Yesterday, a friend and I went to the National Gallery of Art to see the Pompeii and the Roman Villa exhibit.  Since you can’t take a photo inside the exhibit, and since I love moving water, I leave you with this snapshot of the water cascade as seen from the underground concourse.

Here’s the deal:

1) You have to have a blog to participate in this.

2) The first three people who sign up in the comments will receive some sort of kindness from me.

3) Those three people then blog about it at their place and offer the same to the first three people who sign up, who blog about it at their place, and offer kindnesses to the next three, &c., &c., &c., until the Kindness Revolution is unstoppable due to Newton’s Second Law, where f=ma.

4) The act of kindness can be whatever you like; it can be a little gift you mail to someone, or it can be something more intangible; whatever fits your circumstances, budget, or personality. It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant, certainly; just something to put a smile on a stranger’s face.

5) Link back to this post in your post.

I will post later on both the kindness I receive from Thalia (a reading from her new Goddess Oracle Deck) and the kindness I send to others.

Today, Holly Witchey at the Cleveland Museum of Art writes with wit and wisdom about the life stage she finds herself in career-wise in Mine is the Cronedom: 

For the past several years I’ve been not-so-easily transitioning, in my working life, from being one of the Bright Young Things (BYT) in this field to being one of the crones.   For better or for worse, women in this field turn into crones while men seem to turn into the “grand old men.”  Fair or not fair, this is what it is and just in the past few months I’ve embraced my inner “crone” and found life considerably easier by following a few rules:

–speak when I have something to say and not just to hear myself speak

–tell the truth

–don’t get angry

–never ever be harder on others than you are on yourself

On the whole, it’s easier being a crone than a BYT because the only pressure is the pressure I apply to myself.  Crones are, on the whole, invisible and that allows one to accomplish a lot more behind the scenes. 

But here I am wondering how I got to be 38.  I don’t “feel” 38, whatever that is supposed to feel like. Almost 40…I don’t really feel mature enough, on the inside, to be “middle-aged.” And given that the women in my family usually expire around 80 to 83, then I’m about at the middle of my life.  I don’t feel young, but I don’t feel old, and I certainly don’t feel “middle-aged” — whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

Sometimes I wonder if it is because I don’t have children. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel fully adult (and here I am 38!).  I was 15 when my mother was 38.  I can’t even imagine having a 15-year-old, let alone a 5-year-old, let alone caring full time for a baby!  I wouldn’t know where to begin. At my age, my mother was working 2 jobs, caring for me, and starting a church.  Well, I am pretty busy myself with all I’ve got going on, but…

Is it that I don’t feel like I’m doing enough, or that I feel like I should have done more with my life so far? Will I still feel silly and awkward and unsure when I am 60? And yet, I have done many things in the last 10 years/20 years, things that have generated positive changes in others’ lives and brought people together.  Things that don’t “seem like much” to me, primarily because I did them, but I know that they took a lot of effort and impacted the community.

Anyway, happy birthday to me. Here’s what 38 looks like on me.

And here’s the new kitten that is currently bringing me loads of laughter and joy.  His name is Hermes.

If only tonight we could sleep
In a bed made of flowers
If only tonight we could fall
In a deathless spell

Don’t let it end…

–The Cure

For this piece, I used a water-release decal paper for the Hebrew names and the winged solar disk line drawing. I painted the sides and trim gold and left the top and front unpainted. After applying the solar disk, I painted the inside of the disk gold. I glued black felt to the inside and bottom of the box. I still need to touch up the golden disk and some of the varnish, then clean up a little gold paint in places to neaten it up.

Since the cards focused on the 72 names, I thought the same motif on the box would work. At one point I was going to do all sides of the box with the names, but then thought that would be overkill and visually cluttered. I went with the winged solar disk after reading about the wings of the Cherubim on the Arc of the Covenant. I also liked the idea of blending symbols from Hebrew and surrounding cultures — much like any good Hermetic would do. Plus, the solar disk reminded me of the sephirah Tipharet, which in Hermetic qabala is the highest level of spiritual evolution humans can attain and still be incarnate.

Becoming had gathered in a park for a thanksgiving feast. There was much grumbling because there were a lot of people milling about, it was a bit chilly, and it had started to sprinkle.

