Beyond the blood - Part I

The quest to understand the core of who we are often has auspicious beginnings. My journey begins in blood.

I am a blood donor, as regularly as I can be (I sometimes am deferred due to low hematocrit). I am on the National Marrow Registry. I'm drawn to things like this; I can fully imagine myself as a surrogate for a mother who cannot bear children. I would hand over a kidney or part of my liver to a stranger in need without a second thought.

Am I a saint? Hardly. These things don't even feel like selfless acts to me, though I do/would do them freely. I have this burning need to give such as I am blessed with, to share the wealth that I have, the abundance, with those who do not have these things.

I'm not rich, though sometimes I think about how much fun it would be to have the money to be an anonymous philanthropist, investing in people who might not otherwise get to do certain things (whether it's afford a wedding gown or a heart transplant; perhaps paying for a poor but promising kid's education without them ever knowing who stepped in for them).

I don't have the space in my home or the income to adopt a child or children (I have three little ones of my own), but I could see myself doing that, too. There are so many things that I would absolutely love to do for people, that some part of me needs to do if I ever become able. For now, I do what I can; I have the fortune of my good health at the very least. And this, I can share.

Donating blood, that vital essence, is an intimate act of giving that touches at least for a moment, that ever-raging fire inside, yearning to give more. I take part of that which keeps me alive, and I offer the same vitality to another, who will never know my name or the gladness with which I gave. I have been on the receiving end as well, though my donations and desire started long before February 2009. And I wonder if the four people whose generosity kept me alive and granted me the ability to keep giving to others, felt as I do.

I have my own wants in life, to be sure. I'm not Gandhi or Mother Teresa; my life is not devoted to the masses in an overt way. While I would not call myself extremely materialistic, it's true that I love gadgets and crisp books and music on my iPod; I play games and am heavily engaged in the life I live day to day. I have frustrations and I screw things up just like everyone else on the planet.

But underneath it all, there is always this hyper-awareness of how interconnected we all are. Like so many hubs of one giant wheel, we all have these spokes connecting each of us to all others in our world. I wish to send healing and peace, light and hope from myself, to send it humming through and along the spokes from where I am, to any other life that crosses my path -- and to those who never do, to whom I am still connected and hold in my heart just the same.

I am boundless. I am one spirit in one body, but I am not alone and I will not live as though I can't affect the world. The world is already connected to me. And this, I think, is why it hurts so much -- I was trying, and failing, to explain the other day to a friend -- when I get deferred from giving blood, or when something I wish to do for someone in another way gets derailed, even temporarily:

I hate the thick pauses in what I do for others. It's like an unexpected silence halfway through your favorite song on the radio. You know the notes and words coming next, have them written upon your heart and on the tip of your tongue; every fiber of your being wishes to sing them out and to hear them surrounding you. The sudden absence of the melody, even if only for a few seconds, is disquieting. You feel not quite yourself until it resumes, and then you exhale the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and comfort returns. Any perceived spoke-stillness on my part bothers me to no end. I wish them to always vibrate with my offerings, to keep a steady flow of to-and-for-you going.

The first part, then, of who I am, is we. I am only one person, but I am a part of something much bigger than myself, and I feel and know this with every breath, and wish simply to brighten every spoke in the wheel in any way I can. It is this which compels me, this which drives me. This which strums my soul-strings and brightens me.

Beliefs, Part II: Choosing Druidry, and nonviolence

So...if all religions worship (to my way of thinking) the same Divine that resides within and watches over us all, why choose at all, right? And why Druidry over the others that I'm aware of?

I wasn't raised with Druidic beliefs; I was in fact brought up in a strict Christian household. I always had problems with the exclusive nature of at least the particular denomination in which I was raised. They were right and everyone else was wrong. Other Protestant denominations were less wrong than the rest of the world, but still. This was their thinking, and never mine. There were inconsistencies and hypocrisies that left me feeling extremely disenchanted with the religion I'd been handed. I struggled with that all through my teenage years, not daring to express my views to my parents or other leaders in my conservative community. I felt isolated, an outcast of my own making because I simply could not swallow all of the supposed truths that were constantly shoved down my throat.

In college, I began to really explore other religions, other spiritual paths. I wasn't "shopping" for a religion; I had come to the determination that I didn't have to have one but thought that the research would be useful in shoring up my convictions of what I did and did not believe. I questioned what I had been taught, and over the next few years was able to strip my beliefs down to what resonated with me and felt true; I relaid the foundation of my spiritual life on solely those truths that deep down I already knew -- not because anyone told me it must be so, but because I could feel it on my own, outside of any specific religious following.

