Magic

There was a time in my life when I was involved in a bit of Wiccan foreplay.  I never actually joined a coven or became a card-carrying member of the organization, but I certainly dabbled for a while.  It is interesting that for some years after, I had an aversion to such things, and sort of tied anything having to do with the non-physical aspects of life to evil.  But that is likely because of Christianity, and its refusal to let things exist in a realm without firm, dichotomous boundaries.

I remember that when I would participate and attempt to do things in this environment, with others more committed to the religion than I, they would often marvel at my ability to conjure or find or follow or send “energy”.  And even though I was apparently doing those things, I didn’t really understand fully or believe that those things were happening, or that I was talented in doing them.  I did find certain aspects of that community fun and entertaining, and I also found it to be a community that was tightly knit and deeply caring and wholly invested in light and love.  That was one of the best things about that time in my history, being in that light and love.

Today, I did a meditation that I have not used before, and it was talking about one’s “inner goddess”.  When I started it, I just thought it would be a generalized sort of “love yourself more and let your personality shine” meditation.  But it was not that at all.

The teacher explained the metaphorical young energy that rests in the root chakra, and that one kundalini yogi expresses that as a sort of “daughter” energy that needs to be drawn up and matured by a “mother” energy—basically the divine, or God, or Allah, or the universe, or whatever your chosen belief system might call it.   So there is an internal and an external energy at play in this meditation.  Now, I have experienced the whole concept of the chakras and finding balance and strengthening and such and so forth a lot since beginning with yoga and meditation and mindfulness practice.  That isn’t strange to me.  What was strange is that as I did the meditation, the energy I found felt like and looked like the same energy that I was connected with in my experience of “magic”.  And then I had a huge epiphany.

All of these things carry different names in different contexts and in different communities, but there is just one energy in me, and just one energy offered by the divine, and there is only one way that they mingle and become one and share space.

I’m sure that statement will confuse some and offend others.  I’m prepared for that.

However, I cannot deny my experience, strange as some may find it, and I hold fast on this point: that the energy, the life force, and the magic, are one.

I still believe in magic.

As I meditated today, I did as the guide asked, and I envisioned golden light and white misty light and a corridor of energy within and between my chakras, and the mingling of my personal light and the golden light of the mother, this feminine spirit of god, and energy filled not only that corridor, but my hands and my heart and my environment.  I was finding and following and transferring that same energy that I magicked all those years ago in the Wiccan community.  I was holding light and mingling with the divine and feeling my own energy and strength and purpose balling up in my hands, and I knew, with certainty, that this was a moment where the veil is lifted and the divine and the human connect.  This meditation brought me as much connection as a church worship service, or a retreat weekend, or a prayer circle ever has, and even more.  Because I finally recognized the divine and myself commingled and connected.  Even in religious circles, I have not experienced this so fully and completely.

It might sound crazy to some, for me to express that my energy has mixed with the divine.  But to many it should make perfect sense.  God among man.  Humanity and divinity.  The spirit of god being poured out.  Power and laying on of hands and healings.  It all ties to the energy in me mingling with the energy of the divine.  And Shakti or Jesus or Allah or whatever doesn’t seem to matter when you look at it the way I experienced it in this meditation.  A human being guided and lifted and matured by the spirit of the divine.  My daughter energy being fed and nurtured by the mother energy.  The completion of a circle long broken.

In the Garden of Eden, as the story goes, god walked with man and taught and guided and discussed with man the way of life.  And the assumption often is that we cannot get back to that garden, so we cannot get back to the divine.  But that isn’t true.  We can be touched by the divine in a twenty-minute meditation.  We can be touched by the divine in a moment of prayer, bowed toward Mecca.  We can be touched by the divine in a big Assemblies of God foot stomping, slaying in the spirit service.  We can be touched by the divine in the “special music” portion of the liturgy when a word hits us in the middle of the performance of a song.  And we can be touched by the divine in the everyday interactions with those around us.

Magic, in the sense that my energy becomes commingled with the divine, is everywhere around us.  All we need to do is see it and accept it and embrace it.  All we need to do is make it ours—hold it dear and be grateful for it.  This magic—this spirit—pursues us.  It reaches out to us.  All we need do is reach back toward it, and we can be utterly transformed.

But we don’t, more often than not.

We refuse to believe in magic and in miracles and in a divine that would extend purest light to us, body and soul.  We refuse to believe that our story is melded with the story of the universe, in significant and deep ways.  We refuse to understand that our energy is tied with this greater energy, and that we are made of the stars and meant to shine.

