Welcome, Spirits of the East

 

I sat down in the snow on the edge of the cliff.  Genghis and Rufus were bounding around in the snow checking things out.  Roger and Mary Anne each sat down.  After a few moments, Mary Anne said something about calling the hawks.  At that moment, I spotted a downy feather that might just have been from a hawk's chest snagged on a branch.  "Han!"  I nodded over to the feather.

Mary Anne stood up and began to play her flute adorned with a couple of hawk feathers and another more brilliant feather with colors reminding me of Wakan Tanka.  As the flute called out songs to the hawk, it occurred to me, "The hawk is here within."  I glanced to watch the feather, blowing in the breeze but unable to become free to fly on the air over the edge.  I understood something about myself in that moment.  

I wanted to free that feather, but understood it was given as a sign to behold, and was not mine to take.  It served its purpose to simply be where it had landed momentarily.  I was more eloquent in the moment and Mary Anne positively affirmed what I was trying to communicate.  She politely informed me she sensed that I was blocked and afraid to look in the direction of the east: of new beginnings.

Why yes.  Yes indeed.  And when she suggested that perhaps I should simply let love annihilate me, I wanted to take a running leap over the edge to escape that notion.  Just like the feather, my feet were tethered to Earth Mother.  I tried to not allow my fear to show.  Mary Anne was very gracious to allow me my charade.  In truth, I am terrified!  

The direction of East: associated with Air (which feeds Fire, by the way).  Represented by feathers, bubbles (my favourite warm-weather past-time), incense, etc.  Eagle is associated here.  So is Spring.  Some associate the color yellow (sun) while others associate the color red.  This medicine direction is for healthy mind.

The heart cannot feel its way through this direction when the mind is so afraid that it causes blocks and distractions.  Roger said the more one resists addressing something, the more it becomes a focused block.  Ugh!  So much stuff to process through and yet it can be done in an instant.  It's already moved on another plane of existence.  It's my resistance that prevents that experience in the here and now.

George is really teaching me a lot about how rejection can be loving.  That absence isn't always rejection and even when it is, it can still be loving.  Painful lessons that don't feel very good in the moment.  It's painful to accept that I am being loved on all levels except the one that blocks me.  Chicken v. Egg, et. al.  This ton of bricks doesn't belong to me, but I haven't found a place to dump it all just yet.

Tiospaye (People With Whom One Lives and Thus Are Family)

My Grandmother has shoeboxes filled with family photos passed along from generation to generation.  Here's a few family pictures that I've inherited.  I have Indian ancestors on both sides, but apparently on my Mother's side, it goes back only about four (4) generations.  For my tribe, it only counts if Mom or Grandma is fully native.  The blood serum is probably diluted too much for formal recognition by the Federal government (as if!).

In some of these photos, you can definitely see aspects of ancestors that comprise my consciousness:

Grandmother

The Indian spirit comes through this childhood photo of my Grandmother.

Here, Grandma plays the Dramatist wearing Japanese garb that, no doubt, my Grandfather likely obtained while on a tour-of-duty in Japan.

 

Speaking of Dramatists, here two relatives pose with guns as if they were shooting at a milk bottle, with the Photographer while the Artist captures the entire scene.  Those guns remind me of the Revolutionist.

 

Yes, even the Rebel makes an appearance in one of the original Harley Davidson motorcycles.  Every year, my Grandmother and Grandfather would hop on their motorcycle and ride out to Arizona.  Someday, I'll go visit the desert.

 

I prefer to engage in Meal-Sharing Activities.  

 

The spirit of Community in Nature is really important to me.

Minimalism appeals to me, although I'd construct something a bit more organic to blend with Nature.

 

It's true.  Men make me nervous.  I seem to be Divided on the subject!  Still, can't help but to be fascinated by them, especially when they're safely tucked onto a daguerreotype between thin paper with Fancy Doodles.

