The Moon Turned to Snowflakes

The moon turned to snowflakes

The night a woman’s rights were taken. ~ a dream I had

That was the dream the night before RvW was overturned. The sun, to my left, and the moon, to my right shared the same panel of sky. I stood in a boat, on the ocean, near the shore. I was mesmerized by the moon, for the sun was just a faint, dull circle shrouded in gray haze. The moon, also shrouded but not in haze, but within a shiny half black and silver cavern. I could not take my eyes off it. And then the moon crystallized, transforming into giant, majestic snowflakes. A mist began to overtake land and sea, and the tide turned; chaos ensued and I had to get to shore. But the point was the snowflakes.

~

At the request of a therapist, I’m again, picking up the book, Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I reread the introduction. In it she lists symptoms of a woman who has lost her Wild. I have the majority of them, but this one captured me: “…or intertia because that is the safest place for one who has lost her instincts.” I opened my journal and wrote: I have lost my fucking instincts! Last time I truly had those was in my early 20’s. I was with a child, but without a man, and not tainted, domesticated or yet fully reactive to my childhood trauma.

Not only have I lost my instincts, I’ve lost my creativity. It reminds me of season 4 of Stranger Things. Eleven has lost her “superpowers” (of course given and rediscovered to her by “man.”) Like a miner I am digging, seeking in the dark where I lost my superpowers. Was it one event or the slices and cuts of many….? I am also asking, is it too late? In Stranger Things, they keep seeking, digging and fighting and face the darkest spaces and entities just to understand, restore balance and help the people.

The reading of “Wolves” is naming the longing, the awakening of my Wild and also the resistance and push back to what oppresses it. I’m seeing how deeply I have blamed myself for the inertia that caused the weight gain, the depression, the silence, the relationships I am still in and the books I’ve still not written. I’ve been domesticated, altered and suppressed by the patriarchal culture— maybe not specifically and overtly, but generally, collectively and covertly. Inertia, then, was and often still is my safe place.

But I am awakening, beginning little by little to open my eyes, seeing the oppressor for what it is and seeing the impact it has had on me, on everything and everyone. Yesterday on my walk, I took the “short cut”, over a wooded bridge across a marshy area. I stopped and noticed the red-winged blackbirds in the reeds, the cattails bowing like patrons at a queen’s parade and the water, murky with green algae film. On the surface it looks stagnant and toxic— inert. But, who or what but Life itself knows what is present below, what organisms are a vital part to all of Life.

I have become swamped. Heavy, murky, seemingly lost my way and can barely move. Within my own inertia a self has been formed, a self safe and hidden in the murky waters, afraid to move too far from the swamp. Stay too long, naturally toxins, disease and self-defeating behaviors flourish. But open my eyes and really see where I am and start to smell the stink of unmoving water and start wiggling my fingers and toes, and becoming mesmerized, not by something more in some other place beyond myself as I did in my youth, but mesmerized by what I know is already present, and becoming the snowflake inside the moon. 🌙

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

Guest Post: we and the cosmos

By Lou DiVirgilio

What would you think, if I ask you to explain the workings of the Cosmos in relationship to us earthlings?  Do you believe there is a connection, and if so, how are we connected? Here is the dictionary definition of the cosmos: the universe considered as a harmonious and orderly system; a nebulous definition at best, no help there.

All societies are created out of the minds and ideas of human beings.  That there should not exit a direct causative relationship between the thoughts, conduct, and ideas of human beings, and our society, would be absurd.  Add to the above reason that human beings are, in composition, microcosmic representations of the macrocosm, and that relationship should begin to crystallize with  in you the kind of relationship that exists between you and the Cosmos. The knowledge of the processes and phases that function within human beings can be applied by direct analogy to the processes and phases on a larger scale, namely our human societies, and the Cosmos.

We humans, are primarily operating on a lower, animal level of our capacities, even though, in truth our total composition is capable of operating at an extremely high level. The animals have a certain ingrained instinct for letting other animals be, but because we humans place extraordinary attention on our minds and it’s thoughts, we intital our thoughts to move freely with no control, and thus strangle our higher capacities.  We become satisfied and entrenched within our lower perceptions.  These lower perceptions amalgamate into a certain stable, cliche truth, which in turn brings us a certain amount of reliable stability. We take our reality from our senses: sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch.  Our senses are a part of our material faculties, therefore they are objective, and present a physical reality.  However, our senses receive input on a multi-dimensional field, but consciously interpret only a fractional part.  For example, physics tells us that the total known range of light waves is from far infrared at .3 nanometers. Yet the average range of light waves, visible to our vision, is from 400 to 700 nanometers.  We therefor, see only the smallest fraction of what is going on.  Since our perceptions focus on a very small fraction of the comprehensive whole, our understanding is consequently greatly limited.  Therefore, we should not give our senses much credence.

To Continue reading, click on Lou’s blog.

Guest Post: withdrawal

By Louis DiVirgilio

I am leaving behind the rest of my kind, and removing myself from the race.  I am washing clean society’s scene, and rinsing my mouth of bad taste.

