Category: Polly Hansen

My Moon sisters, a group of fifteen women I have gathered with every month for the past thirty years, met last night to celebrate the winter solstice. We sat in a circle around the alter, a large red clay bowl filled with sand and three lit candles, one each for the Spirit Above, Spirit Below, and Spirit Within. We lost many things to the night: greed, hatred, poverty, self-doubt, cruelty. And then we birthed many good things to the light: self-love, peace, kindness, generosity, acceptance, and lit a candle representing these good things until the clay pot was ablaze with dozens of slender, brightly colored tapers.

But my sisters live in Illinois, while I live in the mountains of North Carolina. So, I attended via Zoom. However, the hybrid meeting almost didn’t happen. One of my Moon sisters felt overwhelmed by the technology. I had sent her a special microphone and asked her to bring her laptop to the ritual so that I could be a fly on the wall and listen in. But unbeknownst to me she had called the hostess to say she couldn’t do it. It was all too much what with her recuperating husband and her own sore back.

When I learned via group email that the hybrid ritual was cancelled I was dismayed and angry. I felt left out. Ostracized. I dreaded calling the hostess asking, what gives? But I did. I have learned in my decades of life that unless I speak out and take care of myself, no one else will.

We had a loving conversation. It was all a misunderstanding. Next, I called the friend to whom I had shipped the microphone. She was apologetic and loving, saying of course she would bring it to the ritual and sorry she had said yes, but then realized it was not her bailiwick. Then I called my friend who had the Zoom account subscription and asked her to send the invite to us out-of-towners, then called a third friend to ask if she could bring her laptop.

I could have accepted the decision not to hold a hybrid and then stewed about it, feeling resentful and hurt. Instead, I took care of myself by speaking up for my needs.

The microphone worked great. I heard all the women’s voices, and I was even more than just a fly on the wall. I added my voice to the circle, throwing in what I needed to lose to the night, and adding what I birthed to the light. It was a glorious celebration of the return of hope and gladness.

Speaking up for oneself is often uncomfortable but stewing in resentment feels far worse. Speaking up for myself builds bridges when done tactfully and lovingly and helps to maintain a healthy community. Yes, I’m the one who chose to move so far away from my sisters, but they mean so much to me. I don’t want to lose my relationship with them or my place in the circle. Our group can adapt to having a laptop in the sacred space. It isn’t optimal. I would much rather be there in person, but that is impossible.

I’m grateful we can adapt with the changes that take place in our lives, that we can speak up for our changing needs and accommodate one another rather than resign ourselves to the way things have always been done. Speaking up for ourselves is an important skill, one we can develop with tact and grace.

"Maturity means acting our age. We are being mature when we have a realistic view of our situation. We let those around us live their lives and we elect to accept responsibility for ourselves." -- Blueprint for Progress from Al-Anon Family Groups

I didn’t give my dogs any pancakes this morning. I ate the sort stack all by myself. Still, they waited underfoot by the stove for a handout. Usually I give them a pancake each, but today I ignored them. I was hungry and didn’t want to share the small batch I had made. Plus, the little one on the right is getting chubby.

Their constant begging is my fault. I feed them scraps all the time or let them lick my plate. Lately, I have stopped doing that. It is difficult to say no, to break a pattern that I think shows love and affection. But maybe a disciplined approach expresses love, too. Maybe saying no occasionally is a good thing, even though it is difficult to do.

I sat at the dining room table and my one dog sat to my right looking up at me and my second dog sat opposite me on the other side of the table. I ignored them and held the Sunday paper up so I wouldn’t have to look at their pleading eyes.

Even when I cleared my plate I considered letting them lick it and thought, no. Their constant begging irritates me.

I wrapped the leftover pancakes in tin foil for my breakfast later this week; not theirs.

Is this the start of something new? Does it mean they will love me less? I hope not. Time will tell.

Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.

--Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-61)

The house feels empty without my daughter and her boyfriend here. They left yesterday after visiting for an entire week over the Thanksgiving holiday. I take it as a testament of our love and comfort level and tolerance for one another that we were able to enjoy each other’s company so thoroughly without once having had a major blow-up or experiencing irritability. Sure, there was the occasional tetchiness when playing a word game and no one followed the “no talking” rule, or partners misread one another and got clues wrong, but other than that, I didn’t hear a word of complaint and neither did I utter any. Nor did my husband. And this boyfriend. What a gift. For him to spend an entire week with us, to agree to that in that first place, and for me and my husband to luxuriate in their presence. Wow.

