Semantics

For Val and Steve, who are curious about how I distinguish valour from courage, bravery and stoicism. Thank you both so much for asking! The usual disclaimers apply: that these are my personal ideas about the differences; I'm not saying I'm right to the exclusion of other ideas. End disclaimer.

No sooner do I start thinking seriously about valour than the multiverse provides me with an opportunity to practice. Oh man. A roundhouse right straight up from the floor caught me unawares yesterday, knocked the breath out of me. A dear one has dropped below the horizon, out of the blue as they say. We were so close, now we couldn't be farther away from each other. It happens in all kinds of relationships, right?

Imagine me flat out on the ground, gasping, my hair flying around, eyes bulging, my arms and legs flailing. I believe I am mouthing the word HELP.

Yeah, that's me today. Kind of funny, actually.

Courage is the state of being able to speak and act from the heart. So in the case of my current dilemma, that would entail me being able to really take in at the deepest level how much I am hurting. Courage means being able to go much deeper than understanding. Pema Chodron would say courage involves "staying with the broken heart." It's not as easy as it sounds. It is not an active state, but not passive either.

Bravery would compel me to jump immediately to my feet, curse (perhaps), roll my hands into fists and start swinging. Or perhaps simply declare to the world, to God, to the elements, that I'll be FINE thank you!! Here's a great example of my teenage, girly, macho bravery. My father was a piece of work. Sometimes he would go into a rage and start picking on us, his beloved children. His specialty was psychological abuse - humiliation, shaming, insults, cutting us down to size. He knew exactly how to get to us, whew. Poor guy, he was such a mess. Of course I didn't feel like that at the time.

I remember the day he went after me about ... gosh, can't even remember why. It probably had nothing to do with me. Usually I tried to stay out of the way of the raging, but I felt brave that day. I took him on. I have no idea what I said (shouted). Then I grabbed the car keys and drove off ... in his car. Hmmm ... Naturally once I got on the road I realized I had no choice but to eventually drive back home ... that bit is the comic relief that follows brash bravery.

Valour requires courage, and the motivating quality of bravery, but without the histrionics, without the clenched fists and cursing. Valour is sublime, requires grace and resiliency. In the past, whenever I had to be brave, I would white-knuckle my way through whatever was going on. But if I'm to be valiant, I have to soften around the situation; I have to include compassion in the mix. Soldiers exhibit bravery when they march into battle. When the soldier stops to help a wounded brother, in spite of the risk, that is valour.

Bravery has, for me at least, always included blame; identifying the "enemy" then standing up against that perceived foe (situations can be enemies as well as people). I'm thinking that in order to be valiant, I can't spend time or expend energy blaming; that I must stand up for what I believe, but move quickly towards healing rather than battle. I'll fight if I have to, but if I don't have to, all the better.

I'm only beginning to learn about valour, so my fists are clenching and unclenching out of habit. I am standing up, I am breathing. I am not cursing or making proclamations, neither am I smiling, though. It's too early to say whether or not I can be valiant about this one. We shall see.

Stoicism is yet another state of being in which I would take the roundhouse right, endure the pain silently, walk around wounded, ignore the need for justice and for healing, try to "get over it." I am SO not stoic!

Valour

Ex housemate and his dogs yesterday afternoon. Nice sidewalk couch, eh?

Valour: Strength of mind or spirit that enables a person to encounter danger with firmness, courage, bravery.

I've been thinking about valour a lot lately, about what it takes to embody valour. Once upon a time, I was thought of (in my family at least) as the one who was "too sensitive" - a.k.a. a wimp. Years into psychotherapy I suddenly became aware that the way in which (for instance) I had insisted on wearing my little dresses, in spite of how my little girl fashion sense was in direct opposition to the Mellicker family aesthetic of proletarianism, meant I was a lot braver than my rep. That a-ha moment lead me, over time, to the realization that in spite of how much fear I experience, I'm actually fairly brave.

One of my spirit guides believes life is best experienced while standing tall, putting your shoulders back, lifting your chin, sucking in your gut and walking directly towards whatever is in front of you (whether or not that 'whatever' appears to be pleasant or not.) This guide is trying to teach me how to be valiant, which is a step or two ahead of raw courage. Maybe a few steps ahead, eh? Yes, I'm brave, but am I graceful? Valour requires a kind of gentleness or softness, a subtlety that is not necessarily part of bravery. Valour requires compassion, including self-compassion. Whew!! Valour is a steep learning curve!

