Archive for the ‘musings’ Category

cup of death

Death and I have always held a peaceful relationship.  The presence of his symbols, so frightful to so many others, have always been for me, a salient reminder of  the ephemeral nature of life. I am going to die.  That truth brings me no fear.  There are many ways of dying that fill me with dread, but what comes after that is a mysterious wonder.  While I hold a general belief in reincarnation and in an afterworld, I remain open to the possibility of being totally wrong.  Perhaps those with a pantheistic viewpoint are correct and one day my decomposed bones will return solely to the earth.  I see no reason to stress upon something that I can’t possibly know until the day comes.

What I do know is life is short.   My great aunt was 88 when they found her lying in bed, a book left open on her chest, a smile on her face.  She’d lived a long and beautifully-filled life.  But she wasn’t able to finish that book.  Which is yet another reminder that I will never be able (at least in this form) to do all I wish to do.  Books will go unread.  Films unseen.  Foods untasted.  Places unvisited. Things undone.

What I can do is prioritize.  I don’t see any reason to make myself finish a novel that I’m not enjoying.  Those are put aside to perhaps be picked up another day when I might be in a different mood.   Forcing myself to finish a plate isn’t going to help any starving child anywhere.  If someone invites me to do something that I really don’t like, I tell them honestly that that just isn’t my kinda thing, but thank you very much, perhaps we could do something else together another time.  Rather than forcing myself to do something out of a false sense of obligation, much better they take someone who might actually enjoy the experience.

Time is precious.

Never will I waste it on any of the various inane debates that exist online.  If people can’t accept what works for them may not for everyone, that is their problem.   My ego isn’t so fragile that I need to explain or justify my life choices in order to receive an “okay” from complete strangers.  Instead, I’ll be laughing with Sam Vines and Granny Weatherwax (thank you Sir Terry Pratchett, and RIP), studying language, diving deeper into the paths of Tarot, taking a stroll enjoying the hot sun on my skin. Rereading Wuthering Heights or Carmilla or Little Big.  Or maybe I’ll be just sitting back watching  my son smile as he plays with his fascinating fingers.  Because that’s one of the best things of all.

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empress

from the Bohemian Gothic Tarot:  “The Empress: Motherhood and maturity.  All things natural.  The cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth.  Being at one with nature.

shadow meaning: Acceptance that death, as well as birth, is part of the entire natural cycle. Trying to control nature.  Poor, uncaring parenting.”

The Empress.  The Earth, and Dark Mother.

As a new parent one might spend time lurking at boards, picking up tips here and there.  Baby having trouble getting out those dastardly burps?  fennel tea!  And one might pay closer attention to oft- parroted sayings.

My children are my life!”

Normally this would go in one of my ears and straight out the other.  But now it stayed and vexed and I was left wondering why.  Surely, this was a loving, innocent statement.  Nothing to brew about.  And it’s certainly not my beeswax if others think this way.

But as I pondered the statement further, I realized I just didn’t like the implications (real or imagined) behind the words.  Because, no.  He’s not.  I had my own life before him, and continue to now.  My dreams and desires and pursuits continue.  He is the most amazing, awesome, joyful part of my life.  He’s the whipped cream and cherry on top the sundae.  But we are separate entities.  Never do I want to be the kind of person who lives vicariously through their child. That wouldn’t be fair to me.  Nor to him.  He is an autonomous being and he has the right to his own dreams and desires and pursuits.  And yes, the right to his own mistakes and failings, too.