still possible.

But of course, it is not. I think Dad "gave me away" within an hour of my birth; having been handed me, he held me awkwardly for a few seconds then handed me back to my mom or a nurse. He showed up as a proud dad on a few occasions -- my high school and college organ recitals, my Smith graduation, and my 50th birthday -- but the big wedding was never to be.

That whole ancient tradition, where women are handed from one "man in charge" to another, is thankfully all but over. We have entered the new paradigm. What I am suddenly appreciating this morning is that perhaps my Dad was my greatest gift in this lifetime, because he was like a bandage being hastily, constantly, and painfully pulled off. Every illusion of the old-fashioned patriarchy -- ouch, ouch, ouch -- year after year. He had just about no capacity to care, to care for, to give, to protect others, to communicate, or to love. (For today, the effect of this on my mom during 48 years of marriage is just too painful to bear.) I guess it is not surprising that I've spent a lifetime trying to keep such heartlessness at arm's length.

So when (yes, when!) -- in this lifetime or the next -- I re-meet the man who has been my partner and equal for lifetimes, it won't be about "falling in love". It won't be about the "big wedding with the white dress". It won't be about "happily ever after".

It will be about him gazing at me and saying, "I've been looking for you! I have finally found you again. You are extraordinary. Your wisdom, intelligence, and creativity are off the charts. Your worth is incalculable. I completely honor every facet of you and your adherence to the values of the Goddess. I am devoted to you for the rest of this lifetime, and forever." I mean, such a declaration will be the starting point. It will then be a long journey for me to grow into feeling as passionately about him as he feels about me, and I hope he will understand. This lifetime almost completely hollowed me out. He will need unbelievable patience as I start to fill in this black hole with no white dress. 

Glimmers, PS

This is definitely a "hold onto your hats" time for those of us allowing the new paradigm/new timeline to be born within us. It's not just the feeling of time speeding up, not just awareness of the spiritual significance of events in the news, or the disappearance of many birds and small animals, or sensing the energy and enormity of environmental change. The outer changes are challenging enough. But it's also the changing inner perspective. I am dissecting each and every thing I experience, looking carefully, feeling carefully, to make sure I understand how I'm changing.

I reached the end of the art history TV series I spoke of. It takes a lot for me to "binge-watch", and yet this enthralled me to the end. Yes, it is decidedly old paradigm, focused on history and on the art and architecture of the past. It absolutely dripped with old snobberies, expectations and worldviews (despite a few efforts to mitigate them). The feminist in me second-guesses every minute of these shows...a Goddess-centered cultural and artistic world, hundreds of years ago, would have been completely different. Relatively little I saw on the screen is likely to pass through the keyhole of "now" and seem relevant and appropriate in the new paradigm. Yet my heart still sang when it saw images of King's College Cambridge, the streets of London -- even Venice and Florence, which I have never visited. It sang when it saw beautiful art, or heard beautiful music in the background.

So was that bright glimmer just nostalgia? No. The quality of my interest was too sharp, and not weighed down with regret. Was it, "Gee, I'll try again to break into these old paradigm British artistic/musical institutions"? No. I have no interest in doing that whatsoever. Was it wanting to paint again, or to be painted, or to be in specific physical locations? No. As I said last time, I think part of the glimmer was resonating with the process of wiping away old layers of overpaint and varnish, revealing original truths. Yet even that isn't enough to cause my heart to sing.

I think it all boils down to energy; the energetic quality of people, places and things, and their alignment with our own personal energy. We are attracted to what and who we are. I remain attracted to Britain, the place -- not its history, politics, or superficial way of life. It goes deeper than that. It is a place I have been connected to for lifetimes, and I still am. So there's that. But it's also the fact that beauty (no matter whether it is created by the Goddess or a human creator, male or female) resonates at a very high level, and where it meets aspects of my personal energy, it glimmers. Shimmers. Breaks into song. Sizzles.

It would be easy from evolved 21st century eyes to discount this TV series, the musical tradition I love, and heck, just about everything that has ever had meaning for me. I've tried to do that discounting over and over. And I have effaced myself over and over. But I think the message the Goddess is trying to give me today is, never, ever again dismiss what you find beautiful. Trust your senses. You are bringing qualities of love and beauty forward into the new paradigm, and if you love something, love it. For heaven's sake, Liz. Literally. 

One of the Glimmers

The other day, I spoke of how I was just barely managing to see beyond my "old timeline" via sparkling glimmers of the "new timeline". I thought I would talk about one of those glimmers, since it is, well, slightly complicated.

After a short "retreat/return", I segued into a cat-sitting job with a little being whom I am terribly fond of. Being in a quiet house, I've managed to partway extend my contemplative time, but I also discovered on TV something called "The Art Detectives" (Originally "Britain's Lost Masterpieces")...which has completely drawn me in, as "Time Team" did years ago, and "Landscape Artist of the Year" more recently. What is a common thread? Of course, immersion in the place that still feels like home, and (in the case of the two more recent series) immersion in artistic beauty.