Pema Chodron, the baddest ass Buddhist on the planet, also beckons me towards valour. Well, not me personally, but all of us. Her book, The Places that Scare You is such a compassionate call to valour. She posted the following on Facebook last week: "To stay with that shakiness—to stay with a broken heart, with a rumbling stomach, with the feeling of hopelessness and wanting to get revenge—that is the path of true awakening. Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic—this is the spiritual path."

Wow. Most of my experiences with courage are so much more awkward than what she describes. I've faced scary stuff, yes, but with bravado, with a girly macho. Afterwards, I drink or in some other way make myself numb. I think that counts as bravery, but certainly not as valour.

In the wonder stories, the heroes and heroines are always valiant. They work hard, stay pure in their hearts, meet challenges, keep their eyes on the prize even while undergoing tremendous hardships. They stop to help the less fortunate, march into battle, risk their lives in order to help the ones they love. Even when everything seems hopeless, they hope. They see straight through delusions, they are not ambitious; instead, they are humble. Meanwhile their stepsisters or older brothers, wicked kings and stepmothers, who are ambitious and greedy, never come to anything good in the end. The heroes and heroines of these stories, by virtue of their valour, live happily ever after. I believe Marina Warner is correct when she says wonder tales are socially subversive. They certainly are!

My life is so easy and full of goodness, fun, and beauty. The challenges I face are nothing compared to what others have to deal with every single day. I am very grateful! But into every life, some rain must fall. In the past I have endeavored to meet difficulty with courage. I thought that was the best I could do. From now on, when I am faced with some kind of relatively minor hardship (in the scheme of things), I'm going to try my best to meet it valiantly or as close to that as is possible. This is the spiritual path, as Pema says.

Shoulders back, chin up, gut sucked in, walking forward as gracefully as possible. Oh yeah. Shalom.

Incorrigible

The quote on the sidebar comes from the introduction to my new book. Yes. I bought a book this week even though I swore, after the move, that I had to cure myself of this particular addiction. Hello, my name is Reya and I am a bookaholic. It could be worse.

The book is a great collection of not well known French "wonder tales" as the editor calls them, stories that were told in salons and at dinner parties throughout the eighteenth century. These stories (usually called fairytales) were not intended for children, oh no. I love very old and very new translations of stories we heard as children - my my these tales were dumbed down when they became children's stories. Wow.

The eighteenth century was (in Europe at least) such a bizarre and fruitful era. It was a great time for music as well as all the other arts. Revolutions brought down old paradigms - it was a pretty dynamic century. The high fashion of that time puts 1980's spandex, shoulder pads and glitter to shame, don't you think? What in the world were they thinking with the white wigs and powder and all those foofy blouses? (Of course you know I'm talking about men's fashion, right?) It is no wonder that the folktales of that century are so psychedelic. I imagine the rich people sitting around in their tricked out fashions, sipping absynthe and spinning stories all night long. What an image. Wow.

In Reclaiming we worked a lot with folk/fairy/wonder tales. Witch camp was almost always a seven-day intensive shaped around such a story. We explored the plot lines and characters through ritual and spontaneous performance art, by channeling the essence of the characters and themes. We dove deep into those stories because we thought they contained archtypal patterns that would help us transform ourselves.

Marina Warner says that wonder tales begin (of course) with wonder.

After wonder, consolation; after inquiry, resolution; after shape-shifting or metamorphosis, the happy ending. Happy endings characterise the wonder tale, and a happy ending, in this collection, means a certain strain of exalted, heartfelt, hardwon love.

This is the perfect book for me to be reading at this moment in time, and a great addition to my enormous library of fairytales. And it was only $3 on the table at Riverby books. You see how I justify my addictions?

Mutable Truths

I love the film The Matrix. I love Laurence Fishburne explaining "reality" to Keanu Reeves. I particularly like the line, "Your mind makes it real." Oh yeah! Several times during the movie, some character or another says something about "the" truth to which Keanu inevitably responds, "What truth?"

What truth, indeed!

I'm a believer in multiple truths, possibly I believe in infinite truths, infinite realities and universes. One problem with this set of beliefs is that sometimes one of my personal truths clashes with another; I guess that's inevitable, in a world of infinite truths, yes? Honestly, is it any wonder I get so confused sometimes?

