October is here. How I love, LOVE, this month. Almost two weeks ago I was feeling a little down, you know, that garden-variety version of ‘downness’ that hits us all every so often, but when I hovered my little mouse arrow over the calendar on my computer, and saw that the date was October 1st, I felt an immediate rush of excitement, even joy.
Yes, there’s just something about this month. To me, instead of heralding death, it shouts life, but then, I’m kind of an odd duck (maybe) because I happen to enjoy the concept of death. Ha, which reminds me… I was with my sis-in-law Sherrie not too long ago and we were perusing the free books on some shelves outside of her local library. They consisted mostly of dusty old research volumes and Harlequinesque romances, so I wasn’t too interested, until I came across one by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross entitled–in big white letters across a black background, no less–DEATH: the Final Stage of Growth. I pounced on it like a kitten on a bug, maybe even was jumping up and down with it hugged to my heaving breast, it’s all a blur, while Sherrie looked on in horror and dismay. It’s a good thing she loves me.
Speaking of which, meaning horror, I’m already planning my Halloween evening. I am decidedly not a party person, except for family get-togethers, so I’ll be hanging out at home by myself this year, since Scott has to work and my kids ARE party people. This is fine by me. I’ve changed my diet to accommodate my body, which has lately been loudly protesting most of the stuff I’ve put in it over the years, so I’ll make fresh homemade chili, probably, maybe some apple wedges with almond butter, and to indulge for the evening, bittersweet chocolate-covered spicy almonds.
My son Jess told me that Evil Dead 2 is the one to watch, either before or along with the newest version, so I’m going to do that, and will choose another Scary from my long Netflix queue as well. I have a string of skeletons up, a bunch of extra candles out, some orange lights on the patio ficus, and I’ll dig out the plastic jack-o’-lanterns from storage today. I’m going to buy a couple pumpkins and gather cornstalks from my parents’ garden to make a corn dolly and a Brigid’s cross. C’mon, you glorious Hallowe’en. I am SO ready for you!
I’ve been thinking this morning about how my approach to life has to come from the standpoint of Spirit. If it doesn’t, if I forget to seek the shift in perspective so necessary to my contentment, fulfillment, I can get really lost. (Obviously, not everyone is like that, and that’s totally jiggy, of course; everything I express here is my perspective and I expect nobody else to share it unless they so happen to.) I don’t usually notice that I haven’t made the shift until I find myself drifting restlessly through my days, wondering what’s wrong, and begin to dip into depression; it’s usually then that I remember and take action.
The action I take in order to sync back into place is to sit in my contemplation chair in the corner of my living room and begin to speak into the spirit realm, to my guides, to my idea of God, which has changed dramatically over the past few years. I no longer follow a patriarchal religion and do not personify God as a male when I need to actually speak aloud to a “person,” except on rare occasions. I have been exploring the concept of God as Goddess to fulfill the need for female empowerment that I missed growing up in my family and society. I am fascinated by Isis, and more by Demeter and Kore/Persephone. I am drawn to the Maiden, Mother, and Crone–to all these beautiful stages in a woman’s life. By exploring these myths and images I feel myself becoming filled in, am experiencing a wholeness I’ve never before felt in this particular lifetime.
But beyond that, even, I view God as a place. A sacred place, a womb that births us all. My own, personal name for God is Kiva, after the sacred underground temples built by the Pueblo Indians. This takes God out of the realm of gender, because to define Spirit by gender is to limit it and make it exclusive; an engendered god draws lines in the sand, unless there’s a healthy balance, which there isn’t in our Judeo-Christian culture.
When I am back in Spirit, where I feel most at home, I’m prompted to do things I don’t usually do because I simply don’t think of them. Today I’m going to buy stationery so that I can send letters to two people who came strongly to mind this morning. One is to a boy (now a man, my age) from high school whose brother told me, not that long ago, that their mother is still very angry with me because of how I treated him back then. (He had asked me to go to a school banquet, our private school equivalent of a prom, and I had initially agreed but then backed out to go with my newly-reconciled-with boyfriend instead. A really crappy thing to do, but I was sixteen and self-absorbed and clueless and didn’t realize how much it would hurt him.)
Since the story is still alive, it warrants an apology, especially because this person really was a true friend to me and I didn’t realize how much. You know, these things don’t die. They only get buried. He has a happy life now and doesn’t need my letter, but hopefully it will help to heal an ancient wound. (As far as his mother goes, however, she’s just going to have to deal with her anger on her own. Seriously, good grief.)
The other person I’m going to write to is Amber. She started out as my son’s girlfriend and became one of my soul mates. She, above all others, has taught me the intimacy of a mother/woman figure. In fact, she embodies the Mother archetype like no one else I know, and we laugh, in our rather hands-off family, at how invasive she is. We LOVE how invasive she is. She will stand right next to you, bodies smashed up together. She will hug you and not stop until you do. She will lick your face and bite your nose, and the thing is, where that would make me want to punch any other person, I actually welcome it from her and even approach her full-bodily. We watched a scary movie together the other night and she sat scrunched-up next to me, her head on my shoulder. To watch her with her mother and three sisters is like watching a pile of puppies tumble over each other. I’m not joking, the girl has a gift for healing intimacy and I want her to know how much she means to me.
We can do this stuff for each other. We can bring healing and encouragement through our words and actions.
But even as I say this, I shake my head in frustration at myself because I am really struggling with the whole concept of friendship, trying to figure out what I need and want from the friends I have; it’s been difficult. Oh, what a bundle of complexities, yet how simple, we are. I suppose it makes life interesting.
Trust me, despite the struggles, the path into the forest is the best one yet. I hope you all feel loved today! xo
(Personal note to my UK reader, the one who frequently checks my blog. Please don’t be embarrassed–send me an email! I’d like to get to know you. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. Blessings and thank you for reading. Kelly)
The 133. Crowd 