I am a little confused by why these shows (about an art historian tracing down the true facts about pieces of art in museum storerooms, with help from a social historian) have bedazzled me, and the fact that its intensity feels like my new timeline. I mean, I have no intention of becoming an art historian. I suppose in part it is because of my allowing myself to more fully accept the British Isles-loving core of myself, without embarrassment, bitterness or sadness. Part of it may be allowing myself to accept my attraction to these beautiful places and pieces of art (mostly painted by men), even knowing that they belong to a disappearing paradigm. Beauty is beauty.

But it also finally hit me -- a big aspect of the show is the conservation work that needs to be done to virtually all of the paintings, from the removal of old yellow varnish, to removal of unfortunate overpaintings, to canvas restoration and paint retouching. Some of the paintings are almost invisible under grey, yellow and brown dirt and gunk, or have had water or other damage. Dark, dingy images are returned to their original glory, and may be found to be by the old masters. So, of course, I resonate. This is essentially the process I am going through, the stripping away of old layers, old fears, old expectations, and slowly but surely finding the glimmers of bright light where the true original me is shining through. On the show, it is such a thrill to see the final "reveal" -- maybe I am starting to believe that there will be a similar moment for me when everything comes together spectacularly.

And on that note, the other day I went to get my hair trimmed, and the young woman took more off than I asked for. It is no longer heading down to the middle of my back, it is lighter and breezier and just a little below shoulder length. It's good, part of the new timeline! Happy Saturday!

Glimmers

Surely one of the hardest things to do in this world is to truly believe what your heart is telling you, no matter the evidence in front of your eyes. Virtually nothing in my life over the last few weeks has been surprising, or evidence of a "new timeline". In the bigger picture, I'm still where I was 18 months ago. Even an impending move isn't taking me far from my current reality. 

So it takes nerves of steel to move forward, believing. This isn't simply wanting something better or more appealing or more fun. It's about, where and how can I most fully be myself, and serve the Goddess? No matter what, I must be on that path! Even if it seems superficially like an old path. Over the last 24 hours, there have been glimmers, like the sun sparkling on the water. Moments when I experienced or saw something new that made me feel alive and joyful, if only for a few seconds or a few minutes. Moments when I could feel the new timeline, even if I couldn't see it. Spiritual folks are talking about how, many of us will start functioning more from our hearts and guts than from our brains and eyes, and I think that's true. But even though I have been on a long and deliberate spiritual journey, my intuitive muscles remain rather weak. I've tried so hard to be left-brained "normal" for so many years, failing spectacularly, so I am tired and 70, and I just want to make my move then collapse in a heap. The sparkling brilliant glimmers of light and life are both welcome and too much to deal with. But I'll pay attention to any more that I see today. I think the basic message they are giving me is the proverbial, "You're not dead yet!"

I'm not.

Winging It

It is hard to believe that over the course of a decade, I've never yet used this title, "Winging It". Good heavens, my entire life has been about "winging it". 

I am on a short retreat, always the wrong word for me. I think when I do it from now on, I will call it a "return", because it is more a case of returning to me than retreating from the world. Increasingly, I want what I am doing to be about me, not about the world...as I have also said before, this is ever-challenging for a "girl" brought up in a narcissistic environment... On that note, without thinking, I forgot about retreat mode and turned on the public radio morning news. It was a good reminder that at my worst, my narcissism may be in the 5 range on a scale of 1-10, and some of what we are seeing worldwide is about a 15. It is all relative. And we women need to reclaim our inherent powers, even if it means sometimes swinging the pendulum a little too far in the other direction.

A lot of people on my wavelength are using the term "new timeline" to refer to the new paradigm we have entered...I'm not totally thrilled by the wording, either the "time" or the "line" part, but having said that, I don't have the energy to find something different today. Suffice it to say that the last occasion I was on a "return", I envisioned that I was heading into a future timeline that was even more hermit-like than my present. And in my first few hours here, I slipped into that mode. However, breaking through that energy has been a tiny but consistent energy of future companionship, of partnership, of supportive love with another person. Maybe, just maybe, this will be my last solo retreat. 

To return to the topic of wings, I am still troubled by how few birds I continue to encounter these days. Sure, there are some. I finally saw a few crows, a few robins, a few seagulls, a distant glimpse of an eagle, and one hummingbird. And I often hear what I think is a Carolina wren. But overall, still no dawn chorus, still not the variety of birds one would expect over the course of the summer. Even taking into account the fact that this is only my second summer back in this area, I trust my observations, and the situation is perplexing and concerning. Birds are winging it...somewhere.

Goddess Words 66: Loveliness

OK, so I plow on, a farmer sowing as many seeds as I can. And I'm growing and changing even as I write...hopefully the seeds are as well.

By the standards of 2026, "loveliness" is a rather dated word isn't it? I mean, even twenty years ago when I included it on my Goddess list, I suspect it was already passé. The concept of being beautiful to look at (as opposed to sexy or edgy) -- or beautiful in a moral or spiritual way -- may still be relevant (one hopes!), yet even to my own ears (strengthened by two decades of increasing feminism), there is something rather wimpy about the word. If I were to die tomorrow, and the main thing people said about me was, "She was a lovely person", my immediate thought is that I would be fuming from the heavenly realm! Think of all those 19th century portraits of beautiful women in white dresses, languishing on sofas or window seats, staring into the distance. Women perceived of as being lovely because of stillness and inaction. Heck, I used to resonate with such images, and wished I could be transported back about two hundred years so that this would be all that was expected of me. I could be myself, think deep thoughts, and not have to pull myself together every morning to tackle the NYC subway system, grab a bagel, take an elevator far up a skyscraper, and deal with the news of the world. "The real world". 

