Magic of the red glasses

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RED has always been my favorite color: shiny, red tricycle; warn and well-loved red sailor shirt, kids' size 5; college colors, red and white; binge car, 1996 red Jeep Cherokee with black, leather seats.

And now, alas, I have to say goodbye to my all-time favorite red glasses that have adorned my face six, maybe seven, years. They're plum worn out, surviving through two lens changes and new ear pieces. I've been heading toward a new pair for several years, helping these limp along because I can find nothing else I like.

So, it makes me wonder why I am overly fond of this particular pair. They're loud for one thing, announcing that I AM wearing glasses ... no blending in. Their rectangular shape suits my square face, an astute hair stylish told me once. They're classic RayBans; though I'm not name conscious, I am very appreciative of good, timeless design. And, obviously, they're red. For some reason, I feel like they make my personality sing. To me, they blare artist.

I've tried other pairs on and off, mostly on this week, for a good year and have not found any that speaks to me in the same way; they should considering the cost of my prescription is pretty expensive. The red was an impulse switch at the last moment. After purple, then the beloved red, I have wanted orange. All optical stores, save one, think I'm odd searching for orange. I wish you could select the front of the frames, then side pieces separately: an orange face, purple and green side pieces, Now that would sing.

I wonder what Carl Jung would have to say about all of this. He was a colorful guy.

I understand the time period in which I have worn these bold specs aligns with me emerging from the early mom years into my own again. I went back to school, developed my spiritual nurture work, took up freelance assignments again, graduated from an art table tucked into my kitchen to a garage studio and now one in a former classroom and am feeling my way back into the world. No more hiding and letting the fibromyalgia dictate who I am and limit what I can accomplish. The red glasses screamed otherwise. On truly trying days, putting them on gave me strength and helped me reclaim my identity pre chronic-disease days.

I can hide behind them AND show myself. They're sort of magical.

How do I replace that?

I'm not sure that I do. Perhaps the platinum-and-orange pair I finally discovered signals a new phase. Red symbolizes energy, vitality, strength and strong emotions. Orange denotes balance, warmth and enthusiasm and is less aggressive than red. In terms of the chakra energy centers, red stands for the root, instinct, security and survival. Orange is the sacral chakra and governs relationships, creativity, emotional needs, pleasure, joy and spirituality. Wonder if I don't need the red to scream for me anymore and I'd rather bask in the warmth of the orange because I feel secure. Hmmmmmmm ...

• To what am I clinging lately?
• What message is there for me?
• What colors speak to me?
• How can I interpret those?
• Where am I currently on my journey?

I grabbed them
instinctively

have held on
tightly,

hesitating to
completely
let go

have the outlived
their purpose?

am I ready
to move on?

from what?
to what?

what have these
red eyeglasses
hidden?

and what have
they uncovered?

The grand dance called love

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When my Quaker minister* announced she was giving her message on darkness, I nearly fell off the pew. Hurray, I thought, FINALLY a Quaker will actually speak of the dark and not the perennial light to which everyone clings. 

She prefaced her homily saying she wasn't sure why she was compelled to speak on this theme given it was such a lovely day. I wanted to shout: because some of us live in the darkness and if we don't ever talk about it, we feel isolated, lonely and less than.

But I didn't. Instead, I listened. To her and the handful of others who shared. I am not the only one who lives in darkness, their messages affirmed.

I also had a conversation a few weeks ago with my "other" child, the 12-year-old son of my best friend. We met and bonded deeply when she was pregnant with her only and I, with my second. We are a block from each other – a quick hike down the alley – and live somewhat communally from time to time. We say we are the family we chose. As you may suspect, I have a close relationship with Caleb, the 12-year-old. He came from another place and is the purest spirit I know. I have always teased him that he is my Mountain Sprite. For some time, his mother has been urging me to discuss darkness and lightness with him. Well, that chance came in my safe and wonderful studio. He was relaxing on my front-row section of theater seats and began. I asked a few, probing questions and let him just flow with it ... which it what he does. I am not certain he is even all that conscious of what passes through him. Basically, he said, there is no difference between dark and light ... they are just aspects of the same thing.

Hmmmmm. Early Quakers talked about the "light" convicting us and shining God's love on those dark places. But I had always thought of that as discovered and undiscovered, pure and impure, exposed and unexposed: opposites. I also buy into Carl Jung's conception of shadow as the unexplored parts of ourselves that need attention in order for healing wholeness to happen. But they always seemed like distinct entities to me, then, again, I was brought up in a world of duality. Yet I have always preferred odd numbers, perhaps, a philosophy of oneness and a variety of possibilities, not either or.

Wednesday, my shaman echoed Caleb; that light and dark are the same.

I tend to get locked into this or that and locked is the key here. It can be immobilizing. My shaman constantly reminds me there is  a "rainbow of choice."

