June 3, 2018

Sunday Morning Coming Down

By JL

camera-514992_640It’s Sunday. The house is quiet in these early morning hours. I’m tucked away in my she-room, sipping fresh coffee. In summer, when the sun rises early enough to angle through the small window, it falls across the corner of the antique maple dresser I stripped down to the wood and then hand-rubbed with tung oil to reveal the grain.

The sun beam catches the glass of the framed mirror above the small chest of drawers and the room glows with the sweet promise of the season. Whispers fill my inner ear, I’ll bring you fragrant bouquets of roses and peonies. We’ll share lazy afternoons on the two-seater porch swing, and long nights tangled in the sheets when your body glistens from the heat of my touch. 

Oh, lover Summer, be still my heart.

Meanwhile, a friend shares a photo of her morning coffee at a sidewalk cafe in Paris and I feel a pang of envy for the life that got away.

I thought I’d journey to foreign places at this juncture in my life. I thought I’d sip coffee in a Paris Cafe, eat pasta alla Norma and visit the La Pescheria Market in Sicily, dip my toes in the Mediterranean, and drink Ouzo in Greece.

Alas, my husband’s health makes it extremely difficult to travel, and the stress of it when we do only worsens his conditions. He worries about getting where we need to be when we need to be there, with all the medical paraphernalia in tow and on board. But his concerns are that of a general running a campaign. I am the foot soldier with boots on the ground, carrying out the mission—and all the bags.

My travels worries are different. The possibility of a sudden crisis, even death, is something I live with every day. At home, or anywhere within the borders of the continental U.S., I know what to do.

With overseas travel, the thought of navigating unfamiliar territory and being unable to speak the language in an emergency makes it quite a different prospect. I worry about hospitals and transports if his heart, his burdened lungs, and his blood sugar all conspire to attack, deflate, and spike or plummet at the same time. I worry about simply getting us both back home if he dies.

Even when I imagine the best possible outcomes, I still see barriers everywhere. He won’t be walking along the ocean’s edge with me, strolling the maze of cobbled streets in historic cities, or climbing the stone steps of seaside villages, ancient ruins, or soaring cathedrals.

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It seems rather a lot of work, worry and expense just for me to spend most of my time in hotel rooms and sidewalk cafes, even if they are quintessentially European. Sure, I may be able to savor an authentic croissant with my French Coffee or wash down a plate of good Italian pasta with a goblet of chianti, but is it really worth all that?

The heart wants what the heart wants, and despite knowing the reality, considering my husband’s limitations, would be disappointing at best, my heart still aches for this unrequited encounter. Friends tell me to go without him. He tells me to go without him—lot’s of women do it.

We made these plans in a time when we thought we’d both be strong and healthy forever, or at least until we were, you know, really old. My husband has been to Europe, as a soldier, and numerous times after that. Our dream was to go together, to share the beauty and wonder with each other.

I have traveled without him since we married, though on a smaller scale. It only exchanges one ache in my heart for another, the longing for him to be at my side sharing the moments that photographs can’t capture. It casts a pall of loneliness.

My friend is traveling alone with others—sans husband. When she returns home he won’t be there to greet her; he died before they could share this time of their life.

One heartache for another.

 

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Aging Gracelessly, Joie de Vivre, Life Unscheduled, MUSINGS, RITUALS & PASSAGES

May 28, 2018

Soul Food: Self Care for Harsh Times

By JL

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I’m thinking about self care today for a couple of reasons. Mostly because, despite my best efforts at taking care not to acerbate my chronic back pain, it’s been sporting a big ol’ frowny face on the pain scale for the last several days.

This physical pain has been my constant companion, at some level, for more than thirty years now. I keep it at a tolerable level with mindful bending, proper lifting, and yoga practice. When I feel that first twinge of increasing pain level, I get ahead of it with OTC pain relievers, ice and heat compresses, and self imposed rest. Most times I can stave off the hot throbbing pain that is the worst of it.

In the last few years, these intense flare-ups come more often and last much longer. I have to concede that I’m losing the battle. One of the pearls of wisdom that came with my age is an understanding that it’s good to know my limits, and accept them. I’m more than ready to admit that self care isn’t going to cut it for me any longer. Next steps will involve some level of medical intervention.

Physical first aid is pretty much common knowledge. If you’re bleeding, put a bandage of the wound. If you can’t stop the blood flow, you’ll need stitches. If you sprain your ankle, ice it, wrap it and elevate it. If it doesn’t get better, see a doctor.

