Fierce

i found god in myself & i loved her
i loved her fiercely

- Ntozake Shange

Inspiration

I stumbled upon this artist, Arthur Douet, in Google Image Search, and was struck by the resonance of some of his pieces with my journey here.

In the Flow of Life

copyright Arthur Douet

My Cup Runneth Over

copyright Arthur Douet

Both of these pieces seem to reflect the feeling of goddess energy flowing through me, of filling the chalice that I have been seeking and recently experiencing.


He describes the second piece as: "When one listens inwardly, taking time to reflect on the Beingness of Life, the cascading flow that infuses our mind, body, and spirit replenishes the joy of life in the heart."

Mother love

I know, in my head, that we can't adopt another child. When I think about it rationally, I can see that we don't have the resources (time, energy, finances) to give to another child (although No Mother Earth makes a charming and persuasive argument for more than one child).

I only have 2 hours a day to spend with Baby E as it is - how would I possibly split that up for two children? Or more? It doesn't feel fair to us to give less than we do now.

But....

I want more children so much.

I feel like I have so much love to give, and there are children out there who need a mother. I think I've realized how good I am at mothering, and I want to do more of it. I want to be More Mother.

My awesome friend, Sally, told me she felt similarly when her children were about six months old. She inspired me with her vision of Mary as the universal mother, caring for all of us as her children. I feel as if I am a channel for this mothering energy, coming from the universe through me to my children.

The difficulty is that these feelings, this energy is pent up inside of me. I have no way to express them. Or do I? Why don't I simply direct all this mothering at Baby E?

Well, that's a good question. I have an answer, but not necessarily a good one.

I have a feeling that I don't want to focus all of that energy on Baby E, that it might be unhealthy for him. I believe that attention is an important part of parenting. Giving quality, undivided attention is the major way that I hope to show my love and approval for Baby E. Withholding attention - or shamuing - is how I hope to discourage behaviors that are unproductive. Too much attention, in my mind, can distort the parent-child relationship.

I don't believe that parents should be obsessed with their children. I know from my own experience how being a "little god" led to no boundaries and lots of difficulties in my life, difficulties that even my mother's overwhelming love could not balance.

On the other hand, I sometimes feel guilty if I'm doing things like watching TV or checking my email instead of playing with Baby E. In the scant two hours I have with him at night, I spend a large portion of that time cooking and eating dinner, plus doing whatever other chores need to happen in the evenings. I'm not sure how often I really meet the standard of "quality, undivided attention."

I think this guilt is exacerbated by the fact that I am an adoptive mother. I feel it is so important to give Baby E "optimal" attachment, to make up for the traumatic loss of his birthmother he suffered at birth. And I feel anxious about whether he is really bonded to me. Does he really think I'm someone special? A fear that I can only imagine will grow as he does, as he explores the world and finds so many other things more exciting than Mommy.

(If I compare these thoughts to my thoughts on relationships, they seem silly. I never say to myself "Hey, you're loving Papa D too much.")

There should be a way out of this dilemma. I should let the Goddess be my guide. She showers endless love on her children, and it doesn't harm us, because she also lets us grow up into our own, wonderful, unique independent beings.

If these feelings come from the Goddess, who am I to block them? Maybe She wants me to flood Baby E with all the love I have. Maybe there's some reason that I don't know, something in the future that he needs to be prepared for.

Running on empty

As I'm waiting to hear from this new job possibility (yes, still waiting), I am thinking a lot about how to know if it's the right move to make. How can I know what the company is really like? Will the telecommuting arrangement really be an improvement? Most importantly, I want to feel like I am going the right direction in my life, on the path the God/dess wants for me.

One way I've always believed you can know you are on the right path is synchronicity. When all the factors align, you feel like everything is easy and right. That's how I know I'm heading in the right direction.

One way that I am really questioning is the concept of fulfillment. Is the feeling of fulfillment the same as fulfilling one's purpose? The former seems to me to be self-focused, while the latter is soul-centered? But doesn't the God/dess want me to be happy? How else can I know that I am doing her will than a feeling of contentment?

