Happy Again

Last weekend I was sitting on a friend’s porch in Westmore.  There was a small slice of Lake Willoughby visible, and the hills on the other side, there was a wide green lawn, the neighbor’s house, and a lot of trees.  The wind was coming from different directions in puffs.  There was one warm puff and one chilly one.  The rest were pleasantly cool.  The branches of trees, pine and spruce and maple, were thrashing all around as though dancing.  I watched quite happily for a long while.  In the past, I would have had to have something to read, or my journal to write in.  My journal was actually at hand, but I didn’t reach for it.  This ability to sit still and just enjoy the present moment is so new I still feel surprised by it.  I do remember sitting on the beach at Cape Cod, last year, and having the same comfort in just being in the present.  So I think it’s an ability that’s been growing gradually as I release the inner tensions in the trauma work.
Matthew Fox said “It’s a spiritual practice to learn to savor daily life.”  He quotes Mary Oliver’s rules for living:  1) pay attention  2) be astonished  3) share the awe.  Writing this down, I realize that we’re born with the ability to savor daily live, babies and young children savor the moment until it gets trained or beaten out of most of us, at least in Western culture.  I think many people in indigenous tribes never lose it.

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Happy

(Written in April 2011)
It’s so amazing.  I’ve been happy for the last three days.  Despite the cold.  I’ve been really enjoying the beauty around me.  It’s so solid.  I feel like I’ve crossed a threshold.  My calling is just to be present and bring compassion.  There isn’t anything more that I “should” do.  I feel like I’ve been climbing an endless cliff my whole life, with the occasional ledge to rest on, but now I’m out on top, there’s a whole new landscape, and I can walk easily.
I’ve been hearing choral music in my mind.  America the Beautiful, and other stirring hymns or marches.  I’m amused by it.  And I enjoyed the usual music when I was at Cory’s for massage.  I usually don’t like it.  Yesterday I kept imagining flowing water.
So amazing to feel like this!  Will it continue?  I don’t know.  It doesn’t feel precarious, but it does feel fluid, loose, likely to change.
And I know things are not good in the world.  The Japanese nuclear meltdown is not yet contained and clouds of radioactive fallout are headed our way.  In this country the stupidity and narrow-mindedness of the “Tea Party” Republicans is beyond belief.  They seem to think they are above the law.  Well, since they have bought the judges, in a sense they are.  But yesterday Progressives managed to defeat the Governor’s choice for Supreme Court in Wisconsin.  The victory was achieved by thousand of volunteers making 96,945 phone calls.

 

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Somatic Experiencing

(Written in January 2012)
Went down to see Caryn yesterday.  Started sitting on a cushion against the south wall between the glass doors to the deck.  Told her I’d lost myself.  “How does that feel in your body?”  It’s all homogeneous and grey.  Then I talked about being brought down by the political stuff.  I sat with it for a while and began to feel pain in my heart and tears in my eyes.  I don’t remember how the session unfolded.  We did find a number of things that pulled in different directions so I could see why there was a homogeneous mass.  I also saw that I was disappointed in my circle dance community, that there aren’t more activists.  I talked about trying to write a description of my program and of the workshop.  I talked about Eleanor’s ongoing struggle.  I talked about worrying about Bella, knowing she doesn’t have a lot of time left, and wanting to spend every minute with her.  Caryn commented that my program generates a lot of positive energy.  That was a helpful reminder.  I began to feel better, more like a person with heart and stomach inside.  I said I ought to make a new map of my life.  I wish I had done it right then.  I felt like there were a lot of things to put on it.  Right now it feels like there’s more bad than good.

One piece of it is Sacred Sites leading to Dancing the Sacred Calendar, leading to doing it at Rowe and Kripalu.  Another is finding my fellow spiritual activists so I can feel supported here at home.  And I remind myself of Marianne Williamson, that my activism gains spiritual strength because it’s rooted in the truth.

