Goddess Words 49: Hospitality

I guess it stands to reason that someone from my background might include "hospitality" on a list of Goddess words, as if the Goddess is some kind of society hostess! 

Returning to the Capital District has forced me to look at my childhood influences, and in this regard, I'd have to say that neither my mother or my father were exactly "hospitable" people. I mean, Mom didn't routinely have friends dropping by for coffee or tea (although her bridge club arrived en masse about once a year). I don't think my dad had any friends, so there were never men coming over to play poker in the basement or to watch football. But there were some special occasions, particularly a very formal yearly New Year's Eve party. Once I was old enough, I was allowed to stay up as guests were arriving and play waitress with trays of hors d'oeuvres. The men weren't in tuxes exactly, although I remember cummerbunds; black and white evening jackets were the norm, and the women wore long shimmery dresses and jewelry. Before too long, the living room was too smoky and drinky for me, and my mother would shoo me upstairs as a man with a deep bass voice intoned one of the Christmas letters we had received, to guffaws of laughter. (I always felt rather sorry for the sender.)

One definition of hospitality includes the word "generous", and to me, this is key. To be true "hospitality", a person's welcome needs to be genuine, from the heart, embracing. It's not about impressing people, or good business (although these days that facet has entered into it), or feeling sorry, or forced good humor. It's about not serving the coffee that's been sitting in the urn for hours, but making new coffee. It's about really caring that the person you are welcoming is comfortable, and has been refreshed. Some of this is so engrained in me that, even having so rarely had my own place in which to entertain or welcome people, I sometimes find myself playing that role in other peoples' houses. There is something in me that just cannot help it. The visitor may have travelled some distance, may be tired, thirsty or hungry, and simply may just need to sit down. I get it.

Judging from my favorite Sister Fidelma mysteries, hospitality in 7th century Ireland was written into law, at least as far as monasteries, inns, and some other institutions were concerned. It was a societal obligation to put up the stranger at your door, and this filtered down to individuals in the smallest of hovels. I cannot know whether, thus codified, hospitality lost its spontaneity and generosity, but at least someone wandering on a dark road at night could expect to be welcomed in some kind of basic way at the first house with a lantern at the door. We all need this at some point in our lives, perhaps often.

In the context of current events, it is almost unbearably painful to see how our national concept of hospitality has been turned on its head, Our stance couldn't be further from that of the Goddess -- hate-filled not generous, pushing out not drawing in, cold rather than warm. I shudder to think of the "karmic payback" we are drawing to us.

Well, we are all playing a different role in the enormous shift that Life is undergoing right now, and we can only find the role that is right for us, and play it. If I've said this before, forgive me the repetition -- I think that the values of the Goddess are so instilled in me that my role is, in effect, to be the hostess, welcoming people to the new era, recognizing the difficulty of the journey we have all undertaken, and wishing to provide travelers with a soft chair, a cup of hot tea or ice water, a snack, and a footstool. I want to provide hospitality, to say "welcome". You made it. We made it. This paradigm is real, and this is what it feels like -- warm, welcoming, generous to all, and a relief from the tumult we've been through. I'll want people to take all the time they need to acclimate, to heal, and to refresh. If they make it to the door, my light will be on...wherever I am.

And another...

This is one of those weeks when, if I write, I am still alive. Now things aren't as dire as that, by any means, but this process of "ascension"/keeping up with emerging Aquarian energies as the world falls backwards/staying true to myself is not getting easier. I feel ripped to shreds, and in a "space" I don't recognize (and this is on top of how unrecognizable our culture has become.)

The process is getting more interesting in at least one respect, however! I got one phone call yesterday, just one, and it was to confirm that I will have the opportunity to do a three- or four-day retreat next week in a rather interesting location. More (perhaps) about that later. But it confirms for me that I'm in this "place" where the only communication actually reaching me is information that I truly need, spiritually. Nothing else is coming in -- and perhaps some of what I am sending out is, itself, unnecessary for me and for those at the other end, thus the silence.

I know I've said this at least once in the past...I've kept going with this blog in large part to chronicle what it has been to be a 21st century-American (with stronger ties to Britain)-Goddess-centered mystic. What life is like when your values are the complete opposite of the culture. The joys, the wonder, the complete uncertainty, the fear, the hard decisions, the solitude, the occasional moments of connection and beauty. The wavering in and out of feeling held by the Great Mother. There may be no one out there with my exact imprint, but as I found in the friend I spoke about last time, there are certainly other wandering female mystics and always have been. The difference is that in this era, I have this venue to express my thoughts. In a way, this blog is my only true "home". If my posts are any help to even one other woman on a mystic path, I'll feel "successful".

I'm still not necessarily planning to write every day moving forward, so not to worry when a few days go by. Still, I feel led to be ever more regular and open with both good and bad -- about my life path. (I feel less led than ever to commenting on the crumbling infrastructure outside of me, because the focus now needs to be on trying our best to navigate the path to a very different future.) 

Another Day

I think there may be a few people who check in to my blog to make sure I am still alive, and I am so appreciative of them. Yes, it has been "quite a journey" and this is probably a good way to check. Here I am today, September 4, 2025, another day! I am thankful to be in a beautiful setting, which is sustaining and encouraging...but doesn't always completely smooth the path.

Because of one of the ideas I was considering yesterday, I was reminded of a remarkable woman I met about 30 years ago. She was a much older version of me, an Aquarian mystic, and she had been wandering for at least 30 years. We couldn't help but compare notes. She was the person who explained to me that people with old paradigm thinking and an ability to function well in our old paradigm financial system are the ones who thrive, as do those with new paradigm thinking and an ability to function well in our old paradigm financial system. It's those of us who are "new-new" who find no traction, no easy way to move forward. I think that she eventually made her way "home", but how far into old age she lived, I don't know. I hope she had some comfort and community toward the end.

At the time, I remember thinking, if the next thirty years of my life are as unsettled as hers has been, I won't be able to bear it. There must be something I can do differently -- and yet, my life was a variation on the same theme. It has been "unbearable", and yet bear it I have -- and most women around the world bear much worse. I think I mused once before over whether the experience of contemporary male mystics is different or easier. I suspect so, but I don't know any personally. My hunch is that they may be taken more seriously, and listened to more readily. I value my alone time more than anything, but the woman in me longs for community, sharing, and mutual learning and respect. And my ideal community (like my ideal choir) would mix the gifts and sounds of both men and women.

A few wispy white clouds on the horizon today...rain must be due. Or storms of some other nature.

On an ascension path, I guess there are stretches of time when your new energy just simply doesn't communicate with the old energy surrounding you, and there's an awkward readjustment. Goddess give me the strength to keep going, and to take the path ahead -- when I know what it is! Thank you for bringing me to another day.

Five Monarchs

I don't know that I have ever done two posts in one day, but I had to add a short post script. Yes, it's been a particularly unclear week. I feel so clear in my own self, but, as ever, not in terms of how to navigate the world. I said I needed to look for beauty, or something beckoning and shimmering to hold onto, and on a walk just now, I saw not one, not two, but five monarch butterflies. That's more than I've seen all summer combined! It's a little pathetic to hold onto this for dear life, but I will. If they can stay alive in this crazy world and flit from goldenrod flower to goldenrod flower, then I hope I can too.  

When the Bottom Drops out

I guess I should have expected it, seeing as how I have experienced so many revelations recently, and so much in our outer world is shaking and quaking. 

But I feel like I am having one of those weeks where just about everything is dropping out from under me. My living situation is shaky, and when I try to connect outward with people or make plans, it doesn't happen properly. I'm not hearing back from texts and calls, and I'm not even getting the pleasure and learning from various online teachers that I was for a few months. Fall is coming, and with it the panic about where I will be when it gets cold and icy. It's so simple really. I want what I've wanted for years, to find people like me and be in community with them. But my take on things isn't easy for some people to absorb, and while inwardly I know that I am a treasure (!), not everyone has seen me, my presence, or my process that way. At my age, and at such an insane moment in our culture, it would be so easy to throw up one's hands and say, I just can't do this anymore.

What will keep me going? Breathing. Remembering that the time we are entering is much more "my time" than the time we are leaving. Finding one thing that is good and beautiful. One thing that is working. One beautiful thing in nature. One thing that shimmers beautifully on the horizon. I signed up for an event that I think will play that role, so I hold on tight while the gauze is tearing and the bottom is dropping out. If any of you are going through this kind of thing, please know that I'm with you.

What's Next?

There are "suddenly" a lot of people saying some of the things I've been saying for years -- well, not so suddenly I'm sure. It's just that it took me a long time to find them. Anyway, we are all trying to make sense of the new era we are entering. Today seems like a good day to try to articulate a few of the qualities of this upcoming time, based as best I can on my own thinking. It will be harder and harder to remember when or how I was influenced by other thinkers, and, basically, it will not matter anymore anyway. All of us are being inspired by Spirit, by the Love at the core of it all, so all our egos are increasingly taking second chair. 

