It seemed I had two choices before me. The Page of Wands, a young, spontaneous and energetic form that could be the very embodiment of the internet as a medium, with its attention-grabbing multimedia and almost endless opportunities for someone to make a name for herself through charisma and laughter. Or the Ten of Pentacles, embodying formality, structure and an engagement with traditional patterns of expression that could lead to the fruitful, prosperous marriage of spirit and form characterized by generosity and exchange. And the third card? The choice that was not a choice?
Making a Clean Break
Last night, I had a dream. One of those dreams so vivid and blunt, it's hard to ignore the message. One of those dreams that just feels like a metaphor, even when you're in it.
I dreamt I was a student in college again, engaged in a class discussion led by a wise old professor. Yet this professor seemed to take particular pleasure in setting me up for embarrassment and frustration. As the discussion progressed, he would often interrupt himself or students as they explained their ideas or expounded on theories, and shoot a question at me. Being a dream, I can't now remember even what the subject was — but I do know that, again and again, I felt the frustration rise as I found myself interrupted, torn out of my focus on the ideas of others as they unfolded — forced instead to stand up to prove myself to these peers, to prove myself worthy of being there to learn. It wasn't enough to attend, to listen intently and consider carefully the concepts being shared. But more frustrating was that, each time this professor interrupted the flow of conversation to challenge me to a verbal duel, he allowed only a sentence out of my mouth before he veered back again, leaving me hanging there dumb, my words decontextualized and my thoughts unfinished. It felt for all the world like a goddamned Twitter feed — one hundred forty characters was all I got.
Until at one point, I finally managed to break out of it. The next question he asked me, I found myself speaking in paragraphs. Whole arguments cascaded out of my mouth in point after point, theories backed up by evidence and examples, counter-arguments considered and deconstructed. The professor seemed impressed, asked another question to prompt me... yet I could feel something slipping. The students around me began to talk over me in their own conversations. Someone behind me snickered. Mid-sentence, the professor interrupted me again, this time to tell me, "Well, at least you've finally demonstrated that you're not a complete idiot, which is a bit of a surprise. Some of your ideas were actually pretty sound. Of course, you're horribly boring, so boring that your dullness itself is offensive and detracts from the values of your ideas no matter what they are. You were more attractive when you weren't saying anything."
Showing posts with label divination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divination. Show all posts
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Long Goodbye: Part Three
The Seven of Cups indicates the paradox of choice, and the difficulty of choosing when too many opportunities and options seem to beckon. Unable to decide which course it would be best to pursue, we starve and waste away like Buridan's ass paralyzed into inaction by an unpredictable future. The card was telling me what I already knew, what I had been experiencing for the past few months as I tried to juggle an increasing number of obligations while fighting to keep down my frustration at not making very much progress on any of them.
Obligation and Divination
Throughout my life, I have been pretty good at following my intuition, listening for the cues of my subconscious to help guide me in making important life decisions. It was this kind of listening that led me to choose the college I ended up attending — where I met several people who would change my life, where I had the opportunity to do independent research that eventually led me to my Pagan path, and where I earned a degree as valedictorian of my college class. It was by listening to my intuition that I found myself moving across the state to the lovely city of Pittsburgh — where I first entered a graduate school program and then left it for being wholly unsuitable to my personality, where I found a job as a waitress (against everyone's hopes and expectations) and spent five years wandering spiritually and intellectually in ways I never could have if I'd settled down and gotten a "real" job. It was intuition that led me to seek out a connection with Jeff, who happened to have connections in Pittsburgh through both family and work and who eventually took a leap of faith of his own and moved here to be with me. And it was intuition that prodded me into taking a trip across the ocean to the land of my ancestors, despite being terrified of both airports and flying, and having never traveled alone or abroad before.
But these were all times when a singular opportunity presented itself, and I had a simple choice to make: stay, or go. Now, I found myself in a much more complicated situation, with almost endless possibilities any of which might be fruitful depending on how I chose to direct my energies. I also had more responsibilities and obligations, not least of which were the children to whom I'd soon become a stepmom. And so I also had a pressing sense that it was important to make a choice of some kind and follow through with it, rather than languishing passively and allowing Spirit to drag me along where it would. I had spent a lot of time cultivating my will and honing my skills — now, I felt a strong and definite call to step up and be active in my own destiny, to act out my gratitude for the blessings of my life by taking a more directive role in the work I would do in the future. But of course, that work still needed to be grounded in Spirit and soul-longing.
Obligation and Divination
Throughout my life, I have been pretty good at following my intuition, listening for the cues of my subconscious to help guide me in making important life decisions. It was this kind of listening that led me to choose the college I ended up attending — where I met several people who would change my life, where I had the opportunity to do independent research that eventually led me to my Pagan path, and where I earned a degree as valedictorian of my college class. It was by listening to my intuition that I found myself moving across the state to the lovely city of Pittsburgh — where I first entered a graduate school program and then left it for being wholly unsuitable to my personality, where I found a job as a waitress (against everyone's hopes and expectations) and spent five years wandering spiritually and intellectually in ways I never could have if I'd settled down and gotten a "real" job. It was intuition that led me to seek out a connection with Jeff, who happened to have connections in Pittsburgh through both family and work and who eventually took a leap of faith of his own and moved here to be with me. And it was intuition that prodded me into taking a trip across the ocean to the land of my ancestors, despite being terrified of both airports and flying, and having never traveled alone or abroad before.