And that isn’t the ego talking. That is the voice of the divine shining through me today.

Abundance is a concept often misused in religious circles.  We are sometimes told to give to the tele-evangelist and that god will bless us with money in return.  A “prosperity gospel” that assumes the rich are moral and good in the eyes of god and the poor are morally base or need to repent is a damaging and terrible misunderstanding of the divine intent for abundance.  We are full to overflowing with energy that is being touched by the divine, and all we need do is let that be fostered, matured, and blessed.

My situation or station in life do not scream “Abundance!” My situation and station scream out desperation and need and longing and desire and “Not Enough!”  But my spirit, and the energy that lies within me are abundant and rich and full.

If you don’t feel that way—can’t understand that you are fullness, in your current state—then maybe you need to connect with your inner goddess as well, and find that mother spirit that matures and guides you into such fullness, such abundance, and such gratitude.

Do I sound nuts?  Probably.

Do I care?  Not one bit.  Because I know that this much is true—the divine lives in me, and pursues me, and longs for me, and commingles with my essence, and makes me whole.

Learning to be whole.

That is the way that I titled this blog, and it is what I really wanted desperately at the time—to figure out the way to be whole, and not feel broken down and shattered.  But I am and I was and I will be whole, always.  I just didn’t know it in the moment that I started this blog.

I know it now.  I am wholeness.  I am a piece of the divine.  I am made of star stuff, and I am connected to the spirit of the universe and to every other piece of star stuff within it.

I am magic.  And so are you.

Making Enemies and Infuriating People

I have a friend who often uses the hashtag #makingfriendsandinfluencingpeople, which I believe is based on a book about doing just that—using specific strategies to create connection and influence others.  I also believe that it was a book popular within business circles some years ago, so I have suspicions that the influence part was what was stressed, and the getting what you want from others is the point of using the strategies.  I don’t know how much we can then call that “friendship”.  (But I haven’t read the book, so I can’t speak to its tone or effectiveness with certainty.)

My friends—the true and real and lasting ones—are people whom I suffer with and rejoice with through all sorts of circumstances.  And I don’t think that a book of strategy for connections would have been useful in the development of those relationships, because they were forged in fire, in many ways, and that forging was often horribly uncomfortable.  Really, the way that we became friends was by not appeasing one another, and by venturing into dark waters together … some of which I thought would drown us both and destroy our connection.  But the thing about being willing to sacrifice your friendship for the good of your friend is that it strengthens the bond with the people who are best for you, and offers those who would not be your friend through both thick and thin the opportunity to walk away.

I was recently speaking with a dear friend via Skype, and we questioned how we became friends at all, since we were both very closed to connection and guarded and mistrusting and walled off at the time.  But, as we discussed it, I realized that sharing mutual distrust for humanity was what bonded us.  And that sounds a bit weird, but we created a connection out of not connecting.  We shared uncomfortable space.  We were both different.  We were both damaged.  We were both in need.  We both knew frightening dangers and horrible pain and devastating events in life.  And because we shared all of this, we were able to quickly dive into the dark waters together.

Other friends have been less quick to dive in.  Some friendships were not cemented until years without communication had passed, and the realization that the challenges the other had placed upon us were meant to love us, and not to harm us, and the remorse and the forgiveness and the forgetting of the division and distance made the bonds strong.

Suffering plays a big part in friendship, because the best way to connect is to break together and to heal together.

Religious texts mention this frequently.  Warnings against fair-weather friends, and commands to support one another, and models of rising and falling together abound, not just in one religion, but in many.  Life together means a life of ups and downs together.

I think that one of the reasons we fail, and make enemies instead of friends, is that we react harshly when we are incapable of rising and falling together.  When we think that individualism is of high importance, and we refuse to imagine that those falling are doing so because that is half of life, but believe that falling is a moral failure, we speak in ways that harm others.  When we are falling, and nobody will hold us as we do so, we sometimes lash out in what looks like anger, but is truly fear at its core.  When we are afraid of falling, we pretend to be rising, and we become disingenuous and dishonest and untrustworthy, which breaks apart bonds and ruins relationship.

We make enemies and infuriate people when we don’t allow ourselves to enter the dark waters together.  When we avoid the falling half of life, and try to wish away the times of struggle and the dangers and horrors that accompany life together, we cannot treat one another in positive ways.  We make up excuses and judge individuals harshly and create scales of worth and value or hierarchies of wrongs and sins and evils in order to justify our refusal to join one another in the sorrows, and be half-friends who only stand in the moments of joy or praise or pride with others.

