In the crucible

It’s so difficult to articulate just what it is that I’m after in this lifetime.

The best way I can explain it is that I want to live my life alchemically. I want the miraculous, that third thing that only emerges if and when one is willing to sit in the torment and agony of not-knowing; to just sit in that unbearable tension between things that pull hard in opposite directions, or in many directions at once.

Everyone has times like that, and most of us—including me, in the past—are provoked by the pain into choosing one or the other of the alternatives.

But what if we are willing to sit in the misery, feeling everything, being aware of everything, hiding from nothing, until something unforeseen emerges? What if we somehow have the courage to sit in that, and refuse to make a choice, until the miraculous shows up? This is how we transform ourselves, or are transformed; this is how we change ourselves and the world in ways we could never have imagined.

This path isn’t for the faint of heart, nor is it for those who lack the courage to endure agony—and I mean agony! It’s not for those who would avoid looking at the ugly things about themselves and others—like I wanted to do, and still wish I could do—because the key is to feel all of it, be aware of all of it. That’s the fire: the feeling, the awareness, the consciousness that we bring to the engagement with the world and with our choices. That’s what transforms us!

If we just sit there in misery and let "whatever" happen, thinking we’re doing our soul work, something will indeed happen—but then it’s because we chose not to make a decision, not because we consciously placed ourselves in the crucible. Does that make any sense?

Anyway. It’s interesting. I am so passionate about that—but it would be irresponsible to go out and urge everyone to try it. If there’s anything about me that’s at all special or different from most folks, it’s the fact that I am willing to endure the agony, to welcome it, as the agent of change that allows me to walk my soul’s path with open eyes.

For the love of costume

I’ve always loved costume!

Some of my earliest memories are of designing costumes for faerie princesses: gowns with silver spider-web bodices and hollyhock-petal skirts, bejeweled with the finest of dewdrops.

A young girl's dreams became a woman's passion: I began to create, in real-world fabrics, the gowns of my youthful imagination. Here are a few of my favorite projects.

Clothing the Body of Memory: Ellen E. Janney (1822-1887)

The "For the Love of Costume" post above this one gives you some background on my love of “fancy dress.” In this post, I’ll share a costume journey of a different sort, a journey that formed part of the process of my dissertation, whose abstract you can read here. In the dissertation, I explored from a very personal perspective the importance of women’s work and women’s voices.

My companions on this journey were a group of women I call the Ladies, all of whom have long since passed from this world but who remain interested in the goings-on in our plane of existence. They have stories to share, wisdom to pass on, and terrific sewing skills to teach!

Tarot and Quantum Physics

The beginnings of a thought that’s been puzzling in me for a while:

When you shuffle the tarot deck, you can think about the resulting order of the cards in at least two different ways. First, you can say that the order is predictable, because if you track the position of each card as you shuffle, you could tell where every card in the deck would end up. That’s real-world physics, where the outcome is measurable.

The second way you can look at it, though, is through the lens of quantum physics, where the state of a thing is unknown and actually does not exist until and unless someone observes it. In that way, the top card of the shuffled deck can literally be anything at all.

The tarot version of Schrödinger’s cat, IMO, is what allows the tarot to be so incredibly useful as a tool for guidance.

And yes, of course, there’s the matter of subjective interpretation and all that—but for the moment, all I’m puzzling over is the way the cards end up in the stack. I consciously and deliberately invoke quantum physics when I shuffle.

So, says the skeptic, you’re saying that as soon as you turn the cards face down they could be anything at all on the other side, right? Well, yes and no. I think that our minds, depending as they do on our “real”-world experience of linearity and causality, can’t accept that. But I do believe that the more we practice this other view, the easier it becomes to turn off our measuring devices when we want to.

Anyway. Just rambling on a Sunday morning.

Seeking Balance

The last few years, I’ve been more aware of the lunar cycle in my life. It started when I began to notice major events clustering around the New Moon or the Full Moon. Now, I use those times consciously, as a moment to step back and assess. The New Moon is a time to consider what’s being “seeded” or “planted,” to grow and develop over the next two weeks until the Full Moon. When the Full Moon comes around, I stop to see whether I like what’s going on, and evaluate my course of action.

