Spir°it: Breath of Life
As Imbolc is also known as Candlemas – 40 days after Christmas some religions celebrate the arrival of Jesus of Nazareth to the temple to be blessed and redeemed. It is there that the Goddess Bridghe took him into her arms and under her wing as his nursemaid. Once again, bright flames, it is time to lead the world by the hand (or the ear) to bring balance back into the world and reclaim female divinity. It is with that love, we lift our energies up to become stronger, and unified. We channel the energy of the globe of women who stood up for human rights and we drum and dance and sing to expand it. When we have danced a frenzy, we send it out to the peace-makers, the water protectors, the women teaching, farming, creating in every form, and strengthen the movement into the future. Raise your energy. Raise your voice.
My friend shared a quote by Maya Anglou, saying, “I don’t trust people who don’t love themselves and tell me, ‘I love you.’ … There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.”-Maya Angelou
It really struck me in a few different ways as I have been struggling this year. Struggling. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. I’m in a place of acceptance and gratitude again, but the season is climaxing and if you sit quietly enough you can sense it. I digress.
I responded, “What about the ones who are Learning to love themselves and others as the same time?”
I respond, “What about those who have a hard time loving themselves, but wish to reflect back the love you shine.”
I feel the underlying truth of Maya Angelou’s words, but if love begets love. If love responds and grows and encompasses all it touches (which I see and experience regularly), then perhaps accepting the being’s offer of love, nurturing it and returning it can ripple out in revolution.
I am weaving my shirt. I will use the sleeves to hang my heart on.
Part two: The space we sit in. I have been emptying our space at home of things that are broken, things that no longer serve us. The trick is to not replace it with more things, but to leave space to breathe and play in.
Likewise, I often fill my hands with community work and engaging my young. Not earning a paycheque drives me to work harder to demonstrate my worth. It’s a modern illness that I struggle with. I have decided that I am going to dedicate my extracurricular time to one cause for one year and focus the rest of my energies into my home space and allowing rest and daydreaming and other things that will lead to production. Or into employment, depending on what happens this month.
Part three: I have openly invited folks to come out and help me break concrete on a future date; it’s a reclaimation project to plant drought tolerant plants into roundabouts. I aim to influence the replanting to include herbs. None took me up on it. I am looking for a companion to do random community projects with. Someone to be playful with. Someone who enjoys outside and activity and affection. My wife does many things with me (More so now than ever), and she is an awesome mate. Community stuff is not her bag and she supports my going out and doing stuff. I bring my kiddo with me, because he’s human shaped and wants to be involved in the things I’m involved in. The folks who I meet at the events are generally much older than I am, or monogamous. #polyproblems
And now we move toward the harvest season
I was barefoot chillin’ in the garden, crushing fragile eggshells left over from our breakfast onto the wet soil housing la verduras (the vegetables) that I had so lovingly sown and protected from seed. I had planted pole runners with the hopes of finding something to let them train up, but had not. The plants were weaving and twining around themselves, so heavy, they had fallen over, but grew on and I learned something valuable. I often do in the garden.
Resilience is doing what one must and noticing the journey along the way.
It is telling stories (true though they may be) to yourself and your family and the divine that you have purpose and hope. It’s embracing the pain and the beauty and the fragility. I’m not breathing easy, by any stretch, but I am peaceful and I am grateful.
This lazy evening, with the traffic rushing heavily down the busy road we live on, my wife remarked to me how the plants in the aquarium had anchored and rooted around the heavier boulders adorning the bottom of the tank.
You see, Jae had recently replaced about 2/3 the tank water in a major cleaning of the fish environment. Once the water was distilled and chemically balanced, she added new plants and replanted the plants and re-introduced the fish. One of the plants became distressed and released a number of leaves. Somehow, the leaves managed to put down roots through the muck and algae that encrusted the boulders. I’m quite impressed at this and have no idea how the plant leaves arrived there because they float so freely along the filter-made currents. But, alas, there you have it.
We admired the beauty and resilience of life and the ways in which randomness happens. If nothing else is taken from the experience, it is an awesome reminder that there are always currents and we are resilient.
My mother’s birthday is today. she passed in June or July of 2014 – 9ish months ago. I can’t remember exactly, only that it was the 11th. Already those finer details are sieving through my mind and I’m wracked with guilt over it, which glazes voice #3’s eyes over in pleasure. Ammunition to eat me up from the inside.
Forgiveness. It’s okay. this information is written down. You still remember her smile. You still remember your sweet adventures. You still remember the sound of her voice. She is amongst the loved ones in the land of the remembered. Her song will be sung and shared to your son who was fortunate enough to have met her though he will not remember.
This is just a feeling. This too will pass.
Sexual abuse. It has been a part of my conversations on the daily for the last two weeks. It has come to my attention that I know less than a handful of people who were not sexually, physically or emotionally abused (or some twisted cocktail in-between). We are all working towards appearing normal. releasing our pain and pleasure and vulnerability. We each interpreted our experiences in a different manner, and it’s nestled in the general population’s sub-concious.
We are more than the sum of our experiences because we are destined to adapt and
only by exposing that scar and involving hurt discussions can we begin to heal so we can treat people gently.
I am on fire. I am not alone. We can rise above. We can still choose to heal our wounds and create a beautiful community. Dreams infuse these dark conversations with hope that we can change the conversations to prevention. We need to change our focus to empowering our children to be children and still be aware.
My goal is to find a way to carve a safe space in my own heart and stitch the rest of it together as best I can using love to make it more beautiful.
I’m wilting, heavy with burdened soul,
troubled with thoughts untold
the thoughts of my lover who
feels the thoughts, heavy, too.
Am I selfish in loving more?
to not my own love, explore?
To not appreciate the sweetness there?
In laying out my soul too bare.
Love is not with rhyme or reason;
Love extends beyond one season;
my heart is full, but can hold more still;
grateful for one more to fill;
Love returned is better yet;
love that hearts combine and let
grow and create a richer story
that’s the place of sweet glory.
I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. Always do this time of year. I thought this year should be different, but no. There’s some comfort and a lot of disappointment in that. The comfort lies in coming to understand that this pain stems from some chemical something. My heart is full, so it’s not a personal flaw. But it is. But it isn’t. The disappointment is wondering if I will ever know the peace of “good enough” for more than a few moments at a time. One day I will break through and revel in the space of ease and abundance that flows through my life without the snickering of voice #3 furiously shoveling to undermine the beauty around me, the work I’ve done or torturing me to do more, faster and more efficiently. One day we will go away, my family, to play on a warm beach for months at a time without threat of homelessness and roam through the mountains at our leisure and not worry about starvation or being bound to a desk, a phone, a computer…an ideology that serves only to imprison us….though I’ll always love being bound to writing.