Thursday, August 21, 2014
SATURN RETURN
As I close in on the last 5 days of my 50's, I am finally coming to a place of acceptance. Ever since January 2013, I have been in fear of this. And now, here it is: a 6.
6 seems like such a big number. It brings to mind the idea that I should be in a place in my life that is settled, which I am not. It brings to mind "contentment," which, yes, I must admit I have that. But 6 also has had the connotation, for me, that this is the "out to pasture" stage, which I am sooooo not! But it also brings up my mortality more than ever. In truth, our mortality is ever present from the day we are born--but 6 says "old age" is coming, there's no denying.
When we have our lives ahead of us--at 20, 30, even 40--who the fuck plans on old age? I mean, even 50 didn't phase me seriously.
But now--the number 6 is here. I am past middle age. I'm in the last third, if I'm lucky. The third act, which will have a dénouement and then the curtain will close. Yikes!
Granted, it has occurred to me what a blessing this is. Make no mistake, I'm thrilled I have my health and vitality. I get to do work I love. I have friends and love in my life. My children are beautiful and thriving. I still have a libido--yes, I said it. I look younger than my age. I take care of myself and have done so for many decades and I am reaping the benefits.
And yet, the downside of living so well--clean, sober, healthy, fairly sane--is that you get to get old.
Bummer.
Ok, so I am coming to some acceptance about it now. There's nothing I can do about time marching on. I am powerless over it.
Oh, the tired cliché "youth is wasted on the young" is so true here though. Sometimes I just wish I could have had this centeredness, this wisdom, this experience and depth of soul when I was younger. Sigh.
But I have to remember NOW, today, that I will never be THIS young again. Tomorrow, I will be one day older. Next year, I will be one year older. And in 10 years, I will be 70. And I will look back on my fear of turning 60 and think "what the fuck was my problem?"
So I feel like I should thank all my dearest and closest friends for putting up with me these past few months. They have witnessed my fear of the "Big 6."
I want you all to know that I thank you and feel so grateful to you for letting me thrash. I want to let you know, right now, that I am over it. Chin is up. Gratitude crown has been set back on the top of my head. My heart chakra is wide open. Saturn has returned and started it's 3rd trip around the sun for me. My world has not come to an end. In fact, it has exploded into infinite possibilities.
Carry on.
Monday, July 21, 2014
WINDMILL
Here I am at the Lake Shrine, Self Realization Fellowship, Pacific Palisades, California. In prayer. In meditation. Surrendered. Sad. Strong. Free. Resolved. Full. Heavy-hearted. Resilient. Vulnerable. In solitude.
Again.
True to myself, though.
This is my new journal, my new chapter, as I begin the countdown...the last month of my 50's.
I've come here, to my place of worship, on a crowded Sunday. The sun is poking through the marine layer and it's warmer here by the sea than it was in the valley when I left. Even with this noisy crowd of tourists I feel such calm, peaceful strength here. I find it easy to meditate here--to be present and yet float. I am convinced it's the vibration from all the meditation that goes on here and has gone on here in this space for some 80 years or so.
I'm on the southwest side of the lake, just west of Gandhi's ashes and right across from the windmill. I am sitting under a fir tree because the windmill, where I usually meditate, is under reconstruction--a massive restoration project going on, much like me.
I like to bring my journal, take a quiet walk, meditate in the quiet sanctuary and then bust out my journal and see what flows out. So it's not perfect today. But it is. And here it is.
I have found some peace and I am feeling resolved. Another love affair has blown away into the wind like a dandelion and I am alone again.
I don't like it, being alone. Not that I can't be alone. I can. Just don't like it. But I can't stay when my Self says no. I did that for 30 years until one day, the scales finally tipped. And even though he, too, was a great man and we have rich and colorful memories, in the end it became... not true. As simple as that. And then...separate ways.
I want to sell my house and all it's memories and the empty rooms. When I climb the stairs at night to go to bed and I pass those empty rooms, I sigh. I want to move, but where? I can picture myself in a different house, smaller. It's mine. But I just don't know where it is yet. A house that is less sad than the beautiful empty rooms with the ghosts of kids who are grown and the husband who is gone and that super mom who ran it all and lost herself in it for a little while.
A new woman has emerged that will live in this new house. She is in her 60's, yes, but she is vibrant and alive...more alive than she has ever been. How is that possible? But it is true. I so want a partner that matches her, to live there with her and the dog and cat, this hip vibrant woman who teaches yoga and has so much vitality and a libido and a big heart with a big life and still so much to do.