Last week was the New Moon. What has been manifesting itself in my life lately is chaos. Craziness—renovation at the house; a new program at the Ranch starting up and needing to be organized, tended, nurtured, guided; a horse with not one but two abscessed front feet needing to be treated daily with duct-tape “boots” or hoof casts.

Chaos and busy-ness. I’ve felt stressed and strung out, racing (driving, actually) from one must-do to another. Getting home after dark, exhausted, with no energy to cook or dance or do anything more than barely keep my head above the water. Doing, doing, doing.

So finding balance seemed to be what I most needed to focus on. My intention was to plant the seeds of a more balanced life for myself: a better awareness of my own, legitimate needs, and a balancing of those with my “work” (volunteer) requirements and the needs of others.

Re-reading my journal entries this morning, I was struck once again by the level of “guidance,” if you will, that shows up even in the midst of the craziness:

That New-Moon morning was spent doing some writing, including this entry on my blog (though I didn't post it at the time). In the afternoon, I sat down with my tarot and Horse Wisdom decks. My question was “What comment do you, my Guides, have on my New-Moon intention: more balance in my life?”

The opening card (in my readings, the one that “sets the stage”) from Linda Kohanov’s The Way of the Horse deck: Kairos.  “Horse time,” waiting for the perfect moment. Learning to recognize the perfect moment for anything, and being able to act appropriately in that moment. Knowing that things take exactly as long as they take: no more, no less. Now, what was that “lesson” I was just writing down? Something about Horse Time?

The King of Wands, reversed, came up as the Situation, expressing my frustration, uncertainty, and self-doubt. Challenges/Opportunities brought the Queen of Swords. She is mistress of balanced thought, of understanding, of writing and communication. What had I spent the morning doing? Writing….

Advice was The Tower, reversed. This scary card always announces a sudden, unavoidable change of some kind, usually not a welcome one, in the moment, at least. Reversed, it often means “the same, only less intense.” Or it can mean fighting change, despite the fact that it’s already happened. In any case, it’s a STRONG statement, and one that I have to heed. I asked for clarification and received the Four of Wands: “the soul of fire,” according to Rachel Pollack in Tarot Wisdom.

My interpretation, in retrospect, is that I MUST change the way I’m going about my life, or it will be done for me. The old two-by-four upside the head. Nah…I’ll fix it myself. Really, I will….

Recent Past/Daily Lesson: The Moon. Powerful emotions and feelings stirred up, the influence of the unconscious, a difficult time in one’s life, and/or something cyclical. All of those seem to apply in the current situation. Not only that, but this was a reading concerning the lunar cycle in my life.

Near Future: The Chariot, reversed. “The will fails,” says Pollack. “It may be painful, especially if that Tower appears….” Um, yes…. She suggests that “this card, reversed, can indicate a situation where a person has tried as hard as she can, and no longer has the will to continue.” Do I have the strength to make the hard choices and changes? Do I have the strength or will NOT to make those changes?

The closing card, also from the Way of the Horse deck: Bonfire. A sudden shift (The Tower, anyone?), clearing and releasing, fuel for transformation.

Anyway. Here’s some of what Linda Kohanov talks about in the write-up for this card: “It is no small task to stay present during intense outbursts of power—whether human, equine, or divinely inspired. Be ready to face areas of resistance that have grown into a volatile source of fuel for the fire.” Wow—and I can feel just how strong my resistance is to so much of this.

One thing that comes to mind is the tremendous effort I’ve put into the new program at the Rescue Ranch in its development, and now in its infancy. Can I sustain that level of intensity? It has completely taken over my life in recent weeks. Without me, it wouldn’t exist; but is that same level of involvement necessary to its continued development?

As I thought about this reading, I could feel tears welling up. Balance: what would that feel like? I can’t even imagine it any longer. What do I have to give up now? What now? I've already nearly given up dance. The Ranch? My horses?

My practice? What about that? That pathetic, thin, sickly little attempt to make a difference in people’s lives through my psychological knowledge and ability, and my knowledge of horses. That just refuses to thrive. Do I move on from that, too?

