Solstice Night Reflections
Wed Dec 21 22:28:34 CST 2005
Somehow, when both the local Unitarian church and Red Grail groups decided to hold their Solstice celebrations on December 11, I somehow got the idea lodged into my head that this year, the actual literal Solstice fell on that night. Foot, meet mouth.
Having already invested my spiritual energy into that night, and burned my candle most of the way down, I'm not going to attempt to equal or surpass that ritual just because the "real" solstice has now arrived. I've merely lit my candle again, and I'll let the remaining wax burn and fill the room with its sweet aroma while I reflect in writing on life's course and cycles.
Nor does this nullify the meaning or the power of the previous ceremony; for in the context of my life and surrounding events, it still feels as if the Wheel has turned into its next phase. Maybe my energies are slightly ahead of the calendar and solar orbits; for me, the New Year has already begun to emerge out of the darkness.
(Indeed, there is reason to suspect slight variances in the pattern; a wise witch I talked to not long ago informed me of her strong suspicion that the timing of Hanukkah around the new moon nearest the solstice suggests that it, too, originated from a tradition of sympathetic magic before the story was co-opted by the hierarchical priesthood of Jewish lore. I can't say for certain what's governing my altered pattern now. Maybe global warming has tweaked the fields in some inexplicable way. Or I'm just a crazy person who's reading far more into things than logic would dictate. *shrug*)
---
Below is what I started to write earlier this evening. I'll go ahead and finish it now....
"Why the [BLEEP] did you move from Colorado to Lincoln?"
It's a question I've often been asked. People sometimes look at me incredulously. Am I crazy? Why would anyone choose to move here? From there?
I have yet to come up with a complete answer. "Because I have friends here who invited me to move in with them." ... "Because I wanted a change of venue." ... "Wanted to get some distance from my parents for a while." While these are all true, they are yet insufficient.
At this point, the truth is that even if, for some reason, the housing arrangement I've got with Yanthor and Anya were to fall through, I'd probably find another roommate and keep right on living here in town.
The reason? At a level that's difficult to articulate, I know that this town still has more to teach me.
Last spring (and earlier, dating back as far as 2002), the land of Colorado sent me several unmistakable signals that it was done with me, at least for a while. The final one came when what would have seemed like an ideal job at a local organic bakery fell through.
This may sound ridiculous coming from me, but the day before I interviewed there, I remember praying. I promised any deity willing to listen that if I got that job, I would not use my paychecks to patronize the monsterous mega-chain stores. Not even Best Buy. I had learned my lesson about those. I would shop at good local small businesses whenever possible, and work to improve things, even in tiny ways, rather than play the role of the gawking spectator while the world fell apart. (Or maybe it wouldn't fall apart, but instead solidify into a full-fledged postmodern dystopia.)
Upon hearing my prayer, the God of the Mountains contemplated thoughtfully for a while, frowned, and then shook his head. It was not to be. "You don't belong here anymore. Not now. The lessons you need must be learned elsewhere."
So I fled the mountains, and beseeched the God of the Plains for refuge.
The God of the Plains heard me in my distress, but remained silent for a time. Right when I was at the point of skulking into a dark, moldy cave to shrivel and wither away, It said, "Wait."
So I remained in Its presence. Then, gradually, one morsel at a time, it began to grant me what I needed. Not with a sudden flash, but in small increments. A gift here, a clue there, a trail to follow, one step leading to the next.
My heart is filled with gratitude.
...
Of course, that's just one of many possible interpretations to put on events. Another could be that remaining in the place where old habitual patterns formed prevented me from breaking free and creating some much-needed new patterns. We are inseparable from the context of the world in which we exist.
...
At both of my workplaces, I have met people who consider Lincoln to be a dull, tired town. A place one works to get out of. I can understand where they're coming from -- especially if they've spent their whole lives here. It's not the cutting edge. Not even close. The nightlife is weak, club scene non-existent. Wal Mart and its kin threaten to turn what remains of the town's uniqueness into a paved over McSuburb. Though there exist politically progressive and spiritually vibrant elements (where I naturally tend to focus my time and energy), these exist in a land largely populated by the spirits of fundamentalism, apathy, and business as usual. I don't blame those who are eager to leave.
But for me at this stage of my life, it is a welcome place. It does feel like a small town, but not in a bad way. On more than one occassion, while working at Open Harvest, I've run into people from my church as they shopped. One day a couple months ago, I ran into some of the Jewel Heart people at the record store downtown, and discovered that one of them actually works there. And of course, I'm eagerly looking forward to partipating in the community garden next season.
In short: Lincoln, while not the most exciting town in America, has exactly what I need right now, so I intend to stick around here until it is finished teaching me. I believe I will know when that time comes. And when it does, the next step will be natural.
---
For a moment, I felt a slight twinge of envy mingled with sadness when I learned that one of my coworkers at Open Harvest -- the same girl who had greeted me and showed me around the place on the very first day of my volunteering back in July -- is leaving. She has accepted a position at this eco-resort way the hell out in the Caribbean. Of course, I'm also excited for her, as it sounds like an amazing experience. She promised to send us all a postcard, and will probably visit Lincoln again next summer.
This got me thinking. In a short term selfish sense, it is sad, because we will no longer be graced with her ongoing presence. But it's also really inspiring. because I have first-hand knoweldge that insanely cool things can happen to people I know. (Of course, I also shouldn't discount the fact that this didn't just "happen" to her out of the blue; she took a lot of initiative to bring about the conditions that made it happen.)
At the back of the Machiavellian half of my mind, it also occurred to me that if I ever want to follow directly in her footsteps and go work at that particular eco-resort, it would be strongly beneficial to be able to have a reference on the inside. Right now, I estimate the probablity of really, truly, wanting to take that course in life -- not just idly saying "that sounds cool" -- to be something approaching a tenth of a percent. (Truthfully, an eco-village with plenty of land around it appeals far more to me than being surrounded by ocean. I suspect that endless sea in every direction day after day would make me feel very... lost.)
But building this network of contacts, even if it's a fairly loose one, is important.
Despite an abundance of more scattered thoughts, I am about to fall asleep, and need to drive tomorrow. So I'll end this abruptly now, and perhaps add more ideas later.