...One Step Back

A very large, horrifying one.

We will all be immersed in this all day, and so I will be brief. But I wanted to write while the event and emotions are still fresh.

I can't speak for what others will do, or how all of us "should" respond to events like the one in Nice. I can only speak for myself. The first reaction was just immense sadness, and the sense that I had been brought to the basement once again to watch a film of the world's "lowlights." All those unanswerable questions, that sense of powerlessness, that sense of shame.

So the only way forward today, as it was yesterday as I dealt with a more personal variation on this theme, is to focus on love. To find something to love in the event. I know that in the end, the only power in the universe is Love. The only power I have today is to focus on it. I love how quickly and beautifully people came together to help one another. I love how people around the world genuinely care about what is happening, and want to live in a more love-filled world. I love how beautiful our world is. I love the fact that love is available to everyone, and that somehow in a way I don't understand this event is part of humanity's path forward toward more love, more peace. I hope that all of us, when presented with the choice of whether to love or to fear, will chose love. It's a harder path on a day like today. Yeah, it is. 

Two steps forward...

I think I may have spoken about this phenomenon in a previous blog, and I am sure some of you have experienced it too. No sooner have you committed yourself more fully than ever to being positive, loving, healthy and uplifting, and to believing in your own path, then all of a sudden a volcano of old hurts, resentments, and inadequacies cracks open within you. Yesterday was a real doozy. I received my college alumnae magazine, filled with upbeat stories about younger alums and class notes about career successes, children and grandchildren, and my life elevator took me on an immediate descent to the basement. Next year is my fortieth reunion. Fortieth. Can it be possible that I will still have (by most people’s standards) “nothing to show for myself”?  I felt like one of those prisoners in “Allegory of the Cave,” chained facing a wall, watching a movie of my life that focuses only on the slights, the frustrations, the basics I don’t have, the people to whom I said the words “English church music” who stared back blankly, and countless rejections. It was like a slick football or tennis video, replaying my “lowlights” with sinister gusto. Bringing myself back to the present wasn’t much immediate help. All I had to do was look out the window to cars going by on the streets, and that gave me another flail with which to torment myself. Other people have figured out how to own cars. Other people seem to tolerate jobs they don’t like in institutions that don’t match their goals or energies. Other people don’t have such unusual dreams, or if they do, they seem to more easily find, earn or magnetize the means to permanently make dreams come true. What in the sam hill is wrong with me? Why is it that the more aligned I become to me, the less I want to operate as the world does, which of course makes life more and more challenging? I am so thankful to have survived, but darn it, I want to thrive, even if in some new way!

Florence Scovel Shinn’s wonderful The Game of Life and How to Play it spoke of armies of darkness that rise up within you when you make spiritual progress (or words to that effect – my copy is still in a box somewhere.) You’ve changed your focus, shifted upwards, and old nastiness surfaces with a vengeance. I can’t help but think that perhaps this is what is happening to humanity as a whole. More and more people are trying to be fully themselves, more and more people are focusing on love, and all the old human hurts are literally being “ex-pressed.”  Pressed out.

I can’t tell the world how to get through these moments. I can only speak to what I try to do. (Yes, these days “at the movies” are a frequent occurrence.) I take a deep breath. I try to connect as best I can with Source/God/the Goddess/the Universe/the stream of Life and Love that I know I am part of even on days like this. I try very hard to focus only on myself and my relationship with that energy, and to leave everyone else out of the equation. (Comparison will do you in every time, as the paragraph above illustrates.) I remind myself that Love only sees the good in me. Even these “lowlights,” to the Universe, are proof positive of my courage, tenacity, and power. I never completely succumbed to despair. I never became an addict or chose the low road. My extraordinary education (for which I am so grateful!) gave me the courage to think critically, to want more for myself and the world, and to stay aligned with the intelligence within. And my belief in Law of Attraction helps me to remember that I have chosen each and every one of these challenges. I chose to be on a cutting edge journey, to see things with different eyes, and it may be that this unusual vantage point could only be accessed by bushwhacking through the underbrush off the beaten path. I try to keep believing that there are easier days coming. It’s inevitable that some of us have simply been ahead of the curve, and that many of the old paradigm’s successes haven’t been on our energy wavelength. I remind myself that what is true today, July 14, 2016, may not be true a year from now. And heck, even if all I have to “show for myself” at that reunion is a few extremely meaningful recent trips to England and a few dedicated blog followers, I will be a happy woman because they will represent successes that were generated from within, not the ones expected of me by others.

