If you work in a church, especially in the office or as a pastor, this past week is one of the most intense of the entire year (for Christians at least). In 8 days I did 7 bulletins for the worship services of holy week. In addition, I had to try to keep track of the minister who was wandering off at the time when everyone needed him, fight with the treasurer, who thinks she is personally responsible for keeping us all straight with money, figure out how to justify continuing to work 30 hours a week when the other minister returns from maternity leave so my pay isn't cut (which of course the anal treasurer is actively warning of the sky falling if that should happen), and listen to my husband tell me all the reasons he really doesn't want to work but it might be good for me to earn a little more. Oh, and then there was the little matter of the new bulletin cover that I have been elected to design, have labored over for 2 months, and when finally I felt that I had something good enough to hand to our pastor, he glanced at it and told me to put it in his box. I tell you where I wanted to put it and it wasn't his box. Not to mention that the printer was going to charge us $250.00 to come up with the design - anal treasurer kept us from going with that idea - and I won't be seeing a bonus for that work.
I'm not stupid enough to think that work is always gratifying, that any of us get recognized and rewarded as often as we should, that all my work days are going to go my way. But..........it seems to me that in a church there should be a little more recognition of the human needs of the people in the church, including staff. Of course, that's one reason lots of people don't go to church. How many times have I listened to friends tell me about the "hypocrisy" in churches. It's hard to reconcile the word with the actions, in church and out. I think what makes it more difficult in church is that we have learned to use words to pretend that we care more than we do. Church people can be very good at covering up their own sins with words not works. Neither one is right. My husband says, "if you're work speaks for itself, don't interrupt." Good message. I say, "if your work speaks for itself, it's still nice to have someone tell you that it's appreciated."
So basically, it was the week from hell - which I'm sure Christ was thinking 2000 years ago so I don't guess I should be too much of a martyr. I'm glad it's over and I'm glad tomorrow is Easter because I can sure use the good news that this past week is past! Whether a phoenix, or a God, it's good to know that one can be born again, arise from the ashes, resurrect. For me the message of Easter is a message of hope, a message that you get a second chance, that good days do follow bad, and that the darkest hour is truly just before the dawn. A message we all benefit from regardless of who we pray to.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Lost and Found
My friend Lana lost her paper for school in her computer. She looked and looked and it was nowhere to be found. She asked a coworker, who is known for his computer literacy, to help. He informed her she had a virus and the paper was hopelessly lost and to just forget about it and start over. Not what you want to here after hours of agonizing work. So she called her brother who couldn't stop laughing at her long enough to help her, she hung up on him. Then Lana thought of me and a coworker. She had laughed at me when I buried St. Joseph in the yard of the house we were selling, it sold in ten days. Lana also laughs at a coworker who prays to St. Anthony when she loses things, things she usually finds, by the way. Still stung by her own brother's laughter Lana did what she knew was crazy, she prayed to St. Anthony and threw in a prayer to St. Joseph too, just in case. Several hours later Lana looked in her computer and found her paper hiding in a place she hadn't looked. Not only did she find it but she found it with the last changes intact. Of course there is probably a whole geeky computereze explanation for this. There is also a whole "purely coincidental" explanation for this. And the Catholics in the crowd are crowing with delight over there explanation for this.
The irony is that Lana does not practice a religion although she is deeply spiritual. If she did practice a religion it certainly would not be Catholicism. The very idea of praying to some dead MAN who doesn't even have GOD status would never pass her litmus test of what is right and holy. She has serious concerns and questions about the whole male, paternalistic, religious structure in our world, rightly. She and I met at a Unitarian fellowship, the farthest religious distance from saint praying that there is. She doesn't attend church or even the Unitarian fellowship anymore. So she called me and told me her story and asked me to blog it.