Of course, if being a lovely woman painted in a moment of leisure was "the real world" for anyone, it was only for a handful of privileged women, not for the vast majority of women worldwide who labored ceaselessly, often enslaved -- literally or figuratively. And, of course, I have barely ever heard a man being complimented on his "loveliness". So there is an overlay here of female niceness, insipidity, powerlessness, maybe even superficial prettiness, that is not very appealing. Having said that, coming from my particular background, I am a little ashamed to confess that "loveliness" is still a kind of tentpole for me, a safe energy to fall back into when the world overwhelms me, much like being nice and mute.

Yet I trust my inclusion of the word in my Goddess list all those years ago. Why and how did I associate loveliness with the Goddess?

If I go to the heart of the word and shed all my personal random associations, it is a little easier to embrace loveliness. First of all, the word's core is "love", right? True loveliness surely starts within, in the heart, in the ability to love. That ability to love leads to a moral and ethical solidity vis à vis other people, animals and the earth; and the ability to embody love, compassion, generosity of spirit, power sharing, even gentleness. When these qualities become a person's core identity, it is inevitable that it shows "without", in a person's face, bearing, and general energy. Their love shines outward from the core, in a ripple effect. These people are so love-filled that love is flowing out of them. They are genuinely love-ly.

If you accept the proposition that love is the most powerful force in the world, a lovely person (female or male) isn't actually powerless, or languid, or inactive. They may be some of the most powerful people in the world no matter what they are doing or not doing. A more Goddess-centered community construct would honor loveliness, not only with appealing oil paintings, but with true respect and attention. What do these spirit-rich people think? What is their world view? How do they treat other people? If love is their core value, what would love-based institutions look like and function like? Why don't we listen to them?

Far from being limp dishrags staring out at the landscape, lovely people have an active energy, a valuable gift for the world. They can be exquisitely powerful. They are a fractal manifestation of the Goddess. On second thought (an hour into writing and editing this essay!), I would be honored if I were praised for my "loveliness"!

New Moon, Eclipse, and Meteors

What with one thing and another, this is a powerful day. So once again, I will keep this shortish.

My new moon resolution is to re-frame how I express and experience love in the rest of this lifetime. I've alluded to this already, but today seems like a good day to declare it. I haven't lacked the ability to love: if all my positive emotions toward English church music and England had been used as a power source over the years, I could have lit up every state I've lived in! But I haven't yet experienced sending that love in the direction of another human being, or experienced it returning to me in that kind of personal way, and that is the new path I'm finally ready to explore. Over the next month, as the moon slowly becomes visible and brightens again, may my new intention light the way. If my path still looks a bit old on the outside, may I remember that the crucial change has happened within--curiosity. What would it be like to have a true life/spiritual partner? What can I do today to open myself to this?

And a quick note about Anglican chant. I went online yesterday to hear a few versions (from some of the top cathedral choirs) of Psalm 22, with its "roaring lion". And I am so proud of myself!  I listened to these different variations with pleasure, amusement (at the creativity of the organists and choirmasters) and, literally, joy. I love, love, love Anglican chant, as hard as many of the words of the Psalms can be these days. But there was not one ounce in me of bitter-sweetness, homesickness, or any mixed or negative emotion. For an hour, I was simply filled with delight. It appears that cleaning out the crevices is working!

If there is some new path showing itself to you in the sun or the moon's mysterious half-light, or in the sparkle of meteors, may you at least look at it with curiosity. If it is right for you, you will probably know it!

A Roaring Lion

Saturday was the Lion's Gate, a concept I had never heard of before sometime last year. (I'll let you look it up, because even now, after about eighteen months of listening to astrological talks, I still don't understand the actual astrological pieces of any of it, just the general energies.) This whole month, what with 8/8 Lion's Gate and then two eclipses, is apparently particularly powerful, astrologically and spiritually, and a portal for those of us women more fully embodying the Divine Feminine.

Because this portal appears to be coinciding with my reaching deep into myself to heal some remaining bitterness and pain around church music, it was interesting to remember words from Psalm 22, which I used to hear on recordings (and also sang at Royal Holloway and possibly also at St. John the Divine): "they gape upon me with their mouths: as it were a ramping and a roaring lion." In fact, this is such a classic psalm, giving creative organists leeway to literally mimic (musically) the roaring lion (and bulls and hounds, among other traumas!) Our choral Anglican chant would proceed in such a controlled fashion, while the organist decorated/word painted ornately around us. 

In my personal life, I haven't been a roaring lion. And yet just now, I re-read the last three or four posts, and realized with surprising satisfaction that the roaring lion in me is coming out. By telling some of these stories, I am no longer in hiding. I am no longer as scared. The real me is becoming more and more visible. Roar.

