The Old Woman Healer: A Fairy Tale

All of the exercises in Writing for Your Life aim to open up the imagination, but some lend themselves more to self-reflection.  This is one of those, at least for me.  Sometimes I wonder about being so self-revelatory in a blog, but then I think that I don't have anything to hide.  And I doubt that more than a few friends are going to read them, anyway.  I don't intend for this to be one of those let's-see-if-I-can-get-famous-and-make-money kind of blogs.  It's more of an attempt to actually work on some of my journal entries so that I don't lose them.  If anyone else is interested in reading any of it, that's icing on the cake.  One thing I started doing some time back was throwing away my old morning pages.  Yup.  I'm not keeping all my journals any more.  I realized I don't want my kids having to read and wade through all of it when I'm gone (or feeling guilty about tossing it all out unread).  So, I tag things I might want to keep and work on later.  Poems that come, and some of these exercises from the Deena Metzger book.

This one was about choosing a moment in your life that you didn't understand and writing it as a fairy tale.  Here goes.

          Once there was a woman who was quite content with her life.   She had raised her children well and had also worked for many years serving children and families in her community.  Now she was about to enter a new phase of life.  Not only had she recently become a grandmother, but she was also now able to retire and rest from all labors except those her heart prompted her to undertake.  She felt expectant and curious.

            After a few short months of settling into this new chapter of her life, the woman began to feel ill.  Fortunately, it did not appear to be a serious illness, but she was not comfortable in her body, and she was unhappy about the lack of energy she was experiencing.  Her symptoms kept changing, as well.  People recommended various healers, and she sought the council of a number of them.  Although they were all well-intentioned, none were able to truly diagnose her illness or improve her health.  And so she muddled along as best she could, trying various diets and many different cures and supplements.  All the while, she was aware of growing older, and she wondered, “Is this what aging is?” 

            One day, she decided to consult one more healer, a so-called wise woman she had heard about who lived in a cottage outside of town.  When she arrived, the woman noticed that she felt nervous.  The cottage was in a clearing in the middle of a deeply wooded area.  It did not feel like a friendly place.

            The old woman opened the door and looked at her with what felt like a piercing eye.  “Come in,” she said, and prepared a pot of herb tea.  “Tell me why you’ve come.”

            “I’ve not felt well since I retired.  I’m afraid of growing old and being ill.  I finally have all the time to do whatever I want, and no energy to do much of anything.  I’ve been to a lot of healers, and none have really helped me.  I was hoping you could.”

            The old woman did not respond for quite a long time.  Then she said, “I can give you some herbs.  They may or may not help.  It is true that your body is aging and that you will experience things you haven’t before.  But this ‘disease’ as you think of it is as much emotional and spiritual as it is physical.”

            “What can I do?” the woman asked.

            “It is the crux of your life.  Everything you ignored, resisted and pushed down is now striking back.  You slowed down, and resting opened the floodgates.”

            The woman grew teary-eyed.  “I’m scared,” she said.

            The crone nodded.  “Being scared is a fine response.  Just don’t let it cripple you.”

            They sat in silence for a short time.  Then the woman asked, “How do you survive alone out here?”

            “Ah.  You see me as alone.  You are more alone in your town than I am here.  I have the trees, the plants in my garden, the animals, and my guides and spirit presence for company.  I never feel alone.”
            “Please help me,” the woman said.

            The elder rose and put her hands on the woman’s shoulders.  “Breathe,” she said.  “Touch and be touched.  Do not isolate yourself, but use your alone time well.  Write.  Sing.  Pray.”

            “Can I heal?”

            “You can.  That doesn’t mean your body won’t feel your aging.  Accept it.  We all must.  And give it all to God, or whatever god or goddess you worship.”

            “Do I need to understand whatever I was pushing down?  Because I don’t know what it is.”

