Notes from the Past

It's funny what appears sometimes. Here I am, diving back in to my fiction manuscript, and I want to file an article I had clipped from last year, one that I had simply stuck into my pile of papers. I pull out the folder and it falls open to reveal an old newspaper clipping from 2003.

What's funny about this is that my protagonist has a "father issue" and this is one of the few artifacts I have from my own father who always seemed to disapprove of whatever I was doing in my life, including writing (I wasn't writing the "right" material). Attached to the article was a note from my father:

My father died a little over five years later, in 2008; finding his handwritten note along with the article made me feel closer to him. And, even though he never said he was proud of me, maybe he was...just a little. He was encouraging me, and I take that as a good sign.

Introverts, Misfits, and Community

My Brothers & Me in Missouri:
A Tree Planted When We Were Toddlers

I have been puzzling over the curious concept of community. How has it changed or remained the same in the past five decades? How much of community is fed by our similarities as compared to our differences? More specifically, how does community manifest for deep introverts (like me)? 

A lot of my curiosity has arisen because of an epiphany I had while writing Desert Fire, which was the realization that I had slowly and gradually become part of a community in Maine. And that it’s only upon reflection that I’ve realized how my soul was nourished by that subtle ebb and flow of community. I lost most of those tangible threads when we moved to Arizona, and, after nearly four years, have been unable to feel welcomed into a strong sense of community here.

Is that loss of community why I feel this tug to return to the landscape where I was born? To return to the land where both sides of my family-of-origin have lived for generations?

It feels strange to me to want — or at least be open to, for the first time in my life — to place myself in the midst of a culture that is predominantly the opposite of my own belief system. For me, as a pagan-liberal, to consider the value of living around Christian-conservatives is an enigma swirling in my mind. Will I be welcomed or ostracized? And yet, to continue growing in my understanding of Self and humanity through conscious placement into diversity holds a tantalizing energy. It’s almost like choosing to live in a  foreign country as an observer, an anthropological endeavor, while unable to detach from my emotions. Yet, within the southwestern Missouri Ozarks reside my own genetic and blood-roots, foreign as they may seem.

Big Spring, MO
(courtesy Wikipedia)

It is easier in many ways to settle in a place where everyone, or at least the majority, thinks as we do (Oregon, a state we are also considering moving to) than to be where the mindset is alien (Arizona and Missouri). And yet, if one’s purpose is to grow and share the beauty of diversity, what better way than to live on the edge, at the perimeter? If we live in separation — segregated — the gap becomes wider and the bridge more flimsy due to the distances between us. How do we nourish community within diversity? Precious Diversity in her “coat of many colors that my Mother made for me.” Will I be able to stay focused on my path and also find the community’s core goodness, our commonality?

Will the land support and soothe my fears and nurture our differences? At least in the Ozarks, I would be living in a moderate, lovely landscape (in spite of the occasional tornado) and climate where my husband and I can afford to live comfortably as we age closer to retirement. I want to walk barefoot upon the land and within my own mind — free from aversions to my past. 

My Grandparents' Farm in MO

I yearn to sink down, to ground — even if it is into my own blood-roots that I swore I would never return to. I never felt I fit in — with family or culture or religion — and yet, now, I also feel a kinship arising within me like the ancient sap of an ancestral core. Is it the simple process of aging that does this? Or is it self-realization? An acknowledgment and acceptance that I am spirit; genes, and uniquely woven — all of these? What are the gifts held within genetic memory and the people who are my family-of-origin?

Is it possible for the moist verdant rolling hills, the vibrant vegetation, and the multi-generational roots of family and community to be nourishing enough to offset the strain of living a culturally misfit presence?

During the past couple of months, as the potential for moving has become clearer, I’m reading a variety of related sources that touch upon family, community, diversity, and how we view our historic past. The books written by psychologist Mary Pipher have been extremely helpful; they have provided me with insights I’d not previously considered regarding our American views of family and community. (I wholeheartedly recommend her books, I’ve read all of them, though I find myself disagreeing with some of her more rigid views.)

For me, this research also entails trying to understand why some of us attach so strongly to the past and its symbols, while others can detach, even when we are born into the same families.* Most southern Missouri people were allied with the Confederacy, and yet, somehow, from a quite young age, I personally felt more like a Yankee. Because of this desire to comprehend a different perspective, I’m also reading books like Beyond Revenge: The Evolution of the Forgiveness Instinct by Michael McCullough, The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion by Jonathan Haidt, and The War that Forged a Nation: Why the Civil War Still Matters published this year by James McPherson. 