A Few Notes

Today, just a few notes, I promise.

I had a dreadful night's sleep. It sounds ridiculous, but I think I am waking up when the moon comes out, wanting to accompany it through the night, out of fear that "we" will do something to obliterate it.  In those wee hours I am full of energy, now, not so much.

Another thing happening is that some of the gunk referred to yesterday isn't waiting for me to find it, it's almost literally jumping out of the crevices saying, "Here I am, deal with me!" The cutting remark that haunted me last night came from when I wanted to audition for a choir and was told, "We have more than enough excellent potential countertenors. Why would we need to scrape the bottom of the barrel to audition you?" Countertenors are men who sing in the female alto range, which I sing. It doesn't matter that it wasn't really personal. It still cut to the quick.

In our emerging Aquarian Age, someone throbbing with love for a form of art -- and talented in the field -- simply will not be turned down. Period. The world needs love -- and beauty -- too darned much.

In the last few days, I'm still seeing and hearing too few birds. However, I have seen two rabbits, one woodchuck and one squirrel. I also saw one half of a rainbow last night(!) Oh Lordy.

It is Intense

It is intense to hit such a mother lode of unresolved issues and pain, although it is also a relief. The only way to clean out my crevices is to actually see the gunk clogging them up, not to mention clogging up my body and soul. As far as shame goes, I'm a bit ashamed that I have not been able to immediately hold the men and boys' choir tradition in a greater place of love and forgiveness, but at least (to mix metaphors entirely!) pulling the dirty laundry out from the corners helps me to see what needs cleaning...at least I am no longer afraid of facing these stale emotions, or of revealing them to others. This wandering mystic has never been a saint, and this week will be proof!

Having said that, I continue to be encouraged that Gaia is arguably going through this exact same process, in her own way. She is cleaning out the crevices of her body, the places where her own anger and frustration at poor treatment have gotten stuck. She's bringing old gunk to the surface, rolling over, turning things over, cleaning things out -- not to lash out at humanity but simply to wipe the slate clean enough to start anew in this era of higher energies. In a similar way, ultimately, I'm not writing what I have written (or will write) to assess blame or criticism. These constructs are of such long standing that there is no one person to blame! But up until now, I could perhaps protect myself by avoiding dealing with certain pain and shame...now avoidance will only weigh me down. The time to fully feel is now.

The other thing I am trying to remember is that, from a Goddess perspective, my journey was perfect. From the perspective of trying to discover and embody values that are the utter opposite of those in our current paradigm, my journey was perfect. It was natural that I tried so hard to engage with that paradigm in the way that would have been most fulfilling for me, and natural too that my passion and talent being consistently blocked was so devastating. But when I gaze at the lifetime of experience from Her eyes, I completely get why it was the way it was. No, I don't want to use that to gloss over a lode of anger. I dearly need cleaning and healing. But it does take a little of the edge off.

Incidentally, I'm having a harder time walking through my emotions around the apparent crash of space junk into the moon. It's like, it's exactly the same kind of disrespect. Ugh.

This is an intense time. If it becomes intense personally, then the "only way out is through", right? 

Memory

This is a case of, I woke up feeling that I wanted to share a memory of an event in my life, but initially nothing came to mind (that I haven't already written about, anyway!). Once this particular memory popped to the surface, I tried mightily to push it back down, but in the spirit of cleaning out the crevices (July 22), I'll forge ahead, although it terrifies me.

Yup, several key memories of my attempts to enter the world of English church music remain quite close to my chest. Why? Well, for a long time I kept hoping that I might still make a name for myself in that field and I didn't want to burn any bridges. A second reason was that I felt a deep sense of shame at having been so unsuccessful. It's absurd, of course. There simply were no girls or women in the field during my formative years of the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, and just trickles by the 90's. By the early 2000's, it was changing in the UK, but virtually not in the US. A few British women of my generation made a little headway around the edges during that 50-year stretch, but my early intention to become the first woman conductor of the Choir of King's College, Cambridge and devote my entire life to this singular musical genre could never have happened, no matter what Herculean efforts I might have made. The fact that I still feel ashamed about my lack of success is almost as heartbreaking as the fact that I lived a life so far removed from that world. It's all heartbreaking, it still is, every day.

So here's a memory that I've been trying to bury to spare myself just a little of that heartbreak. It illustrates the incredible strangeness and paradox of my whole life.

My two years in Helena, Montana were, in most respects, among the hardest ever, even though I was near family. For much of the time, I lived at the YWCA, and I struggled to get any kind of work, much less anything that would have had meaning for me. Singing in two choral groups helped save me, as did starting to do research about my favorite composer, Herbert Howells. My first article about him was accomplished simply by sending emails and letters to some of his former students. My laptop was perched on my lap on my rather saggy twin bed in my nun's cell of a room at the Y, and I was surrounded by scribbled notes and drafts. If I remember correctly, my computer died at some point in the process, so the bulk of my work (emails, research, article drafts) ended up being done at Helena's public library. (I mean it when I stress the centrality of public libraries to my journey!) "Herbert Howells, the Teacher" was first published by the British Music Society News in January of 2013, then reprinted by The American Organist later that year.

