Showing posts with label #WinterofMySoul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #WinterofMySoul. Show all posts

Thursday, February 25, 2021

Slip Slidin' Away

 I'm somewhat adrift these days, but not in a bad way. I don't know what other folks think of it, but this song by Paul Simon has always been, to me, an anthem of hope and belief in myself. 

I'm reclining in an existential unicorn tube on a spiritual lazy river, wearing cut-off jean shorts, a tank top, and my favorite sunglass. I smell of that coconut-scented sunscreen I used in my teenage years. My fingertips are trailing in the water as I drift along. Occasionally I bump into something or someone and stop for a few moments, and I enjoy the contact, but I know I'm going to keep moving towards where I'm supposed to be. 

It may not seem like it to anyone watching, but I finally know where I'm going, and this is the right path to get me there. 

Peace out. 

https://youtu.be/iUODdPpnxcA


"Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
God only knows
God makes his plan
The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
Mmm"



Thursday, March 5, 2020

The False Narrative: The Need for Forgiveness in Order to Heal


The False Narrative: The Need for Forgiveness in Order to Heal

The path to healing from trauma and grief is deeply personal and can be fraught with contradictions and confusion.

I have carried a great deal of anger surrounding the circumstances of my youngest daughter’s life challenges and death. Her mental illnesses and addiction issues took her into terrible circumstances and into contact with some horrible people. Over the years she shared details of some soul shattering experiences with me, and after she died I received confirmation about the worst betrayal of them all.

It has been my experience that many people do not have any idea how truly bad life can be right here in America. I don’t want to share those horrible stories here or anywhere else, but I will say that the cringe-worthy, frightening, nauseating kind of things you see in movies or read in novels or social media posts really do happen to people you know and to people who live in your community. Making that statement isn’t a quest for drama, nor is it an exaggeration. There are monsters in this world, and most of them are human.

There are many victims of those events and those monsters; the individuals who experience them, their families and friends, the communities that absorb the impact, the EMTs, the police officers, the social workers, the emergency room personnel, the detectives who work countless hours to build a case. The list goes on and on, moving out in endless ripples that create small waves for some and tsunamis for others.

In the midst of all that overwhelming motion, victims are often told that they should forgive the person who caused the harm. They are told that forgiveness is the only path to peace, that in order to heal, to move on, to become whole, they must forgive the offender. And if the offender has found religion, found Jesus or Odin or the Divine in any form, the victim especially must forgive them and welcome their presence in community.

I had been hearing that call for forgiveness for 50 years, and after Beth’s death I wanted to believe it because I wanted to finally move away from the pain her years of suffering had caused. I was willing to grab hold of whatever seemed like a viable means to do that. Three years after her death, three years of feeling and processing and thinking, I have come to a point where I call bullshit on the topic of forgiveness as a means to healing.

There are times when forgiving someone may be a healthy thing to do, as when persons in a healthy, balanced relationship have a serious conflict or disagreement and then come to a resolution of the matter. There are times when an individual’s faith allows forgiveness to bring peace. But there are times when forgiveness is a toxic tool, the use of which is driven by misperception, laziness, selfishness, and power imbalances present in outdated patriarchal religious, legal, and community systems.

Who benefits from forgiveness, overall? What falsehoods are behind that mask? Sometimes victims are urged to forgive an offender because it makes it easier for everyone else to move on with their lives, and because the existence of their pain and trauma is an inconvenience to others. Harm caused creates an imbalance that is felt as an energetic negative. Individuals and communities, consciously or subconsciously, perceive that imbalance as a debt that must be paid to restore wholeness to the individual and to the collective. The presence of that debt is, consciously or subconsciously, discomforting and disturbing, and so the whole presses for balance to be restored to itself above the needs of the individual victim. Salving the conscience of the people who cause harm or those who are made uncomfortable by anger and grief should never be made the burden of the person who has been wronged or injured.

The act of forgiveness implies that a debt has been settled or released, and the suggestion that the victim must release the offender from that debt creates an unnecessary burden on the one who has been wronged. It creates a false narrative that forces the victim to give yet another thing to someone who has already stolen things of immeasurable value, and creates a disturbing cosmic sense of the balance of debts owed and paid. Furthermore, there are circumstances in which any debt owed by an offender is owed at a level beyond human constructs; when the injury caused is so grievous a matter that the debt created is held by the Divine, and so the matter of forgiveness becomes a matter between the offender and their own Divine.

