Home Again. Same But Different

Dear Reader,

6 weeks, 50+ hours of flying on 8 different aircraft, 4 ferry boat rides, 2 bus rides, 3 train trips, and 45 public restrooms later, it was finally time to land in Auckland after a long and rewarding quest-- the solo heroine's journey I'd been dreaming of. My two most potent destinations turned out as expected, to be the ancient sites of the Goddess in Sligo County Ireland, and on the Isle of Iona in Scotland- also known as a place where Druids lived, where Christianity was birthed in Scotland, and where the veil between the worlds is thin....

According to one interpretation, the last stage of the hero's journey a la Joseph Campbell is: "TO RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR." This is where "the hero returns home or continues the journey, bearing some element of the treasure that has the power to transform the world as the hero has been transformed".

Transformation is a big word. A big-self-help-human-potential-Hollywood's version-of-the-quest word. What follows is a small story about transformation and the subtle power it brings. In this case the setting was in a cave known in Gaelic as Oweynagat or Cave of the Cats, located at Rath Croghan / Cruachan in the great archaeological complex in north Co. Roscommon, Ireland. This small cave has huge mythic importance as the ancient capital of the goddess-queen MEDB, often pronounced and spelt as Meave. Inside are two ogham slabs that when translated mean ‘the pillar of Fraech son of Madb’.

An 18th century text tells us that the cave is the “Hell-mouth of Ireland”. But my interest in the place is to do with another ancient association with the Goddess Morrigan, The Great Queen" one of the archetypal Mother-goddesses of the Irish Celtoi. Goddess of war, death, prophecy, she escorts souls to the underworld. It is said that at Samhain, she comes out of the cave with an enormous monster cat.

Ok. Now that you have a bit of context, imagine yourself about to enter the interior of this 120 ft deep natural limestone fissure, the entrance to which is covered by a Hawthorn tree. As with many of the sacred sites I visited, no sign posts of any kind mark the site from the road, nor is the entrance to the cave sign posted. I arrived with my friend and guide Ursula on a summer's evening in late June. We put on coveralls, checked that our hand held flashlights were working, and crawled carefully with a few small votive candles and offerings into the mouth of the cave. I felt a little nervous like a school girl on a dare. Once inside, the temperature noticeably colder, I shown my torch down into what looked like an abyss with no visible end in sight. The walls were cold wet and slippery from ceiling to floor. We moved a few feet slowly inside the pitch blackness.

I really hadn't expected to feel afraid, despite the chills now crawling up my spine. I was also physically exhausted. Jet lag was lingering like never before. I hadn't slept since arriving in Los Angeles a week earlier. My throat had been growing more irritated and sore by the day. On this day it hurt to swallow or speak.

"Ursula, I'm scared" I whispered, looking into the warm understanding eyes of my guide. "So am I" she replied. After a moment's hesitation I decided to go first. The way was treacherous as my sneakers kept slipping on the surface of the rocks and boulders. About 30 feet into the tunnel, I peered with the small hand held torch into what lay ahead of us, realizing that I had serous doubts about continuing. The way ahead made a sharp descent, and even if we managed to reach the chamber at the end, how would we climb back out with nothing to hold on to. We were two women alone in a remote place where few people go, if one of us fell who would know? Cell phones don't penetrate this far underground. Help could take hours to reach us.

"Something is telling me this is as far as I should go". Ursula looked at me and nodded. I knew this was her third attempt at going all the way to the cave's end. Our breath now visible in the dampness, she said, "I think I might try to go further". I told her I would wait for her, and would shine my torch as far ahead as possible, although our lights were feeble in the largeness of the blackness, surrounding us as if it might swallow us whole. It wasn't that I felt there was evil here, far from it. I simply knew we weren't alone, that eyes were upon us as they had been in the Dragon Wood.

Ursula began to try and lower herself down the slick ledge in front of us. I had the overwhelming urge to tell her that my sense was that if it were merely her curiosity driving her on, she might want to reconsider. She stopped and breathed heavily. Just then both batteries fell from her camera. "I think you're right" she said.

It was then I knew what I wanted to do next. I asked her if we could extinguish our flash lights and meditate in the total dark. Silent for a moment, she asked softly "Would you mind if I hum"? We both began to hum, and as we did the darkness eased it's grip, with our voices echoing off the walls we felt safer.

Then, as if it were a song we knew, we both stopped at the same moment. In the silence that followed, I heard a buzz, and then a soft whir...something brushed my hair as soft as a whisper. More shivers down my spine came with a greeting spoken non-verbally...."My daughter, what you are sensing is power in a form you're unfamiliar with. The important question is; what does power mean to you?

