The Day of Venus XIX

This is the 19th Friday of my Day of Venus Posts, where I let wash up what is present in the undercurrents of my mind, heart and spirit. I am honored and deeply grateful for your readership as I cultivate my writer voice blindfoldedvertebrae by vertebrae, all chrysalis and soil.

Snorkeling between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates!

I am on a train in Norway, and it is going north. We stayed in Oslo last night, in a more popular and standard type of hotel compared to the hostels and tiny family-run ones we were at through Iceland. My suitcase is the larger one in the group, which we decided we’d use for the food we brought along to save us money as we travel through these pricey countries. For the last 8 months I’ve often felt very silly looking at myself scramble for money for this trip, as I quit my secure teaching post and refused to join a m-f salary secured position as I figured myself out for awhile. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel at times it was a mistake to be making a trip like this a priority, in the middle of a post Saturn return shake up where I realized I couldn’t conform to certain things any longer. But here we are and here I am and I am choosing to enjoy it, as life should be enjoyed. Anyway, my suitcase was left behind in Reykjavik by the Icelandic airlines, and they are supposedly sending it to where we are going now, to Stavanger. I feel blasé about not having it, and somehow free because I haven’t had to lug it around at all. I feel no attachment when things like this happen—there is the initial hustle to figure it all out, and then once the loss or mishap or detour is made aware of, I let go easily. I am wondering if this is another one of those blessings in the disguise of an accident, because I haven’t had to lug my suitcase around at all for the last 24+ hours of traveling by bus and train, and if it is delivered in the next few days, I will be reimbursed for the items I bought at the Norwegian mall last night. I got $7 high-waist salmon-pink pants which remind me of the slinky dress I wore in New Orleans during my first shroom trip, a turquoise thong, and a sleeveless white tee that plunges around the pits. I am thanking my lucky stars (aka Jupiter in my 1st house 🍀) that that is the case—that I dodged having to carry my suitcase and scored some free pieces of clothing in the process.

It is green everywhere here. In Iceland it was lava and lupins. Droves of trees for miles and miles surround us. I feel a growing longing to be submerged in earth—dirt and soil and seed and ground. When I get back home I have no idea what I’ll do, which is more exciting for me vs. nerve racking—a wide open field and a blank canvas. I am present and I am also a page being written so I keep inventing scenarios in my mind of things-I’ll-do. I could be on a farm and busk and sing at all the open mics around town. I can keep writing my songs and developing them and join other musicians on streets, in bars, on the road, on stages, in yards and pretty rooms filled with art. I could watercolor as the sun goes down and learn how to take care of bees. I could work at the farmers markets and cook things I’ve never made before and help chefs in kitchens. I could sing and dance and with children and do yoga by rivers and meet new trees. I could learn a new skill and play a new instrument and dance a new dance with my shoulders back and my heart bursting. I could be around a bonfire with loud and happy men and women and sing until we cry and cry until we laugh. “Oh, all of the things I can do” I imagine and I imagine and I imagine while here.

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My mother stayed quiet and also didn’t stay quiet, about the tiny and monumental things that felt unjust or insincere or false. Things that no one spoke of, (but did they think about it?) and of the many ways she could feel a certain not-quite-right in the world around her. In her humanness she probably could have used a friend to assure her she wasn’t crazy or wrong or “bad” for wondering, for wanting something deeper, something more. And then in her humanness she gave in to things that make you go fast, let you flee your reality, and keep you feeling like you’re alright and life’s alright and you’ve really got it going on. Despite all the humanness, the guilt she didn’t deserve to carry, and all the ways she kept her eyes closed, it was easy for her to tap in and surrender to a force greater and more all-knowing than she was. I am probably most grateful for that—to have witnessed her bow her head and fall to her knees, then get up again to try and carry herself. For all of the vivaciousness, generosity, and then also the train-like fury she embodied, today there is a silent acceptance and a watchfulness in her ways, and I want to write her story, and I will, and I am.

I want to tell her and everyone of how she was right about the things she read in people, and that her love for them didn’t mean they honored her independence or her mad spark. I want to tell her then and now that she can trust herself. I want to tell of the way a light that burns like that would want to be bottled up and kept and harbored, and that she shouldn’t let it be. I want to give her the warnings that people have given me. I want to teach her that boundaries are good, and she can create them with graciousness, but then with a wolf-like and snarl-toothed flash when necessary. Maybe she was given those warnings too. I want to talk with her about how people might say it isn’t real (that burning thing inside) and she shouldn’t believe them for a second. I still have a thing in me that wishes I could have been a friend to her, and that is a place I sometimes return to where I think I’d like to save her, even though I know that by saving myself I free mothers before me I don’t even know of yet.

More things I’d say to her, that I say to myself, and that I say to all: You were right about your spidey senses that told you something wasn’t right about him, that, her, that place. I’d tell her not to doubt herself. And so I remind myself not to doubt myself. I don’t want to waste my moments dismissing the inner signals, no matter how illogical or opposed they are by the world around me. The more we practice saying NO, the more we give in to what looks like chaos in the name of what is right, and the more we follow that North Star inside—even when it is so very different from the paths laid out around us—the more assurance we get from the universe. We choose ourselves and the world responds with YES. We choose the wild and overgrown forest of our soul-self, and the world responds with “oh here you are—a bit of a gift you’ve dreamt of long ago. We choose the unorthodox, the impractical, the scorned and laughed-at path we know is right, and the world says “here are the others and you really can live in a state of adventure and peace; you are always taken care of; you are loved; you really are love; I love you.” Jump off of the cliff and you will swim or you will fly.

When we give in to forms of escape—substances, television, other peoples fantasies of us—we put ourselves to sleep. And we wake up yet again in a state of restlessness at 3am, and we feel the not-quite-rights and we are given the choice to go on pretending or to give our world a little earthquake, a wildfire, a flood for new life to be born.

Be willing to be lonely, in faith that you will not be. Be willing to be without, in faith that you will not be. Be willing to give up all of your comforts for the sake of your burning soul, knowing that the comfort of your soul burning true is what will bring comforts unimagined to your doorstep.

It is not unreasonable to regard your life as a precious gift. It is not unreasonable to believe in peace. It is not unreasonable to care as much as you do about the sacred things.

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