So here it is the day after they have left. I’m sitting on the front porch in the sunshine with a mountain breeze filling my freshly Covid-vacated lungs. I hacked and coughed while my daughter and her mate were here. I’d tested negative before they arrived, and I’m sure it was a nuisance hearing me coughing. But I didn’t hear one grumble about it, nor about boredom, displeasure or discomfort.

We had football and soccer games on T.V. all week and that was fine by me. While the three of them took a mountain hike, because of a bum foot I stayed home and talked for over an hour with a friend from Chicago. I slept in my own bed with my husband for the first time in two weeks (we had been sleeping separately while I tested positive) and I slept well, having rediscovered earplugs and an eye mask. Everyone slept well. And ate well. My cooking, which all highly praised, my daughter and even her beau asking me for my recipes, was my expression of love.

So, the adage about fish and visitors smelling after three days was irrelevant all because of the replacement slogan “Live and let live.” Even when I walked in on my husband clipping his eyebrows in the bathroom mirror because the bathroom I use for my own nighttime toilette was occupied, I didn’t say a word. He knows I prefer he leave them alone, but I respect his business, which is none of mine. The same with my daughter and her beloved. They have a way of relating to one another that I find mildly disconcerting, but I said nothing. None of my business. And they kept their distaste for any of my habits to themselves if they had any. I’m sure they did. Who wouldn’t?

The absence of the richness of my daughter’s company leaves me feeling bereft as I always am after one of our children visits. But I have my life to live and my husband to love, and I cherish the period of withdrawal. I hate the ache, but I’m glad I have one.

"Live and let live expresses the idea that all should be able to live their lives in the manner they want to, regardless of what other[s] may think of them."-- Ali hadi Ghawl, University of Al-Qadisiyah

So it’s come to this. I cannot sleep with my husband anymore. It’s not that I don’t love him—or that he’s sick or I’m sick. It’s just that I can no longer sleep with another person in the bed, or perhaps even in the room.

Ever since having had Covid when I slept in my meditation/guest room for two weeks, I’ve had trouble sleeping in our marriage bed. During those two weeks I could cough or stretch out with impunity and not worry about waking him. We’d just bought a new queen-sized mattress for the guest room to replace the old full-sized one that was no fun for couples. When I got Covid I broke in the new mattress by staying in bed forty-eight hours and didn’t stray far from it when I did get up. After the first few nights of coughing and hacking, I slept well for ten consecutive nights in the still quiet of that space.

But now real guests are coming so I’ve fumigated and vacated the room. Last night was my first night back in bed with my beloved husband. He read in his study so as not to disturb me in case I turned out the light before he did. But I heard the door open, felt the floor shake with each footfall as he padded across the room in the semi-dark to his side of the bed. The mattress sagged and I fell inward, needing to brace myself as his weight shifted the dynamics of my position so I had to adjust how I was anchored to the bed. I listened to every rustle, every breath, every brief cough. I thought of my quiet, still bed in the guest room made up with clean sheets and pillowcases and knew I had no choice but to stick it out and hope sleep would come.

It did not.

First I got up to look for ear plugs in the hallway linen closet and not finding any, rummaged in the outside flap of my suitcase and found two old ones which I rolled up and stuck into my ears.  But then the light on the humidifier was so bright I got up again and covered the piercing blue digital readout with a rag. Lying in bed, twitching and coughing myself, I figured it was hopeless.

I remember being puzzled as a little girl spending the night at my grandmother’s house why she slept in a separate bedroom from my grandfather. “He twitches too much. I start in bed with him to warm up his feet until he falls asleep and then I go to your Uncle Tom’s old bedroom.”

Perhaps I’ve become like my grandmother. Maybe I’ll start in bed with Bill and then slip out of bed into the guest room every night. And when guests are here, I’ll make do and take naps during the day. It sounds like an amicable solution. I’ll have to ask Bill what he thinks about it.

Bill and I make plans for other things that never happen at night anyway.

I must admit I love being adored and admired. Who doesn’t? Who doesn’t love accolades, approval, attention and admiration? Let’s face it – we all do.

But shouldn’t God’s love, admiration and approval be enough? She adores us and will never abandon us.

But Her love is rarely enough for most of us.

Why? Why are our hearts voracious and greedy always wanting more approval, more attention, more satisfaction? Is it because we don’t believe She loves us? Or that we don’t love ourselves?

And why is that? Why, when we grow still and look inward are we not enough for ourselves? Why do we think we need the entire population of this planet to love us and say we are a spectacular individual? Because isn’t that what our greediness wants? To have every living person’s approval? When are we ever enough?