In one sentence, the Age of Aquarius will be a time characterized by Love. Love will be the only potent force in the universe. This process has started, as easy as it may be not to believe it. People, processes and institutions that have been based in conflict, hatred, and pain are scrambling...perhaps they know their time has come and gone. Yet all of us have to look honestly at all the underpinnings of our lives, and sense whether our foundations are built on all-Love, or on "Us vs. Them, Good vs. Evil, Right vs. Wrong, etc." Frankly, most of the personal or societal building blocks constructed in the old paradigm are likely to collapse, without any help from us. No fight is necessary here. It is Love filling every space currently empty of it. 

In a way, that's why I've lived the way I have. I knew I might eventually need to live without "modern medicine", so I tried to get my body used to it. I knew it might eventually be hard to be laden down with a lot of possessions, property or financial complications, so I stayed as uncomplicated as I could. I knew that what is currently considered "success" would be considered completely immaterial toward the end of my life, so I tried hard not to measure myself by that yardstick (although that may have been the hardest thing of all). I don't think we can prepare, per se, for the process we are about to go through, except to stay in the present and be grateful for whatever blessings we currently experience. It's probably a good idea, too, to stay aware that things may change utterly. If you have a home, or health care, or income, now, you may or may not have them down the line. You may or may not live in a landscape that looks familiar down the line, or even continue to be alive on this earth plane. Just remember that life itself never ends, and that all of us are eternal beings. There is no death on the divine plane, and some people who are alive now will "die", only to play important spiritual roles behind the scenes moving forward. For a period of time, we may be uncomfortably half-in and half-out of the new age, and every day will be a complex navigation of that reality.

Ultimately, this is a time to welcome -- for those of us capable of love, harmony, beauty, and respect for the earth, it is literally "the dawn of a new day". For those of us who honor the Great Mother, She is back. But others literally cannot stand the idea of such a world. There will be earthquakes of both the natural and human kind. If possible, embrace it all, even the chaos. It is happening, and it is real. It is a time of shocking beginnings and endings, a tearing of the fabric that held us in place, But that's the whole point. Our culture was like a big gauze bandage, trying to protect humanity's greatest wound -- duality. As the gauze tears away and the open sore is exposed to the air, it will be exceedingly painful for a while, but slowly but surely the wound will finally start to heal. We will not need the specific bandages that have been in place for so long.

Again, Again

Back in May of 2017, I wrote a post called "Again" in response to an act of mass violence, and numerous times since then I have made at least brief comments about these events. On most of the occasions, it has seemed that so much was being said by so many, that there was little healing to be had in adding to the cacophony. Yet today some thoughts were on my mind upon awakening, so I'll do my best to share them, not in the spirit of fixing the problem or blaming or solving...just, what would shift the conflict energy that we are stuck in?

We all know this deep down -- there can be little success trying to fix what is outside ourselves. The only true solutions are within each of us individually. Are we at peace with ourselves, with friends and family? Are we at peace with the kind of work we do, how we live, how we spend time? Are we at peace with absolutely every nook and cranny of our lives, and with our larger history? There are personal places I get stuck, some of which I have spoken about in this blog, and then in the larger history of our country and the world, which I don't speak about as often. What inwardly causes me the most pain is to face the violence of the early "settlement" of North America, the revolution that bought our "freedom", and the violence of the move westward. The violence toward the people, plants, and non-human beings new settlers encountered, the violence inherent in the creation of roads, dams, cities, train tracks and mines. The violence toward the earth Herself. The violence in our political, economic, social, and medical systems and our language. The violence (real and diplomatically muffled) in our relationships with the rest of the world. The violence in our sports and "play", the violence in how we produce food and other manufactured items, and the violence in our relationships with the deep oceans and vast outer space. 

This is a yes-based universe, I am sure of it (I think this is an Abraham-Hicks-ism). So it's hard for me to see how anger and blame expressed outward -- even understandable movements for specific changes -- will cause the desired effect, especially in this Age of Aquarius. If the energy of a response is itself too violent or confrontational, it is likely to beget more violence and confrontation. What may shift the energy, though, will be for individuals to look inward, and really look honestly at the ways in which conflict and violence are part of our communal history as well as our own personal stories. Look unflinchingly. Accept the reality. Do whatever work we need to do to heal our personal trauma and pain, so that our role as a ripple effect will end. Then move ahead with a complete and utter commitment to harmony in every area of life. Not everyone can do this. Some may have to keep fighting -- this may be the divine agreement they made before this incarnation. But some of us have already released "the fight", and more and more will do the same every day as this Age continues. As higher levels of Love enter our universe, the violence around us may seem to be becoming more frenzied, but before long, it will wilt and die from lack of oxygen. There will be too much Love.

Yesterday, I sent photos of beauty to my friends in Minnesota who I knew might be particularly distressed right now. I had been to Schenectady's rose garden, and so mostly I sent pictures of roses. Making the choice to spread beauty in this moment was just about all I could do. Again, again.

Three Revelations

I had gathered from various astrology sources that this past weekend's new moon was going to be powerful, and it certainly was for me. How about you?

In a conversation on Thursday, I came to a realization about the so-called prosperity gospel (about which I really know virtually nothing except that it is a "thing" in some churches) and its new age cousin, where you try to gain prosperity or success through visualization and other techniques. The latter is something I tried on and off over the years. Both of these cases represent ego-driven effort. It is all about personal success, achievement or material gain. In a flash, I realized not only why the new age version hadn't worked for me, but why such beliefs may actually be inconsistent with Goddess thinking. Does the Goddess want every human being to reach their fullest creative, spiritual, joy, love, and beauty potentials? Yes. But our individual efforts to gain personal worldly success, wealth, land, belongings, and status have brought humanity to the edge of ecological disaster. Wanting so much for ourselves (and in some cases, our families) -- outside of any community context, or concern for the health and future viability of the planet itself -- goes over the edge into pure selfishness. All of us in the West have been brought up immersed in this basic ethos, and I guess even for someone like me, it took far too long to disengage and see what it is doing to the Earth. A more Goddess-centered way of thinking would consider any action's toll on the planet, and how all of us, as the broader community of humans, can blossom. It would never be just about "success for me". (Revelation number one.}

Then, on Saturday, I was in a setting with multiple tall pine trees whose trunks were bare of branches. Two trees had been, I guess you could say, decorated in a manner I have never seen before. At about the five foot mark, both tree trunks had plastic-covered chain "necklaces" with a central metal plaque, saying that they (the plaques or the trees?) had been given in memory of so-and-so. This struck me as grotesque. What had these trees done to warrant being enchained? Visually, the trees look constricted, suffocated; all of this was done for the ego gratification of a person or a family. "My tree. A tree in my honor." On an energetic level, binding it didn't seem too far away from taking a chainsaw to it -- in either case, the tree was allowed no agency. The tree was never asked for permission, just as Nature generally isn't. (The thought wasn't a revelation to me, but the image of a tree in chains was. Number two.)

Then lastly, the big one. Saturday evening I watched something on public TV about tombs and fragments being discovered under the transept crossing floor at Notre Dame de Paris, as the building is rebuilt. The cathedral's original choir screen was knocked down several hundred years ago, and, evidently, simply floored over. For the most part, English cathedrals still have their choir screens, whose original purpose was, of course, to literally screen or separate the choir and clergy taking part in the service from the parishioners down in the nave. It created a higher, holier space where the official acts of worship took place...and it was a space for the tiniest elite. Few men and boys -- and no women or girls -- could go through that beautifully-decorated portal.

Now, I've known about this history, of course. How could I not? However, over the years, my focus was on the music, wanting to sing it, to learn the repertoire, to be an active participant in the choral part of worship (yes, even though my concept of the divine was decidedly broader than the church's!) But watching this documentary, I had an epiphany. This wasn't just about singing. This was about being "allowed" near the heart of the divine. This was about being in the holy presence, not on the outskirts. When I've said that my home is in the choir stalls of British cathedrals, this was arguably about a lot more than wanting to march in, robed, to sing a service. It was about being empowered in the divine, and embraced by the divine, in a much broader sense. Think of all the girls and women throughout northern European history who stood or sat in the naves of cathedrals and churches, knowing they would never play an active part in any ritual, in any capacity. While this has changed in some denominations in recent years, it was a weighty third revelation nonetheless.

Maybe, just maybe, I tried to go through that portal not just for me, but also for all those women in the centuries before me. Maybe, just maybe, this hasn't only been about my own ego. 

Be the Love Anchor (or Anchoress!)

Early yesterday morning, I was mulling over something, and it relates somewhat to my post on magnetizing. This essay has morphed a bit over twenty-four hours, and updates some earlier material, I'm sure. Thanks for your patience.