It may take a few days to recover my equilibrium, but these days, the revolving door moves more and more quickly. It’s a hot, extremely windy day with big storms predicted, and somehow that feels appropriate. Two steps forward and one step back still means you’ve made a little progress…if you are also going through anything like this, hold on through the gusts and know you are not alone.

Word processing

I started this blog nearly a year ago now. Oddly enough, it seems like about five years. Very, very eventful. And these last few months, particularly, have been characterized by an ever-increasing torrent of words, in news outlets, on the campaign trail, and on social media. It is a by-product, perhaps, of the lively democratization of the moment, where so many of us who haven't dared to speak in the past have found the courage to do so, across the spectrum. Yet it unnerves me to realize that even I, who love words, am almost tired of them today. Perhaps it is not the words themselves, it is the pain of feeling words being hurled like arrows back and forth across the divide, blaming, shaming, ironic and even sad. I find that metaphorically, at least, it hurts my heart. And as someone who sees a direct link between these metaphors and health realities (and whose family has recently been re-shaped by "heart attacks"), I need to gently find a new way of processing the harshest of the words flying around out there.

Sticking one's head in the sand doesn't seem to be an option. Our world is undergoing such profound changes that I don't think anyone can ignore them anymore. One of the realities every morning will be accepting that, whether I hear it or not, the dialogue taking place is an important facet of the world's latest stage of evolution. Somehow, somehow, I need to "not judge" this tsunami and some of its content.

As best I can, I have made a commitment to speaking positively and lovingly, whether in this blog, on social media, or in emails. Do I slip occasionally? Yes. But feeling the pain of others' negativity, I really want to make it a practice from this moment forward never to actively hurt others with my words. I'm not an expert on loving. I never married, I never had children, and my biggest passion has been for a semi-obscure form of music. I'm only in the beginning stages of learning how to love. But something in me understands that it (not fear) must be my litmus test for everything in my own life, and in deciding what to write, read, engage with or listen to. Which politicians and civic leaders are motivated by love? Which companies and financial constructs are motivated by love? Which educational institutions are motivated by love? Which medical institutions are motivated by love? What written words uplift me or make me laugh with joy? What music sings to me?

The only bridge across any painful divide is finding something to love in the situation. I guess my prayer for today is, may I only speak words that uplift. And may I have the courage not to be "dis"couraged by mere words. Somehow underlying it all is a world trying to love more.

Three degrees of separation

In the wake of all the events this week, it has been hard to pull my thoughts together about anything. I do want, however, to see if I can find some way of honoring the best of my brother Andrew before more events throw us all even further off our strides.

One of the only times as an adult that I spent time with "Andres" was New Years 1981, when I was in the midst of my MMus studies in England, and he headed to Spain for a college study program. I took a train from London to Paris and on to Madrid (changing trains at the Spanish border because in those days the gauge of the tracks was different.) After a day in a train compartment with a large family and a basket filled with live chickens, I managed to meet him either at the train station or the airport, I don't remember which.  I marvel that in those pre-email times, one could manage such meetups at all! We made our way out to the suburban home of a Spanish friend of mine, and used it as a home base for a few days of travel around the countryside. We were both on a shoestring, and we basically survived on beers and tapas, this being the era when you could get the beer and accompanying snack for somewhere around 50 cents. Andrew spoke fluent Spanish, was easy to travel with, and almost impossibly friendly with strangers.

