Gratitudations

  Archetypes are a necessity. For ideas to thrive through time, we have to use devices such as development of icons, cliches and archetypes in order to weave the story between and keep the listener or reader or student engaged. Not all archetypes have to be dissected for deeper meaning; rather, perhaps they just need to be uncovered. For instance, I don't believe in Angels as pronounced "ayn-juls" in a celestial sense or pale character who looks as if they belong in a shampoo commercial. These have long been seen as intermediaries and heralds for some divine message. Beautiful beyond our terrestrial filth, and placid beyond humanity's anxiety. But i do believe in one's presence and action being an agent of angelic magic. Maybe not even "one" in the sense of a guardian angel, for even cerebral old me has felt the interception of what i believe is my father's presence when i faced danger. But specifically, i think about the people who enter life un-requested and unexpected, even un-articulated and deposit seeds for growth.
  We had a great sermon in church this week, and a few things came together for me. In silent meditation the phrase "Life is a Garden" came to me, and i like to think that this is plucked out of my sub-conscience or given by god- the details of origin don't matter since neither has an ego. Then, the sermon discussed the kinetic force of people who newly gain faith or are excited about their religious community. I still have issues with "faith" but i completely understand that momentum-building and wanting to bring people aboard. I've felt accepted and loved by this community and it's been amazing even though a short time, and I find myself inviting others to come, which is something i would scoff at, admittedly. Living in a town with more churches than bars will do that to you- there is a tyranny of warped Christianity in these parts that also shapes the archetype of the institution itself and that bitterness is as transforming as realizing that there is an alternative. But anyway,so there was the garden and the influence. And then I was nudged to connect the dots by an act of baffling class and sweetness.
    You have to prod me to make routine changes, so even-though i was less happy with attending our former congregation- a mixture of distance, time and not relating- I needed monuments to point out a redirection. I felt Fia needed a spiritual "home" and i wanted one that, like mine as a child, promoted loving everyone, celebrating differences, instilled good works and social justice, etc. Without that previous home, I was sure to compromise and I was sad about that. The church I grew up in as a whole has become hateful, closed, and harmful. But I skimmed over the reference by some good friends about a place here that I might find comfortable, turned off by the Jesus that has become com-modified. Then one day....
   One day out of the blue a couple with a small child and the woman expecting comes by my office to ask about social justice opportunities. Since i'm a sociologist, we seemed a natural department to be interested in sponsoring it. I had a long discussion with them since our campus is driven in those endeavors by student organizations but not institutionally. There are few and decentralized places for students in need, and this is even more trouble some as "the times" require more guidance. But anyway, they were an interesting, compassionate and youthful couple, and I tried to give a few leads and let them know I would help. They mentioned the church they were working for and i wrote it down for later. After they left, i thought about their project more and how friendly they were and sincere. They didn't have a stack of bibles or handouts but just wanted to know where they could set bins for charity. It reminded me of my church as a kid and my minimalist approach to my own faith: Try to be a good person, realize the good in others, fight to ease and end suffering. The holy books are good advice spoken through symbolism. I would not compromise in what i thought was right, but wondered if this place could be a good alternative for Fia and I. Their Facebook page helped with the ice.
  I felt a push and decided to try it out. The rest is history, really. We go every week, Fia has found a loving community and I have been accepted and encouraged personally and socially. I feel good about joining. I've made friends, challenged my own preconceptions, and look forward to growing with the community. Such a great event, I believe was caused by an angel. But instead of a graceful glide and twirl, it was brought by two exhausted soldiers for social justice nearing defeat. Perhaps an angel exists in each of us.
   Well, I am prone to exaggeration, I know. Understatement, overstatement- whatever works for me. But, I was certain this person had angelic qualities when I received a "thank you" card from her after service. Why would this have gravity? Well, this lovely couple was handed trial after trial- she had her beautiful and healthy daughter to then find out that the husband was laid off. They would then have to move back out of state, leaving their apartment, friends, our community, and security, with a new life and a toddler still trying to make sense of the world. Stress times four. Our church formed a "food task force" for families in need and we'll cook when we can to help cover that necessity when dealing with a trial. I knew i'd love this church when I knew that existed considering my isolation and need for such a thing that didn't exist after Fia was born. So of course I volunteered and I made some corn salad and brought bananas and visited for a while. It is a mess, and people this good do not deserve this, but in a warped way are well equipped because their hearts can guide them well. The more I talked to them, the more I wanted to be friends and hated to see them go.
   Their daughter was christened/dedicated at service yesterday and they were set to leave directly after. I had bought a gift certificate for them, but forgot to get an envelope. As I raided my purse for something to convert into a crude cover, the wife came by and handed me an envelope. I sighed and apologized for not having an envelope for her card, and she understood and didn't mind. The card was a thank you card. A Thank You card for bringing over food to help with the crisis. It was hand-written in detail. My heart sank. In the midst of a nursing baby, everything you own in and out of boxes, entertaining a child and trying to keep her family from despair, they were giving gratitude. Maybe I am cynical but this is not the norm- it is truly remarkable. And I declare that these remarkable acts are done by what have become angels and saints- the persistent appearance of goodness in the world. Giving more than asked, appearing at the right time offering a light, and then humbling others with your gratitude and selflessness.
    When one believes in something you don't see or understand, too often we assume its them when it is us. There are fairies, there are gods, there are demons and there are angels. Who are you to say there is not? Without trumpets or wings, I know one passed this way. 