I certainly don't feel fulfilled by my work (is it the career or the job, that's the million dollar question), and the roots of this discontent started a decade ago. I've had dozens of theories over the years of what the problem is (poor management, lack of advancement possibilities, cause I'm not interested in, and now dysfunctional workplace), but as I've attempted to rectify each job's shortcomings, I feel like I am digging myself deeper into this mess.

Because becoming a mother happened so recently, I know that Baby E fulfills me. My heart is overflowing with love for him and happiness that he is in my life. However, when he turned six-month-old, I started feeling the yearning again...for another child, many children. Papa D thinks I'm crazy, but I want to have 8 children, all different ages and races. I really want to adopt a teenage daughter from the U.S. foster care system...and a sibling set from Haiti. These days I'm particularly obsessed with children with special needs, such as cleft lip/palate, limb differences, and ambiguous genitalia, from China and India. So I am fulfilled by Baby E, but not totally. Is there such a thing as partial fulfillment? Can part of your heart be totally fulfilled and part be empty?

My relationship with Papa D has completely fulfilled me. He filled a hole in my heart that I walked with for most of my life. I could finally quit searching and start living. All of a sudden I had more energy for other parts of life. When we were married, I imagined that together we were a stronger force for good. We could channel our energy to our communities, instead of ourselves. I'm not sure how much of that vision has come true (we're still pretty self-centered), but I do know that 10 years later, I have no interest in any other man (or woman for that matter).

In marriage and motherhood, I must say that fulfillment seems to be an indication of rightness, of blessing by the God/dess. So it seems I need to continue to seek fulfillment in my work.

What's interesting to me about this is the dichotomy between emptiness and fullness. Six years ago, I took the magical name Calix, the latin word for chalice, to represent my openness to the Goddess's blessings. I was hoping to become a mother, and the chalice symbolized my womb (and heart) ready to be filled. I pictured a goblet spilling over with a clear water to imagine the love and energy that would shower upon me. At that time, my life felt cluttered and busy, and emptiness was a good thing. I wanted to clear a space - in my life, in my heart - for the Goddess to fill with a child. Now, I'm experiencing the other side of this emptiness, the longing for something more.

Since I no longer want to be empty, I think it may be time to change my magical name. I'd like something that represents my feeling of being blessed. There's always Grace, but I recoil from the trendiness. Apparently Winifred means holy, blessed reconciliation and joy and peace. Ardith is traditionally given to a baby as a blessing. Neither is really doing it for me.

I really like Beata, and it keeps in the Roman tradition of my Matron Goddess, Juno.
I'm drawn to Baraka (like the President) or Beracha, but I don't have any particular connection with Islam, and my Jewish connections aren't strong enough to warrant taking a Hebrew name. Though, perhaps, if I am being drawn towards Christianity, a Hebrew name would be appropriate.

As I contemplated this, it eventually dawned on me that my real name actually means something similar to blessed. In Sanskrit, it means "all auspicious." I understand that this means something more like "good fortune surrounds me" or "luck follows me" than that good things happen to me. But perhaps I should consider the radical thought of integrating my magical and mundane names...whoa!

The Chalice Well and Gardens at Glastonbury, England

The cover of the Chalice Well, showing the vesica piscis, a sacred geometrical symbol representing the union of spirit and matter

Little gods

In the last few years, one of the most fascinating and controversial ideas in neuropsychology has been the concept that it is a part of the human brain that creates the experience of God. At least one crackpot on the internet has taken this a step further and proposed that this part of the brain is shaped by early life experiences, i.e. parenting.

The feeling of being intensely mothered - as I experienced with the Goddess - could easily reflect my early life experiences. My mother devoted herself to me. She didn't work, so I was with her all the time. She breastfed me until I was two-and-a-half (darn sister coming along!). Of course, in time, I grew up and away from her, but she continued to love me more than anyone else loved me until the day she died.

As a mother, I've come to understand that devotion from the other side. I love every single hair on Baby E's head, and I can easily imagine him being my favorite person as he grows. Now, I can also see how this experience of the Divine Child could be a reflection of my infancy.