Here it is. All of us have been taught that to "get" anything, we need to look outside ourselves and "apply" or compete. We apply for summer jobs, college programs, grants, career jobs, and even volunteer work. People apply for car loans, mortgages, credit cards, and insurance. People (in effect) apply to find roommates, apartments, dates, spouses. We create a persona to sell ourselves on social media and to win in games. Companies "apply" for our patronage with advertising and strange gimmickry. All of us, whether we know it or not, or want to or not, have been energetic fisherfolk, constantly throwing baited hooks out into rapidly-flowing rivers to see what bites. And I think subconsciously, most of us have tried to form ourselves into the person appropriate to the situation -- the appealing employee, the appealing mate, the appealing renter, the appealing corporate entity, whatever. In such a setting, a process like the one I have gone through, diving down and in to a core of true personal identity, can seem both irrelevant and impossible. It has even felt that way to me.

So (as I think I alluded to the other day) it's no surprise that even now, I keep trying to look outside of myself for the tribe of people just like me. As I look to my periphery, I see a wide range of "tribes", most of which have at least a bit of overlap to me: environmentalists, feminists, peace activists, healers, astrologers, channelers, shamans, historians, archaeologists, musicians, artists, and gardeners/farmers. There is a facet of myself in each of these "places", but none of them are -- per se -- my encompassing home or tribe. When I reach out and think, finally, "home!", it isn't...quite.

Why? The missing piece in most of these groups is an essential Goddess-focus, a core set of assumptions about what life would look like if the divine feminine were honored. And having come to believe that I may have spent many lifetimes holding the energy of the Goddess in the British Isles (and in positions that kept me near the center of the spiritual and academic worlds there), I still cannot move forward without that piece in place. I may recently have recycled much of the material I held onto to document this lifetime's journey, but it doesn't mean that I've thrown away my passions or identity -- only the assumption that I will need certain physical material in the future. The Goddess-England-English Church Music "intersection" is my unique raft on the river, the lens that I look through and am. It's not working to cast out a hook or a shout-out to say, "Hello, here I am, pick me for your group!" Just as I doubt it would work to cast out the hook to "catch" people for a group of my own.

Yes, it's so frustrating. Have you experienced it? Is your "intersection" equally unusual? For those of us in this position, the only course may be to pull our little boat into the stillest bay of the roiling river, and put our anchor down at least for now. From there (speaking for myself) I must just do the things I do best and love -- write, sketch, listen to choral evensong services or talks by the wisest people I can find, read (often about England), cook, bake, and do things occasionally with friends. Take pictures of nature with my little flip phone. Commune with animal beings (a hummingbird hovered about two feet from my face yesterday!). "Be" love, the best that I can be. And see who or what shows up when I anchor down!

Be the Love Anchor. 

 

Goddess Words 48: Magnetize

When in doubt, a Goddess word. (I woke up wanting to write, but I didn't know about what.)

Those of us who, over the last few decades, have consumed a fair amount of "New Age" material have a pretty good take on magnetizing. The idea is that if you clearly articulate intentions or goals, or if you visualize your preferred outcome, you will draw to you what you want. There were times when I tried (and tried and tried) to magnetize the practicalities of life -- better income, a job that would at least be somewhat interesting, a car. And yet I rarely had good results. I was (and am!) grateful that I have so often had a softish landing when I jumped out of the proverbial plane, but it's almost laughable how the old fashioned way (hard work ethic, and flooding employers with resumes) never worked for me, and the new age paradigm didn't really either. 

I am becoming convinced that the Goddess absolutely does magnetize, but in a different way. I think what magnetizes is the overall quality of your energy field, not specific actions or intentions. That this mirror, so to speak, senses absolutely every emotion within us, and bounces them back to us with amazing speed and precision. Now the gurus have been saying a variation of this all along, right? If you want a new car, but deep down you feel unworthy, then it will be nearly impossible to magnetize the latest model. However, the way that I think Goddess energy is different is this: in a Goddess-centered reality, I don't think it would be possible under any circumstances to magnetize a sporty new car or a mansion on the Pacific, because those goals were not created by entities (or within a paradigm) that worked with the Goddess from a place of Love. They are for the most part the products of a desire for profit or power. I sense that the only way to magnetize going forward, especially for some of us, will be to immerse ourselves in feeling Love, harmony, beauty, truth -- and wait to see where we are led. Perhaps the only "specific" requests we can make are ones like this: How can I more effectively spread Love? Where is the best community of Love? How can I make Love my only currency and my only home?

I say this as I am in the midst of learning this lesson again, the hard-ish way. In true Transitional mode, I've put any number of things "out there" in the last month or so, applications, or letters to appropriate people in the kind of direction I wish to go, etc. etc. And nothing bounces back. The old me feels the old frustration. But now that it's becoming clearer and clearer that these actions cannot catalyze, my energy is doing that, I'll focus on that in upcoming weeks!

There is an intriguing parallel thread to this: the power of the magnetism of our belongings. As I go through the rest of my boxes, I have experienced firsthand what a powerful experience it is to give away things that are literally and figuratively too old, and no longer vibrating at my current wavelength. In the past, some of this material might have brought up anger, shame and worthlessness (and those emotions definitely tried to emerge even now), but most of the time I'm in a place of near joy. "Thank you, experience A, B or C, but I'm done with that facet of my formation, and it's time to move on." Perhaps not surprisingly, some of the possibilities I was considering for my life even a month or two ago now feel out of the question. I'm done. I've graduated from that academy, or that, or that, and no longer need the refresher course -- or the objects that represent them. I would never recommend tossing belongings because you wish to make spiritual progress -- it's more likely to be the other way around. If you've made the spiritual progress and you look at an item and there is no spark of life to it anymore, the time has come to find another home for it. If it has been blocking your forward movement, it's less likely to continue to do that as you magnetize your new energy. 

On a (seemingly) unrelated topic, yesterday there was a sunrise unlike any I have ever seen (admittedly, I may only see the actual sunrise only a few times a month). The sun's disc was brilliant red. I mean, red. Not orange, or red-orange, or reddish-blue. Fiery, bloody, red. There were no clouds, and the sky around it was pale yellowish-blue. The color reflected briefly on the window screen, but after about two minutes the whole effect morphed into a more normal dawn hue. While I didn't fall into a fear-filled place (that this was an omen, perhaps?) I noticed it. Gaia was speaking. What was She saying?

The Black Balloon

OK, so in my last post, I spoke of how dearly I wish to have my portrait painted. (I was reminded again of how much of my truth has been the opposite of my surface life: arguably, I haven't wanted to write about Herbert Howells or any other musician, I've wanted to be written about. I haven't wanted to live in other peoples' houses, I've wanted my own home. I haven't wanted to paint portraits, I've wanted to be painted, etc.) I breezily said it might take a day or two to process my experience with the TV program about portrait painting, and yet within a few hours of writing the post, I came "this close" to taking it down completely, something I have never done. Why? Because I was horrified by the potential narcissism of saying I want to be the subject of a portrait. The narcissism of wishing to be seen.

When you are the daughter of a father who is an off-the-scales narcissist, and you finally understand that reality, any sign that you might be in the same league is terrifying. And, of course (a related point?), we women are far more used to being the object, not the subject.

A metaphor came to me. It's a bit belabored, but forgive me. I realize that when I was a child, it felt like I was an empty black hole -- a black balloon, perhaps -- attached to my father's face. Surely, I thought, if I was literally right in front of his eyes, he'd see me. If I could play the organ well, or get good grades, or sing beautifully, or create beautiful art, maybe he would finally actually see me. But those charming, friendly-looking eyes simply couldn't see me, no matter my proximity. His ears could not hear me. With perhaps one or two exceptions over the years, my accomplishments were greeted (if at all) with a bland, "That's nice." When I first started my blog, he read two or three of the first posts, and then told me it was very nice, but he didn't understand a word I was saying. Yes, he too had a genius IQ, but my form of the written language was beyond him.

The other part of being the black balloon on your dad's face (thereby being somewhat of a leech in my own right I am mortified to grasp) is that he didn't breathe life into me, he sucked it out, sucked me dry. I was his source of oxygen (and, presumably, others were too), so my little balloon was perpetually depleted and lifeless. And because I would go out into a world that is, itself, horrifyingly like my dad, I remained rudderless and ultimately empty in this balloon-like black hole. He died in 2018, coincidentally (?) the year I returned to Duluth, and I appreciate this morning what a perfect place that was to go through the process of starting to see myself through my own eyes, and to breathe through my own nose. This dire condition undoubtedly continues down the generations simply because people can never fully actualize as their own genuine person, so the next generation cannot, and the next, and the next. Whoever we really are doesn't feel valid, or worthy of being seen, heard, or experienced, and this affects everyone around us. To the extent that my existence in this black balloon may have harmed anyone around me, I am excruciatingly sorry.