So this is my blog about Lana and her paper and saints and religion and losing it and finding it again. I hate losing things and I love finding them, I'm no saint but certainly a sinner, and the more I learn about religion the less I think I like it or understand it or know it. Lana thinks I am following a more spiritual path than when I was younger. I think she thinks so because I joined a church and I work in a church. Certainly I am surrounded by all the trappings of a middle of the road Christianity which demands less of me than it probably should or perhaps allows me to demand less of myself. I don't particularly care for religious fanatics or fanatics of any kind but there is something awe inspiring about someone who is so convicted they let go of the conventions most of us observe. In it's current incarnation, middle of the road, middle class, white, male Christianity, there is not even a whisp of the fanatic. In this incarnation there can be found many wonderful, generous, hardworking, dedicated, selfless individuals who take the message they are given and make as much of it as they can without the essential questioning and doubting of people like myself and Lana. These people are not fanatics, many of their deeds go ignored and unnoticed. They do not work for recognition or reward in any earthly fashion. They are trying in the best way they can to follow the word they believe in.
Out of this same tradition come people who use the same words to justify their own self centered preoccupations. Many of them are eventually found out and cast out. They use the work of God to work their way in the world. Their work is for recognition and earthly reward and they don't seem particularly concerned with what awaits them after this life. Religion is an arena where they have learned to play the game for their own gain.
Then there are the Lana's and the Diann's, the doubters and questioners. We try to do the best we can with what we have, we hope there is something more than what we can see, we trust we will eventually get it but we don't get it most of the time. We know what we don't agree with or believe in or like about religious schools of thought but we also know we weren't given the job of writing the book. We are limited by our own humanity and we accept it. We try to do the best that we can with what we have but we aren't really sure if it outweighs our own limitations or sinful natures. We are probably a lot like most everyone we know, travelers on a road without a map, which is really bad if you are Lana because she gets lost with a map.
So how do we of weak mind and weak spirit figure out the explanations for those events in our lives that are unexplainable? When confronted with miracles we doubt our own eyes, we grasp for logical, rational explanations, we pretend we don't notice. If we pay attention at all we are overwhelmed with the sheer wonder and joy of mystery, we celebrate extraordinary outcomes of ordinary time, we turn our faces towards the sun and feel the heat of wonder. These feelings are so scary and unfamiliar that we turn away once again. Who deserves the joy, the wonder, the extraordinary. We are creatures of our own habits, little hobbits in our little hobbit houses, afraid of the world beyond our front doors. Safe in our ignorance.
So Lana, here's my advice, for what very little it's worth. Do good, feel good, celebrate every little miracle that comes along. Allow yourself to enjoy the mystery no matter how scary or unfamiliar the plot line. If saints help you find your paper - GO Saints! If sinners warm your heart - GO sinners! We only get a few glimpses of the wrinkles in time, you got lucky. Don't study too hard. Love, Diann
The irony is that Lana does not practice a religion although she is deeply spiritual. If she did practice a religion it certainly would not be Catholicism. The very idea of praying to some dead MAN who doesn't even have GOD status would never pass her litmus test of what is right and holy. She has serious concerns and questions about the whole male, paternalistic, religious structure in our world, rightly. She and I met at a Unitarian fellowship, the farthest religious distance from saint praying that there is. She doesn't attend church or even the Unitarian fellowship anymore. So she called me and told me her story and asked me to blog it.
So this is my blog about Lana and her paper and saints and religion and losing it and finding it again. I hate losing things and I love finding them, I'm no saint but certainly a sinner, and the more I learn about religion the less I think I like it or understand it or know it. Lana thinks I am following a more spiritual path than when I was younger. I think she thinks so because I joined a church and I work in a church. Certainly I am surrounded by all the trappings of a middle of the road Christianity which demands less of me than it probably should or perhaps allows me to demand less of myself. I don't particularly care for religious fanatics or fanatics of any kind but there is something awe inspiring about someone who is so convicted they let go of the conventions most of us observe. In it's current incarnation, middle of the road, middle class, white, male Christianity, there is not even a whisp of the fanatic. In this incarnation there can be found many wonderful, generous, hardworking, dedicated, selfless individuals who take the message they are given and make as much of it as they can without the essential questioning and doubting of people like myself and Lana. These people are not fanatics, many of their deeds go ignored and unnoticed. They do not work for recognition or reward in any earthly fashion. They are trying in the best way they can to follow the word they believe in.