But these were all times when a singular opportunity presented itself, and I had a simple choice to make: stay, or go. Now, I found myself in a much more complicated situation, with almost endless possibilities any of which might be fruitful depending on how I chose to direct my energies. I also had more responsibilities and obligations, not least of which were the children to whom I'd soon become a stepmom. And so I also had a pressing sense that it was important to make a choice of some kind and follow through with it, rather than languishing passively and allowing Spirit to drag me along where it would. I had spent a lot of time cultivating my will and honing my skills — now, I felt a strong and definite call to step up and be active in my own destiny, to act out my gratitude for the blessings of my life by taking a more directive role in the work I would do in the future. But of course, that work still needed to be grounded in Spirit and soul-longing.
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Long Goodbye: Part One
The golden cups
are in his hand,
his hand is on the knife
and the knife is
above my head.
- Taliesin*
Three times I drew the Seven of Cups, card of soul-wrought dreams and tempting fantasies beckoning, and possibilities so numerous they seem to paralyze all ability to choose. Three times I drew the card in daily meditation before I finally agreed to seek for further guidance.
Where It's At
Things have been all tangled up lately. The puzzle box or wrinkled seed that was planted in my heart during my time in Northern Ireland — the small, mysterious thing curled in upon itself that I had all but forgotten about as things returned to normal — has been creaking and clicking as one by one its latches unhook and slip open... or it has been germinating and putting down roots that slip their sly tendrils in to pry open the soil of my soul. It all sounds very dramatic when you put it like that, but the truth is that I have been growing increasingly dissatisfied and frustrated with certain aspects of my work. And when I say work, I mean the soul-work of my writing, that strange little hobby that cannot make me a living but is indispensable to making me alive.
I've started to have serious doubts about blogging as the appropriate medium for my writing. It takes a huge amount of pride-swallowing to write that sentence, considering it was only a few months ago I was raving about how Meadowsweet & Myrrh was like my online "home," and scoffing arrogantly at people who easily abandon their blogs and let them lie fallow and un-updated for months at a time. I take my writing — and thus my blogging — very seriously, perhaps too seriously at times. I am as slow to abandon a project as I am to leave behind a faith path that no longer meets my spiritual needs (and it took my nigh on half a decade of dilly-dallying to do that before I finally dropped the Catholic label and admitted to myself what everyone else already knew).
Friday, May 28, 2010
Delving into Divination: A Long Story of Silliness
Temperance (XIV): Dressed in faded red, she perches perfectly balanced and at ease on the twisted limb of the old tree, suspended in air rippling, spiraling, tingling with the great powers that surround her. In her pale arms she cradles the pulsing sphere — wisps of energy, the tiny fey beings, drift and rise like steam, swirling and weaving, twining around each other as they climb until they blossom into full, solid forms. Watery blue, fiery gold, the great-talonned dragon and the frantic phoenix entwining, arching skyward, each with an orb of its own, pure color. The stony gargoyle makes offerings; the little songbird opens its wings wide, about to take flight. Her thoughts turn around them, seeking the power of their presence. She touches the sphere, undisturbed, her long fingers moving lovingly in contemplation — the perfect, pale-white glow of a halo exactly framed by the curve of her small, delicate wings, the light of it whispering to her, her thoughts turning around each other, dark and bright, water and fire, a sensual dance of power, duality, tension and life. The brown curls of her hair float as if caught up in a warm, rising current. She holds the churning forces of the world in her mind, between her hands, and every movement is poised here, utterly, in this moment, like a gulp of delicious air, like a quiet gasp in the center of a storm.
- excerpt from my tarot journal
For one reason or another the practice of divination has been something that, for a long time now, has given me trouble. I just never seemed to "get into" it. Perhaps because of the amount of study and memorization it seemed to require (though for other subjects and practices this has never stopped me). Or perhaps because my day-to-day life is often so exquisitely routine that daily readings hardly seemed relevant. Or maybe both. Though I consider myself a generally intuitive person, cultivating this aspect through my creative writing, divination as a regular practice seemed... unnecessary, one of those things people did to feel "occult" rather than taking the time to analyze their motivations and behaviors in more mundane ways, or maybe to wow their friends at parties. But I don't go to many parties, lovely readers, not many parties at all.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Plan for Advanced Druidic Study
Since I've formally committed to continuing my degree work within AODA (OBOD's Bardic correspondence course ended up being a bit too touchy-feely for me), I've been giving some thought to what kind of work I want to pursue over the next few years.
Some of it will be guided in part by the AODA Second Degree curriculum, with its focus on the four elements and corresponding emphases: earth: a foundation of continual connection with the natural world and a developing understanding of ecology; fire: more intense and creative engagement with ritual and holy day rites; air: scholarly study of Celtic mythology, Arthurian legend and the history of Revival Druidry; and water: emotional and community development through teaching and mentoring. In addition to these four areas of training, AODA also encourages the development of practical skills in the arts and spiritual crafts by requiring three "spirals" of study in things such as poetry, music, magic, and divination, as well as a "fifth element" (spirit) focus on comparative religion and the theory and history of nature spirituality in particular, in order to develop a broader perspective on the role of Druidry in our own lives and within our contemporary historical-cultural context.
