Full of Myself

I have not been on this blog much lately. I haven't been writing. My time has been spent dealing with lawyers, doctors, work people, etc. Won't get into what it's about because it's probably not prudent. I'm still too angry about it and fifteen years of anger about this issue has now turned into righteous action. It could have all been avoided if they'd just kept things the way they were. But it's a good thing, or it will be. In the meantime, the stress of it all and the consumption of time of it all has kept me from my stories. I hope to get back to them soon. And I'm not sure how coherent this post will be, so I apologize ahead of time.

On the fun side, I kicked off the Old Mermaids Tour here at The Gathering Thursday.

I had been looking forward to this Gathering and talking about the Old Mermaids, but all week I'd been dealing with the above and people weren't returning calls and people were sending weird emails and behaving in crappy bureaucratic ways, so by the time it got to Thursday, I was exhausted.

I dragged myself to the library and put together the room for the Gathering along with a friend of mine. I had asked the women to bring found objects, and I'd said I would tell Old Mermaid stories about these objects. By Thursday, I was thinking, "You said you'd do WHAT?" I'm very comfortable in front of a group—more comfortable than I am one on one actually. In fact, I excel in front of a group. But this was standing in front of a group of people and making up stories after looking at an object I'd never seen before. That was nuts. I was exhausted, I was sad, I was weepy. Who was I kidding?

We started the Gathering by eating. (Potluck.) Twelve women showed up. I said, "Just one more and we'd have the 13 Old Mermaids here." In the middle of the dinner, one more woman showed up. Everyone cheered.

We went around the table and introduced ourselves, since a couple of the women were new. We each said our name and where we came from originally. I began to relax as I listened to each woman's story. When it was my turn, I said, "I was born in Louisiana because my dad was in the service, but I was raised in Michigan. I've lived in the Pacific Northwest longer than I've lived anywhere, and I love it, but I'm often very lonely here." My voice broke as I looked around at these women. "I still miss Linda so much that it breaks my heart. And my mother died last year and I just can't seem to get my bounce back." I never say these things out loud. I write about these things. But I rarely actually say them to anyone.

But on this night before Spring Equinox with this group of women, most of whom I'd known for years, I said what I was feeling. I could see the compassion on their faces. This was what the Old Mermaids did: They spoke truth to one another. They listened. They created a sacred container with their attentiveness, with their presence.

After everyone had a turn, they looked to me, because I was the host for the night, and I began talking about the Old Mermaids. I talked about community and how the Old Mermaids and the novel were about not creating "the other." Especially during difficult times. We needed to create community and not make people who were different from us—even people who crossed an imaginary political line—become the other.

It was time for me to tell stories from the found objects. I'd never done this before. I picked up one object. It was a piece of stone with curves and ridges on it. I ran my fingers around it, and then I said, "I can't be sure, but I think Sister Ursula Divine Mermaid found this in the wash right after the Old Sea dried up..."

And then I told a short story. (Maybe I'll write these stories up later. I haven't decided.) The second story was longer. I stood up for this one. Went to stand beside the woman who brought the object. I began telling the story of the Old One-Eyed Whale and how the Old Mermaids missed him, especially Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid.

As I was telling this story, I felt transformed and transported. I felt like myself completely. I could see the joy on the faces of the women, and I felt as though this story was flowing into me, like a wonderful stream of energy. And I felt joy. For the first time in such a long while, I felt joy fill my body. I was bringing this story to life. I could feel the story in my body. I could feel the truth of this particular story.

I felt truly and absolutely full of myself.

When I told Mario about it later, he said, "I wish I could have been there! You've got to do it again."

But wasn't this a crazy thing to promise people: To stand in front of them and tell stories? Not stories I've planned. Not stories I've written ahead of time. Not stories I've heard somewhere else. Just stand and trust that the stories will come?

Yep, it is crazy.

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it at the next stop on the Old Mermaid tour."

It's scary and it's exciting. We'll see if I'll sink or swim the next time.

Naw, I won't sink. The Old Mermaids will be there swimmin' along with me!

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Beauty Rises

A blood red moon hangs over our town tonight. An old fire on Mount Hood has flared up, and smoke filled the gorge. When I woke up this morning, I noticed the light on the floor coming through the slates was red. I knew before I looked outside that we were in the midst of a fire. In all the years I've lived here, I don't think I've ever seen the air this bad.

