Moving on Up

My apologies guys and dolls for the radio silence. Life has gotten great big crazy lately, and I’m happy to report, mostly in the best of ways.

My book is half written, but is currently on an oh-so-brief hiatus as I pack up our households for our move at the end of the month to a much more suitable space. We found a lovely house with four bedrooms, fairly new renos throughout, lots of light, a huge kitchen, and a wood burning fireplace. There is a porch, back deck, balcony off the master bedroom and roof top deck. It’s seriously brilliant, and I’m so excited about what this all means.

Of course, I’m also freaking out a little bit. They say that moving is right up there with some of the top stress-causing moments in life. I seem to have developed OCD over the last year, and this compulsion for order and organization is being applied to our packing in an absurd colour-coded array of control freak frenzy. I had to take a time out the other day because someone left an un-labeled, un-coded box in the hallway. I mean, really…

The anxiety comes from the fear that what is almost certainly a great step for us may actually be a disaster. This is how I move through relationships now – hoping for the very best, trying for the very best, but secretly looking over my shoulder for devastation to catch up. How do you really enjoy anything if that is the reality? I scrawl about the bad stuff in a journal, and I celebrate the good stuff as much as I can. It’s about quelling that stupid voice that says “you can’t”. I hate that voice. I’m not sure what part of the body it’s attached to, but it should be removed like tonsils or the appendix because it’s just as useless.

It’s glorious outside today. I’m thinking about my best girl, and wishing she were home so I could look at her. I’m thinking about the food we’ll grill later, and the packing games we’ll play with the kids, and the two or three episodes from season two of The Sopranos that we’ll use to numb out our busy minds before sleeping.

I just want everything to be ok. Just like it is right now, but even slightly better, if that’s not too much to ask. I want us all to be celebrating for years to come.

The bigger space, the bigger bed, and the bigger dream is twelve sleeps around the corner. I’m ready for it, more than ever before. I think I can be good at it now, this love thing. Good in a way that has been paved by a stint in the school of hard knocks, some serious life celebration and revelation, and a determination to find love and make it last that surprises even me some days.

May first is moving day, and it’s also May Day, or Beltane. It marks the final end of the winter months, and was traditionally a celebration of fire, sexuality and fertility. Ancient Celts would frolic in the forests on Beltane Eve, free to lay with whomever they wished. In the morning, they would  wake and honour the sacred spring rites of the God and Goddess by weaving colourful ribbon around the May pole. It represents the yielding of the post-winter earth to the ripening warmth of the sun, the moment just before the fresh buds burst forth into supple blossoms, and the release from the lingering grip of winter.

Sounds like a damn fine time to build a home and a life together, dontcha think?

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Solomon Says

Bow River captured by iPhone

Bow River captured by iPhone

A fine evening to end my Banff experience.

Jennifer (my boss) and I had an early supper, and then walked along the Bow River into downtown Banff. It was a beautiful, scenic stroll. Once downtown we hit the movie theatre, which was a small, sticky-floored, messy place completely unlike the megaplexes one is used to in Toronto. There was something charming about the place, and it seemed to be ruled by pimply teenagers with squeaky voices without any adult management in sight. We saw “The Time Traveler’s Wife” which is an adaptation of what might be my favourite book. It was shot beautifully, but as is always the case, the book was far more powerful an experience. That Rachel Mc Adams sure is lovely.

Walking home at dusk was most serene, and once back at The Centre we paused to take in the mountain vista. The sun was sinking slowly behind the Rockies and the sky was melting from slate blue into inky twylight. We were both silent, and I feel we were likely both saying a silent goodbye.

Mine was a silent thank you. To this place, and to the Universe that led me here. I felt my heart open up like a valley, and I invited all manner of possibility to find its way in. I whispered a prayer to the Universe to affirm that I was ready for the next great chapter of my life. To assure that I felt strong, and still, and free of the doubt and fear that have tailed me like a shadow since the end of my last relationship. Then, at the exact same moment, Jennie and I turned to each other and knew it was time to move on.

In the lobby of the Professional Development Centre, where our rooms are, we encountered a very dapper African American gentleman, who was in the company of a most elegant African American woman. We commented on the brisk temperature, and he informed us in a voice as rich and thick as molasses that he and his wife were from Atlanta. He was wearing a beautiful suit in a blue that matched the twylight sky, and a tie that looked like a silk tie from the forties in a vibrant canary yellow. He and his wife both had the most beautiful eyeglasses, wire frames with thick arms that featured intricate, die cut patterns. Jennifer inquired about what brought them to the Centre, and the gentleman locked eyes with me as he answered:

“I’m here to show how to unleash your inner power.”

He then explained that he was an inspirational speaker working with a conference for insurance people, but I had stopped listening to these details because I had a full body shiver. I glanced down at the lanyard around his neck and saw that his name was Solomon.

Solomon, for those of you who don’t know, was one of the greatest kings in biblical history, and he is a player who figures heavily in Christian, Muslim, and Jewish mythology. He was most popularly known as “Solomon the Wise”.

The name Solomon means “peace”.

“I am here to show how to unleash your inner power.”

Though I will have no exposure to Solomon’s teaching, I feel like his very presence in that very moment has started me on my path to greater self-discovery.

My catcher’s mitt is now at the ready.