The answer that came was " it means the the power to harm or the power to heal" was my first thought. "Are you so sure they're different"? Came the unhesitating reply.

At that moment I let go of every childhood nightmare, fears of every description began to flood from the pores of my skin. All the things I'd feared would find me, haunt me, even death lost it's sting and began to drain away within this womb like passage to the depths of where the unconscious and the otherworld are joined.

We lit our small votive candles, laid them on a ledge and set our offerings beside them. Mine was a three pronged piece of corral found on Maui the day that my Sister and I had spread my Mother's ashes. Now it would rest here in the cave where I had been released.

We emerged changed. I no longer had any trace of the sore throat which had plagued me for days. I was filled energy and elation. Ursula was too. Later, in the images like the one above, orbs would be clearly visible in large images of the photos. One such orb, bright blue is clearly visible-- perhaps whatever healed my throat was matching the colour of that particular chakra.

So this, is what I now understand transformation to mean; a moment of trust and surrender to something powerful that raises us up to a higher vibrational level and opens the heart.

I have a new response when fear finds me- I remember the Morrigan's fingertips in my hair, and then I can smile.

She's Leaving Home

I’m 52 years old and it’s time—time for a journey home to myself. I’ve spent this life looking for, finding, and caring for a multitude of loves. Whether falling for a new man, a babe in arms, or losing myself in the thrill some new country or calling, these passions have in common that they are ultimately about something or someone external. Relationships are a woman’s great distraction from herself, as much as they are a place where we give and receive gifts. A few years ago I began to know this was incomplete for me. Not the whole story. The longing for a place and time to really face myself reached a fevered pitch upon emerging from the depths of grief 2 years after my mother died. My Mother’s song was sung, her precious life on earth had ended, but had she truly been her own person? Mistress of her own soul? Would I ever be? The answer seemed a resounding “not likely”-- unless I go away. Home is a place where losing myself in the business of care-giving has become all too habitual.

So I’m telling myself it’s now or never…In less than a month two dreaded twelve hour plane flights will see me leave my son and husband to fend for themselves, to answer a call on the other side of the globe. My hope is for a 6-week sojourn to lead me into deep recesses of all that I’ve been too busy or scared to discover about the truth of who I am- and to learn something about the forgotten history of who we as women once were. I’ve chosen Ireland for its’ well preserved ties to the Great Mother- the religion of the Goddess which the invasion of Roman Catholicism was unable to destroy. With the help of two local guides, the plan is to go climbing down into ancient sacred burial sites and meditate in deep forgotten wells. Where Druids once drank and ritual sacrifice was part of life, my challenge to myself will be to let go of my carefully constructed identity. To let go of living life engrossed in the glue of my for need for relationship- for mothering, caring for, sharing with, talking to, living for. I’m ready to give up the routines and comforts that keep me comfortably numb so that I bring back insights and inspiration into my daily life.

Wish me luck and watch this space…..

Wende.

Hot Tubs, Mindfulness and The New Fertility

Oh my. It has been a while since my last post. So here's some seismic shift news:

My family of three has come closer together, my husband and I are engaging in way more physical skin to skin touch, and I'm enjoying being in the moment again.....soooo much more! All for the same reason!

Now before those of you who know anything is possible with me start wondering whether I've thrown all morals to the wind ( which I do on the odd occasion) and or adopted some kinky new lifestyle- I'll come clean-- literally. We recently invested in $6000.00 worth of perpetual family therapy. Our new guru of good times is 2 meters tall by 3 meters wide and has a very bubbly personality. Best yet- there's no need to make an appointment and no office hours to worry about.

If you guessed "hot tub" you get a gold star. Turns out I'd been going about this togetherness thing the wrong way. You know, winging about how we need time without screens, food, or chores involved. I've also been feeling less than sensual with my husband after more than a decade of marriage and it isn't just about how often we do it. It's about the quality of how we are together. He works from home and I work now and then- so we see each other all the time without really looking. Sound familiar? I take myself out on dates or sometimes my 11 yr old and I paint the town red, since hubby prefers home based activities such as reading.

Getting back to the hot tub is like getting back to nature. We peel off, slide in and let the heat of the water, the massage action of the jets, and the beauty of green pongas and the mini forest in our own lovely back yard work their magic. Often we don't speak at all, but if we do the conversation is unhurried and relaxed. If my husband and I are alone in the tub, there's no need to create intimacy. It's right there waiting. There's no pressure to try and get away from the house so we can unwind and be different with each other. Now instead of wishing he'd "take me out somewhere" I just ask if he'd like to join me outside. It's also a new favorite meditation spot for me in the early morning- sort of a liquid sanctuary-- who knew?

