Saturday, January 23, 2021

With Love, from Pluto



The interesting and challenging thing about this moment is that we know the
old forms aren't working. But we can't yet see what the new forms will be.
~Krista Tippett

I feel we are in an evolutionary process with its fits and starts.
~Jack Kornfield


When I studied and practiced astrology many years ago, I had a deep and abiding love/hate relationship with Pluto, god of the underworld; which represents the archetypal energies of death, rebirth, and transformation. I loved the profound changes that the energies of this planet wrought; real, lasting, all the way to the bones shifts; caterpillar to butterfly evolutions. But I didn't love what led there; the chaos and confusion, the resistance, the painful dying away of the old, the wrenching letting go, then sitting, knowing not for how long, in the barrenness, the penetrating discomfort, the terror at times, of the unknown. Pluto does so love to take his time, his fire is the long, unbearably slow burning one, leaving you despairing if there would ever be light at the end of the tunnel, and not only light, but regeneration, renewal, and, finally, the coveted, promised, long hoped for rebirth. 

Nothing is ever sure when languishing in the dark, except maybe assurances born of ancient wisdom traditions and myths, the writings of mystics and Jung, plus trust accrued watching nature year after year renew itself, though even those are lost for long stretches of time when one is engulfed by stormy seas. I was reminded yesterday that the darkest time comes just before dawn. The thing is, at least with actual dawn, we know the sun will rise, we are even privy these days to exactly when it will arrive. We have no such timing assurances otherwise. It's like what I've heard about walking the labyrinth. You have no idea where you are, how far you have traveled from the beginning, or how close or how far you might be from the completion.

If ever a god personified the great Mystery, it is Pluto. In the first years of therapy so many years ago now it seems like another lifetime, my nights were filled regularly with dreams of being thrown overboard into the deep night sea, slipping and falling down watery black abysses, being capsized, cascading deep into the ocean or deep into the bowels of the earth. Again and again nocturnal plunges, always into darkness, always into water, always descending, while intense and raw emotions like rage, greed, jealousy, revenge, and guilt plagued me in the daylight hours, insisting on being recognized as part of the human experience. 

It taught me that when visiting the underworld, we are really visiting the unconscious, and also, so importantly, that the Plutonic journey, though so challenging, is a benevolent one. It invites us to look into the deepest and darkest parts of ourselves, to let go of all that keeps us from wholeness, to find the treasure buried there and claim it as our own; and to find one's deepest meaning of life. Though I often went kicking and screaming, I did learn through the many experiences to honor and even appreciate the death-rebirth cycle, the process that is at the very heart of all life; for it is necessary that what does not serve our highest good be allowed to pass away so that we can evolve, which all of life longs for and is created for, so that our untapped potentials and our truest natures can be born. 

The same is true collectively. When I am in fear or despair about what is happening in our country, I take comfort knowing that nothing new can be born without the old dying away. Not that understanding that eases the primal emotions that I and so many others experience because it doesn't. But it adds context and it provides meaning; a container to hold it all. Yes the election turned out for good, and yes, I was moved beyond words by the beauty, the humanity, the joy even of Inauguration Day. Still, there is much in the unconscious of our country that needs to rise to the light of day and be dealt with so that something completely new can be born. Biden and the goodness, the empathy, the compassion, the knowledge and ability he embodies aside, we are deep in it; in for the long haul slow burn; we as a nation, a world, really, are in the middle of the archetypal descent, we are walking the labyrinth, burning in the crucible. The old is dying away, it is intense and will likely remain so for quite some time, the new as yet unknown. 

 


As an aside, though possibly more important than we can know, it is interesting to note that while Pluto~and others from different mythologies around the world~is god of the underworld, the archetypal journey itself, the sacred descent, has long been the province of goddesses and the divine feminine. The best known is Persephone, from Greece, who saved the world from much suffering with her compassion, by agreeing to spend half of the year in Hades after she was kidnapped by Pluto in order to help those who die to make the transition. I think of the Dalai Lama saying that it is women who will save the world. I think of Kamala Harris, and what an incredible gift she is to us. I think of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, I think of Ayanna Pressley, I think of Stacey Abrams and Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren and LaTosha Brown. I think of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I think of Krista Tippett, Joanna Macy, Greta Thunberg. I think of Amanda Gordon. Wow. Brave, stunning, passionate, creative, wise, beyond capable women. And so many, many more.

One morning, also in that other lifetime, I woke and wrote the following dream in my journal that until then had been filled with all of those other dreams: I am in a large building made of some kind of light-colored, smooth stone. There is a high domed ceiling, and the whole space is radiant with light. In the middle of the space is a grand staircase made completely of white marble. I wear a long white dress trimmed in gold and am walking up the stairs, at my side, my companion, a beautiful large, golden bear. 



Tuesday, January 12, 2021




The sun is up
beautiful light-tinged clouds drift
like cotton
slow motion over the
vast
baby blue
sky. 