Moments of being

Summer Evening by Edward Hopper

I have yet to see the recent film Tree of Life, and hear it was booed at Cannes, but from the preview it seemed like Terrence Malick was trying to portray some moments that are simply understood and sensed. Some do this with the subject of Deja Vu, and only poets like William Carlos Williams can nail it in language, with the surrealists doing it on canvas best, in my humble opine. But it's a noble effort because these are valid experiences  that are challenging to convey, but sometimes the only pieces of time that both make sense and seem senseless. Usually seemingly mundane, they're magical. I have had two of these in the past weekend.

The first came Friday evening when I turned off the TV and made us all go out into the softening air. It has been a long, hot, steamy, and angry summer, and you can instantly feel the relief. We ran in the yard after spraying each other heavily with bug-spray (i am their feast) and the blaze of the sun seemed tired and lazy as it sank into the horizon. After about 20 minutes, our neighbor's grandchild and her boyfriends' youngest daughter came home and brought out their bikes. They rode up and down the street frantically at first and then gliding, giggling. Another older neighbor came out to talk to their parents and take in the beauty of play. All at once there were cries of joy, youth, fun.. in an evening as the seasons turn. I stepped out of myself noticing the music of it. Things hadn't been this well framed since i myself was a kid on the street, reluctant to let go of the day. I'd forgotten about summer, as adults can do when we drive through it and bake in it. This moment in time was a form of synchronicity.

Today was the second. After a fun and interesting service at church, I was able to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in a while and a few people I didn't know well but liked. I found myself engaged in a small group of 4 or 5 of us, chatting about the content of the service, then about and event next week, but it was here too- the rhythm, and i was not the spectator as usual but a participant. This is significant because i believe people (and i used this loosely because i have very good friends) find me awkward and tend to exclude me. Here I was chatting, being heard, listening, engaged, inviting others in, talking to strangers, and enjoying their company as if.. i was... someone else. Or, rather, a part of me that is obscured. I am a classic reluctant introvert and that's a rather rare species; others having pride in their choices and me having to just play my hand. Anyway, not today. That internal camera clicked and it just seemed magical- the lighting, the music of conversation, the sharing.

I am quick to want to harness these things, even if it does go against the "buddhist" goal of not placing attachments on people, places and things (or ideas- you know, nouns). But i'm also the sort who when given a bite of cheesecake wants more cheesecake. In my view, life is short, we're confused monkeys and there are several varieties of cheesecake. But this was a kind that not only pleases or enriches the senses, but fed the soul and reminded me of my belonging not just in this world, but of this world- my connection to something larger. And the music is always there, perhaps- i was given the gift of a free listen, and can hear it if i am still, and open my heart and inner ear.

The Approaching Hour

You Communists and Republicans!
all you Germans and Frenchmen!
you corpses and quickeners!
The stars are about to melt
and fall on you in tears.

Get ready! Get ready!
you Papists and Protestants!
you whores and you virtuous!
The moon will be bread
and drop presently into your baskets.

Friends and those who despise
and detest us!
Adventists and those who believe
nothing!
Get ready for the awakening.

William Carlos Williams

packed away but never abandoned.

Someone asked me if i have abandoned this blog and the truth is that I tend to compartmentalize my thoughts and essays thematically in a kind of dis-organization and this blog, based on my spiritual processes has gone to the backburner as I have become more existentialist. I refuse to think that where i am is where I will remain nor that I have any truths or answers that are absolute. I fully intend to be a death-bed confessor if i have that luxury, to cover all bases. But my perspective right now is that gods, messiahs, afterlives- all are extensions of fear and humanity's tragic reality of time-wasting or enslavement to lifestyle for civil survival. Sadly, there is no great meaning or great reward. The urgency is now, the blessing is life itself and letting love in and out with breath is not a celestial mandate but just good advice. All the prophets gave good advice, the texts give good advice. But that's it- and awful things happen. You have no claim or right to be here but i am grateful you are as much as I am thankful I am.