One of my truths is that the future does not exist, that all of us (not just people, but everything - plants, animals, planets, stars, weather, bugs, etc. co-create the world. "Reality" (such as it is a singular thing) is an ongoing process of weaving, so therefore the future can not, does not exist. There's a warp and woof, but no substance to the future, according to this truth.

But another truth is, sometimes I can see around a corner into the future, before it has been co-created. For instance, for years in San Francisco I dreamed repeatedly that I had moved east of the Mississippi River to a hot and humid landscape. In those dreams I always asked myself why in the world had I moved. When I woke up from those dreams, I always felt so relieved to still be in California, my home forever, so so I thought at the time.

Last night I was thinking about a moment years ago, in Dundon, Somerset County, England, at witch camp in mid August, during the Perseid meteor shower. Someone else was leading an outdoor ritual so I was standing up the hill a ways, watching the energy from a distance. All of a sudden, my body turned me around. My head tilted backwards of its own accord or so it seemed, just in time to see a bright turquoise fireball appear in the sky, trace a brilliant arc, sizzling (you could hear it, it was so close). I didn't even have time to say LOOK before it disappeared. It was an OH WOW moment I will never forget.

Maybe that experience was more about being in relationship with the fireball, like the way in which, in martial arts and in love, we connect with the Other. Maybe it was my energetic relationship with the aqua blue meteor that turned my body to face it. It moved, so I moved. Maybe that small miracle had nothing to do with me "knowing" (at some level) that this thing was about to occur.

Who knows? You see how I try to synch all my truths? It's an impossible endeavor, like herding cats, as they say. But I try anyway. You know.

It was cloudy and rainy in DC last night so I was unable to see the conjunction of planets in the early evening, nor was I able to see even a single Perseid meteor. Dang, man. Since I was having a hard time sleeping, I decided to imagine that the shooting stars were keeping me awake. I made maybe a dozen wishes, all as heartfelt as if I had seen, with my own eyes, the shower of light that was taking place above the overcast.

Do you have to see a shooting star with your physical eyes in order to be granted a wish? My truth? Nope. The earth is still moving through the debris left behind by comet Swift Tuttle, so - make a wish. Make a dozen wishes. May all your wishes come true. Salaam and Shalom, y'all. Happy weekend.

Through the Looking Glass

Dawn arrived this morning as always. My bedroom is quite dark but ambient light filters in from the kitchen. I love waking up to natural light so much. It makes the animal of my body very happy. This morning, the light came, but then it grew dark again. I was dozing off and on. The thought came to me: "Eclipse?" But I knew that wasn't right so I shook myself completely out of sleep, got up. A fierce thunderstorm was just beginning in earnest.

The usual pattern of weather in DC includes lots of summer thunderstorms, though ordinarily they occur in the afternoon. A morning thunderstorm is quite unusual, and y'all know I almost always love unusual. It was a serious thunderstorm this morning. At its peak I heard whooping and shouting coming from East Capitol Street, no doubt some poor person just trying to get to work on time, getting drenched, and finally surrendering to the beautiful power of the storm. The citizens of the District do not normally let loose with big ole wooooo-hooooooo's unless they are cheering for their team of choice. The storm seemed to respond by coming closer, getting louder and brighter. The hooting guy on East Capitol Street was dancing in shamanic alignment with the weather. Hope he didn't get struck by Brother Lightning.

I've written before about how I believe that every possible universe exists simultaneously, side by side. The realities that are very similar sometimes coalesce into one another. Also, sometimes I feel like a gate opens through which I can step into a reality almost identical to the one in which my consciousness resides.

The move into the chateau was a literal version of the above idea. I'm still here on Capitol Hill, still working at the same place as before, still cooking dinner for John and Manuel (they were here last night). My patterns and routines are almost the same as before, "almost" being the key word here.

Though at times as disorienting as a fierce morning thunderstorm, I'm really loving the new reality in which I've taken up residence. Physically, as well as spiritually, I am in such a different space than I was a month ago. Life is good and I am grateful. Bravo, Salaam and Shalom. And thanks Brothers Lightning and Thunder, Brother Wind and Sister Rain, for showing me in no uncertain terms how different this brave new world can be. Beautiful work this morning! A+. Oh yeah.

I love stars

Many thanks to Jo, Rick and Dubby, who inspired me to write about this.