Out of this same tradition come people who use the same words to justify their own self centered preoccupations. Many of them are eventually found out and cast out. They use the work of God to work their way in the world. Their work is for recognition and earthly reward and they don't seem particularly concerned with what awaits them after this life. Religion is an arena where they have learned to play the game for their own gain.
Then there are the Lana's and the Diann's, the doubters and questioners. We try to do the best we can with what we have, we hope there is something more than what we can see, we trust we will eventually get it but we don't get it most of the time. We know what we don't agree with or believe in or like about religious schools of thought but we also know we weren't given the job of writing the book. We are limited by our own humanity and we accept it. We try to do the best that we can with what we have but we aren't really sure if it outweighs our own limitations or sinful natures. We are probably a lot like most everyone we know, travelers on a road without a map, which is really bad if you are Lana because she gets lost with a map.
So how do we of weak mind and weak spirit figure out the explanations for those events in our lives that are unexplainable? When confronted with miracles we doubt our own eyes, we grasp for logical, rational explanations, we pretend we don't notice. If we pay attention at all we are overwhelmed with the sheer wonder and joy of mystery, we celebrate extraordinary outcomes of ordinary time, we turn our faces towards the sun and feel the heat of wonder. These feelings are so scary and unfamiliar that we turn away once again. Who deserves the joy, the wonder, the extraordinary. We are creatures of our own habits, little hobbits in our little hobbit houses, afraid of the world beyond our front doors. Safe in our ignorance.
So Lana, here's my advice, for what very little it's worth. Do good, feel good, celebrate every little miracle that comes along. Allow yourself to enjoy the mystery no matter how scary or unfamiliar the plot line. If saints help you find your paper - GO Saints! If sinners warm your heart - GO sinners! We only get a few glimpses of the wrinkles in time, you got lucky. Don't study too hard. Love, Diann
Monday, March 14, 2005
ReFraming
I'm looking at the ugly picture on the wall and wondering if it has any redeeming value. Having nothing better to do on a cold and rainy day I decide to take it down and put it into a new frame. I drive to the nearest store where I can find cheap frames with the picture tucked under my arm. I browse through the wooden ones, the plastic, the gilt, the aluminum. I look at frames, with mattes and without. I try to figure out what color matte will best go with the picture, and then have to decide on what color frame goes with the matte. There is a lot of thinking going into this and I'm not sure if the frame will improve the picture or if the picture just needs a new frame. I browse for so long that I am dizzy with the choices and still undecided. Reframing is hard work. Finally, I make my choice, pay, and head for home. I pry the old frame off realizing as I do so that the glass was hopelessly dirty - I never noticed. That sure didn't add to the beauty of the picture. I gently lift the picture from the frame and smooth it onto the matte and glass of the new frame. I add the backing and secure it to the frame. Voila - new picture! The ugly duckling is now a swan, or at least a lot better looking duck.
Isn't it amazing how often the picture changes from bad to good when it's reframed? I grew up with a boy who everyone in our class thought was ugly, he was teased all the time and no one wanted much to do with him. The summer after ninth grade he walks into school and he's reframed - his hair is longer, his glasses are gone, he's taller and thinner, his voice is deeper. By the end of the first month of school he is going steady with one of the cheerleader types and part of the in crowd. Everybody wants to be his friend. And what we find out is that behind that geeky little kid is this really gentle, nice, guy who has spent his years of exile practicing how to be a decent human being while we were all being dopes. Good for him.
We try to reframe things when we want people to accept them. The government has been searching for the right frame for Iraq since the beginning. First the frame was weapons of mass destruction, then it was Saddam the nasty, then it was all Iraqui's deserve a vote, and finally we are fighting a war for democracy in the mideast. That frame may well improve the picture or perhaps there will be more frames to come until finally most of us can accept the picture, frame and all. The frame we purchase is the frame that makes the picture look better. Is it a war of aggression or a war of liberation? Does the frame make what you see look better?
