softening

That was Zelig's assessment last night, while we sat and talked on his couch, before I walked out into the warm, dark evening to witness the honey-colored new moon hovering over West Oakland. "You look great," he said. "Clear." And, "softer."

(This was after five of us sat, cringing, gasping and laughing, through Sarah Palin's speech and the attendant camera-pans over the legions of rapturous, button-wearing idiots. Now, I never had very many bad things to say about Hillary; to the extent that I believe that federal government is worth the powder to blow it straight to hell, I thought Hillary was a viable and interesting candidate for the presidency. I loathed the easy and off-handed dismissals of her as a "bitch." Hillary is a tough, smart lady, with a great deal of experience and some wise ideas. In her case, behavior which, in a male colleague, might have been called "strong" or "no-nonsense," was derided as "bitchy" when coming from her. I despise that.

. . . Sarah Palin, the Killa from Wasilla? Bitch.)

Anyway, my dear friend's take on the state of my being feels, at once, totally out of left field, and wholly accurate.

Left field: because I'm up against one or two of my most persistent demons at the moment, with not a lot of breathing room, it feels like. I see the old, tired techniques I'm using to handle it, and at some moments it feels like nothin's gone nowhere.

But more than that: wholly accurate. Mainly because I'm practicing something I've never practiced before in any kind of sustained way, which is compassion for myself. Oh, compassion. I can dish it out with all the juicy mama-energy in the world. I can usually receive it from the folks I love. But self-directed compassion? Who knew it would turn out to require such a massive expenditure of energy! Nonetheless, it is a project I have undertaken, and it requires much focus, clarity and dedication. It's an effort to silence judgmental, angry, cruel voices, and in their stead, to speak to myself in tones of kindness, patience, and forgiveness.

What I find most compelling is the voice of faith: that the truths I remember about my being, which arise most clearly when I am out on the land and in deep, heartfelt connection and in moments of creation -- those truths abide, and can be like a lighthouse for me when I am feeling lost and cut adrift. Staying connected to those truths requires a leap of faith, I am finding, and it is a leap I am convincing myself to take, more and more.

It's pretty nice!

I attribute much of these shifts to the time I've spent in communion with the earth this summer. I just got back from a yoga backpacking trip in Yosemite, which was phenomenal. (Earth said to me, "you are my beloved, and I miss you when you're gone from me.") And my experiences in Mt. Shasta, and the Trinity Alps, and Mojave, and Western Shoshone land, and even the Santa Cruz mountains have all yielded new peace and awareness. Sometimes, in these happy moments of realization, I feel energy moving in my body like glaciers calving and breaking apart.

I'm about to go out of town for three weeks, to facilitate this journey in the Southwest with an amazing group of women attorneys who will connect with Native American women environmental justice leaders. Then I get to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in Albuquerque (complete with a dawn ceremony in Petroglyph National Monument), hang out with my most beloved Reiki teacher who lives in Santa Fe, and then officiate the marriage of my dear friend and colleague. A lot of powerful experiences, and I think I'm able to show up for all this -- my life -- in a way that is entirely new. The bonds of fear seem to be, well, loosening, and boy-oh-boy does that free up some space! I tell you what.

So here I am on my path, one foot in front of the other, not sure what to make of it all, but committing to practicing non-judgment every step of the way. You may not hear from me for a while, but when you do, I promise I'll have some fine stories to share.