Around that time, I was invited to teach a class about Howells at Helena's Episcopal Cathedral. Inevitably I discussed, and played a recording of, the motet "Take Him, Earth, For Cherishing", purportedly sung at John F. Kennedy's funeral. I had always thought this to be a dubious story, and several students in the class pointedly asked how (and why) on earth a piece by a British composer would have been sung at the funeral three days after the president's completely unexpected death. Why wouldn't an American composer have been chosen? More to the point, we all wondered how, in the early 1960's before the era of faxes and email attachments, a piece of music could have made it from Britain to Washington in that time frame. There was something clearly wrong with the story, and I promised attendees that I would look into it.

I started to dig. It was slow going at first, but I stumbled upon the name of a former organist-choirmaster who would help me "crack the case". On a hot summer afternoon, I was walking through the Y's living room towards the staircase up to my room, when my cell phone rang. It was the organist, happy to tell me what he knew. I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper with some open space to write on, and at first sat in a comfortable chair, trying to scribble down notes and ask him questions. Eventually, the loud sounds of TV ("Law and Order: SVU") and general conversational hubbub forced me out onto the porch, where I continued the interview. Even as I spoke with him, I thought, if this organist knew the conditions under which I was doing my research, he might never have called me!

(Please, don't misunderstand...moving into the Y was by far the hardest thing I had ever done. Slowly but surely, though, the place became a safe haven, and a place of growth and solidarity with other women. Sometime soon, I'll write more about the experience, for which I am profoundly grateful.)

"To make a long story short", my second article "'Take Him, Earth' Revisited" was published by The American Organist in September 2014. Howells's motet was, in fact, first sung in Washington a year after Kennedy's death by a Canadian men-and-boys' choir. This update by no means diminishes an extraordinary piece of music, but it was a big revelation which should have met with a fair amount of hoopla in the music world. To my knowledge, this never happened. 

I'm full of trite sayings today: "What came first, the chicken or the egg"? Is it the fact that I was female (not male), Smith- and Royal Holloway-educated (not Oxbridge), and ahead of my time that led to my gaining no life traction at all and ending up living and working in the most inappropriate circumstances for my goals? Or is it because I started in the proverbial wilderness (as far as this tradition is concerned) and kept ending up there, that I couldn't eventually gain a little deserved respect or attention? Perhaps both. At this moment when all these traditional constructs are beginning to collapse, perhaps it doesn't matter.

But remembering this story has stirred up some long-hidden anger, humiliation, and frustration. It is hard to imagine a human being with my level of intellectual, spiritual, musical and artistic skills being more thoroughly swept aside -- except, of course, there have probably been hundreds of thousands over the centuries, women and men of the wrong background, or gender, or educational accomplishment, or religion, left "homeless" and invisible. And for a woman in a patriarchal construct, nothing was in place to support my actual thriving or success. I guess what keeps me going even today is remembering that I've never been as alone in this silencing as I have felt. Every day that I am still alive is an accomplishment, hopefully not just for me, but for so many others. 

Yes, today's memory is bringing up a lot of negative emotion, but I hope bringing that to light will lead to eventual healing. That's all I can say today.

Rabbit, Rabbit...

Yes, after all these years, those are usually the first two words out of my mouth at the beginning of a month. I don't really believe in "luck", but for some reason the tradition sticks.

And yes, there has been a small uptick in the presence of animal and bird life. At this moment, I hear crickets or peepers of some kind and the occasional bird call, and I saw one squirrel on my walk earlier. Yet it remains creepily, eerily quiet overall. I believe enough in the intelligence of all life on earth to know that this means something, even if I cannot personally interpret it. Some message may have come to animals on the surface from the inner planes, or the outer galactic ones, which undoubtedly we could interpret if we were more alert.

I went somewhere yesterday guaranteed to keep us less alert -- a mall. People wonder, why would I go there, when I basically hate them, don't like shopping, and find the "energy" to be overwhelming? Well, I guess in a nutshell, it involves having no car and (at the moment) little freedom of movement. When I have the chance to take the city bus on a small adventure, this is one thing I do. I eat the same food every time, wander the air conditioned spaces the same way, go to the big bookstore to find a crossword puzzle book and sometimes sit and sip iced coffee, and once in a blue moon make a small purchase of the kinds of clothing or footwear that I can't buy used. People talk about being in a bubble -- the mall is the ultimate bubble. One is essentially unaware of everything outside, from weather conditions to animals to local news to national and international events, to, heck, your friends or family and what they may be going through. It's all about "shopping". Distraction. I'm actually stunned that malls still exist, although this specific place seemed remarkably crowded. There are cities where the local mall has closed, but the structure remains, an eyesore and a nuisance.

Malls aside, human activity aside, it just feels as if the Goddess is taking a deep breath. A calm before many storms. The Capital District area discovered the other day that it is not immune to climate chaos...but two days later, people seemed to have moved on. I guess if I didn't have some spiritual understanding of the path we are on, I'd "move on" too. Gosh, I might have better "moved on" thirty years ago! But for this weekend, I'll join the Goddess in a deep breath. Breathing, love, and connecting with animal life if they find you. That's all one can do. 

