Juxtapositioning

Raw

There are times when, despite sometimes thinking I know everything, I find myself floating in formless space, knowing nothing, not even the breath that fills the in-between spaces inside the yawning cavernous deep of my soul.

Today — yesterday for the purists — was one of those days. Balancing normalcy with utter terror. Feeling — no, KNOWING — that despite anything to the contrary in the moment, everything would again change in a heartbeat, a breath, a day, a fluid flow into the yet-unknown we collectively label “the future.” And doing nothing more than the next thing.

Is that all there is?

In times past, when feeling this way, I’ve counseled others to start with the smallest piece. Breathing. Feet reaching deeply into the warm Earth below us. Dancing to a primal beat. But tonight, tonight, I am too weary, too exposed, too uncertain to do anything but wish to be held.

Naked tarot

I frequently work with a portion of the Tarot deck to seek clarity or perspective on situations. For years I rather pointedly ignored Tarot, thinking that using it was 1) weird and woo woo (yes I see the irony in that, thanks), and 2) too complicated for my wee brain to comprehend, because after all it would require Memorization and Effort, and maybe I was feeling a wee bit sorry for myself and also lazy. But whatever. A friend turned me onto the lazy-ass method of Tarot, which involves the Major Arcana, 22 cards instead of an entire deck. Oh, and also intuition. Which I can totally get behind. So.

Tonight I decided to draw a card and then blog about it. Whatever it turned out to be. Disaster? Who knows. I asked only to be shown something about the present-moment state of a situation that has emerged in my life. When I asked about it in the past I drew fun happy cards like The World, The Sun, and The Lovers, all cards that show promise and auspiciousness, at least in my reality. I hadn’t drawn a card on this in, oh, weeks, trusting instead in the richness of my internal indicators (and there are many). How are things looking now? (as if my internal experience was null and blank on this, which it most certainly is not and in fact is filled with exquisite wonderfulness.)

The Tower.

Oh god.

This is the card I dread drawing in any circumstance. Look at it! Mine depicts a bleak grey stone tower beset by lightning. The top of the tower is engulfed in flames and people are jumping to their deaths on the rocks and roiling waves below. It’s a medieval 9/11. Not a happy sight. Pit-of-my-stomach uh-oh’s.

But wait! The Tower can mean a lot of things. Let’s look at this.

Epiphanies, transcendental states of consciousness, and Kundalini experiences Sounds like my kind of stuff. Not bad. Go on…

The Tower further symbolizes that moment in trance in which the mind actually changes the direction of the force of attention from alpha condition (pointed mindward) to theta condition (pointed imaginal stageward). A Theta condition (especially in waking versions of theta states) is that moment when information coming into the ego-mind overwhelms external or sensory stimuli, resulting in what might otherwise be called a “vision” or “hallucination.” Well then. I have those all the time. No problem.

But what does it MEEAAAAN? I thought things were pretty awesome. Is there something coming up? Not that I base life decisions on cards or anything, but it’s nice to have a heads-up if there is one available.

I decided to draw three more cards that would give clarity on The Tower’s meaning in this instance.

Justice.

I also haven’t liked this card much. Bah, judging. Right? But let’s investigate.

Justice, in many Tarot representations, is Athena. I like Athena. Warrior Princess. Gets shit done. Sexy beeyotch. Maat was a goddess of justice in Egypt. Okay, cool. When Justice appears in a throw, it usually signals that some injustice needs righting, that something in the world is dangerously out of balance. It is important, however, to be aware that most things in the exterior world that you perceive are in fact an externalization of some interior process or conflict. Hmm, okay, the wheels are turning here. How does this apply to me, exactly?

Temperance.

Judging? Temperance is all ABOUT judging. Related also to Maat, like Justice. Hmm. Temperance represents the unconscious, which can guide us to a deeper understanding of ourselves. It represents the unification of the external and internal, conscious and unconscious, realms. Under these approaches, when Temperance appears, it is a warning or invitation to be prepared for a confrontation with the deepest questions of who we are, who we think we are, and who we will become. I’ve been saying for a few days that the energy of this week is all about determining who and how to be. Coincidence? I think not!  At any rate, after feeling into this card I had relaxed considerably. We’re showing movement here. Movement is good. It’s internal, yeah, but that’s okay. That’s how life works a good part of the time.

The Empress.

For awhile I related highly to this card, thinking of it as a representation of myself. Not as the Mother but as a creator. Lately, not as much, but it’s a powerful card nonetheless. She can represent the creation of life, of romance, of art or business. The Empress is often associated with Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. The Empress may also represent the Object of Desire; most obviously, the love of the beloved. Nice. Okay.