            “You cannot force that kind of understanding.  Be tender with your body, and do not fight it if it wants to deliver you that information.  It will have to come from the body, which is where it has been stored.  Your body is seeking a new balance, a new rhythm, a new pattern.  Let it restructure.  Treat it well, and it will do that.  it takes time, years.  Trust that it has its own wisdom."

            “But bodies do break down, grow cancers, all of that.  How can you tell re-balancing from illness?”

            “You can’t.  You treat yourself well and flow with the process.  If illness comes, it comes.  If you are caring for yourself, you must let go and accept.  Do not blame yourself for illness.  Re-patterning is mysterious and challenging.  You cannot control it.  Is it serendipity?  The gods?  Fate?  No one knows for sure.  You see it according to your beliefs.  But it is not controllable.  This is life, my dear.”

            “I just want to know that I’m doing all I can.  The right things.”

            “You stress too much over that, and that pressure you put on yourself affects your body."

            “Oh.”

            “This is your work.  Release into calm acceptance.  That doesn’t mean giving up acting in ways to help yourself.  Do you understand?”

            “I think so.”

            “Good.  Go, and be at peace.  Or….practice being at peace.  ‘Practice’ is a good word.  That’s what I try to do.  Practice.  Notice that it doesn’t mean being perfect, or having complete understanding.  It is working at what we wish to learn and be.”

            The old woman packed up a basket of herbs with instructions on how to use them and sent the woman on her way. As she left, she noticed that the woods no longer felt unfriendly, and she realized that she was smiling.

Small Victories Are Good

Waiting is a funny thing.  There’s so much to do, and yet there’s not much I can do yet. 

We bought our duplex.  Finally!  Escrow closed last Friday.  But the sellers are renting back for a week or two until their new apartment is ready, and so we’re still here in ours.  Don’t get me wrong - I like it here.  I will miss College Avenue and Elmwood.  It has been a comfy, interesting place to be.  But I so want to move and get settled.  And until we can get the foundation work completed, I’ll probably continue being a little nervous.  When I say it needs foundation work, I’m not kidding – and it’s on a hillside.  Maybe buying this house doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, really, but we like it.  We just need to get it fixed.  And make it ours.  That’s what I look forward to, making it ours.

So, all those places you need to change address and/or service for – can’t do any of that until we know for sure when the former owners will be out.  I know, I know, I need to be patient for a little while longer.  And we do have our Day of the Dead ritual coming up this Saturday, which will take a lot of time and energy.  I thought about starting to pack, but the apartment (or as Ruby says, the “parpanent”) is so small I’m not sure where I could put the boxes. 

The good news is we’ve really gotten used to living in a small space, so even though the duplex is definitely downsizing from Bay Road, it’s upsizing from here!

I went to Spiral Dance this year for the first time in a number of years.  The spiral dance itself is wonderful, and the altars were great.  I think I am done with it, though (even if Barry isn’t).  I never got pulled in to the ritual, and I miss the old music that they’ve scrapped.  Fortunately, there are many other options around here for observing the Day of the Dead, including our own.

I am very grateful for my Monday evening women’s meditation group and for my Wednesday evening Song Circles with Jennifer Berezan.  They are both helping me stay sane and giving me times to breathe and settle into myself.  Both have a Buddhist flavor to them, and I am appreciating the emphasis on softening around whatever feelings are arising.  And also on being kinder to myself.  I caught myself getting really pissed off yesterday when I realized I was falling into my usual fear state, but I was actually able to chill out on the negative self-talk.  Small victories are good, I guess.

Vacation in a Foreign City

Here in the treetops

of an upstairs apartment,

it is early morning.

I am listening to the traffic sounds 

and the day’s beginning

in this foreign city.

I pretend that it is a vacation,

but in truth it is the turned page

of our new life.

What I have:

A husband,

A cup of cinnamon tea,

A wall of Bougainvillea,

Lemons by the back fence,

Summer morning overcast,

Boxes calling to be unpacked.

This day and my life

(what of it remains to me)

spreads out before me.

Certain things beg to be done –

Begged by the voice in my head

that insists on security.

