Coming and Goings

I remember distinctly the very last time I officiated at an initiation into the Reclaiming tradition. Well - who wouldn't remember that initiation, since it was held within the stone circle of Avebury in Wiltshire County, England, one of my favorite landscapes on the planet? Mars was blazing in the sky alongside a sliver of moon and the Milky Way as we enacted the ancient sacred drama of shamanic death and rebirth. C'mon, I'll never forget that!

Likewise I remember the last initiation into Feri tradition that I officiated, on the benches outside my beloved Summerhouse on the Capitol grounds. It was May and the gardens were lush, the trees freshly filled out with green, the flowers bursting everywhere. In both this situation and the Reclaiming initiation at Avebury I knew the moment I agreed to officiate that these were my final experiences of those dramatic rites.

Today - that is, all of last night, and all of yesterday until 10:38 a.m. this morning to be exact - I was busy with my final experience attending a birth. The very long labor gave me a lot of time to think, to notice clearly how completely wrong this work is for me. What the hell do I know 'bout birthin' babies? Well? I've never had a baby, never been pregnant past 8 weeks, never even wanted children. I fell into the role by accident (very different from my ex-life as a high priestess).

I've had a good run as birth attendant, picking and choosing to attend the births only of those nearest and dearest to me. It has been incredible, beautiful, awesome work. I mean awesome in the truest sense of that word. Women are so mighty! When I think about the fact that someone went through labor and delivery of one type or another for EVERY ONE OF US, my jaw drops to the ground. Whoa, or should I say wow? Think of it: seven billion moms laboring away hour after hour. Wow!

By the way, that old cliche about peasants giving birth then going back to the fields? Pure crap. No way.

It's time for a nap, followed by an early dinner with perhaps a rather overfull glass of wine, and a very early bedtime. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything, just as I would never have traded away the opportunity to do an initiation inside Avebury. But everything has a lifespan, everything. Reya as Doula has definitely passed its expiration date and is beginning to go a little sour. Onwards and upwards!

Sargent Gaia Reya

For most of my career, my professional persona could be described as a series of behaviors I refer to as Mama Gaia Reya. Grounded, patient, tolerant - in Mama Gaia Reya mode I make time and space for my clients, time for their aches and pains and all the stress that's a part of living in this crazy moment in history. I make space for healing by layering on the creature comforts: two fleece table pads, a table warmer, LL Bean flannel sheets and soft blankets, fluffy pillows and essential oils and music playlists designed specifically for my clients. I light candles, switch off most of the lights and pull the blinds, creating a nest-like space in which my clients can completely relax (if they're so inclined.) I think of Mama Gaia Reya as a wonderful facet of the three-dimensional me. I feel proud I can channel that, and provide the sumptuous space. I do.

But lately I've been seriously considering an invitation, from the Sufi acupuncturist, to share work space in his downtown office. For a long time I've wondered how I might design my life so as to get off the Hill occasionally. It's harder to leave the village than you might imagine. I've tried various work situations, none of which wowed me into continuing. This is why I've hesitated to accept the invitation even though I'm flattered as hell that the Sufi acupuncturist considers me a suitable colleague.

There's no point in trying to duplicate downtown what I've cultivated here at the chateau. No way it will ever feel as cozy and nurturing, as peaceful and healing as Chateau Seven, my massage studio. But then it occurred to me that people downtown in the middle of the workday might not actually need to get all greasy and spaced out halfway through their day. Office workers need to get out of the office sometimes so they can clear their heads, breathe, get some blood moving, gather their wits about them. They need to return to work refreshed, alert and ready to take on the piles of paper on their desks. Actually I'm certain the work is probably in their computers, but imagining a stack of files is much more compelling, don't you think?

My idea is to schedule half-hour sessions in which I'll do a combination of Shi'atsu, passive stretching, compressions, breathwork, myofacial release and Reiki. I'd like to engage them in the process. What I mean is I'll have them flex and relax the muscles on which I'm doing release work, do various kinds of breathing, that sort of thing. I might even lead them in guided meditations, teach them how to calm themselves. I can't imagine Mama Gaia Reya working in this way, but I can see Sargent Gaia Reya kicking their butts in gear then sending them out the door ready to take on the world.

Of course I'm exaggerating about kicking their butts. I think I am. And who knows if this will convince them they can take on the world? If I decide to go forward with this, it won't happen until summer hence I have time to work with this technique, get a few willing guinea pigs here to see how they like the treatment.

In celebration of the new healing persona, I went out into the garden after work today, ripped a bunch of ivy off the stone walls of my beloved chateau. It felt so good!

You never know what's going to happen next. At least I never do. Onwards and upwards indeed. Shalom.

early spring

With the fountain switched off for the winter, the reflections at the American Indian museum are sublime.

It's yet another gorgeous day in Washington DC. I'll be working today but I have a big break at lunchtime during which I'll be out there, walking the circuit around Lincoln Park, wandering through Eastern Market, bumping into neighbors and friends (as is our custom here on Capitol Hill.)

The powerful upward rush of springtime energy is palpable. Spring arrived early in DC which I imagine means the season won't be as spectacular as it usually is - but I might be wrong about that. All I know is that even though it isn't quite time, there are daffodils blooming. I saw one tree that has already popped. It's a little weird, I'll admit it.

But as my brother always says, you can not grasp the river. If this is how spring is going to unfold this year, then so be it. A non-winter followed by a freakishly early and uneven spring? This year of the black water dragon really is a tumultuous time. It brings chaos and disorder, necessary parts of the cycle of life, but. Whoa. Or should I say wow?