I think I’m getting the picture here. The Tower is change, structures turning from false to real and tumbling down. Justice says this has to do with a perceived injustice, one that has arisen as a construct of an internal process. Temperance says the process will help create a deeper self understanding, and The Empress says it will all be okay, that it’s part of the creation process, and that yeah, it has to do with love. So yay.

Wild abandon

It’s no secret that I admire passion. I have lived many years between the swings of the pendulum, hurtling myself over cliffs and out of airplanes because that’s just the way things are done. In my world, anyway.

Living with wild abandon hasn’t always had good results. Oh, it’s ripe with possibility for learning and growth, there’s no doubt of that. And I am all about growth. But other people don’t always understand my no-holds-barred approach. I have been hurt in the past upon discovering that what I thought was a melding of the minds (and hearts) was in reality rather disconnected. In retrospect, I could have asked questions and received answers. I didn’t. I could have furnished a lengthy list of my experiences and asked if those things were shared. I didn’t. Instead I made assumptions, and we all know what happens when you do that. And for that I suffered.

But I’m an idealist. I love my ability to see into what I think is the future and tap into juicy possibility. I believe I have the power to help make things real with this ability, and creating the world is one of the passions I possess. Because I’m an idealist (like Anne Frank), I insist on continuing to see the good in people’s hearts. I believe that throwing myself into what I feel to be true will yield positive results in the end, growth notwithstanding. And I believe that the suffering I experienced in the past helped me become the me I am today, and I am truly happy to be that person. I don’t regret any of it, not really. Not much.

There is a situation now that keeps calling to me to apply wild abandon. Every internal indicator tells me that doing so would be totally amazing. Wonderful. Magical. Immersing myself, hurtling off the cliff, would be — I believe — the height of ecstasy. My internal indicators (and there are many) assure me this is so.

Yet. Things are unfolding, petal by petal. It’s not hurtling, but blossoming. I am not sure what to make of this except to go with it, because I believe the end result will be magical. Wonderful. Amazing. Is.

It is. I am.

P.S. I debated whether to hit “Publish” on this post for two days. Ironic? Losing my abandon?

Compassion

I have been telling stories lately, the stories that add, thread by thread, to the complex weaving that comprises the fabric of my thus-far life experiences and that shape who I am. Layer by layer these stories build upon each other, some painful, some humorous, some poignant. If I could find one concise word that sums up the me-ness of who I am I would use that to say, “This is me. Here I am. Love me,” but we humans communicate in stories.

We all carry stories.

While telling mine, I often become lost in the emotions contained within them. I fall down deep dark holes leading far underneath the surface of the telling and begin gasping for air, my lungs filling with choking earth and the dust of old wounds. That’s when I stray from compassion. In the telling, the wounds reopen and I am left with gaping, bleeding holes. I fill the holes with unshed tears but they just become larger. Deeper. Darker. The wounds become about the pain inflicted. I forget why I fell down the hole. I forget why I bleed. I only remember the pain of the wounds. The telling becomes about the old stories, and the telling makes the wounds more real. I forget that there are two sides. Others involved. Stories that aren’t mine to tell. I forget to tell my stories with compassion.

Afterward I retell the stories within me, replaying for my own ears the tapes of the telling, and remember. No longer lost in the deep holes of emotion, I see what I have done. I see my errors. And I feel shame. I am ashamed that I fail to remain mindful and aware. I am ashamed of who I seem to become in the retelling. I am ashamed of my mistakes. I am ashamed that I can’t seem to let go of some of the wounds I carry. I am ashamed of my imperfection. Ashamed, perhaps, of my humanity.

My friend Rebecca is a storyteller. Tonight she told a story for my community, and she began by talking about kapwa, Self in Other. She said that when you see the dark, twisted things in others, it’s because you have those things within you as well. I shudder sometimes to think of this when I become lost in my telling. It’s too easy to paint myself as the light and others as the dark when I am mired in my emotional cave. Only when I resurface again do I see my error and feel the shame cover me, the shame of my pointed finger, righteous brow, and victim’s cloak. I see the beautiful, light-filled compassionate people around me and feel pain in my inadequacy and my inability to remain mindful and balanced when telling my stories. I resolve to become more like those I admire. I resolve to always see the beauty in others. I resolve to walk always in light.