I am withdrawing from muzzled mouths, machine-gunning blank words with each round; from the printed accounts of gruesome, terrible crime; from the noise and the dirt and the slum and the grime.  I am leaving this ocean of bullshit, far, far behind.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.  Untold lives end with the night.  Untold lives begin with the light.  Life seems to float on a pool of extremes; floating from best to worst or worst to best, with occasional leveling.

I’ll not be swayed.  I am determined to leave, and once I am gone there’ll be no weeping on my shirt sleeve.  Withdrawing from an economic mutation; free enterprise, capitalism, and press-chasing power; from increase the imports, tariff the davenports, duty-free whisky quarts; from inflate the dollar, deflate its value; tax all the income, who is the victim?  From grow with the country, consume a T.V.; use a lawyer regularly to gain a 3% increase in G.N.P.; from inflation, taxation and money orientation.  I am taking leave of it all, and I’ll burn my credit card as a symbol of withdrawal.

To continue reading click to Lou’s blog here

Guest Post: Who Am I

By Louis DiVirgilio

“Who am I”

This is a difficult question to answer, although most people will have their answer at the ready.  They will begin to give a litany of their identifications; I am a human,  a male, a son, a father, a white man, a Christian, a student, etc…  Yet, does their identifications explicitly define the question of “Who I am?”  It does up to a certain narrow perspective.  If we include only the material aspects of our perspective, it does deliver a relative truth of who we are, all in terms of our material interpretation. But it seems we always identify ourselves with what we see, with what we touch, with what we smell, with what we hear, with what we possess, all exclusively with the objective world.

There is a poem written by, Edwin Arlington Robinson, called “Richard Cory.”  Richard Cory was, “empirically slim, always human when he talked, admirably schooled in every grace, richer than a king, he even glittered when he walked;” simple people wished they were in his place.  Yet, one calm, summer night, went home and put a bullet through his head.

Of all of his accomplishments, and material possessions, none brought Richard true, lasting satisfaction or joy.  What was missing in Richard Cory’s life that made him take his life?  There is a song that asks a question, “Is that all there is?” and the answer resounds, “If that is all there is, what’s the use of living.”  As human beings we have a cosmic, interior urge to expand.  If we live in a 6′ by 8′ room, we will aspire to live in a 12′ by 12′ room, and if that room feels enclosed we will look for a larger room.

Click here to Lou’s blog and continue reading

Guest Post: What We Forgot to Remember About Our Life

By Louis DiVirgilio

We are caught by our locked-in social patterns, and by our cultural and religious  norms.  We are proud to exhibit these behaviors because it puts us on record, that we follow these cultural norms, and that we identify with them, and thus, we are entitled to belong. 

Lesson to William Wordsworth’s, (1770-1850), lament:

    The world is too much with us; late and soon, 
    Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
    Little we see in Nature that is ours;
    We have given ours hearts away, a sordid boon!
    The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
    The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
    And are up-gathered now like the sleeping flowers;
    For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
    It moves us not.—Great God! I’d rather be 
    A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
    So might I, standing on the pleasant lea,
    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

To continue reading, visit Lou’s blog by clicking here.

Attempt at Poetry: while I find myself between here and there

My dad once wrote, inside my Shel Silverstein’s book, A Light in the Attic:

Poems are the purest expression of ourselves. Always be true to yourself and make your life a great, living poem.

This has been a challenging few weeks for me. There have been many shifts and changes. As I find myself in the space between here and there, when one way of being has ended and before a new way begins, I resist the urge to create from a space of urgency and distract from discomfort. Instead I remind myself to be curious, open, and to listen and lean in to what is before me, even if it only feels like empty space and nothing new is here for me.

This morning, I did not stew in my bed with my unhealthy thoughts. Instead I did two things: I yelled at my Higher Self (something I have never done) and said: WHERE ARE YOU? YOU SEE ME STRUGGLING! WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING ME? DON’T JUST SIT THERE AND WATCH ME SQUIRM! and then I went on a walk. As I made my way on the path, my Higher Self said: Listen. And I did. What I heard is below. The opening to my Higher Self begins with this trickle of water:

©Nikki DiVirgilio 2019

This Week’s Self-Reflective Practice: Seeking Validation Part II

Validation: “recognition or affirmation that a person or their feelings or opinions are valid or worthwhile”

Two weeks ago I gave general and personal examples of validation seeking, and explored potential roots of this need for validation

This week I’d like to start by sharing a poem I wrote while in the midst of some buried trauma and pain around validation seeking.

Photo by Chinh Le Duc on Unsplash

I wonder if this is how children feel…

Who is listening? And who is there to talk to? 

Who is there that isn’t too drunk? Too high? Too distracted? Too wounded? Too insane? Too selfish? 

This deprivation turns to desperation. And then to rage. 

Who is listening? Who is there to talk to? Who has space for me? 

We are all in the same boat. Violently rocking. Or barely hanging on. Or with a stiff drink in our own hand thinking: this is the life. 

But is it? 