If you decide to visit a therapist you will be asked to reframe your thinking. The ideas and thoughts, that keep you stuck in that place you don't like being but can't get out of, are put into new frames. The words and thoughts evaluated, turned, smoothed and dusted off to see if they can be seen in a new light. You may start out feeling bad and then along the way you find a new way of looking at the same old thing and Voila - feelin' good again. And you happily pay for that reframing, for that better picture, because it's easier to buy the new frame than create a new picture. Or is that what you did - new frame or new picture? Our view, what we see, how we see it, is only as clear as the frame in which we view it. It's the old glass half full or glass half empty perception.
My picture is now hanging in a conspicuous spot on a prominent wall in my house and when friends come over they remark on the beauty of the new picture. And of course, if I say oh no, it's not new, I just reframed it, they look at me skeptically. They swear they never saw that picture in my house before and surely that frame, nice as it is, couldn't possibly be the reason that the picture looks so good. After all you can buy a frame just like it down at the cheap frame store for a few dollars. And you know, I think they are right, the picture is beautiful. It was my sight that was faulty.
Isn't it amazing how often the picture changes from bad to good when it's reframed? I grew up with a boy who everyone in our class thought was ugly, he was teased all the time and no one wanted much to do with him. The summer after ninth grade he walks into school and he's reframed - his hair is longer, his glasses are gone, he's taller and thinner, his voice is deeper. By the end of the first month of school he is going steady with one of the cheerleader types and part of the in crowd. Everybody wants to be his friend. And what we find out is that behind that geeky little kid is this really gentle, nice, guy who has spent his years of exile practicing how to be a decent human being while we were all being dopes. Good for him.
We try to reframe things when we want people to accept them. The government has been searching for the right frame for Iraq since the beginning. First the frame was weapons of mass destruction, then it was Saddam the nasty, then it was all Iraqui's deserve a vote, and finally we are fighting a war for democracy in the mideast. That frame may well improve the picture or perhaps there will be more frames to come until finally most of us can accept the picture, frame and all. The frame we purchase is the frame that makes the picture look better. Is it a war of aggression or a war of liberation? Does the frame make what you see look better?
If you decide to visit a therapist you will be asked to reframe your thinking. The ideas and thoughts, that keep you stuck in that place you don't like being but can't get out of, are put into new frames. The words and thoughts evaluated, turned, smoothed and dusted off to see if they can be seen in a new light. You may start out feeling bad and then along the way you find a new way of looking at the same old thing and Voila - feelin' good again. And you happily pay for that reframing, for that better picture, because it's easier to buy the new frame than create a new picture. Or is that what you did - new frame or new picture? Our view, what we see, how we see it, is only as clear as the frame in which we view it. It's the old glass half full or glass half empty perception.
My picture is now hanging in a conspicuous spot on a prominent wall in my house and when friends come over they remark on the beauty of the new picture. And of course, if I say oh no, it's not new, I just reframed it, they look at me skeptically. They swear they never saw that picture in my house before and surely that frame, nice as it is, couldn't possibly be the reason that the picture looks so good. After all you can buy a frame just like it down at the cheap frame store for a few dollars. And you know, I think they are right, the picture is beautiful. It was my sight that was faulty.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Work
It is not enough to be busy...the question is, What are you busy about? — Thoreau
It seems that the more I do the more there is to do until I am a whirling dervish of never ending activity. And the question is, "what am I busy about?" I have been reading about the Sojourners, www.sojo.net, an community started in the 1970's in response to the war in Viet Nam. I knew that some of those old hippies must have survived and I have been looking for them and today I found them. Wow! They have been busy - busy linking their politics to their religion, busy writing and thinking, busy living out their "all we are saying is give peace a chance." The older I get the more sure I am that this is the path that I am searching for and each time I think I have found it it slips away from me and I have to start searching again. So today I found the Sojourners. "The biblical metaphor "sojourners" identifies God's people as pilgrims—fully present in the world but committed to a different order—and reflects their broadening vision." (from The Sojourner's History)
I have not been much of a Pilgrim in my day although the nomadic heritage of my Lebanese ancestors may qualify me. The tougher part is that "fully present....but committed to a different order..." I'm definitely committed to a different order but that fully present part is tough. After all in order to be fully present you have to determine "what am I busy about?" For isn't it true that too often my busyness is an excuse for my absence from what is happening right here, right now. If I am so busy with my busyness then there is no time left for the committment of myself to that different order. Isn't it easy to be so caught up in the commercials that you miss the story?