Mostly, I will indulge her.

I have had enough

of uncertainty and upheaval.

Each step brings me closer

to a particular relief,

a settling.

May it be a settling down

and not a settling for.

May this foreign city

be hospitable.

May it become home.

Transitions

This is a big one.  Yesterday I did have a meltdown (but only one) and I told Barry it felt like we were making a huge mistake.  Fortunately, that passed.  But I've been alone for 24 hours, getting the apartment together.  I took a break.  this is what came.

Anxious.

I am.

I can tell myself

how foolish it is

to succumb.

I can get busy.

I can rest.

Nothing changes

the feeling.

Time will.

Time will change it.

I know this.

It doesn’t help me now, though.

I tell myself that

life is itself transition.

It is.

Does that help?

No.

I tell myself that

in this moment

I am actually fine.

I am.

Does that matter?

No.

What will help

is connecting with people.

My husband.  My children.  My friends.

They are not here now.

They will be here soon, I know.

That doesn’t help me now either.

All I can do is take three conscious breaths,

as Pema Chodron says.

Lean into the feeling,

see where that takes me.

Here goes.  I will stop typing now.

Okay, I settled a bit.

It’s a curious feeling,

a tightness in my chest.

Anxiety.

Please pass soon.

Limbo Be Gone!

No more Limbo.  That’s over and done!  It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written here, and so much has changed.  My foot has healed well (at least I think so – I visit the doc tomorrow and fully expect the boot will go away).  We lowered the price of the house a few weeks ago and it sold quickly, to folks who had been eyeing the place for quite a while.  When they offered no contingencies and a 3-week close, we accepted, even though their $ offer was less than what we were asking.  Oh, well.  That's all so arbitrary anyway.

Suddenly, we were kicked into high gear.  There are so many things to do to prepare for a move. (No news to anyone, that.)  For us, that included finding a temporary place to move to.  Fortunately, our realtor scored us a little apartment (and I mean little) in a great location in Berkeley.  We’ll be living like we did in our twenties – no yard, no dishwasher, no washer and dryer, a tough parking situation.  In other words, urban.   Barry suggested we look at it as a vacation in a foreign city.  That works for me.

It feels strange to be in so unsettled a position at this stage of life.  We’ll need to find new everything – doctors, places to shop, mechanic, pool, pharmacy, you name it – all the things you take for granted when you live somewhere for a long time.  I don't know why, but I feel old having to do all of this.  It’s exciting and sometimes overwhelming.  I’m trying to track every place that needs an address change and all the services that need to be stopped or moved – boy, I’d forgotten how much there is to deal with.  We’re moving day after tomorrow, then returning here for a final salon on Saturday night (come on by).  Sunday we clean, and then it’s goodbye to Bay Rd. after 28 years.  (Well, I did have a 4-year break from living here.  I said goodbye to the house back then and never thought I’d return. But leaving the house wasn’t the biggest part of that situation.  Still, I wonder if that history will make this leave-taking any easier.  I’m guessing I’m going to have a pretty big cry when we head out for the last time.)

Am I finished hanging out with Hecate?  I don’t think so.  We’ve moved on from one crossroads, but I think we’re headed right for another.  We’re looking for a place to live that will include Alex, Emily and Ruby: a duplex, or split house.  It’s not the easiest thing to find, and especially in our price range and in a neighborhood we will like.  I hope the universe treats us well in this!

I am very grateful that this all happened well in advance of Max's and Michaela's wedding in September.  

So …. We’re no longer in Limbo, but we’re definitely in transition.  I’m a fear-based type, a six on the Enneagram, and this upheaval throws me right into my core patterns.  Some days (and some hours) I’m pretty damned anxious.  But at other times I’m fine – even eager.  I was pretty stirred up when I started this post, but just the act of writing has helped.  My “writing retreat” may be ending, but I suspect I’ll keep up the blog.  I hope Hecate’s listening and willing to guide me on.  I need her.