The Well: Transformation

Unknown artist, ([?sic] Hugh Hambleton), Hermes Leading Persephone out of the Underworld, undated, Yale Center for British Art.
The Well. 48.

Deep in the chthonic chaos of the mud at the bottom of The Well, transformation

Wilhelm writes, “The well is the symbol of that social structure which, evolved by [people] in meetings its most primitive needs, is independent of all political forms.”

Myth also meets the primitive needs of people to understand our lives. The well nurtures with its clean water. Yet our deeper selves know that it is in dark underworld of the mud that our deepest transformations happen.

In the most ancient of myths, Inanna travels to this world and is dismembered and then revived. The Greek version is the myth of bright Persephone’s annual reluctant journey to her husband, Hades, dour lord of this dark realm whilst her mother, Demeter, mourns. The goddess of agriculture and fruitfulness plunges the world into winter while she waits for her daughter, Spring, to return.

This is ancient and deep wisdom indeed, transcendent of social structures fulfilling humans’ deepest yearnings to understand our place in the Universe and the world. Only in the deepest chthonics depths are we renewed: Each of us in that Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, as Douglas Adams titled a book.

In nature, the example is the caterpillar that willingly dissolves itself into an oozing mass that resembles neither of its two states of being — to emerge as a butterfly. Nothing is the same in the two beings, except essential DNA mapping the universal patterns.

I have been silent long, because an oozing mass does not speak. That does not mean nothing is happening. Wait.

Dreams Don’t Die, Not Really

Despite my disappointment in January, I continued to plot, plan, scheme, and strategize how to achieve my goal of living with a well-trained, well-bred Doberman Pinscher.

Seeds grow in the darkness. They need the rest of night to germinate life.

Witches and magicians warn against revealing plans prematurely. Such disclosures invite malignant forces, naysaying, and may dissipate creative energy in unproductive spiels.

I have been making progress.

“You have fallen into a fit of despondency, and there is not the least need. In fact, it encourages one to believe that there is nothing to be done, when all that is wanted is a bit of resolve to bring matters to a happy conclusion.” — The Grand Sophy, by Georgette Heyer.

 

K’un, The Receptive: An Epiphany

I don’t so much throw the I Ching anymore as look for a hexagram that resonates. I am an Earth sign, and a female, and it is the start of a new year. It seems appropriate to go to the beginning of the hexagrams to seek wisdom: K’un, the Creative, Hexagram Two.

A Magician Pen and Ink George Hayter
Sir George Hayter. c. 1826

I had many plans for the start of this year. I expected to be in a new home receptive for training my new Doberman Pinscher companion. The political dangers confronting our Republic militate against this.

I find myself receptive to new paths in life. All dreams and goals are on hold as I explore a total life change more total and sweeping than I dreamed a year ago.

I am exploring ways that I can support and participate in the Resistance to the current treasonous efforts overthrow to our institutions that are underway.

The Receptive Complements The Creative

The Creative, Hexagram One, associated with traditional so-called masculine energies, exists not as a duality with the Receptive but as a complementarity.

The Judgment in the Wilhelm translation of the I Ching specifies sublime success follows from guidance.

I, who have lived alone as a mystic and recluse for the past dozen years, am suddenly in the position of believing Resistance can be accomplished only in association with others.  This is a strange turn for what I foresaw as my future only a short time ago — a future I planned for most of last year.

Today also is the Feast of Epiphany. In the Roman Catholic tradition, we did not take down the Christmas tree and creche until this day. According to legend, this is when the Three Wise Men, or three magicians, reached Bethlehem to celebrate the birth of the Christ.

Epiphany and The Receptive

Epiphany is a sudden insight or revelation in common language.

An epiphany is more likely to happen if one is receptive. The Magi were receptive to the guidance of a star that shone brightly in the sky. The undertook a long and perilous journey with their gifts.

Mine usually occur after a long journey of research, meditation, and prayer. They are sudden only to the extent that once guidance blossoms, it is whole, complete, and redoubtable.

I am reading about Moveon.org, the New Jim Crow, the surveillance society, the encroachments of financial institutions into every area of our lives through debt and fees, and many dimensions of political and communication theory I abandoned after my research career was ended.

An epiphany is often only for part of my journey, perhaps only the next step to be taken. Then I must remain receptive to the next step and the one after that.

Best Wishes for Your Healthy and Happy New Year

I wish anyone who read this a happy and healthy year. May you be receptive to your own special guidance, and may your epiphanies show you the way forward.

If It Isn’t One Damn Dream, It’s Another

I used to drink, rather a lot. A persistent fantasy during this time was that someday, after my newspaper career, I’d be a blowsy old barkeep.

Some alcoholic private eye would run his business out of my little hole-in-the-wall tavern.

Every once in a while, I might even get laid.

At age 40, I got clean and sober. It wasn’t a goal, and it wasn’t my idea of how to march into old age as a fabulous old dame.

Funny story: I may be the only person in the world who was blackmailed into treatment by her physician for overdosing on a nutritional supplement — L-Tryptophan.

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The Dao of Despair

My retirement plans are in shambles since the Election last Tuesday. My dreams and goals have become of little interest, like something from someone else’s life.

Change is always challenging for me to navigating.

Navigating the installation of a white supremacist in the White House is a change I find disgusting. I am not sure the Republic can survive this.

I researched many countries to which I might emigrate for many months this year as part of my retirement planning. There are places with large expatriate communities.

I am fond of my comforts in the USA. I don’t wish to die alone in a strange country.

It would be easier to move if I had a partner, be it lover or close friend, to negotiate such a thing.

I have an ongoing stomach ache, headache, and fatigue. All that seemed bright and shiny and full of hope when I started this blog is sucked dry of meaning.

The dao teaches us there are times of fullness and times when the tide goes out.

This Dame is grieving this repudiation of the values of my country.

Each Home Is a Dream

Sunday, Sept. 5, 2016 — The drive into Ormond Beach along old Dixie Highway was sunny and fine, with a sky as clear blue as a bolt of cerulean cotton.

A distinctly north Florida mix of dwarf palms and stately trees hung with Spanish moss shrouded the road. The dappled drive passed mansions that look like assisted living facilities for the seriously wealthy (never a nursing home for Daddy Sawbucks) next to old cinder block homes from the Fifties and Sixties with louvered windows.

Each home I see is a dream.

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Ormond Beach: Each Home Sparks a Dream

The drive into Ormond Beach along old Dixie Highway was sunny and fine, with a sky as clear blue as a bolt of cerulean cotton.

A distinctly north Florida mix of some of the dwarf varieties of palm and stately trees hung with Spanish moss shrouded the road. The dappled drive passed mansions that look like assisted living facilities for the seriously wealthy (never a nursing home for Daddy Sawbucks) next to old cinderblock homes from the Fifties and Sixties with louvered windows.

Wrap around porch, Ormond Beach
Wraparound porch, old style

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