My parents were like Jesus and the Marys to many people, it seemed, preaching the Word, bringing hope, justice, and understanding to the world. Imagine being the child of such parents.
Throughout our lives, my siblings and I enjoyed helping others as well. I wonder what I will do now while I age? Let me experiment with one possible adventure.
I have been a distinct and unique river, separated from other bodies of water, except for the lakes, springs, and creeks that flow into me, or those that I supply with the nectar of the gods/goddesses: water. I nurture them well and they are parts of me. But there is some talk these days about my possibly joining the ocean, to flow into it, instead of staying separate from it, dammed up, going nowhere.
Instead of remaining separate and blocked up, I am invited to swim in this ocean but I am full of fear and resistance, just thinking about plunging in, to become one with the masses. Keeping separate keeps me safe, and although not totally fulfilled, I am comfortable. I know the rules, I follow the ones I want to follow. Letting myself flow into the ocean seems risky. I will most likely lose my personality, my shine, my sparkle, and become at-one-with all the other species, minerals, and elements that live within the ocean, and even on top of it. What happens when I lose my identity? Why not try?
Small matters, like my Ego and Fear, no big deal, Yes, BIG DEAL. I became independent, autonomous, and self-sufficient because that kept me strong and safe. The separateness and isolation, however, don't serve me as well as they did before, when I needed them more. They helped me not only survive but thrive in many ways. Why jump into the unknown? Something does draw me there though, attracts me like no other.
Instead of being the frantic, adrenalin-charged, anxiety-manager of the woman I was, I am growing older, and I can now rest and relax. Why would I want to shake up this pretty, little apple cart? Why risk all for more adventure, more creativity, more connection, more community, and possibly more love? Oh, that's right, another fear: annihilation. Will I be embraced by Spirit, the Divine Mystery, the Mother, the Sacred Feminine and Masculine in the ocean? I am still feeling somewhat seduced. Maybe it's the smell, the salty clean air, or the breezes that magnetize me to the beach, and to the never-ending tides.
Am I willing to let go of all I know so well, all the ways of being that I have lived, and join those others who are already living in the pristine, though polluted vast ocean? Will the ocean fit me better than does the ground and this air, or just differently?
Staying safe and comfortable or diving into the Mystery, full of all sorts of beings, some may be like me and some not at all like me. Isn't that true on the earth side, too? And, if I proclaim, as I do, that we are all ONE anyway, seems like it would be easier to create a waterfall over this dam more rapidly than I seem to be able to do. Why don't I?
Ego and Fear, again. And, I am human. Who am I if I am not the special preacher's kid I always was? Who am I if not the shortest kid in the class, or the cutest? I have enjoyed being somewhat charming, witty, a leader and gatherer of souls, someone who I still am in some ways, why not stay here? Who am I if I am become a horseshoe crab or an octopus, a manatee or a Portuguese Man O' War, the peacock of the seas? I can imagine being the PMOW, floating on top of the ocean, bandied about by the breezes and winds, looking like a rainbow ballon, while feeding below the surface, as a community set of organisms, grabbing all sorts of food that happens to float by.
If I flow into the ocean, will all my parts and those I carry be indistinguishable? Do I have to die? Or, will I live then forevermore?
I could be an albatross, flying long distances in the sky above the ocean, landing only at times to mate, nest, and raise my young. Or, a scarlet ibis, a seabird, who wades in the water, stunningly gorgeous with red feathers, not like the osprey or the pelicans who dive down into the water for food. As an ibis, I can just stick my nice, long, curved beak into the wet sand or mud, and feast on small crustaceans and such, leaving the water behind when I am full. And, I am a river, not a bird. Or, am I?
Who else lives in the deep dark? If I hop in now, how will I be met, greeted? Will I immediately get swallowed by a whale or shark, or can I at least play with the dolphins first? Will I swim freely, or will I attach myself to rocks and other substances, connecting myself closely to other ocean parts, planting myself like coral? That may soothe me more than being out there seemingly on my own.
Since I am a river, I do know water and how it moves and fills in around the depths and any empty spaces. I know how I carry food for others. I sometimes also carry lost souls who changed their minds about living as human. I even carry the sewage of humanity. And, the pollution, the garbage thrown into me. But, I also transmute some of that trash to lessen its prominence. Is an ocean a whole lot different?
Why write this piece? Maybe because I am human, and I do still have an ego, nothing at all wrong with that. I still want attention and affection, and the Great Beloved will be inside and all around me wherever I am.
I know how to display myself as human, piece of cake, so used to doing so. Why then would I want to let my waters seep and enter the teeming ocean with all its storms, waves, and rocks? Maybe because I think the water may nourish my soul better than air does, or I can have both, can't I? Mammals, who live in the water, can still breathe delicious fresh air. How melodramatic is this, this longing for different or more?
Maybe this is how my parents felt about their faith, which I didn't understand at the time. I didn't respect some of their beliefs but I knew somehow that they glowed inside and out. Maybe I understand better now.
A fig tree in my yard has crooked limbs like a witch's arthritic fingers, buds apparent, and even tiny green figs on what looks like almost dead branches. Few leaves, must have gone through some hurricane or strong winds that pulled her a little up from the ground. Now, she lies partly on the ground and partly up in the air. Someone tried to assist her at some point, with ropes, pulling her back up instead of leaving her crawling on the ground. A root still exposed, and those figs, how can she create fruit when she seems so barren? Her branches stretch widely, seeking the sun and the shade, the bright white and the shadows. Ropes are now entangled in her limbs, large and small, she looks a bit deformed as if there is any one way a fig tree should grow, which is nonsense, I know. Whoever helped her attach back to the earth did her a favor, but now the ropes seem to be binding, imprisoning her, and I want to remove them. Her branches though, gnarly that they are, stop me when I attempt to pull rope through her, not easily letting go of that which may have saved her in the past. Maybe like people do when we are sick or dying, sometimes getting the kind of assistance we need to grow healthy again, even if we weren't sure we could be saved. Then, we may want to be released, discharged from doctors and medicines.
My 17 yr old self, sick as a dog in a hospital room in isolation for 8 days, with only doctors, nurses, and my masked and scrubbed mother to gaze upon me, witnessing me at my most devastated, physically. The doctors told my parents I might be dying because they were not sure what was wrong, even though I had mono, too. So many white blood cells and and so few red blood cells, a blood condition that went undiagnosed for 25 more years, when I got sick again. They gave me antibiotics to knock out the mono so my body could heal itself naturally when I was no longer sick with mono, my body creating more and more red blood cells to keep me alive. Divine intervention or just how physical bodies heal with some assistance? Or, is human intervention also divine?
The fig tree that someone helped (and hopefully didn't hurt through their efforts) still retains her ropes, though some bindings have torn and broken, freeing her up a bit. Some tangle in her branches like scars or wounds that got repaired. Some hang loose since she doesn't need the ropes physically anymore, or because time has passed and ropes degrade over time. She now grows naturally, no longer jailed by the tensions and stresses of her being tied down to the ground and to stakes, like crosses of crucifixion.
I continue to gaze at the ocean waters, dipping in a toe now and then as I reach over the dam with a long, crooked finger of water. If I push through this dam, this blocked up channel, and enter the ocean suddenly by breaking through, letting go, my waters falling, and surrendering, the result could happen quickly, and perhaps fatally.
Maybe I will just become something new, a waterfall instead of a river or an ocean. Maybe I am part of the transportation system joining the two together. And though the river I was may no longer be separate and independent (and never really was), I know I am still held in the Mother's Arms once again.