Having a child makes it harder to make amends with these revelations. To me, and perhaps to many parents, your child is immortal. Don't mention anything otherwise. I have good friends whose children were very ill and hospitalized, and i feel a wall keeping me from empathy and silently screaming and begging never to have to confront that. But then do i make it conditional that heaven exists for our loved ones? It becomes so complicated and too daunting to visit. I have a terrific talent for shutting out what i don't want to think about. We protect and survive in our own ways.

Anyway- so i am still a happy member of the UU an hour away and distancing myself from meaningless exercises when i remember to in order to more fully enjoy nature and living. Also, being *cough* mid-thirty is making me ask what experiences i want to have before I die, as if i can control that. I never know what i want. I stand puzzled in front of the shampoo aisle and have others make the lunch plans. So for the bigger things, I start with wanting a nose ring or something. Oh sure, there are fanciful things but i'm too lazy, trapped and uninspired to do anything grande. And i'm of humble income. So, maybe a Mediterranean cruise if i don't feel guilty about leaving J with Fia. All these prisons are our own.. inside spiraling out.

In my teaching evaluations, I always have the complaint that i can be non-linear at best or confusing and scattered at worst. This is how i am and i tried to harm none. But I have revived the blog for Fairytale discussion (hit "about me") and i'm alive on tumblr more than LJ these days. And FB not as much, twitter i deleted. As in life, I am here if you want to find me. Sometimes tap dancing to get your eye, but never are you abandoned. Nor is my soul. Nor the curiosity.

gifts not utilized

I am fortunate to have gained literacy that was cultivated and articulated by the support of my sphere and grows daily as I allow. But mine is a language among many, and the strength of one does not predict fluency in another. Sometimes it is our true native tongue that we discard for another, or let two compete and choose, preventing the enrichment of another that would come from participation and innovation. I speak and write in American English, but only have the imprint and recognition of song. Well, I have a faint literacy that allows me to fumble my way through an idea on the piano or trumpet. I know when people are wrong. I know how to harmonize naturally and thicken a melody, support it or polish it. But I often forget the key.

Does that matter, I wonder. If language is a construction based on symbols and social agreements in order to reach consensus and communicate, then that never goes into a deeper truth. I don't believe in the sorceress who bungles a spell by incorrect syntax, just as I don't believe that character-driven scores are any less musical than egg-drops by a quill pen. But there is the validation of those who legitimize the language and establish the rules at stake. They present a challenge and invitation not just to play but to contribute and build, explore and love.

Today I sat in the sun after service, speaking to a new friend at the university and engaging in small talk with other congregation members. It was a perfect day, and another new friend started to drum and we discussed music. There were at least two levels in the conversation: one verbal, noting movements that capture each of our voices, and then the non-literal, expressing the musical language. I began to piece this together along with my somewhat recent joy finding in drumming and singing, my oldest friend. I have neglected a gift. For as long as I could remember, I have denied myself any kind of artistic exploration (with very few exceptions) because I would not automatically be perfect and brilliant and because it would not be marketable. I placed value in the wrong things, and did not allow myself room to learn and grow, but applied some freakish perfectionist "all or nothing" goal. I do that in many areas of my life and don't know why. Instead of waiting for why, I just need to change course. What have I done with music?

I've reunited with an old friend and bandmate and started thinking about how natural and fun the music was. We were kinda sad, but knew the language and spoke it. I have since had my finger on some pulses in music, waxing and waning with styles and products along with my moods and phases in my life. But it's been a constant and a part of me, recognizing it as if it were family. Indeed, sometimes its closer than any friend or family ever could be. It is extra-terrestrial and ethereal even when bent currents of matter and wind or water and fire. I feel more alive with the right communication, and I think that has to do with music being in the most basic strings of our existence and the existence of everything in matter. But I am not an expert in anything, and certainly not physics. I'm learning humility and grace, taking aim and minimizing clutter. All the while in my head there is music.. spilling out everywhere, a soundtrack, a symphony.. madness, order, chaos, regimen.

Speak to me, and I will listen. I will learn what you can teach and give to the song, be it my only legacy. We build on melodies as our breath shapes the wind.

Eat, Pray, etc.