I am in a season that lacks joy or praise or pride, and others use the scales and hierarchies in attempts to discredit me, so they don’t have to accept that this season—this falling—can happen to any of us at any time.  They hurt me with accusations and define me with degradations, in the name of fairness and righteousness and, at times, even in the name of god.  And I don’t quite understand the instinct to distance one’s self from the one falling.  It seems like far more work to uphold the excuses and the judgments and the scales and the hierarchies than to simply hold onto one another as we fall and as we rise.

I understand that the dark waters are a bit frightening, and that it takes work to swim through to the other side.  But many of us aren’t offered the chance to ignore those waters.  Some of us have been drowning in those dark waters since we were small children.  Others of us wade in the dark waters daily due to lack of resources or abusive acts against us or illnesses or addictions or living in the midst of violence or deep loss.  But those who have a choice, and those who choose not to venture into that space are failing the ones who are falling, and pretending at goodness by attaching themselves to those that are rising.  Being that fair-weather half-friend makes a liar of you, because your joy and praise and pride is not your own, but it is stolen from another.

As one who has been in the dark waters for a lifetime, I want to share something with you.  It is terrible and desperate and contains horrors … and you should long to dive in.  Making friends and influencing people is meaningless if it is this false, half-friend sense of friendship, and the only influence is yours upon others, and not theirs upon you.  Diving into dark waters builds relationships that last and that stand firm in the face of overwhelming circumstances.  Diving into dark waters, and holding one another while we are falling and while we are rising, offers us the fullness of relationship that superficial connections cannot achieve.  Trust, boundaries, vulnerabilities, honesty, and deep love can only accompany these dark-water friendships.  Everything else is insufficient, and you are missing out on love and life if you don’t have people in your life who are holding you while you rise and while you fall—who don’t attend your struggles the way they attend your happiness, who come to the parties and not the funerals.

This is the fullness of love—the “unconditional” that we hear about, but rarely experience.  Rising and falling together.  Suffering and celebrating together.  And refusing to hold on to any judgments or scales or hierarchies.  Wading in the dark waters, and connecting in the midst of that murky river, with walls stripped down and conditions removed and humility and trust and the knowledge that brokenness is not all-defining, but that we can build a beautiful love from the bits and pieces, is a most fabulous use of time and energy.

I don’t often make friends and influence people.  I live a relatively humble life, and I don’t get out into the world to make connections very often.  And sometimes I make enemies and infuriate people, but not for the reasons listed earlier in this post, but because I push back at people’s refusal to accept the existence and the pervasiveness and the importance of the dark waters, and I try to break down the judgments and scales and hierarchies that some hold more dear than love.  But I seek, every moment, to be the type of person who holds humanity in high regard, and who seeks to hold every human I meet as they rise and fall as a result.

I don’t always succeed.  Because even as I seek to break down judgments, scales, and hierarchies, I was conditioned to hold them in higher esteem than humanity and love.  So I know that it is a fight to continue to hold everyone as they rise and fall.  I know that it isn’t easy.  I know it doesn’t always come naturally at first, and there are days when you will revert back to the scales or judgments by default (and you are usually overcome with shame when you realize you have done so).  However, every moment of that fight and every discomfort that results from diving into the dark waters is worth it.

Love—in the most deep and pure and deconstructed form—is worth it.

Rising and falling together is love.  Meeting needs is love.  Standing together in the darkest of moments is love.  And if you don’t brave being in the deep, you won’t find love.  You will find the half-friends who let you remain unchallenged in the good times, but abandon you in the difficult times.

When the deep rises up and you find yourself wading the dark waters, you want to be held by true love, and friends who are there for the whole of your experience.  And you want to hold onto others as they rise and fall.  Because a deeper, richer, more full life is the reward for holding on.

I want that life.  I want those friends.  I want that love.

Do you?

Dare to dive in.

 

Feeling

I have embarked upon the KonMari method of tidying my home and my life.  And it is a lot of damned work!  To collect all of your things is, in itself, a huge task.  To go through all of them is even more of a struggle.

But it is also a gift.

This morning, I went through all the stacks of paper that have accumulated on my desk as I sought to cleanse the past from my file boxes.  When I initially began this project, I had five stacks of paper:  theology stuff, philosophy stuff, sexuality stuff, resources, and the pile where things I couldn’t decide upon waited for further consideration.  And I fully intended to neatly file the remaining papers, and felt proud that I had accomplished creating a big bag of items to remove from my space.  After I began the art of tidying, and touched every item, and considered whether or not it sparked joy in me, I took those five stacks and narrowed them to about eleven pages, leaving two huge bags that I cannot carry for the trash heap.

