Crucible

One of the big benefits of practicing the Dance of Shiva is the “hot, buttered epiphanies” that it brings into your life. While I am having huge effects from the Dance on my mental clarity, I’ve only had one “realization,” but I thought I’d share with you the kinds of thoughts I’ve been having this week. Perhaps you, dear reader, can say how much you think they are influenced by my new practice.

While meditating, I had this concept come to me that to solve problems you need periods of intense focus on the issue, followed by rest (during which the resolution usually comes to you). (As a note, this line of thinking seems inspired by the recent New York Times article on "Depression's Upside.") I thought about this cycle of intensity then recovery as an important component of mental health (rest all the time = depression, activity all the time = mania) and physical health (need exercize to activate our bodies, sleep to integrate our experiences).  People tend to get stuck into either groove. I’m usually too sedentary physically and overactive mentally.

Then I thought of how our hearts pump then rest, pump then rest, and I began to see that this is the entire cycle of homeostasis that runs our bodies, our ecosystems, and the universe. It's like all of life is pulsing to this rhythm.

As I mulled on this, I reframed the intensity/action phase as challenge. One of the things I really struggle with in my life is the need to be challenged (which might explain why I jumped into Shiva Nata with little more than a how-dee-do), especially in my career, but I also LOVE to be a lazy, bump on a log. I can never figure out how to balance these two qualities when seeking out jobs. They always either look too daunting or too boring.

Interestingly, this issue of boring vs. impossible is exactly what I am dealing with in my Shiva Nata practice right now. I’ve found an approach that I think can balance the two – alternating days of long, easy practice with days of short, difficult practice – but how can I translate that to my worklife?

I've noticed this pattern with my son, he loves being challenged by new things, and I have an instinct to keep accelerating him so he can be constantly stimulated. But that's not really healthy, it's a part of the normal cycle of growth to be challenged by novelty and stimulation, then to take some relaxation time getting used to them, incorporating those lessons, until it's just too slow and boring, then start up again looking for new challenges.

As I reflected on it, helped along by sitting in the gorgeous sun of a cafe patio on the first true day of spring, I realize that this is the basic message of pagan theology and the wheel of the year. That life is a cycle of birth-life-death-rebirth, and that all of us need a winter for repose, before embarking on the intensity of another growing season.

The next day, up popped this blogpost on my Google reader. A kindly doctor told one of the Rookie Moms that every baby needs to go from zero (resting) to 10 (bawling) every day. She extended the idea to children, and it made me think that maybe all of us - adults too - need to go from zero to 10, from rest to intensity, every day.

Now the interesting question is what a 10 looks like for an adult. It's not really sensible to say that adults should have sobbing emotional breakdowns every day. So instead, I'm just thinking of a 10 in the context of pushing oneself - physically, mentally, or emotionally. Sometimes it is good to have regular outlets for emotional release, like a weekly therapy session, where you cry but it helps you feel better because you're letting it out.

A few years ago (actually many years ago – the movie I reference will date this to 2002), I made a resolution that I would force myself to watch sad movies, even though I didn't want to. I'm very sensitive, so lots of movies upset me, but I realized that if I didn't stretch myself, I would become one of those middle-aged ladies who made "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" the movie of the year. If I narrow my experience to just the most moderate parts of life, then I become bored...and boring.

The thing is that emotional stability was hard-won after years and years of wild swings of feeling, but it did start to feel constrictive. Some emotional lability is a good thing, and it's important to allow ourselves a little bit of swinging on a regular basis.

Still what's a 10? Is it a normal, day-to-day kind of emotional outpouring, or is it a once-in-a-decade, traumatic meltdown? The difference between the babies described by the doctor and adults is that children don't have the perspective, so the former feels like the latter to them. So you have to help them just move through it and learn that they can recover. After they've gone through that cycle of need-tension-release-recovery about 10,000 times, they start to trust that they can safely express their feelings without the world crashing in around them.

One reason to parent children is that they actually help you learn these lessons at the same time that they learn them. While you want to avoid being down in the infantile muck with them all the time, you just can't help that it does happen. And you find a way out, and it helps you be a better person.

Some small percentage of babies are really challenging, they have colic or what not. But most babies are actually quite easy to soothe. They have pretty manageable needs (diaper, food, sleep, cuddling), and in a way, you learn how natural it is to move through the cycle of need-tension-release-recovery with them. Over time, you learn that, when they cry, it isn't the end of the world.

Now, I am not going to lie to you, during the first few weeks, you don't want your baby to cry even a tiny bit. Well, they’re so small, and crying take SO much out of them. But slowly over time, you get used to the sound of it, you get used to how to respond to it, you learn to live with it. Most fundamentally, you learn that sometimes this other person that you love more than anything is in distress and there is No. Thing. you can do, but be there with him and help him move through the experience. Because, right, the reality is that babies cry. All. The. Time.