Contained within the grief of losing someone are multiple boxes. One box holds anger and all the other negative feelings directed towards the external factors that influenced a loved one’s death. Another box holds all the questions that can never be answered, all the regrets and unspoken or unaccepted apologies, and all the misunderstandings and miscommunications that were never quite sorted out. But there is also a box that holds the love, the happy memories, and the hopeful dream of one more sunset, one more conversation, one more smile somewhere on the other side.

Comes a time, and it is different for each person, when one realizes that the weight of what is held within that negative box is overwhelming, that its presence causes weariness, that one cannot rise against its pull. With that realization comes the choice to be made: which box makes life better? Which one is worth carrying? Which one is it time to put down?

It is possible to experience compassion without forgiveness. It is possible to have an understanding of circumstances without forgiveness. It is possible and healthy to focus on healing one’s self without carrying the responsibility of healing others, and forgiveness is not a necessary step on that path.



Sunday, February 9, 2020

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

This weekend didn't go quite as I'd planned, but I'm not complaining. Rhodes and I have been running hard for the past few weeks, and without setting an intention to do so, we spent this weekend in a state of semi-hibernation. We caught up on some much needed sleep, ate good, healthy, home cooked food, and stayed up ridiculously late at night talking, reading, and watching some thought provoking television. We also spent a few morning hours lazing in bed together, watching the birds through the big bedroom window that I still love so much.

The feathered extravaganza in the backyard never ceases to amaze me: our avian neighbors include Blue Jays, Cardinals, a pair of Eastern Towhees, Carolina Chickadees, Titmice, Song Sparrows, Carolina Wrens, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, White-Breasted Nuthatch, Mourning Doves (I am sure they are the same babies that I watched mature in our front yard last spring), Cowbirds, Phoebes, Brown Nuthatch, Robins, Red Winged Blackbirds, and Black-Capped Chickadees. They move in and out of the yard in a casually choreographed way, their flight patterns as they come and go weaving a spell into the fabric of the Cottage's being.

The weather and temperature were so perfect today that we were lured outside to do some projects. We finished construction on the raised bed garden for the North Wing, and I can't wait to see how it will look later when it is full of beautiful, vibrant plants. Here are some before, during, and after shots of the project:


We also marked out the space for planting blueberry bushes along the north fence line, and sat on that hill (yes, it will become known as Blueberry Hill!) for a while, soaking up the sun and talking. Plans were made for hammock, witch hazel, and hazel nut tree placement, and plans were finalized for placing the habitat fence along the existing fenceline. Although we've had a compost pile since last spring, today we built the first of three compost bins, using pallets we've acquired with rock and materials deliveries; another of the ways in which we are slowly sorting out how we fit into this beautiful space we now call home.

North yard sitting and then wandering as we talked turned up some gifts from the bird neighbors: a scattered collection of Blue Jay feathers. I hope I can find a way to save them that will preserve the colors.


And now the kitchen is calling, and I must go. I'm going to carry this peaceful, easy feeling with me for as long as I am able. "I've got a peaceful, easy feeling, and I know you won't let me down, cuz I'm already standing on the ground."

https://youtu.be/n-0lRkuNyj0

Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Topsail Island Sand and Prayers

A little more than seven years ago my new lover and I took a trip to the coast of North Carolina; for different reasons we both wanted to touch the waters of the Great Mother. We arrived sometime after 4 a.m. and went straight to Herself. I walked across the moonlit sand feeling a mixture of joy and reverence in the duality of Her presence there, slipping my shoes off as I went, already talking softly to Her, eager to get my feet in the water.

My lover, a veteran of the U.S. Coast Guard, ran past me. Two seconds after I said "Hello, Goddess," I heard him shout "Hello you bitch, I'm back!" Then he laughed like a maniac as he strode into the water to meet Her. I learned over time that their relationship was often a tempestuous and challenging one, but he loves Her, unfailingly, in Her form as Ocean. I married him a few years later - best decision I ever made. 

On that trip I gathered shells and sand and ocean water from the various beaches we visited. I'm a Witch; that's how we do. I've kept them all in carefully labeled mason jars for all this time, just like I keep herbs and flowers and horsehair. One never knows what one is going to need to make a correspondence or connection.

I've been doing the musing side of working on a ritual for the safety of someone I love very much. Like many others he is in danger because of the dire lack of statesmanship and intelligence that exists in this world.  I've been trying to piece together the hows of sending energy around the world. Things like this can be so very simple, and so very complicated. 