My broadening vision of being committed to a different order includes actively working for peace in my life, whether with my friends or the guy that I flip off on the road. Actively working for peace includes being nice when I don't feel like it, acting towards others the way I want them to act towards me, accepting that the differences I see are the result of my imperfect vision and not of someone else's imperfection. Being committed to a different order includes accepting that I am powerless and need to turn the control over to that higher power, which of course sounds fine in theory but can't I just have a little bit of it? The problem with powerlessness is that it makes you feel quite small and nervous unless you are willing to talk it over with the one in charge. So my broadening vision includes those daily, hourly, minute by minute chats with the one in charge, who sometimes doesn't answer me right away or even seem to be listening so that means trusting that it's all going to work out the way it's supposed to even if I don't get the big picture. So that should all keep me pretty busy, I have to be nice, give up being in charge, and pray. OK - that about covers it - committing to a different order, leap of faith, broadening vision. I'm tired already.
It seems that the more I do the more there is to do until I am a whirling dervish of never ending activity. And the question is, "what am I busy about?" I have been reading about the Sojourners, www.sojo.net, an community started in the 1970's in response to the war in Viet Nam. I knew that some of those old hippies must have survived and I have been looking for them and today I found them. Wow! They have been busy - busy linking their politics to their religion, busy writing and thinking, busy living out their "all we are saying is give peace a chance." The older I get the more sure I am that this is the path that I am searching for and each time I think I have found it it slips away from me and I have to start searching again. So today I found the Sojourners. "The biblical metaphor "sojourners" identifies God's people as pilgrims—fully present in the world but committed to a different order—and reflects their broadening vision." (from The Sojourner's History)
I have not been much of a Pilgrim in my day although the nomadic heritage of my Lebanese ancestors may qualify me. The tougher part is that "fully present....but committed to a different order..." I'm definitely committed to a different order but that fully present part is tough. After all in order to be fully present you have to determine "what am I busy about?" For isn't it true that too often my busyness is an excuse for my absence from what is happening right here, right now. If I am so busy with my busyness then there is no time left for the committment of myself to that different order. Isn't it easy to be so caught up in the commercials that you miss the story?
My broadening vision of being committed to a different order includes actively working for peace in my life, whether with my friends or the guy that I flip off on the road. Actively working for peace includes being nice when I don't feel like it, acting towards others the way I want them to act towards me, accepting that the differences I see are the result of my imperfect vision and not of someone else's imperfection. Being committed to a different order includes accepting that I am powerless and need to turn the control over to that higher power, which of course sounds fine in theory but can't I just have a little bit of it? The problem with powerlessness is that it makes you feel quite small and nervous unless you are willing to talk it over with the one in charge. So my broadening vision includes those daily, hourly, minute by minute chats with the one in charge, who sometimes doesn't answer me right away or even seem to be listening so that means trusting that it's all going to work out the way it's supposed to even if I don't get the big picture. So that should all keep me pretty busy, I have to be nice, give up being in charge, and pray. OK - that about covers it - committing to a different order, leap of faith, broadening vision. I'm tired already.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Roller Coaster
Those great old wooden roller coasters that shook and rattled and sounded like a train roaring around the track, they were the best. Nothing fancy, up the hill, then down the hill, around the sharp curve, up another hill and down an even bigger drop - your stomach dropping to your toes, your eyes squeezed shut. That was a ride. Even when you knew what was coming it scared you to death. If you were really brave you rode in the very first car in the front. Nothing between you and that drop except air. Mostly I rode in the middle, too chicken for the first or the last car. I liked that sense of safety, people in front of me, people behind me. Figured if anything happened I could prepare - don't ask me how. There was always that little edge of uncertainty as you pulled down the safety bar, would it hold, would the track break, would you survive.? I still get that feeling when a plane takes off - not overwhelming but there like a small reminder of how little in life is in my control. Most times you take the ride and roll into the station safe and sound. And sometimes not, the unexpected but anticipated bad thing happens and you hold on for dear life and hope it will be ok.
