Snow Day

Well, the Northeast is digging out from a bigger-than-average snowstorm, my computer is still working (bless it) and all in all, it's a good day to be alive. Sounds are muffled, and a heavy wind is picking up, so those 18 inches or so are now going to drift and fly around like crazy. Whatever else may happen in country or the world today, I will focus on gratitude for whatever amount of time I spend inside, in the warmth. That would be second only to gratitude for the city plows that are out trying to get a handle on this after weeks of relative dryness. To paraphrase something from 80's TV (Hill Street Blues), "stay safe out there."

Well, well, well...

As a college friend of mine used to say, "that's a deep subject."

Another extraordinary week. There seem to be more people engaged and alert to what's happening than perhaps ever in my lifetime, certainly since the late 60's/early 70's and Watergate. And we are engaged in such a different way thanks to technology. It's immediate. Visceral. Huge.

My belief in the validity of the law of attraction is only getting stronger in light of current events. In the present,"like is attracting like," people- and belief-wise. But I think there's a historical "boomerang effect" happening too. Issues, passions, and prejudices that were put out there dozens, even hundreds of years ago but not fully resolved seem to be returning to us in some kind of odd, modern iteration. All of this, all of it, is human energy, and communally we are sending boomerangs out now which, themselves, may take decades to circle around and come back to us. This means none of us have the luxury of sustained negativity if we care about humanity's future. Our personal "energy" every day not only influences our personal lives now (I believe that too much anger and outrage can attract illness or accidents) but also the world for years to come. I don't have children, but my friends do, most of humanity does, and I'm trying to re-channel my negative emotions for their sakes. The good news is that there is passion in negativity, and that passion, when channeled positively, is the greatest power in the Universe. Several times a day, I try to rise above our current momentum, and allow myself the privilege of seeing the bigger picture, spiritually, historically, ethically. And I try to really center myself in my power as a woman. What does it mean to be me, not "me reacting"?

Just to let you know, my dear old computer, which almost died two months ago and then returned to the land of the living (bless it!) seems to be showing its age again. Should there be a break of more than a day or two in my writing, I hope it will indicate that I am scrambling to find a new one. May I publicly say that this computer has been a lifeline, a gallant old guy trying to keep up with a lot of changes. It has meant the world to me, and indeed has started me on this new life of blogging. I honor it today, with immense gratitude.

Nevertheless...

Goodness. Women everywhere have just been handed the gift of the centuries. It was meant as an admonishment, but it has turned into a rallying cry, a succinct homage to the power of women.

"She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted."

This is not just my story. It is not just the stories that have begun to get public traction in movies and books. This is the story of virtually every woman I have ever encountered. It is the story of my middle-aged community college students who were pursuing higher education despite husbands dead set against it. It is the story of my friend doing the job of three people for no extra pay and absolutely no public acknowledgement, while the men in charge got all the glory. It is the story of women lawyers in the 1960's who couldn't get jobs because the advertisements said, "women need not apply." It is the story of friends who were not stopped by harassment or condescension or insults or silencing. It is my mom, being told by her rector that she would be on her church's vestry (governing body) "over my [his] dead body." She later went on to play significant leadership roles in two subsequent churches, and told me the week before she died of emphysema that she wished she had pursued the actual ministry. She wished, indeed, that she had had the career that would have allowed her to speak. Thank you, Elizabeth Warren, for doing just that, from the Senate chamber, out in the hallway, and online. Thank you for being such a fine example to the rest of us about how to use our voices. We will persist. Now more than ever.

Something changed yesterday

My friends and my regular readers know that I have this unusual "thing" about England and English church music, unusual, at least, for an American woman about to turn 61. I mean, even when I was three or four, riding around Schenectady with my parents in our Comet station wagon, I would look out at my surroundings in puzzlement. Where am I? I still feel this way, like I'm in the wrong country. Every time I have been to England, my feet hit the ground and life finally makes sense. It's an odd thing, even odder in the current climate. But then there is the additional fact that one of my first heroines and earliest influences was my grandmother Winnifred Wilton, daughter of pioneering Manitobans who, herself, became a pioneer in the field of law. She died before I was born, but some kind of energetic baton passed from her to me. I've always resonated more with my British and Canadian roots than with my American reality.

