A friend of mine commented to me earlier that she wishes she had my faith. That got me to thinking, because I generally don't see myself as having faith, or even beliefs... my most common response when asked what I really think is that I don't know. All I know is how it seems to me and that's probably wrong.
The following is my response to her, and that's probably wrong too.
I don't know that I'd call it faith... I see too much evidence, including from the world of science, to believe anything other than that Life = Love... I am a thread in the tapestry of Life... how can I not be Loved beyond all reason? Not by some being outside of everything, but by the Everything... as I would hopefully love every cell in my body, would the metaphorical tapestry not Love every thread of which it is made? Would it not be the thread's own acts of isolation that would make it unaware of being part of a greater whole? When I have been cut off from Godde, it has been through actions (including thinking) of my own, not hers.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
the curve ball
Isn't it strange how we can be standing at the ready to bat, and see that pitcher there ready to throw a curve ball, yet still miss it? We can know what's coming, we can be as mentally prepared as prepared can be, yet we still miss, still strike out. And isn't life like that too. We can see it coming, know what's ahead, see the signs, heed the warnings, yet still be knocked out of our socks when tomorrow becomes today and that curve ball comes sailing through. Fortunately, unlike in a softball game, we don't have to strike out.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Reshaping
Here we are in a new year and I'm finding myself filled with the need to write. It doesn't matter what I write, I just need to write. I have a lot to say... lots of thoughts on queer and community and feminism and gender and sobriety and so on.
2011 was a hell of a year. In her song "Eye of the Storm" Jennifer Berezan sings "You'll need nerves of steel, and a heart that's broken wide." 2011 was the year my heart was broken wide. Personally, locally, and globally. I learned how to feel again, how to be in the moment again, and wow does the moment ever make me angry. I shed tears of rage and impotence over people I loved, over shale gas, over Occupy, over the Tar Sands and governments and assaults on trans people and so many more. And somehow, while shedding those tears, a miracle happened. This heart of mine, the heart that had just been broken wide, melted. Like clay that has been warmed, it lost it's shape. It ceased to be formed, dry and cracked and falling apart, and became instead something soft and malleable, something the Goddess could work with. Something the Goddess could shape. Then I laughed. Because until my heart broke to be softened by my tears, I'd thought it was open. I'd thought I knew how to love. I'd even thought I knew how to love unconditionally. And maybe I did a little bit. But not enough.
Like the snake shedding it's skin, I've let the energy of Yule, the energy that is with the turning of the wheel, take that old skin and tear it away. Take the old me, the old protective coverings I wore, and return them to that great compost we call her cauldron. She can do something useful with them. I can no longer wear them. I suspect they no longer even fit since she's started reshaping me.
So here's to change. The deep slow changes that we sometimes don't even see until they erupt all over us, turning our lives upside down and gifting us with those fresh perspectives.
Here's also to nurturing those changes, tending the new, and learning from the old.
2011 was a hell of a year. In her song "Eye of the Storm" Jennifer Berezan sings "You'll need nerves of steel, and a heart that's broken wide." 2011 was the year my heart was broken wide. Personally, locally, and globally. I learned how to feel again, how to be in the moment again, and wow does the moment ever make me angry. I shed tears of rage and impotence over people I loved, over shale gas, over Occupy, over the Tar Sands and governments and assaults on trans people and so many more. And somehow, while shedding those tears, a miracle happened. This heart of mine, the heart that had just been broken wide, melted. Like clay that has been warmed, it lost it's shape. It ceased to be formed, dry and cracked and falling apart, and became instead something soft and malleable, something the Goddess could work with. Something the Goddess could shape. Then I laughed. Because until my heart broke to be softened by my tears, I'd thought it was open. I'd thought I knew how to love. I'd even thought I knew how to love unconditionally. And maybe I did a little bit. But not enough.
Like the snake shedding it's skin, I've let the energy of Yule, the energy that is with the turning of the wheel, take that old skin and tear it away. Take the old me, the old protective coverings I wore, and return them to that great compost we call her cauldron. She can do something useful with them. I can no longer wear them. I suspect they no longer even fit since she's started reshaping me.
So here's to change. The deep slow changes that we sometimes don't even see until they erupt all over us, turning our lives upside down and gifting us with those fresh perspectives.
Here's also to nurturing those changes, tending the new, and learning from the old.
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