The tune was simple and easily improvised. We all began singing and clapping. As the music became louder and more alive, we began improvising and dancing around the tables. The experience was so joyous!

And then I woke up — with the song still in my head. I sang it to myself several times, hoping to remember it the next morning. I tried to go back to sleep.

But my bladder thought differently, and I realized if I didn’t record the song now I would not remember the tune in the morning.

So, I grabbed my cell phone and went to the restroom. Afterward, I called my voice mail at work and sang the song.

This morning when I awoke, I could remember the words but not the melody. Lucky that my bladder had intervened.

Becoming’s monthly circle is all about connecting to ourselves, each other, the world around us, and the Divine that flows throughout. One of the lines we use in circle is ,”Let us open our hearts to the Heart of the Universe.” I’m not sure about how to interpret the second line of the song, except perhaps that the drive to connect is something so inherent to us as humans and divine beings, as close and vital to us as the blood that pumps through our veins.

Rather than change the words to align more closely with things as I know them now, I feel it important to honor the song by sharing it as it was given to me in the dream and to listen to the message it brings.

Yesterday I began watching this video of Carnegie Mellon Professor Randy Pausch’s “last lecture” given September 18, 2007. Pausch recently died from pancreatic cancer, and my good friend Ketzirah posted her mourner’s kaddish and the video over at Peeling a Pomegranate. The lecture is about accomplishing your childhood dreams and enabling others to accomplish their dreams.

About 15 minutes into the lecture, I tried thinking about my childhood dreams. What did I want to do or be when I grew up? And I couldn’t think of a thing. I couldn’t remember ever even thinking much about what I would do or who I would be when I grew up. I couldn’t think of any passion that revealed itself for the future as in “When I grow up, I want to be a veterinarian, and I want to be famous and walk on the moon.”

Is it possible that I went through childhood without thinking about the future, without any kind of guiding dream of what I would accomplish? Did I just forget?

So, I called my mother. I explained the context of the lecture and how I couldn’t remember any childhood dreams. I asked her if she, as she is my mom, remembered me ever saying anything about what I wanted to do or be when I grew up.

“Not really,” she said hesitantly (probably wondering where this current round of weird questions about my childhood came from). “You were never really concerned about the future when you were a kid. You played mostly by yourself and created elaborate imaginary games. You talked to yourself constantly. You liked to do artistic stuff — drawing, coloring, finger painting, writing little stories, dancing and singing. It didn’t matter if you were the only one there — you acted out all the parts and pretended there was an audience too. Just as long as you were being creative, you were happy. When we moved into the apartment and you had playmates, you would make up stories for them to act out, and you would direct them. You were also so creative and had so much fun doing it.”

I agreed that’s pretty much how I remembered it, but I could also remember the content of some of those imaginary scenarios. I was a messenger sent from one tribe to another through strange and unknown forests. I was a preacher speaking in front of thousands about how we needed to be good to each other and share our stuff (my parents were ministers). I was a talk-show host interviewing world religious leaders at Camp Chesterfield’s Trail of Religion. I would sing and dance without caring if anyone was around to see or hear. I would draw and paint and make up stories as I did so.

OK, so all well and good, but it’s pretty hard to work toward dreams or goals in life when what really makes you happy is just to have the freedom to have fun, be creative, and do something meaningful and wonderful. That’s all I’ve really ever wanted. That’s what I really want now. But the “adult” part of myself keeps nagging at me that how can I make any plans for the future if I don’t know exactly and specifically what I want to do or be. Because really, it’s just what catches my attention and interest in the moment. I have always been prone to wander off when I see something that I want to explore in more depth.

Maybe if I just keep those things in mind with whatever I do: freedom, fun, creativity, meaning, and wonder. And just take whatever opportunity comes my way to explore and make up my own stories and act them out for myself and others.

I woke up this morning feeling happier than I have in a while. And I wanted to dye my hair blue.

Before:

After:

It’s amazing what a few people can do in 4 hours in the 100 degree sun with determination and a lot of water! The energy of the labyrinth definitely picked up as we got everything back in order.

While permanent labyrinths and sacred spaces are needed and good, my aching legs are reminding me why I prefer to draw mine in the sand or in chalk on the sidewalk.