Then tonight I was reading a passionately beautiful and righteously angry post by Corky Edwards of Australia, who while writing in response to how some folks are trying to help with the fires devouring that country reminded us that "Every grain of sand and dirt and stone touches that which is next to it, from one grain to the next, covering the entire globe. You can send your energy everywhere and anywhere if you focus."

The little light bulb in the closet in my mind went off, and I made my way to the closet in the study where I keep my Craft supplies. I searched through dozens of mason jars until I found the one I was looking for. Then I found just the right candle and some other supplies, set my altar for a specific purpose, and essentially asked my Topsail Island sand to convey the message to that sandy land so very far away.

I am tired,and a little sick, and a little sick and tired, so I'm going to acknowledge that I don't have the energy to write this to completion tonight. I'm not always as good as I want to be.

Goddess, please bless all the people caught up in this unholy storm. Shelter those who can be sheltered, protect those who can be protected, heal those who will need healing, and be gentle with those beyond such need. 

Safely home, kid; you and all your brothers and sisters. Safe in body, and as safe in mind and spirit as you can possibly be.




Sunday, December 15, 2019

The Road Home

Have you ever been on a long journey and then found that the road home leads you back to some place new? Some of the old familiar and certain things are there, but they are different in ways it will take a while to determine.

I just stepped outside to say goodnight to the Moon. The sky is covered with fast moving clouds tonight and I did not think I would see Her. The moment I moved to the top of the steps,hands on the porch posts, head and eyes raised to the sky, the clouds shifted; Her shimmering nightrobe parted and I caught a glimpse of her silver golden self, still nearly full and gorgeous and luscious. Still familiar and certain, yet somehow different. She and I have both been traveling, and getting reacquainted is a dear, sweet process.

Something about the quality of light reminded me of my last December in New York, and an afternoon and evening when I wandered for hours through the snow. I visited many childhood haunts and many childhood memories. These lions were a last stop on that adventure. I hope I find them in my dreams tonight; a last stop on this day's adventures.

What childhood magics do you carry with you, talismans of safety as you journey through life?




Saturday, November 16, 2019

The Winter of My Soul

Funny how long it takes to settle things in a home. In the moving-in process it was necessary to dump all of my stuff - writing materials, books, paintings and paint supplies, craft materials and materia magicae (sorry, Mr. Gray! 37 years out of Latin classes with you and I just don't remember as well as I should!) - onto the surface of the repurposed kitchen table which is now my desk, and envision it all perfect in just a week or two. In reality, although it has been functional for a while now, it took five months to get everything in just the right place.

Earlier this week I was doing the final sorting out, prompted by the need to create an easily accessible morning altar space. This process included going through an impressive stack of notebooks and journals and, because I have lost the ability to stay on task, I found myself reading through each one of them. At the bottom of the stack I found the journal I started when I realized I was in the Winter of My Soul.

Nearly two years ago, close to the end of the first year of life without my youngest daughter in this world, I wrote about wishing I could take a sabbatical for six months or a year. Mostly, I said, I wanted to get away and rest and renew my spirit. I wrote these words:

     "I have alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow          down, cannot move fast enough..."

I tried for a while to turn inward with the season. I tried to tend to my own needs, my own healing. I was successful for a short time, but then I let life get in the way. I allowed the expectations and distraction of other people and society to turn me away from dealing with the grief that threatened to consume me. In doing so I shut down all awareness that it was wearing away at me from the inside out.

Events in my life in the past year stripped away all those distractions, and those of you who know me best probably know that I severed the ties of expectations and obligation. While those life changes were immensely liberating and have opened doors of opportunity, they have left me standing face-to-face with the grief that is still raw in wounds that are wide open. This has not been an easy journey, and it is nowhere near complete. I have once again alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow down, cannot move fast enough.

A couple of weeks ago I made the decision to follow the seasons in the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, and to turn more deeply inward than I have ever done. To the marrow of my bones I know that it is the right thing for me to do.

When I found that journal yesterday I rediscovered a writing that woke a truth within me the first time I read it, and I read it out loud again as a prayer:

     "When winter comes to a woman's soul, she withdraws into her inner self, her deepest spaces. She refuses all connection, refutes all arguments that she should engage in the world. She may say she is resting, but she is more than resting: She is creating a new universe within herself, examining and breaking old patterns, destroying what should not be revived, feeding in secret what needs to thrive." ~ Patricia Monaghan, Season of the Witch

It is time for me to embrace that truth, and to live in each moment of this season. Self-aware, self-exploring, healing, learning, and turned as deeply inward as I can possibly go. I do not fear the darkness anymore than I fear the light.

I am living The Winter of My Soul.