Finding The Holy Direction Of Our Lives In The Wild Places…

“The spiritual journey calls us out into the wild places where God is not tamed and domesticated. We are asked to release our agendas and discover the holy direction for our lives.”
 Christine Valters Paintner, PhD,
 The Soul of a Pilgrim: Eight Practices for the Journey Within

This is one of those blog posts that feels like a deep dive. The kind of writing that answers a question I need to answer, or, perhaps is a place I finally sigh into what is real, what has long been known but never voiced, the revealing of parts of me that no one really knows, but which are at the core of my being, the things that are not accepted by many people, and which have always left me cowering on the edges of life, afraid to truly be myself, apologetic, almost, for not living a life and doing work that fit into society in a way that made others around me uncomfortable. Have I withdrawn from the world because not fitting into any conceivable group of people that I have known, family and friends of a lifetime, new people unknown to me, it was easier to withdraw to a little cottage in the woods and do my work?

In these last days I have come to hear of people from my past who have created absolutely astounding huge lives, the kind of lives people consider a success in the world, not just financially but the kind of lives that society tells us are the things we should strive for. And this is wonderful because for people who have found their path in the world in more traditional ways and been successful living lives that are fruitful and make them happy, and knowing that life, while not easy for any of us no matter what kind of lives we live or success we have achieved, have perhaps found that comfortable niche which I refer to as a place of belonging. I have never belonged, not from birth, not through my school years, and as we raised our children doing things our parents found startling — natural childbirth, long-term breastfeeding, becoming a natural childbirth educator, an La Leche League Leader, a midwife, a homebirth advocate having had my 2nd and 3rd children at home, homeschooling (Remember, those were the early days, the early 80’s. My husband went to court in the fight for legalizing homeschooling. We were trailblazers in every conceivable way.) and leaving our families to move cross-country to the mountains aspiring to be back-to-the-landers. We bought 20 acres way out in the middle of nowhere in the most perfectly beautiful place in the mountains of Virginia, it was picture postcard perfect, and my husband went to an owner-builder school to learn how to build a timber frame home. In the end the school conducted a class on our land and 7 or so men came from around the country to work with my husband to get our passive solar timber frame house framed up and under roof and my husband finished it himself. It was the kind of place my soul longed for, it was our dream home, the reason we had moved cross country, but it was not to last. My husband’s company was sold, and after a year of trying to find a job so we could stay in our home he had to take a job in North Carolina and we moved, heartbroken, shell-shocked, and I think part of us died then. We had a united dream. It was gone. We never quite recovered from that move, and eventually, as the children were off to college, save our youngest, our son, then 16, we separated and eventually divorced. I still dream of that place, and part of me howls in pain like a wild wolf thinking of all that might have been in those mountains, now so long ago and far away.

To make matters more complicated and confusing for all after I left my marriage I came out as a lesbian. This is something I had long known, without really knowing, about myself. I was confused. Was I just afraid of sex with a man because of the long-term childhood abuse I had suffered? I was married to a very kind and gentle man and I still miss him. But I had wondered, for years, and longed to know, and when I knew, I knew. I have been alone for a very long time, I had only a handful of brief experiences with women, but I do know that if ever I did have a partner it would have been a woman. And yet that ship sailed years ago. Living with mental illness is a fulltime job, no matter how gentle, loving, or what gender your partner is. And I am a singular animal, skittish and shy around other people. I only feel safe here alone in my little cottage with my animals and garden and writing and painting, cherishing the time I can see or spend time with my children and their families, but they are all in the busy years of young families working and parenting and 2 live out of town. I am mostly alone, and it is the only way I feel safe and comfortable and at peace. And yet, I hear the call of a wild wolf welling up inside of me. She is saying, “It is time to be it ALL, time to be you, to share all of your truths, let it weave it’s way through all of your work, BE it all!” and I howl back joyfully, living my way into all that this is and means. And it means so much more than I ever knew.

In the last days I have been making notes for a little book I may just be writing for myself. It is called “Chronicles of an Old Lady Painting.” I almost changed Tier 2 on Patreon to this title because it is the art-centered tier and while the content of that tier will be the same I am going to write to them a whole lot more about being an old lady painting, having started late, and working late, with few physical means but a fire in the belly to do it and so I am.

And then come deeper issues about who I am and how I define myself. My dear friend Ruby who is a Witch in the best, most loving way, a Green Witch, Hearth Witch, Earth Witch, working in her garden with herbs, and knowing much more about it than I ever have thinks I am a Witch, that earthy, garden growing, earth centered, hearth tending kind of witch. And I know many women who are Witches and it is a beautiful and powerful thing indeed, but I really don’t know anything about that and when I try to read the books, though I honor what they are doing, the language, ceremonies, etc, while I am fascinated, are not me. What I know is this — I am deeply spiritual, but not formally religious. I am not comfortable following an organized religion of any type. I was at one time, after years of study, ordained an interfaith minister, but it was just never a comfortable fit. I’ve studied Buddhism for more than 40 years, but you know where I find God? In the garden, in the face of my animals, in the silence, in prayers in the middle of the night. And I pray to and communicate with a whole realm of celestial beings. God, Mother Mary, Saints and Angels, Spirit Guides and Animal Guides, Nature spirits, and all things of the earth, all things that are made by hand, in a simple, small, homespun world I am at peace. What does that make me? Who knows? I don’t worry about it anymore. But I suppose I have just come out with all of who I am. I am surrounded by and never without crystals, essential oils, herbs, and I am going deeper and deeper into the garden in ways I never have. I am not just growing things, I am communing with spirit and all that is with my hands in the dirt and things growing all around me.

And then my writing and my art are perhaps the most profound ways of expressing who I am because these things are not something that I “do” but are the deepest expression of who I am. And I have put all other art away except Maisie because she is not just a “character” that I paint, nor just my alter ego — she is of course both of those things — but she is the magic creation that is a kind of alchemy. Her life is based on mine, and all that I have lived through and all that I know and the lessons I have learned, the wisdom I have gained and the stories that I have to tell all pass through me into Maisie as I am painting. It is truly magical. I am working on completely rearranging my art table and areas all around my studio so that I can go much deeper with her art and stories. And then all of the areas of my life are coming together. When I think of “Days At Dragonfly Cottage” I get this kind of peculiar but, I think, interesting feeling about the whole thing and how it has finally come together, all the bits and parts and pieces of my life woven together as a singular thing that holds it all. I remember when I was a little girl being awestruck when a glass thermometer hit the floor and broke and all of the mercury inside broke up and scattered into lots of little pieces and then kind of became balls drawn back together, as if running toward one until until they were once again all of a piece. I was broken. I have been broken many times in many ways. But at 67 all the little bits and parts and pieces of my life have found their way back to one another and it is the greatest miracle.

I feel like the wolf howling up at the full moon with all the creatures in the woods around me living their wild lives, in nature, natural lives not rooted in artificial means, my work has grown fathoms deep, my dear, dear Patrons on Patreon are supporting me so I can do this work and get it out in the world, and I have so much, so very much to give. And as far as defining myself I simply think of myself perhaps as an Earth Mother if I had to name it but the thing is I don’t like labels. It’s why I don’t want to attach myself to a religion, to a path like being a pagan, witch, Christian, Buddhist, or whatever else there might be. I am a loving, gentle, kind woman reaching out to the world from my little cottage in the woods with everything I have to give, and what does that make me? A woman who has found the holy direction of her life in the wild places. More than that I do not need to know.