It's one of those days. One of those "I wish it was autumn and it was raining and that I lived in New England in my old house with the big bay window in the living room that overlooks the world's quietest street, and I was curled up with my cat listening to the wind" kind of days.
I miss seasons. I dislike this kind of summer - dislike it, ironically, with a burning passion. Who in their right mind purposefully relocates to an area of the world where two months out of the year the outside world feels like the inside of a convection oven? The answer, of course, is someone who is not so good with the shovelling and the humidity and the hurricanes and the blizards.
Is there a place in this wide big world where it's autumn all the time? A world full of cats and couches and fireplaces and books and windows to look out of that overlook streets that never jam up with traffic? A place where you can get where you're going on a bicycle without taking your life in your hands?
And does that place have highspeed internet?
Today I feel like a blank page. I am impressionable and open and vulnerable ... I hope for inspiration, but all too often on days like today I find myself overwhelmed and wind up exhausted and wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and hide from the world.
I want so much, and I have no idea where to begin. I am at that painful stage in my life where I can't see how to go forward, so I just want to start over somewhere a million miles away. I've done it before. I thought I was happy here, I thought I could settle down, I thought it was enough.
And yet I am restless and antsy, unable to relax. I am finding fault with everything around me. I am constantly looking outward, wondering what it would be like if things were different, who I would be in a new place, who I would be without my partner of the last seven years.
Maybe I am feeling trapped, because I have put down roots here. I have grown attached, I have invested myself in this place and this home, I have imbued my surroundings with my energy. And I am content here - which is why I am so conflicted about this near undeniable urge to just walk away. How can I be so ready to turn my back on a life I actually put effort into building?
And can I manage to not do it?
|Red wine in a blue goblet. White MacBook. Blue walls and blue curtains and blue abstract artwork. Purple build-a-bear named Serenity on my pillow. Pink robe I never wear hanging on the bedpost. Sage green and ivory sheets under the blue and white quilt his grandmother made for him. Caramel colored rifle with the black barrel propped in the corner. Black scrunchie half-heartedly holding back unruly chocolate-cherry hair. Brown eyes flecked with gold and mahogany. Pale blue pill to help me sleep. This is my rainbow tonight.|
There is a spiral in the foam of my cappuccino this morning. Not a dramatic one, more just a subtle suggestion of shape, enough that I recognized it. One glimpse, and my soul understands. It is time to pay more attention to my spirit.
I look for signs and symbols and synchronicity everywhere. When you look for them, you will find them. And when you find them, and trust them, you can bring magic back into your life.
I see magic and meaning all around me. Dragonflies. Numbers. Fortune cookies. The shapes and patterns of clouds or puddles or the foam in my cappuccino.
I know my talents, and divination is one of them. I have let the practice slide, but perhaps it's because I don't actually want to know the future. Perhaps it's because I have no one nearby to practice on. Perhaps the spiral in my coffee is a nudge to pick it up again.
One of the primary causes for my recent restlessness is a lack of focus, and the resulting sense of disconnection from those things that used to interest me. Spirituality is very important to me, and yet I haven't invested the time in a single spiritual pursuit in months.
It has been said, "that which you attend shall flourish." (shekinhah mountainwater) I know this to be true. I just haven't known where to "attend."
Mayhap I got my answer.
It's as if the two of us are each on one side of a wall, only hearing about what's happening on the other side from the one small person who is desperate to please us both. How do I stand up for her based on what she says to me, when what she says to him is something completely different? I've got better things to do with my energy than fight with anyone - him or her or anyone else.
I wonder if this is that time when the mother-daughter dynamic gets to the explosive point, where she begins to hate me and I fail to understand her and we grow apart so quickly that it's as if we were never together on any front. Do I give up? Do I let go?
It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.
I am in that strange no-place where I exist rather like a goldfish in a bowl. It's a nice bowl, of course, and the castle is quite homey, but things are a bit ... predictable and not always as I might like. Not that I am an adventurous fish, I'm not saying I want to leave the bowl, dive into the ocean, and ride the currents to the Carribean. But I would be open to a bit of a change in routine.
I say that I have no time for myself, that my time is divided between my family and my house and my partner. This isn't entirely true, I've just become less effective when it comes to time management. I'd like to be better at it. I was happier when I had a goal and a purpose and a "hobby," as it were. Interests.
I don't take pictures anymore. I barely write. I occasionally game. I don't read. In all honesty, I'm not even on top of my domestic game, but that may have something to do with the low-level depression I am currently working with my physician to deal with, brought on by general dissatisfaction mixed with constant pain in my feet.
Constant pain colors everything.