_______

* I am an American hybrid, an example of the genetic melting pot; my ancestors are mostly 17^th century immigrants from Ireland, Scotland and England, as well as from the Netherlands and Germany, blended with a couple of Native Americans. Is it possible that my different views (from my family) are also a product of genetic memory? In Beyond Revenge, the author points out that most of the American South was originally settled by “livestock herding” immigrants from Ireland, Scotland and Wales; these traditional cultures held a strong “honor mentality” due to their original way of life (their livelihood — herding animals — were portable and could be stolen away). This imprint has held firm even when they moved into agricultural pursuits. This is in contrast to the settlers of the American North who were a majority of European, England and Germany for example, established farmers in traditions (their livelihoods were predominantly agricultural and, therefore, could not as easily be stolen therefore emerging a different culture and mindset). Is it the German genes being expressed more strongly through me? McCullough’s book is absolutely fascinating, even though I don’t concur with all his findings. Nevertheless, it helped me to think outside the box.

Finding Love or Allowing Love?

While it may seem like only a silly, albeit entertaining, series, Sex and the City is also about getting to know and be comfortable with one’s self and choices. Because I witness this growth process in myself, re-watching the series every few years reminds me of how we change yet stay the same. For many women, me included, we endure a long journey laden with stumbles, falls, and climbing up over the ledge, repeatedly, before we can give voice to our uniquely individual truth. And even after discovering our authentic voice, we lose and find it again how many times? And this becomes even more complex when falling in -- and out of -- love is added to the journey.

In 1998, when the series began for thirty-something Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha, I was thirty-seven. I had just been through four years of intense and major changes, had been living the single life for over a decade, and felt like I was in pretty good company with these four. Not similar on the outside, but on the inside. After all, they were more ambitious and stylish than I was, my spiritual inclinations set me apart from them, and I was a country-girl, but how could I not relate to them when I was also a single woman in her thirties trying to figure out who I was and maybe, just maybe, find love along the way? Add into the mix that in 1999 I met the love of my life, and I was hooked into every episode.

I just finished watching the series from start to finish again, including the two movies, and I laughed so hard I nearly cried sometimes! As Carrie says:

“The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all 

is the one you have with yourself. 

And if you find someone to love the you you love, 

well, that’s just fabulous.” 

Another aspect of this series that I now see, and I’m not sure I did the first time around, is how all of these women soften through their experiences while trying to retain their voices. This is not an easy task in the modern world, whether ten, twenty or even thirty years ago. When we allow love to find us, we are within the feminine essence of being; when we seek to find love, especially through a driven or desperate or demanding energy, that is the masculine. How does love come to us? And is it important to understand this?
Marion Woodman wrote that: 

“Women today are reaping the harvest of generations of rape. 

Grandmothers and mothers have adjusted to patriarchal values 

to the point of extinguishing their own femininity.”  

While at first glance, the women of Sex and the City might appear to be ultra-feminine … are they? Do clothes and make-up, style and sex appeal result in or from core feminine energy? Or do we need to look closer, to draw aside the veil? By the time the series wraps, each of the four women has found her own path to balancing the opposites of animus and anima; this meant they had to soften into their relationships and expectations, while remaining firm in Self. 

I wonder what I will think the next time I watch Sex and the City? Where will I be in my own life in another five or so years — will my voice be lost or found? What about you? 

Last, but far from least, is how much I like the friendship maintained between these women. No matter what their trials and tribulations, they were always available for and forgiving of each other. 

Here's to women, authenticity, feminine energy, and friendship!

Reassuring

Susan Cain's book "Quiet ~ The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking" is reassuring. At least, it is for me since I'm a pretty extreme introvert. And it explains a lot of confusion and frustration that I experience and witness -- in myself as well as in other people. I mean, sure, we all know there are introverts and extroverts; the sliding scale spans a tremendous variety of individuals. But what I am enjoying in the book is that Cain clarifies our tendencies through the lens of our society and its history -- a society that currently celebrates the extrovert. It's a good reminder of our diversity; how to understand and appreciate each other a little better.

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised when I say that I am more comfortable in nature, or when reading/writing, than I am out in human community or trying to participate in group activities. So, I particularly like this quote from Cain's book where she is researching the nearly-mandatory extroversion of evangelical training and services (she earlier had shared her experiences visiting the highly-extroverted Harvard Business School):

"As the service wears on, I feel the same sense of alienation that McHugh has described. Events like this don't give me the sense of oneness others seem to enjoy; it's always been private occasions that make me feel connected to the joys and sorrows of the world, often in the form of communion with writers and musicians I'll never meet in person. Proust called these moments of unity between writer and reader 'that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.' ..."
"McHugh, as if reading my mind turns to me when the service is over. 'Everything in the service involved communication,' he says with gentle exasperation. 'Greeting people, the lengthy sermon, the singing. There was no emphasis on quiet, liturgy, ritual, things that give you space for contemplation.' ..."