But even if I say, “Yes, I can move on,” then what? I have no idea what else there is for me to do. That is terrifying….

The first step is always awareness. So maybe that’s my immediate task: Awareness of the need to change. That is certainly tough enough.

So I went back Kohanov. Quoting Andrew Harvey, who’s quoting Rumi, she says on p. 195:

Rumi encourages us to “follow that desperation right to its home which is in Divine initiation, Divine transformation.” He asks “desperation to ‘take a torch and burn down’ all our concepts, limitations, fantasies, and banal solutions.”

And again, on p. 197, she says, “‘Light the incense!’ Rumi advises. ‘You have to burn to be fragrant, to scent the whole house, you have to burn to the ground.’” OMG…. What does that mean, here, now?

Oh my…. Conflagration!? Burn it all?!

By this point, I was getting really scared. I had all but talked myself into chucking everything and starting over, whatever that meant. But I decided to try one more thing, to ask for one more piece of guidance.

My Pacifica dinner-and-conversation group, meeting this coming weekend, will be talking about what it means to be an Elder—a wise, older man. I had awakened that morning from a dream about talking with an older, male mentor—that sense was all that remained of the dream.

So I decided to see if Professor Jung had anything to add to the “conversation.” My copy of the Red Book was on the desk. At random, I opened it to page 203, the first column, about halfway down. There, Shamdasani (the translator) describes Jung's work on the Liber Novus:

After completing the handwritten Draft, Jung had it typed and edited it…. It appears he gave it to someone…to read, who then commented on Jung's editing, indicating that some sections which he had intended to cut should be retained.

Well, if that wasn’t a “comment,” I’ll eat my hat. Thank you, Professor. So it seems we’re not talking about a complete break here, or a total re-write of my agenda. What a relief! Just some editing.

Sheesh. But at least I’m not without guidance! Thank you, Everyone!

Crossing the River

Last week I drove into north-central Illinois to attend the memorial service for my Aunt Doe, my father’s younger sister. My brother and I used to spend a couple of weeks or more with her, and with my grandmother and grandfather and aunts and uncles and cousins from various generations, pretty much every summer when we were youngsters. Since my nuclear family moved around often, the little town where they lived was the only stable place for us kids. If you ask either of us now, as adults half a century later, where “home” is, we’ll both give you the name of that little town.

The five-hour drive was fairly easy except the bit between Springfield and Bloomington, where I got sleepy. But the turn to the north onto I-39 always feels so good, as I get to see all those familiar place names—Minonk, Wenona, Lacon, Streator…. As I drove, I had the painful realization that I might never again have a reason to visit those places: Aunt Doe was the only one left of that generation, and now she’s gone.

Our ancestors on that side of the family have been there for well over a century and a half; they were mostly Quakers who migrated there from Pennsylvania. Many of them are buried in a little Quaker cemetery near the old homestead, and the Meeting House is still the site of Annual Meetings for the region. Since I was a child, I’ve felt the presence of those old folks, especially when I’d visit Friends Cemetery or the little stretch of wooded land they used to call Wolf Hollow, along the Illinois River.

That day last week, as I drove across Illinois on I-39, I felt the familiar tug toward Quaker Lane—almost a physical pain, as though I have, somehow, a compass needle attached to my heart that points home.

Then, as I crossed the Illinois River north and east of there on I-39, I had an even stranger sensation: it was one of “recognition,” but not a recognition of the way the river appears now. In fact, I’m not even sure I noticed how it appears in waking life, at that moment.

Rather, what I experienced was more like a remembrance: a sudden sensation of the wildness of the place—the majesty, the density of the woods on either side, the strangeness of the lush, forested landscape two centuries or so ago, before “civilization” arrived.

I don’t know who it was who visited me. There was definitely more than one presence—ancestors, I expect, or close friends, who came in the early years of the nineteenth century. I wonder if the river crossing struck those Old Ones so strongly because of the vast prairies they’d have come across on their way. Or maybe, after those unfamiliar prairie landscapes, the riverine forest reminded them of their own home. I don’t know. But it was definitely not my own emotion that I experienced.