Still, even in that context, I am so glad that I didn't remove the previous post. Rather than being negative, a case could be made that it is one of the healthiest posts I've ever written. That I could finally take pleasure in being me, and look forward to seeing how other artistic and sensitive people might interpret me in a painting, has to be a step forward -- as long as it is something I would wish for other people too (and I do!) May all of us who have lived under this kind of shadow finally come out into the light, to be fully seen, appreciated, celebrated. May all of our colors and perspectives reveal our deeper Source of Love. And I welcome the Goddess out on that stage with us. How many facets of Her loving persona can we celebrate today? It is time to be the subjects of our own portrait, and to see Her as the primary subject of earth's portrait.

 

A New Painting

In my previous post (the last of my first decade of writing), I referred to the Goddess painting a new painting in our world, and here I am in the first post in a new decade, writing about painting again. Just at the moment when I have been finding homes for old art supplies, weeding out my old paintings and those of my grandmother, I think I have finally accepted that (in this lifetime) I was not meant to be a famous painter. It hung over my head for years that "if only I had a big studio", I could do the work I want to do, but, no, of course, it works the other way around. You have to be compelled from within to paint, paint, paint, and then you must find the right studio. From early in my time at Parsons in the 1980's, I knew two things. I was only studying art because there was no chance (at that time) that women would ever get to sing English church music at the highest levels, and I had to express beauty somehow. And two, that I didn't have the same passion for art as I did for English church music. I dutifully fulfilled my homework assignments with ease and skill. Art flowed out of me -- I had a teacher who was convinced that I had been one of the great masters in an earlier lifetime (Add that to my list!) And yet...it was almost too easy. I didn't long to paint, I didn't need to paint. It wasn't fulfilling, or compelling as a goal for this lifetime. Thus no studio, thus at 69 the giving away of old easels and canvases. My artistic outlet at the moment is tiny hand-drawn postcards, and that is enough.

So, in the midst of this frothy eddy of old expectations and belongings and current realities, what do I discover on TV? A series that is hardly new -- UK "Portrait Artist of the Year". Somehow, though, I never saw it, either over there or over here. And last night and early this morning, I binge-watched big time, riveted. Just riveted. I had to really become clear with myself -- do I miss painting? No, absolutely not. And I recognize that I never really gained much skill in portraiture -- the likenesses these artists achieved were sometimes staggering. But I knew that world inside and out. I loved thinking, what approach would I take? What composition would work best? What color palette would I use? How did they do that? I was pretty good at picking each episode's three finalists, but in the end I was surprised by the season winner, and yet pleasantly so. 

And last but not least, in true topsy-turvy Liz style, I knew what was drawing me in. I want to have a brilliant portrait done OF ME. I want to have three or six or eight artists arrayed in front of me, painting different facets of me, seeing me, perhaps revealing me to the world. I don't want to paint, I want to be painted. I want to be seen in that way! That certainly is a new painting, isn't it? I mean, I've reached this turning point before, but not quite so emphatically. And I don't know what it means spiritually or metaphorically, but maybe I will by tomorrow.

At ten years, the last of the old words

Tomorrow, August 8, is the ten year anniversary of this blog. I'm so proud of this accomplishment. It is perhaps (along with my early efforts to open up the world of English cathedral music to myself and other girls and women) my greatest achievement. I have grown and changed so much this last decade...and of course my life hasn't brought me success, renown or income! Some days, it takes a great deal of courage to continue on at 69.

But I hope to do just that. And moving forward, my goal is to make these posts increasingly Goddess- (and Aquarian Age-) aligned. Before I do that, there is one last bit of negative, "old" business I want to tackle, one last duality-based word that comes to me almost from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep: "affront". 

The other day, as I waited for a friend to check out at a pharmacy, I found myself crammed in between two metal carousels of plastic toys, each wrapped in plastic. Within seconds, I was envisioning all these toys -- and most of the thousands of other plastic items in this one store -- bobbing around as trash in the ocean. I had to physically restrain myself from screaming like a banshee and running from the building. 

If plastic were the only thing I find offensive about modern life, that would be my "cause", but it isn't the only thing. In fact, as I have alluded to before, it is hard for me to find any aspect of our modern world that isn't an affront to what I believe are the values of the Goddess. The list is almost endless: war, weapons, conflict of all kinds, development sprawl, toxic chemicals, power over, profit...I mean, at the very least it is all an insult to me, which is probably why I have functioned so poorly. When I try to imagine the Great Mother's expanded vantage point on it all, it takes my breath away. For thousands of years, we did not take Her needs and wellbeing into consideration -- so of course this neglect has led to this overheated, shaking moment. Affront after affront after affront, a train of pain, roaring down the track with no brakes.

And of course, to those who see it all differently, I am the affront. I am the one who never bought into the norm.

In the larger picture, I don't worry about any of it. Love is going to take care of revealing what needs healing, and She will have the "last word" to catalyze that healing. Who-fought-who and what-was-an-affront-to-whom will no longer matter in upcoming years. We are leaving that place of duality and conflict, heck, we are leaving history, almost literally. But if people wonder what went wrong, why is all of this happening, all they need to do is go to the store and look at the plastic. Really look at it as future garbage. We didn't think ahead, and we thought we could keep out-inventing all our problems. But that wasn't possible, and the moment of truth has finally come. So it is time to let go, and let the Goddess repaint this picture.

A new era beginneth, just in time for a new decade of writing. And a fresh new way of being. Time to shrug off these old affronts, and simply glory in being at one with Love.

Goddess Words 47: Wow

Hmm..."wow." An exclamation in response to something amazing, surprising, huge (my definition). Why I added it to my list of Goddess words all those years ago, I'm not entirely sure, except that I probably sensed that some of the manifestations of increased Goddess energy in the world would be amazing, surprising and huge. This seems to have been the quintessential "wow" week, up and down the scale. 

I haven't tried in any serious way to keep up with all the new discoveries and changes in astronomy, physics, new underwater life forms, and emerging evidence of earlier civilizations. I basically just scan the headlines. But, wow. I mean, wow!

Then, that 8.8 earthquake (and the many that seem to have preceded and followed it, if I understand correctly). Sure, it's remarkable that there was as little damage as there was, and that immediate fears around the Pacific Rim quickly faded. However, Gaia is waking up. There have always been volcanos, earthquakes, and tsunamis, but what we will see in the next few years will be "wow"-worthy on a whole new level. Like many of us, She is changing from the inside out, so expect the landscape to keep evolving before our very eyes.

The world and national news isn't necessarily a "wow" to me -- almost nothing surprises me that much, I'm sorry to say -- but its clarity is pretty stunning. Truth is emerging from under the surface in a way that can no longer be ignored or misunderstood. Everything is connected, "as above, so below", right? Talk about landscapes changing. These political, social, economic, religious, and educational landscapes will undoubtedly continue to morph, and morph again.

On a personal level, this week's "wow" was how I was hit by the enormity of my recent trip to Duluth and paring down my (still relatively few) belongings by 2/3. This week, from the same internal "place", I started to go through my remaining few boxes back here. This was the core of my memorabilia, my "if-someone-ever-writes-a-biography-of-me, they'll-need-to-see-this" STUFF. Over the years, most of it has constantly been in storage, partly because I couldn't bear to deal with it. Here's an example: From 7th through 10th grade, I attended St. Agnes School in Loudonville (near Albany, which no longer exists in its original form). In a pile of papers, I stumbled on not one, but two or three letters from the school, dated from 1958-64 or so, indicating that I'd been essentially pre-accepted to the school based on some "friend (or relative) of a friend" thing between my grandfather's second wife and the headmistress at the time. I mean, strange, interesting even, but I did not actually enroll until 1968, which is all that matters. Is the minuscule weight of these letters and envelopes worthy of continued storage as we head into the Aquarian age? No. Ditto elementary school report cards; all but one of the six or so copies I kept of my Smith College commencement program; and the heavy 1960's-era photo album of my first trip abroad. You remember those awful books with sticky pages and clear plastic covers holding the snapshots in place? I pulled out about 15 of the photos, the itinerary, and the group photo, and tossed out the rest.

It's liberating. This lifetime has been fascinating, terrifying, and unusual, and I will carry it forward with me. But now I feel literally less laden down and defined by it than I ever have. The question I keep asking myself is, "Will this item help me navigate the paradigm we are entering?" By the end of the next few weeks, with only a few nostalgic exceptions, I will be down to just the belongings I think may be relevant to my role moving forward. If even these eventually prove to be too heavy, they will go too.