Despite the smoke, I didn't feel especially anxious. Things felt better today than they had yesterday. In the middle of the day, I got in the car and drove an hour to see a movie. I was the only one in the movie theater. In fact, I think I may have been the only customer in the entire 16 theaters in this particular complex. So I sat in the middle of the small theater with my feet up, and I watched Mamma Mia. (I generally don't like musicals, especially ones made into movies. So I cringed several times when they started singing. But Vicki was right: The scene where the women sing and snake down to the water is wonderful! Much of the movie is mythic and tribal in a hidden Hollywood kind of way. And Pierce Brosnan is so pretty to look at, Meryl Streep, too. They both look their age and they're both beautiful. By the way, if you go see this movie, watch it until the end, after the credits, until you see the three men come onto the stage. That's all I'm saying.)

Anyway, I sat in the movie theater and watched this movie all by myself, and I started to relax. I laughed, sometimes at myself more than anything on the movie screen. And as my mind was entertained watching these pretty people dance and sing, I realized what I need to do to feel better. I need to work. I need to create. I have got to start writing again. Or doing art. Something creative.

At one point during the movie I called Mario and we talked for a bit. No one else was in the theater, so I wasn't bothering anyone.

Afterward I stopped at the grocery store and then I drove home.

Slept. Dreamed.

In the morning I prepared for a client. Today I was going to use some of the skills I had learned at my workshop with Sandra Ingerman. One more thing for my healers basket. When I am relaxed, without expectations, I love doing healing work almost more than anything else. I have the same feeling I have when I'm writing. I am in the flow. So I prepared my room. I love our little rented house and my room. I love all the Old Mermaids. I love the wabi sabi feel of our house. I rolled out the mat in the middle of the room. (That was where the client would be while I did my work.) Then I spread a small quilt my mom had made me over the mat. Next, I put down the Old Mermaid quilt my father and I made right after my mom died. I put a fresh case on a pillow and then set that on the mat. Next to this, I put my drum, rattle, singing bowl, an Old Mermaid bag I had made and a healing stone.

All simple. Special.

Forty-five minutes before my client was due to arrive, I got cramps. The intestinal kind. It did not feel like nerves. For one thing, I wasn't nervous. But it wasn't letting up. I drank more water. I took an epsom bath. Then took a hot and cold shower. Felt better. Phew!

What happens when I do work with someone is private, so I won't reveal anything personal about our time together today, of course. What I can say is that I've asked people to let me try out this new healing method I've learned. It's suppose to help with trauma and loss of vitality. The word has gotten out, so now I'm doing the work! I think like most things, you get better at it as you do it more.

I will tell you one thing that happened, since it doesn't directly involve the client. While I was finishing up and drumming, I noticed a marble on the floor, stuck under the heater. I thought, "Ahhh, this is the gift I'm supposed to give him." I had planned on giving him a seashell. Sometime later, I remembered to get the marble. I leaned down and pulled it out. It was a green marble. A big one. One of my favorites. I have never seen another marble like this one. I looked at it and thought, "Ooooh, I can't give this away. It is too beautiful." My next thought was, "You are too attached to this. Let it go."

And so I did.

Later, I spent an hour, more or less, sitting up against a huge old oak tree with my client. The air was ruddy. I knew I should be nervous sitting out in the smoky day, but I wasn't. I was still in the flow, sitting in healing space with another person.

A couple hours later, I went to the Gathering. Our hostess had a surprise for us this night. After we ate outside, she had us line up the chairs so that they were facing her porch. We tried to guess what was happening. "Some young men are going to come dance for us," I said. She laughed and said, "Close." "Some old men, then?" I asked.

She plugged in a boom box and turned on the music. A moment later, a belly dancer came down the stairs and danced out onto the porch. As darkness began to fall, she danced for us. After a while some of us got up and danced with her. Soon a whole line of us were up dancing. Primal. Tribal. Glorious.

Later, much later, in the darkness, we talked a little about ourselves.

When I got home, I saw the bloody moon coming up behind the Old Oak.

Inside the house, Mario waited. He closed his book and smiled when I came in through the door. I grinned. How amazing is my life? This was such a beautiful day. I prepared in beauty. I bathed in beauty. I drummed in beauty. I journeyed in beauty. I sat with the oak in beauty. I danced in beauty.

I danced in beauty!

I ate in beauty. Mario put vanilla and then dark chocolate Coconut Bliss into a bowl with bananas for me.

Aaaahhhh. What a good day.

P.S. Thanks for your comments and emails today and yesterday. They helped!

P.S.S. I hope this makes sense. This computer makes me so sick to my stomach that it's difficult to proof it. I figured out what's making me sick. For a small number of people, the LED-backlit computer screens cause a kind of motion sickness. I am one of those people. I love this little computer—except for the making me want to throw-up part—but it's gone up on Craigslist. Hasta la vista, Lily White Deux.

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