Choir

A news report about the unsuccessful effort by a 9-year-old girl to join an elite German boys' choir has, once again, brought up this core part of my own journey, which I am writing about in my book.

On the one hand, I feel such solidarity with her. It is vindication, validating my own desire, starting 59 years ago, to sing the music of the English men-and-boys' choir tradition. I shouldn't still need to validate it, but strangely, I do.

And yet the fact that she was blocked in court causes a new wave of heartbreak. In the 1960's no one would even have considered suing. I am not big on lawsuits, but in this case I'm glad she and/or her parents had the courage to take that modern route. It brought into the public eye all the traditional arguments against girls in these choirs -- the slightly different sound made by girls and boys at young ages, and the limited time that the boys can sing soprano. Then there is the appeal to tradition; 500 to 1,000 years is a long time, and a huge barrier to even the slightest change. The court ruled for the choirmasters' artistic discretion and against the young singer..

Many English cathedrals have instituted girls' choirs which alternate services with the boys. But the most prominent English and American choirs are still men and boys. And while adult women have increasing numbers of opportunities in secondary and visiting choirs, full acceptance of us within the tradition seems to be almost as far off as ever. This makes it very hard for young women to pursue the related option of entering the field as organist-choirmasters or organ scholars...as I learned too well, if you don't have a solid network of older role models and a variety of welcoming opportunities, it is impossible to move upwards.

At my age, I guess I am more aware of what all this "feels" like than the actual intellectual, musical or legal arguments. It is, above all, about feeling welcome -- or not. I saw the words, "Never will a girl sing in a boys' choir" and I felt the punch to my stomach just as I have so many times before. When you are called to sing a specific tradition of sacred music at a high level, and you are not "allowed" to, your soul may never fully recover. Mine didn't. I pray that this young girl discovers some new, satisfying alternatives, or that her suit eventually opens some doors for her and others of her generation. I'd like her to know that I, too, tried my best! (As I write this, I am crying.)

Shifts

OK, so I remember when I first lived in Duluth in the 90's, I began to sense that we were nearing major shifts in both human consciousness and our cultural center-of-gravity. It just seemed to me that we were on an unsustainable path and that things were going to change quite substantially -- at some point. And then it seemed like the kinds of shifts I was envisioning weren't happening. I wondered for several decades if it hadn't just been a figment of my imagination...

These last few weeks, I'm becoming pretty convinced that it wasn't my imagination. What is happening is too big, too dramatic, too close to home.

I'm tired from working on my book -- it's an emotional thing to do. And the news simply becomes more terrifying and more grotesque by the minute. So how to continue on a forward path right now without losing heart? All I seem to be able to do is keep checking in with myself about who I am, what my values are, and what forms of beauty constitute my personal backbone. All I can seem to do is be that person in the world. Coming from the background I come from, such a self-focus doesn't come easily, and can be uncomfortable. But I cannot control anything, anything, outside myself. Beauty, joy, love and truth will certainly exist beyond these shifts, probably in even greater measure than before; those of us who can must consistently personify these positive qualities as events unfold, as kind of a golden path through the darkness.

Where I come from

It's hard to speak about the unspeakable, so I'll take a slightly different tack.

Putting aside all human-created physical boundaries, where do I come from?

I would like to think I come from Love. I would like to think I come from Truth. I would like to think I come from Harmony and Music. I would like to think I come from Beauty. I would like to think I come from Art. I would like to think I come from Good. I would like to think I come from Empathy and Generosity. I would like to think I come from Joy. I would like to think I come from Expansion and Spiritual Growth. I would like to think I come from Vision. I would like to think I come from Perfect Self-Expression. I would like to think I come from Wisdom. I would like to think I am as good a representative as I can be of the Divine Feminine.

And if there are days or even weeks when I am off-center, this is the general neighborhood of energetic expression that I hope to go back to.

Fragility

On this hot, exceedingly blustery summer day, I'll take a moment to muse about fragility. A few short years ago, I assumed that all my previous challenges would evaporate, and my sixties would be the apex of my own life and the lives of my female friends. I assumed that reaching the high points of careers, retirement, and power would put most of us in good places. Yet the reality is that many of us are either in extremely fragile places, or flirting with fragility in a way I don't remember in my mother's generation. My personal fragility is, as always, the transitional nature of my housing and a wavering sense of being able to fulfill my unique place and purpose. But my fall in England made me feel exceptionally fragile too, in a physical way. It cracked more than my wrist.

