Walked to the river today. It’s the second week in a row that I’ve made this trek, and I’m thinking it could be a permanent Sunday thing to do. I keep eyeballing our local UU, and while that’s not completely out of the question, right now I’m craving the solitude of solitairy rambles. My rambling always seems to lead to the same spot, which isn’t that far from the house. Last week there were squirrels cavorting around; today there were swallows and a pair of osprey, ducks of various types and, eventually, geese. It would be one goose in particular that let me know it was time to go. Said goose was sweet about it, but determined, and so I could only respect that by, you know, going. I still was able to sit for a decent amount of time and touch in, with myself, with the various stories that come bobbing up when I’m at that particular spot, and with Poseidon, because, well, Poseidon.
NaNoWriMo is fast approaching, and as some of you already know, I’m participating this year. I’m endeavoring to embrace this whole “writing as a spiritual act” and I have to be honest: I’m terrified. The project I’m undertaking is not a project I’m . . . well. I can’t say that I’m unwilling, because if I truly was unwilling, I wouldn’t be doing it. Instead, let me repeat that I’m terrified. In doing this, I have to have the audacity to say that the gods can and do care about what we do with our lives, what we do in our lives, even when naysayers might insist that the gods do not/cannot/ought not. Why would Poseidon care what I write? Well, you know, it may not be that he cares so much about how I am, heh, stripped back to the bone, but he does care that I do leave nothing of myself unexplored. These parts of myself I will give unto him, to be scoured by his tides, to be bashed about upon his rocks. I will plumb the furthest depths of myself and strive, always, always, to find my Lord there.
I was met with layers today, at the river. Layers of civility, of carefully constructed facades that mask inhuman depths. I was forced to confront my attraction to Him, forced to admit that I am indeed made to be more inclined to love the Other. At one point, there were only ducks on the river, and a lone Canadian goose came to land. And the goose called and called and called and called. From upriver swam a lone female mallard, and she returned the goose’s call, and they met in the river, and swam together, close to each other. This touched me, and it brought this all to mind, and I sat, awash in awe. Some of those facades dropped away, some of the surface warmth, the parts of the water where the sunlight hits, and I was reminded of the colder places, the deeper places, the places of crushing pressure. Stories of sirens, of water wights, of kelpies, and nixies, all danced through my head and, oddly, they comforted me. Or, maybe not oddly.
I never know where I stop and He starts. Does He exhibit moments of jealous feelings because I expect it from a water-y deity, does He give me that experience because it sooths me, makes me feel secure, or is that part of His actual nature? Am I attracted to Him because I’m attracted to the Other, and always have been, or am I attracted to the Other so much because of Him? My emotions are unstable, erratic, are up and down. I’ve put in a lot of time and effort to be able to understand them, their roots, and causes, and I’m pretty good at being able to say whether one down-cycle is because of something tangible or whether ‘it just is’ and needs to be not given much attention. Do w/We fit because of this or am I this way because of Him, or is He maybe more stable than I give Him credit for and I simply see His ups and downs because I expect them?
There was a moment, briefly, of being held tight, of feeling completely possessed, as in, in His possession, utterly His. And I am, I am, but moments of feeling like I could just stay there forever, and let everything else go . . . those don’t happen much away from the coast. And, I’m moved, that it happened today. And grateful.
I’m flirting with being excited about the NaNo project. I’m looking forward to having it done, and I’ve surrendered the process to Him, as an offering, because it’s going to be grueling. I know this already. And, having surrendered it to Him, the terror should not be nearly as great as it is, only in reality, it’s become even greater.
But, oh, the river today. . . .