The Lessons of the Elders

The house has been joyfully warmed, and we dare to hope that this long transitional year of moving is coming to a close.  Of course, there are still many challenges.  The house continues to require lots of attention.  I decided last week that the reason why we were having so many issues pop up is not that the house is hating us - it's just showing us all the ways it's been neglected!  The aesthetics were lovingly attended to, but the foundational, structural, nitty gritty aspects of caring for a house built in 1908 had been...well...somewhat postponed.  I do hope we'll still have a little money at the end of this period!  

But we love it here - the house, the neighborhood, our extended family on-site.  We've had four mornings of rainbows, and gorgeous sunsets and sunrises.

What I will be doing (beyond home and family) is still unclear to me.  I am pleased to be working with Jennifer Berezan on next November's big concert, Song for All Beings.  Ever since my trip to Malta with Jennifer and Joan Marler I have wanted to do more work with Jennifer.  Now that I'm in the east bay, it's become possible.

One of the things on my mind lately (and kind of a lot on an ongoing basis) is (no surprise here) aging.  I'm working on this poem.  It doesn't feel totally finished, but I wanted to share it while it's fresh.  The title is the title of this blog post.

In the heart of midlife

I began observing my elders

I wanted to learn how to inhabit 

the final stage of life.

What I saw:

Aging is a process of

distilling down, of

drying, like fruit, into

essential flavors.

And so I found both hope

and a warning.

The warning:

Without work and awareness

an elder ripens into

the essence of her flaws.

If fear or anger or denial dominates,

she risks dying as she has lived.

The hope:

By turning away from oneself and

towards the world, the children, and

those in her sphere of influence,

an elder assumes the power

to bless.

Soon – too soon – the time will come

when my elders are all gone,

(should all pass in order.)

I will no longer be able

to look ahead for guidance

except to the otherworld.

I will be one of the ones

on the leading edge.

Making our way to that cliff

is not optional.

How we traverse it is.

I want to be one of the one who blesses.

I want to be regarded

as a guide of hope.

So I must take my fundamental fears

and hold them up to a forgiving heart

and a generous universe.

I hope to learn how to set myself aside

and become a gift of aging.

A Priestess Speaks

We went to a day with Michael Meade last week.  Michael is someone who never fails to inspire me.  I guess that's no surprise, given that he's a mythologer, storyteller and mystic.  The day was all about genius, which Michael describes as the soul's calling.  A topic I dwell on a lot.  I truly believe that we are all born with a unique set of gifts and talents that need to be given to the world; what Angeles Arrien calls our "original medicine."  Hanging out with Hecate as I have been doing, I am in a period where the call isn't as clear as I wish it would be.  It's okay.  I know I'm in a liminal stage, and the new phase of life will open up as it needs to.  But I have felt it strongly at other times and know how satisfying it is to be inspired and to be moving that inspiration into manifestation.

What I do know is that I need to keep writing every day, and I need to meditate more regularly.  I may have to take up William Stafford's plan of writing a poem every day.  The thing about blogging is that these things may come out here unpolished and unrevised.  Oh, well.  So be it.

This is what came this morning:

It is my calling

to be hollow and empty

as a bamboo reed.

The wind may blow through,

or a song,

or the breath and spirit

of one who dwells

on the other side

of the veil.

I could be a messenger

or a vehicle for love’s rapture.

I could be a voice in the wilderness

or a hawker in the city.

I could be a puppet

or a whirling dervish.

I could be a clown

or a mourner.

My crown opens.

My feet are planted.

My arms rise up.

I must take my desires and my preferences

and stash them away.

Empty.

Hollow.

Come, goddess, come.

The Maze: Reflecting on a SoulCollage® Card

The maze goes on, green and deep.

I am weary of walking its winding way,

Of chasing an elusive blue butterfly.

This body cannot conjure the joy of the journey now.

It is not that I am lost;

I have merely lost sight.

So, I sit, slump, close my eyes, rest.

And the Water Bearer comes.

She comes!

Her benediction rains down on me,

Her raised hand a sign of acceptance.

She does not tell me what or why;

She simply blesses.

I will resume my search.

I may never find the center

And what may or may not reside there.

Like Rilke, I circle

And still have no idea of what I am.

The endeavor is all.

Enough

It’s a little late in the game

for adventure –

she thinks –

stepping down the stone-strewn path.

Her body aches,

Her breath is labored,

Her shoulders tense and high.

She pauses,

inhales deeply,

breathes out a deliberate, slow stream.

There are trees here.

There are hills

and a big sky.

The terrain is not familiar,

but the planet is her own.

She must – she thinks –

learn to feel at home

anywhere on the earth.

No parents now.

No safety.

No guarantees.

But, really and truly,

there never were.

She left Hecate’s torch at the crossroads

for another traveler

in transition.

She has boots on her feet,

a staff in her hand,

and a song to sing

as she goes.

It is – for now - enough.

Distilling It Down

Observing my father towards the end of his life, I had the feeling that his personality traits were becoming more and more vivid.  It was as if he was distilling down to the essence of who he was.  Like many of his generation, he hadn’t pursued a life of deep introspection or psychological insight, so much of what he manifested was not terribly positive.  (Sorry, Dad – I loved you all the same).  Now, as I am growing into elderhood myself, I’ve begun to wonder if a similar thing is happening to me.  I can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but it does make the inner work pretty obvious. 

I’ve written before - lots - about being fear-based.  Fear has become my regular companion lately.  These last six months, with all of the transitions and changes, have found me lurching from one fear to the next.  The smaller ones I am sometimes able to breathe through and either drop or at least shake my head at myself about.  AGAIN?  REALLY?

The bigger ones are harder.  I tell myself that if everything works out okay with this one, I will relax and not get so freaked out next time.  And then there’s a next time, and I can’t live up to that.  What I’m noticing is how many next times there are.  Lots and lots of them.  I’ve tried to explain to Barry that it’s like this: I try to calm myself, but I don’t seem to get enough time and space to really drop deeply down.  So, my nerves only settle so far.  Then, when the next stressor strikes, I’m quickly over the top again.  I do hope that a more peaceful period will come in the near future, but there’s no guarantee.  Who knows?  We work with what we’re given.  Tra-la!

I read a great blog post today by Martin Shaw, a wonderful storyteller, writer, and all-around wise person.  He was talking about giant energy.  The giant is what we’ve stuffed down into the basement, what we don’t like about ourselves.  It reminds me of Robert Bly’s idea of the black bag we drag behind us that has everything we learned not to look at or deal with.  But I especially like the image of the giant.  As much as I’ve tried to shove the fear giant down there, he’s bound to try to push his way back up.  What else would a giant do?

Figuring out how to relate to my giant may be the best thing I can do to avoid distilling down to nothing but a scared old lady.  If it’s true that we become more of who we are as we age, let it be the best of us.

Our Day of the Dead ritual is only 3 days away.  Boy, do I have some stuff to give over to the water shrine!

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.