It is Already Friday

Between the fact that time is supposed to go faster as you get older, and the fact that we are evidently entering an era when we will experience time differently, and the fact that parts of this week were so unprecedented, weather-wise, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it is already Friday, but I am. (On top of that, I am waiting for a bit of personal news that is slow to arrive -- a watched pot, I guess.) Today's post will be a true catch-all.

Birds and animals seem to be slowly returning to the area. In the last 24 hours, I have heard a Carolina wren multiple times, and seen one squirrel and one rabbit. A strange black bug landed on my book yesterday, and, of course, mosquitos never really left. It's not the norm, but it is something. I have tried not to be fearful about this apparent wildlife disappearance...trying to use the old curiosity solution. Where have they gone? Do they have some kind of underground meeting place? Did they just travel a few miles away to avoid an energetic glitch due to solar flares or wildflower smoke? Or is there an even more metaphysical explanation -- can animals change form entirely, at will? I don't know any of those answers. All I know is, in upcoming weeks I'll be more relieved than I have ever been to see any bird, insect or animal.

I'm still trying to internally acclimate to the notion of being a person "in partnership" -- still not knowing who with, or where, or when it might happen. I realize that this wouldn't have even happened if I had not reached a point (at 70!) of self-acceptance. Of finally realizing the immense value of my journey down and in to the heart of the Goddess, to find my worth outside of the norms of the construct in place, to find a "place" of being worthy of nourishment, protection, cherishing. I finally want to nourish, protect, and cherish myself! It's the first time I've ever seriously thought that it might be possible for someone to find my pioneering efforts in the world of English church music endlessly interesting and discussion-worthy, even if they personally know nothing about it! It's the first time I've been able to envision talking with someone about every possible aspect of my life -- and theirs -- from a high enough spiritual perspective to keep it interesting for me. (I realize, in effect, how bored I have been much of my life, not able to function at the level that is right for me.) None of this would have happened without finally accepting exactly who I am...and according to some of my online astrologers, none of this might have happened before now anyway, given the unusually powerful moment we are in. It is allowing all of us the chance to transform.

So this partnership thing is still mostly a case of, imagining what it would be like to share this present moment or this spiritual insight with another person. Imagining what they might be experiencing at any given moment. Trying to imagine what it would be like to grow spiritually in tandem with another. Curiosity. It's hard to do, given this singular lifetime, and yet I know I surely must remember previous lifetimes on a deep, unconscious level. I can draw on this wisdom even when it seems buried. July was a month of unearthing a lot of buried treasure. Now, on to August, which they say will be even more transformational. Blessings, readers.

What a Difference a Few Days Make...

On Monday, I was seriously concerned that our area might be the next one to experience wildfires. By Tuesday evening it had started to rain, and as some of you may have seen on the national news, Wednesday brought a full day of torrential downpours. I awoke to a blaring alarm on my phone, urging people not to go out. In the end, we had over five inches, but some local areas had as much as a foot. Things came to a screeching halt, with flooded roads, cars, and houses, and delays, detours and stoppages on public transportation. Rivers overflowed their banks. It's strange to be locked indoors in midsummer, much as if it's a winter blizzard or stretch of -20 degree weather...

On the animal front, I still hear next to no bird calls, but of course part of that today may be due to the deluge. I finally saw a woodchuck yesterday, and a little moth landed on me indoors. Perhaps because I'm seeing so little "fauna", each small encounter is more meaningful to me now! If nothing else, I realize how completely blind I have been in my lifetime to the natural world...I cannot possibly make up for it, and it's a hard way to learn a lesson, but at least I'm one little person readjusting her perspective.

And whether it is due to yesterday's powerful full moon, or the changing nodes, or just my life path at 70, but I have had another huge inner shift. (I alluded to its preliminary whispers last week.) I seem to have moved from the self-image of being a contemplative nun/hermit/wandering solitary mystic to the self-image of being in partnership. Something in me has broken through my inner shell and I can at least imagine the potential of connecting with a kindred spirit, and, in the future, walking the path ahead together. Truly, this is the most radical transformation that I could possibly ever experience, far bigger than finding a permanent home, or a new way of using my creativity, or a new form of leadership. And I know this isn't something I can orchestrate. It's more about, tending to the feeling of partnership within me, nurturing it, facing my fears about it, and just watching what unfolds...Yikes.

What a difference a few days make...

Animal Update

Good morning. I have a quick update to yesterday's post about the disappearance of animal life. Since writing it, I've had three surprising encounters or sightings.

First, I was sitting outside and there was a loud "klunk" next to me -- it was a stubby caterpillar, brownish-green, maybe about 4 inches long, that evidently fell off the tree above me and missed me by about two inches. I'm not 100% certain what kind of moth or butterfly it will eventually turn into (he was re-placed on a bush, hopefully to survive) but I've never had a caterpillar nearly fall on me before.

Then, another first. I went swimming in the rapidly-drying Mohawk River, and kept feeling like I was being tickled. When I finally stood up and looked down under the water, darned if there weren't one or two dozen 3- or 4-inch minnows nipping away at my legs! It was so comical that I burst out laughing, although not quite knowing if I would receive actual "bites" I hurried out of the water. Again, a totally new experience. I remember tiny minnows up on Lake Champlain when I was young, but not these teenage ones.