This is all very structured and task-oriented; e.g. "read x number of books on this topic and write an essay y pages long," or "develop n holy day rites and perform them at least z times a year," or "choose a musical instrument and practice p times a week, memorizing q number of songs you feel skilled enough to play in public." In some ways, I very much like this approach, since it sets out very clear, attainable goals to work towards without putting too many restrictions on what exactly each individual will learn from or get out of such work. Of course, there's a general assumption that, for instance, committed regular contact with nature will rub off on a person in terms of appreciation and care, or that the self-discipline required to meditate daily, or the creativity and knowledge needed to write a certain number of self-designed rituals, will have similarly predictable effects, all working together and playing off each other to shape a person walking the uniquely AODA Druidic path while also ensuring they have at least some of the skills necessary to teach newcomers and neophytes, passing the tradition on to others. In some ways, the structure of the AODA degree program works to inculcate and train its Druids in the same way a graduate school program trains its students to become competent professors within the academic institution. (And, as with graduate school, this type of institutional training, despite its benefits, is not cut out for everybody.) Obviously, the part of me that eventually rebelled against the influence of inadvertent or unacknowledged "indoctrination" in my creative writing graduate program struggles, too, from time to time with this aspect of AODA training. However, because I do enjoy the challenge of specific, outlined goals and I believe the process of training and growth in Druidry is valuable in itself, I've decided to take up the challenge and confront whatever obstacles that may come up with a commitment to my own future goals in mind.
As I mentioned, the AODA program is very much task-oriented, and so to help "flesh out" this approach and give it depth, another aspect that will guide my Druidic work over the next few years will be a personal emphasis on "Ovate"-related aspects of spirituality. Although for some reason (not entirely clear to me) AODA very much downplays the traditional (Revival) Druidic division of training into Bardic, Ovate and Druidic levels adopted by groups like OBOD, I feel that these broad categories make a kind of sense to me. Because I first came to Druidry through my "bardic" work with poetry and creative writing (and chose poetry as the "spiral" for my First Degree work), metaphors of music, song, dance, imagery and imagination have echoed strongly through my Druidic study so far. As I continue to explore and grow, however, I find two new interests coming into focus: a fascination with shamanic and trance or dream work, divination and magic; and a growing need to articulate my spirituality in theological and philosophical terms that encompass questions of ethics, justice, politics and metaphysics. These correspond, very roughly, to the emphasis found in Ovate and Druid training. While I will certainly continue to develop the latter on my own (as if I could stop myself!), I've decided that my Second Degree work will benefit from a good dose of shamanic, intuitive exploration. The "spirals" I've chosen (divination, magic and a self-designed "faery spiral") all deal with nonrational, Otherworld aspects of spirituality, learning how to shape consciousness, connect with sacred or trans-mundane beings and energies, and working more closely with liminal experiences in the human life cycle (such as birth, love, grief, death, illness, initiation, etc.).
One way I've thought about this threefold division within Druidry is to imagine the Bards as the poets and story-tellers, the Ovates as what we would think of as "priests" or spiritual counselors, and the Druids as "judges" and advisors in both worldly and spiritual matters. Thinking through AODA's Second Degree curriculum, one thing that strikes me is the important role that mentoring, teaching and group leadership comes to play over the next few years. By the time an Apprentice is ready to become a Druid Companion in AODA, their work has supposedly prepared them for formal ordination and the responsibilities of organizing and leading a chartered Study Group.* The exercises and reading of the Second Degree's Water path place heavy emphasis on encouraging emotional maturity, exploring various models of spiritual development, and learning effective techniques for teaching, coaching and counseling; meanwhile, the Fire path requires students to write, memorize and be able to effectively perform ritual with others (including the Candidate initiation ritual). Once again, in its own task-oriented way, AODA's curriculum works to impart the skills and knowledge a person needs to act competently as a priest or priestess for their local community. Intuitive shamanic and dreamwork seem, to me, to be a natural compliment to these more overt, exoteric leadership skills. After all, how can you help to counsel and guide others without personal exploration and experience of your own.
But this is where I find myself almost immediately running into difficulties. The next two or three years of my Druidic study are fairly well mapped out, with lists of important books, exercises and techniques to pursue and correct, and a given number of hours of "community service" to provide. Not to mention, I have the added benefit of knowing a few people within AODA who have worked through and completed the Second Degree already, who can and often cheerfully do provide advice, encouragement and personal examples from their own lives. But for me, this isn't enough. Instead, I keep asking myself, "What does spiritual growth look like?" There was a time when I thought I knew, or I at least had a kind of ideal to shoot for, to work towards. Now... I find myself honestly unsure. For all its structure and challenge, in many ways the AODA degree program strikes me as imparting barely more than a skill set. Valuable, useful skills, of course, but.... still. I've seen people who can effectively read runes or competently perform moving rituals, but then I've also seen Catholic priests who preach movingly about love and service, and then afterwards go diddle some poor altar boy in the rectory. Not to put too fine a point on it. Certainly, skills are important, but as I read Judy Harrow's book, Spiritual Mentoring: A Pagan Guide, for instance, I read again and again about how necessary it is to encourage real, substantive spiritual growth... and yet nowhere do I find any indication of what this might be or how we might recognize it. So I'm left asking (skill-sets, knowledge-bases and charisma aside): what does spiritual growth look like?