Always. Don’t listen to self-doubt. You are exquisite. And enough. If you don’t believe it, pretend you do, just for this moment.

So please, stop worrying and enjoy your day. Or at least, and maybe even at most, this moment. Pause. Look within your exquisite, lovely Self, and enjoy this moment. This.

Ahhhhhh. Yes. That’s it. Lovely.

"You can't comprehend the grand scheme, so don't go there. Stay where you belong--clearly focused on the present and spiritual journey that is your life."

Defy Gravity by Caroline Myss, p. 140

The recent lesson of letting go of urgency and the need to act immediately is still sinking in. I realize now my sleeplessness has been caused by this feeling that I need to make things happen, when in fact, I do not control the world. I am powerless over it.

When we fight and fight and fight for something over which we have no control, like whether the horse drinks the water or not is crazy making. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. It’s up to the horse and there a lot of horses out there. I guess I’m looking for the thirsty ones that want my particular brand of water.

The lesson I have learned is to let go and let God. I have done the work (written my memoir), I have planted the seeds. I have put it out there. I’ve been trying to force agents and literary journals to take it. Many have said no thanks. A couple of journals have said yes and have published a chapter or two. Now, I just need to wait and let the process unfold.

My writing isn’t the only area I have felt urgency. I feel urgency lots and lots of times during the day. I’m meditating and the thought pops into my head that it’s been nearly two weeks and we still don’t have the lab results from the blood tests on our pup. I need to stop meditating and write myself a note so I don’t forget.

No, I don’t.

I need to relax and meditate, sit in silence and stillness. The lab results will come. Or the thought will occur to me when I’m not meditating, and I can call the vet then. I need to let go and let God over and over again. It’s a constant refrain throughout my day. It allows me to relax. And sleep.

In spite of our best efforts to work our programs and lean on God's guidance, we sometimes don't understand what's going on in our life. We trust, wait, pray, listen to people, listen to ourselves, and the answer still does not come.

During those times, we need to understand that we are right where we need to be, even though that place may feel awkward and uncomfortable. Our life does have purpose and direction.

"The Language of Letting Go" by Melody Beattie, p. 70

Asking for help has always been difficult for me. When I was little and asked for help, my mother often said in a strident tone “Stop bothering me, Polly!” Because of that common response, rather than ask for help I would wait for help to come. Often help never arrived and I learned to fend for myself.

Even today I feel anxious about asking for help. Rather than ask for help directly I hint that I need help hoping that someone (like my husband) will come to my rescue saying ‘I’ll do that,’ or, ‘Would you like me to do that for you?’ Or if I do ask for help and someone says okay, but then doesn’t act immediately I grow anxious and do the said thing on my own, upsetting the person whose help I requested.

Urgency, panic even, is my modus operandi. It’s taken me a while to learn the hard lesson that there is virtue in waiting and being patient. Is that hard for you, too? For me it is a huge challenge!

A dear friend of mine recently did a rune reading for me. I chose a three-rune reading: Overview, Challenge, Action. My question had to do with my constant urge to act and the trouble it causes. The  rune I drew for the Overview was Sowelu, meaning wholeness. “Seeking after wholeness is the Spiritual Warrior’s quest….Practice the art of doing without doing. Aim yourself truly and then maintain your aim without manipulative effort.”

Ah.

Then I drew Eihwaz, which signifies my challenge. “If there appears to be an obstacle in your path, consider that even a delay may prove beneficial. Do not be overly eager to press forward.”

Oh, such difficult words for one who is addicted to action!

“Receiving Eihwaz, you are put on notice that through inconvenience and discomfort, growth is promoted. This will be a trying time… wait on the Will of Heaven.”

Oh, God.

And finally, the third rune I drew represents Action. What action do I undertake to absorb these lessons? The rune I drew was Isa, or standstill. Don’t you love it! I must do nothing! My action phase is inaction! And that’s why this is my Challenge!

“Be patient, for this is the period of gestation that proceeds a rebirth….A chill wind is reaching you over the ice floes of old outmoded habits.” Those old habits of impulsively acting out of panic and anxiety. “At such a time, you cannot hope to rely on help or friendly support. And yet there is no reason for anxiety. Submit and be still…”

!

And so, dear ones, this is what I am learning to do—to be still, to do nothing. To simply be, to let go and let God, a slogan I have always loved, yet perhaps have forgotten of late. This is an opportunity to let those words sink into my bones at the cellular level.