I like the cyclical nature of Druidry, and the way the spiritual path is so open to individual practitioners as well as group practice. There is a freedom in it, even if most Druids do hold to a few core beliefs nearly across the board. There isn't the same push to convert others or else, and tolerance for other faiths abounds...I even learned along the way that Druidry and other religions are not mutually exclusive (from a Druid perspective, anyway). The rituals and basic tenets resonate with me, and it's the path that I feel at ease with, at home on...like my feet are finally carrying me where I want and need to go. Quite simply, it just feels right. The something that I felt was missing, doesn't feel that way anymore -- and it's not the same sensation of trying to jam a jigsaw piece into a space it wasn't designed for and refuses to fit in without seriously damaging the rest of the puzzle around it (or creatively editing the piece I was shoving in there) that I had before, with the faith I grew up in. This actually fits. I am a Druid.

I hold myself to the Hindu principle of ahimsa as closely as possible, which is pretty standard in Druidry. I do believe that our negative actions have negative effects far beyond our ability to discern them, and that what goes around comes around again. I suppose you could say that I believe in karma then, although not precisely as certain Eastern religions do. I don't step on ants or caterpillars if I can avoid it, and I even extend this principle of nonviolence to the arachnids I so utterly fear, though it doesn't always save them. I'm not perfect, but I try hard. Even spiders have the right to be here, unharmed. I strive to not act out against things or beings simply because I am afraid of them, but I am very much a work in progress with that particular example.

Violence has always been abhorrent to me; as a child I was appalled and wounded by some of the "classic" animated movies shoved at most of my generation. I hate violent scenes in movies even now, animated or not, and cannot watch parts of many otherwise good movies because it hurts my heart to even see torture or violence of any sort portrayed onscreen. (A quick barroom brawl is one thing; the downed man getting kicked in the head or ribs is quite another...things like that.) I love books and cannot read Stephen King or anyone else with a penchant for particularly violent/gory scenes. The images gleaned from the words haunt my soul.

I have been accused of being naive, stupid, oversensitive, and "not fit for this world" because of my attitude toward violence and how unable I am to handle certain types of "reality" in books and movies and the like. Frankly, I don't care, and I find it disturbing how desensitized most people seem to have become. Yes, maybe I am at an extreme in my views and what hurts me, but other people edge toward the other side of that. Some part of me feels (and I mean no disrespect here) that the less horrific awful acts are to us, the less incapable of them we become. No thank you.

If you wish to learn more about Druidry, I strongly recommend the OBOD's website.

Beliefs, Part I: Religion and the Divine

I mentioned in the last post that I am a Druid, and also that I consider myself panentheistic. Not pantheistic, but panentheistic. I believe that the Divine resides within all living things; that we are all connected to it and that reverence for nature and reverence for God, however you define God, are not mutually exclusive. My reverence for all life is one form of reverence for the Divine who guides my life.

I also believe that there are many paths up the mountain, so to speak. If the mountain is our journey to get close to God/get to heaven/whatever other ultimate spiritual goal one might have, why should there be but one path that actually leads to the summit? I have always found the thinking flawed which insists that this religion or that one is the one true religion, the one Truth that applies to everyone in the world, and that those who do not adhere to that particular set of beliefs, worship that god or those gods specifically, are damned or otherwise hopelessly lost in the dark.

What about those who never hear of this "one true path?" Are they condemned because they were just born in the wrong place or situation and missed out? What kind of God would be alright with that? And if these truths are self-evident, why does not every rational being ultimately decide to follow the exact same religion, all over the world?

It seems clear to me, though, that spirituality is natural (no offense intended to my atheist readers -- this is, after all, only my perspective, and I readily admit I am a fallible imperfect being), even if the details come to life in a thousand different ways. Without it, we search, even if we do not know what it is that we seek. We feel empty, uninspired...I believe that all of us yearn for meaning, for that invisible thread that anchors us throughout our lives, and that sustains us in times of trouble and darkness.

I think, then, that all gods across the world are really different faces painted on the same Divine presence. Therefore, I do not find the Christian Holy Trinity at odds with Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma; I see no reason the Pagan maiden/mother/crone trio could not be juxtaposed over any other triple facet of godhood in any other religion. If Hindus can accept their three as aspects/facets of one ultimate God, and Christians do the same, and Druids (who believe in some form of the triple facet -- Druids do not all hold the same concept of god(s)/goddess(es) and some embrace no god at all) do the same, etc...why can't those separate religions just be facets of universal worship of whatever the true ultimate form of the divine may be? Different world religions are not so different at all.

I know many people found it somehow offensive or incredible when the movie Dogma portrayed God as a woman...but if a Lord, why not a Lady? Why not Lords *and* Ladies? And what does it really matter what we call g/God as long as it's meant with respect? None of us could possibly know every name ever given to the Divine.