I will trust that the right answer will reveal itself at the perfect time.
I am looking at the windmill under construction on the other side of the lake here, reflecting across the ripples spilling out behind the white swans as they glide. The last time I was here was in February. It was our second lunch date. I'd asked him if he had heard of the Lake Shrine and he hadn't so we got in the car and drove over Topanga. It was chilly and a little drizzly and it was a free and spontaneous and thrilling thing to do and I was excited to show this man this part of me. The construction on the windmill had just begun, though, and it was closed, so we made jokes and chatted all the way back through the winding roads of Topanga. And in these five months while I was away from this lake, I have been on the winding road of another love affair that I had hoped would go the distance, but had an expiration date after-all. And, yes, I am disappointed. And heart-broken.
Coming here today, I had hoped the windmill would be finished by now, that maybe somehow whatever remodeling or restoration was going on would be miraculously complete. I wanted some confirmation, some big lesson, some concrete evidence of renewal. But, alas, I see it is still a works in progress. Like me.
So, I sit here, under this fir tree, finding some sliver of peace in this process. Yes, I will find my peace, my resolve, my stillness in it, in spite of the people crowding the pathways, the excited children running and a young man playing a flute badly. Ah well. On to the next. Whatever it is. I am ready. This is what 60 looks like.
Again.
True to myself, though.
This is my new journal, my new chapter, as I begin the countdown...the last month of my 50's.
I've come here, to my place of worship, on a crowded Sunday. The sun is poking through the marine layer and it's warmer here by the sea than it was in the valley when I left. Even with this noisy crowd of tourists I feel such calm, peaceful strength here. I find it easy to meditate here--to be present and yet float. I am convinced it's the vibration from all the meditation that goes on here and has gone on here in this space for some 80 years or so.
I'm on the southwest side of the lake, just west of Gandhi's ashes and right across from the windmill. I am sitting under a fir tree because the windmill, where I usually meditate, is under reconstruction--a massive restoration project going on, much like me.
I like to bring my journal, take a quiet walk, meditate in the quiet sanctuary and then bust out my journal and see what flows out. So it's not perfect today. But it is. And here it is.
I have found some peace and I am feeling resolved. Another love affair has blown away into the wind like a dandelion and I am alone again.
I don't like it, being alone. Not that I can't be alone. I can. Just don't like it. But I can't stay when my Self says no. I did that for 30 years until one day, the scales finally tipped. And even though he, too, was a great man and we have rich and colorful memories, in the end it became... not true. As simple as that. And then...separate ways.
I want to sell my house and all it's memories and the empty rooms. When I climb the stairs at night to go to bed and I pass those empty rooms, I sigh. I want to move, but where? I can picture myself in a different house, smaller. It's mine. But I just don't know where it is yet. A house that is less sad than the beautiful empty rooms with the ghosts of kids who are grown and the husband who is gone and that super mom who ran it all and lost herself in it for a little while.
A new woman has emerged that will live in this new house. She is in her 60's, yes, but she is vibrant and alive...more alive than she has ever been. How is that possible? But it is true. I so want a partner that matches her, to live there with her and the dog and cat, this hip vibrant woman who teaches yoga and has so much vitality and a libido and a big heart with a big life and still so much to do.
I will trust that the right answer will reveal itself at the perfect time.
I am looking at the windmill under construction on the other side of the lake here, reflecting across the ripples spilling out behind the white swans as they glide. The last time I was here was in February. It was our second lunch date. I'd asked him if he had heard of the Lake Shrine and he hadn't so we got in the car and drove over Topanga. It was chilly and a little drizzly and it was a free and spontaneous and thrilling thing to do and I was excited to show this man this part of me. The construction on the windmill had just begun, though, and it was closed, so we made jokes and chatted all the way back through the winding roads of Topanga. And in these five months while I was away from this lake, I have been on the winding road of another love affair that I had hoped would go the distance, but had an expiration date after-all. And, yes, I am disappointed. And heart-broken.
Coming here today, I had hoped the windmill would be finished by now, that maybe somehow whatever remodeling or restoration was going on would be miraculously complete. I wanted some confirmation, some big lesson, some concrete evidence of renewal. But, alas, I see it is still a works in progress. Like me.
So, I sit here, under this fir tree, finding some sliver of peace in this process. Yes, I will find my peace, my resolve, my stillness in it, in spite of the people crowding the pathways, the excited children running and a young man playing a flute badly. Ah well. On to the next. Whatever it is. I am ready. This is what 60 looks like.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)