Solo and De-quirked

I've seen a bunch of stories lately about the trend towards living alone both here in the U.S. as well as in Europe. I pick up on these stories because I live alone, I guess that's why.

There's a long feature piece in the New York Times today about how living alone brings out quirkiness. It is among the ten most emailed stories. How weird is that? I believe this must not be a big news week. If there was something truly interesting going on, who would give a rat's ass about emailing a link to a feature such as this one? I wonder about these things.

Living alone has not magnified my quirkiness, in fact, I believe I'm less quirky than I was while living in the house on Tennessee Avenue, re-washing pots and pans because my housemates didn't really get into scrubbing all that much, for instance. Now that I live alone, I do my dishes once. I think I'm more normal here than I was there.

The people interviewed for the story speak of standing naked in their kitchens at 2:00 a.m. eating peanut butter out of a jar, or leaving a bra on the dining room table. Is that quirky? I guess. Imagine me shrugging my shoulders. I think it's quirky that people believe these behaviors to be quirky.

My behavior is fairly boring. I live in a clean apartment (no bras on the table), I cook and eat at mealtime, post to the blogs, play WWF on the ipad, listen to music, read the New Yorker, do laundry, vacuum and dust, hang out on FB. I also work here which is lovely and unremarkable, I think. During NaNoWriMo I got a little quirkier, rising at 5:00 a.m. to write for two hours every day. I guess that's quirky. Is it?

Living alone has made me less quirky. No one from the New York Times called to interview me, hence the unbalanced reporting in that piece, I think. Yes?

Remembered Sistership

Some cliches are true. The one I'm thinking about this morning is the cliche of unity, you know, all those sayings that teach us how we are interconnected in many ways with each other and everything. It's absolutely true whether you look at it as a humanist, identifying with the qualities we share across all cultures, or from the physicist's point of view, that we share atoms that were once a part of Shakespeare and a whole bunch of other folks. Atoms are long-lived, I'm telling you, and they get around! Reincarnation is literally true at the atomic level at least.

Adoption is a very powerful act, one in which we admit there's more that binds us than blood and atoms. Adoption is an act of faith. It tends to work! Once adopted, we become family which is joyous and sometimes vexing or at least confusing. I use the term adoption loosely, to include not only the adoption of children and parents, but also marriage and many other ways in which we join in community, in family, friendship and colleagueship with one another.

One of my adopted sisters was in town yesterday, which is why I'm thinking about it this morning. She refers to the phenomena of adoption through friendship as "found sisterhood." I love that term and I am savoring the idea this morning. Indeed I am rich in sisters. Oh yeah!

Carpe diem!

The birds are going haywire outside this morning, singing their tiny bird hearts out to the world. Sweet! My eyes are itchy and my nose is twitchy which means the trees are stirring. It's an early spring in Washington DC following the long non-winter.

I opened a big box of Claritin yesterday, and will buy new bottles of my homeopathic remedy for spring allergies today, get some Chinese herbs when I see the Sufi acupuncturist next week. My body struggles with the huge, powerful uplifting energy of early spring, but I've learned how to deal with the struggle. I say, bring it on!

I've got the whole day off today, yay! I love working but I need my days off, too. A friend will be in town this afternoon, a friend who loves to walk around, take pictures, seek refreshment and look at art. It's going to be 70 F. today! What a day!

The Big One

I'm not clear that babies exactly get the concept of The Big One even though they are almost constantly experiencing this phenomena. First tooth, first step, first word. Babies experience The Big One when they finally drink from a cup instead of a bottle, use a fork and knife, sing the Alphabet song all on their own. Maybe since life for babies is all about The Big One, the idea of achievement doesn't seem extraordinary.

Once children are old enough to go to grade school, they know all about The Big One. Winning the spelling bee or Science Fair, excelling at sports, playing an instrument at a recital, the first slumber party, walking to school unattended, memorizing The Gettysburg Address - in middle childhood there are many opportunities to achieve what was inconceivable earlier in life.

In adolescence, it's all about hormone-driven Big Ones: love, mating, finding "the one," or sex, conquests, notches on the belt, depending on the temperament of the adolescent. The notches on the belt might indicate sexual partners or Debate Club wins or martial art belt color, it depends. Teenagers expect themselves to excel in some way, but believe they must also fit in perfectly, have the right hair, clothes and friends. They're between a rock and a hard place for most of a decade, they really are. Adolescence is a bitch! I don't EVER wish I were that age again.

Young adulthood Big Ones have to do with expanding one's fiefdom or professional status, making more money, buying real estate, producing children, acquiring stuff, or at work acquiring staff, travel and exploration, status, reputation and glamour whenever possible. Later in adulthood there are Big Ones that have to do with planning for retirement, retiring, dealing with the empty nest, becoming grandparents and dealing with aging.

In old age, there is only one Big One. You know what I'm talking about, the mystery we all face at the end of our lives. They call him the grim reaper, but it's only grim for the ones left behind. I feel that in my heart of hearts. Still, walking one step closer each day to the final Big One is unnerving! People of my age who do not have a connection to the life of the spirit in a way that suits them have a very hard time facing The Big One. Death can't be vanquished or conquered. Earlier in life it seems possible to triumph in every situation that involves The Big Ones pertinent to that era of life because like bees, ants, beavers and other busy animals, we are an overachieving species. But Death? That one is out of our hands.

It's humbling and awesome in the true sense of that word. Whew. Bette Davis was absolutely correct when she said old age ain't for sissies. It ain't.

Shalom.