Winter Solstice

There’s so much that happened since I last blogged.

On December 20th, I had a day off because I’d snapped at work and couldn’t take it. I’d also forgotten my reading glasses and was pretty useless, over all. I was completely unaware that we were sinking into Winter Solstice. That day was stunningly beautiful. I attempted to ride my bike to Aurora’s DMV station to get my CO license but took a wrong turn and ended up looping back to my own neighborhood. Along the way, I was penetrated by the sun, filled with sweet air, and made to feel my joy and gratitude completely through the letting go of the work stress. I was really strained because of my fear of not being able to handle my job. The negativity there can sometimes toss me down into the current and near-drown me. The holiday nonsense wasn’t especially helpful. Holidays mess with folks, bad. Anyway, that day, Rick called me. Rick is a guy I met at the library and was brave enough to exchange phone numbers with. Rick confesses that he’s terribly enamored with me. He called me that day, the 20th. He wanted to do something to bless me,  he said. I told him about my desire to go see the Mile Hi Church’s candlelight ceremony. In fact, when he called, I’d been mapping out the bus route and wondering if it was worth it. Rick said he’d be happy to drive me. He’d pick me up at the Dollar Tree by my place. Perfect!

Meantime, I really felt a heavy anxiety about work again – and my desire to break free from those ties. Those ties that I’ve called my soul work on Earth. Self-sabotage. I set myself up to stick with something and then ditch after a few months of too much difficulty. I have come to feel that nothing motivates me enough to keep me grounded. Motivation is a fleeting thing. Especially when you’re faced with your own vulnerability in a place. I feel so enormously vulnerable and needy and foolish in that place. It’s the flip side of fulfillment. Sometimes, when it’s dark, you forget about the light. In the existential angst I felt myself black-holing through, I called Maya Jones. I think I cried to her. She didn’t understand. She first thought that I was just regretting leaving Phoenix. She patiently and em-pathetically practiced Non-Violent Communication with me. I had to explain that no, I wasn’t upset over leaving Phoenix, that’s not it. I did what I had to do. No regrets. Vocally, I had a difficult time explaining that I was feeling like I had taken on more than I can handle with this job and was fearful that no job ever was going to work for me and I’m going to be a homeless person if I can’t figure out how the fuck to manage the stress of a job/career/life appointment. Maya seemed to be picking up on something higher or lower level than the level I was trying to share with her because she said that she felt that I have these repetitive patterns that I do over and over again, of self-sabotage and thus, I need a chord cutting ceremony. I felt the poignancy and truth in what she said, but also had a moment of hesitation. First, what are the patterns, where do they come from and why do I have them? I’m blind. I know she’s right. I just can’t see or catch myself in the act of creating the pattern. How do we know we can cut the chords if we can’t fully identify them? I asked a couple questions about the ceremony. She wanted to research it the next day and perform the ceremony that evening at 7pm over the phone. It was good to call Maya. I did myself a sweet favor with that action, and getting to hear Maya’s wisdom and feel her power again helped me to see that it was Winter Solstice. When she reminded me of the solstice, I knew that was why I had needed to talk to her, so she could remind me of where I am in space and time and help me to take a closer look at what I was missing. Gosh, I love that lady. So grateful she was willing to take my call and hold that space for me.

So, 6:00 came and I walked over to the Dollar Tree. Rick was waiting in a great big old pick up truck. Monstrous thing, rusted and clunky. It burned oil and after two miles barely breathing in the passenger seat, I asked Rick to pull over so we could catch an Uber. I felt certain that the truck would not have made the 16 mile journey without losing pieces. The Uber ride came and Rick got in the front seat with the driver. I got in the back. Rick and the driver were amicable towards each other and the conversation got interesting. I found myself admiring the humble spirit of our Uber driver. After he told us he plays the guitar at a local watering hole, I offered to sing some lyrics to him that I’d written. Really silly, but I sang out this super simple chorus and he was amused. He gave me his card and told me I could email lyrics anytime. He’s my boyfriend now. Big changes. I feel very fortunate to have found someone who has a nurturing essence he’s happy to share with me. I wonder what will happen. On a very practical level, I was beginning to consider online dating options. I’m glad that I got Mark instead. He’s downright awesome to me. So far. And we had a truly magical Christmas Eve and Christmas together.

Notice: I have completely abandoned the idea of celibacy because of the near-absolute impracticality of living alone. I’d rather have an able partner to help me up off the ice after I fall than to wait on the good will of a stranger when things get hard. Also, I have watched the elderly with whom I work so closely. Those with partners appear to be much more content and at ease than those who are without. Motivation to try again.

Mile Hi Church’s service was really well-done. So professional, I felt like I was at a Lawrence Welk show. Impressive direction, talent, and set up, but not anything I’ll go back to in the future. Rick and I both fell asleep. On the Uber ride home, we had another passenger in the car and no one spoke a word. It was quiet and eerie, but exactly what I needed. Welcome, winter. Welcome.

1 comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s