So that brings me to my previous post, and I guess it is all related. By finally openly acknowledging my belief that my "life" has had an arc of thousands of years, not just dozens, my current incarnation makes a lot more sense. It isn't diminished, just contextualized. It takes a certain je ne sais quoi to feel like one is called to speak for the Goddess, and it made no sense at all as I persisted in thinking of myself as a "little girl from Schenectady". But each toss into the recycling pile has liberated me from that limitation, and speaking out in this way now seems like the work I have been leading up to for a long, long time. It is a relief.

Wow.

I Wasn't Going to Write Today

(I wrote this in draft form on Saturday morning.)

I wasn't going to write today, but some early reading broke open something that I still cannot fully explain, even to myself, but I need to try.

I am reading Helen Macdonald's H is for Hawk. If you have been reading this blog for a while, you know that I have developed a thing about raptors, and, silly me, I somehow thought this would be a feel-good story about raising such a bird. Instead (and I'm only about halfway into it) it is a grueling account, with parallel stories about English writer T. H. White and his own experience with a hawk. At one point, she speaks of the moment when the life you didn't lead meets up with the life you did, and interestingly enough, this comes only a few pages after a brief descriptive reference to a Cambridge college dining hall. Immediately, despite the early hour and my hot night bleariness, I had an epiphany.

Over ten years ago, I unexpectedly sang choral evensong with the mixed choir of King's College, and then was invited to the dining hall afterwards. But the jolt I felt just now did not derive from that specific experience or from the year eating in Royal Holloway's somewhat less glamorous dining room. It felt like a true window to a past life. I've always assumed that many of my lifetimes have been spent in England, specifically at cathedrals or Cambridge or Oxford, and I have alluded to this. Clearly I've been priest, choral singer, choral director or composer, academic, and perhaps even royalty or nobility. In a way, it doesn't matter. What matters is the energy of the place and the daily spiritual ritual and focus. In this lifetime, though, this little girl from Schenectady could never settle into New York City, or Duluth, or Burlington, or Helena, or the Capital District, because of literally dozens of previous lifetimes spent in Britain at the heart of whatever milieu was central to the era's spirituality. In distant pre-history I was involved in honoring the Goddess (as "Beryl"?), and then must have morphed into Druid then Christian modes. And in this lifetime, the segue back (or forward) to the Goddess again. 

As hard as it is to finally accept it (and I've been teetering on the edge of this for a long time), it becomes very clear why I could never have been British in this lifetime. Over there, I would have become even more identified with this (still) mostly-male set of traditions, and it would have been much harder to break loose. And I didn't "take" in that world, because it knew that beyond my femaleness and Americanness, I was the "other" in an even bigger way. At heart, I was not on the same page, theologically. (I sobbed all the way home from England at the end of my MMus studies in 1981, with airline stewardesses checking in every half hour or so to see if I was "OK". No, I wasn't OK, I was being physically wrenched from my home of thousands upon thousands of years, and I must have known deep down that in this lifetime, I would not get back permanently until late in life, if at all. On the short flight from LaGuardia to Plattsburgh, I looked down from the plane at upstate New York's primeval forests, feeling overwhelmed by wilderness on every possible level. In nearly 45 years, that feeling has never completely gone away.)

The odd thing is realizing that I am centered in my current spirituality in much the same intense way I have always been in those earlier lifetimes. And if we have entered the Aquarian age, as I believe we have, then (I'm very sorry to say) those cathedrals, colleges, chapels, choral evensong services, classrooms and dining halls are no longer the center of "it all". They are not power hubs the way they were for so many generations, at least not the institutional structures above ground. However, Gaia is establishing new power centers around the world as we speak (and unveiling forgotten ones) and many of us may be drawn to them. Whether there will be rites and rituals, or whether life itself will be the only ritual, remains to be seen. Consistent with my post the other day, it isn't either/or. I will bring all these influences forward with me into the new era. I finally feel more at peace with paradoxes and varied threads of experience.

The life I might have led crossed the life I did lead this morning, and it was energetically extremely powerful. There's much more to process about this...I may not publish this post for a few days.

A Contrast too Painful

A few days ago I spoke of being turned on by some wonderful vegetarian recipes, and the urge to make them isn't going away. If anything, it is growing, and that's so interesting.

And yet...even I, who try so hard to stay focused on the emerging Love-based paradigm (not the conflict-based one currently in its death throes) find it hard to feel quite the same about eating right now. I'm old enough to have known about dozens of wars and famines, situations where civilians (mostly women and children) suffered and died in large numbers. I've never been left entirely unmoved, although on many occasions I quickly went into "left-brain" mode and tried to focus on understanding rather than feeling. (Even now, the journalist, historian and artist in me defaults to "observer".) This moment's worst monstrosity is not always reported on at all, or falls late in a newscast. One is left wondering why much of the media's primary focus is (as ever) on missing young women, scandals and the deaths of "beloved" TV, music, or sports stars...don't we see ourselves and our childish selfishness, our attention to glitter, and our avoidance of the real question -- what is it in us that prompts us to kill other people and hurt the planet? And as a culture, when will we understand that this brutal era has ended? Because it is already over. There is literally no future to it.

Everyone alive has a different role to play right now, and as hard as it is to live with these contrasts too painful to bear -- why do I have the right to eat healthy meals today when many thousands are dying of starvation? -- I have to keep reminding myself that there is no more waiting. The Age of Aquarius is here. Those who are incapable of Love are erupting in violence, but within a few short years, such actions will literally no longer be humanly possible. Earth's higher spiritual energies will make hatred impossible to express, and eventually, nonexistent in the human soul.

So I go back to my old mantra -- my job is to write beautifully, create beautiful art or music, treat people as kindly as I can, and cook or bake to nurture myself and others. All of these actions are consistent with the emerging Goddess age and the Age of Aquarius, and therefore well worth doing...but this weekend as I do them, I dedicate my actions to people who are being deliberately starved and made invisible. I walk the tightrope, welcoming the vibrant new era with these exhausted people in my arms. Holding them gently, lovingly, like a Mother.

Spinning

I am not too surprised that the earth is spinning faster than it used to. If I were planet earth, and I were going through the process of re-birth that She is going through, I might spin a little faster too. Think of the whirling dervishes, the Shakers, and other spiritual traditions where dance and movement signify a strong connection with the divine, with the movement of the Spirit. I know I've told the story before, of the acquaintance who attended a choral evensong service I was singing in, who found the very disciplined choreography strange, even soulless. She was from a more evangelical Christian tradition, and was literally, like, "Why do you stand and sing so stiffly?" All I could say was, I'm passionate within, whirling with joy even, but the English choral tradition is like this on the outside --- very formal.

Right this moment, Gaia isn't being formal, or rigid. It seems to me that She is sloughing off old skin, moving and shaking, and perhaps trying to remind us that our human constructs are not the last word. I mean, heck, if She wanted to, She could come to a complete stop and start spinning in the other direction. We've based a lot of assumptions (in so many arenas!) on the notion that things will always be a certain way, but what if they are not?

It's interesting that I spoke of weaving the other day, and spinning today. I've never spun wool, or woven more than one or two scarves on simple childlike looms. I've also never canned food, or dried herbs, or any of the other traditional activities associated with older women. If everything comes to a screeching halt, I'll be as clueless about how to proceed as most other people. The only difference, perhaps, is that I have been alert to the probability of sudden change for decades, which made it hard for me to operate "normally". And I think the path forward may be a mish-mash of the very traditional and the futuristic. Immersing oneself in skills of the past may only make sense if you are strongly led to do so. The rest of us may find our intuitive leadings taking us on unexpected paths forward. The key is love. If you'd love to learn to spin wool right now (or to dance, or to use a lathe or a potter's wheel), go for it. If love is spinning you in another direction, then follow that leading. I was transfixed reading a good book about vegetarian cooking yesterday. It may be a bit soon to interpret what this means, but I'm certainly paying attention. If I'm still this enthused after a few more days, I'll know there's something to it.

Weaving the Threads Back In

As I get older, I can see so many things, not the least of which is how I used to conceive of time in the standard, old paradigm/left-brained way. Life was kind of like an extended school experience. First you learned lesson A, then went on to lesson B, and so forth. Once you were done with one phase of life, you moved linearly to the next, then to the next. I dearly wanted to move beyond my passion for England/English church music -- to, in effect, graduate from that school -- so that I could cleanly move into a new phase. I couldn't focus on choral evensong and the Goddess, or English history and the emerging Aquarian age. I couldn't both move beyond my family/early life story/education and remain connected to them. Heck, even with Duluth, it was so tempting over this last week to wipe my hands clean and say, "Wow, what a relief, I finally finished that phase. I can move forward now." And certainly the journey out to Minnesota was energetically powerful, necessary, and reminded me that there are new things on the horizon.