The McHugh that Cain refers to is an evangelical pastor who wrote "Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture."

This isn't about one being 'better' than the other; that would be ridiculous. But it does point to our tendency to exclude and include, to put everyone into a one-size-fits-all, which can be so damaging to soul and, ultimately, to our world.

Of course, I first heard about Susan Cain through Ted Talks:

Obligation?

Because of a recent situation with my own mother, and synchronistically, the problems two friends are having with their mothers, and another friend with her sister, I can’t help but think about obligation. What do we owe to ourselves and to others? Where does expectation set up a house of cards ready to tumble around us? How do we balance helping others with maintaining healthy boundaries for ourselves? Where can we transform relationships into compassion-derived rather than guilt-driven? How do we provide care from a space of love instead of duty?

I am reminded of one of the verses from the Tao Te Ching: 

When the greatness of the Tao is present,

action arises from one’s own heart.

When the greatness of the Tao is absent, 

action comes from the rules

of “kindness and justice.”

If you need rules to be kind and just, 

if you act virtuous,

this is a sure sign that virtue is absent.

Thus we see the great hypocrisy. 

When kinship falls into discord,

piety and rites of devotion arise. 

When the country falls into chaos,

official loyalists will appear; 

patriotism is born.

~ 18th Verse of the Tao Te Ching of Lao-tzu, from Wayne Dyer’s Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life

It seems to me that when we are expected to offer services, when we are pushed and shoved and guilted into behaviors, then the actions that were previously provided out of love become empty and tarnished with a dangerous, damaging energy. How do we provide kindness to ourselves then? How do we maintain the greatness of our heart energy?

I know there are no easy answers, and, certainly, every situation is different. With these thoughts, I also recalled a scene from Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner -- one that has stayed with me for decades: 

Embedding is not available, but the short YouTube of this scene is HERE; Sidney Poitier playing the role of the son speaking to his father, and following is the script: 

"You listen to me. You say you don’t want to tell me how to live my life. So what do you think you’ve been doing? You tell me what rights I’ve got or haven’t got, and what I owe to you for what you’ve done for me. Let me tell you something. I owe you nothing! If you carried that bag a million miles, you did what you’re supposed to do! Because you brought me into this world. And from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me like I will owe my son if I ever have another. But you don’t own me! You can’t tell me when or where I’m out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules. You don’t even know what I am, Dad, you don’t know who I am. You don’t know how I feel, what I think. And if I tried to explain it the rest of your life you will never understand. You are 30 years older than I am. You and your whole lousy generation believes the way it was for you is the way it’s got to be. And not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs! You understand, you’ve got to get off my back! Dad… Dad, you’re my father. I’m your son. I love you. I always have and I always will. But you think of yourself as a colored man. I think of myself as a man. Now, I’ve got a decision to make, hm? And I’ve got to make it alone, and I gotta make it in a hurry. So would you go out there and see after my mother?"

May we all find the spirit within to somehow retain or recover our ability to act from our heart, and not from tainted obligation.

The Father Story

Several months ago, I attended a writing retreat. There I discovered 'unfinished business' with my father who had died two years ago. This came as a surprise to me although there was nothing dramatic, but rather subtle energies, or threads, that were loose in the fabric of that relationship. Since then, I have begun exploring The Father Story in my own life, and that of others through various means.

For instance, I bought a copy of "Daughters of Saturn ~ From Father's Daughter to Creative Woman" by Patricia Reis; I enjoyed reading an earlier work of the author's so was drawn to this one, being so on topic. I'm struggling through it, however, since much of it feels stiff, starched and sterile; I'm not sure why. Am I resisting it on some level?

Interestingly, the latest novel I'm writing is a 'father story' in many respects. This wasn't my intent originally, but since it was already leaning that way, I will go with that flow and expand upon this sub-theme; I will open to it and see where it leads the characters.

Now that I've opened to this exploration, I'm curious to discover the nuances of how Dad and our traditional-values home may have influenced me in ways I had not considered earlier in my life.

This is a new aspect of my journey. I rest peacefully in the present, yet remain curious about the past ... The Father Story.

I wonder how many of us have 'unfinished business' with our fathers?

Reconnection

We met 20 years ago, when I moved to Maine the first time.

We worked at the same law firm, she on one side of the floor, me on the other.

Opposites, who would have thought we would become friends?

A mutual love of animals drew us together.

Joy in our conversations connected us on another level.

Companionship.

I moved away and we missed each other; we talked.

I left a man I loved who didn't love me.

I moved back to Maine again, and she was here for me.

She left a man she had loved for years.

We shared, laughed, cried, hugged, supported each other.