A candle burns
music plays softly
the violins
the flute
the piano chords
puppy is asleep in front of the fire
feet sprawled sweetly behind her
black pads peeking through riots of white hair

speaking of riots

no

this is sunday
day of rest
a no new news day
no reason why tab after tab
remain
open

cnn, nrp, huffpost
copious twitter feeds
as though
they can
save
you
as though those
can help
you
find
yourself
retrieve you
from where
you've
gone into
hiding
just like those in the
hallowed temple
of our
precious
democracy

under tables
crouching
in aisles
gasmasks ready

you do find your anger
in some moments, your hatred
where your heartbreak
is
no one knows

but wait
the melodies
the strings
the crescendo

oh, the crescendo

there it is
in the haunting
voice
the endless ocean
frothing
with
such
over
whelming
sorrow

scant wave
flickering glimpse

back
to
headlines



Sunday, January 3, 2021

A Little Musing on Creativity (& Purpose)


House on the Aven River

Original: 


Twelve years ago I fell in love with the whole of Brittany, France, and especially with the town of Pont Aven, and this sweet house that sits on the Aven River that runs through part of the town. I took so many photos in that town, most all somewhere along the river's edge where my youngest daughter and I walked one long afternoon, the melody of water, a gorgeous sky, and spring flowers bursting out everywhere. Though underexposed and not very exciting, this is one of my favorite images from that day. Like so many other photos that I love, it has sat in my files, waiting for me to have the right tools and know-how to bring its potential into being. 

There are few things that I love more than taking photos. I can lose myself for long periods of time behind the camera. I know I am not unusual in that. Everything that is not the moment vanishes, thoughts, worries, evaporate, and it's just me, my camera, and the subject. What I am not, when photographing, is technical, or patient. I don't knowingly follow certain rules. The very idea of an external light meter or a tripod, trying to deflect or reflect light is all intimidating and feels like way too much trouble. I am in photography what they call a "pantser" in the writing world, as in not necessarily into outlining and plotting, but just writing (shooting) by the seat of my pants. At one point I was gifted the Shutter Sisters' book, Expressive Photography, and their unique "shoot from the heart" philosophy became my mainstay, giving credibility to what I was already doing, and enabling me to embrace my particular approach even more. 

Whenever I am taking pictures, I am trying to capture something that I love. It's as simple as that, I realize suddenly. Grasping not only the image of something I adore that I can keep forever, but the moment, too. Like the trip with my daughter. Like the beauty and wonder of Brittany. Like this sweet house, which I can't even say why I loved so much, but I did; there it was at the end of the footpath by where the river narrowed into a small canal, with its stained walls, plants growing from it in the oddest places, the red chimney pipe topper, terra cotta roof tiles, all backing right up to the river. Without thought, I simply raised my little digital camera and began to click away. 

The photos from that trip captured something else. They captured those months when life was still normal, before my marriage ended and I left my home and garden, my entire life as I knew it. They are a poignant view, and symbolic. There I was traveling alone to France to visit my daughter, and traveling alone at times both in France and farther, while she was in school, a big and risky adventure for me; like a dress rehearsal, I see now, for the truly big adventure that waited for me back at home. Though odyssey was much more like it. Odyssey: a long series of wanderings or adventures, especially when filled with notable experiences, hardships, etc. 

A year and a half ago I was not in a good place at all, struggling to find a reason to even get up in the mornings when I came across a blog post by a woman who had accidentally become an entrepreneur later in life. I've written about it here before, how she could not wait to spring from bed each morning, so curious about what it was that might want to be created that day. Her story touched me profoundly, illuminating in a way that couldn't be denied the state of my own life then; my grief at its barrenness, its listlessness and lethargy; eight months into my oldest daughter's chronic illness, my own stresses caring for her, worrying for her, the unknown, the suffering; past traumas showing up. That blog post found the longing in me for that experience, for an excitement about something, anything.

The woman is Sharon Santoni, and out of nowhere, so unexpectedly in her later life, she created her very successful business, My French Country Home. I was not and am not the least bit interested in creating a business, but I did want to create a life, even in the midst of the difficulties, I hungered for more, and what had transpired in her life inspired the hell out of me. I made a commitment to start writing again on the regular, and I dusted off my (new) camera, re-acquainted myself with Photoshop and I was off and running. What a remarkable time it has been. I've learned so much, discovered so much, grown so much as an artist, as a voice; including learning to call what I do art, and more, to call myself an artist, to own myself as a writer, and maybe, most wonderfully of all, have connected in a very meaningful way with others along the way. Most days I spend hours digitally post processing my images, adding layers and textures and painterly effects; adding and subtracting. What a joy. 

And yet~

Here I sit, the new year dawning, after all we have experienced this year, personally, collectively, I am thirsting for more~

I can almost glimpse it, but not quite; it's out there yet remains elusive, like a shadow of a shadow, a delicate, ethereal impression~

Somehow, I am seeing, right now, one keystroke at a time, that it all has to do with purpose; something that I never thought much about when I was raising my family and tending our home, working part time, and yet something that has mystified and eluded me ever since~

Purpose: the reason for which something exists~

Oh my. 

It appears I have merely written the prelude here.