But nothing is ever "over". I haven't left anything behind, either in this lifetime or in my many lifetimes. They are all with me, a blanket of energies and colors and warm threads woven around me. We are constantly weaving, pulling new threads and colors in, or finding old ones that got lost, and bringing them back into the blanket. The Duluth trip forced me to release some constrictions around my heart, and I have been able to re-weave family and Smith College in, in small but rich ways. And I will never "release" Duluth completely -- I don't do "home" in a traditional American way, but it was more home on a deeper level on and off during the 1990's and 2020's than many places I have lived. That little city at the head of Lake Superior (and my friends there) are in my heart and they always will be.

And this also has to do with the process of ever-refining one's gift to the world. Once again, last week, I found myself chafing against some of the material I was listening to online, finding it a little too "old paradigm" -- I can't put a finger on it exactly. And I was doing my own old thing of comparing myself: "these experts (in astrology/physics/metaphysics) are right, and in order to become an expert too, I need to acquire their skills." And of course, that's ridiculous (unless I passionately wish to acquire a specific new skill). At 69, I know who I am. I am a Goddess-centered visionary and mystic, woven of threads of a specific family, place, and time in history -- and England, choral evensong, music of Herbert Howells, my awesome (private school, Smith College, Royal Holloway/U. of London, and Parsons School of Design) education, writing as a letters correspondent at Time Inc., living or working at Pendle Hill and other retreat centers, traveling around the country in a little red car, living in Minnesota, Montana, and various home bases back east, painting, taking care of my dying mother, teaching at a community college, writing my blog and, increasingly, being focused on the Goddess -- these are all unique colors of wool. They are my magic blanket. In painting terms, they are my palette. They are my training, and what makes me, me. They are my superpowers, what I bring to my unique role moving forward. 

Similarly, while I think we are entering a powerful, defining moment in history, and things will "never be the same again", I'm trying to release some of the linear thinking that I am hearing. What is true of me, I assume, must be true of humanity at large. We will be bringing our threads of experience forward (and those who don't survive into the new era will still be part of the blanket of energy enfolding us). We will still need to keep weaving all of our colorful threads into the narrative of the human story and keep making sense of them, perhaps more than ever.

Goddess Words 46: Heat

It is hard, at this moment when high temperatures and extreme weather phenomena are daily news headlines, to go back about twenty years and try to imagine why I put the word "heat" on my list, "The Words of the Goddess." Around that time, I had already begun to envision enormous earth and societal changes in our future, but I don't think my reference was, per se, to global warming/climate change. So what was my thinking?

It may have been something like this -- that the Goddess represents the heat of passion. Sure, sexual passion, but more than that, the passion for life. For creating. For aligning with Love. For doing what you love and are best at. Warmth toward other people, life, and the planet/universe. Traditional images of God to me seem cool, aloof, at a distance. "He" communicates with us from above, from afar, and I never felt I could see or feel him. The Goddess, by comparison, feels immanent, rooted within us. When we feel our feelings, we sense Her presence. The warmth within us, our spark of life, is Her heat, Her nonverbal voice communicating the clearest and most joy-filled path. (This remains a valid path, even in these times.)

Still, in 2025, it is hard not to recognize some of earth's current tribulations, including heat, as almost literal medical symptoms. She is overheated, feverish, and inhabited by large populations of angry and combative people who spread this sickness far and wide. Her arteries are blocked and swollen, Her skin blemished, dug out, bombed, built into, burned. She can barely breathe smoke- and pollution-filled air, and Her beautiful animal species are disappearing or dying. (I have not seen one Monarch butterfly this summer! Not in the Northeast or in my recent trip to Duluth. This is horrifying.) How can we fully embrace the more positive aspects of "Heat" when we are literally melting?

I guess the only way to do it is to completely trust Her, and know that whatever melts may become more malleable, accepting of change. Whatever She is doing, in her earth healing and ascension, She must do. Seen from Her eyes, and from Her perspective as one whose physical body is evolving and whose own passion is to remain habitable for life, the weather phenomena we are seeing are not surprising. The paradox for us is to try to remain "cool" enough to function, but hot enough in our passion for serving Her that we in-spire the world. Breathe in, alchemize, and breathe out the new reality. Let the heat change us. Become more gloriously passionate, in a positive way. Move with the process. Let go of what we cannot hold onto.

Inverse proportion

I don't typically spend a whole lot of time watching television, but in the wake of a hard ten-day stretch of travel, work, and sleeplessness, and in fairly typical summer heat, I didn't have the energy the last few days to do much else. 

Of course, the most striking visuals came from news reports of the Texas flooding (and, to a lesser degree, the flooding in Pennsylvania and the southern tier of New York). This mass movement of water is awe-inspiring (admittedly, more easy to appreciate when seen from a distance). There are few human constructs that can withstand such an onslaught and, yes, I find that a relief. Nature is ever so much more powerful than we are. 

The other striking visuals, and the ones that seemed almost surreal in light of the floods, wildfires, and other weather extremes, came from advertising. Having narrowed most of my meager belongings down to seven small boxes, it was remarkable that the ads I saw over the weekend were primarily for some of the largest purchases that individuals or families can possibly make -- enormous SUVs, RVs, motor boats and pontoon/party boats, decks/patios/porches, in-ground pools and spas, roofing...you get the picture. Admittedly, it's that time of year. If these things haven't sold yet, I suppose retailers need to make last-ditch sales pitches. But I tried to imagine my seven boxes, tucked up on the back seat of an SUV, or in a built-in closet in an RV. In a corner of the patio under the eaves of that new roof. Belowdecks (and getting a bit damp) in a cabin cruiser. 

There's a certain manic quality about these ads, a certain distracting "everything's fine and will be better once you own this heavy, grounding item". My life has always been in inverse proportion to the American dream, so I guess it makes sense that as I let go of pounds, the rest of the country is being urged to accumulate more tons. But it does make you wonder, will the moment ever come when the entertainment and advertising industries shift gears, when our whole society shifts gears? When will we understand that our whole set of expectations must be turned upside down, and that we need to do it from within (not wait for forces outside of us)? This is a moment both terrifying and truly exciting. As ever, I think that looking directly at it is preferable to peering through a screen of belongings. But blessings to all of us, wherever we are on that curve. This summer will force us to grow, whether we are ready or not.

More Letting Go

Just a few more notes about these last two weeks.  Then I will, ahem, let it go for now, although I suspect that there's a whole lot more to unpack, at least figuratively.

I did not watch or read hardly any news while I was gone, so it was true time off in that respect. It was hard to see the footage of the floods in west Texas, and I was reminded of another thing to be thankful for. I had time to do the grueling sorting and decision-making work and some of the emotional re-stabilizing. Most people in a flood or wildfire or hurricane or tornado situation have no time to grab anything but (if they are lucky) their purse or wallet or briefcase. Forget the agonizing questions about, "Should I keep this?" and "Should I give away that?" Everything else blows away in the wind, or floats downriver, or burns up, toxic or not, important or not, in one big stew. I am thankful that I could do this chore before it was done for me by the elements, never mind that my boxes would have fit into one modest-sized closet.

A little more on something I said yesterday. It may be the fact that I have received so little recognition or praise or acknowledgment in this lifetime that I have occasionally needed to go through my things (even just to pack them up again) to help me define myself. In America, telling people you have a passion for English church music was akin to speaking Greek -- it usually elicited sort of a sad, pathetic, "what on earth is she talking about?"-type response. I think I held onto programs from English cathedrals, and articles about the recent entrance of girls and women into that world, and maps, and memorabilia of my trips, in order to prove that my life was real, that it had importance, that I meant something. Getting rid of much of this doesn't mean that I have changed my mind -- it means that I know in my core that I am important, and now (in this transition of the ages) I don't need to carry around the heavy proof. But I've done so much of my own spiritual work over the decades -- this morning, I feel particularly for the women who survive these events and haven't had time to process things as thoroughly. The loss of their mother's sewing box or their grandmother's tea set or their childhood memorabilia may be far more devastating on a deep level than we can see. The questions about "Who am I without these things?" may be even more deeply wrenching, and I hold them in the light.

One last thing today, and this may sound a little weird. About the third day into this process, I started to think of myself as my own daughter, or granddaughter, or niece, or family friend. I pretended that I (Liz) had passed away, and I was keeping just those things that -- from that slight distance -- seemed truly important. Some of the things that I held onto earlier in the week, I let go of by Monday. I haven't died (and even if I had, we are eternal beings who take our soul realities into our next incarnations!) but looking at the physical materials from the standpoint of a loving younger version of myself made it easier to do the work. I kept reminding myself, we are heading into such a completely different reality that traveling light will finally be an asset, not a peculiar oddity.

Today started with torrential rains, even here. Blessing to all of you, in whatever manifestation of "letting go" you are living!

Letting Go, 2025-style, con't

A little more on the intense process I just went through.

