On the trail of the Goddess

Deep peace I breathe into you,
O weariness, here:
O ache, here!

I've been absent quite a while here, as my readers have been reminding me. The simple and true answer is that I've been off enjoying my life, very thoroughly. What was I doing last year? Choosing the path that led me here. Walking a winding path, one which I could only see one step ahead--sometimes even less, it seemed. I danced in joyful fields of wildflowers where the sun and the breeze played with my hair and where the air was alive with bees and butterflies. I lingered in wild patches of strawberries, savoring the fruit to my heart's content while the heady scent of honeysuckle encircled me like a crown. At times, I lay beside gently moving streams, with my feet in the cool water and my head on a blanket of moss, and fell asleep dreaming of distant places. Often, though, I painstakingly stumbled and scratched my way through the thickets and ancient woods under a new moon--blind, stumbling, and unfamiliar with the calls of the night. Sometimes the canopy was so thick that it seemed as night even long after Selene had ceded to her brother Helios' diurnal course.

And now I am here. It's just a pause on the journey, to rest up for the next uphill climb. There is beauty all around me, there is joy in work and service, there is companionship and laughter. There is enthusiasm to the point of over-commitment. Then there is withdrawal while I catch my breath. Within the peace, I can still feel the tremors under the surface. I know it will not wait long. It has waited long enough.

Yet I am unsure where to tread--both paths ahead promise deep joy and deep pain. Both involve gut-wrenching sacrifice. And I am the only one who can choose which way is right for me--which life-long pain I am willing to endure? More importantly-- which joy am I willing to risk everything else to have in my life? You see, I want children. My husband does not. It has taken me a very long time to say what I want. Both of us, for that matter.

I am not planning to go into his reasons here. Suffice it to say that it is clear this was very difficult and looking into his eyes I see he is speaking his truth as it is right now. The general advice I hear so often cannot be applied so glibly here:"he just needs time," "every father is scared before they have children, "he shouldn't worry, he'd make a great father," "he just needs to get over his fears," "it's always different when it's your own child." The time for waiting has passed, and these pieces of advice all come with the assumption that he will change his mind; that he's just confused about what he wants. Relationship rule #1: Never count on changing the other person. While there is certainly a possibility, in any situation, that a person can examine the root of their fears or ideas, and change their paradigm, this does not mean it can be forced or that the result will be an expected one. The onus is on me to decide what I want to do with this information.

I have not been able to go far down the path in my mind--my emotions run over me like the swell of a tsunami and threaten to drown me. Every time I think of something new that I love now, that I think I would love, that I would miss, that I would miss out on, that I would grieve for, possibly for the rest of my life--I quickly withdraw. I have no concept of how to deal with this. How does one choose between the man they love, and the possibility of being a mother to a precious child? Especially when there is no guarantee I will find what I want if I pursue the latter avenue.

I have talked to many of my trusted friends. They each speak to me from their own experience. Some have been in my place and have made a choice. And when I hear them, I feel alternately empowered and guilty. I hear compassion and yet I also I hear their regret and sometimes I almost hear judgment. Even when they don't mean it that way, hearing how they approach relationships and what they think they would do, sometimes it makes me feel bad for even considering a different choice. What will they think of me? What will I think of me? How will I live with myself; with my regrets? With my anger, with my sadness, my grief? But I must not focus on my fears, for they will hold me back. I must find where my greater truth lies. But I'm still drawing blanks here. Am I betraying my own core values by considering leaving in order to find someone willing to raise a family with me? Am I only half of a woman if I choose not to experience the ups and downs of pregnancy, birth, and raising a child? Will anyone remember me if I am never a grandmother?

Through the ages, the Goddess has been portrayed in three personae representing different stages of a woman's life: the maiden, the mother, and the wise crone. I am on her trail and now I long to experience the fullness of the middle phase of my life. I long to walk hand-in-hand with my husband 'til death do us part.' And I long to have a small hand holding mine on the other side, skipping merrily along. Oh, dear crone, help me. Help me through this darkness. I cannot do this alone.

Deep peace I breathe into you,

O weariness, here:
O ache, here!
Deep peace, a soft white dove to You;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, red wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, grey wind of the west to You;
Deep peace, dark wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure red of the flame to you;
Deep peace, pure white of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the earth to you;
Deep peace, pure grey of the dew to you,
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!

Deep peace of the running wave to you,

Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,

Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you!

Deep peace of the Yellow Shepherd to you,

Deep peace of the Wandering Shepherdess to you,

Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to you,

Deep peace from the Son of Peace to you,

Deep peace from the heart of Mary to you,

And from Briget of the Mantle

Deep peace, deep peace!

And with the kindness too of the Haughty Father Peace!

In the name of the Three who are One, Peace!

And by the will of the King of the Elements, Peace! Peace!

the dominion of dreams : under a dark star - fiona macleod - 1895