So, here's the point of my share. I know we can't all afford or maybe wouldn't even want a hot tub in our back yard. The gift and the reminder here for me is that the things we need and ask for as women can come to us in unexpected ways when we believe, affirm, and then let go of expectations. If I had gone out and bought a hot tub with the idea of it saving my marriage, fixing the disconnect in my family's lack of closeness, etc- it probably wouldn't have worked.

Instead, we just innocently went for the idea of a something that would bring us joy and voila- some prayers were answered ( I'm not even sure whether my two guys noticed or care).

This is what I believe pulls the weeds of stagnation, plants the seeds of delight and fertilizes the ground for rejuvenation. Focus on what brings magic, ease, and grace into one's awareness and then be grateful for whatever's there. Celebrate the full moon, cocktails, candle light, and what you do experience as good. When I invest in making the process more fun I'm also more likely to trust simple remedies to balance me when there is a sense of impatience, fatigue, discontent or heaviness. Ask yourself what does it for you? I'm a believer in power naps, walks by the beach and time spent journaling or meditating as easy to no energy required solutions for letting the juices replenish. Winter may be around the corner but what a good reason to get cozy in front of a fire and to justletgo.

Here's to mindfulness,

Love,

Gwen.

Arriving At Your Own Door

Ok. So I stole the title from a book by Jon Kabat Zinn. It just so happens that mindfulness, which as we all know is a) a Zen buddhist concept, and b) easier said than done. Having recently gone back into counseling with the aim of fixing things in my life, it turned out the problem had something to do with me. Amazing! I was sure it was my husband or my hormones, or some lethal combination of the two.

Turns out, even though a lot of things were going well- I wasn't seeing them. I could see problems with the accuracy of an American Bald Eagle at a half mile altitude honing in on its prey. When there's goodness around me- as in every moment, I find that my focus on happiness soon blurs into regret, nostalgia, resentment, guilt, sadness and a whole host of other neurotic attempts to not be here now.

So at the moment, I'm actually spending time here. Now. It's a weird, wonderful, unfamiliar place to be. There's nothing to do here, no one to fix, and in place of the many legitimate and superfluous distractions I might otherwise engage in, there's often stillness.

It doesn't look like the busyness and oh-look-at-all-she-does- she's-so-productive life I had resolutely decided to create for 2010. Nope. This is a life where I listen, chop wood, and carry a laptop. Right now I'm writing to you- there's nothing else going on. Nirvana.

Do Reindeer Have Fear of Flying...?

And now to contradict my last blog about the virtues and rewards of proactive change. There's a special hell inhabited by those of us who sometimes live for years with deeply conflicted needs and wants. I'm talking about liminal places in life where desires and the portals through which they're accessed are in the process of aligning but aren't there yet. I'm talking of course about middle aged women like myself. We who still haven't gotten with the program and totally self-actualized. We have no excuse eh? Nobody likes a fence sitter. The self-help-you-can-do-anything mecca of 50 ways to detox your liver, leave your used to be lover, vent your spleen, cleanse your colon and push push push those boundaries is targeted at we (am I being paranoid here ?) whose lives are eminently fixable. We just need to spend more money and most of our time on reinventing ourselves. Right?

Can I just say that I'm tired of being told how worth it I am and to put my own oxygen mask on first? I know it's good advice to keep breathing, but if one is trying to answer a more basic question like " am I on the wrong flight"? then who cares whether oxygen is flowing freely?

In other words, to meet and prioritize your needs your have to know what they are. It's one thing to know you need a different size bra or more cardio in order to feel better- but what about those times when you suspect you need a radically different life? In such cases conventional wisdom can be useless--unless you really, really don't have a clue what to do next and then it can work temporarily as a strategy for self-preservation while dog paddling. Like my friend Vinny says, the last step in re-creating comes down to timing. Trust in the unknown and overcoming the fear of flying are not the same as being ready to act. When it's time.

Which brings me back to conflicting wants and needs. A lot of women pressure themselves in ways that have nothing to do with their ability to make choices but rather with things they aren't in a position to change right away. We tell ourselves we're stagnating rather than see the process for what it is, and then we get stuck in what Patricia Sun refers to as old style thinking. It's a style that says we're either naughty or nice, doing it right or wrong- in a good marriage or a bad one. Unless you're solving a math problem there are many potential correct answers that will work, and an infinite number of paths to a happier place. Process thinking allows us to be kind and patient with ourselves and others while we're moving towards goodness and wholeness. I've had the greatest epiphanies and shifts come from forgiving and releasing guilt or shame--which are like the bags we carry the baggage in.