Even at his memorial service, this was what everyone talked about. Andrew was able to befriend a stranger in about ten seconds. It didn't matter whether he was in line at an airport, talking with restaurant staff, or bumping into someone on public transportation, he always, always took the initiative with people and nearly always found something in common with them. He might, for instance, talk with a waiter in New York City and say, "where are you from?" If the server said, "Lima, Ohio," Andrew would exclaim, "I rode my bicycle through Lima in 1985, and had the best fried chicken of my life at a restaurant on Main Street!"  It would inevitably turn out that the young man's uncle owned the restaurant, or he had waited tables there, or that his dad ran the hardware store next door. This was never a lie or a joke on my brother's part -- if there is such a thing as "six degrees of separation," Andrew seemed to have only about three degrees of separation from each person on the planet. He could find common ground. My other brother quipped that whereas most of us avoid crowded rooms of strangers wearing name tags, this was Andrew's equivalent of a candy shop. Everyone in that room was a potential friend. This doesn't mean that he maintained these thousands of friendships, but just that for one moment, this stranger wasn't "strange."

I am sorry that I don't have this gift. Although I am comfortable greeting strangers, and can easily say "hi" or "how's it going?" or speak to a group, I rarely get up the nerve to strike up a one-on-one conversation on the fly. Since Andrew's death, I am trying a little harder to do so. In wake of everything that is happening, it is interesting to think: what if we all saw that person next to us as a potential friend? What if it never occurred to us that they could possibly be an enemy?

I miss this about Andrew, his humor, and I guess most of all, seeing him at the helm of a sailboat.  It is from him that I seem to have inherited a delight in at least the wonderful metaphors of the water. Life's winds brought his boat "about" unexpectedly, and I can only hope it is into a port filled with delightful strangers to befriend.  

A moment of silence

Today, I had planned to write a little more about my brother who died unexpectedly a year ago. Yet this morning's news from Dallas kind of stops me in my tracks. Unexpected deaths are happening all over the country and the world; too many families are going through these hard processes and anniversaries.

It's one of those things where there is both too much to say, and where words are wholly inadequate.  I guess all I can do is hold an energy of love today, silently.  For a moment, or perhaps even for the whole day. 

Leadership, Again

Well, I won’t lie. This has been a hard week or so. I have thankfully started to sleep a bit better, if only because I am trying to imagine that this Brexit earthquake might eventually be the catalyst for healing new directions, despite appearances to the contrary. And after enough days of no sleep, I think your body just takes over and says, “Sleep, dear one.” Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of my brother’s death, and I continue to feel rather shaky. I may talk about that later in the week. I seriously haven’t gotten over it. 

But I want to return to the archetype topic. Almost two weeks ago, I wrote about how looking at medieval social roles has helped me to understand my own core way of operating in the world. I suggested that once we know our passions, archetypes (from literature, fairy tales and history) might help us to understand our ideal way of powerfully “doing” them in the world today.

For years, I’ve called myself a wandering mystic. There’s no question that I’ve been almost like a Chaucerian pilgrim, poor, at times with the 21^st-century version of only the sandals on my feet and the clothes on my back, walking a spiritual walkabout trying to make sense of life. My journey took me in decidedly futuristic spiritual directions, and yet paradoxically it would eventually uncover my strongest and earliest passions, English church music, and English history, spirituality, landscape, art and architecture.

And yet recently I have come to think that my true core archetype isn’t wanderer or pilgrim at all, I think it is “queen.”

OK, I’ve said it. Now, queens are hot in modern culture in all sorts of manifestations. You see the word on tee shirts and bumper stickers every day. So it seems odd to be so reticent about claiming the archetype’s energy. But I’ve been pushing it away all my life. Some of my forebears were “aristocratic,” but as a child in 1960’s Schenectady, that hardly seemed relevant. By my early teens, my family was chronically broke, so although many of my expectations and some of my experiences reflected privilege, I would walk into the adult world with what is now considered an epic “poverty mentality.” I was confused by the inconsistent highs and lows of my background. More than that, I was confused and ashamed of the fact that I identified with the “upper crust” in any situation. (Yes, on those quizzes, I am Downton Abbey’s Dowager Countess of Grantham, not Mrs. Patmore.) As a result, around the same time I deep-sixed all my interests in England and English church music, I also rejected anything that might have been positive or productive about such a heritage. I tried to convince myself that it was some kind of past life glitch. If I waitressed and mopped floors and did data entry and ran cash registers long enough, perhaps I could be a normal person.

