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!