My mother was a very spiritual person. She first explored Quakerism in high school, then dedicated herself to Krishna at age 21. But she said that her interest in religion declined when she had me. I became her center. This was encouraged by the Indian culture around her, which she told me treated children under age six as little gods. Obviously, this was reinforced by the stories of Krishna as a child, doted on by his mother.

So here I am, 38 years later, awed by the universal life force that I see channeling through my child. It's as if I'm reliving my mother's experience...or my experience.

Whether it is neurons or harmonic fields or karma, I'm kind of astonished by the connections between my God Experiences and my mother.

Mother and child

I've been ruminating all weekend, and I'm really excited about this new idea (thanks, Alyss, for the encouraging inquiry!). After writing about finding the Divine in Baby E, I realized that perhaps the experience of the Divine hasn't left me, but has changed to a new form.

I used to experience the Goddess as a Great Mother, an enveloping, nurturing presence. She was the perfect parent, ever-present and ever-accepting, with none of the human foibles of my earthly mother.

Now the Divine has entered my life as a child, to whom I am mother. I have changed positions, from being the child to being the mother. It is a totally different energy. There is still great love flowing to me, but there is greater responsibility on my part.

But what does it mean for God to be a child? Is there such a thing as a child God? What does it ask of me?

My first thought was of Jesus Christ. His birth is a well-known story, and images of him as a child are common.


Perhaps this is why I have been drawn to Christian church, to connect with the story of a mother and child.

My next thoughts were of Krishna. Because I was taught about Krishna when I was a child, I think of him mainly as a the mischievous child stealing butter.


Growing up, he was presented as a God we could relate to. Now, I am finding so much more in the story. He was raised by adoptive parents, cowherd Nanda and his wife Yashoda. She is a human mother of a Divine being, who is a different color than she is.


Yet they love each other profoundly. Statues of Krishna are places on special cushions that represent his mother Yashoda’s lap, with bolsters on each side as her hands. "The Lord is said to be seated in the lap of His beloved Yashodama, forever secure that no one will dare scold Him while He is in her lap. No matter how naughty He has been during the day, no matter what the other gopis say, Yashodama will never believe anything ill of her beloved son. She will tell the complainants to look at their own shortcomings, but will never say anything to upset her darling child. His foster mother Yashoda’s love for Him was so dear to Him that the Lord says, 'No matter what the world says, I will always call myself as your son! I will call myself the son of Nanda and Yashoda.'"

I have found a few other examples of child-Gods: the infant Dionysus (famously - and interstingly juxtaposed with typical Madonna images - shown being held by his father, Hermes), the infantile Eros (sometimes shown held by his mother Aphrodite), and Horus, son of Isis and Osiris.

I was intrigued by ideas I found on a website on Indian art:

"According to David Kinsley: 'For the divine to become embodied as a child is eminently suitable, for they behave in similar ways. Each belongs to a joyous realm of energetic and erratic activity that is pointless but not insignificant; aimless, but imaginative and rich, and therefore creative. In play, the mind can go wild; the imagination is set free to conjure and conquer. With the world of necessity left behind, the imagination takes over, eagerly populating a world that knows no limit whatsoever. So it is with the play of children, and so it is with the activity of the gods.'

"In the Harivansha Purana, Krishna's play is said to be "like the fire in the cremation ground," leaping and flickering, erratic and vigorous. The brash and indomitable spirit of the young Krishna makes the world around him sparkle with aliveness. His youthful play lights up the world like a blazing fire illuminates the darkness. The playful actions of Krishna burst forth to tumble and romp like the wind in the trees, unpredictable and free. We have here a description of the other realm where things are as they are meant to be, where life goes on joyously and unhampered, where no thought is given, or need be given, to the future, where life is lived to the fullest every moment. Krishna's playful realm is a description of the heavenly world of gods which is ever fresh, instinctive, and intuitional.

"The theophany of the child god also reveals that as an infant and a child, Krishna is approachable, and can be doted upon and coddled. He can be approached with the intimacy with which a parent approaches a child. Such a god invites man to dispense with cumbersome formality and come to him openly, delighting in him intimately. The adorable, beautiful babe, so beloved all over, does not demand servitude and pomp. His simplicity, charm, and infant spontaneity, invite an affectionate and tender response."