I would like to take an active interest in my life again, I would like to find a direction and head towards it. But I feel a little out of my depth when it comes to determining the how.
I feel a list session coming on.
There is such an incredible sense of possibility. Surely it can't be just a week's worth of medication. It can't just be an answer (finally) to the pain in my feet that has plagued me for almost a year. But as for what it could be? I have no idea.
All I know is I feel like I can handle it all and come out the other side with my sanity intact. For the first time in weeks I feel as though I can be organized and calm and healthy and spiritual and motivated and content, and be all of this in a clean home.
Ex-husbands? Whatever. I've got more important things to do with my energy than worry about keeping the peace or putting up with the deep down crazies. I may not know what the more important things are, as yet, but I know they've got to be more productive than stressing about things that are way, way over.
I have friends, and I have family, and I have a home and a job and a car. And like everyone else on earth, I have bills and responsibilites and housework and laundry and none of that goes away if I have a headache or I'm tired. But what I also have - what I didn't have last week - is hope, and a plan, and the tools to get my proverbial shit back together.
I love halloween. I hate how commercial it has become, but the fact that I can get very cool and fun witchy things and supplies as early as August is nice. It seems to be going along with my reclaimed spiritual pulse, the part of me that had been laying dormant as I struggled with my near-apocalyptic lack of focus.
Additionally, and perhaps belatedly, I am drawn to the idea of using technology to help me in my quest. My beloved macbook has potential to be so much more than it started out to be, and I have begun sculpting it and molding it into an invaluable personal resource. (the new satellite connection helps.) Now if only it would do the laundry for me.
This was an entry in another, now-deleted blog on August 8, 2007. I just wanted to preserve it.
There is a path in my front yard. It's in the east corner or the property - I know this because it's where the sun rises every morning. Except on this particular morning, the sunrise was obscured by the haze that won't burn off for another two hours, so the sky and the air were a simple, uniform shade of pale pink. The moon was a stark white thumbnail above where the path opened, but from the angle I was seeing it, the path was hard to see. Instead it was as if it were a trick of perspective and light, just a slight variation in the treeline where the fog shimmered differently.
And for a brief, magical moment, that break in the tree was not just the path that led to the back of my future father-in-law's property. This morning, in the humid embrace of that surreal pink air, it was a path to anywhere else. I had the feeling that if I would only walk that way instead of back towards my porch and my door and my daily routine, if I would only veer to the right and walk into that misty shift in perspective, then I would emerge ... different.
I would be somewhere else, certainly - maybe even somewhen else. Avalon, perhaps, or Rivendell. The hills of Scotland, or the forests of England. Somewhere with trees and mist and softly glowing skies, but without log trucks and irrigation systems and the thumping sound system of that guy up the road who never seems to sleep.
And I thought, in that magical fraction of a synapse firing, that I would be different as well when I came out the other side of the fog on the path. Who would I be? Who would I have been? Who am I when I am not surrounded by the people I love and the things I have imbued with my energy? What potential exists for that woman?
I did not veer right.
Instead I followed my own tracks through the wet grass, back the way I had come, back towards the familiar and the solid and the predictable. I went back to the air conditioning and the bed that needed to be made, back to the cooling mug of coffee and the looming reality of another busy day that that will be 90% out of my control.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
Can you imagine, back before meteorologists and astronomers and science, back when the world was full of magic and mystery - can you imagine the power and possibility inherent in an eclipse? The moon, that constant in the night sky that swells and recedes like a woman's pregnant belly every month, suddenly obscured by a shadow no one understands? And then, as if by some miraculous unseen hand, the shadow is pushed away, leaving the moon as pristine and magical as before, only more wonderous for her emergence from such inexplicable darkness.
Shamans and Wise Women would harness that miracle, pouring the energies of that which they wanted to be rid of into that shadow and standing watch until the moon, triumphant, shone full and bright with possibility and power once again.
It makes me sad, sometimes, that science has answered and explained so much of the world, that to believe in magic is frowned upon and discouraged. But I am a persistent sort, and through evey discussion of spermatazoa and eggs and zygotes I still believe that the act of growing one life inside another is one of the most magical events that can be. Trees and vines finding purchase and stubbornly growing in the hearts of cities full of concrete and stone are magical. There is power all around us, in fireflies and spiderwebs and falling stars and celebrations that have existed since before humanity could write down what they were celebrating.
And we sit in our homes and our offices and we are surrounded by our technology and our televisions and computers and cell phones and our gps locators and we forget that once we were strong, once we were hardy people who respected the world around us and co-existed with it, without feeling the need to dominate it.
Against all evidence to the contrary, against every fact and finding and dismissal ... I believe in magic.