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.