Caroly Hillyer's "Ancestor Song" on the player, with Nigel Shaw's lovely flute, reminds me of a magical night in Chalice Well just over a year ago. It was the beginning of the Goddess Conference week, and Carolyn Hillyer and Nigel Shaw had a concert. The night was lovely, the warmth of summer returning after weeks and weeks of rain, and as darkness fell, the huge moon rose.
This week is the Goddess Conference, and I'm not there. And it is with a deep sense of regret, as I would have loved to. I've managed to keep the feelings of homesickness at bay for a long time, I'm not meant to go this year, but I'm feeling it. Up till now, I've felt OK about being away from Glastonbury-Avalon, away from the people who are probably closer to me than many I've known for much longer, away from the land I love, the energies that take me deeper and further than I can go elsewhere. I haven't been back since that Autumn equinox weekend last year when I dedicated as a Sister of Avalon, and only now am I beginning to feel deeply homesick. I get pangs of it every now and then, when I catch a glimpse or a scent of Avalon, see someone who looks so much like a sister from that part of my life that I almost catch my breath, or suddenly feel myself transported, for a split second, to the land I know so well.
It isn't my home, but it is somehow my land, my heartland, my hearthland, where I feel the source of my existence, the roots of my being. But what is home, anyway? Where I was born, where I grew up, where I have the place I call my own, where I live my life? Or is it any place that resides in my heart?
I had serious plans to move to Glastonbury, but am no longer as sure. I've had numerous messages that I belong there, but I belong here too. I have a task here, as well. I want to live in both places, I want it all. To be able to journey into the cauldron and the energy in Glastonbury, and to be able to leave it for this other world, where I live most days. I want both worlds, to bridge the gap between them, bring Avalon into the outside world, part the veils out here. It feels like a huge task, one that I feel too small, to much a novice, for, but I know Goddess will guide me when the time is right.
She is very close tonight, or is it me who is close to Her? It is a clear black night, a tropical night that we get very few of here. Mystress Glitonea is certainly present, with the summer heat that turns the fields golden. The scorching, merciless sun; the life-giver and life-taker.
I yearn for Avalon, to be among my sisters and brothers of Goddess. They aren't here, but Avalon is, and Goddess is. In Her presence, I am made whole.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Monday, 28 July 2008
Getting started
So, a new blog, a new start. Let's see how long I last this time, before the words run out. Which of course they never really do, but there are times when they flow freely and I feel the need to write them down (and do), and times when they just flutter by in a seemingly chaotic sense. The latter are the times when I don't write.
I already have a couple of blogs, in my two languages, but it's been a long time since I had a regular, daily-life-reflections-thoughts blog in English, so I guess this is it. But it is also a sort of thematic blog, as my everyday life is lived in the light and presence of the Lady, Goddess of ten thousand names, the power behind everything, the source and the return. My faith is an essential part of me, part of my life, and as natural as can be. Does that make my life different from most people's? I have absolutely no idea, but I'd guess yes and no. Isn't everyone's life different from "everyone else's"?
I'm spiritual, perhaps even deeply spiritual in the eyes and minds of some, but I'm also a just a woman - which is of course never "just". I love all things beautiful, I can be very girly-girly and have a huge interest in fashion and beauty, but there's also a lot of depth. There's the Priestess part of me, the intellectual, the business woman, the lover, the wounded healer, the motivational coach, the Good Girl (although less so that I used to be), the eternal student with a constant thirst for knowledge, the teacher, the sober former anorexic (sober meaning recovered but aware that it's a part of me that's still there, although mostly dormant) who went so far into the dark that she almost didn't come out - like everyone else, I am a lot of things. And most of that may reflect in my daily life. The eating disorder stuff, however, and most of the things connected to that, is in another blog, where I am sometimes brutally and painfully (for me) honest with how I feel.
Daily life means mundane things, and now I need to get my laundry and then get to work. Today's assignment: Assembly instructions for steel walls. Yay!
Goddess bless
L
I already have a couple of blogs, in my two languages, but it's been a long time since I had a regular, daily-life-reflections-thoughts blog in English, so I guess this is it. But it is also a sort of thematic blog, as my everyday life is lived in the light and presence of the Lady, Goddess of ten thousand names, the power behind everything, the source and the return. My faith is an essential part of me, part of my life, and as natural as can be. Does that make my life different from most people's? I have absolutely no idea, but I'd guess yes and no. Isn't everyone's life different from "everyone else's"?