Some people use family trees or organizational charts or other kinds of schematics in order to understand relationships. I love the idea of schematics of all kinds, for sure. Diagrammed sentences totally fascinate me; I am such a nerd. Geometry is, of course, a map of spatial relationships. Math of all kinds of a symbolic way to understand how everything is related to everything else. (If I had it all to do over again, I would study math with a passion.)

Word clouds are very cool ways to visually understand the relationship of an individual to her writing. I made a word cloud from this post on wordle.com. Quite revealing, very cool. I've also always been a fan of mind mapping. It is a very creative process. Speaking only for myself, I've tried taking notes at meetings using this colorful method. Though - later on when trying to write up the notes, my eyes crossed. I couldn't figure out what the heck I was trying to convey. Oh well, it was a lot more fun than taking notes in the traditional sense.

I like to think in terms of constellations. I love the way in which, in the Greek myths, the heroes are often placed in the sky as constellations. To me when more than one person or thing comes together in a way that means the whole becomes greater than a sum of its parts, even the very finest org chart or blueprint can not describe the connection.

A few years ago I did a series of paintings of the standard 88 constellations in the night sky of earth. The paintings themselves are not very interesting to look at, but the process of making the paintings was great. I had so much time, while painting, to think about how I constellate with others, with my work and the world. Using the idea of constellations offers the chance to view relationships as much more than simple connections. Constellations are mythic by their very nature, both the "real" constellations as well as the constellations I've invented to describe my relationships.

I like using the big and little dippers as the constellation that best describes my relationship to my profession. I "see" them, as they turn in the sky, pouring a healing potion back and forth, almost like the Temperance card in the tarot. Don't ask me why, but the constellation that describes the relationship among a group of tight knit friends (the "band of gypsies" as we call ourselves) is Lyra, the harp.

Some relationship constellations do not exist in astronomy books. The truth is, looking at a dark, clear sky, the eye can create all kinds of unofficial shapes. Also, sometimes constellations alone can not adequately describe relationships. For instance, I "see" the blog realm as the Milky Way, a whole galaxy of interactions, seen from within.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea, right? I am relational, almost to a fault. Well, not quite. And I like to connect the dots. So it makes sense that I constellate, on a daily basis, with people, animals and things near and far. Yes? I say yes.


Here's the constellation of Riverby Books and the Congress Market next door. On Sundays the Capitol Hillbillies play bluegrass. Folks sit around and listen. Sweet old village style constellation.

Quiet DC

From the "back porch", aka west side, of the Capitol.

Not everything about August is bad. Though the relentless midatlantic summer usually worsens in August (hard to imagine it could get any worse this year), the good thing is: everyone leaves town. The citizens of the District slip away to a lake in Vermont or the mountains or the Outer Banks or some other beach location. Members of Congress go "home," their staffs work short days, wear flip flops, take long weekends. Even the tourists disappear.

The traffic lightens up, the pace slows, DC gets quiet and as close to lazy as this frantic city ever will. I love this aspect of August so much. As I always say, I really hate sharing the nation's capital with the rest of the nation even though I know that's part of the deal.

I tend to get nostalgic during the quiet days of August. I think about how DC used to be, with folks sitting out on their front porches drinking tea or lemonade, talking about the neighbors, or at least to the neighbors.

One thing I really miss about living on Tennessee Avenue is the neighbors. I bet I hadn't lived in that house for 5 days before I knew pretty much everyone on our end of the block. The other day, one of my ex neighbors drove past me as I was wandering around. She leaned out of the car and yelled YOU ABANDONED US, REYA!!, then laughed and drove on. I love the informal, ironic, you-are-one-of-us connection that was part of the Tennessee Avenue lifestyle. Here on East Capitol, people are friendly, but it's very different, much more formal. Truth is, I am way too funky to live on this grand avenue. Please don't tell anyone; I'm trying hard to fit in!

I miss being awakened every day by the sound of barking dogs. Now I wake up to an alarm clock which is not nearly as humanizing. Awww ... see? I am feeling nostalgic. Time to get a grip right now, jump in the shower, head into my busy day at work. That should shake me out of my reverie, yes? I say yes. Onwards & upwards. Shalom.


The blues guys at Eastern Market, with their porkpie hats and some cute girls. Oh, and bubbles from the bubble machine at Marvelous Market.