Every roller coaster ride was a challenge, a dare, hoping against hope that the ride would end safely and easily. And if you were really in the mood for daring you would stay in your seat and nod to the guy that you were going around again. Most times you could, if the lines weren't long, but sometimes you had to give your seat up and go to the back of the line and the little nagging dread would worry through your brain as you made your way back to the front of the line and into your seat. Pull down the bar, hold on, close your eyes, and before you reached the top of the first hill, letting go and letting God. Throwing your arms up in the air and screaming out loud. What a ride!
And so life goes, up and down, over and around. There are the slow climbs and the sharp, scary drops, the thrills and the scary stuff. Waiting in line for the next train out of the station and praying for a safe return. After a while it all seems so normal, so regular. You hardly even notice the bumps. That nagging dread only little and short lived as you hold on, close your eyes, let go, and let God. And when the end comes you only hope you can say with a smile, "What a ride!"
Every roller coaster ride was a challenge, a dare, hoping against hope that the ride would end safely and easily. And if you were really in the mood for daring you would stay in your seat and nod to the guy that you were going around again. Most times you could, if the lines weren't long, but sometimes you had to give your seat up and go to the back of the line and the little nagging dread would worry through your brain as you made your way back to the front of the line and into your seat. Pull down the bar, hold on, close your eyes, and before you reached the top of the first hill, letting go and letting God. Throwing your arms up in the air and screaming out loud. What a ride!
And so life goes, up and down, over and around. There are the slow climbs and the sharp, scary drops, the thrills and the scary stuff. Waiting in line for the next train out of the station and praying for a safe return. After a while it all seems so normal, so regular. You hardly even notice the bumps. That nagging dread only little and short lived as you hold on, close your eyes, let go, and let God. And when the end comes you only hope you can say with a smile, "What a ride!"
Monday, March 07, 2005
The tIDES of March
Yesterday was this gorgeous spring day, I walked around the yard to see what was poking out of the dead leaves, saw day lillies and daffodils coming up, and a little tiny crocus peering out at me from it's bed. Today, cold, rainy, grey shit!! So once again we talk about the weather. Bert would say it's not a good day to wash the car - right (rawt)!
March is such an unsettled month, no wonder Caesar couldn't survive it. In March you hope for spring and dread winter. In March you are in the midst of lenten barrenness and the hope of Easter. March is the time when you get a cold or the flu that you thought you had managed to miss this year. Steve and Ellen and Lana would definitely say right (rawt) to that ! March is when you start thinking about swim suits and wearing the bulkiest clothes you have to hide your winter fat. March lasts 31 days and feels like 31 years.
It's not surprising that Pisces is a March sign, do you know any one who is a Pisces? "Their natures tend to be too otherworldly for the practical purposes of living in this world as it is. They sometimes exist emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually."(www.astrology-online.com/pisces.htm) I'm certainly not saying anything against Pisceans but you can see that March works on them too. It's hard to be practical "in this world as it is" when you are born in March. March is slippery, it keeps you guessing, you can't get a hold of March. Of course March ends with Aries, do you know any of them? "The spring equinox, March 21, is the beginning of the new zodiacal year and Aries, the first sign, is therefore that of new beginnings. The young ram is adventurous, ambitious, impulsive, enthusiastic and full of energy. " (www.astrology-online.com/aries.htm) And there you have it, early March makes you otherworldly, by the end of March life starts anew with ambition, advenure, and enthusiasm. Tha's March for you. It starts out dragging you down and ends rolling out glorious new life.