In her message, the minister said she seeks the light because she may not be strong enough for the darkness and quoted Quaker founder George Fox's vision that over the sea of darkness rolls the ocean of light.

My quest is to not be overtaken by the darkness. In worship, after the darkness message, I wondered if, perhaps I have invited the darkness in and it's too much for me. How do I uninvite it? Or, if it's the same as the light, how do I see the light aspect?

When I shared with my shaman how I had struggled for a number of weeks, almost resorting to a quick fix that I knew would have long-term, devastating effects for me, he said; "You've already been in the dark and pulled yourself out." He also reminded me to seek help: humans and divine. Sometimes I forget that. As if I am so deeply mired and it's my job to extricate myself. Is that the key here? Asking for help?

At the end of the powerful worship centered on the topic of darkness, someone requested the song "Lord of the Dance" set to my favorite Shaker tune, Simple Gifts. The chorus is:

Dance, dance, wherever you may be I am the lord of the dance, said he And I lead you all, wherever you may be And I lead you all in the dance, said he 

I am teary even now reading those lyrics because the answer to the dark/light question for me is so clearly in following God/Jesus, whose voices narrates the song. It reminds me of a phrase that came to me years ago in a dark moment when I asked a question: 

THE DANCE CALLED LOVE 

What’s this time of loss been? 

Healing, recovering, preparing  ...We’ll create together.Just let me in more fully.You’ve knocked and I’ve opened the door.The dance has begun in full.You’re my partner and we’ll attract others to this grand dance called love.

• What are my theories of darkness and lightness?

• What has my experience been with both?

• How often do I talk about the darkness? In what context? With whom?

• What pulls me from the darkness?

• When/how have I been called the the grand dance called love?

* that sounds so weird as Quakers consider all are ministers, but I am a member of a hybrid meeting where there is a wonderful balance of a prepared message, silence and vocal ministry of others led to do so

Dialogue with the soul

A dear friend recently introduced me to Carl Jung's The Red Book, journals in words and images he kept over 16 years, that she describes as a "dialogue with the soul." Though created between 1914 and 1930, it's only recently been published.

Just the name and concept enraptured me. Then, Friday, I actually got to see, touch and look through a copy of the $200 (well spent) reproduction. It was like living all of my best, most interesting and provocative dreams, thoughts and insights. Too intense to process in one couple-hour sitting. Striking that the images that surfaced for him, have also captured my attention, separately. Like the serpent, the broken egg, tree of life and rooting branches of the cross. It's an odyssey inside.

I also find it extremely fascinating that Jung and I have the same Myers-Briggs type, INFJ, which may be another reason I feel connected. Also affirmed. I read somewhere about him and his journey that turning inside was an introvert's dream. I have wondered, even here, about spending too much time inside. Guess it's just who I am right now.

That compulsion to travel to the interior is so at odds with our culture. We're supposed to be busy accumulating, doing, going, experiencing, taking, yadda, yadda, yadda.

So just why is the 80-plus-year-old journal from someone of another era (Jung died in 1961) flying off bookshelves, in its fifth printing and back ordered? What's the fascination?

It is the timeless search for Self, I believe. Self could also be interpreted as wholeness, God, Spirit, Truth, ... whatever is bigger than the self.

The madness of running and accumulating does not deeply satisfy nor does it seem like a healthful place: mentally, spiritually physically or emotionally. It may be why there are so many addictions in our society, avenues to dull or cope with the constant motion and the aloneness and isolation that ensue.

If I understand correctly, this series of journals began as a response to horrific visions and dreams Jung had of bloody rivers, death and destruction. It made him question his sanity and launched him on a journey away from the academic success and notoriety he was enjoying. Less than a year after the dream, WWI broke out and Jung realized the dream had been a portent, answering his sanity doubt.

Perhaps the chaos in our culture cries out for something like The Red Book. A real, true conversation with ourselves and what lies in and beneath the surface. Looking beyond the man-made reality to the true Reality.

The Red Book is just such a glimpse.

• What does a dialogue with the soul mean to me?
• What has my interior journey encompassed?
• How could I benefit from the deep exploration of another?
• For what does our spirit cry out for comfort from our culture?
• What deeply comforts me?


as a modern
Quaker,
there's so
much emphasis
on the light,
the sacred
light


as if
the dark
doesn't
exist


or should
not be
traversed


yet, I
know
differently

that's
where
things brew
and
percolate
and form

a rich,
primordial
stew

one to
which
I am more
than invited

begged
to investigate

to find
my whole
self

not just
the one
exposed

what is
darkness
anyway?

but an
opportunity
for enlightenment

not an
absence,
but the
presence
of so
much


early
Quakers
talked about
being
convicted
by the light


I think
they
meant
exploring
those
dark spaces