Under the World Tree, my sister-crones, the narns, the weird sisters, the fates of every stripe close in, shoulder touching shoulder, circling my moldering corpse.
Thank you for this whiff of The Mystery, Susan. A question surprised me as I sat with this piece, as well as your most recent post and some words spoken into one of my spiritual circles yesterday. Someone in the group said they had carried much grief and loss in the past few years but were only now realizing that they had not grieved the loss of their former accustomed life in another part of the country. What is the relationship between the grief that each of us bears in a lifetime and our own deaths? And how does that relationship scale up (does it?) to the losses felt by and for a culture or a country?
Phew! That’s such a deep question. I could write a whole post about that. I think what happens. Each of these losses is a death of identity- the person who was married, who lived in this place, this house. That person dies. Even a graduation is a loss of identity. We grieve these losses, consciously or bury it. We pass through the land of: I’m not who I was but not yet who I will be. The final loss of identity is the death of the body. Who am I without it? Will I still exist? But before that, we can ask: who am I really? Strip away every identity. What if I’m not a woman? A person? What if I’m not any of this? Who am I under all of it. If you’re like most people I’ve sat with, the answer will surprise you.
This is such a beautiful piece. I didn’t know you were a former school teacher for the disenfranchise, the ones who need and meet you because you open doors. A lucky reciprocity. I love how you show the soup of your heart and bones.
I resonate with so much of this, Rich, wonderful and satisfying.
To come to that place of acceptance.
Deep reverence for your path.
I can hear your student saying, “come along to College with me.”
Wonderful imagery, Susan! Perhaps there is solidarity to be found in continuous learning from our collective creation as the teacher, and as you experienced, we never graduate. 🤨
Thanks, Maria! There isn't a finish line. What I know today is alive and constantly changing. What's under that is the changeless mystery. I can surrender being the answer woman.
Dear Susan, I am leaving my heart here. What a beautiful witchy wonderful piece of writing that stirred something deep inside me. Our entire gorgeous hurting world is contained here. Thank you dear one 💗
Oh, thank you, Amy. You brought a tingle to my eye with this. I think all of us wise crones have begun singing together, weaving the world, repairing the damage, insisting we be reborn in kinder forms. We are the ones to do it.
Awww, I used to teach high school too. I remember before I started, I thought the worst part would be that my legs would ache after being on my feet for 6-7 hours per day. 😆🤣😂
Dear One, this is gorgeous. There are so many blessing in this essay, and it left me feeling calmer because it reminded me of the love and peace that are possible in any situation, if we access that deeper part of ourselves. We have a choice. I'm going to make some bone soup and sit down to eat it with the Weird Sisters. And this, made me laugh out loud, "the Paul Blart Gestapo." What a gift, to have you as a teacher, in any setting. xo
Dear Nan, my dear one. Thank you for your immense love, which is so unbounded and welcoming. Dive deep under the waves, that's where the peace is, and also the strength to set things right. You know, if anyone can, it will be the older women who step from the invisiblity shadows where we are sent once we have finally gained some necessary wisdom. It's the crones who set the world back in balance - as is our wont. I love your openness, honesty, and willingness, my friend.
Thanks, Susan. I agree about us being the ones who'll fix it. it's time for some women's wisdom to fill the gaps. Those holes have become so much larger, and the image that just came forth is the holes getting so immense that they swallow up what's not working. And then the earth will get twisted inside out and we'll start anew. Mushrooms? What mushrooms? xo
Thank you for this whiff of The Mystery, Susan. A question surprised me as I sat with this piece, as well as your most recent post and some words spoken into one of my spiritual circles yesterday. Someone in the group said they had carried much grief and loss in the past few years but were only now realizing that they had not grieved the loss of their former accustomed life in another part of the country. What is the relationship between the grief that each of us bears in a lifetime and our own deaths? And how does that relationship scale up (does it?) to the losses felt by and for a culture or a country?
Phew! That’s such a deep question. I could write a whole post about that. I think what happens. Each of these losses is a death of identity- the person who was married, who lived in this place, this house. That person dies. Even a graduation is a loss of identity. We grieve these losses, consciously or bury it. We pass through the land of: I’m not who I was but not yet who I will be. The final loss of identity is the death of the body. Who am I without it? Will I still exist? But before that, we can ask: who am I really? Strip away every identity. What if I’m not a woman? A person? What if I’m not any of this? Who am I under all of it. If you’re like most people I’ve sat with, the answer will surprise you.