So, one lesson from Mary and Yashoda's stories might be that the role of a God-child is to inspire a maternal love, so strong as to take me beyond myself. That the lesson I need to learn is to release my ego and put myself in service of another's life.

Another approach is more Jungian, like this sermon I found by the Rev. Dr. Daniel Ó Connell preached for the congregation at Eliot Unitarian Chapel in Kirkwood, MO on December 8, 2002. Jung believed this archetype, of the child, "represents the strongest, [inevitable] urge in every being, namely the urge [for a being] to realize itself."

"To lead a more authentic life, we must look within, we must seek, find, and encourage our Divine Child. ...The Divine Child is the archetype of the regenerative force that leads us toward wholeness. 'Becoming as a little child' as expressed in the Gospels. It is a symbol of the true self, of the totality of our being, as opposed to the limited and limiting ego."

Where?

In the comments to the last post, my totally cool sister Alyss asked, "Where do you already feel closest to the divine?"

I want to start by explaining that I haven't lost my faith. I still believe as strongly as ever in the divine. If anything, my faith is stronger now, because I have less direct experience to go by.

Can I continue with the metaphor of the sun? When the Goddess became an active part of my life at 26 years old, it was like the cloud cover cleared, and I finally felt the sun. I easily could feel her warmth and light, it was all around me all the time. Sometime around four years ago, the clouds moved back. I still know the sun is there, intellectually, and I can see the evidence of Her existence in the world (there is light to see by, the plants are growing). But I don't have that visceral experience of Her presence.

What happened four years ago? Well, I stopped actively practicing. We moved to a Small Town from The Big City, and I couldn't find any other pagans. For the first few months, we tried attending the Unitarian Universalist church, but gave that up for both social and liturgical reasons. At first I didn't miss practicing, I still felt confident in Her presence in my life, even if I didn't feel Her directly. I knew that pursuing motherhood was Her choice for me, and I followed that path. It was only deep into that decision, once the road became rocky, that I realized I couldn't seem to find her within me any more. A few times, I tried to make more of an effort, but I was busy and couldn't find the time. And there was little reward.

During the adoption process, we felt surrounded by church-y types always spouting about God's plans, and it felt important to distance myself from them. While I knew the Goddess wanted us to be parents, I didn't believe that she had one, specific child planned for us. I closed my heart to all the talk about God - I just couldn't face the idea of a God who plans for women to make heart-wrenching choices and for children to lose their birthfamilies.

It's interesting that I felt the Goddess so strongly when I lived in cities, but don't now that I live in the country, surrounded by nature. I feel as if she guided me here, where she wanted me to be, then figured she could leave me to figure out the rest on my own.

When I lived in cities, I found the Goddess in nature - the herbs growing wild out of the sidewalk, the huge trees in the park, the moon rising full between the buildings. Now, Her works are everywhere - from our little patch of backyard to the rolling green hills that surround our town. I can actually see the sky here and am much closer to the cycles of the moon and the sun. For half the year, we eat fresh vegetables and fruits, bought from farmers that we know and love. But none of these things seem to be filled with magic, rather they seem quotidian, common.

I don't have much time to enjoy the hobbies - gardening, cooking, knitting - that once connected me with her. (Just one more way that this job is killing my soul.)

If there is one place now that I feel most alive, it is with Baby E. From the miracle of his presence in our lives to the joy of watching him grow and develop, he is an angel, sent from heaven. He is a daily marvel.

I know that motherhood was the next step on my spiritual path, but now that I'm here, it just doesn't feel like what I expected. It's no grand ephiphany, it's a day-to-day
church
grind [I totally didn't mean to put the word church there, an interesting typo, don't you think?] of mundane details, punctuated by bursts of overwhelming love. It is also a profound call to gratitude - can you imagine how incredible the woman is who gave this miracle to us?

However, despite the boogers and the board books, motherhood has changed me. I think differently now about my career, my community, my home, my marriage, and my self. These shifts feel so tectonic that I haven't really been able to articulate them.

I know, though, that my current job situation isn't sustainable. It simply doesn't work to be away from home 10 hours a day, to only see my baby for 2 hours before he goes to sleep.

