Searching for Meaning

Do we ever really stop? Do we finally come to a place of deep understanding with a solid feeling of connection that lasts? Do we arrive there after years of turmoil and searching, content that we’ve arrived and never have to ride that train again?

It seems that during the winter season, we are called upon to go inside and sit with our questions. Where I live in the mountains, ready or not, winter comes with a definite icy awareness. I am indoors more. Today we are in the midst of a series of storms. To me, a storm feels somewhat dangerous. Being from the foggy city of San Francisco, regardless of how many winters I’ve experienced in the mountains, I feel insecure. I watch the snow rapidly falling, swirling, landing and sticking to the trees and ground. I wonder if it’s going to overwhelm me.

Although I understand the necessity and the actual blessing of snow, it unnerves me. It’s hard for me to appreciate the absolute beauty of snow although I sit within a warm and cozy cottage. It remains a foreign element to me. This feeling is exacerbated by STORM WARNINGS, AVALANCHE WARNINGS, the dread of power outages and downed lines. It happened one winter since I’ve lived here…we were without power for five days. It had been a heavy wet snow and took down electrical lines. Large tree branches had fallen across the streets making driving impossible and walking dangerous. I was fortunate to have an alternate heat source that didn’t rely on electricity. A few of us gathered and huddled around the little oil stove. When the power finally returned, I was flooded with relief.

Being without electricity for that period, I entered a primal part of myself. A part that is based in survival. And the certain awe that nature holds the final card. We witness it when we experience or hear about hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and other natural disasters. Our ancestors lived in a pre-technology, pre-electricity era not so long ago. They didn’t have the cushions of safety and security that we’ve come to expect in these times.

Sometimes, there is a quality of merging that takes over. I notice (despite the refrigerator’s occasional loud hum) a feeling of deep quiet. The snow has a way of muffling external noise from the nearby highway. And within that quiet, a calm descends. When I sit on the enclosed back porch and knit while staring out the sliding glass door, this feeling can supersede any fear. I have momentarily accepted winter, the snow and my place in the order of things. That is a place where I’d like to live from more regularly. In that place, there is quiet revelation. I don’t have the need to know more in such moments. The quest for meaning releases and I have an experience of deep peace and connection.

In the New Year, I desire that for myself and I pray that it extends around the world…the experience of deep peace and connection.

Blessings to you in the new year and always.

A Woman’s Voice–

This is one of her super powers! That is, when she knows how and dares to use it. Most of my life, I haven’t used my voice effectively.

We are known by our words and actions.
When we don’t speak our truth in the moment,
it can be assumed that we agree or acquiesce.
We are witnesses to our own responses in any given situation.
We betray ourselves (often unknowingly) by not speaking up on our own behalf.
It can be scary to state an opinion or belief that is contrary to someone else.
Especially if we’ve imbued that someone else with some type of authority.

christine o’brien

Yet, you are the best authority of yourself.

I have experienced the vibrato of my voice through poetry.
The hollow of my words
when I would push the feelings aside
minimized or unacknowledged.

I have felt, in my chest,
the familiar caving in
when I was called upon
to stand in and up
for myself
and didn’t.

I have known the retreats
too well
and the inner subversion
because to speak felt dangerous,
was dangerous.

I have felt the outrage–
at odd times,
seemingly out of context–
when something old
surfaced
from a time
when I did not
or could not
act (or speak) on my own behalf.
****
Poetry has been an avenue for the voice that was mute.
****

Yesterday, sitting on the back deck sharing Earl Grey Iced Tea and Pineapple Meringue Pie, a woman friend and I discussed, among other things, how we notice that too often, men don’t listen to us when we are conducting our business transactions in the world. Now, we are women of a certain age where men no longer perceive us as objects of desire. We won’t be easily teased or flirted with.

We both gave recent examples of how we’ve noted this. She is doing some remodeling in her house. She is the sole owner, the one spending the money and has designed the remodel plans. There are things she doesn’t have expertise in so she bows to the experience of the contractor or tile man or floor man. One carpenter, too old to do the labor himself hired a man off-the-street who was obviously slacking and making a mess of things. She brought this to the head carpenter’s attention (he wasn’t on the job to supervise) and he minimized it. Yet, she was paying for the work to be done in an expert way and without damage to what was already in place.

Where we live, there is a dearth of good and reliable workers. That is, people who know what they are doing and actually show up to do the job for which they’ve been hired. Three years ago, I remodeled an enclosed back porch. I ordered a six-foot wide sliding glass door for the little space. I placed the order and left a hefty deposit. I was told three weeks for this custom-made door. In three weeks, I had the floor man come to replace the old flooring and simultaneously, a sheetrock guy to frame in the door, etc. I find out that the order for the door was never placed! The shop owner then says that the order has to come from my contractor, a man! I was my own contractor on this small job. So I got a contractor, a man, to order the door. I specified a six-foot wide sliding glass door to both the shop owner and the contractor. Three weeks later, all of the necessary people lined up again to complete the project, and I received a five-foot wide, not six-foot, sliding glass door! At that point (this dance had been going on for three months), I accepted the five-foot wide door just to be complete with the project.

In my daily experience, there are other men with whom I feel unseen and unheard. The market of single women over fifty has grown here. It would be lucrative for men who offer building, landscaping, car maintenance and other services to learn how to listen and talk to women. Doctors too!

As a woman, I practice using my voice, my super power more and more.

What about you?