Blessings to you and yours

Happy Winter Solstice! 

I promise to write more soon; the holidays (and illness) have me swamped at the moment.
 

November's fadings

I've been a bad blogger lately. Sorry about that! I do have my other blog fairly up-to-date with mundane things and music, but this "real" blog, this heart of me, I've let fade far too often and for too long. 

Part of the reason for that is that my Bardic work has stalled. Without revealing any coursework that's confidential, I will say that I arrived at a lesson I just wasn't ready for and didn't know how to handle. Part of what it called for seemed (to me) to require one to have a connection to one's local environment. 

To put it bluntly, I hate where I live. Hate it. It's hot and dry and dusty and ugly as hell. Now, two years ago -- 14 months ago, even -- I lived in a beautiful place with milder weather and regular precipitation. Beautiful trees grow all over the place. Here, the land is scrubby and sparsely dotted with "trees" that are more like poorly overgrown bushes in the reject aisle of some unfortunate nursery.

How could I embrace the course material that was walking me through connections I didn't have? Or so my thinking went. I've been stuck for almost two months, in a surly holding pattern. I suppose I could've left it behind and come back to it later, but that's not what I felt would work best for the course and for my style of learning. 

Over the past few days, this halt has been weighing heavily on me, and I spent some time in my grove mulling the concept, turning it over and trying to see if there was something I was missing. 

Now I think I know. I think it's especially important for me to complete this particular lesson, and to repeat as necessary, because I may just need it more than most other people do at the same point along the path. Maybe my progress isn't blocked because of my loathing for my current environment -- maybe instead, I was brought to this boulder in order to learn that I need to climb over it. The lesson could be the crowbar I need to pry my thinking out of the negative space it's been stuck in for so long about this place. 

Maybe the lesson is that my loathing is actually hindering my entire progress, and even though I will still be counting down the months, weeks, days until we can move back to where my heart naturally rejoices, I must make room for the here and now as well. 

Whoa.

Watch this space! :)

Considering the source: conflict and beliefs

The other night, whilst half-asleep, I was musing about a conversation I'd had with a friend about how often intellectual discussion devolves into heated debate, particularly online.

It dawned on me somewhere in my tired thoughts that there are generally two reasons, regardless of the subject at hand, behind someone's hackles rising regarding any given topic:

Insecurity and injustice (perceived or actual).

When we begin to feel that the position we support is on shaky ground, many times we become defensive, to the point at times of crossing the line between rational debate and emotionally-driven blows aimed at driving our fellow conversant-turned-opponent backward, away from the matter of our discomfiture. I've seen it happen over and over again. Nobody likes to be proven wrong or to be forced to acknowledge that something they're adamantly opposed to has logical merit.

There are also those times when we perceive an injustice or slight (not necessarily toward us, but toward something we care about) in the words of another, and we feel a need to undo it. We may wish to tear it apart and make the other party see reason/"take it back" since whatever has been said is somehow unjust or unfair regarding the topic at hand.

To some degree, it's natural to rail against injustice, to want to see it set right. The real problem is when, particularly in matters of faith/spiritual practice (or so it seems to me), the two causes of discord and irrationality get conflated with one another.

I have observed, in both myself and others, that a lot of the time when a person feels that his or her faith is being "attacked" in an intellectual discussion, the real root of that feeling of injustice is insecurity. I felt this often when discussing the faith I grew up in. People would point out fallacies or raise questions I had no answer for, in mild discussions and meaning me (and my faith) no harm whatsoever, and it just made my blood boil because I couldn't return an adequate response. I couldn't make them see how right I was, partly because on some level I didn't feel that I was right. I struggled with the faith I inherited, struggled mightily and for a long time, and anytime friends raised theological questions or discussed various paths and merits of other things, it was like poking an already sore and tender spot with hot coals.

Over time, I realized the problem was that I wasn't secure in my own faith because some part of me didn't accept it. It wasn't unjust for people to point out the inherent merits of other faiths or the logical inconsistencies of my own. Intelligent discourse is vital to living a rich and open life.

When I left my original path and found this one (after much soul-searching), I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of my chest and my mind. Making the transition, embracing beliefs I actually can discuss mildly and openly with others, is like traveling in a completely different world. Yes, my friends and I discuss our various paths and the merits/detractors of each/of faith itself. Yes, there are still people out there who can and do attack my beliefs.

But I am secure. My heart and mind are open, I am comfortable in my knowledge base and my feet are firmly, gently placed on the path I truly desire to explore. That inherent defensiveness is gone, perhaps in part because my experiences and horizons are always broadening, and I'd rather make a friend through understanding and compassion than leave a discussion feeling slighted and small.