If this blog is going to get me home in any sense of the word, I have to have the courage to tell the truth. And it isn’t about castles and tiaras and having courtiers anyway. It’s about leadership. More than anything, the secret I have hidden from myself and from the world is that I am a born leader. Perhaps more “mystic queen” than “warrior,” but still … If I haven’t “led” up till now, it’s because I don’t think you can be an effective leader until you embrace your passions. You have to understand the arena where you are meant to lead, which, of course, I did not. I could never have “led” as a college president or CEO of a PR firm or a politician, because I would never have been passionate about those goals. To work even in middle management of an institution, you have to believe in that institution – and the larger current “paradigm.” Overall, I don’t. So there was more integrity for me working much of the time at the bottom of the ladder and staying invisible.

Yet, here’s another hard truth. I’m not invisible. Because I am a leader who didn’t understand her potential for leadership, I stuck out like a sore thumb and made a dreadful employee. (I’m going to say this even at the risk of never getting a “job” again.) I take charge almost as soon as I walk in the door. I tell employers what to do. I learn tasks too quickly. I fix mistakes (like misspellings) and work faster and harder for my $10 an hour than anyone else, just out of boredom. I speak authoritatively. I don’t play the game well. I can see potential future outcomes and I am a nitpicker about ethics. I’m too smart. And, in the end, I want to be in charge -- only of something that is meaningful to me. The only “jobs” I’ve derived even the slightest bit of satisfaction from were characterized by some level of power autonomy: teaching (being “queen” of my classroom), running a small summer art gallery and being able to make day-to-day executive decisions, even being left to run small retail or restaurant establishments on my own, just for a few hours at a stretch. I’m at my best when I can stand up tall, greet people gracefully, make their learning or buying or eating experience as positive as possible, and when I can make all the executive decisions about the environment around me. I love writing this blog because it truly is my world. I am queen here.

Other than the fact that I am shaking from the terror of revealing these secrets about myself, I guess I’m relieved to be doing it. I haven’t been functional as an employee, I haven’t dared to be a leader, and I haven’t resonated with our current paradigm enough to lead within it. I don't seem to have an interest in money, so being an entrepreneur was out. What an appalling limbo! I’ve been pilgrim, teacher, contemplative nun, writer, artist and musician, and I am excellent at all of them, but in the end, I now suspect that they are only supporting skills. I have been skirting around the most important archetype. If I am to move forward, I need to accept my leadership mantle (which I started to talk about back in February) in some way that embraces cutting edge thinking and spirituality as well as the ancient landscape context that nourishes me. I cannot yet see how that is to work, other than to keep writing this blog and living my life step-by-step. But I guess the most important thing will happen the minute I hit the “publish” button at the top of this site. When I say to Spirit, “I am willing to lead. Just show me how” – then put these words out in the world – there may be no going back.  

I cannot help but wonder, how many more 60-something women have unexpressed leadership in their “wheelhouses”? How many of us have been in a similar limbo?

Freedom

I'm thankful to say I have started to sleep a bit better. I think there is a moment when the Universe just steps in and says, "dear one, you need some sleep." Clearly, the UK's situation is not being improved by my worrying, and I am trying to see their political upheavals (and ours) in a more potentially positive light. I mean, if nothing else, something transformational is happening. 

This Fourth of July weekend would seem to be a good time to express some more gratitude. Yes, as confusing as it has been for this over-the-top anglophile, I am thankful to be American. I am thankful to have been brought up with my compass pointed toward "freedom." I am thankful to have had the freedom to choose freedom, if you know what I mean, even when that has been hard. I am thankful to be a completely free woman. There haven't been many of those through history, I wouldn't have thought. While I have a list of friends to whom I cannot wait to give generous gifts at the first possible moment, strictly speaking I have no debts and nothing shackling me. It might be said that this is as much or more the "American dream" than having a home, a mortgage, and car payments; it continues to present both joys and challenges, but many days, now, the joys have the upper hand. 

When I look back on this time, I suspect I will understand that this is the moment when -- the chains of inner and outer restriction and obligation having been shed -- I had the freedom to move forward only in love, through love, and toward things and people I genuinely love. In a world that is trying to press at us from the outside, to even recognize the love flowing out from within must be the rarest form of freedom, and I will celebrate that this weekend.