Friends in their sixties and early seventies are dealing with all manner of personal illnesses, challenges within their larger families, downsizing, disappointments. And of course so many of us are "freaking out" on some level about the direction our country seems to be taking. It is like there are storms blowing (more tsunamis?) and some of us, try as we might, are cracking, or breaking outright. Many of us are single, too, and as I've mentioned before, this brings up unique issues. If we aren't in close contact with birth family, who are our proverbial "loved ones"? And it's not like society at large loves its older single women. There's no, "Bravo, you! You've lived an unconventional life, you've contributed in unique ways (large and small) to our society, and we are proud that you are in our midst. Let's make the tallest and most elegant building in town its housing for wise older women"! (Hand to ear...still listening! No, I have never, ever heard words to that effect!)

My backbone right now, my counteraction to fragility, is writing my book. I am writing a blue streak, with index cards being filled up at an alarming rate. The "bringing cards to the library and typing" piece is going rather more slowly, but I'm not too worried. The book, in its early form at least, will be done by Labor Day, as I promised myself. Every word I write is empowering me, and I hope the ripple effect will subtly empower my personal friends and other women as well. I don't think it is possible to be empowered and fragile at the same time.

Atypical

As I move forward with my book, and with my life, I realize that there is nothing "typical" about me that I can discern. Nothing.

I guess this moment in Duluth is allowing me to fully appreciate this without totally freaking out. The circumstances of my life have been so wide-ranging and contradictory that I may never find a friend or community who I can hug and say, "You get this, you lived this too."

Friends who grew up in "typical middle-class American suburbs" at least may have been brought up with some shared values and experiences...type of housing, public high school, work ethic, etc. I have several friends who grew up on farms. On a very basic level, they lived a shared experience. They know what it is like to grow up in that unique environment. I have several friends who grew up in fundamentalist households. However different their circumstances might have been, there is a core spiritual experience that they could mirror to each other were they to meet. And of course, virtually all my friends married and had children, so no matter the dissimilarities in the other details of their adult lives, they know some of the "typical" trials and joys of partnership and childbirth and beyond (along with some atypical ones, surely).

It has always been hard for me to find a family of people who know what it is like to be American, but to have grown up with ultra-upper-crust "aristocratic" values but no money. To have family living in luxury one minute and dire poverty the next, and not even be allowed to talk about it. To be an American girl wanting to sing the English men and boys' choir tradition of music decades before that was possible. To have never settled down to husband or home because of those reasons and more. I have had so many friends over the years, and I love them and am so grateful for them. Right now, though, I am in such a different "place" than any of them that I feel somewhat panicky. Whether they are American or British, our actual day-to-day lives and struggles have had very little in common. I can rarely say, "You know what this is like." I wish I had more people with whom I had a specific shared mix of life experiences. From that standpoint, my life can feel outrageously lonely.

Yet this is all the more reason to increasingly tell the truth in my writing, the truth not only of what happened at specific moments, but also the truth of how things felt. I need to tell the truth of the evolution of my ability to emerge from numbness into human emotion. What I have experienced seems to set me apart from most other people, but how it affected me is the factor that may bring me back, closer to others. I may never be "typical" except on that deeper, feeling level. My heart has been broken over and over. That cannot possibly be atypical.

Midwest Miscellany

One of the visually intriguing things about Duluth is that there are a number of large grain and ore silos in the bay which the huge ships on- and offload from. In certain lights, in the fog, at night, and (ahem) if I take off my glasses, some of them look very much like English cathedrals. It is like there is kind of a semi-transparent film over my eyes, showing me something I love in another form.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and handwrote ten single-spaced, college-ruled pages about my dad. It was only later, after a friend asked me if I realized that it was Father's Day, that I made the connection about the appropriateness of the timing. It's amazing the way our brains work. I am not sure yet whether this material will end up in my book or here in my blog. But in a nutshell, I was grieving the fact that I never heard these heartfelt words from him: "Elizabeth, you are my beloved, wonderful daughter. I love you, I am so proud of you, and I want the best for you throughout your life. I would sacrifice almost anything to make your life easier and more fulfilling."

