A Quarter Past Yule

So, here we are, at about a quarter past Yule, with the clock ticking resolutely toward Candlemas… and, I’m sure you are wondering just exactly what that means?   

I thought not.  

O.K., so you aren’t wondering at all--but I have need to talk it through anyway, so may we pull up a seat for a minute or two and explore?  Why?  Well, because this is a subject close--very, very close--to my own heart right now.  More than that, it’s razor close to my life.  And I need to work it through.  So, here goes…

Yule, the time on the Wheel of Life akin to the Age of Mystery is, perhaps the most desolate, sparse phase of Development there is; it is, essentially, the least understood time of all: Death.  Desolate?  Sparse?  I guess.  But, is this really so, or is this just my perception, based on proximity and fear or, some other emotional baggage I may be carrying?  Probably all of the above.  But, why?

Well, for one thing, Grandma went into a nursing home this week.  I saw her today--bruised, broken arm, stitches in her forehead.  The fall that took her independence away came last Saturday--it felled her freedom and her short-term memory like a loggers axe and, now, she sits with all the dignity of Her Royal Majesty in a strange room, with an even stranger roommate, and no expectation that she’ll get out of this situation alive.  Grandma is ninety years-old and this, to me, seems “desolate and sparse,” you can bet it does.  But, let’s take a closer look…

In many ways, the Age of Mystery is no mystery at all.  We grow old, we die.  We all get this, as a matter of fact, even if we don’t like it very much.  But can we ever, really get the full impact of it--unless we ourselves are sitting in that blue chair, with our walker beside us, and our dignity hiding somewhere, shamefaced, and completely out of sight?  There is nothing mysterious about this at all.  There is no mystery to falling, quite literally, into decrepitude and dependence, from a prior perch of strength and independence, seemingly in the blink of an eye.  Unless… you separate yourself and your thinking from the body and the mind.  Unless you look upon the journey as what it truly is--something other than a physical, or even emotional walk--but, rather, a spiritual one. Then, you need to look that spiritual journey right in the eye--without blinking.

I get so angry when I hear people saying things like, they will not visit anyone in a hospital or nursing home because they themselves “cannot handle it.”  Or, they will never place anyone they love in any kind of long-term nursing facility because they themselves simply could not stand to visit them in such a place.  How dare they, I think, be so self absorbed--how can they be so selfish?  

Well, how dare I judge them so harshly?

The simple fact is, the spiritual journey is as real for those in, say, the Age of Innocence (ignorance?) as it is for those in any other Age.   Facing death is a spiritual journey, no matter how close one may seem to be to it, or how far away.  Just because a person may feel--or be--far removed from death or from the dying process, does not mean that they are not on the pathway of death just the same.   I have no right to make harsh judgements of anyone’s Death Walk.  I want to sometimes, but I have no business doing it.  

So, here we are, a quarter past Yule--meaning, we are in the depths of Winter, in the shadow place of Death--with the clock ticking resolutely toward Rebirth.  Because, in the nucleus of every death, there is the seedling of life, just waiting for the light to return; for the light of Candlemas to show itself again.  And, for many of us, it is a damned dark and frightening place to be.  So, we look the other way.  Or, try to.  Want to.  Need to.  And, who can blame us?  Who should blame us?  Certainly not I.  

For the record, Grandma is sitting calmly in her chair, looking her coming death squarely in the eye, with all the poise and dignity of a Goddess.  She has dominion over her grace and control, if not always of her body or mind, then certainly of her emotions and, in the final analysis, she is one amazing old woman.  She is teaching me, with the gentle touch of a cooing dove, that peace is a state of being that we can and will all own--in our own time, at our own pace, and in our own way--nobody else’s.         

You go Grandma!  

In Perfect Love & Perfect Trust

Most Wiccans ascribe to, believe in, or, at least try to live by, the sacred principle of Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.   Well, lots of religions do that!  Consider, for instance, the phrase found on the dollar bill, “In God We Trust.”  This is a principle directly borne out of Christianity and is as much a part of everyday life as the dollar bill itself.   But, why do we Wiccans phrase these two principles together—Perfect Love and Perfect Trust—as if they are integrated and interdependent?  Well, the simple answer to that question of course, is that, to us, they are!  But, as with most things in life, the simple answer is only part of the equation.  The fuller part of the equation is that Perfect Love cannot exist without Perfect Trust and this, of course, applies exactly the same way vice versa.   Equally—and, here’s where we get into Sacred Contradictions again—the story does not end there, because we can love but not trust, just as we can trust without loving!

I know—it gets sorta convoluted, doesn’t it?  But, if you can grasp only one thing out of all this yadda yadda, let it be this: Spirit loves perfectly and is, therefore, the one thing in which we can place perfect trust.  

Let me give you an illustration of this…

As most of my friends know, I have a little dog named Hannah who is paralyzed—she has no feeling from about mid-chest, down to the very tip of her tail.  Hannah is a 7lb miniature Dachshund who ruptured a disc in her back five years ago.  Despite surgery, Hannah lost the ability to walk and now either drags herself around with her front paws, or else gets around in a doggie wheelchair.  The paralysis means that Hannah is also unable to urinate in the normal way, as she has no sensation in her bladder and no muscle control to affect a normal void.  So, three times a day, we, her human caretakers, squeeze her bladder to empty it and then, carefully clean her with tissues and baby wipes, in order to help prevent the bladder and vaginal infections that, none-the-less, show up two or three times a year anyway.   We have been taking care of our little pup this way for a little more than five years now—three times a day, every day of her life.