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Vocation

Thinking about vocation because of the retreat with Matthew Fox.  There were people there who felt called to the priesthood, but were rejected by the organized religion, and spoke about their pain about that.  I realized how lucky I am that I have a vocation, and I’ve been able to live it.  I was called to bring back the “Old Nature Religion of Western Europe.”  To create a place for the celebration of diversity, where people feel at home and accepted as soon as they walk in, where our prayers are dances, so we don’t have any doctrine to disagree about.
How do I know this is my vocation?  Partly from the ease with which certain steps happened along the way.  My initiation as a shaman came by way of childhood trauma.  In 1964, I received a degree in Astronomy, went to Stonehenge for the first time, read The White Goddess about the tree calendar and the “fire festivals”, and danced folk dance with a bunch of Greeks.  How did I not immediately perceive and pursue this calling?  Well, I didn’t know that’s what it was, there was no recognized path to where I would end up, struggles with the legacy of PTSD, an abusive childhood, and a toxic culture derailed me for a long time.  The struggle to heal was both my path and my training.  Along the way, I weathered suicidal depression, spent some time practicing Buddhism, and settled down in Brunswick, Maine, where I found folk dance, a group of subversive women, and was guided back to Stonehenge.
The “subversive women” were the Womens’ Counseling Service, a group of fierce feminists.  The second meeting I attended was on February 2.  Inspired by the date, and a gibbous moon, I took a candle and a pottery chalice to the meeting.  At the end of the meeting I announced “It’s Candlemas, and I want to do a ritual.”  I lit the candle and spoke the words of the Prophet Odo:  “You cannot buy the revolution, you cannot make the revolution, you can only BE the revolution,” and passed the cup of water.  When every one had drunk a sip, one woman said with a sigh “THIS is what was missing” and another said “Blessed Be.”  Only much later did I realize that I had just come out as a witch.  I came from that meeting with the inspiration to write a book.
It’s called The Feminine of History is Mystery, and it has “righthand pages” and “lefthand pages.”  The topics include, but are not limited to, the Sun and the Moon, masculine and feminine, the two hemispheres of the brain, megalithic monuments, science fiction, and Atlantis.  The right hand pages discuss the topics in linear, logical, “Scientific” fashion.  The lefthand pages are a series of discrete writings from a variety of sources: my dreams, descriptions of real ceremonies, descriptions of fictional celebrations, entries from journals I kept while traveling in the British Isles and France.  The left hand pages are more intuitive and associative.  (Yes I know the hemispheres of the brain are the other way around, but I use right and left as we experience them in our bodies.  If you turn right in a dream, you are turning to a more linear and logical way.)
As a result of writing the book, I went to Franconia to present the ideas at a conference.  Here I met the man I married and moved to Franconia to live.  The next step was the discovery of Sacred Circle Dance.  I had already been teaching Folk Dance, so it was very easy to add the sacred dimension.  After dancing with many other teachers I realized that God/Spirit had gifted me with all the skills to teach circle dance.  I can talk about what I’m doing as I do it (I was surprised to learn that not everyone can do that).  I have a good sense of rhythm and a good sense of spatial orientation.  I also have some kind of capacity in my brain to construct an image, or a gestalt of a dance.  At one point I tried to draw one and couldn’t — it’s really an “image” in four dimensions, one being time — and it has a kind of “shape.”  I teach the dances because I love them and want to share them, so most of the time my ego & self-consciousness don’t get in the way.

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Retreat with Matthew Fox

The weekend of May 25-27 I went to Adelynrood for a weekend retreat with Matthew Fox. When I went into the chapel on the tour of the place, it felt just like Iona. I first remembered the other chapel, a small one where we had sung, and then remembered it was on Iona.  I told Tiziana, and she looked into the distance for a moment, and then said “Yes!”  The art on the walls is fun.  Many medieval type pictures, also some wonderful primitives.  I hear a bird saying “Peter, peter, peter” — familiar from Ohio.  Maybe a cardinal.  A beautiful time of year to be here.  The breeze blows familiar scents my way, I think it must be lilac, again evocative of Cincinnati in the spring time.  (Momentary flash of the screen porch and the terrace where I grew up — I’ve been having odd flashes of the past — places, songs — parts of me waking up and integrating?)

