The Power of Flight

Today is a glorious sunny day in Arcata, a rare sunny day with little wind. I just walked at the Arcata Marsh for the first time in a couple of months. Oh God, how I have missed everything that being in that place inspires me to feel. Perhaps it is because I have processed so much of my evolution and grief there the last three years. The land holds many of my prayers and my tears. Perhaps it is because I have experienced moments of ecstatic Oneness as the vitality of life in that place embraces my entire being. Perhaps it is the power of the water, the water that sustains all of the life that pulses in that place, the water that cleans Arcata's human impurities from the sewer system and returns to the bay as clean water again.

Tears of joy and appreciation for the blessings of beauty in my life flowed as I walked by one of the ponds and saw baby ducks diving in the water and shaking the water from their wings. This is the second generation of ducks I will witness grow into adulthood.

Today's walk was perfect for this Solstice time. While Arcata is sitting under the bright shining sun, there are dark clouds over the mountains to the east and the air is chill. I would walk under the sun and feel warm, and then walk under the shadow of trees and feel the chill creep up my skin under my clothes causing goosebumps, and then to the warmth of light again. The light *always* follows the darkness as the wheel of the seasons and our lives turns.

The smell of the earth and water fills my nose, while the cool fresh air fills my lungs.

The sound of water moving and birds singing fills my ears.

The reeds and blackberry bushes are decaying, leaving marvelous views of all of the ponds that are usually sheltered by the tall plants in the summer time.

And the dance of the birds today -- so incredibly beautiful. There was a giant flock -- hundreds of little birds -- that completely covered two of the islands in the lake. Every so often large groups would take to the air together and dance - swirling, lifting and falling over the water - sometimes in one group, sometimes in two or three, or shifting from one to two and back to one again. They would turn one direction and it would be flutters of white. They would turn the other direction and it would be flutters of black. Their spontaneous choreography, moving as one body, never ceases to astound me. Then they would return to the island and chatter about their flight, hundreds of voices in what should have been a dissonant cacophony but sounded to my ears more like a song with a hundred distinct yet harmonious voices.

And what other reason do they have to do this dance together than to share in the power of flight? What we can learn from their collaborative flying? That there is more power and joy when we journey together, lift one another up with the power of wind from our wings, and fly higher on the current of one another's journey through the air?

I think of how I am able to fly and soar in ways I never imagined because I have shared experiences of growth and transformation with others. I think of how my dance with the people closest to me powers my ability to fly in the world, whether they are flying by my side in any given moment or not. I fly stronger because I ride the currents of joy, witness and support that I share with my loved ones.

“A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.” Anonymous

I fly higher because of how well I've been loved by those that journey with me, those that remind me to lift my eyes to the sky and remember I have the power of flight.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep in your heart the miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.” Kahlil Gibran

I am striving to accept the seasons of my heart.

It has been awhile since I've written and with the move into a new house this weekend (as well as social plans for my birthday), I likely won't get more than this post done in the next week unless I'm positively inspired. I recognize there is so much I haven't shared here, that I've neglected my commitment to sharing my story. I haven't written about the fantastic last weekend in June when Knight and I visited San Fransisco to check out the Citadel (a BDSM club) and the Pride celebration (after which I was truly intoxicated on love and joy), or stopping in Harbin on the return home and finding an unexpected moment of deep intimacy with a friend. I haven't written about the near argument we had on the way home about limitations on our time together and the clusterfuck of communication issues that have followed. Things have gotten very heavy again, but we are trying to truly understand one another and see if we can work it out.

I also haven't shared about my sudden leap into dating others! Or the Society's incredibly successful social last Saturday night. But I will, when the time is right.

So much of my journey right now is about faith/trust.

The move is a big deal, so I am attempting to be kind to myself about how my self-care and spiritual practices have lapsed the last couple weeks. Moving is an incredible, potentially life-altering, act of self-care. I have been itching to move out of the old place for nearly two years. We have not been happy there for a long time. The landlords do not take care of problems and we have fallen into habits of neglect, so the place is falling apart in lots of ways. We also don't like the neighborhood (there was a drug-related shooting two houses away a few weeks ago). But more importantly, we've never been able to shake the feeling of dark and funky energy from my marriage. My ex-husband and I moved into the house with my kids during our first year together. We lived there for 7 years together. The house has physical reminders of our emotional and physical violence (he put holes in walls and doors), reminders of so many things that we would rather forget. It feels like the walls are soaked in grief and heartache. We would like to start over, to feel good about the space we inhabit.

We are moving into a lovely little house on Jacoby Creek called The Barn (the roof has a barn-like shape). I have always wanted to live away from town. We are surrounded by redwoods. You can hear the creek when you open the windows or step out on the front porch. The landlord is a nice guy who does take care of business (except for the potholes in the driveway). The house was inhabited for the last year by two dear friends who have filled it with positive vibes. And my next door neighbor is one of my best friends. I believe this will be a healing place to live on many levels for both my daughter and I.

However, despite all the good reasons for our move, I am also experiencing incredible grief because I am not moving in with Knight as we had planned. I am packing up my house by myself to continue life on my own as a single mother. I am grieving a dream -- the dream of a home and a life shared, the dream of partnership. I have dreamed of having a true partner all of my adult life and believed that dream was coming true with Knight. Now I have no idea where our relationship is headed and believe it is healthiest to let the dream go for now.

It hurts. A lot. Grief is strange and unpredictable.

We have also had a lot of communication issues the last couple weeks that have made me question our relationship more than ever, as well as caused me considerable heartache. And this is where the title of this post comes in. True transformation is a tricky process. It's not as linear as we'd like. It often involves tripping over ourselves, having to take steps backwards before we can permanently move forward. I have given over to my grief and frustration the last couple weeks instead of maintaining my diligence towards active self-care and positive/spiritual perceptions. I've allowed myself to descend into darkness rather than pull myself by the bootstraps into the light. I've experienced considerable resistance toward nearly all of the activities that were enlightening my process (except for walking and reading The Book of Awakening every morning).

I desire to move forward again, to bring back the experiences of expansiveness and connection to Oneness. I am hoping the exhaustion from packing up my life is a significant part of the issue and things will shift after the move on Saturday. I am hoping that I am inspired to good feeling as I create a new sanctuary. There is no place more sacred to me than my home. I know that it will feed my soul to wake up to redwoods in my window every morning and the sounds of creek water whenever I step outside. I know that while I am not moving in with Knight as a life-partner, I have a best friend next door who believes our business partnership extends far beyond the Society and provides incredible care for me when I need it. While it looks different than I had expected or hoped for, I am still experiencing a dream come true.