When I first opened my storage space, I had one of the first panic attacks of my life. I mean, the absurdity of it all. The schlepping of boxes from storage space to storage space, from basement to attic, from state to state. I burst into tears, said, "I cannot own any of this any more," and would gladly have called some kind of hauler to bring it all to a dump. But then a friend arrived to help me, I pulled myself together, and started triage on the books. In a sense, they are the easiest, and libraries have book sales. Then the clothes that are literally not worth shipping, so you are glad to give them to people who can use them. That's where I started.

I spent every afternoon except the Fourth of July and Sunday at the storage space, and then brought all the papers and memorabilia to a friend's house, where I sorted (yes!) from about 3:30 to 8:30 every morning. The papers are the worst, aren't they? The letters accepting me into a private kindergarten, St. Agnes School and Smith College. My official SAT scores. My scribblings of Herbert Howells research, and memorabilia from my trips to England and my efforts to enter the world of English church music. Notes from friends through the years. All, now, recycled. I mean, even in the unlikely event that someone might ask me to continue on with a study of Howells, it probably isn't close enough to my current focus on the Goddess that I would say yes. I did the best that I could to add constructively to the field that I still have an immense passion for, but at 69, it is not my future. 

OMG. My mother's 1960's-era sewing box. Mind you, my mother hated sewing (because her mother loved it, perhaps). It is a gold mine of threads, darning wool, needles, buttons, iron-on patches, you name it. But I've only barely ever used it myself, or had it open to the air and in my space. It has now gone to a situation where someone will be thrilled by the bounty. Ditto, music CD's of English church music and obscure cookbooks. Some choral music scores, new age books and oracle cards. A few family things were sent to family.

Because this "letting go" wasn't just of the physical things. It was the letting go of several dreams. Of course, that I would get to England and change the world of cathedral music. That I would someday live in a big old house and have a huge studio/library space in which to paint, write, and listen to (or eventually compose?) music. That someday someone would want to write about me or use the bits and bobs of my life in their own creative way. If these haven't happened by the time I am 69, either they won't happen at all, or they will happen in a way that is literally beyond my ken, and/or in a manner that does not allow me to carry much. And to the extent that I found comfort in looking at my things and "getting" who I am, I need to start "getting it" without props!

I will probably continue with this blog, but going forward my purpose will be less about "creativity" (making beauty in various forms) and more about "embodiment". How do I embody the Goddess? Think like Her? Express what I think She might want to express if She were in my situation? I can do these things without researching in books, painting oil paintings, or putting CD's into obsolete CD players.

My most precious belongings from the past, plus a few that might help me in the future, made the "cut". Gosh, I don't even like that word! Let's say, made it through the re-birth canal. I was so proud that seven carefully-packed small boxes actually made it easily into a friend's car, and thence to the post office. What had been unmanageable became manageable, over the course of a grueling week. I couldn't have done it without friends, in a city and bus system I didn't know, or perhaps a few years from now. It was the right time to do this.

I'm still recovering from my over 24-hour bus and train journey back east, and will probably need several more days of extra sleep, and several more posts in which to "let go" of this experience and move forward!

 

Letting Go, 2025-style

Hi again. I know a few of you might have been wondering, why the uncharacteristic almost two-week silence? If you worried just a little bit, thanks (!) -- but somehow or other, I keep going, don't I? 

OK, so last fall when I left Duluth, I left about 24 boxes in storage. Some of this is stuff that has basically been in storage most of my life, and had about a year earlier been sent out to me. Some of it was summer clothing, winter boots, etc. And some of it (of course) was books, mostly on women's spirituality, some on England and English church music, my favorite romance novels, etc. Frankly, perched back on the east coast, I couldn't even remember what all there was.

At the time, here was the concept -- that once I found my (more) permanent home, I'd either pay to have all the boxes shipped to me, or I'd make the trip to deal with them. But of course, this is my life we are talking about! I haven't yet found a permanent home and, indeed, have felt profoundly stuck. I woke up one morning about three weeks ago and thought, I need to go out immediately to deal with this stuff. So I made train and bus reservations, and did it. I just returned to Schenectady yesterday.

There is so much to say, and I am so profoundly exhausted by this experience, that I won't try to talk about it today. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. But suffice it to say, seven small boxes are en route back to me. Seven. I let go, big time. In a nutshell, absolutely every item, piece of paper, book, etc. went through the triage of only one question: do I need this going forward to do the Goddess's work? If not, the item found a new home.

Clearly I needed to get rid of this weight (and there are still several boxes here that need the same treatment) before I can possibly move on, and I am grateful that I had the courage to do this, the help from friends, and the strength to face this task. 

After two weeks of not sleeping on trains and spending half the night each night sorting through stuff, I slept nine hours last night, and am still too bleary to write any more. But letting go, 2025-style, was an important event. Yup, it was.

Summer Miscellany

There are days like this when I'm just going to throw a few thoughts out there.  I've used the title "Miscellany" a few times over this decade, but not with the word "summer", so I guess it's OK to re-use it.

Miscellany #1: The other day, after our brutal 3-day heat wave, I took several walks, and noticed a lot of dead earthworms on the sidewalks. It took a while for this to sink in, but once it did, this was my unscientific observation: that these poor worms were boiling hot, and somehow thought that if they crossed to the other side of the walk, it would be cooler, but instead they burnt to a crisp. Goddess bless them. Goddess bless us.

Miscellany #2: During the last few weeks, I have noticed a lot of synchronicities. OK, not the big ones, where you think, "wouldn't it be nice to have an extra thousand dollars" and you receive a check in the mail. More like small synchronicities. For instance, someone says something unusual to me then the same word or phrase shows up in a crossword clue. Or there is a surprise mention in a TV show of a place I once visited and hadn't thought of in years. Or I finally see some of the themes I've written about in this blog being talked about by other people. I think that in these times we are entering, where there may be less and less of a "normal" to rely on, it may be important to at least practice noticing synchronicities, serendipities, and gut feelings. And when we can, acting on them, or seeing them as guideposts.

Miscellany #3: While I haven't read too many details, I think it is fascinating how dozens of interesting and odd earth events are surprising even scientists -- a new emerging ocean in Africa, pulsing noises and sensations coming from Antarctica, and  extraordinary new information and images from outer space. New love energy is immersing all of creation, and I am not surprised, really, that the landscape and starscape are changing before our very eyes. Yes, it's a little freaky, a little scary, but I just keep reminding myself, if the earth's crust opens up under my feet and I disappear forever, I'll essentially be honored to have been part of the process. I will thank the Goddess that my earthly cells became part of the new picture.

Miscellany #4: This coming week will bring with it a mixture of the old and the new, loosening some old ties, and making some new connections. I'll check in when I can. Keep breathing, all! 

A Hot Day

This is a very hot day, in more ways than one. I don't have to tell most of you that. My cool image of a glass vase of water balancing on the middle seat of a rowboat on a placid lake is more than inner guidance right now, it's also inner refreshment.

In terms of all the other events happening right now, I keep trying to remind myself that virtually none of these things will exist once the Aquarian age takes hold. I mean, it's not just that they "won't" take place, but that it will be energetically impossible for them to take place. Does this mean that I am not concerned, or that I am paying no attention? No. I am heartbroken every time humans kill other humans for any reason, or cause the slightest bit of damage to the earth. I don't understand any of it.

But I guess what I am finally doing is not taking ownership of things I have never done or would never do, and not fighting things I would never do. I'm trying not to get hot under the collar, or add to the planet's heat. To the extent I can do it, I am keeping my focus on the world as it will exist in perhaps as little as a few decades, when planetary and human ascension will have taken hold, and there will be a world in front of us that, from present-day eyes, we will barely recognize. We now have the chance to go forward on a different sort of path, and hopefully, based on the experience of these times, we will do that!

A Vessel within a Vessel

A few weeks ago, I wrote about feeling like a vessel within a vessel, bobbing on the water. It seemed like I was in a fragile, but blessed, state of balance. This led to my using markers and colored pencils to "paint" a number of postcards to send to friends. The cards picture a glass vase filled with water, perched on the center seat of an old rowboat which is floating out on the middle of a lake. No people, no oars. To get through this upcoming time, this is the quality I think we will all need...almost superhuman balance, balance within balance within balance. The ability to hold still within and without no matter how much shaking is going on around us in the natural world and in society.

I would take a photo of one of these images to share with you, but my flip phone (which takes surprisingly good pictures) doesn't communicate with my computer, so you'll just have to imagine this in your mind's eye. Or feel it in your core.

Happy solstice!

Goddess Words 45: Cradle

It is interesting that this particular word would jump out at me this morning, from my original handwritten list. Interesting too that, like so many of my other Goddess words, it can be both a noun and a verb. 