The group is interesting.  Many people are priests or ministers.  There’s even a woman priest ordained as Catholic (by a bishop who’s name is being kept quiet, on a boat in the middle of the Ste Lawrence River because the original church had received a bomb threat.)  There’s another woman, very intense, with a South American flavor, I wish I knew her story. (She was Tiziana, I asked her about herself, and she said that among other things she had developed a new kind of healing and was trying to make sure it got taught to enough people so it could keep going.)

Tonight he quoted Bede Griffiths “Don’t fight existing reality.  Build a new model that makes the old one obsolete.”  I realized that that’s what Neskaya IS, a model of the new reality!  I wanted to raise my hand and say I was Priestess of a small fringe congregation.  That we have no dogma, no god, no allegiance one must swear to.  The only requirement is that you like to dance.  Our defining metaphor is a circle.  Although Neskaya, Inc has a Board of Trustees, and a President, there is no hierarchy of power.  The President of Neskaya has been seen cleaning bathrooms.  When one of our Circle Dancing community was murdered last summer, we held a memorial service to which 50 people came.  There was no structure, we began with a dance that brought us into a circle, and after that it unfolded organically.  People offered poems, stories about our friend, and asked for and offered dances.  I think that’s a testament to the energy field we have created.  Many people say they feel welcomed and at home as soon as they walk into the building.  At Neskaya, we are living the world we want to see.

Matt Fox told us yesterday, that someone he respected from the South American Liberation Christianity had told him “Don’t worry about the Vatican.  It’s going to crumble and collapse like the Berlin Wall did.”  Matt also told us Mussolini’s definition of Fascism: when the corporations and the government are working together.  He also told us about a “secret” group within the Catholic church, called “Opus Dei,” a very fascist organization that apparently has its tentacles in every branch of government.   When he talked about the Vatican crumbling, I had a sudden sense of the chaos we’re living in, the whole thing could crumble and realign in the twinkling of an eye.  It’s all suddenly much more fluid, not so rigid as I had been imagining.

Matthew quotes Hildegarde of Bingen: “Be strong like a tree.”  Each of us is born with a “golden tent” folded up inside, and our life is a journey to set up our tent.

Matthew says a prophet’s primary function is to shake up denial.  He’s good at that.

We did an exercise in communal grief Saturday night.  We got down on the floor on hands & knees, put the top of our heads on the floor to create a sounding chamber.  Then we allowed ourselves to make whatever sounds wanted to come from our solar plexus.  At the end we sat up and toned “Ahhhhhhh….”  At one point we read all the names of people who had been silenced or killed by the Vatican.  There were 101.  The list went around the room, and readers added two more names. Afterward we lined up with candles in our left hands, right hand on the left shoulder of the person in front.  We processed out to the dancing lawn and our firepit with the “pilgrim step” — three steps forward and one step back.  The music was from Ray Price’s Suite about the killing of the Cathars by the Inquisition.  We walked into a circle and continued moving until the music was over.  Then we faced the center and sang “By the Waters of Babylon” while the young people placed 103 small stones (for the silenced) in the sand in the firebasket.  Then we added our candles one by one.  Some people stayed around the fire singing, but I went to bed.

“We’re here to create communities of resistance.”

Sunday morning was Pentecost.  We went to the Chapel for what was called a “Rebaptising” service.  The chairs were set in a circle, a table in the center with the Bread and Wine.  A big blue pottery bowl full of water stood at the chancel rail and completed our circle.  The service was very similar to the one I had gone to earlier.  At one point there was a chance to share.  The words were in the service booklet, so I showed them the body prayer I learned so many years ago.  “Come Holy Spirit!  Fill our hearts with your fire.  Then send us forth, send us forth, and we will renew the face of the earth.”  Then we went up in two lines to the bowl of water, to “rebaptise” ourselves.  Most people dipped their fingers in the water, put it on their foreheads and went on the make the sign of the cross.  I took a double handful of water and tossed it up into the air.  I could see the drops sparkle in the light.  The final dance was a very simple one to a recording of Anya singing “Lord of the Dance.”