A few years ago, middle-aged women everywhere wanted to move to Tuscany. It was scenic, it evokes romance, there's the possibility of great food, and a chance to find some strapping man who worships you. Diane Lane looked fabulous doing it, and between work shifts, attending to the children, trying to be creative with tired conversations with one's spouse or one's friends, that was the escape. Women chatted like chickens about it, and I just tuned them out as I do. I rarely keep current with 'chicklit' or 'chickfilms' because those don't tend to speak to my values or aesthetics. Now, we have Julia Roberts, who I don't really like as an actress, hitting a more personal topic and at once offending me.

Eat, Pray, Love came out a few years ago and I wouldn't have known about it if several middle and professional class white women whose lives feel unfulfilled hadn't brought it up like a new Tupperware invention. Oh I must read about this woman who goes to Eurasia, learns to love again, love herself again, and zomg she does yoga so she must be enlightened. Hurling a stick doesn't make you an athlete, nor does meditation make you a better person. So I tuned them out, but I was annoyed that something personal to me felt cheapened. Most often when a fad or a sensation occurs, the authentic practitioners are under suspicion or assumed to be among the trendy. I thought maybe the book would go away when a new Oprah disciple started another revolution (here's how to order) but no, there's a movie. Folks who felt a little let down after Sex and the City and Twilight went out of theaters have somewhere to go, and to emerge as if they've been included on the secret of life. Just try to keep Julia's image involved and make sure you wear the same outfits and try to find Javier (good luck) in the process while you save to jet off, partner or no. It's one more reminder of how I don't tend to fit in with women my age, but also it makes me defensive of practices that should be more reverent and I feel invaded in a way, by Hollywood and drones of women who are looking for Messiahs.

So when I'm irritated by something or someone, it's my nature to look inward. I feel a sense of courage to stop any obsessive thoughts regarding superiority, wanting to expose charlatans, righteous indignation... anything that drains my energy to prove something and has negativity for fuel demands my introspection. So I did what I do, and meditated in my own way, but the answer was quick and clear: leave them be. The rejection i've felt since childhood of being excluded from sisterhoods has created this defense and in the end, i need to look deeply at what i do value. My methods of prayer and my methods of being in tune with the unified divine are not vulnerable to attack- these people, this culture is not a threat. In fact, I feel I should do my best to reach out to people who might be fundamentally changed by this book or film because these powerful media DO inspire. One cannot assume inspiration or non-inspiration. I should not live as an angry rejected child, but as a woman who has come to terms with the past and is in the very present, walking and sitting in love and open. I needed to remember to open because that takes diligence for me.

Lately I've bristled when people state they are open minded and then have sweeping judgments of others. I live in a beautiful region and state and town, with remarkable and kind people who are often judged by the ignorance of some and held under great prejudice by the nation. We often forget that every place has good folks and good folks who have bad behavior. We're all facing battles, have been given cards to play, and all know joy and pain. But I have been judgmental as well, and need to face that i order to evolve. Not to impress anyone, not to create a facade, but to remove them and feel less distanced and alienated from happiness and serenity.

May good fortune smile on us all, and may it harm none.

the spirtitual mongrel

I believe in the Shekinah, the Buddha, our vibrating strings and the forbidden forest.

I am primarily a humanist and philosophically an existentialist. That might qualify me as "grounded" or maybe non-spiritual, but to me, whose only definition matters, it means that I compartmentalize according to how I want to believe and express myself according to what is important to me. It is idiosyncratic, to be sure, but not exclusive or closed-minded. But, this, along with countless other things, makes me somewhat of an outsider to groups that gather based on beliefs or faith. I don't declare "faith" of any kind; i'm sure of little. And recently i've had to come to terms with being obnoxious in my desire to collect working knowledge of most things and contribute to conversations when i usually end up stumping, boring, or dominating the flow. I'm just odd, and I don't mind it anymore. But, it can be a lonely experience to be a kind of spiritual mongrel, selective and avoiding hypocrisy.

I've had students, usually in their twenties, who identify themselves by what they are not, while claiming to be an ist. I'd have one say she was both pagan and a Buddhist, without realizing that both are broad and at times contradictory. In fact, sometimes they like the aesthetics alone, or the fact that it pisses their parents off to declare such things. While i don't judge with certainty where they are on their path, I try to steer the conversation to discuss the ways that this could be so. Acknowledging a oneness with all nature- feeling their is one energy with many faces. Assigning personal ritual to express intentions and unlock inner voices. Yes, you can weave with both pagan and Buddhist threads. You can even go farther as a mongrel and take what you like out of traditions you meet, relying on your intuition and experience what is authentic and what is nonsense. My arrogance thinks this is a more evolved form of spirituality, and I say that with all self-consciousness of sounding pompous or even... *gasp* postmodern (ick ick ick). I would be shaming Buddha if i would suggest this, however, so my conceit is in check, but let me express the positive nature of mongreldom:

• I do not have to join any groups. While I am a proud member now of the UUC, I am able to read and connect with others online to expand my knowledge of religious and folk traditions and methods of understanding our human experience. I do not have to deal with an inner hierarchy, a grand pooh-bah or any other authority that i don't recognize.
• I have a wealth of material to learn. A fundamentalist Christian has one book. I have thousands.
• I can have a holy moment anywhere and everywhere at the same time. I don't have to buy any materials to do so, save a candle.
• I am not responsible for the negative aspects of any religion.
• With a policy of total and candid honesty I have the freedom to analyze inconsistencies and forgive myself, heal myself, and comfort myself.