Baby E is a daring toddler, he is all over the place, exploring and challenging himself, and a lot of that involves bumps and falls. He had a big, old blue bruise in the middle of his forehead for the entire month of February.

What can I do when he falls (or touches something hot or closes his finger in a cabinet drawer or or or any of the million other ways he has learned a lesson about the world he has incarnated into)? I can't say "it's okay." That's a lie. It's not okay, he's in pain, and it's denying his experience.

On the other hand, I don't want to rush in, make a big production, give a HUGE amount of attention to the situation – that makes the baby afraid that something really is WRONG.

What is most true is to say "That hurt!", give a hug and a kiss, and then directing his attention to something more interesting than the now-receding pain. (So that's kind of how I try to treat myself these days: own the emotion, name it, soothe it, then distract myself.)

All this got me thinking about the concept of catharsis. To me, this word meant a healthy release of strong emotions, but I thought to consult Wikipedia, and I was fascinated by the fact that it's historically tied to the theatre, similar to the ideas about movies that I have.

Catharsis (Ancient Greek: Κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning "cleansing", "purging". It is derived from the infinitive verb of Ancient Greek: καθαίρειν transliterated as kathairein "to purify, purge," and adjective Ancient Greek: καθαρός katharos "pure or clean."


Catharsis is the emotional cleansing of the audience and/or characters in the play. In relation to drama it is an extreme change in emotion resulting from strong feelings of sorrow, fear, pity, or laughter; this result has been described as a purification or a purging of such emotions (whether those of the characters in the play or of the audience).[1] More recently such terms as restoration, renewal, and revitalization have been used in relation to the effect on members of the audience.


Using the term "catharsis" to refer to the emotions was first done by the Greek philosopher Aristotle in his work Poetics. It refers to the sensation, or literary effect, that would ideally overcome either the characters in a play, or an audience upon finishing watching a tragedy (a release of pent-up emotion or energy). In his previous works, he used the term in its medical sense (usually referring to the evacuation of the "katamenia", the menstrual fluid or other reproductive material).


Catharsis before the sixth-century rise of tragedy is, for the Western World, essentially a historical footnote to the Aristotelian conception. The practice of purification did not yet appear in Homer, as later Greek commentators noted:[5] the Aithiopis, an epic in the Trojan War cycle, narrates the purification of Achilles after his murder of Thersites. Catharsis describes the result of means taken to cleanse away blood-guilt--"blood is purified through blood" (Burkert 1992:56) a process in the development of Hellenic culture in which the oracle of Delphi took a prominent role. The classic example, of Orestes, belongs to tragedy, but the procedure given by Aeschylus is ancient: the blood of a sacrificed piglet is allowed to wash over the blood-polluted man, and running water washes away the blood.[6] The identical ritual is represented, Burkert informs us (1992:57) on a krater found at Canicattini, to cure the daughters of Proetus of their madness, caused by some ritual transgression. To the question of whether the ritual procures atonement or just healing, Burkert answers: "To raise the question is to see the irrelevance of this distinction."


The term catharsis has also been adopted by modern psychotherapy, particularly Freudian psychoanalysis, to describe the act of expressing, or more accurately, experiencing the deep emotions oftenassociated with events in the individual's past which had originally been repressed or ignored, and had never been adequately addressed or experienced.

Ooh, there is a lot of exciting stuff in there! Menstrual blood! Sacrifice! Purification!

You get the idea that catharsis is a transformation – from tension to intensity to freedom. Like winter to spring, it takes you from frozen to fresh start. I imagine the intensity of emotion or exercize or difficult mental work to be a cauldron or crucible, in which things are heated to purify them. It is a way to release the dross while retaining the valuable lessons, a way to strengthen mind, body and heart.

So I guess I'm thinking that “going to 10” – emotionally, physically, and mentally - might mean something more akin to a catharsis, where you feel better and clearer afterward. And maybe it doesn’t have to happen every day, but I should build these rhythms of profound rest and intense purification into my daily, weekly, monthly and annual schedules.

Bliss

Baby E has just seemed to blossom lately, with precious smiles and frequent kisses.  At 18 months, he hasn't yet developed that classic toddler defiance.  It is absolute bliss to be his parent, and I miss him when we are apart during the day.

I've written before about how deeply healing his love is to me, but I realized over the weekend that my desire for more children might really be this simple.  Why wouldn't I want more of this amazing, pure love in my life?  Why wouldn't I want more people who love me with such an intensity?

