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...

Orange Sky

Talk about things that weren't on my radar screen four days ago or so...orange sky. This morning as I speak, our upstate NY sky is actually relatively normal and blue, but I understand it won't be for long. Yesterday was all orange -- strange, creepy, yes, as everyone was saying, apocalyptic, yet nothing like in my beloved Duluth/Northern Minnesota. I don't dare even to text my friends there whose lives must be upside down. They need to focus their energies on the moment-to-moment where they are. Certain climate issues can be ignored or kicked forward, but this is not one of them, is it?

It is interesting that orange is the complementary color to blue...this may be relevant right now, just in the sense of things being turned "pear-shaped".

In the midst of it all, I seem to be having several strange new physical symptoms...they are minor enough to see in the light of metaphor and symbolism, but I suspect that just as Mother Earth is being turned inside out, we are too. For the moment, I am trying to immerse my body in the relatively new sensation of joy, when I can feel an iota of it!

Lastly, speaking of wombs, as I did the other day: what if each day is a womb? What is being nurtured and protected today for birth by tomorrow?? 

There is something exceptional and good in all this, as hard as it may be to believe. Take care, all, wherever you are.