And, because my son has African heritage, I also knew I needed to reach out to the black community in our town - and what better way to do that than attend a church? So in this way too, it is Baby E. who has propelled me back to God.

More thoughts on prayer

I've been exploring the world of pagan blogs to get inspiration, and I came across this discussion of prayer:

Radical Goddess Thealogy: Praying TO GODDESS?

I certainly don't see the need to compare my relationship with a deity to someone else's relationship with Jesus, but I think the conversation makes some interesting points.

I wish that I felt the same as the last commenter. I mean, I know that the Goddess is always with me, but why don't I feel her any more?

Language barrier

One of the greatest challenges for me in attending St. Paul's is overcoming the language they use to talk about religion and the Divine. It's not just the use of God and Jesus Christ, but they talk of Satan and evil too.

I wasn't raised Christian, so I don't have an easy familiarity with all the Christian linguistic mannerisms. For the last 13 years, I've been a practicing Witch, so I'm used to a whole different theological language.

I think I must be sitting in the service furrowing my brow the whole time as I try to translate the prayers, hymns, and sermons into language that makes sense to me. Then I struggle again with language as I write this journal.

If I use "God," it sometimes feels false. I fear it gives people an impression of me as a traditionally religious person, as if I'm in the closet.

In real life, I have tried to stop using "God," and I use "Google" instead. So you'll hear me say "Thank Google for that!" or "Where on Google Earth did that come from?"

I'd feel more comfortable if my readers knew that, when I use "God," I use it as a "nickname" for the Goddess, the Great Mother, creator/animator/destructor of all things, an infinite being with uncountable manifestations across history and continents.

"God" is a shortcut for me. You'll never hear me use the word "Lord" unless it's in reference to something like "The Lord's Prayer." Even the word "pray" is fraught for me - doesn't it conjure an image of a child kneeling by her bed with her hands clasped together?

I should remind myself of other images of prayer - the upraised hands of the Hindu kirtan or the prostrate posture of the Muslim. These words can call up many meanings, just as there are many faces of the Goddess and God.

Good things

The phrase "all good things come from God" was rattling around my head the other day. I think it's something they say at St. Paul's. I translated it, as I do with almost everything at St. Paul's, into my words: "all good things come from the Goddess." Well, of course they do. That seems obvious. Everything comes from the Goddess. In Wicca however, we believe that she particularly wants us to enjoy the good things in life.

I immediately thought of a phrase from the Charge of the Goddess: "all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals." This piece is widely used as a sort of "textual" basis for pagan theology. Here is a version from Reclaiming, written by Doreen Valiente and adapted by Starhawk:

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, Who of old was called Artemis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Arionrhod, Brigid, and by many other names:

Whenever you have need of anything, once a month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me Who is Queen of all the Wise.

You shall be free from slavery, and as a sign that you be free you shall be naked in your rites.

Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth.

For My law is love is unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens the door of youth, and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the cauldron of Cerridwen, that is the holy grail of immortality.

I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal, and beyond death I give peace and freedom and reunion with those that have gone before.

Nor do I demand aught of sacrifice, for behold, I am the Mother of all things and My love is poured out upon the earth.

Hear the words of the Star Goddess, the dust of Whose feet are the hosts of Heaven, whose body encircles the universe:

I Who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters,

I call upon your soul to arise and come unto me.

For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe.

From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return.

Let My worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.

Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.

And you who seek to know Me, know that the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without.

For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am That which is attained at the end of desire.

As I mulled this over, I realized that the opposite is true too...of course. If all things are from the Goddess, then this difficult experience is from her too. At which point, I had to question "Why?"

Why would God want me to have this experience? What am I meant to learn from it?

My first thought, which became so consuming I had a hard time thinking of others, was that I was meant to realize that this is no longer the career for me. Perhaps the Universe put me into a job that I would hate so much that I would finally leave professional communications. And, by the way, there's no question that I was meant to take this job. I had found this firm just before taking my previous job, thought about them repeatedly over the year and half, and when I was suddenly laid off, they were my very first thought. I sent them a letter, just over the transom, and within 6 weeks was starting here with a $10,000 pay raise. I would say it was all a terrible mistake, but there are no mistakes.