I'm spiritual, perhaps even deeply spiritual in the eyes and minds of some, but I'm also a just a woman - which is of course never "just". I love all things beautiful, I can be very girly-girly and have a huge interest in fashion and beauty, but there's also a lot of depth. There's the Priestess part of me, the intellectual, the business woman, the lover, the wounded healer, the motivational coach, the Good Girl (although less so that I used to be), the eternal student with a constant thirst for knowledge, the teacher, the sober former anorexic (sober meaning recovered but aware that it's a part of me that's still there, although mostly dormant) who went so far into the dark that she almost didn't come out - like everyone else, I am a lot of things. And most of that may reflect in my daily life. The eating disorder stuff, however, and most of the things connected to that, is in another blog, where I am sometimes brutally and painfully (for me) honest with how I feel.
Daily life means mundane things, and now I need to get my laundry and then get to work. Today's assignment: Assembly instructions for steel walls. Yay!
Goddess bless
L
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
The Dark Passenger
I was watching Dexter on Monday evening (we're probably a season or two behind the US), and was absolutely struck by some of the things said about addiction. I feel just the same! Being a recovered anorexic, I still know the addiction to starvation, food abuse and purging, although I no longer live it out. The anorexic in me is quieter, but nevertheless always there. In that sense, I define myself more as a "sober anorexic" than recovered, as I'm not sure whether I will ever be completely free from that part of me, that part of my life. I don't live it anymore, but it's not gone.
My dark passenger works just the same way, although I no longer have to fight her as hard as I once had to. But the whispering gets louder every now and then, and there are times when I want nothing more than to follow her lead, give myself away to the shadow self that is still, always, intrinsically a part of me. My mirror self, the girl on the other side of the mirror, my dark sister, my dark twin.
I can't deny that there are times when I choose to be her, to follow her instead of doing what I know would be "right". How can something so wrong feel so right, so natural? The main difference from Then is that I have a choice, I choose when to listen to her, when to follow her; I don't have to, I don't get anxious and panicky when I don't.
I've been under a lot of (financial) stress lately, and very frustrated, and that always makes me low, depressed, I lose my appetite, eat less real food and more fast food, sweets and junk, and unlike many others I seem to lose weight when I eat "bad foods". I've lost a bit, enough for my therapist to be happy with it, but not enough for anyone to be really concerned. At least not me. I still feel that I have some distance to when the Dark Passenger starts screaming, although I am aware that I'm pushing it a bit. I did put on some of the weight again, but have absolutely no desire to put on more. I've never wanted to put on weight, ever, but I did anyway because I had to for health reasons, and to get out of the ED. I'm far from back there, but like I've said before, I'm aware that I'm playing a possibly dangerous game.
Some days, when I'm particularly low or stress-induced anxious, I want to block out all other voices, the voices of reason, and just hear her for a bit. It wouldn't solve anything, so I don't, apart from for a while, and I wonder if I would ever let her get into the driver's seat again. What would it take for me to step back into the mirror?
But the dark passenger is still there, still teasing, taunting, wanting to be fed and heard. She is part of me, just like my shadow is always a part of me, but she is the dark passenger, not the driver. And she is me.
Lila: Like a thousand hiding voices whispering: "This is who you are". And you fight the pressure, the growing need rising like a wave, prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed. But the whispering gets louder, until it's screaming: "now !". And it's the only voice you hear... the only voice you want to hear. And you belong to it... to this... shadow self. To this...
Dexter: Dark Passenger.
Lila: Yes. The Dark Passenger.
My dark passenger works just the same way, although I no longer have to fight her as hard as I once had to. But the whispering gets louder every now and then, and there are times when I want nothing more than to follow her lead, give myself away to the shadow self that is still, always, intrinsically a part of me. My mirror self, the girl on the other side of the mirror, my dark sister, my dark twin.
I can't deny that there are times when I choose to be her, to follow her instead of doing what I know would be "right". How can something so wrong feel so right, so natural? The main difference from Then is that I have a choice, I choose when to listen to her, when to follow her; I don't have to, I don't get anxious and panicky when I don't.
