the inner workings of my mind, part 1

An old college roommate's mother used to say "you can do anything for a year." Its true. I lived in London for almost a year, I've been on the verge of penniless for a year, I've tried so many different forms of religious expression for roughly a year each. I've blogged for a year. I've studied theatre, art history, world religions, American history, farming, birth, parenting, unschooling and other interests for about a year each. (If I keep listing things, I'm gonna sound really old, so I'll stop the list here.)

In all this searching, I've found a handful of constant Truths. The Truth that continues to ring the loudest is We Are All Connected. How I supplement the soil affects the bug population which affects the plant production which affects the food supply which affects the hunger level and food quality of the population which in turn affects the health and peace of the planet. How I treat my neighbor affects his mood which affects how he treats the next person he comes across and so on. From this base, the rest of my convictions begin to take shape.

I was raised in a conservative christian household. Like many "good christian" families we were at the church building any time the doors were open. We limited our interactions to church related activities, "helping" those less fortunate usually by praying for them. And yet I somehow came away from that house with a musical appreciation for the Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Sarah McLachan, Boys to Men, and the other heathen artists of my high school years.

My mother blames my part-time attendance at the public high school for my spiritual degradation. I thank that same experience for opening up my mind to the possibilities this life has to offer. I never would have found my professional passion or my husband without the freedom of mind to explore my convictions. But what I truly learned from that "real world" experience (as real as high school gets) is the simple difference between those two perspectives: blame and thanks. Blaming coats an experience in a blanket of negative assuming the only result is something less than positive. Thanking an experience for the opportunity to learn and grow acknowledges that, while not all the choices made may have been the most helpful, one can come away with profound revelations and know what choice might serve better the next time around. That simple, yet profound distinction set me in a lifelong search for the spiritual expression that makes my soul fly.

And so, here I am nearing the end of a year in Texas surrounded by a lovely group of Wiccans. I have discovered that what I love about Wicca is the same aspect I love about Judaism, Buddhism, Jainism and many tribal ways: the focus on the female in deity and a love of the mystical. It was always hard for me to understand the compassion of an angry Father God, but compassion in a Mother Spirit who holds her children with loving arms while letting them choose their own expression of life without judgment is an easier picture of unconditional love for me to digest. The concept that the energy we put into our deeds comes back to us, found in the theories of Karma or the Three-Fold Rule, which only works when love it spread unselfishly without trying to change or manipulate is such a freeing idea! I don't need to convert anyone to my way of being, I just need to live true to myself and accept others as they are when they cross my path. In doing so, I will inadvertently spread the freedom of simply BE-ing to those around me and spread peace. For when we try to impress others, we begin to let stress into our lives.

While I adore these expressions of love, I do not completely understand any of these faith traditions. I still haven't chosen one that fits me. Chanting in Sanskrit always brings tears to my eyes and releases the tightness in my chest. Honoring the Moon and living by the Seasons is not only sustainable spiritually, it is required if I want my garden to thrive without artificial aides.

At the moment, I am a blend of many things. A little backwoods farmer, a little bit of a country-dweller, a little bit of a city girl, a little bit of a non-Christian. So, according to definition, I must be a Pagan. Whatever label I ascribe myself, I will live fully in accordance to the peaceful nature of my heart. I only ask that you be gentle with my heart, for what faith tradition you choose is your choice and I will not ask you change the direction your heart is set upon.

May we continue our journey together in peace and do our best to understand each other. No one lives the same experience as any one else, therefore we can not expect any one to have the same convictions or be on the same path as ourselves.

Namaste.

A Love Affair

I've been known to drive old, dumpy vehicles until they explode. (Not into balls of flames, mind you, but usually something awesome like the head gasket goes.)

My favorite was a 1977 Nissan King Cab 4x4, 5 speed, burnt orange with actual rust highlights and white canopy. It had tiny little speakers, doors that rattled and a really loud engine, Tweed seat covers and a carpeted dash. (yes, I hung a handmade yarn tassel with a bell from the rear view mirror.)

We did everything together: Country Fair, Smith Rock, sliding on icy streets, driving up the east side of Sandy river, revving the engine every time the clutch went in so it wouldn't die. (I know, total gas guzzler!)

I called it my Classic Rock Truck. So, naturally that was the music we listened to in the Tank.

In the summertime, my inflatable raft lived in back. After a day of painting houses, I'd meet Pete and whoever else came along at Dabney with a case of cans for a float down the river. That truck belongs in a carefree chapter of life, full of young love, lots of sunshine and herbs, and little sleep.

But what I remember most is listening to The Eagles, Stevie Nicks, James Taylor, Black Sabbath etc... as I drove through the summery green forest of Oregon - with the perfect sunny skies, 82 degrees and a feeling of complete freedom.

It's that sense of freedom, so similar to inner peace, that makes my love affair with a truck so alluring, like a magnet in my memories.

The Classic Rock Truck is a symbol. A character in a story. She represents the first time in my life when I WAS free. I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I didn't need permission or to worry about someone else's time commitments. No one cared what time I came home or who'd I'd been with or what I was doing. I had space, time and freedom to form my opinions, to dream things possible, and make plans all for myself.

This is when I truly fell in love with myself.

It is this sense of freedom that I still tap into when I'm feeling stifled and squashed in my tiny house in the flatlands of Middle America; where no one plays music on the street corner and the mountains aren't hiding behind the clouds and trees.

'They' say that hearing or smelling can transport you instantly to the past. I believe it! I can't listen to Cat Stevens without thinking of an old roommate and her record player, the cranberries and my sister, or led zeppelin and that truck.

I only had her for a year. But it was a sweet love affair.

What love affair do you still remember fondly?