The color Gray is capable of the sparkle of silver........and great things.
"Compliance causes a shocking realization:
To be ourselves causes us to be exiled by many others,
and yet, to comply with what others want causes us to be exiled from ourselves"
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
The real issue surfaces. I spent the last several weeks worth of sessions dealing with an anger gone quiet into tears at injustice within the hearts of relational sin, bringing to the surface the blacks and whites, and searching for the gray, and the permission to be the color gray, walk between multiple worlds neither of them or a part of them, yet in them. Too much of my thinking has been black and white, yet it is in the gray that I find true and lasting peace of mind and contentment of self. And the only way for me to exist in such a state.....of gray, is to learn to walk my own path, not let others lead me.
Not that I've found someone to lead me, I've just been looking to the wrong people to try, and losing myself quietly, deeply, sadly in the process, a process of living for others and not for myself, and second guessing human expectation, this losing sight of what it actually true, actually the places my heart is meant to go. I am meant to be one of many and one of few: wild woman, hedge witch, consort of a great creator in my heart, but not until I've learned the lessons of this time I am stumbling through. Until I take back this domestic rut and the spiderweb trap of human ideals.
I simply have to find myself again. An old cliche, but a true one. Myself, when lived to the beat of drum circle and how I felt in tune with the earth and all her peoples. I'm tired of being cut off from that feeling, I'm withering as I need it. I remember solstice mornings in the freezing on Monk's Mound, and I had a grasp of my voice, and helped to sing up the sun. I remember the lessons that year of old grandmother spider. I miss the dirt between my toes, a night alone under the stars, scary but magickal as little wings of butterflies and lightning bugs brought me joy. Alone, but not Alone. Alone, but not lonely.
Today, I'm lonely.
I mourned a disastrous loss of relational connection and friends that I found on this Immram of life. Godde was with us in the smokey basement of the a coffeeshop in the old decaying irish neighborhood of our city. Coffee and Theology and open arms and hours of tedious sketching into the late night, hookah smoking, debating of church father.....before that all went sour and I never received their call again. Random prayers shared in a group and silly card games and innocence, and that one fell apart. And the truth is, I miss them. I miss all of them, but more importantly, I miss what we all shared back then. I'm lonely without that true human connection.
I'm finally actually dealing with what happened, the hurt, the loss. A church of human suffering and human fault.
I live my life. I go to work, but have yet to make a lasting friendship there. The ocassional happy acquantence, but little true connection. Sometimes I even just plain get ignored. I'm at a new school, and still, having trouble finding a voice. I go to look, but don't really know anyone here. I come home, I go to church on Sundays, a great big emergent movement church meeting in a converted old catholic cathedral. But it's popular, and so many people.....that I fail to find faces I know from week to week, and it's usually just Wil and I with each other, not sticking around long enough for connection. I love it, but get lost in the crowds. I tried to get involved a bit of time back, but calls kept not being returned. My voice drowns in the crowd.
I'm frustrated because I want people to see me, acknowledge this voice that fails to articulate well. I'm frustrated because I don't know how to not drown in the crowd anymore, and yet I used to know, used to have the courage for words, and once upon a time I was comfortable enough in my own skin to be heard and listened to, and was even admired.
I have to tell myself, as pretty as she is, a 1950's stereotype of a neat little housewife is only a pretty image, and is not an ideal, she is a cage, a trap.......
To be ourselves causes us to be exiled by many others,
and yet, to comply with what others want causes us to be exiled from ourselves"
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
The real issue surfaces. I spent the last several weeks worth of sessions dealing with an anger gone quiet into tears at injustice within the hearts of relational sin, bringing to the surface the blacks and whites, and searching for the gray, and the permission to be the color gray, walk between multiple worlds neither of them or a part of them, yet in them. Too much of my thinking has been black and white, yet it is in the gray that I find true and lasting peace of mind and contentment of self. And the only way for me to exist in such a state.....of gray, is to learn to walk my own path, not let others lead me.
Not that I've found someone to lead me, I've just been looking to the wrong people to try, and losing myself quietly, deeply, sadly in the process, a process of living for others and not for myself, and second guessing human expectation, this losing sight of what it actually true, actually the places my heart is meant to go. I am meant to be one of many and one of few: wild woman, hedge witch, consort of a great creator in my heart, but not until I've learned the lessons of this time I am stumbling through. Until I take back this domestic rut and the spiderweb trap of human ideals.
I simply have to find myself again. An old cliche, but a true one. Myself, when lived to the beat of drum circle and how I felt in tune with the earth and all her peoples. I'm tired of being cut off from that feeling, I'm withering as I need it. I remember solstice mornings in the freezing on Monk's Mound, and I had a grasp of my voice, and helped to sing up the sun. I remember the lessons that year of old grandmother spider. I miss the dirt between my toes, a night alone under the stars, scary but magickal as little wings of butterflies and lightning bugs brought me joy. Alone, but not Alone. Alone, but not lonely.
Today, I'm lonely.
I mourned a disastrous loss of relational connection and friends that I found on this Immram of life. Godde was with us in the smokey basement of the a coffeeshop in the old decaying irish neighborhood of our city. Coffee and Theology and open arms and hours of tedious sketching into the late night, hookah smoking, debating of church father.....before that all went sour and I never received their call again. Random prayers shared in a group and silly card games and innocence, and that one fell apart. And the truth is, I miss them. I miss all of them, but more importantly, I miss what we all shared back then. I'm lonely without that true human connection.
I'm finally actually dealing with what happened, the hurt, the loss. A church of human suffering and human fault.
I live my life. I go to work, but have yet to make a lasting friendship there. The ocassional happy acquantence, but little true connection. Sometimes I even just plain get ignored. I'm at a new school, and still, having trouble finding a voice. I go to look, but don't really know anyone here. I come home, I go to church on Sundays, a great big emergent movement church meeting in a converted old catholic cathedral. But it's popular, and so many people.....that I fail to find faces I know from week to week, and it's usually just Wil and I with each other, not sticking around long enough for connection. I love it, but get lost in the crowds. I tried to get involved a bit of time back, but calls kept not being returned. My voice drowns in the crowd.
I'm frustrated because I want people to see me, acknowledge this voice that fails to articulate well. I'm frustrated because I don't know how to not drown in the crowd anymore, and yet I used to know, used to have the courage for words, and once upon a time I was comfortable enough in my own skin to be heard and listened to, and was even admired.
I have to tell myself, as pretty as she is, a 1950's stereotype of a neat little housewife is only a pretty image, and is not an ideal, she is a cage, a trap.......