Lastly, there is a glut of one kind of birdlife in the area -- seagulls, and they are congregating on sandbars being created by the lowering of the river level. It seems odd, so far from "sea" -- but hey, they follow ships and boats up the Hudson, and west on the Erie Canal, no doubt. 

I realized this morning that I haven't seen (or heard) a crow in weeks. In the summer, no matter where I have lived, they usually congregate and create quite the racket. It is absurdly quiet. 

I guess it is emblematic of this time that when I am having encounters with wildlife, they are novel, strange, not the norm.

Where are They?

This is going to be a very short one. 

Early in the summer, things seemed relatively "normal" in this area of NYS vis a vis animal life, bird life, etc. Squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits abounded, as did woodchucks. I wasn't seeing as many raptors as last summer, but there were a lot of smaller birds, I saw an early hummingbird, and there was a fairly good showing of early moths and butterflies. But in the last two-to-three weeks or so -- certainly since the bad wildfire smoke in mid-month -- it is as if animal life has all but disappeared completely. Yes, I saw a hawk killing a rabbit from a little ways away a week ago -- and if I sounded a little dispassionate about that, it's because I am trying to remember not to place a human ethical construct on top of such an event. Inwardly I was heartbroken for the little bunny! Other than that, I have seen the odd moth, one monarch, and a few chipmunks. 

This morning, I was awake entirely too early, and realized that not only was there not a "dawn chorus" at the appropriate time, with the exception of one bird chirping for about ten seconds, there wasn't even a trio or duet. The whole early morning sunrise time from 4 to 6 am was dead silent. At other times of the day, it is similar -- only a few individual bird calls here and there. It is positively creepy.

Where are they? What has happened? Do they know something we do not know?

Off the Top of my Head: Fires

This is one of those mornings when I feel called to write, despite having no idea what about. It's like, I still have this freedom, so I must use it. This is coming out of me as I type it. 

The smoke condition that was so hard and extreme last week (much more so in northern Minnesota than here in this part of upstate New York) seems to have dissipated for the moment, but from what I can see, the Canadian and Minnesota fires themselves continue to burn, in addition to ones in the Western U.S. and around the world. There is so much being said, from the sensible to the absurd, that part of me hesitates to comment, but...

Fire is literally a force of nature, and for generations and generations it made life on earth possible for human beings. So I think it is really important, above all, to honor fire. To respect it. To understand its role in all senses, even metaphorically. I've often told the story of my childhood dream of the tornado of fire, and how I've begun to see that tornado not as a fearful event, but as an expression of passion. Unfortunately, when human passion turns ugly, we "ready-aim-fire" on other humans, drop bombs that start fires, and otherwise use fire to attack and kill. "Fire" became an essential part of the war vocabulary. Ugh.

As Earth heats up, it is inevitable that there will be more and more fires. I don't believe that this is a case of Gaia attacking us, although undoubtedly some people will see it this way. She is beyond that kind of duality. No matter how fires start or how they are "fought", it will be a hard journey for human civilization, just as floods, earthquakes, and volcanos have always been and will increasingly be. As ever, though, I have to put the Goddess first. Her passion, if you will, is Her own body, and maintaining its safety, sovereignty and livability. We humans have generally not put Her first, so She must do that now Herself. For those of us who can rise above duality, it means embracing the phenomenon, not fighting it or the paradigm that created it. I mentioned the word curiosity the other day, and perhaps curiosity would be good here -- just kind of an open-hearted wondering. In future, how will we need to live, to power our lives, to feed ourselves? What are the fires burning away? What new passions will emerge out of the ashes of the old? Can we grasp that the world is being completely changed right now and that we cannot envision exactly what it will look like and operate like? What role are the fires (and their smoke events) playing in effecting change? How are they changing us, as people? Can we sometimes just observe, be a witness?

I have been keeping a "fake" plastic candle alight next to my workspace these last few days, just to remind myself that somewhere in all this, there is something good going on. Light and passion and power can be good things, things we want in our lives. And somehow, it's necessary to try to stay as unreactive to real fires as we are to little decorative ones -- even if we are fleeing a conflagration. I mean, to try to take one second to honor the fire's power, even as we throw a few belongings into a car. Fire is a potent reality, and in the bigger picture, long down the road, all will be well. The Earth that emerges in coming years will be the Earth that needs to be.

Cleaning out the Crevices

Half a lifetime ago -- and I am not sure whether this was when I was in New York City in the 1980's or at Pendle Hill in 1990 -- I consulted an energy healer. She said that, while the life energy around my head was vibrant and rich, from my neck down, there was virtually nothing there. The rest of my body was barely alive, energetically, and I wasn't grounded to the earth at all. She encouraged me to bring my body along for the ride -- and yet after all these years, I still haven't done that particularly well, or with any regularity or deliberation. While I have been extremely fortunate in having largely avoided disease, not surprisingly, I've had three significant falls in the 21st century, leading to serious sprains and breaks.