The Crone is also part of my consciousness.  Maybe this is Wild Grace when Time catches up to her...

The Art of Abacus: Indians and Ancestors

ABACUS
Last night Roger C., looked at Roger and announced, "You're a two..." then looked at me and continued, "You're a three... and I'm a five."

I was stupefied.

"Numerology!  It just struck me about the numbers."

I still didn't get it.  I turned to Roger and said, "I'm not mathematical."  I turned to Roger C. for an explanation.

"We're all multiples of thirteen.  Roger is twice thirteen.  You're three times thirteen.  I'm five times thirteen."

Suddenly, it dawned on me he was referring to our ages.

[FYI: Thirteen *is* the number of years I wasn't 'present' for Life.  I guess that makes me a two emotionally.]

We all agreed this was fortuitous as there were 12 disciples plus Jesus, making the actual collective 13.  (Ha!)

----
INDIANS

Roger received a postcard depicting a montage of Indian chief pictures.  He showed it to me.  I studied the pictures.  He asked, "What thoughts come to mind about that?"

I responded, "I am thinking about their headdress.  Every feather is earned.  They aren't simply given feathers to be handed down or because it's cool.  They actually earn every one of those feathers by doing something very important for their community."

Roger turned over the postcard and started reading the typed note about the imagery on the face of the card.  "When a warrior collects enough feathers to make a trailing war bonnet, he is surely on his way to becoming a great Chief."  Oh yeah...typed in pale grey ink on the back of an opaque postcard lit by lots of candlelight.  (Ha Ha!)

----
ANCESTORS

A brief discussion about ancestors and the Mayflower ensued after Roger's relative called with information about Roger's ancestor, who arranged the Mayflower voyage.  I decided to google my ancestors John Alden and Priscilla (Mullens) Alden who came to America on the Mayflower.  (Ha Ha Ha!)  An interesting tale ensues.  It may explain, in part, some of my energetic blocks regarding relationships (from the perspective of bearing the collective consciousness of my ancestors):

Priscilla captured the attention of two men who were friends with each other: Captain Miles Standish and John Alden.  A love-triangle ensued.

According to the Wadsworth's poem "The Courtship of Miles Standish", Miles sent John to propose to Priscilla on behalf of Miles.  John did as he was instructed.  However, upon realizing John was in love with her, Priscilla replied, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?"  

VI.

PRISCILLA.

Thus for a while he [John] stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla; And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, Lo! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. "Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me?" said she.

...continued...

Resuscitating Ophelia

 

I found her in the water downstream.  She looked just like Ophelia, who dove into despair and drowned.  Lying motionless in the water with leaves and moss coming out from her mouth, her ankles twisted up in the reeds.  My heart stopped. 

I wanted to run as far and as fast as I could - go hide in a cave, behind the tree, under the ivy, in between the shadows and the sunlight, over the edge of a cliff.  As I was running, I tripped over a little boy and nearly knocked him down.  A bear had been chasing me through the open field with claws and fangs ready to eat me.  I was clumsy in my escape. 

I only wanted the sticky sweetness of honey.  Oh, but Honey, I got stung by a bee and chased by that bear.  I lost my breath completely.  I nearly lost my head as well.

I stifled the screams, swallowed their poison, and transformed the pain into brilliant feathered plumes.  Then I flew as far away as I could.  I wanted to break into a million pieces, so I painted them into the Universe like stars in a sky.

Suddenly the breath inspired, the heart beat, as wings came round encircling me, while D. H. Lawrence whispered fiercely, "Get up, Wild Thing!".

Riding the Cushioned Waves on a Sofa Surfboard

 

c. 1997

As a result of the break-up, a previous lay-off resulting in a barely-above minimum-wage part-time job, going to school full-time, President of the academic club for my major, and having received invitation to sit on the Board of the statewide chapter of the national association for my field of study... I have some definite concerns about my inability to produce sufficient income to stay in the current apartment past end of March.