The thing is that this line of thinking is particularly convenient, as a way to justify the career change I want to make, so I distrust it a little bit. I really wracked my brains trying to think of other messages I could be receiving from this situation:

- When I first started this job, it was absolutely clear that the move back to consulting was a good one. I really enjoy the variety and novelty of working with different clients. I love being able to do three or four different kinds of projects in a day. Maybe that was the key lesson, and all the rest of this is "gravy" telling me to move on.

- What would I move on to? Another crazy agency? For a while, it felt very clear that I need to work for myself. I could work from home, set my own hours, work on projects that I choose, and generally avoid the fallout of others' dysfunction. I had even convinced myself that the Great Recession was the perfect time to start a business - people aren't hiring staff or full-scale agencies, but still need their communications work done on the cheap. For now, there's just no way to make this a reality. I'd need at least one, if not two, steady, substantial clients - and there are none on the horizons. I've also been cluing in to the downsides of being your own boss: the constant pressure to be working and hustling new clients.

- Maybe I'm meant to go back to the non-profit route, becoming an Executive Director of an organization whose cause I believe in. Maybe. But they're not lining up at the door for me.

It's just not clear yet and probably won't be until more of the story has unfolded. For now, I know that the next step on my path will meet me when I get there, and that the Goddess wants me to enjoy the journey!

Mothers

Up until now, we have let Baby E fall asleep in my arms while drinking a bottle in our den/TV room, where he slept until us parents are ready for bed. Then he spent the night snuggled in the crook of my arm, nursing whenever he woke.

Last week, our whole family started a new "program" - that's what I call the elaborate systems I develop for myself and the baby. We instituted a Bedtime Routine - bath, massage, book, kisses, bottle, nursing to sleep - that takes place upstairs and his Baby E's room. After he falls asleep in my arms in the rocking chair, I wait until he's deeply asleep and put him in the crib. When he wakes at night, one of us goes to him and picks him up. Papa D rocks him and soothes him until he falls back to sleep, I nurse him - then we transfer him back to the crib.

The overall goal of the program is that he learns to fall asleep and stay asleep in his crib, but we are taking it slowly, incrementally. The Bedtime Routine is to help him learn to get relaxed and comfortable for sleep, so that eventually we can do what all the experts recommend and put him in the bed "drowsy but awake." Also, the nighttime pattern will change when he's no longer nursing, but right now I don't want to jeopardize my overall milk supply. I believe that the nighttime nursing is one of the reasons I've been able to have the milk supply I do. At some point, we'll stop nursing at night, stop picking him up, and stop going to him - in that order. I'm sure some crying will be involved, but the goal is to help him develop the resources to avoid "crying it out."

The challenging part of the program is the unpredictable waking at night. I'm exhausted, and it's only been a week. It's definitely a teeth-gritting process, every night. To the point where I kind of dread going to bed a little bit, which for me is Highly Unusual.

The wonderful part of the program is the bedtime routine. While Baby E is a bit of a wriggle-monster, he doesn't fight the routine and generally goes to sleep easily. It's become a sweet time when I get to snuggle my little angel in the rocking chair, in the room we lovingly prepared for him while we waited, listening to lovely lullabies from around the world, and watching the sky darken out his window. If that lovely process were followed by a full night of sleep, I'd be in heaven.

In order for him to transition to the crib easily, I need to hold him for about half an hour. Because I'm in a meditative mood this week, this time has become a much-appreciated break from the hubbub of the day. I've been grounding-and-centering every night. This is a basic Wiccan practice that puts you in touch with earth and sky energies, one that I haven't had to time for in years.

I've been a pagan all my life, in the sense that I was "outside the church," but in 1996 I had a spiritual awakening and embraced the Goddess. Or rather she embraced me. It was like a cloud moved and allowed the Sun to shine on my life, and it stayed that way for almost 9 years. In 2005, the clouds returned and I couldn't feel her presence in my heart and in my life anymore. And so it has been for four years.

It seems somehow linked with losing my mother. It's as if She was in my life to help me deal with that loss, but now I'm an orphan, in both the literal and spiritual sense. Hence my seeking.