Last week's sermon/speech was about God being a verb. Music is also a verb. I believe that when we are connected to the divine we are all music. Sometimes discord that resolves itself into harmony. The celts (my people) tend to believe that there is music as ancient and connected to the spiritual and fey world as gods and monsters.. we are the music makers and bearers shaping the tune with our heroes and stories, our ideology and compassion. I believe that my instrument is made of several parts to best express my tune, without compromises or unnecessary valves. I'm not the brass section nor the winds nor percussion, but I do make a sound.

And I do make a sound.

Now... the challenge is not to be satisfied, but to look honestly inward and outward, ever seeking, ever sharing, and living each moment to it's best and most beautiful, meaningful potential. And may it harm none.

kindred and traditions

I'm not sure how focused my thoughts are about this, and so much with relationships is weighted by baggage and expectations that it's hard to say i'm carrying a light of truth through most of it more than anecdote. But I believe in tribes. Ancient, scattered tribes; those which go beyond just thinking band A or cuisine B is cool. I've been thinking a lot about family, really.

http://www.pocko.com/press/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/kindred_bn.jpg

With my father dying when I was young, "Fathers Day" was kind of bitter for me, until it just became a day for apathy. On one hand, the holiday is way too based on heteronormative types and nuclear-family, but on the other as I get older, I applaud more friends and now Josh for doing not just what is expected as a parent but beyond in creating a home and nurturing the development of a child. In truth, J is a better parent than I am- he works at it more, and his relationship to Fia is so wonderful to watch, which i feel I do too often. But then my mom came in last week. My mom and I have an interesting relationship in that we're a lot alike which can be both good and bad. We can go months without speaking just because we don't like phone calls. I feel like I was so determined in my independence that I grew apart from my family not realizing the consequences and now I have to re-aquaint myself with my mom or siblings when I see them which is rare. For a while I mourned this as a lack of family, but now I discover the fluidity of family and the different manifestations. Josh and Fia and I are indeed a family and I am, though a bit cautiously, very happy in that.

In the traumatic post-birth time when it felt like I had absolutely no one I think I was forced to evaluate my relationships. When I became pregnant, I waited superstitiously to tell my blood-family, and chose to inform some stunned people who now I don't even speak to, and some who seemed to just back away. I'm still bitter about the isolation I felt, but grateful for Laura and Jimel. Relationships are about trying, and they made sure I was alright as did my mom and sister.

Fast forward to now, I see another family and tribe. My friend Shirley whom, I've known on LJ since we think 2003, came to town specifically to see me and Gabi. Right off the bat we talked like we'd known each other a long time and realized that there is definitely an "us" each are one of. All of my close friends understand me, but the commonalities go beyond fashion and ideology, though scary how many of us are Social Justice warriors. My initial reaction to members of the tribe seems to be "well, who does she think she is?!"- usually out of denial that i am not alone, and also as a defense mechanism since I don't like to invest my time in bad spaces. But it all seemed to connect with her visit, and as I sat at UUC listening to a great discussion on the historical threads of Universalism (the other U) I realize that throughout time there have been diverse players. While aware that only the victors write history, I neglected to think about how ancient are our personalities and characteristics that signal tribe recognition. These things that we understand- social justice, god as love and in all nature and life- inherent dignity of living beings- diligence against "evil" as it creates suffering and injures lives- these things attract and inhabit people all along. And maybe we're not motivated by the greed that causes the victories which make history. Oddly, we all seem to like tabbouleh and hummus. But I truly feel that Gabi and I are in so many ways sisters, as is Shirley and 'Beca, Jimel, Leslie, etc.

In any event, I see that we not only have the freedom to shape and create our families but we also use clay that is as old as the earth. Just as we are part of the divine, so are our relationships - ancient, timeless, boundless, powerful, inarticulate, and sometimes the only work worth doing. Kinetic. Rather than being pre-occupied with purpose and meaning, perhaps we can listen for music we know and just create fantastic moments keeping the tribes alive with stories- our own history of now.