When she was first paralyzed, Hannah struggled a great deal with trust.  Who can blame her?  After all, we may have known that we were holding her quite securely, we may have understood that everything we did had purpose and was ultimately for her own good, but all she knew was that she could only feel support from mid-chest up—the rest of her, as far as she could tell,  was hanging out there with no safety net at all.  To make matters worse, when we emptied her, we would bend down with Hannah in our arms (to get a wipe or something out of her changing basket) and this would, effectively, tilt her entire world upside down in one direction or another.  

Initially, Hannah would panic and struggle wildly every time we emptied her--she would  flail and writhe, her heart would beat like a trip hammer, her desire to reach safety all too apparent--and we would agonize for her.  Hannah would claw the air looking for anything that felt even remotely secure and she would whimper and look so terrified.  Our hearts would ache for her and we would coo and soothe and promise her in the most comforting way we  knew how that she was perfectly safe, perfectly loved… all she had to do was trust.  But, this was a leap of faith far easier asked for in those early days, than given.   

For a while, we thought about setting her down every time we changed her, but this simply made the process far more time consuming and meant disrupting her two or three times at a change, rather than just once.  It was much easier to keep her clean if we kept her little private parts aloft until the process was complete and, then, set her down on her changing mat to snap her clothes on.  So, we simply kept on doing what we knew was best for her--with our hearts in our teeth every time.  As we did so, we never deviated from our course, we kept on supporting her in the places she could feel as well as the places she could not, and we kept on reassuring her. We simply kept on… and on… and on... 

In time, Hannah came to have faith in the process.  In fact, she learned to trust in us completely--no more struggling or flailing, just gentle acceptance.  Anytime we tilt her world upside down, she simply waits patiently for us to right it again.  Anytime we move unexpectedly, or tilt her in another direction, she demonstrates complete and unshakable confidence that, a.) we will right her world again, b.) we will (albeit in our own, fallible human way) do what is best for her, and c.) we will never, ever let her fall.* 

So much this beautiful little being has taught me about trusting The Source.  There are so many times when I find my world turned upside down and, at those times, find myself flailing wildly, asking why, or complaining that it is unreasonable or unfair.  In fact, there have been many occasions in my life when I have felt no trace of Spirit at all.  Ouch!  But, this is not because Spirit is not present in my life, it is because--at those times--I have failed to understand that I am held aloft in the places I am unable to sense, supported in ways I am completely unaware of, and have been tilted all akimbo for reasons of which I have absolutely no understanding at all.  These are the times when I must simply give myself over to Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.  I must become like Hannah!

Just as Hannah completely trusts me—a resoundingly imperfect human being—I must learn to place my trust in Spirit, knowing without any doubts at all that I am safely held in the arms of what truly is Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.  I may not understand all the what’s, why’s, and wherefore’s of life, but I may not need to.  In fact, I may need to do nothing more than trust that Spirit is holding me safely at all times, that I will never be dropped, will always be safe, and that there is a purpose behind everything in creation. 

It is not, then, simply a matter of “In God We Trust,” it is far more complex and beautiful than that, on so many levels.  It encompasses trust in the known as well as the unknown, the visible, as much as the unseen, the process, as much as the end result, and ourselves, as much as Spirit.  

*Update:  

Just recently, I dropped Hannah.  I simply lost my grip on her.  With Parkinson’s Disease, my reflexes are not the swiftest, but something kicked in that day, I’ve no idea what--and I caught her just before she hit the ground.  My heart nearly beat out of my chest, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder, and I found myself swallowing great gulps of air as if I had my head in a plastic bag.  For her part, Hannah, who found herself suspended by her baby clothes, upside down, simply looked up at me and did not react at all.  Once again, she taught me something…

First of all, unlike we humans, Spirit does not make mistakes--Spirit does not let go or drop us.  We simply fall when it comes time for us to fall.  We, none of us, ever know when the moment of our “fall” will come--but, sooner or later, come it will.  If we fall and something catches us, it is not the “hand of God,” but rather the hand of luck that held us aloft.  Everything in creation has its season, its time… and when that time comes to an end, everything falls--just like a leaf falls from a tree.  Not because Spirit lost It’s grip on it, or because Spirit failed to catch it in time, but simply because the time had come for it to fall.  It isn’t personal, it just is.  

Ways We Should Love

 Ways We Should Love...

• We should not fall in love; we should jump, feet first.
• We should not be swept away by love; we should sweep love with purpose toward our own heart.
• We should not love blindly; we should go into it with our eyes wide open.
• We should be forgiving in love, but we should not forget irrevocable harm—if it means leaving ourselves vulnerable to further pain.
• We should only ever be madly in love in the heart; keep your head sane and rational.
• We should remember always that, in love, a little jealousy goes a long, long way.
• We should wait a while before declaring love—your mind may change your heart.
• We can love, but not like; just as we can like, but not love.
• We do not have to be loved back just because we ourselves choose to love.
• We can, quite irrationally, fall out of love.
• We are not obliged to love those who love us.
• We always, always, always have a choice in love.

--Winnie, 2011