She introduced me to my soul-mate.

I encouraged her to become acquainted with her soul-mate.

She married; I married.

She births a child and we drifted apart; he grows and so do we.

We are reconnecting on old and new levels.

("Life is Change. Growth is Optional. Choose Wisely." ~ Karen Kaiser Clark)

Words so true. Awareness so important. Action so necessary.

Reconnection.

We talk and revisit a topic of decades ago.

Being little old ladies together...with cats...and maybe a dog or two...

(She gave me this pin many, many years ago; it resides in my treasure box.)

Reconnection.

Connections Across the Pond

I watched the character-driven 1987 movie "84 Charing Cross Road" this week and was struck by how the relationship between these two people mirrors in so many ways some of the connections that have grown between myself and people I have met through email. I used to love having pen pals when I was a kid, and so naturally was drawn to emailing. But the gift I had not expected was for deeper connections to develop between us when we had never even met! I feel so close to some of these people, and this reveals how beautifully energy can flow across the land and sea, uniting spirits drawn to one another. We share hopes and dreams, trials and sadness, and with our words are joined in a space of true appreciation, respect, compassion and love.

In the movie, Frank is reading a poem by Yeats while thinking of Helene; I had to pause the movie so that I could read the poem slowly, several times:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

~ He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven by William Butler Yeats

Isn't that incredible? A beautiful poem to share the love between those who have somehow connected, not just ‘lovers,’ because love in its purest form is a divine gift: a sharing of souls, a treat of thoughts, a dish of dreams. Like one of Yeats’ heavenly threads, we may find ourselves drawn to connect with those hundreds or thousands of miles away. And realize that our words can harm or cause pain.

So, no matter who they are, let us "tread softly"...

EARS

Oddly enough, I like BIG ears! The Corgi boys have big ears, the Oriental Shorthair cats have big ears relatively speaking. Why is this penchant odd? Because I have always hated my own big ears. I know intimately the oft-repeated story of when I was a baby and Mom was showing me to my great-aunt (or great-great...I can never remember) who promptly said that I was lovely except it was too bad that I had my grandmother's ears. Grandma was mortified. Mom taken aback. So, I have big ears, or rather, the lobes, concha and lower half are normal sized, while the upper pinna, aka auricle, is big and flat. Where most people's ear 'curls' - at an area on the outer rim called the helix - mine doesn't. Bizarre. However, perhaps that is a reflection on the fact that in almost every relationship I've had, especially with other women, I'm the listener the larger percentage of the time. And since the job of the pinna is to capture sound waves, then I am physiologically designed for the part!

A day of random thoughts that don't really fit into a category so I stuck one up here ...

Friendship

Friendships come and go like the tide, sometimes gentle, at other times reflecting a storm off-shore, but still they ebb and flow, and I feel peace in the release. I didn't used to feel this way, but now, most of the time, it seems so natural and easy just to Be with whoever happens to Be with me in that moment. I find that I less often think 'friend' or 'not friend' or 'old friend' -- unless I am corresponding or talking with a person, or consciously reflecting upon a relationship, categorizing 'friendship' doesn't seem very important in the moment.

Feels Like Home

Brings tears to my eyes as my heart overflows with joy...

When the movie "Michael" with John Travolta was released in 1996, I could hardly wait until a copy was available on video and bought it immediately. One of my all-time faves ... and so is this song ... so when Ron and I met, I knew that this song had been showing me how our love would feel. At that time, I was still fragile spiritually, although seeking and growing, and a little cynical as regarded love and romance. Ron's love, generosity and depth has brought me through another shift toward opening, acceptance, joy and contemplative passages. The mystics could have written this song in love of the Infinite. We are all One... It feels like home when I am with Ron, or standing on a mountain, or gazing into the windows of the soul, or being still. All One. Home.

Dynamics of Living

While listening to a presentation today on Family Dynamics, I couldn't help but relate some of what was being said to my own experiences with inter-cat dynamics and pack behavior. While at first blush the human species creates more complexity and drama within their dynamics, I have to say the felines can certainly bring their own aura of mystery into interactive behaviors! People may scoff but I feel quite confident that studying canine and feline behavior - whether cat to cat, dog to dog, or cat to dog - can bring a whole other perspective into the observation of the human animal.

No Expectations

Is it possible to experience a state of no expectations in a relationship? Where do expectations come from? Are they a result of identification with the way we perceive a relationship to be? Do they spring from the past? Are expectations a form of attachment? If we are fully present in the here and now, do we then have no expectations?

"As long as the ego runs your life, most of your thoughts, emotions, and actions arise from desire and fear. In relationships you then either want or fear something from the other person." ~ Eckhart Tolle, Stillness Speaks