Do I need you to see me to know I exist? To know my experience matters? Do I need you to hold my space?

Where am I in this? Can I do it without you? 

Is it too much to ask a wounded mother and father to do this? 

Is it appropriate for that same wounded mother or father to ask their child to do this?

Who is listening? Who is there to talk to? 

This poem could go further. I thought it might. But, turns out I had to live it through a little deeper in my own life in order to finish this piece on validation.

What I now understand is that poem is from the old story. Old does not make in now invalid. Instead this story is valuable, essential and leads me to where I am now where it is old enough to gain perspective and understanding in order to let it go and make room for a new story. 

I cannot proclaim to know all the pieces of the new story yet. The new story is unfolding. But here are some pieces that I have gathered so far….

Piece One, The Repair Journey: On my walk this afternoon, I listened to a Super Soul podcast of Elizabeth Lesser. She spoke about her book, Marrow: A Love Story and the work she and her sister did together to repair their relationship. She posed the question: Who do we need to clean up space with so we can truly connect? Who have we hurt? And, then ask and listen. 

We hurt people in many ways, often stemming from our wounds of neglect and trauma. One of the ways we hurt people is by expecting them to meet our needs and to validate us.

Piece Two, The Spirit & Soul Journey: Maya Angelou said, beware of the naked man who gives you his shirt. She also said she doesn’t trust anyone that says I love you when they don’t love themselves. I remember my mother telling me to look in the mirror and say: I love myself. And, my mother didn’t, and doesn’t love herself. It has been a strained relationship, but in many ways I took her words to heart. It framed a life, my life. I have been on the self-love journey this entire time. 

Photo by Danielle MacInnes on Unsplash

Self-Reflective Action

To begin Repair: As we step into our reflective practice on seeking validation, let’s be curious about which relationships in our lives need some tidying up. Who can we do some repair work with? Who have we hurt, and then ask and listen, defenses down. Also, consider is this person safe, willing and ready to begin the process. There are some people who, at this time, are far too wounded and therefore will be too defensive to clear space with.

To begin the Conscious Spirit & Soul Journey: Consider that you are on a self-love journey, no matter how low or how badly you feel about yourself. Do you believe this to be true? Then, where do you think you are on this journey? Are you the kind of person who is naked, but giving your shirt away? Or do you have so many shirts and won’t consider sharing one? Either behavior shows there is an imbalance within the relationship with yourself. What if you looked in the mirror and said: I love myself? Notice what you feel. What you think. Do you believe it?

Photo by Joanna Nix on Unsplash

Which brings me to the next piece…..

The New Story

This weekend, while journaling, I understood that a new rhythm unfolds inside of me. The Voice Inside says to me gently: let it happen. No need to figure it out, alter it, halt it. Let it occur. 

This new rhythm is of my own making. I no longer beat to the drum of my old childhood wounds and buried trauma. There is a new sound coming forth. 

Here is the poem of this new sound: 

There is a new rhythm coming forth. 

It is of my own making. 

Why would I do anything to disrupt and disturb it. 

It is coming together to create a new dance in all of my relationships. In the relationship with myself.

It comes with a trust toward my eternal and steadfast vision of the person I want to be, the person I know I am. 

It is not a head path or the old wounded way.

It is a soul path, a heart path. 

And it is unfolding, and I am watching, noticing and gratefully looking forward to what is transpiring. 

In this new rhythm I begin to understand I am fully nourished by Spirit, by my Soul’s Journey. My my very own Self.

As always, I am here to help you investigate this topic because sometimes it’s a lot to do this on our own. If you have questions about this week’s practice or have insights to share, please contact me. For deeper, more concentrated work, I am available for tele-therapy.

To learn more about me and my services, click here. To reach me for questions or to share, click here or email me at thesoulreporter@gmail.com 

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Next week’s Self-Reflective Post will be about eating and noticing our thoughts around it. 

~The Soul Reporter

Rock Water Self

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Outside the lake home window I watch the water meet the rock. The water swirls around it. It sweeps on top of it. At times, it crashes right into it and whatever the water does, the rock remains strong, still, stable, unmoved. There’s a lesson here, I think. Can I be like that rock when the waves come crashing in? Can I be like the water, swirling around the rock? Can I ebb and flow and also remain steady and secure? Can I be both the rock and the water?

What if the water resisted the rock? Would the water flow? What if the rock resisted the water? Would the rock be shaped? Resistance of any kind would halt the movement and freedom of the water and would cease to shape and mold the rock. How stagnant do I become in my resistance? How do I miss the caress of the water? If the water does not crash upon me how will I be changed? How will I grow?

As I watch the dance between rock and water, non-resistance becomes the goal.

Where I Sit.

Straight ahead from where I sit there is a middle path. To my right, another. And another to my left.

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This morning I questioned who I am, but this isn’t new. I’ve been questioning this for awhile. In the past 10 years I have seen many parts of myself.

I have traveled the left path to play in darkness.

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I have traveled the right path toward light. I try to stay on the middle path for balance.

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But no matter which way I go, who I am sits on the bench watching.

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The Soul Reporter