As my readers know, in this lifetime I wasn't a mother. And I have a hunch that in many of my lifetimes I was a more solitary soul -- a nun, priest, shaman, queen, even a hermit. In most of these cases, my memories aren't clear, more like impressions. However, I do have pretty clear memories of one lifetime when I shared my life with an extraordinary man, and had two children. I remember the experience of holding the babies, protecting them, making sure they were well fed and clothed. I remember them sleeping peacefully in a handmade wooden cradle. I remember them at my breast, and then, in time, my anxious moments as they started to walk and become independent. I also remember with a great deal of fondness how their father cradled them in his arms, giving them a different solid experience of protection and love. 

When I expand this notion out, I find myself believing that earth was originally meant by the Goddess to be a cradle for humanity and all life. A place of nurturing, love, safety, and generous amounts of food and clean water. We were meant to rock gently on the landscape, to find comfort in protected spaces out of the wind, to nest at the base of trees and in caves and simple homes made of stone and wood. This was meant to be the framework for a life lived in constant awareness of the holiness of all creation. Despite experiences frequently being harsh or difficult, our connection with the Great Mother would have been a daily comfort, a constant embracing reminder of our oneness with every corner of the vast universe.

So when and why did we, effectively, dump the baby out of the cradle? Why have we filled this precious little vessel with toxins, and used it as a backdrop for unspeakable horrors? Many of us must be so traumatized right now that we cannot possibly really imagine being cradled gently, lovingly, protectively. On this rainy day in June, such a notion seems particularly hard to visualize, doesn't it? And yet maybe if some of us take just one minute today to cradle something -- an animal, a loved one, a stuffed toy, a beloved blanket or item of clothing, a tree or boulder -- perhaps ancient memories will kick in. (Alternatively, cradle yourself in a hammock or blanket.) Let us allow ourselves to cradle or be cradled. Perhaps it will help us remember a mother instinct that is sorely needed right now. 

In Love

Over the last few days, I've been in the greater Boston area, seeing old friends, and enjoying several musical and artistic events. It was hot out, yes, but that wasn't why I was glowing. I was glowing because I was in love, not in the romantic sense, but in the sense of doing things "in love", from a place of love. I was reminded anew of how different that energy feels from other ones. 

At this extraordinary moment, even I need the reminder -- if I can do something from a place of love, great. "If in doubt, call it out," as we used to say playing tennis. But all of us need to follow our own hearts and consciences. 

At the very least, let's find love around the edges. Let's find beauty among the edges. Let's find community around the edges. It is real, and it is here in our midst. 

Snakes

The other morning, I interrupted a snake lying in the sun on the front steps. It slithered off and disappeared under the house, but I realized that it was the first snake I had seen in a very, very long time. Snakes (not surprisingly) represent the life cycle, birth, death, the shedding of skin, transmuting poisons, transformation -- even the process of writing. I suppose any animal's powers can be applicable everyday, but still, I find it helpful to notice the timing of encountering this "medicine". Without (I hope) misappropriating or misusing the terminology of indigenous cultures, in my own way I find these animal encounters as healing and as meaningful as what we in the West consider medicine. Having so infrequently had medical insurance, medical care or been prescribed (or used) modern medications, I'm open to a really, really broad definition of healing these days. And as a culture, we are shedding our limiting skins, aren't we? For the most part, I'll leave the analysis of it all to others, today, at least.

Two bits of news here -- I seem to have a renewed impulse to do artwork, and have been creating personal post cards to send to friends. Secondly, I'm having another small travel adventure in a few days. When I think of the much larger ones I had over the years, it's almost embarrassing how challenging it is to plan a mere four days or so away. But this is another era, I'm another gazillion years older, and it "is what it is". Perhaps I, too, will shed a little skin along the way.

Arrival -- my One Thousandth

Yes. Somewhere in the last few months, I arrived home. No, not necessarily physically (although clearly returning to upstate New York has been the right thing), but spiritually. I have finally arrived at a complete understanding and acceptance of my Goddess perspective on everything, and how it has been at the core of just about my whole life. This perspective is my "home", in the way that other people's religions are their homes, although I don't see it as a religion per se (with creeds, rituals, and holy books). I guess the best I can do is to say that the Goddess is my spiritual focus, my way of seeing, my truth, the core of my being. I see only through the lens of the Divine Feminine.

Could I have said this ten years ago, when I started this blog? Not yet. I still needed more time to make a sense of my passion for English church music, and England itself. Taking part in that tradition directed some of my spiritual energy to the beliefs and rituals I was brought up in (and have probably experienced for many lifetimes). It was an inherent duality within me, my primary reason for not committing sooner and more whole-heartedly to the Goddess. Mind you, I would still go back to England in a heartbeat -- not to sing choral evensong or make my mark in that world, but in a bigger role of representing Her there, if that is what I should feel called to do.

A few days ago, I heard a great expression -- "AFGO" (Another F* Growth Opportunity)! All of us have unique growth opportunities/challenges over the courses of our lives. My contemporaries who have been married for long stretches (or all) of their adulthoods, and/or had children and grandchildren, and/or had only one or two jobs or careers or homes, have experienced growth opportunities that I never did. Staying single, being called to move all over the map, I've kept adjusting and growing in a unique way, one that kept forcing me to learn that I wasn't going to find my true home outside of myself. I wasn't going to find my true home in the outer world's expectations. It took literally a lifetime, but I finally found my truth within. (And these extraordinary times seem like some kind of a bizarre final exam!)

If this blog serves as a record of how one random American woman reached her enlightenment, a measure of her mystic potential, then I will be happy. In fact, it has occurred to me that I could stop here, at one thousand. However, it is hard to see how I could do that. Writing is my breathing, my life. If we ever lose power permanently, I'll be scribbling daily in every notebook or legal pad that I can get my hands on. Writing is my personal thread through the forest to the future, the little path of light directing me forward within the Goddess to that "place" of all-Love. So I suspect that there will be a thousand-and-one-th post! I hold my dear readers in a warm embrace on this special day.

In Appreciation

This may seem to be an odd post, even contradictory to a few things I have written recently. But this weekend gave me a few opportunities to feel genuine appreciation for the old paradigm, even as we are leaving it and I feel such eager anticipation for the new one.

It was the first time since returning to the Capital District that I experienced multiple synchronicities and memories involving my childhood. I guess having come back on the cusp of winter, and not having a car, I just wasn't out and about much until now. On Saturday, I was driven right by the house I grew up in from birth to age eight -- a small, 1930's era cottage on what was then a country road, and is now a rather major suburban artery. When my parents owned it, it was painted white and seemed delicate, and far from the road, but I think the road gained a lane in the intervening 70 years, and the house is currently painted brown, so the whole thing looks (and feels) quite different, heavy and crammed close to the road. I went to an estate sale in a home filled to the gills with early American antiques, the kind that would be unlikely to show up in Duluth. The house was literally steeped in history, and oddly stifling, made worse by the torrential rains outside. It was literally (and figuratively) an atmosphere I couldn't wait to leave after purchasing a box of colored pencils and an old fabric change purse. In true Liz style, I had also eyed a beautiful circle pin with white and blue stones which I assumed was costume jewelry (given the fact that it had no price tag on it)...but it ended up being the real deal, and many hundreds of dollars. Yes, I had to pass it up. There are moments when I wish just once in this unusual lifetime of mine I could own a "real deal", and wear it in that beautiful Sargent-esque oil portrait I also dream of! (The old paradigm isn't done with me yet!)

Then, as the weekend progressed, I serendipitously bumped into one old friend, and was on an online call with some others. I feel more appreciative than I have for a long time of my life up through college, while at the same time, embracing how different my subsequent life has been from those of most of my acquaintances. Finally, I can say with certainty that I wouldn't have wanted anyone else's life. 

One more appreciation this morning. I was listening to classical public radio, and a piece by Edward Elgar was followed by one by Gustav Holst. Even when these pieces aren't identified, I know they are the music at the core of me, and a wave of appreciation swept over me for just the phenomenon I said the other day that I have moved beyond: history as a succession of great men. It's almost as if my body could see and feel the tide that started with Thomas Tallis, and moved on to Byrd, Gibbons, Purcell, Parry, Stanford, Elgar, Vaughan Williams, Holst, Howells, Britten...a wave of incredible beauty, passion, and expressiveness. How to embrace the fact that a paradigm capable of wars, violence and hatred can also create such immense beauty? It's a hard one. How does one almost literally say good-bye to an entire thousands-of-years-old era knowing that so much beauty may be lost -- or utterly transformed? 

I guess that's the key, to listen to certain music and imagine music ten times more melodious, omnipresent and nurturing. To look at natural beauty and imagine even more astonishing beauty emerging from the chaos. To look with the eyes of an artist at all the events happening in our world. To imagine more love-filled institutions emerging from our current reality. 

Appreciation of the best parts of the old paradigm may make the coming Transition gentler and more navigable. But no matter what, when I am in appreciation, it's good to fully feel it.