The Lights Are On, But ...

Sunset reflected from the hood of a blue BMW.

I'm sifting through my books - again - and beginning to pull dusty boxes out of the little cubbyholes in my room. I'm sorting, sifting, recycling, all in preparation for what I hope will be a timely, easy, low-stress move into the new apartment. (Details still not nailed down because the new landlords are out of town. Please, Multiverse, no jinxes, OK?)

The biggest pile of give-away books includes most of my books about witchcraft and magic. I never look at these books anymore; they should go to people who can use them. In fact many have already been claimed by friends here and elsewhere. It's a good feeling to know that tying up the last loose ends of my old career as priestess and witch will be a friendly endeavor.

Tucked between Margaret Murray's The God of the Witches and Doreen Valiente's ABC of Witchcraft I found an old notebook full of SECRET MATERIAL from one of the traditions into which I was initiated. I remember receiving this information after my initiation and wondering about it, wondering if it would make me More Powerful (a major concern in that tradition). After I left the path, this same information seemed evil to me. It simultaneously embarrassed and creeped me out to think I had ever taken any of it seriously. Leaving that path was such a shock, like an icy drink tossed directly in my face. Afterwards I thought, "Wow. I BELIEVED all that?" It was so unnerving.

Yesterday, leafing through the notebook, I found myself chuckling. Oh yeah, there is such crazy shit in there, pardon my French. Really crazy. But instead of becoming alarmed, or feeling mortified that I had been sucked in to the cult, the SECRET MATERIAL seemed funny. What that means to me is that I have completed the trajectory of that era of my life. Every page from the notebook has been tossed into the recycling bin. The notebooks are now clear, and so is my heart.

My career as a priestess/witch, as well as all the time I spent recovering from that era, is now out of the saga. Onwards and upwards. Whew!


Lights shining from the windows of the Library of Congress at dusk last night.

All Roads Lead to Home Sweet Home

If you don't know where you are going, any road will take you there. --Lewis Carroll

Even if you know where you're going, I would argue, any road will take you there. Some roads are circuitous, some are more scenic, some roads provide ample opportunities for creative tangents, others are fairly straight and narrow, but all roads, if followed, will take us through space/time which is the point of life in this form, yes?

Of course we're all headed to the same destination, after all, or maybe I should say we're all going to end up the same way. You know what I'm talking about, right?

But in the meantime ...

In the meantime I am surprised every day by the twists and turns of this long and winding road of life. It appears that, after nine years here on Tennessee Avenue, I'm going to move house. It's an exciting development. The details are not yet nailed down, so I don't want to jinx it by saying too much yet, but wow.

A year ago I didn't know if I would ever move out. My housemates and I are well used to each other's quirks. We are so tolerant of each other, you wouldn't believe it. My thinking a year ago was centered around the idea of: If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Nevertheless, at some point during the third blizzard last winter, I had a revelation that opened my mind to a different perspective. I began to wonder whether perhaps it was time to gather my wits about me and shake things up. Then my birthday came and went, bringing with it a consciousness of the passing of time. It was a shocking birthday for me. Fifty-seven? REALLY? After several weeks of careful rumination, I talked to my housemates about moving. Though every one of us is kind of freaked out by the idea, we're all in agreement that it's right and proper. Everything has a life span, everything.

When I started looking at possible places, I became confused all over again. You would not believe what some people think is an acceptable space to rent. Whoa. I'll say no more about it except that as a result of looking at all those awful spaces, I began to wonder if I'd been wrong about the timing of my move. But then things turned again and an apartment suddenly became available, a sweet, sweet space with everything I need. The right vibes and the right light. Wow.

I'm still pondering the concept of carpe diem, of happily ever after, as those ideas apply to making myself at home in the here and now, and what that has to do with the actual physical place where I live.

This process is not unlike walking the labyrinth. In fact, it's exactly like walking the labyrinth, navigating the hairpin turns, following the twisting, meandering path. All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other. I can do that. Oh yeah.

Just call me "Your Majesty"

From a review posted on Donna Henes's site:

In The Queen of My Self, Donna Henes boldly and audaciously — as any Queen worth her salt would do — challenges the popular paradigm of the three phases in a woman’s life, that of Maiden, Mother, Crone. Henes is all for celebrating a woman’s midlife achievements. However, she suggests a new archetype be introduced (instead of jumping the gun from mother to crone), that of "the Queen."

I really love the idea of being in my Queenship right now. Yeah. It is true that we 50-somethings are not yet old ladies, but neither are we still in the mother phase of life. The term "middle-aged" does not adequately describe this age either, since not all of us are planning to live to the age of 110. But to be in our queenship? Oh yeah!! I am way into this idea.

Now, all I need is a crown. And my own fiefdom. Or perhaps a fiefdomette? Yeah!

It's the journey, not the destination

I love Once upon a time ... It is such a great way to get immersed in a story. It takes the reader (or listener, if someone is telling the story out loud) far away from the right here and the right now. Once upon a time ... oh yeah. When I read or hear those words my consciousness shifts, I become curious and open. I'm ready to dive in to the plot head first.