Wrathful and Peaceful Offerings

Yamantaka Ekavira, Solitary Hero

Yamantaka Ekavira, Solitary Hero

July 13, 11:15 pm

I’m whispering into your ear. Can you hear me?

Tonight I’m actually nodding off as I’m typing these words, but I wanted to let my fingers dance here, because I’m feeling very strange, and I’m hoping the exercise will help exorcise the real matter at hand.

Distance. I’m thinking about distance, and how it has saved me time and again in the last year. I put miles between myself and a horrible breakup by running away to Paris. I’ve kept so many people at arm’s length to avoid getting too close. I’ve locked myself away in a fortress of my own creation. I’ve been “too busy” on more occasions than I care to count. It is with certain clarity that I understand how easy it would be to just run away from this life and live like a gypsy for a while. Had I been presented with the opportunity, I would have run.

But instead, I literally built up my own life from a pile of debris. I watched things take shape slowly, and as I look around at all the repairs left to be made, and odd jobs left to be done, I realize there are some that I can do myself (the painting for example) but there are some that I’ve left deliberately for someone else.

My dog shifts on the sofa at my side and nestles his warm head into my thigh, sighing mightily in his slumber. I envy him so much sometimes.

Excitement is not coming to me easily these days. I am watching my life from afar, and it may be partially due to the cold meds. The rest of it is the strangest sense of detachment, and displacement.

Yep…going to have to sleep now. I’ll finish this one up in the morning…

July 14th, 9:45 pm

It’s not the morning…

Sleep went very well until about 4:00 am when my drunken neighbour came home and made a ruckus. Still, I feel a bit more alert this evening.

Alert, but still just a little off. I feel like I’m drifting through my days, and each one is melting into the next. I’m a helium balloon, with the finest string keeping me tethered, when all I really want to do is drift up, up, and away.

My spidey senses are tingling, too.

All of this to say that The Fortress feels like the best place for me to be right now, and Arthur is perfect company. I cannot surrender myself to anything but my profound need to hold myself very close, and very tight.

I never, ever, ever thought I would feel like this.

Progress?

Hot Cross Buns

picture-4

At Easter, I don’t celebrate the Resurrection. I find it hard to buy into. Instead, I turn my thoughts to rebirth, rejuvenation; coming into the light again after a period of darkness. I suppose you could say that I postpone my Spring Equinox festivities to a later date when I can celebrate with family and friends, who I am sure are also not celebrating the Resurrection; at least not in a literal sense.

(I’m experimenting with semi-colon. Please let me know how I am doing.)

I ran some errands in Bloor West Village yesterday. I saw not one but two men wandering down the street dressed as the Easter bunny, with truly frightening giant plush heads. Why, oh why? I was terrorized by these “mascots” as a child. They never, ever fooled me either.

The Easter Bunny has nothing to do with Christ. Or Hallmark.

Did you know that the Great Mother Goddess of the Saxon people in Northern Europe, and similarly, the “Teutonic dawn goddess of fertility [was] known variously as Ostare, Ostara, Ostern, Eostra, Eostre, Eostur, Eastra, Eastur, Austron and Ausos.

The roots of the people in the early days of Europe when the Christians first arrived shaped all these holidays that we celebrate today.

Our roots shape and inform the way we celebrate at present, and the way we tell our stories and celebrate our tradition moving through future generations. A finger is always dipped in the pie of the past.

I’ll bet it took a long, long time for the early Christians to convince the Pagan tribes to adopt their new mythology. I know they had to create some parallels, for sure. How else would these people ever relate to this strange new culture?

As I understand it, during that time, things could be relatively peaceful too. There are stories of peaceful Christian monks living alongside Druid Priests, sharing knowledge and ideas (and no doubt enjoying all the meade and bonfire-lit revelry.)

I bet things didn’t start to get violent until someone in Rome started to loose patience, and felt threatened by the idea that there was a whole pantheon of gods who were vibrant long before J.C. and his big daddy.

Then the people were forced to leave their tradition behind, in ways that shan’t be described here, on such a nice, sunny spring morning.

I am embracing my past. I am honoring the stories that have shaped me. I am closely examining the pain and the pleasure, the sorrow and the triumph so that I can move towards a place where I can incorporate the rituals and customs that brought me the most joy into celebrations that involve new mythology. Without my dark and sometimes chaotic Pagan Dieties, I will never be able to appreciate this new god of Light and Love. In a perfect world, all the archetypes of my lifes’ mythology will enjoy a meal together someday. With a pile of brightly coloured eggs in the centre of the table, just so we always remember what came before.

Saturday Poem:
(not mine.)

Bells For Her (Tori Amos)

And through the life force and there goes her friend
On her Nishiki it’s out of time
And through the portal they can make amends

Hey would you say whatever we’re blanket frinds
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on its way

And through the walls they made their mudpies
I’ve got you mind I said she siad I’ve you voice
I said you don’t need my voice girl you have your own
But you never thought it was enough
So they went years and years
Like sisters, blanket girls
Always there through that and this
There’s nothing we cannot ever fix I said

Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on it’s way
Bells and footfalls and soliers and dolls
Brothers and lovers she and I were
Now she seems to be sand under his shoes
There’s nothing I can do
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on it’s way

And now I speak to you, are you in there?
You have her face and her eyes
But you are not her
And we go at each other
Like blankets who can’t find
Their thread and they’re bare

Can’t stop loving
Can’t stop what is on its way
And I see it coming and It’s on its way