* One thing that bothers me about AODA is that Groves can only be established by Druid Adepts, who are initiated based not on a clearly outlined program of study as with the two previous grades, but according to the whim of the Grand Grove and its members, who must approve a self-designed program (or decide to bestow the title honorarily on people who impress them). This is where hierarchy becomes an issue for me. In theory, this "freedom" of study is meant to encourage self-discipline and commitment, demanding that truly serious students of Druidry prove themselves by taking up the responsibility for their own development after they reach a certain level. In practice, however, it seems to work to keep very few people from attaining to the higher degrees. Instead, it seems people at this point more often "take the iniative" by leaving AODA altogether to establish their own groups or groves (and if/when I reach that point, I will most likely do the same). The current archdruid of the Order often seems quite satisfied (almost suspiciously self-satisfied) to allow members "without the commitment" or who take issue with this hierarchical structure to drop away, move on, or simply stay put at their current level. I find this a shame, since it means that AODA's membership (which consists almost entirely of Candidates and Apprentices) is likely to remain fairly stagnant in the coming decades. I can only hope that, as membership grows to include more younger members and the current leaders finally being to retire, a new and more refreshing attitude might take hold that encourages growth both for the group as a whole and for members personally. Since, as part of my Apprentice initiation, I promised to work to help the AODA community, I will continue to try to be part of that more promising trend.
Some of it will be guided in part by the AODA Second Degree curriculum, with its focus on the four elements and corresponding emphases: earth: a foundation of continual connection with the natural world and a developing understanding of ecology; fire: more intense and creative engagement with ritual and holy day rites; air: scholarly study of Celtic mythology, Arthurian legend and the history of Revival Druidry; and water: emotional and community development through teaching and mentoring. In addition to these four areas of training, AODA also encourages the development of practical skills in the arts and spiritual crafts by requiring three "spirals" of study in things such as poetry, music, magic, and divination, as well as a "fifth element" (spirit) focus on comparative religion and the theory and history of nature spirituality in particular, in order to develop a broader perspective on the role of Druidry in our own lives and within our contemporary historical-cultural context.
This is all very structured and task-oriented; e.g. "read x number of books on this topic and write an essay y pages long," or "develop n holy day rites and perform them at least z times a year," or "choose a musical instrument and practice p times a week, memorizing q number of songs you feel skilled enough to play in public." In some ways, I very much like this approach, since it sets out very clear, attainable goals to work towards without putting too many restrictions on what exactly each individual will learn from or get out of such work. Of course, there's a general assumption that, for instance, committed regular contact with nature will rub off on a person in terms of appreciation and care, or that the self-discipline required to meditate daily, or the creativity and knowledge needed to write a certain number of self-designed rituals, will have similarly predictable effects, all working together and playing off each other to shape a person walking the uniquely AODA Druidic path while also ensuring they have at least some of the skills necessary to teach newcomers and neophytes, passing the tradition on to others. In some ways, the structure of the AODA degree program works to inculcate and train its Druids in the same way a graduate school program trains its students to become competent professors within the academic institution. (And, as with graduate school, this type of institutional training, despite its benefits, is not cut out for everybody.) Obviously, the part of me that eventually rebelled against the influence of inadvertent or unacknowledged "indoctrination" in my creative writing graduate program struggles, too, from time to time with this aspect of AODA training. However, because I do enjoy the challenge of specific, outlined goals and I believe the process of training and growth in Druidry is valuable in itself, I've decided to take up the challenge and confront whatever obstacles that may come up with a commitment to my own future goals in mind.
As I mentioned, the AODA program is very much task-oriented, and so to help "flesh out" this approach and give it depth, another aspect that will guide my Druidic work over the next few years will be a personal emphasis on "Ovate"-related aspects of spirituality. Although for some reason (not entirely clear to me) AODA very much downplays the traditional (Revival) Druidic division of training into Bardic, Ovate and Druidic levels adopted by groups like OBOD, I feel that these broad categories make a kind of sense to me. Because I first came to Druidry through my "bardic" work with poetry and creative writing (and chose poetry as the "spiral" for my First Degree work), metaphors of music, song, dance, imagery and imagination have echoed strongly through my Druidic study so far. As I continue to explore and grow, however, I find two new interests coming into focus: a fascination with shamanic and trance or dream work, divination and magic; and a growing need to articulate my spirituality in theological and philosophical terms that encompass questions of ethics, justice, politics and metaphysics. These correspond, very roughly, to the emphasis found in Ovate and Druid training. While I will certainly continue to develop the latter on my own (as if I could stop myself!), I've decided that my Second Degree work will benefit from a good dose of shamanic, intuitive exploration. The "spirals" I've chosen (divination, magic and a self-designed "faery spiral") all deal with nonrational, Otherworld aspects of spirituality, learning how to shape consciousness, connect with sacred or trans-mundane beings and energies, and working more closely with liminal experiences in the human life cycle (such as birth, love, grief, death, illness, initiation, etc.).