In fact, my income is so low, I cannot afford to rent a room -- not even as a roommate.  There's a wide range of possibilities...sorta.  I could beg friends to store family heirlooms that my family cannot store (as they are living out of storage facilities or have consolidated two households into one) and simply live out of a locker at MCC - and hopefully Security won't see my black car in the empty parking lot.  OK, so that's not realistic.

I have some criteria.  I know beggers can't be choosers, BUT... I can't be in a household with alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, or violence (including yelling).  That really limits options.  I can't transfer credits towards the certification because there's no reciprocity until a Master's degree.  Going home to Albany is not an option I wish to engage as yet.  Besides, I enjoy walking down the street in the summer and not be chased after by cat-calls and other annoyances...for the most part.  In Albany, I could wear a snowsuit and invariably some guy would still come alongside with "Yo Baby.  Lemme git your digits."  ("Ummm, try 9-1-1".)

Two offers of places to temporarily land definitely don't meet my criteria.  That means they aren't really options.  Better options might be a homeless shelter or woman's recovery house.  I still need to contact the EAP through my job to see if there are options with that.  A potential option toes the line on my criteria, although there is one safe person within the household as far as that criteria is concerned.  

I'd have to maintain really good boundaries.  Boundary work involves understanding that one cannot set boundaries for other people, and that other people are not required to understand or respect one's boundaries.  The boundary is internal.  But, it's exhausting when there is constant external force up against one's boundary.  

Here's an example of my boundary work: I might say, "I currently like the colors blue and green."  Someone else says, "Well, I think you'll find that pink is a great color for your complexion.  Here.  Take this gallon of pink paint,  paint that wall over there, and stand in front of it.  It'll be great!"  

What happens is this: I end up holding this gallon of pink paint, which I don't want and it is a heavy burden.  Once I process that, then I become aware of my own boundary, and then I have to reassure myself that it is OK to uphold my own boundary.  

Now, depending on how many gallons get offloaded into my hands at once, or how many cans of paint I have to keep declining; I can either sent the can of paint down and walk away...or sometimes the paint can ends up flying (figuratively) at someone's head.  

Ideally, I'd like to become more aware, so that when someone insists on handing me a gallon of pink paint and I am thoroughly confident this is NOT what I want; I simply let the can drop on the floor by declining to even engage the initial exchange.  Trouble is, I process slowly: there's a backlog of stuff and sometimes the here and now gets slowed down as a result.

On the other hand, it's so important to receive gifts from the Universe and to always be open to that.  So, there is a bit of a conflict between boundary work to decline something that I'm not interested in receiving, yet remaining open-minded to try on something to see how it feels.  

However, if I listened to my intuition more and my mind less: the exchange of paint wouldn't result in me standing around holding something heavy.  Instead, I could immediately set it down with a polite, "Thank you!  But, I'm really passionate about my favourite colours.  And if you must insist, I will have to tell you that I have NO desire to paint that wall.  In fact, I like it just the way it is."  

It's draining to be around people who insist on trying to paint my world pink.  I wish there were a way to protect my energy from that -- or to shift my perspective so that it doesn't become synonymous with being sapped energy. 

There may be an option to couch-surf a variety of homes.  That can be an exciting adventure, so long as my criteria is met.  However, there is something to be said about having some stability when going through a crisis.  I think it might be interesting to learn more about people, myself, and how I relate to others by couch surfing.  

Perhaps the answer is a hybrid?  Maybe I could engage a stable option and yet go couch-surfing as needed to ensure that I'm neither building internal frustration nor creating external frustration for others.

I've got a couple of weeks to figure this out before we have to give notice to the landlord.  My former partner would like to try and keep me here, but that's a huge burden on him financially and that awareness burdens me.  Besides, that would only hold me back by allowing me to hold onto my stuff.  I just want to move forward and it's gonna happen in the blink of an eye.