Something changed yesterday.

Early in the day, I started Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. I love Elizabeth Gilbert. I love her writing style, direct, funny, perceptive, honest and conversational. You almost feel like she writes just for you. She's definitely a kindred spirit. Not having a clue how Tuesday would end up, I just remember thinking, she's a role model, and she makes me glad to be another American writer named Elizabeth.

So then at lunch, I spoke with a dear friend who took part in the Women's March on Washington, lo, those long two and a half weeks ago. Listening to her describe her experience, I was filled with such pride. I was proud of all my friends who marched, and millions of women (and men) around the world as well.

At 9 pm, I turned on TV to watch Rachel Maddow, another of my heroines. I respect her take on things and her values. I love her lively facial expressions and her unbelievable intelligence and articulateness (is that a word?) I'm watching very little television about politics; this is an exception. But last night was even more memorable than usual, because the news was breaking that Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren had just been silenced on the floor of the U.S. Senate for reading a letter by (the equally remarkable) Coretta Scott King.

Excuse me? Excuse me? Does the majority leader have any clue what it means to women to be silenced? Does he have any clue that we will no longer be silenced?

I couldn't get to sleep last night, because something crucial has shifted in me. Over the course of 24 hours, I became actively proud to be a brilliant, outspoken, powerful, groundbreaking American woman, honored to be even peripherally in the company of these exceptional human beings. I don't know if this will change my England thing, but it has definitely changed me.

What a trip!

I am still about the worst meditator in the world, after almost a week of trying. Time-wise, I am struggling to stay focused for more than three minutes. One thing that has improved, however, is that off and on during the remainder of the day, I find myself noticing my breath, and saying "thank you" for it. So I will keep going. I suppose it is a muscle that needs to be trained, slowly.

Today has been "something else." There is a staple item that I only seem to be able to find at a certain big box store. I have gotten getting out there by city bus, and in and out of the store in time for the next return bus, into a science. And all was well today until that second bus trip, which ended up being one of the most uncomfortable half-hours of my life. I understand enough about the law of attraction not to enumerate all the issues that made it so hard; I am safe and healthy, nothing violent happened, and in the end, we all got off the bus in one piece. I am grateful. But man-oh-man.

Sometimes I look back on the "good old days" when I didn't take responsibility for every last thing that happened to me. I probably would have called up a friend and complained mightily about this adventure, describing it in great, even humorous or ironic, detail. Occasional complaining used to be oddly satisfying. But this is 2017, and I know that in effect I chose every aspect of the experience so that I would become clearer on exactly what kinds of situations I wish to take part in; I want to be surrounded by beauty. I want to be surrounded by music. I want to surround myself with people talking about beautiful and meaningful things, and I want more control over my own immediate environment. In the end, I cannot change the people or institutions around me. The only person whose energy output I have any control over is my own. Every day is a new canvas, and I am the painter. In fact, maybe it will help when I am meditating to think of myself in front of a blank canvas, mentally preparing to place the first brushstroke. Or to think of myself as a conductor, about to lift her arms to bring in the choir. And if I want a beautiful output that day, I had better remind myself to do only the things that have a high "beauty" potential.

What a trip, indeed!

The New Paradigm

There isn't a woman alive who isn't, to some degree or another, heir(ess) to a demeaning millennia-old message. Until seconds ago on the clock of human history, we women were told we were not intelligent enough to be educated. Women did not have a head for figures, and could not operate in the financial world. Women could not live independently, or own businesses. Women could not enter, much less excel in, professional fields such as law, medicine, the clergy, academia or politics. We did not have the talent or the genius to rise to the top in the arts. Our instincts and opinions could not be trusted. We could not lead. And, in the US, we were told we certainly did not have the rational self-control, the capacity to hold a firm, wise hand on the tiller of the ship of state, to become president.