Rebecca said more, though. She said that when you see good things in others, it’s because you have those qualities in yourself. I heard that and knew the truth of it already because it’s what I teach others every day, but I wept. When feeling shame for my imbalance and lack of compassion, my eyes are covered and I can’t see the light within. I see only what looks like my dark shriveled heart. I see my wounds. I feel them begin to bleed again. I feel the pain of remembering.

It is easier to have compassion for others than for oneself.

In September I walked through a doorway of my creation. I wanted to see what would happen to my Now if I changed my Then. The door opened to a new world, one just as bright and beautiful as I knew it would be, but sometimes I forget to leave behind the parts of the old world that follow me when I crack the door open again through telling stories of the Then. I haven’t yet found the key to telling the stories from my new place of Now.

Perhaps, then, there can be a new doorway, one that stands in the light of compassion but contains all that the darkness holds. Tomorrow night’s Solstice Full Moon Eclipse feels like a time of many doorways, and I will be stepping through some of my creation to my What Comes Next.

This sums it up nicely

All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love.
~Leo Tolstoy

Flight of the red-tailed hawk

Not long ago I was driving through the gorgeous mountain pass just south of my home, on my way past tall lake-fed evergreens toward a bright beckoning newness that at the time remained indistinct. Suddenly my windshield view filled with wings, feathers, talons but before my foot could lift to slam on the brakes to avoid collision, the bird swooped upward and out of view.

Brown and white. Red-tailed hawk.

I knew at the time that I had received a visitation, but didn’t yet know the character of this new energy being given to me. I still only have an inkling. Kundalini. Noble vision. Perspective. Power.

Hawk has been speaking to me. I hear her cries in the wind, telling me to watch and wait, threading forth through clouds to where the ancestors await. Hawk carries me higher, deeper, lifting me beyond the bounds of my current vision and into the wilds beyond. I’ve been feeling into what this might look like and am left with a pond, a glassy mirror that simply reflects my own heart.

Yesterday was the New Moon, and within her silvery embrace I set in motion a practice and connections that are forming a new foundation for everything that comes after. Hawk whispers into my cells, setting afire the trueness within them that blazes into pure gold light. Today I walked that path, every step becoming more corporeal and more magical, concentric gleaming circles that lift me high into Hawk’s realm. Tomorrow bears fruit of that path and that practice, and all the tomorrows to come.

Tonight as I fall toward dreamtime I will wing into the vision of What Comes Next that sleeps now in my heart, breathing higher, dreaming faster, going deeper.

Oh lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Hi people. It’s been a while. Let’s see, what have I been doing?

1. Not having cancer. All done now. Bye bye, cancer! Thanks for stopping.

2. Learning about relationship dynamics. We’re in the last throes now of the Venus retrograde, in fact it’s turning direct TODAY, which means we can throw off the chains that bind us, rise up and say Hallelujah!

What this actually means is that this lengthy period, since early October, of intense introspection regarding relationships and patterns and whatnot, is moving away and we can all return to our regular programming, having been somewhat scathed in the meantime. I am feeling scathed, are you? Only a little, since I choose my experiences blah blah blah, but hey, a couple of days ago everything went DARK and I closed the blinds again and didn’t answer the door, because you never know who comes a-knocking, right? But now, today, or even before today, the light shines again (HALLELUJAH!) and my soul shines a spotlight out into the universe once more, cutting swaths through the darkness (HALLELUJAH!) and providing hope for mankind (HALLELUJAH!).

It has been one of those weeks,

What else have I been doing?

Making plans. Stirring the pot. Singing songs. Firing synapses. Tasting the sweetness.

And writing, writing, bringing writing back into my life. Hi.

Past Blast

I’m holding a ring in my hand. Actually I’m not really holding it, since to type and hold simultaneously would be awkward, difficult, and likely result in larger than the usual number of typos. But I was holding it a minute ago. It’s large, gold and has a royal blue stone in the center. The ring isn’t mine, yet it’s been in my possession for more than 30 years.

The ring belongs, in my opinion, to someone else. It was given to me once as a symbol. That symbol connected to things. Promises. But life got blacker and I fell down a rabbit hole and drank a potion making me small. The ring grew too large to fit my finger. It wasn’t mine. That life wasn’t mine. I didn’t know what my life was then — not at 17 — but I knew what it couldn’t be. So I ran.

The first thing they tell you in Life School is that running doesn’t help. I missed that day.