One way I've thought about this threefold division within Druidry is to imagine the Bards as the poets and story-tellers, the Ovates as what we would think of as "priests" or spiritual counselors, and the Druids as "judges" and advisors in both worldly and spiritual matters. Thinking through AODA's Second Degree curriculum, one thing that strikes me is the important role that mentoring, teaching and group leadership comes to play over the next few years. By the time an Apprentice is ready to become a Druid Companion in AODA, their work has supposedly prepared them for formal ordination and the responsibilities of organizing and leading a chartered Study Group.* The exercises and reading of the Second Degree's Water path place heavy emphasis on encouraging emotional maturity, exploring various models of spiritual development, and learning effective techniques for teaching, coaching and counseling; meanwhile, the Fire path requires students to write, memorize and be able to effectively perform ritual with others (including the Candidate initiation ritual). Once again, in its own task-oriented way, AODA's curriculum works to impart the skills and knowledge a person needs to act competently as a priest or priestess for their local community. Intuitive shamanic and dreamwork seem, to me, to be a natural compliment to these more overt, exoteric leadership skills. After all, how can you help to counsel and guide others without personal exploration and experience of your own.
But this is where I find myself almost immediately running into difficulties. The next two or three years of my Druidic study are fairly well mapped out, with lists of important books, exercises and techniques to pursue and correct, and a given number of hours of "community service" to provide. Not to mention, I have the added benefit of knowing a few people within AODA who have worked through and completed the Second Degree already, who can and often cheerfully do provide advice, encouragement and personal examples from their own lives. But for me, this isn't enough. Instead, I keep asking myself, "What does spiritual growth look like?" There was a time when I thought I knew, or I at least had a kind of ideal to shoot for, to work towards. Now... I find myself honestly unsure. For all its structure and challenge, in many ways the AODA degree program strikes me as imparting barely more than a skill set. Valuable, useful skills, of course, but.... still. I've seen people who can effectively read runes or competently perform moving rituals, but then I've also seen Catholic priests who preach movingly about love and service, and then afterwards go diddle some poor altar boy in the rectory. Not to put too fine a point on it. Certainly, skills are important, but as I read Judy Harrow's book, Spiritual Mentoring: A Pagan Guide, for instance, I read again and again about how necessary it is to encourage real, substantive spiritual growth... and yet nowhere do I find any indication of what this might be or how we might recognize it. So I'm left asking (skill-sets, knowledge-bases and charisma aside): what does spiritual growth look like?
* One thing that bothers me about AODA is that Groves can only be established by Druid Adepts, who are initiated based not on a clearly outlined program of study as with the two previous grades, but according to the whim of the Grand Grove and its members, who must approve a self-designed program (or decide to bestow the title honorarily on people who impress them). This is where hierarchy becomes an issue for me. In theory, this "freedom" of study is meant to encourage self-discipline and commitment, demanding that truly serious students of Druidry prove themselves by taking up the responsibility for their own development after they reach a certain level. In practice, however, it seems to work to keep very few people from attaining to the higher degrees. Instead, it seems people at this point more often "take the iniative" by leaving AODA altogether to establish their own groups or groves (and if/when I reach that point, I will most likely do the same). The current archdruid of the Order often seems quite satisfied (almost suspiciously self-satisfied) to allow members "without the commitment" or who take issue with this hierarchical structure to drop away, move on, or simply stay put at their current level. I find this a shame, since it means that AODA's membership (which consists almost entirely of Candidates and Apprentices) is likely to remain fairly stagnant in the coming decades. I can only hope that, as membership grows to include more younger members and the current leaders finally being to retire, a new and more refreshing attitude might take hold that encourages growth both for the group as a whole and for members personally. Since, as part of my Apprentice initiation, I promised to work to help the AODA community, I will continue to try to be part of that more promising trend.
Monday, March 3, 2008
On Romance, Kicking & Screaming
I have a problem with romance. O yes. Miss Perpetually-Single over here has a problem with romance, what a shock! Somebody, call CNN, this is breaking news!
Seriously, though. Blah. I know I don't normally write about such things in this blog, which was intended to be more firmly committed to purely spiritual and philosophical (and sometimes poetic) ponderings, but if there's any spiritual path that happily and eagerly includes sexuality, sensuality and romance in its endeavors and concerns, surely it's Paganism, right? Right. And even if this particular Distressing Damsel here doesn't officially consider herself pure Pagan, well... we can overlook that fact this one time, especially in light of recent news that puts her more firmly than ever outside of her mother tradition. So.
Sequence
I'm a bit behind on the Valentine's Day Blues, clearly, but the sequence of events is as follows:
[a] About three weeks ago, Ali decides she wants to get a tattoo commemorating her initiation into Apprenticeship with AODA, just as she got her first tattoo to commemorate the beginning of her Candidate level work the summer before last. She gets it into her head that she wants a Celtic-knot armband around her upper left arm, one evocative of ocean waves, out of which the Salmon of Wisdom jumps, etched echoing a crescent moon on her shoulder, all in blue. (Very sexy, she swears, or it will be, anyway.)
[b] Upon deciding this, however, she dispassionately examines her arms in the mirror, only to discover they are in fact quite flabby, not the best or most shapely canvas for such meaningful body-art. This won't do.