Does any of this resonate with you too?

"Just as winter is a time for going within, drawing Isa can announce a time of restoration and renewal at the deepest level. In your solitude, exercise caution and do not stubbornly persist in attempting to work your will. Remain mindful that the seed of the new is present in the shell of the old, the seed of unrealized potential, the seed of the good. "

The Book of Runes by Ralph Blum

Why did God allow humans to evolve?

Neil deGrasse Tyson wrote: “If the Football field were a timeline of the 14-billion year old Universe, with the Big Bang at one end, then at the other end, the width of a single blade of grass spans 30,000 years of human history, from Cro-Magnon to the present.”

Seen from this perspective we’ve barely begun to evolve. This gives me hope because it means we are merely babes. We mess things up and have terrible tantrums. We may yet get it right if we don’t destroy ourselves first.

A spark of divinity lies within us that makes us humans capable of compassion and grace, of loving peacefulness and magnanimity, forgiveness, tolerance, forbearance. It must be divinity that gives us these capabilities because Nature is not peaceful and we humans are of Nature; we are evolved from it. Anyone who’s watched nature documentaries knows that Nature is violent. Watching a cougar take down an antelope is horrifying, or witnessing an eland buck off a lion. Terrifying. That’s what we humans do on a larger scale. Russia. Ukraine. Criminal. Victim.

However, we are not animals. We don’t need to kill each other to survive. We can choose differently because we have options. We have that divine spark urging us to evolve into angelic beings.

How come elephants are vegetarians? Dolphins are not predators but seals prey on penguins. Lambs, sheep, goats, horses – these are not predatory animals. Raptors are predatory; robins are not. Certain human individuals are predatory as are certain nations. We organize ourselves into predatory armies. And yet some nations like Tibet have no armies.

Maybe there’s hope yet for this human experiment. It seems like all hell is breaking loose. Again. The Holocaust. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. The long history of subjugation of so many peoples. Are we getting worse or better? Our evolution is certainly uneven, but still, I have hope.

It’s the old Biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah – two cities destroyed for their wickedness. Humans have always come back. Two steps forward, one step back. As long as we’re not taking one step forward, two steps back there is hope. I believe we’re in the one step back phase. Or is it two? Maybe we’ll hit bottom, then make a huge leap forward when all of a sudden we come to our senses and fall to our knees.

Who knows? Not me. But I can hope and pray and remain grateful for this Earth and Universe and all her gilded treasures.  I look to my own spiritual evolution. That is all I can do. That is all any of us can do. Maybe collectively that’ll mean enough to make a difference and save ourselves.

God created me and desires me to celebrate all that I am and all that Life is. The old messages that I am nobody, not good enough or that I need to be small and quiet no longer serve me. I am a child born of the Great Mother’s joy and love. I celebrate Her great gift that is me and all that She wants me to enjoy. I revel in her blessings with a grateful, brimming heart.

Once upon a time I behaved impulsively, selfishly, and rudely. I used to believe those behaviors defined my soul, but they didn’t. I am a divine child, but one that was also damaged and hurt by those I loved and trusted. Through the years I have addressed that deep pain and trauma. I have fully embraced my humanity and all the hurt that it encompasses. Not denying it or ignoring it. I believe that is a necessary step in claiming our divinity.

Jesus didn’t walk away from the cross saying forget this. He went through it, accepted it. Only then could he claim his true divinity. We must do the same to claim ours, bear our crosses, bear the pain, the agony. Face it head on, preferably within a trustworthy, vulnerable community of others doing the same sacred work. Whether that is within a religious community, psychotherapy group, or Twelve-Step program matters not. For me, it’s been all of the above. Divinity shines within us when we do the work of facing our demons, demonstrating to ourselves we are courageous, brave souls brimming with compassion and empathy both for ourselves and others.

For me that has been key – being brave and vulnerable with others. Revealing my dirt. Everyone has that humbling substance in a variety of forms. Those things we keep hidden and are ashamed of needn’t define us. In a community of people who keep our secrets sacred and share their own, we learn we are not so different from one another. We learn to stand tall and turn our faces to the bright warm sun without shame.

"[I]f we start using altruism as a way to boost our sense of self, this becomes a trap. A little reality-based humility can be useful in tempering the need for approval and appreciation."
--Joan Halifax, "Standing at the Edge" p.30.

We grow through grieving, pain and heartache.

Don’t give up.

But you must go through the pain. You must endure it, live it, not push it away.

There is beauty and love on the other side.