I may use these insights -- if indeed they are insightful; sometimes I second-guess myself -- in a book I'm interested in writing at some point. It's a book of spirituality, of exploration. Exciting stuff; stay tuned!

Also, a very happy October to all. :)

To live is to change

Been a while. Sorry about that! Here's a post I just wrote today on my other blog (a less philosophical one, generally - musically-focused; you can read it here if you like):

I hear that there are folks out there who are displeased with the "different" sound on Snow Patrol's latest EP.

There are always people displeased by any change. People tend to keep the familiar in a bloody, white-knuckled death grip and attempt to block out all that's new and different, either out of sheer inertia or because of a misguided sense that sameness is safe, that unyielding firmness in everything will allow the storms of life to pass them by.

I wonder if those people have ever surveyed the damage after a major storm. I grew up in eastern North Carolina, where hurricanes are an occasional fact of life. It's a place well-greened with trees, from the tall, solid pines shooting straight up toward the sky to gently swaying maples.

Most of the time, NC loses several trees to the high winds (and sometimes flooding) of a hurricane. But it's not the green, tender saplings that tend to suffer the greatest losses. I have seen young trees bent almost double to the ground in high winds, and yet they survive. The inflexible, unbending trunks of hundred-year-old trees, meanwhile, are snapped like twigs in the storm's fury.

They can't adapt; they can't bend in the storms of life...so they die.

We die, too, when we become so rigid, so set in our ways, that we can't cope with changes (large or small) in life. When you refuse to embrace change or to ever change yourself, you enter a dangerous soul stagnation. You wilt, from the inside out, until there's nothing left but a bitter, brittle monument to everything you never were, never did, never allowed in.

Be dynamic. Live. Thank goodness Snow Patrol doesn't stagnate! Their older music is fabulous; I've no doubt the new music will be too, and I can't wait to see where the journey takes them as a band and me as a curious, adventurous listener. I'm grateful for ever-expanding horizons.

What are you truly afraid of?

I've been enjoying my OBOD coursework thus far; I find it both interesting and immensely beneficial in my personal life. I generally pace through at about a lesson per week/week and a half, on my own schedule as I feel ready to progress. Recently, however, I was held fast by a certain lesson for almost six weeks. I was arrested by the tough questions asked, because I was determined to give/find honest answers.

Scorpios don't do anything halfway, you know. ;-)

It's been quite a journey through my head and heart, and trying to follow the thread of truth to its source. I'm still not done (are we ever, with anything that truly matters?), but I thought I'd share what I'm learning about myself, in case it helps someone else out there. (Most of this next part is taken directly from my journal.)

One thing in my life that's been hurting me lately, and for a while now if I'm being honest, is the feeling of a sort of intellectual stagnation, a nagging sense that I'm not doing enough, on a practical level. It's hard to describe. I know I can be and do more than I am -- I'm working on that, regarding the spiritual side of things, with the course I'm taking and the time I spend meditating, praying, listening. But the practical and intellectual facets are still problematic.

Stagnant...me?? I reject that. So what can I do?

(and this is the part that took such a long time to piece together)

After much time with that question chewing holes in my sleep and shouldering aside most other thoughts in moments of solitude, it hit me. For a long time I have toyed with the notion of starting a business from home, but I didn't know what I could do that would be successful and still fit my current needs and limitations. For so long, it was as if the idea was on the tip of my mind's tongue but I couldn't ever get it to take solid enough form to taste it, name it, move forward with it.

One morning in the shower, I saw it in my head, clear as day. I knew what I could do! For once, even the nitty gritty practical details were working themselves out, unfolding naturally. I was on fire for this idea. I need this...and even so, I hesitate. I've frozen the plans in my head and have been sorely tempted to backpedal before anything truly happens there.

Why??

Again, this answer was slow in coming, but I felt as though I couldn't move on from the questions I'd asked myself without digging at this one (and I definitely wasn't moving forward with my business plan if I didn't push against this new resistance, even though it felt like I was fighting myself -- which is a very complex and painful position to be in!). When I finally figured out the name of the boulder in my way, it felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

Fear. It's fear that keeps me from striving toward my dreams. That's a tough realization; I have plowed through some potentially terrifying stuff in my life without being cowed under. (Spiders don't count!)

You might say, "Well, most people have that fear of failure to some degree; it's normal. We don't like failing." But it's not a fear of failure that keeps my best ideas chained inside my head. I fail. Everyone fails. There's always a lesson in there somewhere, and I appreciate learning, even if I don't like coming up short any more than anyone else does. I'm not paralyzed by the prospect of failure.

I am afraid of success.

Failure is a normal part of life and I know how to handle it. It removes all pressure, and expectations stay the same or become lower. There's a certain freedom in failing, because if you're already flat on your face in the dirt, you don't have to worry about the distance to the ground from where you are; there's no fear of falling down or letting people down once you've already done it. You're poised for anything you do or anywhere you go to be better/higher than where you currently are.