Someone once said, regarding religion, "There's more than one path up the mountain." A reply came, "Ah, but there are many mountains." I should have added, "And they all reach for the same sky."

How?

Have you ever been asked, "How do you do it?" and not had any idea how to answer?

This is a question I encounter often, and have many times throughout my life, particularly in times of distress. I am very much an optimist, and am generally at peace with myself and my circumstances. It is rare that anything comes along that can knock me sideways for very long.

Those in my inner circle sometimes ask me, when they are aware of situations in my life that are less than stellar, how I avoid being smashed flat by things that might squash others. My initial reaction used to be, "It's just how I am." And that is true, to a point. I also am now aware that there is more to it than luck or innate ability.

At present, my household is in danger of going from one income to zero. Worst-case scenario: we could lose our house if this happens and another suitable position doesn't come along quickly enough, before unemployment can no longer keep up with the bills and savings run dry. Apparently I should be panicking right about now.

Why?

This is our first house (not too shabby for our late 20s!), and although it is an older house, definitely your fixer-upper sort, it is solid. It keeps the wind and rain out, carries electricity safely and well, and has enough space for us, even if "enough" means quite a bit of clutter for lack of storage space. I like this house.

However, it is just a house. My home is with me wherever I go -- an attitude I developed many years ago, when my place of residence varied often. The building doesn't matter, even though I do love the colors I chose for the walls...this room is a serene light blue that reminds me of a pale spring sky...and the memories attached to this place. Our stuff, most of it, would move to storage and we would temporarily reside with family until we got our feet under us again. Why should I be sad if it came to that? It would be more convenient not to have to tighten the budget or sell the house (if we could get the rest of our fix-it projects completed before foreclosure was the only route left). But we would survive.

Things always shake out alright somehow. I have faith that my life is in the hands of Someone who knows what they're doing, even when I haven't a clue. It is easy to seek out silver linings, to remain hopeful, to have faith that it will all be okay eventually, when you know Someone is looking after things.

And I have always known this, always felt it to be true, even before I could articulate it well enough to even try to explain. I am a panentheist and a Druid, which I hope to delve into in my next post.

I can take my lumps from life and seek out the lessons, the opportunities for growth. I am not easily rattled, and am told that there is an aura of calmness around me, that my energy surrounds people like a mist, a comforting blanket. And I am this way because I know that it all happens for a reason, whether or not the reasons ever become clear to me.

I am also dealing with a more private crisis in my personal life; someone whose presence I have come to rely on heavily is in great pain, is suffering, and so am I. It is an unfortunate situation, to say the least, and I may well suffer a devastating loss. It is not without fear that I face this.

Yes, even though I believe that everything happens for a reason, even though I know that there's Someone guiding things, my heart at times quakes in fear or dread at what seems inevitable along my path. Sometimes I don't understand what happens or why, and I cry out in pain, in anger, in bewilderment. I have raged against "fate," prayed for do-overs, and cried rivers of tears, in my current situation and many others along the way.

That is how I do it. With pain and stress, with hope and faith and the sheer stubbornness to keep turning the pages of this story.

Powerless empowerment

For the first few hours of my day today, my home had no power. It was very cold outside, below freezing, and at first I was annoyed at all the conveniences suddenly removed from my grasp.

Then time stretched before me. No email to check, no laundry to run. I sat down and wrote a letter for the first time in ages; I used to do this regularly. I realized even as my tendinitis-prone hand began to cramp that I enjoy the physical act of writing very nearly as much as the self-expression and communication itself. My loopy script scrawled across two pages before I looked up, and I resolved to do this more often. (Pen pal, anyone?)

A bit later, I noticed the pleasant lack of electronic buzz in the background. Other sounds of the day penetrated my awareness more clearly; the wind chimes seemed to be calling my name. I stepped out -- barefooted, in short sleeves -- into the cold morning and walked through the yard. The rush of cold air across my skin brought an almost exhilarating alertness (one reason I love winter).

I haven't spent as much time outside lately as I would like, with sickness and all the entrappings of daily life in a modern world only too glad to lock me indoors. Winter embraced me like a mother and her wayward child come home at last, and I stood in delight, soaking in the world around me. The wind blew the dust and grit of technology off of my soul, and my eyes were wide open to the beauty rolled out before me.

Tell me...when was the last time you were absolutely mesmerized for moments on end by the shadows of trees dancing on a sunlit patch of grass?

When was the last time you felt as if nature was rejoicing at your presence, your acknowledgment of the splendor around you through the joy and delight rising in your own soul in that timeless anthem dedicated to life itself?

How about in the next brand new day? If tomorrow is a gift, unwrap it with all of the vigor of an impatient child who knows he will find behind the pretty paper his innermost desires unveiled and met before his eyes.