I think that Father's Day must be hard for many women, and men too (although perhaps the issues for them may be somewhat different.) Yes, there are some women who may have wonderful fathers who say this and mean it, and act appropriately and supportively for decades. There must be many women, like me, whose fathers were physically present, but not in any other way. There may be fathers who say such things early in life, then become monstrous predators, twisting the words into knots. And, of course, there are so many women who never meet their real fathers. When there is this gaping hole, it is so very hard to fill even in a lifetime of trying. My heart goes out to anyone for whom yesterday was painful or challenging.

Lilacs are just coming out here. It's so late. Gosh, I think in England they were coming out in March. Duluth's summers are so very short, and it's almost like a Saturnalia...each weekend is crammed with marathons, rummage sales, sailboat races, rowing regattas, farmers' markets, outdoor concerts, you name it. Most of it isn't my thing right at the moment (this summer being devoted to writing my book) but I'm breathing in the life energy and the excitement with gratitude.

Aha!

My readers know that my focus is on writing my memoirs right now, and it was my intention not to blog as frequently. However, I guess this activity is serving to spur my brain cells, generally, and this morning I had an "Aha!" moment that I have been waiting a lifetime for. So I could not wait to share it with my small group of faithful readers. If you've stuck with me this long, maybe this will resonate with you.

OK, here goes.

Over the years, I have met a handful of other women like me, single, strongly focused on their spiritual journeys, and, yes, living either in poverty or very straightened circumstances. Wandering (or stable-yet-hanging-on-for-dear-life) mystics. (There may be men in this category, but I just haven't met many yet!) And, of course, many artists, writers, musicians, poets, and other creative men and women share this experience, and have been made to feel intense shame at their lack of financial success.

I cannot speak for anyone else, but since the late 1980's, I have certainly been exposed to law of attraction teachings, and indeed, believe them to be absolutely true. I believe that "like attracts like," at the very least on this earth plane. For decades, I have tried to "attract" money, income, paid opportunities, gifts, whatever, not just so that I could barely get by, but to try to accomplish the hundreds of things I still wish to accomplish in this life. I've tried visualizing a permanent home and the means to make that possible because I am so tired of wandering. I've loved listening to my favorite law of attraction gurus, and knowing that for some people, affirmations, creative visualization and other tricks really do work. But they most assuredly do not seem to work for me. My life has proved sort of an inverse proportion to the rule; the closer I get to understanding who I am and to my core beliefs and understandings, the less I seem to function in our system and the further I seem to get from "abundance" (as expressed through money, anyway! My life has had other forms of abundance, clearly.)

This morning, it finally hit me. This is, in fact, the law of attraction at work. Our current economic systems and institutions are based firmly in a duality view of life; two planes of reality that are in constant opposition. right vs. wrong, good vs. evil, profit vs. loss, success vs. failure etc. This assumption is at the core of almost all of our societal structures, not just the economy. Think of how we fight illness, war, drug use, pollution and illiteracy. The other political party. You name it.

I think I came into this lifetime with at least a budding understanding of a post-duality worldview. I'm not sure if there is a better word to use..."unity"? "unity through harmony"? "Wholeness"? A world where everything is essentially one and there is no actual split down the middle. Personally, I'm coming more and more to see all Life as a single river of love and beauty, running, literally, in one direction. I feel it as a construct of the divine feminine, although it just may be that, as a woman, I need a more concrete, personal sense of identifying with divine oneness.

As of yet, I do not know of any economic systems based on this paradigm, although gifting and bartering may align with it somewhat more than making a profit. That's a question for another day.  But because our Western economy is based on duality, and my thinking is not, law of attraction is working (ugh!) perfectly. I do not easily attract "money" to my true self, and it is not attracted to me (nor, by and large, are people who are really invested in the system). Those of us who just simply cannot function in a dualistic fashion find all aspects of the dualistic world extremely hard to navigate, practically and spiritually.

This isn't about making excuses. But it was a wonderful "aha" for a Tuesday morning. I haven't done anything wrong, at least from the perspective of that unified stream of love, unity and beauty. Neither have many other people who haven't flourished. It's just that our essences are not reflected in our economy's essence. This won't make it any easier to function, gosh darn it, but it does make it a little easier to feel better about my life... not a bad thing when I am writing about it, finally!