Anticipation of Wonder

Two weeks from today, I will be standing at my mother's grave. I'm still wrapping my mind around this miraculous event, smiling every time I think about it. I'll be standing with my sister, whose idea it was to place the stone at last, thirty years after my mother's death. When I try to picture the moment, I see us holding hands, breathing, quietly sensing the energy. When the stone goes down, will there be a thump? Granite is heavy. Will they use a forklift or some other kind of huge machinery? Surely they will have to, don't you think? I wonder.

It's a funny thing about me, trying to imagine the energy of a moment that has not yet come into its fullness. I am not prescient, but I try anyway. Maybe we'll be laughing, or crying, or maybe we won't feel a thing in that moment, who knows? I don't and won't know until I'm there. It's fun to imagine.

I don't have to wonder what it will be like to spend so much time with my sister: it will be great. Also great: spending time with my dear friends in KC, walking around, taking pictures, driving through old neighborhoods, thinking about what used to be there.

Can't wait!

What a fabulous year I've had, what a healing, inspiring, and marvelous trip through 2012. Except for summer, which lasted too long and was way too hot, and the aggressive insanity of the stalker, this year will go down in the history of me as top notch.

Have I said recently how grateful I am for my good humor, good health and good fortune? For having work I truly love, for living in a charming, friendly community of good people, for my cozy nest at the base of the chateau? Have I? Must say it again: life is good and I am grateful.

Shalom.

Que sera sera

Will roses bloom through winter? I hope not. I love roses, but ... it's weird.

I was going to write today about channeling, about Edgar Cayce and his stable personality that allowed him to go very deeply into his mysticism without going crazy. I was going to write about Uncle Aleister Crowley whose personality was not perfectly balanced, hence channeling all that mystery made him extremely weird.

I was going to write about Dr. Helen Schucman, an atheist who nevertheless channeled the Course in Miracles, much to her embarrassment, apparently, since she didn't want anyone to know where it came from until after her death.

I was going to go on a bit about how everyone channels, how everyone loses a little bit or a whole lot in the translation of channeled material but is nevertheless utterly convinced that the way they have interpreted the information is correct.

But then the stalker showed up again today, left a note saying her "inner voices" told her to contact me.

Sigh.

She has been misinformed.

I thought she was gone; it has been many weeks since she tried to connect. This is classic stalker behavior; they never let go. For awhile today after the harassment, I contemplated the benefits of being pissed off or worried, or focusing on the extremely disturbed note and gift I received today. I believe she is schizophrenic. I was miffed that she was banging on the door in the middle of an otherwise very peaceful session of massage I was engaged in. It was so unfair to my client! I was discouraged that she's crazy enough to show up here at the chateau, no matter how many times I have clearly stated that I want her to stay away from me. I seriously considered stewing in my annoyance for the rest of the day.

But then I took a nice walk, I went to Whole Foods - one of my favorite self soothing activities. I brought home ingredients with which to make a nice supper. As I put away the groceries it came to me that being stalked is like a chronic illness. It's like an allergy that can never be totally resolved, or a perpetually sour stomach. I decided, as they say in the Course of Miracles, that I could see peace instead of being pissed off.

Maybe it was the eclipse or maybe I am truly on to better things, but I was able to put it aside, mostly. Of course I'm posting this, so it's obviously still on my mind, but it isn't bugging me. What is, is. OK.

Onwards and upwards. Shalom.

The best years of my life

Life is good and I am grateful. I say it all the time. I feel it more now than ever in my rather long life. As a younger woman, I was always worried about something or another, and I do mean always. I lived in fear, sometimes acute fear, other times it was low-level, but it was there 24/7/365. When I think of my younger self, I always feel so sad for her. What an exhausting way to walk through life, good lord.

This is on my mind as I continue to think, meditate and pray in advance of the trip to Kansas City. A recognition of my happiness with life as it currently exists has welled up every day recently as I contemplate this ancestral pilgrimage I'm about to undertake.

My prayers reflect how strong I've become - spiritually, emotionally and physically. I'm really seeing how much courage it takes to dance with the energy of laying an ancestral head stone. When younger, I was so afraid, I was not brave enough to do this. But I am now! Oh man, no matter how humbling, how bewildering, I love getting older.

I've always been an old lady, just waiting to reach the age. Here I am at last. Cheers!

The trip to Kansas City looms large. It really does. But I can do it. I can't wait to do it. All I can say is wow.

Life is good and I am grateful. Shalom.

In my household, we worshipped the God of Art.

My siblings and I have been remembering my mother as we prepare to lay the stone on her grave in a couple of weeks. It's interesting, the way that remembering some things brings up more memories. The Radiolab people describe memory as a creative process. Here's a link to the show. It's well work a listen, though: poor rats.

I woke up this morning remembering my mother's absolute devotion to the creative process. Perhaps the only thing about me she actually "got" was my art, such as it was. When I wanted to paint a floor to ceiling mural on the wall of my bedroom, she was all for it. She also approved of the world map I painted in the hall, my chalk drawings on the floor of the garage and the graffiti-like journal I kept on a wall in the garage. We had a hand crank pencil sharpener affixed to the wall outside the kitchen door. Every time I sharpened a pencil, I added a comment to the wall, always with date and time. After awhile I had to climb the ladder that lead to the attic, as I ran out of space to add more comments. My mother encouraged me to draw, paint, take photos and write. I'm very grateful for that encouragement, very.