Over the last few weeks, these injuries (which I had considered long "healed") have been speaking with me. All three of them took place when I had no health insurance, so in addition to the trauma and pain inherent in the actual falls, there were significant added layers of rejection (of assistance), shame, fear and uncertainty. In the middle of the night last night, I realized I was being called to clean out the crevices into which I'd swept all these negative emotions, at a moment when I understandably had to focus on restoring my ability to walk and use my arms. I scanned the old injury events, forgiving myself and those who fearfully kept me at arm's length or tried to deny me medical care. I also remembered with appreciation that there were beautiful angels in each case who stepped up and helped me, easing the process.

And of course I couldn't help but remember the really quite remarkable fact that all three falls took place in the context of cathedrals/cathedral music -- either in a cathedral, or as I was heading to a cathedral to volunteer/sing or attend a major service. It is hard to know whether my joy was so "heady" that I couldn't focus on my feet, or (darker spin) whether this music tradition set up an energetic roadblock to prevent my entry. At this late date, it really doesn't matter. I have done my best to forgive and release this yucky stuff in the crevices, but I will undoubtedly need to do more healing and forgiveness in weeks to come.

My online peeps speak of embodying joy, embodying love, and embodying the Goddess. For someone like me, this is really, really hard. So much of my passion remains in my head, but I'm starting (with the encouragement of my body) to allow passion to move down through all my cells, organs, bones, and tendons. I think I tried to sail through life as if I didn't have a body...no longer an option in these times of ascension. Paradoxically, we have to be fully present, body and soul, in order to rise. My primary spiritual focus at this point is the Goddess. She has a body (Earth). She is waking up from numbness and trauma, and so -- apparently -- am I! Perhaps you are experiencing something similar?

I Won't Lie--A Ramble through Sunday

I won't lie. I had an extremely hard day yesterday. Extremely.  After three distressing days of wildfire smoke (discussing the levels of distress on this topic will have to wait for another day), it was actually beautiful out, sunny, windy, coolish. I was privileged enough to spend much of the day outside, reading and writing, savoring relative weather normalcy.

Still, I crashed emotionally. Really crashed. This so often happens after making a spiritual leap forward -- I feel honor bound to talk about this for the sake of other mystics experiencing the same thing. What was the major leap? Possibly my "Womb" essay last week. I stumbled on something very new, and expected an immediate backlash. But it seems to have taken a few days...combined with the smoke, the sense of truly going alone through the eye of the needle...

Because in the end, the aloneness was what slammed into me. Yes, I am safer than most people in my financial situation, and I was surrounded yesterday by trees, flowers, water, and a strong south wind. Nature was its own womb. But here is the dialogue I finally wrote down on my yellow legal (!) pad, word for word, just as my emotions tumbled out. "What the Sam Hill am I doing in Schenectady? I outgrew it 50 years ago! Where in the world are the people who think and act like me? All this moving around, and to this day my kindred spirits seem to be mostly online, and I don't even like going online! I'm not drawn to my former homes. I'm miserable about the situation in Duluth and the upper midwest, but I cannot help them and do not feel drawn to returning, even for a short visit. What draws me forward? Meeting like-minded wise Goddess spirits in person, only that high level of connection has yet to be made. Thinking about a likely upcoming move makes me feel lonely. My body doesn't feel like it belongs to me any more...Oh, how I wish I had a companion on my journey!"

Interesting, huh? For seventy years, being alone has seemed inevitable, and yet in the midst of a serious dark night of the soul, the truth cracks something open. This isn't about an old paradigm marriage-house-children partnership, but a very specific kind of intense spiritual sharing and daily interaction. I'm proud of the fact that I used "feeling" words more than "thinking" ones in that writing, and that somehow in subsequent hours I avoided a complete meltdown by remembering curiosity: What would it be like to have a real life companion, completely on my wavelength? Is it possible that such a person is on the horizon? What would it feel like to meet them and communicate deeply? How would my soul -- and my body -- react?

Thankfully, this curiosity made it possible for me to loop out of depression and say "yes" to attending a bluegrass concert in Schenectady's Central Park. I actually like this music a lot, it brought me back to life, and there was great people watching. 

And in honor of being less left-brained (and not feeling the need to go back and re-write this post), I suddenly remember how Sunday started, which may have entered into things. I take a 10-12 minute walk about three times a day (it's on a very busy road, and for safety's sake I prefer a few short walks). I did the usual at about 7 AM, but when I turned back into the driveway, there was a remarkable sight ahead of me -- a huge hawk (becoming aware of my presence I guess) lifting up off the driveway, its four-foot wingspan circling up and out of sight. First of all, it was only the second hawk I've seen this summer at all, so to see it on the ground was remarkable. Secondly, there was a dead bunny rabbit on the driveway. Not a surprise, but I said a heartfelt blessing for it. Lastly, starting the day with hawk (messenger) eating rabbit (fear) was, itself, interesting. A large part of this whole black hole is fear, the fear of continuing into later old age still alone, my authentic self still feeling invisible. Perhaps my message was to pay attention to this, and to what may now be my biggest wish of all -- deep, meaningful connection with one other human being. To leave the "Liz path" and enter the "Liz and (someone) path". That's new! Hmm...