I've been under a lot of (financial) stress lately, and very frustrated, and that always makes me low, depressed, I lose my appetite, eat less real food and more fast food, sweets and junk, and unlike many others I seem to lose weight when I eat "bad foods". I've lost a bit, enough for my therapist to be happy with it, but not enough for anyone to be really concerned. At least not me. I still feel that I have some distance to when the Dark Passenger starts screaming, although I am aware that I'm pushing it a bit. I did put on some of the weight again, but have absolutely no desire to put on more. I've never wanted to put on weight, ever, but I did anyway because I had to for health reasons, and to get out of the ED. I'm far from back there, but like I've said before, I'm aware that I'm playing a possibly dangerous game.
Some days, when I'm particularly low or stress-induced anxious, I want to block out all other voices, the voices of reason, and just hear her for a bit. It wouldn't solve anything, so I don't, apart from for a while, and I wonder if I would ever let her get into the driver's seat again. What would it take for me to step back into the mirror?
Dexter: I just know there's something dark in me. I hide it. I certainly don't talk about it. But it's there. Always. This dark passenger. And when he's driving, I feel.... alive. Half sick with the thrill, complete wrongness. I don't fight him. I don't want to. He's all I've got. Nothing else could love me, not even, especially, not me. Or is that just the lie the dark passenger tells me? Because lately there are these moments when I feel....connected to something else, someone. And it's like the mask is slipping....and things....people....who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me.My mask has slipped and I am most definitely connected to something so much bigger than anorexia, and that is my safeguard; I have too much to lose to ever let my shadow self take over again. This fact, that I can't go back without giving a lot of things up that I don't want to lose, no longer scares me as it used to do. It has become a fact of life; if I choose that dark path in the mirror, I will lose something. A lot of things matter a lot more than being skinny, and the illusion of control is just that: an illusion.
But the dark passenger is still there, still teasing, taunting, wanting to be fed and heard. She is part of me, just like my shadow is always a part of me, but she is the dark passenger, not the driver. And she is me.
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
The Lure of the Mirror
At times I wonder if it is ever possible to be totally free from the ties to the mirror, to break completely free and never look back. How many years down the line is that, in that case? Do I even want to forever completely sever the ties, if I can? They say it takes as long to be free as it took to hit rock bottom, and in that case I have many more years to slowly break the chains, one link at a time.
Most of the time it really isn't on my mind. I can look in the mirror and appreciate what I see without feeling the slightest desire to step back, not even the smallest inkling to step on the scales. Other times I am curious and hear the siren's song again. Quietly and from far, far away, like fairy music in my dreams. But I hear it, and if I listen to it, give room to the oh so quiet voice from the other part of me, that part that has shrunk, almost into oblivion, but is nevertheless always with me, a part of me; if I listen to that voice, to the alluring lilt in its seduction, I know it will grow stronger. It has no hold over me, not yet anyway, but can I safely say that I will never give it hold over me? No. I'm being honest here: I will always be able to choose to go back. I don't know what it would take to push me into making that choice, and it won't be one easily, casually made, but the choice remains. I have too much to lose to want to take the risk, now, although I sometimes wish I didn't have to feel this much.
But there is a middle ground, between being completely outside of the mirror and being inside it, and I am playing in that area, sometimes comfortably far away, sometimes challenging myself to step just a bit closer to that smooth, shiny surface. You know you want to... And yes, I do. I want to be able to have one foot in the mirror and still be free. I want to eat the cake and not eat it; I want to be healthy and yet slightly less than healthily slim. Not unhealthy, but just not normal, average. I want it all, the drama, the high, the rush, the feeling of pushing boundaries, and still be sane, focussed and able to lead a normal, happy life. Impossible? Hrmph! Impossible is nothing. I.e. it shouldn't be impossible; it doesn't have to be, does it?
I do miss the drama a bit. Not that I'm a drama queen, because it was always my hidden, secretive inner drama. A bit of Sturm und Drang in the Good Girl's dull life. OK, so I'm not as good a girl any more, and there's definitely room for passion, drama, a spicier life, and it's not usually that dull, either. But occasionally, I miss the internal drama and the secret life. And I still fear normalcy, whatever that is. I don't want to be normal if it means being average, mediocre, mainstream, like everyone else, invisible. That's not me. They tell me I'm anything but invisible, but then how can I feel so invisible?