Ready to have the mother crones sing over my bones!
I’m so glad, Julie. I hope it gives peace.
It’s such a balm. If you didn’t already, click the link and let them.
I just listened! It is a balm!
I look forward to reading this, Susan. Saving.
Thank you Robin. I look forward to you impressions.
Dear Susan,
This is such a beautiful piece. I didn’t know you were a former school teacher for the disenfranchise, the ones who need and meet you because you open doors. A lucky reciprocity. I love how you show the soup of your heart and bones.
I resonate with so much of this, Rich, wonderful and satisfying.
To come to that place of acceptance.
Deep reverence for your path.
I can hear your student saying, “come along to College with me.”
I treasure your work.
I’ve been stewing in bone soup for a while.
Now for the choir.
Thank you do
"The world does not end. It dies and is reborn, just as we do."
There is so much in here it hardly is worth picking out specific bits that sing to me (pun fully intended)
Thank you also for the link to the youtube . . .
Thank you for the lovely comment. I’m so glad you went to hear the song. These women are amazing.
Susan this is so beautifully written, I'm touched in so many ways. Teaching is incredibly important work. Thank you!
Dear one, thank your for all you have done and given!
Thanks so much Julie. Letting go of being a teacher was harder than I expected. So much loss in the culture, too.
Yes I agree - so much loss in the culture too.
This is wonderful
Oh, thank you, Gillian. Thank you for saying so. I'm delighted you took the time to leave a comment. Otherwise I'm just whistling in the dark.
Wonderful imagery, Susan! Perhaps there is solidarity to be found in continuous learning from our collective creation as the teacher, and as you experienced, we never graduate. 🤨
Thanks, Maria! There isn't a finish line. What I know today is alive and constantly changing. What's under that is the changeless mystery. I can surrender being the answer woman.
Dear Susan, I am leaving my heart here. What a beautiful witchy wonderful piece of writing that stirred something deep inside me. Our entire gorgeous hurting world is contained here. Thank you dear one 💗
Oh, thank you, Amy. You brought a tingle to my eye with this. I think all of us wise crones have begun singing together, weaving the world, repairing the damage, insisting we be reborn in kinder forms. We are the ones to do it.
So exquisitely wise and profound. I needed these words today, Susan. Just stunning work.
Thanks. I feel that we are coming to a similar realization from different ways of describing it. That’s very valuable.
Oh thank you Kelly. I really appreciate you. I’m grateful when you read and comment.
I truly appreciate your voice and work, Susan!
Thank you, Louise. It means so much to me.
Awww, I used to teach high school too. I remember before I started, I thought the worst part would be that my legs would ache after being on my feet for 6-7 hours per day. 😆🤣😂
Then you found out, I assume. Lovely to meet a fellow teacher. Thanks for being here, for reading and commenting.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Dear One, this is gorgeous. There are so many blessing in this essay, and it left me feeling calmer because it reminded me of the love and peace that are possible in any situation, if we access that deeper part of ourselves. We have a choice. I'm going to make some bone soup and sit down to eat it with the Weird Sisters. And this, made me laugh out loud, "the Paul Blart Gestapo." What a gift, to have you as a teacher, in any setting. xo
I concur. xo
Could be disappointing. No sense in pushing the river.
Dear Nan, my dear one. Thank you for your immense love, which is so unbounded and welcoming. Dive deep under the waves, that's where the peace is, and also the strength to set things right. You know, if anyone can, it will be the older women who step from the invisiblity shadows where we are sent once we have finally gained some necessary wisdom. It's the crones who set the world back in balance - as is our wont. I love your openness, honesty, and willingness, my friend.
Thanks, Susan. I agree about us being the ones who'll fix it. it's time for some women's wisdom to fill the gaps. Those holes have become so much larger, and the image that just came forth is the holes getting so immense that they swallow up what's not working. And then the earth will get twisted inside out and we'll start anew. Mushrooms? What mushrooms? xo
The long, tall Sally type. Magical.
Thanks for the recommendations. Who knew? Now I just have to get off the SSNI so I can see what it's like. xo