[c] Ali begins working out regularly, a simple repetition of push-ups and sit-ups that soon expands into a regimen of aerobics and stretches, as well. ("Regimen" is, by the way, a fun word to say.)
[d] Regular exercise, after initially leaving Ali expectedly sore in all sorts of flabby places, also has the unexpected result of thawing out her crush-muscle. The crush-muscle, for those of you who aren't already aware, is located in the pit of the stomach and is shaped like a pink-and-white lace Valentine heart with angelic and innocent-looking butterfly wings (these tend to flutter excitedly for no apparent reason). The crush-muscle is often mistake for the heart as the Seat of Love; understandably, as it is indirectly connected to the heart via the brain's frontal lobe, which it must shut down in order to circumvent. Ali's crush-muscle has been frozen stiff for quite a long time. (A long story, involving misdirection, sleight-of-hand, regret and autonomy.)
[e] Thanks to her slowly-thawing crush-muscle, Ali soon discovers she has a romantic... shall we say "infatuation with"? No, too strong. Let's say a romantic... thing for someone she works with. This causes problems for several reasons, not least of which is that there is a guy with whom she has been exchanging emails over the past few months who seems much better for her and more obviously into her. On paper, at least. But, as the interwebs will tell you, this is an increasingly paperless world.
O, what to do? Let's stop being clever for a moment.
Clever Girl
Wouldn't that be nice? The problem, of course, is that I have only two ways of responding to romance: being coldly clever, and being moonfully idiotic. The former reasserts the frontal lobe (which I happen to think is a rather sexy part of me, if I do have to say so myself) and, through it, the more sincere aspect of emotion, as well as my self-respect and my respect for the other with whom I'm trying to engage, ostensibly flirtatiously; the latter hands the butterflies the wheel. And they don't steer very well.
There was a time when I could balance these two responses and come off as mildly attractive to the opposite gender, who seems to appreciate flattering attention (from the right person) when it's coupled with a playful hard-to-get detachment. Now, however, things are grim. I'm up against quite predatory women who seem to have this combination of availability and disinterest down to a science, mostly because sincerity and intimacy take a backseat to just having something (or rather, someone) to do. My priorities are different. Romantic predation has always struck me as a bit demeaning. Metaphorically speaking, I love the thrill of the chase less than the exquisite harmony of the dance. Romance, to me, should be a communal and communicative art, rather than a calculated science. But dancing takes grace, a basic familiarity with the steps, and a good ear. I always seem to be jamming to punk or waltzing to the wind, while everyone else is busy grinding to R&B. I am not what you would call "easy," not euphemistically and certainly not literally. I am, in fact, rather difficult and odd.
Which brings me to another stumbling block between me and romance. The truth is that, even though I like who I am and I have worked very hard to become the person I've become, I am really quite odd. Part of me worries that a romantic relationship would somehow make me... normal. Not because only dull, mainstream people have romances, but because my priorities have always been so clearly aligned to the concerns of love--whether that love be spiritual, familial, romantic or the love of friendship--that such a relationship would naturally change the foreground of my psychic landscape. Am I willing to welcome such a change? I say, quite often, that I would very much like a partner, a companion, to travel with me through life, however briefly. Someone to pass the time with, to talk with, to cuddle and to cherish. Someone who gives me butterflies when he makes eye contact, someone who can do me in with casual silliness, someone who isn't just a strategic "smart match" on the proverbial paper. But if there were such a person, he would certainly change me--there would be no point to a relationship if he didn't or couldn't.
The thing about some of these predatory women is that they're very good at throwing themselves elegantly at the latest Hott Guy (even if, two weeks ago, they didn't give him the time of day). They're so good, in fact, that it makes me wonder if maybe they just don't have much to lose. Being single as an adult has forced me to develop a strong sense of self, to individuate, to become my own person. I'm heavy, dense with character. It's much harder to throw myself around these days. I find letting gravity and natural attraction take their course works much better, but just like in chemical bonding, it's hard to form lasting connections with others when they're all bouncing about and throwing themselves around excitedly. (I just called my best friend to check on the chemistry metaphor, and it holds. He says it's like two bowling balls covered with glue: ease them gently together and they'll stick, but send one slamming into the other, and the force of the ricochet will overcome any sticking-potential the glue might have had. So goes chemistry, so goes the world.)
Fearful Symmetry
Which brings me to my last but not least romantic trip-up: bad luck. You have not seen a girl with more bad luck. Take a random customer at the diner where I work, one who has been regularly showing up at 7:15 AM on the dot for breakfast for years and years. I need only mention casually to a coworker that I think he's cute, and he'll never be seen again. (That's a hypothetical, as most of our regulars are creepy old men, who never seem to go away no matter how much you might want them to.) Or another example, this time directly from real life: young man leaves shy waitress his number; shy waitress loses the number, much to her chagrin; two weeks or so later, young man returns and shy waitress has a friend approach him about the lost number, exchanging emails; young man emails shy waitress later that week to say that when he left the number, he was single, but since then he's become "unavailable" and happily involved. Oooo, so close!
If you're thinking perhaps this is just paranoia, all in my head, a manifestation of fear or bitterness--o ye of little faith. As part of the Divination Spiral of my AODA Second Degree work, I've started casting Ogham readings on a somewhat daily basis. The other night, with these romantic matters on my mind and my crush-muscle aching slightly like a joint that has only just come in from the cold, I decided to cast a three-few (past-present-future) reading regarding the question, "What do I need to know about my romantic life?" The fews I drew were:
Huath, Nion, Straif,
or
Whitethorn, Ash, Blackthorn.
