My bed is lumpy. Very lumpy. I shouldn’t say that it is lumpy though, this implies there are many lumps in the bed. In truth, there is a single lump. It is more of a large hump. You see, the air mattress that I am currently sleeping on has decided to set free some of its internal walls, and as a result, a large central part of the bed inflates a great deal further than the rest of it.
This results in a lumped bed, which of course results in some fascinating sleeping conditions. I’m not truly very tired though, which is not helpful since it’s almost one in the morning and I am instead laying here typing. The cat is not helping much either, she feels I should be petting her instead of playing with the keyboard. Poor kitty.
It’s beautiful outside. The wind is cool and crisp, almost as if it were really autumn already. I think I’m going to lay here and enjoy it as I drift off to sleep.
On the train home listening to Loreena McKennitt. The red line feels like it’s rushing head long through the subway at his moment, and I am sitting in the back of the car facing out behind the train. I wonder what it would be like to have this seat in the very last car of the train. Probably kind of cool.
I’m not a journalist or a news blogger, but the stuff going on with Starhawk, The Pagan Cluster, and some of the reclaimers (I know scarecrow) is really bothering me right now. It upsets me that police abuse authority so commonly and so heinously, and so few people even seem to mind. For real coverage, head over to The Wild Hunt.
I spent some time yesterday writing about contentment. About the first harvest of the year, and where I am as I look forward to the second harvest. I’m thinking in alchemical terms at the moment. Astrologically I know that my feelings of frustration with authority figures can be laid at the feet of Saturn’s return to my birth sign. I feel as the destroyer, the cycle of deconstruction and challenge. I see the face of Shadow everywhere I turn, and embracing it is difficult. I get the impression that I may be severing some ties that have been around for a while in the near future. I loathe that potential, but I’m not shirking from it. If the bonds that have risen in my life are no longer suitable for the person I am becoming, then they must be relinquished.
But it is hard to know what chains to break and which chains keep us safe.
Ah, enough with the philosophical meandering. It’s masturbatory today. I have much of this on my mind, but it does not overwhelm the rest of the world. I’m going to do a load of laundry when I get home. If I do a load a night I will be done sometime over the weekend. That will be good. The el is moving very quickly again. I’m wondering what the rush is. I wish it were this swift all the time. At this rate I’ll be to Bryn Mawr a good 20 minutes earlier than normal.
I’ve been taking a lot of time for myself lately. It’s been good. I’ve needed it.
Summer is over, almost officially. The loyola kids are back on campus, as are the Depaul and Columbia students. They’re buzzing all over the north side and the loop respectively. The dark moon was a few days ago, and I feel as though I’m waking up from a rather prolonged depression. It hasn’t actually been that long, a few weeks perhaps.
I’m not leaving this depression in a flush of false epiphany, or a joyous trumpet of celebration, or even a vigorous push into action. I’m not escaping despair tonight. I suppose, in a way, I’m embracing it. I realize that my life is not perfect. I accept that I have love in my life, that I have community, family, friends, and meaning. But these things do not ultimately make me happy. Not in themselves.
I am happy for fleeting moments. Periods of connection and meaning that shine through from time to time. And there are periods of despair, of great aching lonliness that remind me of high school. There is a sober acceptance in me tonight. A slightly sad stillness that acknowledges the good and the bad without judgment. The cook and manager in Waitress, Cal, is asked by Keri Russell if he’s happy. His ultimate response is “Happy Enough.”
When it comes down to it, I’m happy enough. There are plenty of moments when I’m depressed and angry. Plenty of times when I feel that my dreams will never be more than dreams. Plenty of moments when I fear that I’m too weak, or too scared, or too jealous, or too self-involved to live up to my self-expectations. But there are also plenty of times when I’m confident. Plenty of times when I reach out and touch someone, and see that I’ve helped them. Plenty of times I’ve overcome my fears. Plenty of times my own pain has helped me heal others, when my own struggles have helped me teach.
I’ve always disliked the concept of contentment. It speaks of stagnation. Of a place where you get and you stop moving forward. For months now I’ve been contented, and I’ve hated myself for it. People around me, teachers and friends and guides, have reinforced my feelings that contentment is just a word for stagnation. I’ve listened too much to that, in my own head and around me. I am content with my speed. Content with the meandering, wandering, course that the red thread takes under my feet.
I’m content with the slow maturation of my mind and spirit, content with the love and understanding that continues to blossom. And I am angry that I let myself fear that contentment. I am angry that I was struggling with an enemy that did not need to be fought.
The Gods know that I don’t always agree with him, but I am finding that in some ways I am very much like Daniel. I see in him a deep and silent rage when people pressure him to move faster than he feels he should, to embrace a course that he has not yet determined is the right one. I feel echoes of that in myself now. Perhaps hotter, more immediate than his, but more superficial as well.
Lughnasadh is gone. The first harvest well and done. Mabon approaches, and with it the promise of autumn. I’m leaving the summer behind, along with the dark moon of the past weekend. It’s bittersweet, realizing that my harvest of this year looks nothing like what I would have anticipated 9 months ago. But it is not a small harvest, nor one that will stead me poorly through the winter. Just not the harvest that was originally predicted.