So here's my advice- forget sweeping New Year's resolutions. Don't even try to seize the whole day if you've been a chronic worrier/analyzer/fixer up to now. If you catch yourself for a moment loving yourself, something, or someone exactly as they are for one moment, you've just entered the kingdom. The rest is practice, surrender, and here's that word again: TRUST.

See you in 2010,

Love,

Gwendolyn.

Ch ch ch chchanges....

I think Bowie was right, I think we do change in order to turn and face the strain of living. I'm basically lazy. Hey, one needn't grow up in a hurry. I do a dead fridge items clean out at least once a week and I religiously recycle to the point of being obsessed with getting rid of whatever I don't use.

Yet how many times have I waited til reality bit my shapely arse before spitting out the sands of denial and procrastination? But what about you and I making change from a place of exuberance and joy- because we actively seek to grow or because it's time to do the hard thing before it gets harder?

This is what I personally am working to get better at-- proactive rather than reactive living. It makes sense to start with the small stuff, so this year when I knew that I'd need support to handle spending an entire bleak, wet winter in Auckland without going abroad ( yeah, I know it's a privileged cross to bear) I did something about it. Exercise kept most of the winter blues away and a few of the indoors extra pounds that my inner foodie and I are want to accumulate...especially whilst indulging in pre-recorded episodes of The Colbert Report. I also committed myself to the demanding if not hugely rewarding undertaking of organizing a large city event in support of the World March for Peace. Becoming an activist for ending the condoned use of nuclear and other weapons spoke to my heart- and meant that instead of sitting home waiting for my son's school day to end, I went out and asked local NGO's and others to join me in bringing violence to an end.

So here was my small epiphany for 2009: I didn't have to renounce being a change junkie to satisfy my fix for something new. I could simply redirect the focus from distracting myself to getting engaged. I know it sounds like tripping over the obvious to say that a year spent working for peace really took care of that old empty feeling in a way that no amount of working at self-improvement could have. Who knew that what I was ultimately lonely for was a sense of meaning?

Now if only I'd stop waiting til my car runs out of oil before I make myself drive to a mechanic.

Landscapes

And now a word in praise of vagabonds. Where would humanity be without explorers, nomads, wanderlusters and the like? Let the rest of the world stay in one place and paint self-portraits in the pale shades of routine conformity. God bless the working class with their regular bowel movements. As for me, sticking with things means I’m on an oiled massage table. Yes, I can hold down a “job” if pressed to do so and am about to celebrate my 12^th wedding anniversary. These are not accomplishments. For those of us for whom variety is a staple rather than a spice, life isn’t digestible without forays into the unknown. We’re proud of the risks we take and the courage to try new things. It’s not better—just different.

Still, I haven’t always been comfortable being a scanner to quote the term coined by author Barbara Sher. I worried for years that I was somehow defective, unstable, immature, and subsequently paid more than one therapist good money to find out why long term goals have always eluded me. Was it too many Sinatra songs at a tender age, followed by a few years of recreational drugs at a slightly older age?. Bad/planets/broken/home. Who can say? I was in point of fact perfectly adapted for a Southern California childhood in the sixties and seventies. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t lived there for over two decades-- I’m still more at home on a freeway heading out of town than anywhere else. To truly live by the Tumbleweed’s code is to make no apologies and take no prisoners.

Which brings me to New Zealand. Accidentally on purpose. It’s so beautiful, so wild, and so, so freakin small. For an American like myself who grew up with the ethos of bigger, faster, farther--there’s significantly less pressure here to amount to something—in fact one wants to avoid standing out. Certainly no one is going to call you a loser for not wanting to claw your way to the top of the food chain, which in this country means you shop at Foodtown rather than Pack and Save. Auckland is arguably nirvana for those who are content to get by on simple pleasures and occasional sunny days, surrounded by seductively accessible coastline and mostly decent wines.

Still, it’s also a place that doesn’t offer much of anything out of the usual, has a quasi arts scene at best, and no old world culture to speak of. That’s what jet airplanes are for—if you don’t mind flying for a long, long time to get to somewhere with a pulse. Yep, I’m restless here after six years just like I’ve been most other places. Meditation helps---especially if I’m trancing out on the getaways section of the paper….

See you in economy.

Love,

Gwendolyn.