It occurred to me, three weeks ago when through a series of events the ring’s owner became a real person who, inexplicably, lives not far from me — what are the odds?? of all the places on this planet! — that the running finally caught up with me. Here were things I haven’t wanted to see in 30 years (yet surfaced continually anyway), and now they were in my back yard.

Today we had lunch.

I tried hard not to have expectations. Expectations can ruin things. I know that much. Expectations either good or bad. Or in between. I tried, actually, not to think about it at all. When I caught myself thinking about it anyway I returned my thoughts to the present. What am I feeling now? Weird and awkward. Like I am 15 again.

This is sounding like there is romance here. I’m not seeing that, no. But there are memories. And a sense of continuation of something that was begun. Not down the path begun once, but a different path. I have met with people from my distant past before and there has been a feeling of warmth, of connection, of familiarity-yet-not.

Lunch was pretty good. Better than expected. It started this morning with a phone call that startled me with recognition of a voice that spoke to me from hours spent in a green-walled kitchen, lying on a black faux-leather sofa, yellow touch-tone phone glued to my ear.

I’m still filled with feelings. A lonely scared child in a woman’s body. Snips of pictures, words, one after another like waves crashing on rocks. What might have been but wasn’t. What was instead.

The message is that there is something to take from this. Something to take and a lot to let go of. I felt the rumblings three weeks ago when I lay awake one night in panic, feeling the volcano trembling underneath. I feel them still, closer and less frightening. I can lay open the doors, gates and walls bolted down so long ago. It’s just a dragon, after all. Nothing to be frightened of.

I channeled once that this relationship, my first, lay the groundwork for all that came after. I saw that, felt bound by it. Now I see it doesn’t have to be that way. Patterns are reversible; plaid turns into paisley. Undo what was done. Create something in its place. This opening, then, is a gift.

I must be dreaming

You could not make this stuff up.

I can’t really tell you what’s been going on with me lately because, well, I can’t really tell. I hate not being able to tell, because not only could I make it into a good story but there’d be a certain poetic justice in the telling that would be immensely appealing to me. Like chocolate cake. But I can’t tell.

But this world I’ve been living in as a result of the [redacted] situation I seem to be in that is the fault of the [redacted][redacted] is surreal. Life is but a dream. Add to that the thing that is going on with me on a physical level, the one I am snarling about over on Facebook about the state of the United States health care (oxymoron) system, and there you have it.

I am so tired.

Tired is not the word. Who can sleep ten hours and then need a nap later in the day? Raise your hand if this is you. Oh, not you? It must be me then. And my day is punctuated by the Things I Must Do, like work, which occurs amidst the Things My Body Tell Me To Do, like lay on my bed meditating. (Staring at the ceiling through closed eyelids.)

Rest has not come easily to me in the past, and I fight it still.

My brain feels like it is under water. Or perhaps that someone sent it out for cleaning. Is it a bad sign that I can’t tell which?

I am sure this must have something to do with reorganization of priorities, but so far everything is being shuffled to the bottom of the pile and nothing is on top. Is this what non-attachment feels like? Because I just feel like lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, drifting slowly away.

Drifting

I think this is what they call flow. Either that or I can’t be paid to care about much. When I say care, I don’t mean care. I mean get my panties in a twist. And that just isn’t happening.

Nope, I’m afloat on the Wonder Barge of Life. Somebody up ahead (it might be me but I can’t be bothered to get up and go look just now to see for sure) is poling us gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily. And along the sides of the stream I see the things we slowly pass, but I’m not grabbing for any brass rings these days. It’s okay just sitting here in the sun, floating down this stream.

My days are pinpointed by whatever is on Google Calendar, and most days are pretty full. Not a lot of time for floating, but I’m managing meditational runs and meditational baths. It’s okay that I don’t actually sit in the Zen Room and meditate. I don’t need to answer emails, but mostly I do. The bills are paid. Phone calls are made. Songs are sung. Life flows on.

The walls could be crumbling around me, and for now that would be okay. Let tomorrow take care of itself, right?

If there’s anything I feel I could be missing, it would have to be passion. Is this what life is like on anti-depressants? The top and bottom of the graph are cut off? I remember telling someone long ago about the huge advantages I saw to having big emotional ups and downs. I strove to live my life that way. No, he said, he preferred a straight line across the graph. I wondered how anyone could live that that. Now I know.

Everything changes.

Tomorrow I might wake up with my panties in a twist. You never know. The Wonder Barge probably isn’t a permanent fixture, as much as I’m (bemusedly) enjoying this Time In Between. Either way, I’ll enjoy the purple irises on my coffee table.