Eleven pages.  That is all that sparked joy out of the mounds of items that I had previously thought I must or I wanted or I needed to keep.

The KonMari method is a way of choosing what you love.  And you do this by physically handling every item.  When I first began the process, and began touching each sheet of paper, I thought this would take me years to get through just the items on my desk.  But I was wrong.  I began to know immediately the things that I touched which touched my heart.  I sprinted through the process of cleaning my desk.  It took less than an hour to find the beautiful Wonder Woman covered work surface, and to feel free of all of that paper.

Just touching it let me know whether I loved it or not.  Just the feeling.

I’ve spent most of my life repressing one feeling or another, and in the process became an unfeeling being—untouched by what surrounded me and dissociating from the world and from myself.  Distance from feelings is sort of the norm for a lot of people in my history.  Somehow stoicism and “strength” have been placed in honor and to not show emotion or break down or cry have been ways that people around me approached life.

But that way of approaching life sucks.

Once those walled off places in my being where all the emotions were being stuffed began to crack, a flood of emotion happened.  And with that flood of emotion came care and compassion and love and passion and desire and purpose.  All of those things are good.  But in pushing back the anger or frustration or fear or confusion in my life, I was also making it impossible to wade in the waters of all those beautiful things.  They are all mixed together.  You can’t hide one and hold another.  You either feel or you don’t.

Feeling things can be really difficult at times … especially those times that bring up the anger or frustration or fear or confusion.  But feeling things can also be amazing and awe-inspiring and utterly fabulous!  And understanding that both are natural and normal, and that judgments of “good” or “bad” or “right” or “wrong” are not helpful or correct, but embracing all of them as a part of the human experience, brings great freedom and joy.

I am finding joy in eleven pages today.  I am finding joy in letting go of what doesn’t help me and embracing that which does.  I am finding joy in accepting that things serve us well for a time, and then we must send them on their way.  I am finding joy in touching and feeling and embracing and releasing.

There is another method that I am reminded of during this process.  Morita therapy is something that my daughter introduced me to, and it has become a great help, which parallels my experience with the KonMari method in some ways.  Morita therapy is based in accepting emotions—recognizing them and honoring them, but not necessarily needing to act upon them.  You feel all of the things, and judge none of them as good or bad, right or wrong, but just let them be.  Then you hold what you wish and release what you don’t wish to hold.  You just let the feelings come and go.  You needn’t act upon them.  So, when you feel anger, it is valid, but you needn’t punch people as a result.  You simply feel the anger, let it be present, and then send it on its way.  When you feel anxiety, or happiness, or fear, or peace, or whatever emotion may be present, you let it be felt and validate its presence, and then choose to act or not to act upon that feeling.  This is a rather simplistic explanation of the method, but explaining more fully would take up too many words and too much of my time.  You can easily find more information on Morita, just Google that shit. (Technology is fabulous sometimes!)

So, I sit at my very clean desk, and I think about feeling.  I think about touching my belongings and how easily I can feel whether a thing brings me joy or not.  And I think about touching my soul, and how it should probably be just as easy to know which emotions and thoughts and actions will bring me joy.  But for some reason it isn’t.

I blame conditioning by a patriarchal heteronormative society.

I blame lots and lots of things on conditioning by a patriarchal heteronormative society.  It deserves to carry that blame. It really screws up a multitude of things.

Somehow “strength” became synonymous with not showing emotion—that stoicism that I mentioned earlier.  And that meant building walls.  And even after they broke and the flood happened I kept trying to rebuild the walls.  Society wanted me to, after all.  Seeing and experiencing someone else’s flood makes your own walls crack a little.  So, avoiding anyone’s emotions seems a safe route to keeping your own walled in.  And when you fight for such a long time to patch walls, it becomes a struggle to do anything but … even when you know the patching is futile and robs you of the ability to fully experience joys and passions and loves.  It becomes a struggle to know yourself and accept your feelings.  It becomes a challenge to keep the walls down.  You keep feeling like you ought to put them back up.  And you feel vulnerable when you are walking around town without walls while all the others around you are locked behind rows and rows of brick and mortar.

But vulnerability is strength.  It brings happiness.  It offers you a more fulfilling life. And it frees you to feel all emotions, and to experience the fullness of humanity.

So, today I am vowing to touch all the things, and to feel everything—every part of my life, both internal and external—and to release what isn’t helping me and to hold what sparks joy.

And it is going to be a lot of damned work!

But it is also going to be a gift.