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Matt has a New Video!!

I thought it couldn’t surpass the earlier one — and it doesn’t, it’s just as good but different.  Lots more people, and he’s made an effort to learn a dance, or at least dance moves, from the people he’s dancing with.  And the lyrics are in English.  He calls it “Dancing Badly Around the World.”  I think I’d call it “Joyous Prayer Around the World.”

Latest Video

Earlier Video

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Moon, Thrush, and Daffodil

I’ve been hearing a thrush occasionally.  I rejoice that there’s still one in my woods.  We used to have lots of them, but their winter habitat (rainforest maybe?) is disappearing.

Song of the Thrush

Years ago, when I was in a very despairing place, I wanted to pray but could not feel that there was any being out there to pray to.  Writing that, I realize that nowadays I just pray and don’t worry about who hears it.  But at that time, the universe was empty of Spirit.  I thought of the three most beautiful things I know:  The Moon, The Daffodil, and the Song of the Thrush, and prayed to the being that created them.  There’s a moment in the spring, when the daffodils are blooming, that it’s possible to have all three at once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOTHING is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
First verse of Spring by Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Weight on my Heart

I’ve been worried about Bella.  Her hind legs collapse under her now & then.  She did eat last night’s supper, but it’s been 3 days since I gave her any supplements.  She’s been drinking enormous amounts of water and peeing a lot.  She also seems to wander off, like she doesn’t know where I am.  I think her sight and hearing are greatly diminished.  I’m afraid she’s getting ready to leave.  I try to spend as much time with her as possible, and take her almost everywhere with me.
I reread “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden” for the first time in a long time.  It’s very interesting to read it now that I no longer identify with Deborah.  All the underlined places, and the splashes of blood are eloquent of what that book meant to me.  A chance to revisit that Jenny who cut herself, wrote with the blood, scribbled madness in her journal.  My heart feels cold.  That’s not Little Jenny, that’s Crazy Jenny.  She was also the one whose story I enacted in Journey into Courage.  Maybe that’s why she hasn’t had to appear again.  I try to see her, and I don’t feel the surge of warmth and love that I feel when I imagine Little Jenny.  Maybe Crazy Jenny has been healed and integrated.
O gosh, I feel so bleak.  Bella is a weight on my heart, and the poisoning of the earth.  But the earth will win, and there will still be human beings, the descendants of those who are already living in sustainable communities and know how to live on the earth without destroying it.  The earth will be more or less damaged, many species will be gone, but I think that once the greedy 1% have died or fallen apart, Nature will rebound swiftly, even creating bacteria that can digest our poisons.  Hopefully, enough people will go on to carry culture forward, the understanding of the need to live in co-operation with the earth, so that the communities will be intelligent and educated.  They will remember what happened and know how to not do it again.  We will not descend into barbaric primitive tribes, still fighting “survival of the fittest” battles.  If the crash happens fairly soon, there will be enough indigenous people left to carry the kind of knowledge we need.  This is the vision I’m holding for the future.  I used to be afraid that people from cities with guns would invade us, shoot us, take our food and move on.  I didn’t see how I could possibly live through such a bad time.  I don’t know how to grow food, and I don’t have any useful practical skills to barter for food.  Unless circle dancing has become meaningful and important in creating community.  I’m getting more and more comfortable with the idea of just stopping eating.  I like that it gives me time to say good bye.  I like that god will choose the time, not me.