How do I know I wasn't just imagining it? Well, of course, you can explain it that way. But as always, I look for that element of surprise that often characterizes a visit from the imaginal world. I wasn't even thinking about the river at that point; I was more focused on how I was going to find the hotel in Peru once I got there. But then, suddenly, there was the river....

Somehow it made me feel closer to those who departed this life so many years ago but whose presence is invoked (Latin invocare, to call, by name) by place and an open and receptive heart. I feel connected to them and, still and forever, to Aunt Doe.

A New View of "Reality"

Wow. I haven’t posted anything here in six months! All that moving of “furniture” didn’t leave much energy for writing, and it’s still going on. But it’s cool and rainy today after a blistering-hot summer, and it’s past time to update the blogs.

So, what has changed during this time?

First of all, both my skill level and my confidence in my own abilities with the horses have increased dramatically. Now, when I have a horse on a lead line and she challenges me, I laugh and just keep making the request. People repeatedly tell me how “graceful” and “effortless” it looks when I’m working with a horse on the ground—and I feel it, too. The horses respond better and quicker, and after the work they relax with me, heads down, snuffling my arm or my rib cage.

I notice that I’m no longer afraid to go work with a volunteer or a potential adoptive owner when they need a little guidance. I’ve grown into my title: “Lead Intern.” I still know my limitations, but what I know and do well, I’m happy to share.

But the change is not quite that all-encompassing. This became evident yesterday, when my trainer friend “Jay” and I were discussing an volunteer award application that a fellow intern had submitted to his company. To me, it seemed to be a self-congratulatory piece of fluff, with miniscule grains of truth spun like cotton candy. I was offended; even though those grains were real, how dare he submit such a thing?

Jay had quite a different take on it. Though he recognized the fluff, Jay felt like the entire document was well written and perfectly acceptable. We argued back and forth for an hour or so, as we worked with the horses. I got upset to the point where I had to walk away for a bit. When I came back, he had me read some of the offending parts aloud, with my own inflection.

He waited patiently until I was finished, and I commented, “For his next trick, he’ll walk on water!” Jay laughed out loud and said, “But it’s all true!” I just stood there for a minute with my mouth hanging open. Then two things happened.

First, I started to cry. Fortunately, Jay knows me well enough (and our relationship is good enough) to take tears in stride and not try to fix anything. Second, I realized that the reason for the tears was the realization that in fact, it was all true, and true of me, too. It is true—and yet I would never have considered saying it, much less putting it into writing.

Parabola Magazine posted a quote on their facebook status yesterday. Here’s part of it:

When we see, the world enters us. And, contrary to what we may assume, it does not flow from eyes to brain as a stream of purely objective data. We build the gates that receive the world… (Trebbe Johnson in "Where's the Temple?: Seeing Behind the Foreground," PARABOLA, Fall, 2011).

Just the day before, I opened Greg Mogenson’s Greeting the Angels: An Imaginal View of the Mourning Process, and read this:

Living out each day as if it were the eternal recurrence of some yesterday we could not grieve, our fundamental adaptation to life gradually becomes more and more antiquated until, at least, we ourselves become outmoded (p. 9).

The premise here is that what we experience, and particularly (according to Mogenson) what we ardently desire but cannot have, or that we lose, determines—not just influences—how we perceive the world. It takes a huge effort even to make a crack in the blinders, the filter, that creates our version of reality.

Realizing this, it’s easier to understand why I initially saw my fellow intern’s material as “spun” to the point of falsehood, and perceived it as malicious or even threatening:  because I would never allow myself to toot my own horn in that way. No matter that it was true; I was unable to see it. To do so would violate my perception of reality, based on my long-ago experiences.

As a child, I developed the conviction that no matter what I did, I was never going to be good enough to satisfy my parents, much less the world at large. That filter, that gate, has been so effective that only now, in my seventh decade, can I even begin to question my conditioned version of reality. That someone else, doing largely the same things as I do every day, would interpret his own importance so differently was a huge challenge to me.

Well, there’s something to be said for a shock to the ego—and this shock was a positive one. I’m going to have to challenge my own worldview here, starting right now.