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!!!!