I can think of a few responses, the first of which is "Ask me again when he is not Baby E, but Toddler E, or Tween E, or Google-forbid Defiant Teen E."

Also, does this desire for more love mean that the love of Papa D and E isn't enough? 

Mother may apple

The mayapples grow in the woods around our house, spreading as far as you can see along the forest floor.  I've seen its fruit, but not smelled its lemon-like aroma.  

I just discovered Magdalene House, Thistle Farms, and Becca Stevens.  She wrote this beautiful prayer for a baptism that took place alongside a river.

Mother May Apple

Rain fell on spring-soaked soil so much it pooled and flowed unbounded.

Love, blessing and abundance poured out on all God's green earth.

Thick new growth sprouted from every pore from this water feast.

In this vast wilderness, the Mayapple comes prepared for the rainy season.

Her single leaf, an umbrella, lets water flow and protects her single blossom.

That flower, like all creation, is made in secret,

intricately women in the depths of the earth.

It is not fragile or sweet, but miraculous and healing.

Before we ever dreamed of this flower or this rain, her eyes beheld it.

When it finally opens for the world, it is a wondrous delight.

Mayapples flourish in wet Springs as they gather gather in community on hillsides.

Come, celebrate our Mother May apple and the Mother who bears all fruit. 

Sing praise to her and to her waters that bring new life to everything.

Count her blessings that number more than all the widflowers in all the woods.

Then pray her waters bring us new life worthy of her children.

Mother jesus

In yesterday's message, I quoted a passage from The Message Bible, and a bit more research makes it clear why I liked it so much.  Apparently it's a pagan plot, influenced by Matthew Fox and Julian of Norwich.

I'm familiar with Matthew Fox, because of his collaborations with Starhawk.  We even have a lovely book of his for Baby E, thanks to my dear sister.

But I had never heard of Saint Julian and her ideas about the motherhood of god. I'm really inspired by this writing of hers:

"To motherhood as properties belong natural love, wisdom and knowledge - and this is God. For though it is true that our bodily bringing forth is very little, low, and simple compared to our spiritual bringing forth, yet it is he who does the mothering in the creatures by whom it is done. ...This blessed love Christ works in us. And this was showed in everything, especially in the noble, plenteous words, where he says, 'I am what you love.' "

I'm particularly interested in the idea that god does his mothering through us, because I have been feeling something like this lately.

Recently, as I look at the photolistings of waiting children, I have noticed a change in my emotions.  I used to search the thousands of faces, looking for my child, waiting for the lightning to strike and the shiver to run down my spine in rush of recognition.  Honestly, that never happened.

What has happened is that I have started to feel as if they are all my children.  I could be a mother to any of them.  Obviously some of the children fit our "criteria" better - race, ethnicity, gender, age - and some seem like they might better "fit" our family - love of reading, interest in math.  But as I look at each of their faces, I have been feeling absolute kinship, with a love welling up and flowing through me.  I feel like a vessel for that maternal goddess love that used to shower down upon me.  It seems that Baby E has opened my heart and me a pathway for Her love, just as a biological baby opens a mother's womb and birth canal for future children.

I love the way the Julian passage encompasses both of these forms of mothering - bodily and spiritual "bringing forth."

The passage then switches meaning at the end. Jesus says "I am what you love."  This fits in with my recent musings on the divinity of children, and it is also reminiscent to me of final words of the Charge of the Goddess:  "I am That which is attained at the end of desire."

I also read another meaning in this phrase:  that by the act of loving someone or something, we confer divinity upon it.

We've been talking over what it means to love in our house lately.   Every night, as a part of our bedtime ritual, we give Baby E a kiss from dada, a kiss from mama, and kiss from Mama B, and a kiss from all the people who love him.

Many people love Baby E - one birthed him, one nursed him; some share his genes, some share his life; some see him every day, some have never met him.  With all of these disparate relationships, what does it mean to love?  How can one word encompass all of those different feelings for a baby?  We had to embrace the idea that love can grow on diverse soil.

Papa D and I also discussed that love is not just a feeling, it is an act.  You do things to enact and express your love.  For a spouse, this may be listening, concern, consideration, or it may be tiger lilies and diamonds and trips to Bora Bora.  For a child, many of our acts of loving are so mundane - changing diapers, dispensing medication, chopping waffles into little bite-sized pieces.  Others are so profound - birthing, breastfeeding, and comforting.

Sometimes, with children, you love - as a verb - with no hope of returned affections.  And sometimes you are rewarded with the most perfect smile, kiss, hug.

What blessings - from the most god-like being I have ever known - perfect in his love and trust.