What I don't get, never have, is ... and they lived happily ever after. What does that mean? That from then on, ever after, none of life's conflicts, challenges and problems will ever rear their ugly heads again? Does it mean that, from then on, life will be a series of smooth transitions, that the protagonists, who have faced hell and high water, will suddenly settle down into a life of contentment and ease? Are all adventures over and done? No more pain, no more tears, no more friction? Huh??

Why not just say, "And that is the end of the story"? One of the things I love about the Icelandic sagas is that no one lives happily ever after. When a character dies or moves away, that transition is described very plainly: ... now Snorri is out of the saga. 'Nuff said.

I think ... they lived happily ever after is kind of a set-up. It plants a seed in the mind of the listener, an idea that gets translated into thought forms like: if you marry and have children or lose 20 pounds or get a promotion or whatever, you will ... yep ... live happily ever after.

When I was in my 20's, I imagined that by age 40 I'd be set. I thought by then I would be wise enough and successful enough that I might be able to avoid the vicissitudes of life from then on, that I could live happily ever after. Ha ha. When I was 40, I thought maybe by 50.

It's beginning to dawn on me that there is no such thing as happily ever after. There's "happy," oh yeah, "happy" has been a big part of my life's story, always interwoven with sad, confused, conflicted, fearful, hopeful and all the other situations that are a part of the complex tapestry of life as a human.

Are you waiting for some big development to occur that will finally make you live happily ever after? My advice: be happy now, don't wait. We - all of us, you and me - will soon enough be out of the saga. Carpe diem, y'all!

Old Dogs, New Tricks

We do get set in our ways as we get older. Oh. Maybe I should speak for myself. I get set in MY ways. Oh yeah.

This is, in my opinion, not a good thing. It doesn't help my brain stay plastic, it doesn't open my mind to anything new, and it isn't great for my heart either (not my physical heart, I mean the throne on which my soul rests).

In older age, the human body settles and dries out, becoming a much more concentrated form of what it once was, a mineral salt residue of youthful juiciness. It's good to mix things up in older age, it helps, it does. Believe me!

The above is a pep talk I'm delivering to myself while my roommates renovate the kitchen. Nothing is where I'm used to finding it, my morning routine has been interrupted, altered or slowed down, depending on the phase of renovation in the works. And I am in such a tizzy over it all.

Actually it's kind of funny to see how off-balance I have become, without my beloved kitchen in perfect working order. For heaven's sake, Reya, go with the flow. Go. With. The. Flow.

I Remember Elizabeth**

My mother was a complicated person, a very private person as far as her emotional states were concerned, but a very public person when it came to her views about philosophy, politics and theology, for instance. Sometimes when I think about her I wonder if she was connected, even internally, to her feelings. Most of the time I believe she just dismissed her emotions. When Martin Luther King was assassinated, I was shocked to see her cry. It was one of the only times I can remember her shedding tears.

She was passionate about many things. She believed in creative expression no matter what, was fierce about women's rights and civil rights. She believed in non-violence with every bone in her body, and yearned to live simply. She told us many times that Ghandi owned only three things - his robe, his sandals and his glasses. When she talked about Ghandi you could see a misty, far-away look in her eye. What a character she was!

Mothering was not my mother's best thing. Some parts of it she was really good at. She did love us all dearly, even me - and believe me, I was not easy to get along with as a baby or a child. And, too, my mother and I had such a hard time seeing eye to eye. We tried, but ... we just didn't "get" each other.

Some of my mother's radical beliefs got in the way of her capacity to be a guiding force for us. She used to say, "We don't raise children - they raise themselves!" She seemed indignant when she said this, as if mothering in some way interfered with a child's basic rights. She was such a funny one, my mother.

I talked to my mother the night before she died. We were never close so it was just one of those amazing synchronicities that we happened to speak. I was living at Lake Tahoe then; she was still in Kansas City. She said, "Sometimes I wonder why I keep living. Sometimes I think it's just a habit." I teased her about it during that phone call but I wish I had been able to take it in, what she was saying. I wish I had had the presence of mind to shout DON'T DIE! instead of making a joke.

She didn't think much of Mother's Day. To her this was a capitalist scheme invented by the Hallmark Corporation in order to guilt people into buying cards and gifts. Oh my mother - she was something else. May she rest in peace.

**After she read a book by Betty Friedan in the late 1960's she announced to us that she had been called "Mama" long enough and instructed us to refer to her by her given name, Elizabeth.

Keep it simple

Today stretches out in front of me, mostly unscheduled. I'll have brunch with a friend, then later in the afternoon I'll sit in a beautiful house, one that's part of the annual Capitol Hill Renovators' House Tour. My job there is very simple: make sure everything in the house stays safe. I'll watch rivers of people walk through, eavesdrop on their conversations, perhaps shoot a few pics, if I can do it surreptitiously. It's only a couple of hours so it should be highly entertaining.

The advice I received while meditating and praying this morning is to keep the rest of the day spacious. I'm good with that. Time is my luxury. Spaciousness in my schedule helps calm my spirit, quiets my mind, soothes my heart.

The weather gods, as if dancing in shamanic alignment with my spirit guides, have just pulled a soft overcast across the sky. It might even rain, which would create a perfect backdrop for a simple day. Oh yeah.

Shabbat Shalom, y'all!