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.