The ash tree is associated in various mythologies, including Celtic and Norse, with the axis mundi, the World Tree. Its straight-growing branches and high-reaching trunk were employed in the making of spears and staffs, and its expansive root system often keeps other plants from establishing around it, so that it tends to grow alone in its own space. Both the whitethorn (or hawthorn) and the blackthorn are prickly shrubs or small trees, often used in hedgerows to protect, guard and bar the way.
It's hard to escape the astounding visual symmetry of this reading: the single, pole-like tree reaching deep into the earth and high into the heavens in the present moment, but bound on both sides, past and future, by foreboding, low-lying thorns that complicate and wound. But the associated meanings of these fews are even more striking: while the whitethorn symbolizes obstacles and stumbling blocks to be overcome with patience and indirect progress (a good fit to my romantic past, which for the most part has been at least fulfilling even in its difficulties), the blackthorn symbolizes pain, damage, separation, division, and downright warfare. Meanwhile, the ash is a tree of transformation and manifestation--personal evolution directed by the magical will, but also with a heavy emphasis on the role of Fate. Drawing the Nion few, Mountfort suggests, "counsels you to regard this continuous unfolding of events as signposts" pointing you towards your unique destiny. With the future few of Blackthorn, I wonder just what kind of romantic destiny I am being guided towards.
All of this leads me to wonder, also, what to do now. With both bad luck and the sticks belying a future of romantic difficulty and hurt--can I avoid it? And even if I could, should I? Isn't despairing of romantic, personal love just as much a wound as the pain of rejection and failed connection? I remember that excellent movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, that raises not just the question of why some people just seem drawn naturally together, despite all the conniving of others, but the equally important question: if you knew it would all end badly, would you risk it anyway?
Seriously, though. Blah. I know I don't normally write about such things in this blog, which was intended to be more firmly committed to purely spiritual and philosophical (and sometimes poetic) ponderings, but if there's any spiritual path that happily and eagerly includes sexuality, sensuality and romance in its endeavors and concerns, surely it's Paganism, right? Right. And even if this particular Distressing Damsel here doesn't officially consider herself pure Pagan, well... we can overlook that fact this one time, especially in light of recent news that puts her more firmly than ever outside of her mother tradition. So.
Sequence
I'm a bit behind on the Valentine's Day Blues, clearly, but the sequence of events is as follows:
[a] About three weeks ago, Ali decides she wants to get a tattoo commemorating her initiation into Apprenticeship with AODA, just as she got her first tattoo to commemorate the beginning of her Candidate level work the summer before last. She gets it into her head that she wants a Celtic-knot armband around her upper left arm, one evocative of ocean waves, out of which the Salmon of Wisdom jumps, etched echoing a crescent moon on her shoulder, all in blue. (Very sexy, she swears, or it will be, anyway.)
[b] Upon deciding this, however, she dispassionately examines her arms in the mirror, only to discover they are in fact quite flabby, not the best or most shapely canvas for such meaningful body-art. This won't do.
[c] Ali begins working out regularly, a simple repetition of push-ups and sit-ups that soon expands into a regimen of aerobics and stretches, as well. ("Regimen" is, by the way, a fun word to say.)
[d] Regular exercise, after initially leaving Ali expectedly sore in all sorts of flabby places, also has the unexpected result of thawing out her crush-muscle. The crush-muscle, for those of you who aren't already aware, is located in the pit of the stomach and is shaped like a pink-and-white lace Valentine heart with angelic and innocent-looking butterfly wings (these tend to flutter excitedly for no apparent reason). The crush-muscle is often mistake for the heart as the Seat of Love; understandably, as it is indirectly connected to the heart via the brain's frontal lobe, which it must shut down in order to circumvent. Ali's crush-muscle has been frozen stiff for quite a long time. (A long story, involving misdirection, sleight-of-hand, regret and autonomy.)[e] Thanks to her slowly-thawing crush-muscle, Ali soon discovers she has a romantic... shall we say "infatuation with"? No, too strong. Let's say a romantic... thing for someone she works with. This causes problems for several reasons, not least of which is that there is a guy with whom she has been exchanging emails over the past few months who seems much better for her and more obviously into her. On paper, at least. But, as the interwebs will tell you, this is an increasingly paperless world.
O, what to do? Let's stop being clever for a moment.
Clever Girl
Wouldn't that be nice? The problem, of course, is that I have only two ways of responding to romance: being coldly clever, and being moonfully idiotic. The former reasserts the frontal lobe (which I happen to think is a rather sexy part of me, if I do have to say so myself) and, through it, the more sincere aspect of emotion, as well as my self-respect and my respect for the other with whom I'm trying to engage, ostensibly flirtatiously; the latter hands the butterflies the wheel. And they don't steer very well.