So I play with the mirror, test the strength of my ties to it, see how far I can push the boundaries before I feel its pull, before I start seeping into it. This is nothing new and not entirely conscious, but I've become aware that this is what I do. About a year ago I felt that I was too big, and decided to lose a bit. Nothing much, just a bit. And slowly, oh so slowly, I have. No dramatic changes, in spite of the tough times with an unwanted pregnancy and a manipulative man in autumn, in spite of the constant stress of money and work (or no work). I haven't given up eating, given in to dieting, or to compensation/purging behaviours. Still go to the gym too seldom for the membership to really pay off. But it's in my mind, and it's been there on and off, like an undertone or a subaudible, hidden track in my thoughts. And it's summer, and I'm under a lot of stress, feel emotionally exhausted and low, and that always affects me somewhat.
For a while, a week or so in May, I thought I might choose that path again, when the weight thoughts were stronger than in many years after I'd had to weigh myself at my GP's before an asthma exam, but I held back and worked with the thoughts and why they had appeared so strongly. I was proud of myself for that. I am in control, I choose what to do and will not give in to any fearful thoughts. But the fact remains: I have lost, willingly, even though I have been more or less happy with how I look for months. I can look in the mirror and be happy, satisfied. This is new, I never felt that before I broke out of the mirror. I can actually say that I look good and feel beautiful. Not every day, not all the time, but often enough. And yet... Do I think I look better when I am slightly smaller? (Not obviously underweight, unhealty small, but just a little bit less than average.) I don't know, I really can't say. But here is enough (another new thought). I don't want my breasts to shrink, because I've lost half a cup size and I like my breasts! So no more. That's what I say. Now, the test is whether I will stop and just stay here. That is where I know the game is, the challenge of whether or not I have stepped ever so slightly back into the mirror's shadow.
Let's see. For now, anyway, I am still my own and in control of my behaviours, and I have no intention of giving that control over to the darker part of me, to the mirror girl...
~L~
Most of the time it really isn't on my mind. I can look in the mirror and appreciate what I see without feeling the slightest desire to step back, not even the smallest inkling to step on the scales. Other times I am curious and hear the siren's song again. Quietly and from far, far away, like fairy music in my dreams. But I hear it, and if I listen to it, give room to the oh so quiet voice from the other part of me, that part that has shrunk, almost into oblivion, but is nevertheless always with me, a part of me; if I listen to that voice, to the alluring lilt in its seduction, I know it will grow stronger. It has no hold over me, not yet anyway, but can I safely say that I will never give it hold over me? No. I'm being honest here: I will always be able to choose to go back. I don't know what it would take to push me into making that choice, and it won't be one easily, casually made, but the choice remains. I have too much to lose to want to take the risk, now, although I sometimes wish I didn't have to feel this much.
But there is a middle ground, between being completely outside of the mirror and being inside it, and I am playing in that area, sometimes comfortably far away, sometimes challenging myself to step just a bit closer to that smooth, shiny surface. You know you want to... And yes, I do. I want to be able to have one foot in the mirror and still be free. I want to eat the cake and not eat it; I want to be healthy and yet slightly less than healthily slim. Not unhealthy, but just not normal, average. I want it all, the drama, the high, the rush, the feeling of pushing boundaries, and still be sane, focussed and able to lead a normal, happy life. Impossible? Hrmph! Impossible is nothing. I.e. it shouldn't be impossible; it doesn't have to be, does it?
I do miss the drama a bit. Not that I'm a drama queen, because it was always my hidden, secretive inner drama. A bit of Sturm und Drang in the Good Girl's dull life. OK, so I'm not as good a girl any more, and there's definitely room for passion, drama, a spicier life, and it's not usually that dull, either. But occasionally, I miss the internal drama and the secret life. And I still fear normalcy, whatever that is. I don't want to be normal if it means being average, mediocre, mainstream, like everyone else, invisible. That's not me. They tell me I'm anything but invisible, but then how can I feel so invisible?
So I play with the mirror, test the strength of my ties to it, see how far I can push the boundaries before I feel its pull, before I start seeping into it. This is nothing new and not entirely conscious, but I've become aware that this is what I do. About a year ago I felt that I was too big, and decided to lose a bit. Nothing much, just a bit. And slowly, oh so slowly, I have. No dramatic changes, in spite of the tough times with an unwanted pregnancy and a manipulative man in autumn, in spite of the constant stress of money and work (or no work). I haven't given up eating, given in to dieting, or to compensation/purging behaviours. Still go to the gym too seldom for the membership to really pay off. But it's in my mind, and it's been there on and off, like an undertone or a subaudible, hidden track in my thoughts. And it's summer, and I'm under a lot of stress, feel emotionally exhausted and low, and that always affects me somewhat.