The transition from winter to spring, from old to new, from blah to ah ha. That's what March is all about. March music is the blues on one end "It's so cold up north, that a bird can hardly fly Well it's so cold up north, that a bird can hardly fly" (Muddy Waters - "Cold Up North") and Rogers and Hammerstein on the other, "Oh, what a beautiful mornin', Oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feelin' Ev'rything's goin' my way." ("Oh What A Beautiful Morning" - from Oklahoma).
In New Orleans there is an Easter parade that has a transvestite parade marshal and the jazz bands are playing up and down the streets and the children come out in their beautiful Easter clothes with their Mothers and Fathers in their Easter best and the parade marshal is dressed in her/his most glorious dress and hat and throws candy to the clamoring children. And that's March, some crazy combination of up and down, hot and cold, gay and straight, happy and sad. March is a crazy quilt of all our inconsistencies, a patchwork of grey, dreary clouds surrounded by riotous color and sound.
So if you are sitting in the window seat watching it snow, or rain, or if the gloom of night is falling on this early March night look a little harder for not so far in the distance you will see the pink of dawn and the sound of saxophones. If the days are still too short and the nights too long look more closely at the horizon, you can see the first flame of awakening. March is when we die, are reborn, and rise again.
March is such an unsettled month, no wonder Caesar couldn't survive it. In March you hope for spring and dread winter. In March you are in the midst of lenten barrenness and the hope of Easter. March is the time when you get a cold or the flu that you thought you had managed to miss this year. Steve and Ellen and Lana would definitely say right (rawt) to that ! March is when you start thinking about swim suits and wearing the bulkiest clothes you have to hide your winter fat. March lasts 31 days and feels like 31 years.
It's not surprising that Pisces is a March sign, do you know any one who is a Pisces? "Their natures tend to be too otherworldly for the practical purposes of living in this world as it is. They sometimes exist emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually."(www.astrology-online.com/pisces.htm) I'm certainly not saying anything against Pisceans but you can see that March works on them too. It's hard to be practical "in this world as it is" when you are born in March. March is slippery, it keeps you guessing, you can't get a hold of March. Of course March ends with Aries, do you know any of them? "The spring equinox, March 21, is the beginning of the new zodiacal year and Aries, the first sign, is therefore that of new beginnings. The young ram is adventurous, ambitious, impulsive, enthusiastic and full of energy. " (www.astrology-online.com/aries.htm) And there you have it, early March makes you otherworldly, by the end of March life starts anew with ambition, advenure, and enthusiasm. Tha's March for you. It starts out dragging you down and ends rolling out glorious new life.
The transition from winter to spring, from old to new, from blah to ah ha. That's what March is all about. March music is the blues on one end "It's so cold up north, that a bird can hardly fly Well it's so cold up north, that a bird can hardly fly" (Muddy Waters - "Cold Up North") and Rogers and Hammerstein on the other, "Oh, what a beautiful mornin', Oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feelin' Ev'rything's goin' my way." ("Oh What A Beautiful Morning" - from Oklahoma).
In New Orleans there is an Easter parade that has a transvestite parade marshal and the jazz bands are playing up and down the streets and the children come out in their beautiful Easter clothes with their Mothers and Fathers in their Easter best and the parade marshal is dressed in her/his most glorious dress and hat and throws candy to the clamoring children. And that's March, some crazy combination of up and down, hot and cold, gay and straight, happy and sad. March is a crazy quilt of all our inconsistencies, a patchwork of grey, dreary clouds surrounded by riotous color and sound.
So if you are sitting in the window seat watching it snow, or rain, or if the gloom of night is falling on this early March night look a little harder for not so far in the distance you will see the pink of dawn and the sound of saxophones. If the days are still too short and the nights too long look more closely at the horizon, you can see the first flame of awakening. March is when we die, are reborn, and rise again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