There was a time when I could balance these two responses and come off as mildly attractive to the opposite gender, who seems to appreciate flattering attention (from the right person) when it's coupled with a playful hard-to-get detachment. Now, however, things are grim. I'm up against quite predatory women who seem to have this combination of availability and disinterest down to a science, mostly because sincerity and intimacy take a backseat to just having something (or rather, someone) to do. My priorities are different. Romantic predation has always struck me as a bit demeaning. Metaphorically speaking, I love the thrill of the chase less than the exquisite harmony of the dance. Romance, to me, should be a communal and communicative art, rather than a calculated science. But dancing takes grace, a basic familiarity with the steps, and a good ear. I always seem to be jamming to punk or waltzing to the wind, while everyone else is busy grinding to R&B. I am not what you would call "easy," not euphemistically and certainly not literally. I am, in fact, rather difficult and odd.
Which brings me to another stumbling block between me and romance. The truth is that, even though I like who I am and I have worked very hard to become the person I've become, I am really quite odd. Part of me worries that a romantic relationship would somehow make me... normal. Not because only dull, mainstream people have romances, but because my priorities have always been so clearly aligned to the concerns of love--whether that love be spiritual, familial, romantic or the love of friendship--that such a relationship would naturally change the foreground of my psychic landscape. Am I willing to welcome such a change? I say, quite often, that I would very much like a partner, a companion, to travel with me through life, however briefly. Someone to pass the time with, to talk with, to cuddle and to cherish. Someone who gives me butterflies when he makes eye contact, someone who can do me in with casual silliness, someone who isn't just a strategic "smart match" on the proverbial paper. But if there were such a person, he would certainly change me--there would be no point to a relationship if he didn't or couldn't.
The thing about some of these predatory women is that they're very good at throwing themselves elegantly at the latest Hott Guy (even if, two weeks ago, they didn't give him the time of day). They're so good, in fact, that it makes me wonder if maybe they just don't have much to lose. Being single as an adult has forced me to develop a strong sense of self, to individuate, to become my own person. I'm heavy, dense with character. It's much harder to throw myself around these days. I find letting gravity and natural attraction take their course works much better, but just like in chemical bonding, it's hard to form lasting connections with others when they're all bouncing about and throwing themselves around excitedly. (I just called my best friend to check on the chemistry metaphor, and it holds. He says it's like two bowling balls covered with glue: ease them gently together and they'll stick, but send one slamming into the other, and the force of the ricochet will overcome any sticking-potential the glue might have had. So goes chemistry, so goes the world.)
Fearful Symmetry
Which brings me to my last but not least romantic trip-up: bad luck. You have not seen a girl with more bad luck. Take a random customer at the diner where I work, one who has been regularly showing up at 7:15 AM on the dot for breakfast for years and years. I need only mention casually to a coworker that I think he's cute, and he'll never be seen again. (That's a hypothetical, as most of our regulars are creepy old men, who never seem to go away no matter how much you might want them to.) Or another example, this time directly from real life: young man leaves shy waitress his number; shy waitress loses the number, much to her chagrin; two weeks or so later, young man returns and shy waitress has a friend approach him about the lost number, exchanging emails; young man emails shy waitress later that week to say that when he left the number, he was single, but since then he's become "unavailable" and happily involved. Oooo, so close!
If you're thinking perhaps this is just paranoia, all in my head, a manifestation of fear or bitterness--o ye of little faith. As part of the Divination Spiral of my AODA Second Degree work, I've started casting Ogham readings on a somewhat daily basis. The other night, with these romantic matters on my mind and my crush-muscle aching slightly like a joint that has only just come in from the cold, I decided to cast a three-few (past-present-future) reading regarding the question, "What do I need to know about my romantic life?" The fews I drew were:
or
Whitethorn, Ash, Blackthorn.
The ash tree is associated in various mythologies, including Celtic and Norse, with the axis mundi, the World Tree. Its straight-growing branches and high-reaching trunk were employed in the making of spears and staffs, and its expansive root system often keeps other plants from establishing around it, so that it tends to grow alone in its own space. Both the whitethorn (or hawthorn) and the blackthorn are prickly shrubs or small trees, often used in hedgerows to protect, guard and bar the way.
It's hard to escape the astounding visual symmetry of this reading: the single, pole-like tree reaching deep into the earth and high into the heavens in the present moment, but bound on both sides, past and future, by foreboding, low-lying thorns that complicate and wound. But the associated meanings of these fews are even more striking: while the whitethorn symbolizes obstacles and stumbling blocks to be overcome with patience and indirect progress (a good fit to my romantic past, which for the most part has been at least fulfilling even in its difficulties), the blackthorn symbolizes pain, damage, separation, division, and downright warfare. Meanwhile, the ash is a tree of transformation and manifestation--personal evolution directed by the magical will, but also with a heavy emphasis on the role of Fate. Drawing the Nion few, Mountfort suggests, "counsels you to regard this continuous unfolding of events as signposts" pointing you towards your unique destiny. With the future few of Blackthorn, I wonder just what kind of romantic destiny I am being guided towards.
All of this leads me to wonder, also, what to do now. With both bad luck and the sticks belying a future of romantic difficulty and hurt--can I avoid it? And even if I could, should I? Isn't despairing of romantic, personal love just as much a wound as the pain of rejection and failed connection? I remember that excellent movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, that raises not just the question of why some people just seem drawn naturally together, despite all the conniving of others, but the equally important question: if you knew it would all end badly, would you risk it anyway?
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