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Dance Camp

Some friends asked about dance camp, so I thought I’d write a description for those who’ve never been to one. Sacred Circle Dance Cape Cod was held at Camp Wingate*Kirkland.  It has beautiful grounds and is located on a pond in the middle of the thickest part of Cape Cod. Some people chose to spend one afternoon going to the sea, either Boston Bay, or the outer shore.  I had done that last year, and although it was good to get into the ocean, and to sit on the beach, it was too crowded for me to be really comfortable.  The one day I thought I would swim in the pond turned out to be too chilly for me to go into the water.  I was in a large dorm cabin with 2 other people — we were at 3 corners, so interacted rarely.
Bobbi taught one session in the morning, and one in the evening.  She taught some of her own choreographies, and some dances she’d learned on trips to South America and England.  She taught one traditional dance, Somogyi Karikazo, which I learned in Brunswick Maine over thirty years ago.  It remains one of my favorites, so I loved doing it.  She also did some very simple dances — to give our brains a rest — she called it “cleansing the palate.”  Essentially they were the Pravo Oro, the most basic dance form in eastern Europe, but done to many different musics.  Bobbi seems to find the greatest music, and doing a dance you already know to a new piece of music is almost like instantly learning a new dance.  It’s very enjoyable and restful at the same time.
In the afternoons there were different activities.  There was usually dancing for those who wanted to, several of us taught requests, or ones we especially liked.  One day there was a walk with the man who founded the camp, he told us about the geology, and the different plants we saw on our walk.  (By the way, I knew the cape was mostly sand and thought it was that way because it was the terminal moraine of a glacier – where the glacier drops all the rocks, pebbles, and sand it’s been carrying.  But no.  The Cape was originally wooded, but the trees were all cut to feed the kilns on a glassworks, and then all the soil eroded away.)
One afternoon we learned a very interesting way of walking through a labyrinth (the simpler and more universal 7 cycle one) with a partner, we were on different paths, holding hands, one was walking in while the other was walking out.  Very strange experience.  Two women taught a session of traditional dances.  I gave my audio-visual presentation of “Sacred Sites in Ancient Keltia.”
I made some new friends and found some old ones, especially one woman I had last seen about 15 years ago.  I really enjoyed doing so much dancing, having someone else cook meals (the food was really good!), and opportunities to visit with a lot of interesting people.  That’s pretty much typical of the all the dance camps I’ve been to — though some didn’t have great food.

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Dance Camp Community

I just spent 5 days at Circle Dance Camp Cape Cod.  I had a GREAT time.  Lots of dancing, visiting with old friends and new, good food.  We really took  care of each other, too.  If someone’s knee was hurting someone else would offer Reiki or arnica cream.  I would happily give up most of my “luxuries” like car, and refrigerator, washer/dryer, and even my biggish house (2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom) to be able to live in a community where I could spend lots of time dancing, singing, storytelling, in exchange for some work for the community.  I would happily wash dishes, clean bathrooms, weed gardens, chop vegetables, to be able to spend more time with friends doing things that feed the soul, like dancing, ceremony, storytelling, etc.  I think, knowing something about the leisure time available to foraging tribes, that it would be about 4 hours a day I’d have to spend in such work, and even that would be with friends.

See Wikipedia on “Original Affluent Society”
and the Economist on Noble or Savage

This is what made me think about community and what I value.  Elisabet Sahtouris wrote this piece.  “Sarah James, enduring the heat of Brazil, was beating her huge caribou-skin drum to punctuate her own words as she told us about her Gwich’in Indian culture in the northernmost inhabited village of Alaska. I’d met her in Oregon the year before; this time she had made the trip to Rio de Janeiro for the Earth Summit of 1992. She described her people’s lives before contact with the white man. Their relationship with the caribou was sacred and they were endlessly grateful for this wonderful animal that gave them everything they needed and wanted: food, bone and skin houses, boats, snowshoes, utensils, tools, clothing, drums, flutes. Their lives were rich– rich with family and community, warm homes and clothing, plentiful food, much time for ceremony, music, dance, story telling and laughter, much reason for celebration and thanksgiving for their bounty. But when the white man came to them, he saw people living in 40-deg.-below-zero weather with only caribou to provide for their meager sustenance. He called them poor ‘savages.’ Sarah beat her caribou skin drum, sang her welcoming skin hut dance song, and smiled broadly as she shouted, ‘Well, then let’s keep Alaska savage!'”

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