I am but one small female voice. I have only a handful of dear, patient readers. But may I stand up and say, in wake of these two sickening weeks, that this paradigm was probably never valid to begin with, and it is over. For me, it's over.

Here's a living example of the new paradigm.

I am not a big "crystals" person. I have my "new age" side, but I don't attribute any more power to crystals than to anything else. However, the other week, I happened to be in a shop that sells little chunks of colorful stones and crystals, and I was drawn to one called "labradorite." It is almost indescribable, like northern lights captured in stone. Of course a little chunk of it costs more than the others, and me being me, and balking at paying more than about $3 for anything, I did not buy one.

But I had a little income this week, and I went back to the store. There was a young woman behind the counter, and I said, "do you have a stone that would help when you are feeling traumatized by the events in the world?" Now here is what I love. She said something to the effect that, even though certain stones are said to have specific qualities, she never tells people what to buy. She recommends that a person go around the store, and find the stone that speaks to them, which they find beautiful from within them. I almost burst into tears. One woman to another, I was being told, you have the knowledge and the instincts to buy what is right for you right now. You use your power, Liz.

So I brought the bowl of labradorite pieces to the counter, and she emptied the contents out onto a piece of black velvet. I looked through them, each shimmering their own unique light, and picked the one that suited me. Respectfully, she looked at it too, and agreed that it was spectacular. I paid her $9 and something cents, and looked her in the eye and thanked her for her wisdom.

If one paradigm is "over," one must be starting. And for me, this is it.

Meditation, Day Two

So, my meditation efforts thus far have had mixed results. On the one hand, I have only managed two to three minutes of uninterrupted "following of my breathing." I breathe in saying inwardly, thank you for this breath. I breathe out saying inwardly, thank you for this breath. Sometimes I substitute, thank you for this life. A few minutes in, the thoughts come pouring in, ideas for this blog, analysis of the news, etc. At that point, I take a few more breaths and then stop if I cannot get back on track. I am hoping that I will move on to three-to-five minutes a day, at least.

However, it may be a coincidence (probably not) that the last two days, I have felt far less oppressed by the news, far less like the life is being sucked out of me, and more clear-headed. I feel like I am seeing the possibilities, and am noticing more and more items about the truly courageous and loving people coming out of the woodwork right now. Someday when we look back, I suspect we will understand that this was what it was all about.

I'm trying to walk the tightrope of reading (and occasionally watching) enough to understand exactly what is happening here, but not enough to get sucked into fear. That's a difficult balancing act. In a week of the outrageous and the tragic, nothing was more so, for me, than the article in the January 30 New Yorker entitled, "Survival of the Richest: Why some of America's wealthiest people are prepping for disaster." I confess that I could only bear to skim this article, but the gist of it was that, for some time, many billionaires have been actively preparing to go to underground bunkers (in the U.S. or in places like New Zealand) if chaos erupts. I'm sure this is nothing new. Twenty-five years ago, I drove through northern Idaho and could literally feel an oppressive fear-filled energy coming from behind the locked gates along the road. What probably is new is the technology that would make life many stories below ground doable, at least for a time.

My inner scanner that registers "Is this love or is this fear?" was buzzing uncontrollably. Of course it is fear. What does it say about the American dream that those who have been most successful at it would bury themselves alive or fly to the ends of the earth once the chips are down? I cannot know what it would be like to be wealthy, but I can only surmise that a love/trust-filled response would look far different.

Rich or poor, all we have is today, right? It takes courage just to look at what is happening, and even more so to act absolutely fearlessly, and not react. Yes, our lives are probably about to change dramatically, but hunkering, bunkering down in terror will only magnetize the things we fear. Let's take those two minutes or five minutes of conscious breathing out into the world openly, freely, lovingly, and courageously and create a better outcome, OK? One day at a time.