With success, expectations increase and pressure mounts. People keep demanding more from you. More. Better. Faster. Bigger. Failure can be endured; success requires a lot more than thick skin and enough grit to get by. I know a thing or two about success; in the past I had a lot of it. It's overwhelming when no matter what you do or what bar you meet, people immediately look to the next higher one. Nobody is ever satisfied, and the higher you climb, the harder you fall when you finally miss a step and find yourself plunging downward. At some point in my past, there was too much success, and I set about wrecking all of those shining expectations.

Let's look at my high school self as an example: I was virtually guaranteed valedictorian, so I made sure to take classes that would not get me enough Honors credits to win that top spot. Major universities courted me, the best in the country, so I attended a small university in my home state in a relatively secluded area. I chose challenging classes, so my grades wouldn't be quite so perfect and nobody would look at me; if I had to be a smart girl at least I could be just "one of those smart people" instead of top of the top, best of the best. I sacrificed as many of other people's (and my own) expectations and lowered the bar as far as I possibly could without compromising my soul.

Looking back, I can see this pattern through so much of my life; it's driven most of my major decisions and I regret that. I'm not even 30 yet though. I can still change the way it goes from here on out. I find myself struggling to reset those thoughts and feelings; it's a process. And I'm impatient. But I am learning, and I am striving. Fear can't win.

What are you afraid of? What holds you back?

You might be surprised by the answer.

What day is it?

I am American. I am not, however, jingoistic. I consider myself a citizen of the world as a whole, in addition to my nation of origin, and thus on this day of celebration, I find myself in a reflective mood.

I'm grateful to have been born into a country and situation that meant I would survive childhood. I haven't had to worry about whether my next meal was coming; I received an education my parents didn't have to go broke for, through a compulsory national system. I have had opportunities to better myself and my situation in life. I'm not rich; my life isn't perfect. But I have a roof over my head and beds and food for my children, so I am very thankful.

But we have problems, as a nation. Big problems. And my heart goes out to the people who slip through the cracks; people whose futures have been stolen or compromised through no fault of their own. The system is flawed...the environment much abused...sometimes I wonder what legacy we are building for our children. And these problems are not uniquely or solely American.

My prayers today are with those who are fighting for some semblance of the freedom we in these most fortunate countries enjoy to varying degrees. It's a long, bloody, frustrating battle in whatever form it takes, and at some points I'm sure the cost almost seems too high, the risk too great. For all the movements scrabbling and clawing for footholds, that they might bring their citizens greater freedom and eventually a lasting peace and prosperity (or so goes the dream), I add my support and my voice. I promise to see you in the news and pray, instead of flipping quickly to an article more sanitized and less troubling. Don't give up.

My thoughts are with those all over the world who today remember and mourn those they've lost in the struggle to attain or maintain the freedom they wish to pass down to their children's children. May your sacrifice and that of your loved ones always be remembered.

I dream of a world where the flowering of freedom isn't continually watered with blood and tears. And I fervently hope to see a world before my passing that relies less on nationalism and borders and more on a global system of support and friendship, to better the lives of all citizens of the earth.

Post-Summer Solstice: Turning toward the dark

The longest day of the year has just passed (belated Bright Solstice blessings!). The nights are now lengthening, darkness expanding slowly but surely, to balance and surpass daylight hours. Most people I know love the long days and short nights of summer, and there's a certain sadness tinging their reflections on this longest (if not hottest; the "dog days" of summer are yet to come) day passing beyond us.

But I, though loath to dwell on how much heat still stretches before the first cool, crisp mornings of autumn, am very glad to have reached the drawing-down half of the year, the point of turning toward the dark.

Am I a depressed soul, seeking literal darkness to mirror within? No, not at all. And I've nothing against sunshine itself and drawn-out sunsets with daylight so reluctant to yield the cosmic stage. It's all beautiful. But there is something innate, some core part of my very being, that yearns for the early-dark days of autumn and winter and all that comes with them.

Perhaps it's that I myself am of autumn, born wrapped in its cool leaf-glittered air. I do find comfort in the long darkness and the sharper clarity of evening's chill. It seems to me a better time for reflection and introspection, and a time for other excitements, far from the teeming, sweaty bustle of summer-scorched pastimes.

Maybe each of our souls resonates most strongly with a particular season that stirs us at an elemental level; maybe we each are spirit-forged with certain binding notes, and when we feel the earth moving into place to play our music, we cannot help but crave and yearn and come alive. We feel the beat and we must dance.

Summer is upon us. But the longest day has passed, and now I feel the turning, pulling at my soul, quickening the rhythm and my steps toward the long-dark nights of home.