My mother believed we should strive to be creative no matter what. It was like a crusade. She, too, engaged in bouts of creative expression, such as the year when she drew, with pastel chalk, a gigantic menorah on the ceiling of our living room. Every day of Hanukkah that year, she added a new candle. It was really dramatic and very big. She planned to paint the ceiling after Hanukkah, but as with many household maintenance projects, that didn't happen for a long time. We lived under the humongous menorah for years. I wonder if, after awhile, we didn't even notice it anymore, if we kind of forgot it was there. That I can not remember.

Except during my years in psychotherapy, I have not devoted much time to remembering my mother. Our relationship was fraught, hence the memories used to be painful. But these days I'm getting a kick out of the memories. I'm finding nooks and crannies in my mind full of old, moldering memories I put away a long time ago. I'm dusting off, polishing these old memories, organizing them such as I can. All of a sudden, I am treasuring the memories, even the "bad" memories (whatever that means).

It seems like just the right way to prepare for the trip to Kansas City.

The work of this eclipse cycle (not just for me) is directly related to the ancestors. I'm enjoying the work. My mother was such a character! Good lord.

Happy Monday. Shalom.

Monumental

Outside the Eastern Market metro station

Plans for my upcoming trip to Kansas City are starting to fall into place, making it a little more real. I'm going! Wow.

The last time I was in an airplane was 2010. Earlier in life I was a rambling kind of gal, but these days I hate traveling. I love seeing places and people, but have such a gripe against travel by commercial airplane including of course the inevitably humiliating airport experience. I get terrible jet lag and feel disoriented no matter how I try to go with it or ignore it. My digestion is always a little off, I can't sleep - I suck as an adventurous traveler, good lord.

But some trips are worth all my petty discomforts with the process of getting from point A to point B. This is one of them. 

Life is good. I am deeply grateful. Shalom.

Holy Daze

National Gallery of Art

I actually get the idea of rushing out, immediately after Thanksgiving, to buy gifts. It came to me in the shower this morning, why we would do that. Bless the Voice in the Shower! I know we are very greedy in my society, but there is an ancient, shamanic inspiration underneath our insane behavior at the holidays.

During the holidays, almost all traditional behaviors have a shamanic aspect, because the holidays are pagan. Oh my god they are so pagan! The Romans could not have done a better job with the over indulgence, the ramped up behaviors, the extravagance with which we make our way through the last few weeks before winter solstice. Of course the Romans were cognizant of why they were behaving this way. They knew and understood the interconnections among all things a lot better than we do. Before electric lights, everyone understood - at a visceral level - the cold and dark and long nights of winter. We really appreciated Brother Sun before the light bulb.

We still do the same old rituals, we enact the sacred dramas, because we are all shamans, even if we don't know it consciously.

In the case of the post Thanksgiving buying spree, it's all about the ritualistic act of making offerings. After we sacrifice the turkey, (a very ancient way of giving thanks for the harvest and asking for abundance through the winter), the next thing that needs to happen is for the participants to make offerings to Brother Sun, as a way of asking him to come back after solstice. It's classic shamanic ritual behavior, it surely is.

If we were still fully shamanic, we would put the gifts on a bonfire at winter solstice as the pagans of old would have, sending the offerings directly to Brother Sun. Instead we give them to each other. It's a minor technical difference, I think. The gifts should be received as enthusiastically as they are given in order for the sacred drama of winter solstice to work. Sadly, many Christmas gifts will end up stashed in closets already packed full of other stuff the receiver never wanted or needed, or will be "re-gifted." I love that phrase - some marketing genius came up with that, hey?

The idea behind ritual acts is always quite pure. Giving thanks, asking for abundance, making offerings in the hope that the cold, long, dark winter will not go on forever - all of these are noble gestures, yes? I say yes. Of course we take it way too far here in 21st century America. It's always like this at the end of empires.

Shalom.

Thanks but no thanks

I've got nothing to complain about. Yesterday was gorgeous: sparkling sunshine, a gentle breeze (just enough to keep the air from stagnating) and temps in the 50s and 60s. The bugs are gone, the leaves are still floating down ... it was beautiful.

My day was quiet as I knew it would be. I completely caught up with my laundry, something that rarely happens since I have to wash so many sets of massage sheets all the time. I took a very long walk, enjoyed the shriveled landscape. I love winter - it's so peaceful. There's no buzzing, chirping, or mournful insect sound, no wailing. Only a few crows telling it like it is every now and then. In early winter, the wilting plant world is orange, gold and browns - and crunchy. That's the best part. Later in winter, everything is gray, but early winter is richly colorful.

After my walk I roasted a chicken (such a tiny sacrifice for the feast day, but right sized considering it was just me for dinner), had a salad, chicken, and a small slice of cranberry apple crisp. I am one with the apple desserts this year. After dinner I watched From Russia with Love. I have to admit, Sean Connery was an awesome James Bond. But I'm digging Pierce Brosnan as my fav these days.

Was the day special enough? I believe in rituals of appreciation for the harvest that are also meant to plant the seed of prosperity and abundance to take us through the winter, I do. But I have never really had a great Thanksgiving. It's interesting to think about.

Thanksgiving is always just a little weird for me, no matter how I spend the day. Oh well. It's over now. Onwards and upwards to solstice.

Happy full spectrum Friday. Shalom.