Quick—what are the similar steps for emotional self care?

You’re probably thinking a soothing cup of tea, or an adult beverage, maybe a bubble bath, a massage, a day off or a vacation—change your environment, get out in nature. Maybe you include meditation, prayer, or other spiritual activity. Even a brisk walk, a round of golf, shooting some hoops; any good cardio workout helps burn off stress and falls under self care. I know I’m not alone when I indulge in any of these prescriptions to lift my spirits.

But I’m wondering, why do we think of emotional self care the same way we think of physical triage—notice the bleeding and determine if a bandage will do or are stitches necessary? Or more to the point, wait until we are feeling burned out, on edge, irritable or weepy before deciding whether a day off will be enough, or if it’s it going to take an extended vacation in a far away location.

I think self care works much better when modeled after preventative wellness, especially in times of social upheaval when we are bombarded by daily assaults on our state of grace.

I’m thinking about a self care reminder APP. No, not something to download to my smart phone, although there are several of those apps available that might be helpful. I’m talking about downloading the acronym to my brain—APP or Awareness, Prevention and Planning, to help me stay on top of my emotional wellness.

I figure being Aware of my environment, not just the spaces I occupy but the people who occupy them with me, is a good start. Social media is pressing all my buttons lately and the news cycle just keeps feeding in with more grist for the mill.

This is kind of a no-brainer, but it follows that if the news and social media are frying my nerves, the best self care is to Prevent the assault in the first place. In other words, stay off of social media and turn off the news. The world isn’t going to fall apart if I stick my head in the sand for a while. Come to think of it, the world was a much happier place when we didn’t have 24/7 global news cycles and memes to help spread the sorry state of the day.

Of course, I don’t want to be an uninformed ignoramus, so I can Plan my exposure to the interwebs and news cycles in small doses that don’t leave me praying for a speedy arrival of the global warming tsunamis that will wipe out both coastlines, and a cyclone to take out D.C.

But what about real life? I can’t just turn off the day-to-day situations and unpleasant encounters of my actual life. Even though some of the people in my real world are getting on my last nerve I’m not a fan of severing relationships, especially with family members.

Boundaries are good. Guess what, it’s okay to say I’m not interested in hearing your politics because if I do I’ll really just want to punch you in the face, and I’m trying to avoid those unhealthy feelings.

Sometimes, the things that get me down just can’t be avoided. When I’ve reached the end of all my ropes and there’s not enough left to tie a knot and hang on, when I start thinking I’d sooner serve up a plate of vipers than engage with anybody who dares to approach me, I give myself a time out in my She Room.

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Of course, I can’t lock myself up forever and it’s not a good idea to let the she-dragon loose, no matter how satisfying it feels in the moment. Better that I build uplifting, soul feeding activities into my routine, a supplement for my emotional immune system. Nourishing my physical body with healthy food choices, getting enough sleep and some physical activity every day, and then indulging in a little bit of what feeds my soul to keep me from falling down the dark well.

Also, focusing on what I can change instead of obsessing over what I cannot change keeps me grounded in purpose and hope. I can gripe and moan all day long on social media, even puff up my feathers and make impassioned, resounding speeches. It’s like pouring a pitcher of clean water into a polluted lake. But finding what I can do outside my own front door to make a difference in my community, and doing it, helps me feel more hopeful and less defeated.

If there is any social media trend I could start, I’d like it to be just that—instead of putting so much energy into sharing memes and righteous indignation, go out and make one small difference in your community. It can be anything, helping a charity, collecting or distributing food shelf items, cleaning up litter, volunteering for an event—whether for a cause or just for fun and entertainment. It all contributes to a healthy, thriving community, and added up, it’s the small efforts that will bring about the biggest changes.

GET OFF FACEBOOK

Not that I’m going to stop taking bubble baths with candles and glass of wine. Or treating myself to the good chocolate, a date with a friend, a walk in the woods, or wading along a shoreline. I’m not going to stop indulging in the feel good things or waiting until I think I need cheering up. It’s like medicating chronic pain; If I wait until I think I really need it, I’ve waited too long.

 

 

 

 

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in MUSINGS, Self Care

May 15, 2018

A Year of Becoming Crone

By JL

Crone woman in mosaicI marked sixty years of life last month. I am relishing the milestone. True, a trace of mourning for my lost youth still lingers around my edges, but the circle turns ever onward and aging is life. I find I spend more time imagining my crone years stretching out before me, who I want to be as Crone, and what legacy I want to create.