Life's path

For Papa D's Eyes Only

Three wishes

For Papa D's Eyes Only

Dream children

For Papa D's Eyes Only

Mmmmm

I no longer work upstairs in the guest room, we moved my office to the back of the house downstairs.  So Baby E sees me first thing he gets in the house, and no longer does that wonderful running, laughing up the stairs to see me thing.  

So I have a new favorite part of the day.  At about 6am, he wakes up to eat and I bring him into bed to nurse.  We snuggle under the covers, with our arms and legs intertwined, and he sleeps so peacefully (unlike all of the gymnastics he used to do when he slept with us all night).  I love it.  It's perfect.

Good news

I'm happy to say that Baby E picked up right where he left off with nursing.  If anything, he seemed more voracious over the weekend (at least my sensitive sore nipples think so) - trying to make up for lost time?

Everyday miracle

In particular, my main client – who provides me with a steady half-time income – is such a blessing! My colleagues are wonderful, making the long commute to the office worthwhile. We wear shorts and t-shirts, play with dogs in the office, and have excellent coffee (and a microwave, unlike my last office)!

This client has taken me away from home for four nights this week, the first time I’ve been away from Baby E overnight. I think it’s been rougher for him and Papa D than for me. The only concession I have had to make is pumping two to three times a day.

My main concern is how this separation will affect our nursing relationship. My fear, of course, is that E will wean himself in my absence. I feel that would be such a shame, because we are having a lovely time right now. After so much stress and anxiety about building my milk supply, it’s so nice to have abandoned the bottles and let go of the fistfuls of pills taken each day and stop worrying about clocking my nursing sessions and the time between them. The biggest change is that I am no longer having to pump!!

Nowadays, I simply have enough milk for all of E’s needs. Whenever he wants to nurse, we nurse, for as long as he wants to. I’m not pushing him to nurse or pushing him to wean. I’m just enjoying this lovely interlude – between the challenging first year of nursing and the day when he weans.

On Monday morning, E’s morning nursing seemed different. He lay tucked under my arm, with my nipple in his mouth, not sucking voraciously as he usually does. Instead, he was wide-eyed and calm. I realized that this could be the last time he ever nurses.

I would be sad if he weans during this week, but I won’t be devastated. I’ve had a rewarding 14 and a half months. I achieved my goal of nursing for a year, and every day past that has been a special blessing. Especially when you consider that adoptive breastfeeding is a (medical) miracle in the first place.

Photo by Raphael Goetter

Living dream

Have I told y’all how much I love my job? I really feel like I’m LIVING THE DREAM. Working from home and setting my own schedule are totally wonderful for me. I sometimes hear from others that they wouldn’t want to work for themselves, but I think I’ve wanted this for a decade. The interest got more intense four years ago, when we moved to Small Town USA. And now I feel so fulfilled.

It’s not challenge-free – I’m very anxious about funds, about keeping clients happy, about marketing my services, and about maintaining my self-discipline. But I love the challenges, I feel capable of meeting them and it is energizing for me to set my skills against this situation.

I feel strongly that this is what I am meant to be doing now. Deep inside, I know that God(dess) made this happen for me. It seems clear to me that the bad job and the layoff were laying the groundwork for me to be willing to make this huge step in my career – a step I wasn’t willing or able to make at previous points in my life. It’s also obvious to me that I was given wonderful opportunities that made this possible.

This experience has made me feel that God(dess) has a plan for me, for our family. And I am reconsidering our whole adoption experience. While I haven’t seen any clear signs that Baby E was meant to be in our family, it seems clear that there is synchronicity at work. Every aspect of our match, placement, and ongoing relationship with E’s birthfamily has been smooth sailing – and honestly exceeded our wildest dreams.

There is certainly no question that E is the most wonderful baby in the world and that we couldn’t be happier with him. I believe that someday, as we learn more about his personality and his path in life, we will learn why we were chosen for him.

Why I became a mother

aby E is becoming a big boy, walking and "talking" (with sign language). At every age, I feel like "This is my favorite age." It just keeps getting more and more fun.

The happiest moment of my day is when Baby E gets home from daycare and sees me and runs toward me and is so excited to see me he laughs his little head off.

As he toddled toward me this weekend, with a huge smile on his face, I was struck by a realization.

This is why I became a mother. I wanted to be loved like this.

I have loved many children, but it was always colored with sadness and regret. I was never as important to those children as they were to me. I was just the older sister who left for college before they can remember, the aunt who lived 3,000 miles away, the godmother who moved away, or just some random adult.

Being loved by a baby is the experience that I have been dreaming of. I am perfect in his eyes - he doesn't see my wrinkles, plus sized clothes, undereye circles or other flaws. He doesn't know about my tendency to procrastinate, criticize or other character defects. When he looks at me, I feel perfect and perfectly loved.

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.

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.