Tag Archives: moments of self-reflection

Thunder and Lightning

Today’s musing was about the majesty of summer thunderstorms. I do love them. I love the cool breeze in the midst of the hot evenings. I love the wind and the rain. It all makes me feel, as the song goes, “strangely alive.”

And yet, in my musing on my musing, I have to reflect on the changing weather patterns and the incredibly dangerous storms that are sweeping our country. In Central PA tornadoes were every 25 year occurrences. Now we’re frequently under warning. last year, 60 yards south of my brother-in-spirit’s house a tornado ripped out trees and off roofs. (and that was before the 100 year flood.) since then we’ve been on tornado watch quite a few times. So, I probably need to consider and refine my stance on greenhouse gasses and my casual consumption.

And I also remembered, only after pressing the send button, that I have a friend whose brother was struck by lightening. Everyone’s lives in that family changed in that instant. So the glory is tempered by the reality. And there’s the need always in my writing to keep pushing deeper until the essence is there and as many wounding edges as possible are removed.

When Utah Phillips was developing a story, at a certain point, he would take that story to his committee, a group of (hooray) Unitarian women, who would help him pick out the essence of what was funny and eliminate the denigrating. After a while he didn’t need them so much, because picking stuff apart stretches your awareness.

So, what’s the take away? The thrill is real. The thrilling is dangerous. The dangers seem to be increasing. And the dangerous really is dangerous and can change lives in a heartbeat.  And the poet needs to keep stretching the gift…

What Fear May and May Not Be.

“Fear is not a betrayal of faith. It is simply a warning that risk is involved.” My friend, Jean Benefield Pinto plucked these words out of today’s musing. As with many broad statements (and although poetry can be incredibly nuanced, in a few short lines, you’re likely to be guilty of some hyperbole!), there’s a lot more to be said about fear.

Our world abounds with unhealthy fear that is sold to us by advertising and newspapers. Fear sells, it seems, far better than joy. And so we see story after story and post after post that give us reasons to be afraid. Too many of us are afraid of too many things — and many of them things that are not real in our lives. When we’re constantly afraid, we should talk to someone about that. And, let me point out, there’s no reason to be afraid about talking to someone!

But fear has a purpose in our lives. It is there to serve as a warning. We’re supposed to pay attention. This musing was inspired by an earlier musing I wrote about telling the truth. Driving to work that Sunday, I realized that I was lying to myself about something important in my life. I was lying because looking at the truth was terrifying. Until I could admit the terror, I couldn’t face the problem and take steps to move along toward a solution. The problem’s not solved, but the anxiety is reducing because I’m working my way out.

My facing the terror and saying it out loud (which is where I process) before there were any solutions caused consternation among friends. But I didn’t need a change of attitude. I needed a different goal and some different ways of doing things. None of those things were going to happen before I allowed myself to say… Oops! Fear. Because after all, I’m the Priestess, I’m supposed to have it all together, eh? Right. not so much.

Looking at Life from the Top of the Hill

I realized yesterday after I sent out my Musing for the Day, that I had been writing consistently for a half a year. I find it amazing… and I am having so much fun. I love when you write to let me know you’re enjoying them, or what you’re thinking about. Often your responses inspire new reflections.

But having reached a summit of some sort, I am looking around a bit. I realize that I want to make some adjustments to the process. I’m hearing from some of you that although you LOVE (and how could you NOT?) the pic of me in my acolyte cell in the mountain, the format makes it difficult to see on smart phones and smaller format screens. Mr. Web Guru and I are consulting.

I’m also posting about the musing on the Sacred Village facebook site, inviting you to comment on your responses to the posting or your reflections, so if you haven’t liked SV, please do — and please chime in!

and starting to day, I’m going to work at reflecting a bit more deeply about the musing on this site. So, if you want more, come visit, or subscribe to my rss.

Thanks for reading!

Five Things I’d Tell the Teen Me

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Recently, I saw an article on Chick Lit Is Not Dead guest-authored by Jen Lancaster, the unfairly funny author of books like Bitter is the New Black.  Start with that one and move forward through the rest; that’s what I did.  Anyway.  The article she wrote was, indeed, her version of what she would tell her teen self and that got me thinking…what would I tell me, if I thought for a second that teen me might halfway listen?

In no particular order…

1) Put down the cigarettes.  I suffered from a misguided sense of what it meant to look cool, so I started smoking as soon as I could; it took me a little more than twenty years to stop again.  Once I quit for good, and got over the hump of quitting, and got the requisite string of colds you tend to get after quitting and hacked up mysterious humours that were hiding in the depths of my lungs I realized…even though I was feeling crappy because I was going through the various stages of withdrawal, I felt…good.  Not great, but good.  I was processing energy more efficiently, I had less of a brain fog, my skin felt more vibrant and I thought…damn…for how long did I let myself walking around feeling bad?  And how did that factor into decisions I made?  How many times did I think, I just feel shitty, so why bother?  How did this limit me in ways I can’t even fathom yet?  Sure, the health concerns that surround smoking are also real, but metaphorically speaking, if it makes you feel bad…don’t do it.

2) You don’t have it all figured out.  And you never will; you’re not that clever.  When you think you do have it all figured out, hit yourself in the face with a hammer and go back to square one.

3) There are better ways to prove you’re an adult than by getting married.  I met my future ex-husband at the tender age of seventeen and was engaged four months later.  There are many ways in which I can in all legitimacy claim that the friction between the two of us helped shaped me into the mental giant who stands before you today.  But I didn’t marry him for his friction, she said unwinkingly.  I married him because I fell victim to the blue-collar thinking that the only way to leave my parents’ house was by marriage.  I could go on about why, but I won’t, because it doesn’t change the fact that there are, indeed, other avenues toward adulthood one can pursue.  Careers!  Weirder and groovier jobs!  School!  More school!  Travel!  All of these are more than acceptable paths to take and none of them necessitate marrying young and moving no more than ten miles away from your parents.

4) Celebrate your natural athleticism.  Think about all the ways it feels good to move around, and then do them.  Keep skating.  (I don’t mean “skating through things untouched”, I mean “strap blades to the bottom of your feet and hit the ice”.)  Try martial arts.  When things break or wear out or stop working for whatever reason…and they will…you’re going to have to kick your ass hard at the gym to start getting it back.  Defend against that inevitable future and embrace your inner jock.

5) Keep writing.  Write like your life depends on it.  Write like it’s your life preserver.  In a lot of ways, it is.

And a bonus!

6) You’re right to trust your instincts about that hairdresser.  When you walk into Supercuts and they assign you a hairdresser that causes you to instinctively recoil?  Walk away.  Or else, accept that you’re going to have a boy-haircut and will have to spike it for the next few months and will be that weird girl with the spiky hair, until it grows in enough to not be a boy-haircut anymore.

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