For a while, a week or so in May, I thought I might choose that path again, when the weight thoughts were stronger than in many years after I'd had to weigh myself at my GP's before an asthma exam, but I held back and worked with the thoughts and why they had appeared so strongly. I was proud of myself for that. I am in control, I choose what to do and will not give in to any fearful thoughts. But the fact remains: I have lost, willingly, even though I have been more or less happy with how I look for months. I can look in the mirror and be happy, satisfied. This is new, I never felt that before I broke out of the mirror. I can actually say that I look good and feel beautiful. Not every day, not all the time, but often enough. And yet... Do I think I look better when I am slightly smaller? (Not obviously underweight, unhealty small, but just a little bit less than average.) I don't know, I really can't say. But here is enough (another new thought). I don't want my breasts to shrink, because I've lost half a cup size and I like my breasts! So no more. That's what I say. Now, the test is whether I will stop and just stay here. That is where I know the game is, the challenge of whether or not I have stepped ever so slightly back into the mirror's shadow.
Let's see. For now, anyway, I am still my own and in control of my behaviours, and I have no intention of giving that control over to the darker part of me, to the mirror girl...
~L~
Thursday, 3 July 2008
He makes my knees buckle
How can it be? A man who really makes my knees buckle and my hands shake. Never happened before. And this is long before falling in love, because I don't know him enough to do that. Not yet. All I know is that we have this amazing connection, on all levels, and that he wants more of me just like I want more of him, and I know very well how my body reacts to him. I just wish he would make that phone call, take the step from telling me that he wants to, and is so close to calling, and wants the energy exchange we share in sex, and just do it. Less words, more action. But I think that doing so is a much bigger step than it may sound like. It's not just sex.
I saw him last week, just for a short appointment, and I was so nervous before that it was insane. I was OK most of the day, just a bit jittery, butterflies in my stomach and all that, but on my way there I felt my hands shaking and my knees feeling disturbingly wobbly. It's funny, because I've been head over heels before and never like this, and now I'm just so attracted but not in l0ve.
It's funny how much you can say in a short time, and the level of confidence and openness between us is more than I've ever experienced before.
I had made my mind up to try to tell him that I am interested in more than just sex, and that if he had been single I would have asked him out, because he's just too interesting to let go. I wanted to tell him that because I want him to know that I think he's really interesting and I like him as a person. And I did tell him that, too. But he beat me to it, by suddenly telling me that he "really adores me as a person", and that's a reason why he feels unsure about just meeting to have sex. It was so sweet of him to say that, and he seemed genuinely concerned that I might feel used. As if. I want it just as bad, and I am fully capable of saying No. Even though I seriously doubt I will ever want to say No to him.
The thing is, it's up to him. He's got a family, he's got commitments, he's got issues to sort out and doesn't want to cheat. I respect that, but I can't sit around and wait. I mean, in a way I do, but just because I don't find anyone interesting, not because I'm waiting specifically for him.
I am amazed at the physical reactions to him and I am confused about what he said to me. Player or no player? Honest or not? Does he have the courage to take the next step?
I saw him last week, just for a short appointment, and I was so nervous before that it was insane. I was OK most of the day, just a bit jittery, butterflies in my stomach and all that, but on my way there I felt my hands shaking and my knees feeling disturbingly wobbly. It's funny, because I've been head over heels before and never like this, and now I'm just so attracted but not in l0ve.
It's funny how much you can say in a short time, and the level of confidence and openness between us is more than I've ever experienced before.
I had made my mind up to try to tell him that I am interested in more than just sex, and that if he had been single I would have asked him out, because he's just too interesting to let go. I wanted to tell him that because I want him to know that I think he's really interesting and I like him as a person. And I did tell him that, too. But he beat me to it, by suddenly telling me that he "really adores me as a person", and that's a reason why he feels unsure about just meeting to have sex. It was so sweet of him to say that, and he seemed genuinely concerned that I might feel used. As if. I want it just as bad, and I am fully capable of saying No. Even though I seriously doubt I will ever want to say No to him.
The thing is, it's up to him. He's got a family, he's got commitments, he's got issues to sort out and doesn't want to cheat. I respect that, but I can't sit around and wait. I mean, in a way I do, but just because I don't find anyone interesting, not because I'm waiting specifically for him.
I am amazed at the physical reactions to him and I am confused about what he said to me. Player or no player? Honest or not? Does he have the courage to take the next step?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)