The triple goddess archetype of Maiden, Mother and Crone has been much misunderstood and often reimagined. I see it as a broad metaphor, not to be applied literally, nor its increments marked so precisely to biological functions in the life span of a woman.

The Maiden embodies youthful spirit of adventure and exploration, she is unfettered and carefree. Her energy is the awakening of and to life and in that respect she is ageless.

The Mother is the perpetuator of life. She has the potential to grow a child, give birth and care for the child, but that potential need not be actualized by the process of physical birth. The Mother is Creatrix of all life. Her energy is to bring change, to keep things moving forward, to create the unfolding of life, especially her own.

The Crone, of course, is the woman of experience. She is a vault of knowledge gained though life’s lessons—often hard learned. The Crone sees the bigger picture, her energy is of comprehension, compassion, and temperance. She has, perhaps, the most revealing of all vision, that of hindsight. The Crone brings closure, a laying down of burdens too long carried.

The passage from one life stage to the next, does not erase the former. We carry with us all the ages we have been. Neither are the transitions set hard and fast in the flush or loss of hormones. Some women enter their croning earlier, some after they are much older. Becoming Crone is not about age, it’s knowing, in your deepest place, when you have arrived.

I have been hearing the Crone whispers for some time now, but events of the past few weeks have turned up the volume. The voice inside me calls, “Don the mantle and cloak, enter the circle of Crones. Your time is at hand.”

But what does that mean? Sit on my porch swing and wait for younger seekers to come ask my advice? Check my inbox for an invitation to the circle? I’m thinking not. So, like I’ve done with most everything in my life, I’m jumping in feet first. The plan is to spend this year defining the parameters of my Croneship.

Many modern adaptations of the Maiden, Mother, Crone life cycle have expanded it beyond the three archetypal phases. Two models stand out as revolutionary and the books that introduced them have become timeless classics:  The Queen of Myself by Donna Henes and The Women’s Wheel of Life by Elizabeth Davis and Carol Leonard.

Ah, but of course! The three stages of the Triple Goddess are not the only points along the way. As on a beautiful color wheel, they are the primary hues, and between them are all of the beautiful blends—some in equal amounts, yes, but also those with a bit more of this than that, to give us all the colors of the spectrum.

The Queen lies directly between Mother and Crone. She is a powerful woman with much of the warrior about her, fighting for the right to her own sovereignty and for that of all women. From advocate to activist, she is a brave force in whatever causes she takes up.

In The Women’s Wheel of Life, Davis and Leonard give us thirteen unique archetypes, all distinct stages of the progression of blood mysteries, but again like the color wheel, the energies of each archetype strengthen the opposite aspect on the wheel. There are no less than five stages between Mother and Crone—Midwife, Matriarch, Amazon, Priestess and Sorceress.

In the Triple Goddess model, I have been more Crone than Mother for some time now. Queen felt right with her empowerment energy and capacity for the work of shaping society, but my urge to pass the scepter and crown to the next generation has become strong of late. While age alone and the death of my own mother makes me a Matriarch, the energy of Priestess and Sorceress feels much more visceral.

This makes sense to me. The Matriarch bears much of the Queenly qualities, still shaping and nurturing her family and community, while the Priestess and Sorceress are channels of Spirit. Their solo journey takes them through the deserts or to the mountain tops, they walk in the dark places, carefully listening, stirring past experience with divine truth, distilling the message that will be shared as Crone wisdom.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that true croning has almost nothing to do with natural age progression. True croning is an emergence from the depths of our self reckoning and the integration of our shadow and light, a beautiful blend allowing for all the tones. Where once we thought we knew everything, Crone shows us how narrow our vision has been.

The particular Crone energy I’m feeling is one of understanding, compassion, and acceptance that there are many paths to the same end. Between right and wrong action is a wide, gray chasm of potential for harm. I want to choose the way of least harm to myself—this precious, mortal vessel deserves at least as much love and care as I have given to others throughout my life.

I am quite ready to lay down the sword of the Amazon & Warrior, to pass the scepter and crown of the Queen to the next generation, knowing that it doesn’t mean ceding territory already hard-won. I have no doubt there are still many lessons to learn, but I believe they will be of a less corporeal and more transcendent nature.

Whether short or long, my journey to becoming Crone has begun.

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